Darkness Rising: Disciples of the Horned One Volume One (Soul Force Saga Book 1) (25 page)

W
hen Lane
finally finished chatting Damien waved her over. Scowling, she stalked to the bar. What was she pissed about now?

“What?” Lane asked.

“They don’t have a stable in this part of town. My new best friend”—Damien nodded toward the bartender—“assures me that any horse we leave outside will find its way to the meat market in short order.”

“Fine. Take the horses back up the street and find a stable. I’ll wait here.”

“If you think I’m leaving you alone in this place you’re nuts. And if your mother found out she’d kill me. We go together and walk back together, if you insist on returning.”

“It’s for the best, miss.” The bartender flinched when Lane turned her angry gaze on him. “Bonzo’s got a lot of friends. You don’t want to be here when they find out you flattened him.”

Lane turned back to Damien. “What’s a Bonzo?”

“The gentleman lying by the wall over yonder.”

She pursed her lips. “I think I have a good feel for what the people in this part of town think. Maybe it would be useful to talk to the other side.”

Thank Bonzo and all the heavens.

Lane headed for the door and Damien slipped the bartender a silver crown before he followed. He doubted it would stop the man from telling the Daggers which way they went, but he had provided some useful information.

Damien dissolved his invisible barrier before Lane reached it. He detected no sign that anyone had tried to bother their horses. Lane swung up into her saddle and Damien followed her example.

They’d gone as far back as the cedar-sided buildings before Lane said, “You used your powers back there. No way I knocked that goon out myself.”

“Yeah, I sure did. Would you have preferred to break your hand on his jaw?”

“I told you not to use your powers. I know how to throw a punch.”

Damien shook his head at the woman’s stubbornness. “I’m sure you do, but have you ever punched a warlord? Bones as hard as steel tend to be hard on the knuckles.”

Lane laughed. “If he was a warlord then I’m a princess.”

“He wasn’t Citadel trained, but Bonzo did have a weak internal soul force. He’s what’s called an instinctive user. You’ll run into one now and then. The point is, trained or not, you still would have broken your hand on his jaw. After that I would have had to do something drastic to stop him from raping you on one of the tables while the whole place watched.”

That shut her up. They reached the crossroads and turned in the direction the guards had suggested. The effect on the buildings was exactly the opposite of their ride toward the first inn.

Houses became nicer. Fresh coats of paint covered everything. Single-story buildings gave way to two stories. Windows got wider and more numerous.

The Golden Stag stood two stories high and sprawled over half a block. An iron fence surrounded manicured grounds. Warm light from the windows lit the yard. Three steps led up to dark wood doors, inset with colored glass.

Damien guided his mount through the open gate. Beside him Lane groaned.

“What’s wrong?”

“I hate places like this.”

“Oh sure. Clean, warm, good food, no thugs to attack you. Seems like a horrible place. Bet you a royal the bartender has all his teeth.”

Lane offered a weary smile. “It’s not the setting, it’s the memories. Mom used to bring me to places like this. Everyone patted me on the head, and smiled these sad smiles, every one of them thinking how pathetic it was for someone like Mom to have such a disappointment for a daughter.”

A pair of boys in blue tunics embroidered with golden stags rushed out from behind the inn. They held their reins while Damien and Lane dismounted. As soon as they had their gear the boys led the horses and mule off toward the back. Now that’s what Damien called service.

“You’re not a little girl anymore,” Damien said. “Try to relax and enjoy the luxury. After this little break it’s back to business.”

“I’ll try.” Lane followed him up the steps. “It’s only one night after all.”

D
amien sighed
and followed Lane down the steps out of The Golden Stag. She’d said only one night and meant it. Too bad. Damien hadn’t slept as well as he did last night in weeks. Deep feather beds combined with the best meal he’d eaten since leaving the capital added up to nine hours’ unbroken sleep. For the first time in his life Damien cursed the training that had him awake before the sun rose.

Outside dawn was just coloring the horizon. Low, dark clouds and brisk temperatures threatened a late-season flurry before the end of the day. Two new boys in identical livery waited with their horses saddled and ready. From the shine, it looked like they’d combed them out and cleaned the mud from their tails and the feathering around their hooves. The horses looked better than when Damien claimed them from the last supply depot. They’d even slicked up the mule.

He tossed the boys a crown apiece. They snatched the silver coins out of the air with practiced ease. Damien patted his mare on the neck and swung up into the saddle. He hung his rucksack from the pommel and followed Lane out the open gate.

After a moment of silence Damien said, “Best six royals I ever spent. Tell me you didn’t love those beds and I’ve never eaten roast that tender.”

Lane nodded. “Maybe I was too quick to dismiss an occasional bit of luxury. The beds were a delight.”

“Ha! Thank you very much. I guarantee we both would have ended up with food poisoning if we ate at the other place.”

They rode through the slowly awakening town, eager to finish their journey. According to Lane’s map they’d reach Baron Kannon’s castle late tomorrow, barring any unforeseen adventures. Damien hoped she could convince the barons to do their duty. Though he had no qualms about killing, he preferred to avoid it when possible.

They came to a stop a hundred yards from the south gate. Nine rough men in leathers stood blocking their way. All of them carried a weapon of some sort, with axes, swords with chipped blades, and heavy cudgels making up the bulk. In the center, a little ahead of the rest, Bonzo stood with his arms crossed across his massive chest. He looked none the worse for last night’s pounding. He’d found an ax as long as he was tall with a massive, double-bitted head that probably weighed thirty pounds. A pair of town guards stood by the closed gates leaning on their spears. It didn’t look like they planned to offer any assistance.

Damien turned to Lane. “Do you want me to handle this or do you want to try and negotiate?”

Lane frowned. “Part of being a good negotiator is knowing when negotiation is a waste of time. Could you please keep it subtle? No golden dragons or smoking craters.”

“Come on, how did you know I was going to use a golden dragon?”

A hint of a smile cracked her stony face. “This is serious.”

Damien dug his thin leather gloves out of his rucksack and pulled them on. “No it isn’t. I’ve been in a few serious situations. This is a nuisance at worst.”

He dismounted and handed her his reins. “Keep your distance just the same.”

Damien strode toward the assembled thugs. His eyes narrowed as he studied their soul force. Only Bonzo had anything more than normal.

He could kill them all in an instant, probably should, since he suspected they were all members of the Daggers. Nevertheless, he wanted to give them a chance to surrender. He just didn’t know where to take them since the Lord Mayor and his men were in the gang’s pocket.

He stopped halfway between the gate and Lane. Damien crooked his finger, beckoning Bonzo forward. Even from a distance the enforcer’s clenched jaw was visible. If he didn’t move out of the way he was about to get a lot less happy and a lot more dead.

Bonzo slung his ax over his shoulder and marched toward Damien. When he stopped Damien stared him straight in the throat. Man, he was big. Maybe he had some ogre in his bloodline.

“We ain’t interested in you,” Bonzo said. He had a deep, gravelly voice and breath that suggested he brushed his teeth with the contents of his chamber pot. “But the girl’s got to pay for insulting me. You can have her back when me and the boys are through.”

“That’s a generous offer, but unfortunately I’m her bodyguard and I’m afraid handing her over to you wouldn’t do her body any good. How about you guys get out of here? I don’t want any trouble.”

Bonzo laughed. Behind him the rest of the thugs tensed and raised their weapons. That was all the chance Damien intended to give them. He conjured a pair of swords and drove them through both Bonzo’s lungs.

Blood gushed out of Bonzo’s mouth and he fell to his knees, the giant ax clattering to the ground. Damien stepped back, ripped his blades free, and cross slashed.

Bonzo’s head plopped to the ground.

Before the other thugs recovered from the surprise of their leader’s death, Damien hurled his blades at them. He accelerated their rotation until they looked like steel disks and guided them into the assembled thugs.

Human flesh didn’t stand up well to soul force blades sharper than a razor and harder than steel. In three seconds all eight thugs lay in perhaps twenty pieces. One of them moaned in pain. He’d lost both legs above the knee and would bleed out in a hurry.

Damien held out his hands and the blades flew back to him. He reabsorbed the energy, tugged his gloves off, and walked back to rejoin Lane.

She stared at him, mutely handing him his reins when he reached for them. Perhaps she’d never seen real combat and its aftermath. It wasn’t pretty.

Damien swung up onto his mare. “You know how they say don’t look down when you’re somewhere high? You might want to follow that advice until we reach the gate. It doesn’t look any prettier up close.

She clenched her teeth and stared over the top of the wall. They rode toward the gate which the two guards hastened to open. Damien stayed close to Lane in case her horse shied away when they went through the bodies. A minute later they were out the gate and on the road again.

T
hey traveled
down the dirt track in silence. A mix of spruce and oak trees towered over both sides of the narrow road. Damien sighed beside her. Lane couldn’t believe she’d just watched him slaughter nine men and as far as she could tell it hadn’t fazed him in the least. She couldn’t stop trembling. Couldn’t force the image of those men being sliced apart out of her head.

Half an hour later, when Allentown was well behind them, Lane said, “I always knew the sorts of things sorcerers could do, but I’d never seen it before. You killed those men like I might step on a bug.”

“Same principle I guess. You step on the bugs so they don’t bite anyone else. Dealing with that bunch didn’t take any particular power. My sister could have done the same thing and she’s a warlord.”

Lane looked at him, eyes bulging, the blood drained out of her face. “How can you talk about it so casually? You just killed nine people. Aren’t you even a little upset?”

“It’s unfortunate they made me do it, but no, I’m not upset. Do you know anything about training at The Citadel?”

She blinked, not certain she understood. He was a sorcerer, not a warlord. “I thought sorcerers trained at Sorcery.”

“We do, but before I went to Sorcery I trained for almost three years at The Citadel. People tend to think fighting techniques and how to use internal soul force are the most important things you learn, but they’re wrong.”

Lane licked her lips, not certain she wanted to know. She took a breath and asked, “What is the most important thing?”

“To kill without hesitation or regret. Before we move on to the second year’s training, all first year cadets are thrown into a pit with a chained goblin. The goblin is armed with a club and the cadet is given a short sword. The masters don’t let you out until the goblin is dead.”

She put a trembling hand to her mouth. “That’s horrible.”

Damien shrugged. “Second year they throw you in with an unchained goblin and this time it has a sword and you have a dagger. You have to get up close to kill it. Get the blood on your hands. It spatters on your face.”

“Heaven’s mercy. They do this to children?”

“Eleven- and twelve-year-olds. Third years move on to killing men, prisoners in this case. You have to cut the throat of a condemned man. I had a head start. Dad threw me in with a chained goblin when I was ten, before my official training started.” Damien looked up at the sky, lost in thought, totally unaware of her growing horror. “On my tenth name day he gave me this beautiful sword and dagger set. I was so happy. It looked just like the sword he wore. That night after Jen went to sleep he woke me up and took me down to the pit. I didn’t realize yet what he intended.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” she said. A part of her wanted him to go on. She felt an almost overwhelming need to understand this young man her mother had sent to protect her, this killer in a boy’s body.

Damien shook his head and continued on like she hadn’t spoken. “Dad said if I wanted to keep the sword I had to earn it. He threw me in with my precious new sword. He told me to kill the goblin and become a warrior. The goblin went crazy, thrashing and beating on its chain with a useless, blunt short sword. It was making the most shrill screeches.”

“What did you do?” Lane asked in a breathless voice, knowing the answer before she spoke.

“I killed it. I think as much to shut it up as anything. Dad lowered a rope, I climbed out, and he hugged me and said how proud he was. It was the last time he hugged me. I think it may have been the last time he was proud of me.” Damien locked his gaze on Lane and she went cold. “That’s what it means to be a warlord. I may use external soul force, but I was trained to be a warlord. To kill my enemies without hesitation or remorse. I don’t go out of my way to find people to kill, but if it becomes necessary…”

Lane shook her head and offered a weak smile. The horror of his childhood stunned her. “And I thought I had a difficult time growing up. You make me feel bad about complaining that some of Mom’s friends gave me condescending pats on the head. I’ve never had to kill anyone.”

Damien grinned, seeming to shake off his dark mood. “That’s why your mother sent me. If there’s ugly business to be done, let me handle it. My soul is so bloodstained a few more drops won’t matter.”

So young and so bitter. She wanted to hold him, give him the hugs his father withheld. Lane suspected it was too late for any number of hugs to do him much good. You don’t become a killer at ten without getting a permanent scar on your soul. How many scars did Damien’s carry?