City of Scars (The Skullborn Trilogy, Book 1) (13 page)

She remembered the mountains.  In her memory she saw the blood flowing, and she nearly lost herself.

No.  Not now.  Come back.

The air in the tent turned her stomach, but Ijanna focused her mind and Breathed out the Veil to protect her from the cloying stench.  A similar enchantment had already been placed on the tent itself, she realized, probably meant to prevent infection from spreading to the rest of the camp.  Disgusting as it was, the magic set over the tent by some Jlantrian Veilwarden had made it safe to store the bodies there.  Why those Jlantrian barbarians didn’t just bury their dead was beyond her. 

She wondered if she shouldn’t go back and help the big man escape the confines of the tent, but thought better of it.  She’d already wasted enough time, and she knew the magic she’d breathed into him was more than enough to protect him from the sickness.

Ijanna came to the open flap.  The tower walls reflected off pools of water in the black mud.  The stronghold’s only door lay directly ahead, a hundred yards away.  Ijanna watched as soldiers crossed paths at its base.  She knew she could handle them, but she wasn’t there for a fight, just to acquire what Colonel Blackhall had hidden away. 

She waited and watched.  There would be a window of opportunity for a few seconds when the sentries vanished around the corners of the tower before the next two guards would come into view.  She tensed, her breath held and her muscles tight.  The moment the grounds were clear Ijanna streaked for the door.

The world flashed by in a blur.  Her feet glided across the mud.  Her legs burned as she ran through the rain, but in moments she reached the oaken portal.  The door was reinforced with iron strips and locked from the inside.  Ijanna heard the soft squish of mud as the next pair of sentries drew close.  She released the Veil held in her breath, and the lock clicked and turned, but the door wouldn’t budge.

Ijanna cursed and tried the handle again, but it held fast.  Flickering shadows loomed from around the corners.  If she couldn’t avoid a confrontation the entire camp would come down on top of her.  She turned back to the door and Breathed the Veil again, this time with such focus and force her head started spinning. 

Finally the lock clicked.  Ijanna stepped inside as quickly and as quietly as she could.  The sentries came into view just as she closed the door.  Her heart pounded furiously. She didn’t breathe at all while she waited, expecting one of the guards to try the handle.  Her hand gripped the hilt of her blade.

Nothing happened, and after a few moments Ijanna slowly released her breath and turned to face the room.  She stood in a tiny chamber.  A ledger lay on a small table, and a soft white candle cast flickering light upon the floor.  A narrow staircase ascended from the corner. 

Ijanna was relieved not to find another sentry waiting inside.  She knew Blackhall and his aides were gone; if she was lucky the sentries up top were the only others there.  Blade in hand, she made her way up the stairs.

Fourteen

The walls held diamond light in their crystalline face, like stars frozen in a bed of frost.  A ladder and an iron door were the only exits from the underground chamber.  A wide river of sluggish and vaporous blue liquid cut through the center of the room, and the air was quiet aside from the chilled breathing of three men.

Colonel Aaric Blackhall, the recently appointed Grand Marshall of Ebonmark, stared out across the glacial waters.  Blackhall’s thick dark hair was lined with ice crystals, and the scar running across his jaw-line ached from the cold.  He could see his breath, and his fingers and toes were numb in spite of the heavy wool clothing he’d donned before they’d made their descent into the underground.  He pulled up his collar and ground his teeth in frustration.

His time in Ebonmark had been less than pleasant.  The city was a shell of its former self, and its battered and weary citizens lacked any concept of order.  Ebonmark had passed between ruling hands so many times its populace had likely lost track of who was in charge, so they just nodded and bowed to whoever looked like a Lord or a soldier just to be safe.  One of the first things Blackhall wanted to do was instill some awareness of the new Jlantrian authority, but he had more pressing matters to attend to first. 

Like finding a way to stop this magic plague from killing all of my men.

It was an unnatural disease, specifically constructed with the intent of wiping out Ebonmark’s Jlantrian “occupiers”.  Blackhall was thankful the sickness had thus far left the populace untouched, but already he’d lost a dozen men to the plague, and another dozen to physical attacks.  Until this demonic sickness and those responsible for it were dealt with, Blackhall couldn’t afford to move his men into the city. 

And in the city was where they needed to be if they were to curtail Ebonmark’s crime.  Blackhall despised the cartels – they were agents of chaos and disorder, and the stranglehold they held on the civilized world was what prevented the Empire’s recovery from the damage caused by the Rift War.  Only through the implementation of law would the land ever heal. 

Blackhall also had a “special” mission to carry out for the Empress…which of course took precedence over everything else. 

Empress, Goddess, Empire.

“They should have been here by now,” Slayne said.  Blackhall’s second-in-command and one of his oldest friends, Slayne was a tall and lean soldier whose snowy white hair made him look much older than his thirty-one years.  Slayne held his position for good reason – no one matched his skills with a blade or his ability to track people who didn’t want to be found.  “We should slice their throats for this.  See if they find that amusing.”

“Not unless I give the order,” Blackhall said.  “Let’s see what we can get out of this…”

“Duty first,” Gess said from Blackhall’s other side.  The Veilwarden was lithe and thin and as pale as a corpse, and a simple grey cloak seemed to be all the man needed to shield himself from the cold.  Whenever Gess spoke his carefully measured words dripped with authority.  “Spilling blood is not likely to garner the rewards the White Dragon seeks.”

“Just let me do the talking,” Blackhall said.  He kept his eyes focused on the sealed door.  He was just as angry as Slayne was, but it wouldn’t serve to let his subordinates see that.  Blackhall despised the very notion of making a deal with these murderers, but it was the only way they’d be able to accomplish all of the tasks set before them. 

If there was any other way I’d gladly take it.

Slayne started to say something, but he was cut short as the iron portal cracked open.  Blackhall felt vulnerable down there, but he knew he was just being paranoid, as Gess alone could provide the three of them with all the protection they’d need.  If that wasn’t enough, Slayne also had several Black Eagles waiting in the abandoned building above, ready to come to their aid at the first sign of trouble.

A trio of motley individuals stepped through the door.  The Phage had sent only three representatives, as agreed.  Their leader was a dark-skinned Den’nari male with bright green eyes and a green cloak; he was young and well groomed, with short hair and a bitter sneer on his face.  The man was accompanied by a tall and curly-haired woman with a massive greatsword strapped across her back and a short and stocky Drage with a thick beard and a large double-bladed axe.  The three cloaked Phage let the door slam shut behind them.  They cautiously spread out as they came to the opposite edge of the underground stream.

“Nice of you to show up,” Blackhall said bitterly.  “Could you have picked a colder place to meet?”

“Most of the sewers here are like this,” the Den’nari man said, “on account of the broken war machines the Voss left abandoned under Ebonmark after the War.”  His eyes locked with Blackhall’s.  “My name is Harrick.  The lady is Tydith, and this stout gentleman is called Narr.  We, of course, know who you are, Aaric Blackhall, and your friends Marros Slayne and Toran Gess.”  Every word Harrick spoke sounded like sweet venom.

“Let’s cut to the heart of the matter,” Blackhall said impatiently.  “I intend to run Ebonmark like a proper city, but I can’t thanks to the criminal element.  Both the Phage and the Black Guild have their claws dug so deep it’s a wonder there’s anything left.”

“Then why meet with us?” Harrick asked.  “Why not just hunt us down like you’re hunting the Guild?”

Blackhall didn’t need to look at Slayne to sense his anger.  The Black Guild had eluded his men at every turn, and they’d been bold enough to send dead soldiers back to Blackhall’s doorstep.

“We’ve had no direct quarrel with you,” Blackhall said.  “Yet.  But the Black Guild has earned my ire.  We know they’re the ones responsible for the magical plague that’s killing my men.”

“A fascinating piece of Veilcraft, that,” Gess piped in.

“And they’re going to pay for it,” Blackhall continued.  “Given enough time I’ll burn them out and you with them…but I don’t have the time, and I don’t want to risk innocent lives.”  He watched Harrick’s steely eyes.  “And I’m sure you don’t want me as your enemy.”

“Are you trying to threaten me, Colonel?” Harrick asked.  His voice was calm.  He might as well have been ordering a cup of warm milk.

“The Empress wants this city,” Blackhall said coldly.  “And what the White Dragon wants the White Dragon gets.  She’s stubborn once she sets her mind on something.  If troops don’t work, she’ll just send more Veilwardens.”

Harrick’s expression turned cold.  “We’re not afraid of your crippled Empire,” he hissed.  “The Phage is as powerful as your so-called White Dragon Empress. The only difference between us and her is we don’t have citizens to lie to.”

“From what I understand,” Blackhall said as he stepped close to the water, “your ‘power’ isn’t what it used to be, so don’t stand there and bullshit me.  Your war with the Black Guild has drained you, and you need it to end.  And as I pointed out already, the Guild has earned my undivided attention.”

Blackhall silently cursed the Empress for placing him in that situation.  The Phage were nothing but outlaw scum.  They didn’t deserve to even be spoken to, let alone negotiated with. 

Harrick kept his eyes locked on Blackhall.  His henchmen’s fingers tensed near the hilts of their blades.  “So what exactly do you want?” he asked.  “I thought we were brokering a simple trade of contraband goods…but we’re treading in virgin territory here.  Don’t get me wrong, we’re still willing to exchange the items we discussed before, but now you also want…what?  Our help?”

“Yes,” Blackhall said recluctantly.  “Help against the Black Guild.”

Harrick clapped his hands.  “So
you
were the one who took your time ‘cutting to the heart of the matter’, it seems,” he laughed.  “You want our help.”  Tydith and Narr nodded their amusement.  “So how’s it going to work, Blackhall?  We help you destroy the Black Guild…and then you destroy
us
?”

“Now,” Blackhall told Gess.

The air twisted like bleeding paint.  Heat washed over Blackhall’s face as Gess summoned the burning presence of the Veil.

Harrick couldn’t speak.  Blackhall knew he’d be tasting blood in his mouth right about then as something sharp pressed against the inner walls of his throat.  The criminal gagged and sank to his knees.

The Veilwarden Toran Gess was not an imposing man.  He stood just over five-and-a-half feet tall and always dressed in drab and simple riding clothes.  His brown hair was cut short, almost in the style of a monk, and his gaunt face and pale skin made him appear sickly.  At that moment, however, his blue eyes shone like rabid stars, and the air hardened around him and held his body aloft.  Gess held one hand clenched at his side.  A tiny blade, barely an inch across, had been conjured inside Harrick’s throat, blocking his air passage and cutting into the soft and pulpy flesh of his esophagus.  Gess could control the blade’s size, and he’d left just enough room for Harrick to breathe.

Tydith and Narr drew their weapons.  Slayne moved lightning quick.  A
ring’tai
flashed across the room and buried itself in the Drage’s shoulder, and the criminal dropped his weapon as he shouted out in pain.  Slayne held another
ring’tai
ready, each of its triangle blades as long as his hand. 

Tydith wisely sheathed her weapon.  “Let him go,” she demanded.

Blackhall smiled cruelly.  He waited a moment longer before nodding to Gess. 

Harrick slumped to the ground and coughed up blood as he struggled for breath.  Tydith helped him to his feet, and Narr cursed as he pulled the bloody
ring’tai
from his shoulder.

“Understand
this
, you peasant,” Blackhall said.  “You’re nothing to me.  I’m offering you a chance to take down your enemies, and for my generous offer I expect some gratitude, not for you to spit in my face.”  He cooled his tone.  “The truth is, a certain amount of crime in a city the size of Ebonmark is to be expected.  Hell, if not for crime, this city probably wouldn’t even have an economy left.  I intend to change that, but it will take time.  Crime, as much as I dislike it, is
good
for this city.  But it has to be controlled.  Your war with the Black Guild is costing me lives – soldier’s lives, citizen’s lives – and I won’t have that.” 

Harrick rubbed his injured throat.  Tydith and Narr looked beaten. 

“Go on,” Harrick coughed.

“We’re not stupid,” Blackhall said.  “There will
always be crime in Ebonmark – it’s the plague of our times, and I don’t know of any cure.  But crime in this city will be on
my
terms, not yours.  I can live with one cartel in Ebonmark, not two.  If you and your people can work with me, the Phage will be the group that stays.  We have other business with you, and you haven’t pissed me off like the Black Guild has.  Yet.”

Harrick spat a wad of blood on the floor.  It clung to the brittle ice.  “And suppose,” he rasped, “the Phage decides it can’t work with you.”