City of Rogues: Book I of the Kobalos Trilogy (2 page)

The dark figure slid backward, away from the burning and shrieking wizard. It gave Trelvigor one last glance, an evil grin of white teeth beneath the black cloak’s hood, then was gone through the window.

Chapter Two

If one of his Dartague countrymen saw the fortress Belgad the Liar claimed as home, the man would believe Belgad was a king. The building was much like its owner, towering and solid. The grounds of the fortress included a yard of no few acres surrounded by a high stone wall. However, the property’s surroundings proved Belgad was not royalty. His fortress rested in the west end of Bond within a region known as the Swamps, named so because it lay between two rivers that eventually ran into one another east of the city. If the northerner called Belgad were king of anything, it was the busy and crowded streets within the Swamps where the majority of Bond’s rabble led their daily lives.

Despite this wealth and power, Belgad the Liar sat glum in a massive oak chair on a raised platform at one end of his grand hall, the room much like a chapel with high windows upon either side showing gardens beyond.

“
Dismissed,” the large, bald northerner said to a short man in robes before him.

The little man backed away quickly, bobbing his head. “Thank you, mighty one, thank you.”

Belgad sneered and waved the stooping figure away. Acquiescence from others was expected, but it was nothing the large man respected. Looking much like a barbarian king of old in his lion-skin tunic, Belgad ran his fingers over the white mustache beneath his crooked nose while his eyes shifted to another figure standing at the foot of the steps leading to the throne.

This man was also short, as most were to Belgad, and he was covered in ratty clothes. His eyes glanced around nervously beneath the stern gaze of  his liege

Belgad motioned the man forward.
“
Report.”

“
Sir, you’d asked me to keep watch on the Docks situation.”

“
Yes, Stilp. Proceed.”

“
That pope they got in the East has lowered the tariffs on all their goods,” Stilp said, then added a shrug, “but the dock foremen, they don’t want to pay no extra.”

“
How much have the tariffs dropped?”

“
Three percent.”

Belgad’s hard eyes focused upon his employee. “More gold is falling into their laps, but they don’t want to pay extra for their protection when it means there is more to protect.”

Stilp stared down at his dusty boots. “Yes, sir.”

Belgad leaned forward on his throne, rested his chin on a fist and stared through the high windows on one side of the hall. Beyond he spied a bountiful garden full of foreign trees and other plants he had brought to his fortress at great expense; he knew next to nothing about the greenery other than it was something a rich and powerful man like himself should have, and after a long day of dealing with a line of clients, the garden calmed his mind.

“
The next guild assembly is in two days.” Belgad continued to stare into the garden as if he were alone. “Take three men and make it clear the Docks does not profit without my protection.”

“
How far should I push?”

Belgad’s blue eyes returned to the smaller man and made him shiver. “Roughen a few of them, if necessary, but no killings. Killings are bad for business.”

“
Yes, sir.” Stilp backed away.

Belgad’s gaze traveled down the center of the hall to an approaching thin fellow in a red silk robe swaying about his feet. The man passed Stilp, who exited between armed guards and through a huge door of oak. Belgad paused in anticipation of what Lalo the Finder would have to say. Lalo never minced words, and nearly everything he said was of import.

“
I beg your pardon, my lord.” Lalo halted at the bottom of the throne’s steps, his head slightly bowed. “There is a situation of which you should be aware.”

“
Speak, Finder.”

“
The house of Trelvigor the mage is in flames. There has been no sign of the wizard himself, and I fear the worst.”

Trelvigor was an old client to Belgad, having been in the northerner’s employ since Belgad had arrived in Bond fifteen years earlier. The wizard had dark, sometimes disturbing faults. But those same faults had often been used in Belgad’s service. Being a patron meant one had certain responsibilities to one’s clients.

Besides, Belgad realized this gave him an excuse to leave his fortress and to cancel the rest of his meetings.

The Dartague stood straight, at his full height, towering over Lalo. “Ready a carriage.”

***

It was dark, but not late, and the journey by carriage from the Swamps to Trelvigor’s mansion in Uptown took nearly an hour because of the foot traffic on the cobblestone streets. The trip could have taken longer for many, but Belgad’s reputation cleared the way with help from an escort of two heavily-armed guards driving the carriage and two other men on horseback.

Mages Way was one of the widest roads in Bond, its fancy homes lining the street for a mile or more, but Belgad could not see the wizard’s burning mansion from the open window of his carriage. There were too many wagons, horses and people blocking the path to see much of anything other than an orange glow in the distance. All classes of persons filled the street, from the bored wealthy who lived nearby to the dirty slum dwellers come up from the Swamps. The fire was the entertainment of the night.

“
Stop the carriage,” the Dartague ordered.

The guard steering the horses reined the animals to a halt.

Belgad shoved open the carriage door and climbed out to the street. “I’ll walk from here.”

He tromped away from the carriage and his personal guards. A person would have to be a fool to try and strike down Belgad the Liar in the middle of the streets. Even if Belgad were killed, the repercussions could be devastating.

Still walking, Belgad watched the glow that flowed over the crowd ahead. The northerner could make out a bucket brigade of well-meaning citizens and city patrolmen transferring water from the river several blocks south. Even from this distance, he could tell the firefighters were wasting their time. It was obvious there would be nothing left of the mansion other than its stone frame and tower.

Closer to the flames, Belgad could make out several orange tabards of the city guards. The men huddled together next to the bucket brigade. He made a straight line for the guards.

“
Who is in charge in this district tonight?”

One of the guards stepped forward. “That would be me, Lord Belgad.” A disquieted hand gripped the pommel of the sword at his side. “Sergeant Gris at your service.”

Belgad waved a hand toward the flames. “Is river water the best you can do?”

“
It is the best we could arrange for now, sir.” Gris waved a hand toward the bucket line. “The water pumps at the Docks are being used to drain ships, and no mages along the Way are available.”

Belgad stared over the crowd to other expensive homes lining the road. Several of the buildings, a number of them minor fortresses or mansions, showed burning lights in the windows.

“
You mean none of them would come.”

The sergeant nodded toward the wealthy abodes. “
I asked several myself personally, but I was told they did not have the proper spells prepared to be of aid.”

“
They had no love for Trelvigor.” It made a cruel sense to the Dartague. Wizards were a fickle lot, and Trelvigor was not welcome among their numbers. The mage whose home was in flames had gained no love in sorcerous circles through his connections with the city’s underworld.

The heavy ceiling beams in the burning structure collapsed with a cracking din, shaking the ground. Cries of fear went up from the crowd as orange and yellow sparks exploded into the air, showering the bucket brigade with soot and sending its members fleeing.

Belgad looked through open windows where the shutters had been burned away and saw a furnace with stone walls.
“
Has there been any sign of Trelvigor?”

Gris glanced at the blaze, then back to the larger man beside him. “Not yet, sir. And to be honest, I don’t expect to find anything until the fire has been put out.”

“
Any idea what started it?” With a roving gaze, Belgad watched the bucket brigade reform its line to the river.

“
I do not know, sir,” Gris said, following the Dartague's look, “but others who saw it early on said the fire started from within. Probably the kitchen, but you never can tell with wizards. Sometimes they’ve got potions brewing and Ashal knows what other goings on.”

Belgad had to admit the sergeant might be correct. Trelvigor had not been an exceptional alchemist, though he did know how to cook a poison or two.

A yell went up from the front of the bucket line.

“
Excuse me, sir.” Sergeant Gris took off at a run.

Belgad watched the man go. From his viewpoint he could make out the bucket brigade near the front entrance to the remains of the wizard’s mansion. Several men were kneeling as Gris approached, but the flames and crowd kept Belgad from seeing more.

The sergeant spoke briefly with the bucketeers before jogging back to Belgad.

The Dartague nodded toward the flames and the gathering of men there. “
What news?”

“
They’ve found him.”

“
The wizard?”

“
Yes, sir, and he’s alive. He managed to crawl his way to the front door before passing out, but he’s in bad shape.”

Belgad waved to one of his bodyguards and the man came forward. “Go to the nearest healing tower and let them know we’re bringing a man badly burnt.”

“
Yes, my lord.” The man ran off through the crowd.

“
He looked in bad shape, sir.” Gris took a step back as Belgad turned to him once more. “I don’t know if the healers can save this one.”

“
They had better.” Belgad grimaced. “That’s why I make donations to them every month.”

***

Randall Tendbones had seen a lot of pain and death in his twenty-one years, but he had never seen someone burnt so horribly they were hardly recognizable as human.

The blackened, smoking husk that was Trelvigor the wizard was curled in a fetal position on a padded table. It was difficult for Randall to tell where the man’s clothing ended and the remains of the flesh began; all had been burnt and melted together into a crispy mush. Hardened flakes of black skin protruded from the wizard in the few places raw muscle did not show.

The healer closed his eyes and rested a hand on the a forehead that looked like cooked strips of beef. Randall breathed in slowly, allowing magic to flow from within his soul and to seep into the unconscious mage. He could not quickly heal someone injured so badly, but for now he could calm Trelvigor and keep the mage from waking to the anguish, if he could awaken at all.

A knock at the door caused the healer to remove his hand and open his eyes.

“
Yes?”

A coarse voice spoke from beyond. “Lord Belgad would like a word with you.”

“
I’ll be right with him.”

Booted feet stomped away as the healer pulled off the white robes of his profession and dumped them in an open barrel next to the door. For a moment he stood in his simple tunic, contemplating the man he was about to meet.

Beyond the door was a circular chamber familiar to Randall, a portion of the tower proper that was a combination waiting room and work room for the healer. The man Randall knew by reputation as Belgad the Liar was sitting in the healer’s chair behind his desk. Two men clad in chain armor stood opposite Randall next to the room’s other door. Beyond that door could be heard the various comings and goings of other healers and patients.

Belgad stood. “
What is his condition?”

Randall walked to his desk. “He will probably live.”

“
Probably?”

“
There’s been much damage,” the healer explained. “He will take some time to heal. It’s a wonder he’s alive at all.”

Belgad nodded and returned to the chair. “
How long?”

Randall pulled up a chair and sat in front of his desk. “Master Belgad, there’s no magic strong enough to entirely undo what has been done to him.”

The Dartague grunted. “I should ask one of the other healers, or take him to the other tower.”

“
Believe me, Trelvigor will be best served here.” Randall stared with earnest across the table top. “Healing magic takes much endurance. My youth allows me to channel far stronger resources from within than could another, older healer.”

“
Your youth also reveals your inexperience.”

“
I’m Kobalan. If anyone understands pain, it would be I.”

Belgad blinked.

Randall regretted the slip about his nationality, but he wanted to prove to this man he was the best healer available.