City of Rogues: Book I of the Kobalos Trilogy (20 page)

Belgad and his men weren’t far behind. Their booted feet thunked on the stone floor as they charged forward in their heavy armor.

“
There!” Belgad shouted at Lucius’s back as he saw the man dodge down a flight of steps.

As Lucius’s feet carried him swiftly into the depths of the Asylum, he was thankful he had taken time to memorize the place. It helped him outmaneuver his pursuers. By the time the Liar and his men reached the bottom of the steps, Lucius had turned into the narrow and dark tunnel leading to the river shore.

Belgad paused, bringing his men up short.
“
Listen.” The word was little more than a whisper.

The five men stood quiet, a hall lit by torches to their left and a blackened tunnel to their right.

The pattering of booted feet slapping stone could be heard in the distance.

“
This way.” Belgad rushing into the dark hall, his four warriors following.

Lucius kept a hand on the left wall as he ran. Twice before he had brought a torch and followed the tunnel to the river shore. He had not actually opened the exit door, but he had wanted to make sure it was there in case Kron Darkbow should need it. Now he was thankful for those trips because his familiarity with his surroundings allowed him to travel fast in the dark; Belgad and his companions would have to travel much slower, or they would have to waste precious seconds grabbing a torch.

A few more steps and Lucius bumped into the door, nearly knocking himself off his feet. In the distance he could hear Belgad and his gang rushing toward him. Lucius had only seconds. He reached out, trying to find the handle that would give him freedom. Once outside, Lucius was certain he could escape. He would simply drop his hat and jacket and become Kron Darkbow once again; it wasn’t night, the hours when Kron was at his best, but the rainstorm had clouded the sky.

Lucius’s fingers found the door’s bar and he pulled. Nothing happened at first, then a dull creaking of metal on metal screeched through the air and Lucius knew he was almost free. The yellings and noises of the running men behind him were no longer a concern.

“
Don’t kill him!” It was Belgad, closer than could be expected.

Lucius tugged on the bar and the door smashed inward, knocking him against the floor. Then a wall of water erupted over him and Lucius went reeling.

***

Belgad knew what was coming before it hit him. The sound of the door slamming open was followed by the roar of river water barreling down the hall.

“
Back!” the northerner yelled, but it was too late.

The waters overcame him, knocking the Dartague off his feet and sending him rolling head over heels. He managed to gulp a last breath of air before being slammed against one of his men. Belgad’s world became a swirling, churning eruption of water. There was no way he could survive, he told himself in the darkness, but his last thoughts would not be of those he had loved. His last thoughts would be of Kron Darkbow. He wondered how Darkbow, or the guard he had believed was Darkbow, had managed to bring the river down upon him. Belgad supposed he would never know, dying in black wetness beneath the Asylum. He told himself it was a stupid death. He should have died on a battlefield far from the city of Bond, perhaps back in his homeland. But it was too late for that now. Death was here and it was not honorable.

***

The rumbling and shaking told those on the Asylum’s ground floor that something terribly wrong was going on beneath their feet. A few of the weaker inmates fell to the floor of their cells from the quaking. Several of the guards had panicked looks in their eyes. Even Shaltros, generally the sturdiest of men, began to fear.

Vitman no longer grinned. “
He opened the river door.”

Randall was kneeling over Trelvigor again, making sure the wizard was asleep. At the old man’s words he stood and grabbed the chief guard by the front of his jacket. “How much time do we have?”

Shaltros shook his head as if unsure. “
It could be minutes before this level is flooded. There’ll be hundreds killed. All the guards and prisoners on the lower level ... and likely some up here.”

Randall’s mind raced. There had to be something he could do, some way to save as many lives as possible. Randall Tendbones, the healer from Kobalos, had not fled the evil of his homeland only to allow further death wherever he may roam.

Randall reached inside his white cloak and his fingers grazed the gold ring he had kept in his pocket since its discovery by Belgad. Randall did not have the power to hold back the tide of water he could hear rumbling through the tunnels below, but the ring did. The danger was that the ring might kill as many as it would save. The healer didn’t know the limits or drawbacks of the ring because he had rarely used it, and then only in emergencies. The ring drew its strength from the life force of those near it, and it could use that power to its own ends if the mage wielding it were not strong enough to control it. It was possible many might die by Randall’s use of the ring, and then there was the fact that using the ring alerted Lord Verkain of the ring’s whereabouts; the Kobalan tyrant would then find it an easy task to track down the ring’s wearer. Randall did not like that notion. He also didn’t like that hundreds of people would be dead unless someone took action, and he seemed to be the only someone with the power to do so.

The healer slipped the ring onto a finger.

The ground shook harder. A few of the guards, including old Vitman, panicked and ran for the iron cage in front of the exit.

“
Open the gate and the door,” Shaltros ordered the guards inside the cage.

Randall stepped away from Trelvigor to face the hallway Belgad and his guards had run down only minutes before. He raised his hands flat to the air, as if he were pushing on an invisible wall.

“
I call upon the power of Kobalos within this ring to do my bidding.” Randall’s words came deep from within his narrow chest, but the roar of the water and the growing disquiet among the guards and inmates drowned out anyone’s chances of hearing him speak.

At first nothing happened. Randall closed his eyes and focused his thoughts on the people surrounding him and the others he had seen in the Asylum. It was the darkest of magics he was attempting, magics that normally turned his stomach, but he would dare to use them in hope of saving as many lives as possible.

The ground began to shake again.

Vitman shrieked. “
The water’s not causing that!”

Shaltros pulled the gate to the cage open and stared with fear at the old man. “By Ashal, the floor’s giving way.”

With the chief guard’s words, the panic in the guards and inmates exploded. Nearly everyone not locked in a cell charged toward the open cage.

“
Get that door open!” Shaltros shouted as he pushed past a guard and lunged for the front exit.

Randall stood his ground as the building around him trembled, the stone floor and walls creaking and growling in protest of the pressures being placed upon them. The young healer knew the stress on the structure did not all come from the roiling waters below his feet; he was responsible, with the aid of the magic of his homeland.

A guard managed to unlock the front door and Shaltros shoved it open, spilling himself into the mud outside. A second later he was trampled by a guard running out the exit. Shaltros pushed up on his hands, but was shoved down by the next guard rushing out to freedom. The chief guard was forced onto his face in the mud. As a steady stream of Asylum inmates and guards stormed out of the building, the chief guard found he was not able to breath.

Shaltros was the first to die, suffocated by soggy earth that filled his nose and mouth.

While dust and pebbles from the ceiling peppered the floor, those still lurching for the freedom of the front door were jammed together and fighting for escape.

Randall’s face showed his disgust at using the ring and the strain of reaching out with his mind to the souls of those around him. The ones fleeing were close enough to not escape the magical pull of the ring, though they would not know it until the workings of the magic were finished.

Randall mentally asked the spirits of his fathers for whatever aid they could send. Coming from a land where Lord Verkain was worshiped as a living god, Randall had never been a follower of the almighty Ashal, but his mind reached out to the god of Ursia in hopes it would do some good. The ring was doing something, Randall could tell, but so far he had not been able to make it do what he needed. The healer’s faith in the magic of the golden band began to wane.

Without warning the floor in the center of the main room erupted in a fountain of water and flying stone. A giant geyser shot forth from the explosion, the huge ray of water bursting upward and crashing into the ceiling three stories above to shatter a monstrous hole through to the outside. Stones, timber and roof tiles plummeted to the ground, killing many before settling in the water spilling across the floor.

A falling brick knocked Randall aside. He landed on his hands and slid on the floor covered by several inches of water. He turned over and looked about the room at the destruction being wrought.

Death was everywhere. Screaming men continued to fight near the front door in desperate attempts at escape. The gigantic geyser continued to shoot forth from the basement, spraying the interior of the Asylum. Many of those still in the building lost their footing and fell into the growing waters to drown or to tumble into the pit created by the eruption. Debris from the ceiling continued to rain down, killing some and injuring others so they were unable to save themselves.

Vitman lay motionless near the open gate of the cage. His gray hair flowed around his face, blood from a gash to his forehead spilling out to join the waters. Randall hadn’t seen the man die. The healer wondered if anyone would care about the old man’s death, if the guard had had any family or friends. Who was there to tell?

Trelvigor too appeared dead. The wizard lay where the guards had spilled him onto the floor, his gray patient’s robe billowing in the waters. A board of lumber nearly as long as the wizard was tall protruded from his chest. Randall pondered Trelvigor’s death. Would the wizard die without anyone caring?

Horror covered the healer’s face. However much damage the flooding waters would have caused, it should not have been this bad. The power of the ring had done this, calling upon the spiritual power of those around the Asylum to wreak its havoc. Tears sprang to Randall’s eyes. He should have known better than to use the ring. It had only brought about more death.

The healer raised a hand and stared at the large gold band that rested on one of his fingers. Everything from Kobalos caused chaos. He promised himself he would never use it again.

Then something hit Randall from above and he was knocked into the rising water.

Chapter Twenty Two

“
By Ashal.”

They were the only words Sergeant Gris could use to describe the scene before him. He could only imagine his god having the power to cause the destruction that lay before him at the Asylum. It was beyond his experience, beyond anything he could conceive. He lived in a world of magic and in a nation where magic was legal and sometimes on display, but nothing this extravagant had been known in the city of Bond in a generation, since the war with the East.

From inside the grounds’ walls, the sergeant’s eyes followed the huge stream of muddy water that blasted from the roof of the Asylum’s main structure.

Chunks of the roof shot forth and rained down upon the growing number of gawkers on the street in front of the Asylum’s front gate. Rain also continued to fall, making the ground more of a mess, but it did not deter the crowds. More and more citizens of the Swamps slunk out of their houses to see what was happening at the strange building. Those who had survived the flooding of the Asylum ran their mouths, spreading stories as soon as they were safe among others again.

Outside the wall enclosing the grounds, a line of survivors had been laid out in the mud. A few had been injured from falling debris or the powerful waters, but a large number had succumbed to fatigue, many having a difficult time breathing.

Surveying the damage, Gris did not know what to believe. He had been behind a desk when the first calls of alarm had come to the Swamps barracks. The sergeant had wasted no time rounding up a group of men, climbing aboard his horse and galloping to the Asylum. What he saw caused him stunned disbelief as he stared at the building from horseback.

“
Where is he?” The concerned voice came from behind the sergeant.

Gris recognized the speaker. It was Stilp, one of Belgad’s lieutenants. The sergeant of the guard turned in his saddle to stare at the gate of the Asylum’s wall where Stilp stood with Spider, their clothes and hair drenched. A handful of city guards Gris had stationed at the gate kept out the curious lined up several yards back from the wall, stretching their necks to peer through the gate.

Gris pointed at Belgad’s men and yelled to his men,
“
Let them through!”

A guard nodded, then waved for Stilp and Spider to enter the Asylum’s grounds.

Belgad’s two employees scurried and slid across the muddy ground to the sergeant.

Stilp’s gaze remained stuck upon the mass of water shooting from atop the building. “
What in hell happened?”

Gris spun around his horse to face the scene again. “
I don’t know. I just arrived myself.”

Spider, his face filled with awe and shock, moved to one side of the sergeant’s horse. “
Is anyone alive?”

Gris nodded outside the walls to the survivors on the ground. “
There were some guards and a handful of inmates who escaped.”

“
Is Belgad alive?” Stilp’s voice held genuine concern.

“
Was he
here
?” Gris pointed at the Asylum.

Stilp glanced up at the sergeant, his eyes wet, though it was impossible to tell if tears were flowing or if the waters were caused by the drizzling rain. “
They brought Trelvigor.”

Gris stood in his stirrups, as if it would allow him a better site of the Asylum’s main building. “
My apologies, but I have seen no sign of your master.”

“
Damn it,” Stilp said, kicking at the ground and spraying mud. “Lalo should be here. He’d know what to do.”

The sergeant sat once more and looked down from his saddle. “
Where is he?”

Spider slid around in the mud to stand next to Stilp again. “
He sent us, saying Belgad would want him to remain at the mansion.”

Gris nodded and stared back at the Asylum. “The Finder’s probably right.”

Stilp looked up to the sergeant. “Aren’t you going to do anything?”

“
I’ve sent message to the College of Magic, but my men aren’t going in there. At least not until this ... water tower ... is done away with. It’s too dangerous.”

Stilp grabbed the reins of Gris’s horse. “You’ve got to do something. You’re a sergeant of the city guard. You have to make sure Belgad is alright.”

Gris did not like Stilp, and might have slapped the man at another time, but the little man’s face told where his concerns lay. Stilp was worried about his master. “I’m sorry, but we’ll have to wait for a mage.”

“
Then it’s a good thing I’m here.” It was another familiar voice.

Gris turned in his saddle again, this time to see the wizard Markwood marching toward him.

The sergeant’s shoulders visibly sagged from relief. “
Thank Ashal you’ve arrived.”

Wading through the mud with the bottom of his robes drenched and soiled, the old mage passed the three men and continued on his way up the hill. “Sergeant, I suggest you pull back to the gate.”

Gris took the wizard’s words seriously and turned his horse around. Belgad’s two men did not move.

Stilp motioned toward the wizard.
“
What are you going to do?”

“
What do you think?” Markwood did not look back, but kept on marching. “I’m going to clean up this mess.”

***

The heavy front door of the Asylum swung on its hinges to greet Markwood as he approached. The old wizard nearly gagged from the sight of bodies strewn in the entrance, piled upon one another as men had made their final desperate bids for freedom. It had been years since Markwood had witnessed such death, since the great war between the East and West, but it never ceased to shake him mentally.

The wizard paused in front of the doorway next to a dead man wearing the clothes of an Asylum guard. The body was face down in the mud.

Markwood peered through the open door. The interior was dark since the torches had been drenched by the column of water shooting up from the floor. The immense tear in the ceiling provided some light, but the spraying water blocked out most of the gray sky.

The wizard took a step forward, into the giant entrance cage. He sensed no movement nor other signs of life. Even the prisoners on the upper levels, safe from the flooding, were unmoving in their cells. The only sound was the gush of the water tower.

The old mage advanced through the cage’s open gate and found himself walking in several inches of water. He ignored the mild discomfort as his eyes moved from body to body. There were dead everywhere, some alone and some in piles. Many had been trampled in a rush to escape while some appeared to have been struck down by debris from the roof. Others did not appear wounded at all, but had fallen apparently uninjured. Markwood surmised the unwounded had been slain by the powerful magics he had sensed from the university; the emanation had been so strong he wouldn’t be surprised if other mages would soon appear. Magic of the most powerful sorts had a tendency to draw attention.

“
Maslin.” It was a weak voice.

The old wizard scanned the bodies floating around him in the shallow water.

“
Over here,” the voice said.

Markwood turned in the direction of the words and spotted Randall on his back in the water. Across the healer and holding him to the ground was a long slab of lumber from the ceiling.

“
How badly are you hurt?” The old wizard moved closer looked over his friend. Randall appeared weak and was only able to hold his head a few inches above the water, but otherwise seemed unharmed. The piece of wood held him, but did not look to have caused any major damage.

“
Not seriously.” Randall gave a thin smile. “This board landed on top of me, but I don’t think anything’s broken.”

“
Help me lift if you can.” Markwood leaned over the young man and tried to pull on the board.

At first the beam would not budge, but after a few seconds of heaving the two mages managed to roll the lumber off Randall.

Markwood gripped the healer by the shoulders and lifted him to his feet.

“
I feared I would find you here,” Markwood said as steadied the healer. “What was worse, I feared I would find you dead.”

Randall no longer grinned. Markwood watched the young man stare at the bodies drifting throughout the waters filling the Asylum floor. The wizard could feel the lad’s shame, his inadequacy and smallness.

With eyes glazed, Randall stared at the water swirling around his feet. “
The ring killed as many as the flood. It was the only thing I could think to do. One of the guards apparently opened a door in the basement and flooded the building. I was trying to save lives. I should have known better.”

The wizard’s brows knitted together. “
The ring can’t be trusted, and now Verkain knows your whereabouts. He could be here any moment.”

Randall remained silent as Markwood watched the unbelief on the boy’s face. The amount of death dealt out by the ring was staggering. The wizard figured there had to be at least a hundred killed.

Tears formed at the corners of Randall’s eyes.

Markwood glanced around the large room, his eyes finally coming to rest on the huge water column continuing to shoot for the sky.

Randall followed the wizard’s gaze. “Can you end this?”

Markwood waved a finger at the rising waters and muttered ancient words.

The tower of wet crashed like a waterfall, causing a huge splash that sprayed throughout the chamber. The muddy fluid continued to roil in the large hole in the floor, but after a few moments all was quiet in the Asylum.

Randall fought back more tears with a sniffle. “
I wish I could take it back.”

“
There’s many a thing I wish I could undo,” Markwood said, wrapping a comforting arm around the younger man’s shoulders, “but dealing with life is a sign of maturity. You are not a boy any longer and you live in a dangerous world. It is time you started thinking about your options, about your future. We can’t have events like this in Bond, but I would worry too much if you should leave.”

“
Verkain.” Randall spoke the word in a whisper.

“
Yes, Verkain, and if I’m not mistaken, he’s likely got a wizard or two on their way here, if he’s not coming himself. At the least, he’ll be watching the city now.”

Randall looked into his friend’s face. “I’ll go into hiding.”

“
And what if Verkain tears the city apart looking for you?” Markwood gently steered the young man toward the exit. He wanted to get Randall somewhere safe, and to make sure the healer was not at the Asylum if Verkain or one of his agents should make an appearance.

“
If Verkain shows, I’ll surrender to him.” Randall could no longer fight back the tears. The water in his eyes turned to a stream rolling down his face. “There’s no reason more lives should be lost.”

Markwood hugged the man who was little more than a boy. He could imagine the guilt Randall felt at having killed so many through use of the ring, and he hoped a good crying would relieve some of the pain the healer was feeling. Something as tragic as this could break Randall, Markwood knew, but the young were often resolute at survival.

“
What the hell is there to cry about?” It was a rough voice.

Randall and Markwood turned to the speaker.

Belgad the Liar, drenched and wearing more than a few bruises and scrapes, stood in the center of the hallway that led to the stairs and the lower level. Most of Belgad’s clothing had been torn away, leaving him with only tattered rags around his waist. Otherwise, the huge man looked as if he were ready for battle.

Randall stopped crying and his eyes brightened. “
You’re alive.”

Belgad threw his head back and laughed to the dark sky seen through the hole in the roof.
“
Of course I’m alive. It takes more than a little water to bring down Belgad Thunderclan.”

Confusion rolled over Randall’s features. “
How?”

“
I don’t know.” Belgad shrugged, smiling. “One moment I was chasing Darkbow, and the next the world was turned upside down and I’m swimming in darkness.”

Markwood dropped his arm from the healer’s shoulders and took a step nearer the Dartague. “
Kron Darkbow?”

Belgad surveyed the room and spotted his dead mage. “Trelvigor pointed him out. Apparently Darkbow was a guard at the Asylum. A decent hiding place, I suppose, among the other lunatics.”

Randall shivered as he too noticed the blank face of the dead Trelvigor. “
One of the guards said something about a door in the basement that led to the river.”

“
Darkbow must have opened it thinking he would escape, but I suppose it sealed his fate.”

Markwood gestured to the northerner. “
How did you survive?”