City of Rogues: Book I of the Kobalos Trilogy (9 page)

The wizard closed his mind and softly chanted words taught to him a lifetime ago. Markwood knew the words themselves held no power, but the repetition of the chanting kept him focused and allowed his mind to roam free.

He focused outward into the darkness beyond his closed lids.

A tugging feeling came over the wizard as his mental form twisted, making him feel tempered as if he were pulled and flexed by a giant hand grasping at his soul. His mind turned in the direction of Bond, not so very far away. He floated along above the very road he had traveled with donkey and cart. His inner eye blinked and he was before the northern walls of Bond, quickly over and floating above Uptown near the university and Mages Row.

Markwood was stumped, not knowing where to go. He knew little of Kron Darkbow other than a general sense Randall had provided. He was seeking a focus, something to anchor to in hopes of finding the man fond of black.

Markwood went over what little he knew of Kron Darkbow. Randall had said the man dressed all in black and was bent on revenge against Belgad for an unknown cri
me.
Blackness
, Markwood thought,
blackness of the clothes suggested blackness of the soul.
Perhaps it
would be enough.

The wizard closed his mind’s eye and thought of a complete, still darkness. He felt his form swirl from one direction to another, seeking out his subject.

A moment later his inner mind opened. He faced a pair of eyes, red at the rims and full of hate and insanity, a blurred darkness around the edges blocking out everything else.

Markwood retreated within himself. His eyes opened and he came to sitting on the grass. The eyes he had seen sickened Markwood, making his stomach sour.

Had that image of madness had anything to do with Kron Darkbow? The mage hoped not. If so, there was true evil, twisted evil, loose in the city of Bond.

Yet there was no strong evidence Markwood’s vision had been about Darkbow. He had randomly sought out an image, and what he had found had surprised him. That did not mean he was any closer to discovering anything of this Darkbow person.

The old wizard shook himself free of the vision. The most dangerous part of his casting had yet to come. He turned his focus to Kobalos.

After a few minutes of chanting, Markwood’s mind stretched again, reaching far to the north. His mind’s eye looked down upon green fields with horses grazing.
That would be Caballerus
,
Markwood told himself before reining in his senses and moving on. When next his mind opened, he was staring down at rocky crags with white tips. He recognized the mountains and a narrow pass that wound its way through them. He had traveled through this place when he was younger. It was the Needles, the mountain range separating West from East Ursia and other lands.

Markwood closed his inner eye again and moved on. He was getting closer to Kobalos. When next he dared a glance, he saw a land of darkness. The sun shown above, but the lands below were covered in shade. Dreary grasslands stretched to the north to a gray shore hammered by uninviting waves. The wizard had never been to this land, but he recognized it all the same. Such a sad place could only be Kobalos.

Markwood’s soul shivered.

He glanced around, seeking a landmark, and spotted a black outline miles away near the shoreline. Markwood moved toward the spot, his mental form lifting as a bird on the wind. He pulled back when he saw a castle of dark stones surrounded by a high wall of black that reached higher than a tall man would stand.

Markwood surveyed the castle and noted guards in ebon plates roaming its battlements. His mind turned to the wall and found pikes embedded into the dull sand beneath; atop each pike was a skull, some still with flesh clinging or dead eyes gazing from a socket.

A voice boomed. “
Who would dare
?”

The mage retreated, floating above the pale grass surrounding the fortification. He glanced side to side, but saw no source for the voice.

“
You shall pay for your snooping nature!
” The voice was like thunder.

A high wind sprang around Markwood, knocking his ethereal form into a spin and flinging him back.

The voice crashed into being once more, questioning. “
Who has commissioned you to watch my lands?
”

Even in his flustered state, Markwood knew better than to answer. Speaking to the voice would only empower it.

The spinning became worse, hurtling the wizard through the air until he could not focus on his surroundings or his spellcraft.

Then all came to a stop, and darkness deeper than the night sky flooded Markwood’s vision. The old wizard felt himself held still, unable to move even to withdraw into his physical form.

“
Tell me your purpose and your title or you shall suffer the entitlements of the damned.
”

Markwood realized he should have known better to look in upon Kobalos. He had no knowledge of the limits of Verkain’s power. Verkain had enormous magical strength and was rumored to be more than two hundred years old.

A sharp pain, like a knife of ice, jabbed Markwood in the chest.

“
Tell me!
” It seemed impossible, but the voice was louder than before, tearing at the soul.

Markwood summoned the remaining mental strength he had. From the level of power he was sensing, he knew he would not likely be able to break free of the voice’s spell. The only option available to him was to try to startle the voice in hopes surprise would allow him escape.

Markwood plunged forward into the darkness.

There was an audible gasp within the wizard’s head.

Markwood had his chance, and in his mind he yanked back on his mental form, snapping it back to his body.

His eyes opened and he dropped on his back into cool grass. His breathing was harsh, but he was glad to be alive as he stared at white clouds sifting through a pale sky.

After a brief rest, he sat up and ran a hand over his aching chest. Markwood cried out softly at the tenderness he found, but there was no physical wound. His attacker was powerful indeed, but he had not been able to breach the ethereal void.

The wizard blinked and slowed his breathing as he crossed his legs. He had not been able to tell much from his vision quest to Kobalos, but he had not expected no better. That nation was well protected by the magic of its lord. Even old Maslin, as skilled as he was, knew he would have had a hard time trying to fend off Lord Verkain if he had not been able to backtrack into his own body, and battles on the ghostly planes tended to harm more than just the body.

The old wizard leaned to one side and vomited into the grass.

Sometime later Markwood stumbled to his donkey and leaned against the animal for a respite. He regretted not discovering more about Darkbow, but he was in no shape to attempt another divination.

Markwood opened one eye and stared into the donkey’s gray face. “Be a good ass and get me home.”

The animal’s answer was a bray as the old man climbed aboard the cart.

***

Lucius ducked the blade just in time to avoid a slit throat. Later he would wonder how the inmate had managed to sneak a knife into his cell, but for now Lucius had to stay alive.

He rolled away from his attacker, and came up on the balls of his feet facing the crazy man and the blade. With an opponent prepared for him, the mad killer suddenly lost the inclination to attack.

Lucius glanced down and saw the other guard who had entered the cell to feed the inmate. The man was already dead with a gash to his throat.

Behind him, from the Asylum’s entrance room, Lucius could hear the jeers of other inmates and booted guards running. The guards would help disable the lunatic with the knife, Lucius knew, then the lunatic would be put in a holding cell in the basement. Eventually the madman would return to his cell here on the second floor where he would receive free meals for the rest of his life. The dead guard at Lucius’s feet would only receive a pine box.

Brooding red eyes blazed back at Lucius. The knife stained in red hung from one hand, barely held by two fingers.

Lucius pointed to the dead guard at his feet. “
That man had a family.”

The murderer said nothing. He had had his moment and it was over. He knew what was going to happen, that he would be carted away to a dungeon cell, and there was no reason to fight. He had killed again as the voices in his head had told him to, but now it would be a time for rest. At least until he was told to kill again.

“
No more.” Lucius stepped into the lunatic’s reach.

The killer’s eyes grew broad. He gripped the knife and slashed, but Lucius sucked in his stomach to avoid the cut.

The killer screamed and lifted the knife over his head.

Lucius planted a fist in the man’s face, knocking him back against his bunk where he dropped his weapon.

Lucius scooped up the blade. He stared into the killer’s eyes and saw no remorse, no feelings at all.

The knife sank deep into the man’s stomach.

As the murderer crumbled to his knees and his blood flowed onto the floor, gurgling noises and bubbles of red escaped from between his lips.

Lucius twisted the knife and jerked it free of the body.

The killer dropped to the stone, cold floor. His eyes blinked and his fingers twitched, then he died.

Lucius sat on the edge of the bunk and stared at the dead guard’s face.

Three other Asylum guards burst into the cell.

***

Lucius sat on a bench in front of an apothecary shop. His hands in his lap squeezed the dark floppy hat he wore for his job at the Asylum.

Across the street, Lucius could spy the Frog’s Bottom. The wooden structure was a three-story house that had probably belonged to one of the wealthier inhabitants of Bond a hundred or more years earlier before the Swamps had become a refuge for the poor. Occasionally someone, almost always a man, would come or go from the place, marching hurriedly up its front steps or stumbling drunkenly down the same stairs. In the half hour Lucius had sat on the bench, he had counted thirteen men entering and seven men leaving. Twice he had seen some of the women who worked at the Bottom, one looking out a window from the second story and another helping one of her more sloven customers out the front door.

So far there had been no sign of Wyck. Lucius had not seen the boy in several days and thought it time to hunt him down. Lucius wanted the boy’s company. Wyck cheered him, reminding him of his young days on the streets of Bond when he too had lived alone with only his wits. Wyck’s life seemed similar to Lucius’s when the man had been that age. The main difference was Lucius had found sleeping quarters in his abandoned home after his parents had been killed. There had been no servants or family or friends who were available to take in the young Tallerus, so he had lived on his own, surviving on the streets until his uncle Kuthius had arrived from the east and taken him along on the return trip.

“
I wondered when you’d show.” The familiar voice came from behind.

The Asylum guard craned his head around to see Wyck standing nearly at his heels, gripping a sweet roll with several bites missing.

Lucius gave a weak grin. “
Thought I’d find you here.”

Wyck plopped down next to the man. “Only at night. By day I stay away. The madam wants to put me to work if I hang around too much.”

Lucius watched the boy take a bite of his food, then pointed to the roll.
“
I’m sure you paid for that.”

Wyck nodded as he swallowed. “Of course, though my purse is getting a bit light. I’m glad you showed up. I’ve got more to tell you.”

“
Such as?”

“
I heard there was a killing at the Asylum this morning.”

“
It was me.”

“
What
?”

“
I killed an inmate.” Lucius lowered his head. “It was after he murdered a guard.”

“
Remind me not to make you angry.” Wyck finished the last of his breakfast as if the man’s admission had no effect upon him.

“
It’s against regulations.” Lucius looked up. “The other guards said I had no choice. But they didn’t see it happen. I didn’t have to kill that man.”

“
Then why’d you do it?”

“
He was too dangerous to live.”

The youth plopped his fingers into his mouth and sucked off the remaining stickiness. Hearing Lucius’s tale of death was just another story to him, one he would pass along to another street urchin when the opportunity presented itself.

“
What other news have you?” Lucius asked.

“
The Eastern pope is still raising an army.” Wyck glanced at Lucius out of the corner of his eyes.