City of Rogues: Book I of the Kobalos Trilogy (21 page)

Belgad chuckled again. “By pure luck, or the fortunes of Ashal. It was dark, but I remembered the general direction of the stairs. I reached out and got lucky, snagging the corner of a wall. I managed to pull myself up. Then that big geyser erupted and threw me to the top of the steps.”

“
It was a spell from Trelvigor that caused all this,” Markwood lied, sparing Randall embarrassment or worse. “Apparently Trelvigor cast the spell after you ran into the basement. He was after Darkbow himself, it seems.”

“
Such is his fate,” Belgad said, watching his dead wizard floating in shallow water.

Randall eased around Markwood to face the Liar. “
What about Kron Darkbow?”

Belgad shrugged again. “
Likely swept into the river. Probably dead, as I’d say are my guards.”

Markwood put an arm around Randall’s shoulders once more and began to move the young man toward the exit again. “There’ll be time to talk more on this later. For now, we had better get the two of you looked over by a healer.”

As they exited the Asylum, Markwood could still see the heartache Randall was suffering. The wizard knew the youth couldn’t fully comprehend that he had killed so many, and all through efforts of trying to do what he thought was right. Markwood feared Randall would not remain in Bond much longer. Lord Verkain would be looking for the young healer, and Verkain would only bring more death to the city. The wizard knew Randall would never allow himself to be a part of that.

Chapter Twenty Three

The man who rose from the murky waters would never again think of himself as Lucius Tallerus. He would be Kron Darkbow forever.

His survival had been as much luck as that of Belgad the Liar, but Kron also was an excellent swimmer. Having been taught by his late uncle Kuthius in the rivers of the Prisonlands, he had been trained to hold his breath for long periods of time under water. The initial rush of the river into the tunnel had knocked him against a wall, then sent him tumbling into one of Belgad’s guards. Together the two men had been pushed further into the depths of the Asylum’s basement. Death loomed, but a miracle had occurred. Just before Kron would have blacked out, the waters receded, rushing back toward the river and flowing into other parts of the Asylum. Kron did not know what had forced back the flow, but he had been grateful for the return of air to his lungs. He could not see in the dark basement, though he knew he was entangled with the bodies of other men. Kron had thought himself safe for the moment, but that had proved an illusion. The waters soon rushed back in upon him, this time dragging him and the bodies along. Then had followed a cold, swirling darkness that Kron was sure meant his doom. A last gulp of air before being pulled under was all that saved him.

When he saw light again, it was above him through a tawny haze. Still fighting churning water, he pushed for the light as strong as his legs would kick. His rising seemed forever, but eventually he burst through to the surface of the North River. In the distance stood the back of the Asylum’s wall beneath a dark, stormy sky. Above the Asylum a giant fountain of water had sprung forth, spraying the top of the building and the grounds.

From that point it had merely been a choice, to die wet and tired in the river or to push toward shore. He chose the shore. After what felt an eternity of swimming, his legs almost cramping on him several times, he climbed into the cold mud.

Kron collapsed in a soggy brambles, thorns cutting the skin of his hands and arms. He sank to the ground, covering half his face with mud, but it did not matter. What mattered was that he was alive. He was Kron Darkbow and he lived, ready to strike at Belgad again.

He tried to push himself up with his hands and winced at sharp pains that shot through his ribs. He plopped down in the mud again to rest. He knew he had probably broken several ribs because he could feel them grinding together beneath his skin.

His eyes closed against his will. His body had been abused and he needed the sleep. It would be long hours before he woke, and then his body would be stiff and sore. Until then, however, he rested in the muck.

***

By late afternoon Belgad had returned home. Despite his exhilaration at the events of the day, he was still businessman enough to know there were serious questions needing answered. To this end, he called Lalo, Stilp, Adara and Spider to his library on the second floor of his mansion.

Stilp and Spider were readily available as they had been witness to their employer walking out of the ruined Asylum with his arms stretched to the sky while yelling, exhilarated at being alive.

On the other hand, Adara did not want to leave the side of Fortisquo, who was still unconscious. Normally Randall or another healer of the tower would have woken the slumbering sword master after healing, but the wet day had been a busy one for the healers and Markwood had insisted Randall was too fatigued to attempt any magic. Stilp had pleaded with Adara, his argument being she was one of the few people who had actually fought Kron Darkbow and thus was needed for Belgad’s parley. The woman had eventually gone grudgingly, mostly because there was little she could do for Fortisquo.

“
Darkbow is likely dead,” Belgad said to begin the gathering, “but in case he has survived, we need to be prepared.”

Adara sat next to the burning fireplace, her features hidden by shadow. “
What makes you think he lives?”

Belgad grunted. “
If I survived,
he
could survive.”

Stilp and Spider nodded agreement as they sat next to one another in chairs in front of Belgad’s desk. Lalo watched quietly from his usual spot near one of the two library exits.

“
Possible, but not likely.” Adara leaned into the firelight, revealing her troubled features. “You and the healer were the only two to walk out of the Asylum alive.”

“
Some guards and a handful of inmates escaped, but there was something more going on in that place than just the water geyser. I felt some kind of magic. It was like a tugging at the heart, at the soul. I saw plenty of bodies in the Asylum, and not all of them had drowned.”

Stilp sat up. “
Why would you be spared?”

Belgad shrugged. “Strength of will, perhaps? I know little of magic other than it sometimes doesn’t work well on the strong of mind.”

Spider nodded agreement. “But w
hat does all this destruction mean?”

“
Nothing.” Adara eased into shadow again. “It was merely a happenstance of Trelvigor’s conjuring.”

Belgad placed his hands flat on his desk. “
Perhaps, but that was powerful magery, something I think beyond our poor Trelvigor.”

“
He was mad in the end,” Adara pointed out. “His madness might have given him strength.”

“
Another option would be the healer.” Lalo the Finder spoke for the first time since the group had gathered.

All eyes turned to him.

“
As a healer, he is a mage,” Lalo went on, “and we know that ring of his has unknown properties.”

Belgad glanced to the Finder. “
According to Markwood, it was Trelvigor, and I have no reason to doubt his word.”

Lalo stared back unblinking, as if to make a point. “
He is a friend of the healer. Friendship can make one do much worse than lie.”

Belgad nodded his agreement. “True, but it seems unimportant,” he said, attempting to get the conversation back on his track. “The source of the magical fiasco today is not at question, unless it was magic Darkbow somehow produced, but there has been no evidence the man was a mage.”

“
So, you’re only concern here is Kron Darkbow?” The voice from the dark was Adara’s.

“
Not necessarily, but he is my main concern.” Belgad turned to face Stilp. “Did you have a chance to speak with other survivors?”

“
Yes, sir. They told me the guard Trelvigor pointed out as Kron Darkbow went by the name Lucius Tallerus, and Sergeant Gris helped him get his job at the Asylum.”

“
Tallerus?” Belgad said, more to himself than the others in the room. He recognized the name. It sounded Lycinian, or possibly Truscan. That Gris had helped this Tallerus was also a bit of a surprise.

“
Spider, I want you to find Sergeant Gris,” Belgad ordered. “Ask him here tonight for dinner.”

“
Yes, master.”

“
Now.” Belgad motioned for the small man to leave.

Once Spider was gone, the Dartague turned his attention back to the matter at hand. “The name Tallerus rings a bell with me. Does anyone recognize it?”

Lalo coughed. Again, all eyes turned to him.

The Finder moved nearer the desk. “
Kuthius Tallerus was a Prisonlands border warden when you were released.”

Belgad’s eyes widened in recollection.
“I remember him.
He spoke with the Chief Councilor, trying to have my knighthood nullified. Good gods, that’s been years. I had nearly forgotten.”

“
But
the Chief Councilor would not rule against the church,” Lalo continued for his benefactor.

“
Yes. Correct.” Belgad nodded. “Then Kuthius tried the Western pope.”

The northerner’s face grew dark and Lalo knew there was no need to further the story of Kuthius Tallerus. Kuthius and a handful of other wardens had tried to halt Belgad’s release from the Lands. In a bid to drive fear into the wardens, Belgad had sent Trelvigor to threaten Tallerus’s family, Kuthius’s brother with wife and child. Trelvigor had turned a simple robbery into a massacre, killing the merchant named Marcus and his wife Aurelia. The couple’s young son had gone missing, thought dead on the streets of Bond.

Belgad’s eyes went wide. “
He’s their son. Marcus and Aurelia’s son.”

Lalo nodded.

Adara leaned into the light once more. “
Who are they? And who is this son?”

“
They were an example I made a long time ago during my bloodier days,” Belgad explained without details. “It would seem their son is Kron Darkbow, and he has sought revenge against me fifteen years later. Trelvigor should have made sure the pup was dead.”

Stilp appeared confused. “
Where in hell could he have learned all those skills?”

Belgad’s fingers drummed on his desk’s surface. “
His uncle was a Prisonlands warden. Plenty of soldiers from across the continents are stationed there as part of the treaty with the East. They have a tendency to share their skills. It seems Darkbow learned much.”

Adara sat forward further, on the edge of her seat as if ready to leave. “
What do you want of me? I’ve sat here and listened to your little story about this Tallerus fellow who might or might not have been Kron Darkbow, but so far you’ve not given me anything to do.”

“
It should be quite obvious, my dear,” Belgad said with a grin. “After I speak with the good sergeant, I want you to use your vast skills to make sure Kron Darkbow is dead. Do you think you can handle that?”

Adara did not know what to say.

***

Kron woke to more darkness. For a moment he thought he was still under water or even dead, sentenced to a hell of eternal blackness. Then the muscles of his face formed into a grin. He had no reason to fear the darkness. The darkness was his friend, an ally against his enemies.

After a few moments, his eyes adjusted and he could see stars overhead. Night had fallen while he had slept.

He tried to push up on his hands again, and found the pain swimming in his ribs was nearly more than he could bear. Yes, he had broken something, probably several ribs. He managed to roll over on his side then sit up gently. He winced at the pain that ran through his body, but he knew he had to do something. He was lucky Belgad or some other official person had not ordered a search for survivors along the river because he would have been found. His luck had held out, and now it was time for action. However, he knew he wasn’t ready to jump back into his personal war. To get to that point he would have to heal.

Kron Darkbow needed help. But that presented a problem. He had never allowed anyone to know his secret, that Lucius Tallerus was Kron Darkbow and that Kron had sworn revenge against Belgad the Liar for the murder of his parents. Trelvigor had been the original target, but Kron had shifted his rage after hearing Trelvigor’s words that Belgad had been behind the assassination. Kron did not know why the Tallerus family had been murdered, but he knew he could set things as right as they could be after so many years. Dreams of his parents, both struck down by flying bolts from crossbows, had haunted him for fifteen years. He could still hear their cries of pain and then see the lifelessness of their unblinking eyes.

Kron pulled his legs beneath his body and forced himself to stand. It was all he could do not to scream. After tears of anguish cleared from his eyes, he could tell in the moonlight that his ribs were not his only injuries. Cuts and bruises covered his body and a long gash ran the length of his right leg.

He could barely walk. It hurt to move. He was barely even dressed, most of his guard’s garb having been torn away by the swirling river.

There was only one person who might be willing to help him, but it could cost him some coin. And any wealth he had was at his room in the Rusty Scabbard.

Kron did not think he should try to make it to his room at the tavern. Belgad or Gris could have guards stationed in the inn. They probably believed him dead, but Belgad was smart enough not to make many mistakes. If Belgad had survived in the Asylum’s basement, right now he would be finding out as much as he could about Lucius Tallerus.

No, Kron could not risk the Rusty Scabbard. There would have to be someplace else. He needed to make his way to the Frog’s Bottom brothel, but he did not know how he would manage it. First, he would have to find something to hide his features and obvious wounds. A cloak would do. Covered with a cloak he was not likely to draw attention.

Having a plan of action, Kron took his first step toward the Swamps and away from the North River. Pain shot through his body, but pain he could cope with for some while. A second step followed, then a third and a fourth. Within a minute he was walking as fast as his injured, limping body could carry him. As he trudged through the mud that spread bugs and brambles between his toes, he was glad the river had gone down. At least he did not have to swim to The Frog’s Bottom.