City of Rogues: Book I of the Kobalos Trilogy (3 page)

He was soon glad to notice the Dartague let the remark go.

Belgad pointed to the healer. “
You still haven’t told me how long it would take to work your magic.”

“
About three weeks.”

“
How long until he can talk?”

“
A couple of weeks, perhaps longer.” Randall shrugged. “The inside of his mouth was seared, his tongue nearly gone, and his lungs have been singed.”

“
You can ... grow back his tongue?”

“
That’s why it will take at least a couple of weeks before he can talk.” Randall motioned toward the room where Trelvigor lay in a stupor. “The magic needed to grow major tissue or organs is quite straining. I’m afraid I won’t be doing much other work for a month or so.”

Belgad stood, showing the conversation was at an end. “That is why you have other healers.” The large man moved toward the door.

One of the guards opened the portal, but the northerner paused and turned back to the healer. “Let me know when he can speak.”

“
Yes, my lord.” Randall watched the three men exit his chamber.

Chapter Three

The boy was only twelve, but he knew an opportunity when he saw it. From between two fruit stalls he spied Ezra the baker’s shop across the way of the bazaar’s central path.

Ezra had been foolish to leave a window open, and Ezra had been foolish to leave a loaf of nut bread cooling in the window. Ezra could expect to lose a little business that day.

The boy glanced from side to side. It was morning and the bazaar wasn’t at its busiest, but a number of hawkers and early customers were on the streets. No one seemed to notice the lad in grimy rags kneeling between two stalls.

He glanced at the cooling loaf of bread again. It would be so easy. He could dart across cobbled stones and snag his breakfast, then it would be zig, zag, zoom! And he’d be gone. No one would know from where he had come and no one would know where he had gone.

He licked his lips. He could already feel the warmth of the bread on his tongue. It was time for breakfast.

The boy took a step.

A boot slid between his feet.

He dropped hard, his quick hands all that saved him from a broken nose.

Before he could roll over, a hand clamped on the back of his shirt and yanked him to his feet.

The boy tried to run, but he was held in a grip of iron and his struggles soon ceased.

He twisted his head to stare at a gloved hand that led up to a man in a deerskin tabard. He was tall, with dusty boots rising to his knees. A leather vest covered a linen shirt and a long, tan cloak hung from his back. The clothes were those of a man who spent much time in the woods or on the roads, but they were clean and in good condition. Also, the sizable sword on the fellow’s left hip told the boy this was someone he should take seriously.

The man nodded across the way to the baker's shop.
“
Looked as if you were about to have breakfast.”

The boy had learned early in his young life to read human character, and he knew right away this man was no fool. It would be stupid to lie. “A good breakfast it would have been, too, without your intrusion.”

The man pointed to their right past a line of booths to the edge of a stone warehouse. “Two city guards around that corner,” he said, then pointed to their left between another row of stalls, “and a member of the beggars’ guild up that way. He probably would not like you scaring off his business. I think I saved you a bit of trouble.”

The stranger released his grip on the youth.

The boy thought about running, but his curiosity got the best of him. He wanted to know how he had been caught. He was sure there had been no one near him mere seconds before.
“
Where’d you come from just now?”

The man chuckled. “That corner.” He jabbed a thumb behind them to a dark spot aft of a fruit stall. “I was sitting on a crate finishing my breakfast when you showed. If you’re going to have a future as a thief, you’re going to have to learn to read your surroundings better.”

“
I’m no thief!”

The man chuckled again. “You were about to pay for that loaf of bread?”

The boy pouted. He would have stuffed his hands in his pockets, but his ragged pants didn’t have any pockets.

Towering over the youth, the man showed no signs of allowing the boy to flee without answering questions. “
What’s your name, boy?”

“
Why should I tell you?”

A smile remained on the stranger’s lips, but not in his eyes. “Because I’m asking, and in polite society, one generally gives one’s name when asked.”

“
Who says we’re in polite society? Anyway, I don’t know you.”

“
I am Lucius Tallerus,” the man said with a polite nod of his head. “Now you.”

The boy bit his bottom lip. He didn’t like giving his name to this man. The fellow seemed almost as if he were a member of the city guard. The lad didn’t think he was in trouble, but he didn’t want to take any chances. Still, there was no use in putting off the inevitable.

“
Wyck.”

The grin on Lucius’s lips grew wider, but his stern eyes were not blinking. “Try again. Your real name.”

“
I don’t know my real name.” The boy was telling the truth. “I never knew my mom and dad, but on the streets they call me Wyck.”

Some of the cold fled from the man’s eyes as he pulled a small leather sack from beneath his tabard. He opened it with one hand, retrieved three silver coins and held them out. “Take these.”

The boy’s eyes were wide as he stared at the coins.

Lucius’s gloved hand moved a little closer to the boy, the coins in his palm. “I want you to buy some food and new clothes. And I want you to get a room off the streets, at least for the night.”

Wyck’s eyes darted from the coins to the man’s face. “I’m not doing anything
sick
for you. I might be living on the streets, but I’m not desperate.”

The grin returned to Lucius’s face. “I didn’t mean anything of the sorts. The coins are for you, then we part ways if you wish.”

Confusion was plain on the boy’s face. “Why are you doing this?”

He saw a glazed look come over the man’s eyes. “Because I lived on these streets for a while when I was about your age.”

Lucius's voice showed he was telling the truth.

The boy lifted the coins.

Lucius pointed to the money. “
There can be more of those.”

It was Wyck’s turn to smile. “How?”

“
I take it you spend most of your time here in the Swamps.”

The lad nodded.

“
Then you are someone who hears things,” Lucius said, scanning their surroundings as if making sure no one else was listening, “someone who knows things.”

“
I hear enough.”

“
Good, because that’s how you can earn my silver.” Lucius stared at the lad again. “I want you to be my eyes and ears on the streets. If there’s news or gossip, let me know.”

Wyck stared at the coins in his hand. “That’s easy enough.”

“
Off with you, then. I’ve business to attend to.”

The boy turned and ran as fast as his legs would carry him. His mind was already filling with fruit-filled pastries and sugar candies.

He pulled to a halt after a dozen steps and turned to see the man still standing next to the stall.
“
How do I find you?”

“
You know the Rusty Scabbard?”

Wyck nodded again. He was familiar with the tavern.

“
Leave word for me there.”

With that the boy rushed off.

Once the youth was gone down an alley, Lucius turned to his right. He had been telling the truth about the two city guards, and he needed to ask directions of them.

***

The blackened shell that had been the home of Trelvigor the wizard was little more than smoking walls and rubble by morning. Even the mansion’s tower had fallen once the wooden roof of the main structure had collapsed.

It was the job of Sergeant Gris to clean up the mess. It was not a job he enjoyed, but it was not one he detested. It was merely another task to be performed among the steady stream of tasks he dealt with daily.

Soon after the sun was above the remainder of the wizard’s mansion, Gris and three of his men were overseeing a crew of workers who had been pulled from various jobs around the city to attend to the burnt building. Someone from another division of the city’s bureaucracy would normally be in charge of such an operation, but the mayor had wanted the Guard there because of the nature of the building. It had been a wizard’s home and could present untold dangers. Gris believed any dangers would have gone up in flames, but he didn’t question what he was told to do.

Wheelbarrows were lined up in front of the mansion’s remains as workers loaded them with pieces of blackened wood and stone that had fallen outside of the residence proper. The inside of the structure was still too hot for anyone to enter, but the crew was cleaning as best it could.

Gris turned to face the street. There were still some gawkers, most fresh awake though a few looked haggard enough to have been there all night.

Surveying the surroundings, the sergeant was grateful the fire had been on Mages Way. The street’s width would make it easier for a crew to move in with cranes to dismantle the leftovers and clear away the rubble. Trelvigor wasn’t able to talk, but Gris couldn’t imagine the mage would argue about tearing down the building. There was nothing to save.

Movement in the back of the crowd caused the sergeant to shift his gaze, and he spotted a man making his way toward him through the pedestrians. He recognized the tall, sturdy fellow dressed in tanned deer skins and leathers.

The sergeant’s lips formed into a grin.
“
By Ashal, Lucius Tallerus.” He marched forward with a hand outstretched.

Lucius returned the sergeant’s firm grip with a smile of his own.

“
You’re a long way from the Prisonlands,” Gris said as their hands parted. “What brought you here?”

“
Looking for you.”

“
Busy this morning.” Gris nodded toward the shell of a building. “But nothing I can’t break away from for a few minutes. How’d you find me?”

“
A clerk at the central barracks told me where you were stationed.” Lucius pointed at the remains of Trelvigor’s mansion. “What happened here?”

Gris glanced at the rising smoke. “Wizard’s house caught fire last night. We don’t know what caused it yet, and the wizard’s in no shape to answer questions.”

“
I guess there’s not much a dead man can tell you.”

“
He’s not dead.”

Lucius pointed at the house again. “He lived through that?”

“
Managed to make his way to the front door.” Gris shrugged as if almost disbelieving. “When he was pulled out, he wasn’t much more than a husk. One of the local healers thinks he can have him back on his feet in a few weeks.”

“
Is that why the city guard are involved?”

“
Usually we’re not in on this sort of thing,” Gris said, nodding as they walked away from the crowd into the center of Mages Way, “but it was a wizard, and a body was found in the rubble of the house’s tower.”

“
Servant?”

Gris shrugged again. “
To everyone’s knowledge, the wizard lived alone, and this wizard didn’t have too many friends. We’ll look into it best we can, but I’ll have to wait until the wizard’s in better shape before I can find out what happened.

“
Anyway, what can I do for you?”

“
I’m seeking work.”

“
What about the wardens?”

“
I resigned.” Lucius's words drew a look of surprise. “My uncle passed away about six months ago.”

“
Sorry to hear about Kuthius. He was a damn fine warden. What happened to him?”

“
Hard living and old age.”

Gris chuckled, thinking about the tough old man who had been Lucius Tallerus’s uncle. Kuthius Tallerus had lived hard. He had been a border warden for the Prisonlands nearly all his life, and that job meant hard living in the woods while catching some of the toughest and deadliest of men. Most wardens were young, in their twenties, and few lived long enough or kept the job long enough to make it into their thirties. Gris guessed Kuthius must have been in his mid-fifties and had probably been a border warden for close to forty years. Gris himself had retired when he had turned thirty only four years earlier, and he had no qualms about giving up the life.

“
He should have retired long ago.” The words came almost as if Lucius could read the sergeant's thoughts. “After he was gone, I figured it was time to move on.”

Gris slapped his friend on the back. “If there was ever a fellow meant to be a border warden, it was you, Lucius. You were one of the best. I’m surprised the captains didn’t try to keep you by making you a better offer.”

“
Who says they didn’t?”

The two laughed together.

“
It’s good to see you again, but tell me what kind of work you’re looking for.” The sergeant gripped the handle of the sword at his waist and shifted it to a more comfortable position. “I’m guessing a soldier or guard’s position. Or how about hunting? You’re the best tracker I’ve ever seen.”

“
I’d prefer something in town.”

“
Guard work it is, then.” Gris paused and stared out over the heads of the crowd still watching the work crew. “We don’t have anything open with the city right now, but that can change any time. However, the Western church is always looking for guards.”

“
I’d prefer to work for more than food and a cot.”