Dark Legion (17 page)

The Inquisitor stared down at me, boring into me with judging eyes. The Inquisition abstained from all pleasures of the flesh and judged those who did not. Being everyone.

“What is your business in Sagemont?”

“No business, just pleasure. We are currently between jobs. We hoped we might find something here. Alas… “

“I will confirm your claims with the tavern keeper. Unless he contradicts you, you are in the clear. For now.” He turned his attention to Marcus, but had to look up at him. I could sense how much that aggravated the Inquisitor. He started reading Marcus his rights.

“I accept my rights,” Marcus interrupted.

The Inquisitor stared at Marcus for a long time, before continuing on in his monotonous voice. He no longer looked at the scroll, which he would have memorized long ago, but stared Marcus in the eyes while informing him that he was worthless and disposable to the emperor. In more formal language of course, but the meaning was clear. When he was finished, he waited for Marcus to reply. And waited. And waited.

“Do… you… accept?” he yelled.

“I told you, I accept my rights,” Marcus said, smiling at the Inquisitor.

The Inquisitor took a deep breath. “You were a guest at the Shady Oak. Where were you when the emperor's property was sabotaged?”

“I was right here at the Bleeding Wolf.”

“And, were you here in the hours leading up to the incident?”

“No, I was entertaining the ladies at the Blue Lotus,” Marcus said.

The Inquisitor narrowed his eyes. “We will ask the whore about your visit,” he said and got his quill ready. “Her name?”

“Catalin,” Marcus said.

“Okay…” the Inquisitor started.

“Then there was Fiona, then Nena, followed by Ivana and Jacira. Some came back for more, but those are the names.”

“Seven hells,” I said, before the fully tattooed man's foot came down on my chest, pinning me to the ground.

He leaned over me and sneered. “There is but one hell, worm, and that is the one I will put you in! The Gods are beyond you. Your hope of salvation lies in the embodiment of the Gods, our Beloved Emperor Solas! The Gods made flesh, among us for our sake. If you forget that again, we will help you remember.” He spat in my face before turning to the other Inquisitor. “We're done with them, brother,” he said and walked away to the next group.

That night, Neysa and warden Adair were taken into custody. They would be put to the question.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The Path Less Followed

 

An hour or two after the crowd dispersed, Marcus and I were left staring at the glowing embers of the inn. The rest had left while the flames were still licking high. The old timber building had taken a long time to burn. Most of the guests of the Shady Oak found alternative accommodation, and Marcus suggested that we weather the night at the Blue Lotus. I declined.

I was still sitting on the tavern's steps, but Marcus got bored and wandered about the smoking shell. I watched the big man disappear behind the building. It had been too many hours since I last slept, and I felt drained. I wouldn't go as far as to say that this was a low point in my life, as I've had far worse, which said quite a bit, but it was like a final blow to my adventures in Sagemont.

“You may want to look at this,” Marcus yelled up at me. At least, it sounded like it had come from below. I walked around the building and looked down at Marcus. He waved at me from the cellar, which was now open to the sky. I walked to the rear of the building and saw the steps leading down to the cellar. I placed a foot down lightly. The stone steps were warm, but not hot, and I found a well-lit room at the bottom. I walked around the rubble, burnt-out timber, and blackened stone and into the large crater at the center of the cellar. The full moon lit the room from above. I kicked at a charred barrel, nodding to myself.

“So, it's like that,” I said. “There was an explosion down here—those barrels of lamp oil, I reckon.”

“Yep,” Marcus said.

An old distillery stood in one corner, bent horribly out of shape like a mangled tree made of metal pipes. Marcus picked up a piece of timber and held it to a beam that was still glowing. He blew on it until it caught fire, then walked to an open doorway and held his torch into the darkness. “Care to follow me into this dark and probably dangerous passageway?” Marcus asked.

“That sounds like the only reasonable thing to do,” I said, nearly choking on the sarcasm. It's hard to explain, but it drew me in—it called to me and appeared to have the same effect on Marcus. “Why?” I asked.

“You're not curious?” Marcus asked. He peered down it. “It looks pretty long. Like it extends well past the inn. I want to know what Elijah was up to.”

“Fine. Let's follow the darkness for no other reason than to sate your curiosity.” And mine, but I did not say as much.

Marcus smiled and started down it. Splintered timber was scattered along the entrance—the door, most likely, blown to pieces in the explosion. The passage appeared to be in good condition. I saw cobwebs glistening in the corners, but at no point did I walk through any. Using my excellent skills of deduction, I took it to mean that it still saw use from time to time. It was very long, however, and our torch ran out well before the passage did. After what felt like an eternity of walking in darkness, I heard Marcus stumble and fall. “Gods!” Marcus said.

“What's wrong? What happened?”

“I hit my knee. Some inconsiderate arsehole put some steps in my way.”

I heard the man get up and his footsteps leading up. I followed him, carefully feeling for each step before moving up. Then I heard a loud thump.

“Gods!” Marcus said.

“What's wrong now?”

“That same bastard has also placed a door over the steps.”

I heard Marcus fidgeting with the door above us, then a grunt. A beam of moonlight shot through the darkness, blinding me. There was a grinding noise as Marcus slid the door open.

 

We stepped into the moonlight and found ourselves within a clearing in the forest. Marcus crouched down and looked at the ground around the exit.

“This passage has seen a lot of use,” he said.

“Well… I doubt someone would build an underground passage like that if they didn't intend to use it,” I said.

“Fair point. But look at the ground—there are a lot of tracks. “And there,” he said pointing into the woods, “is a path that leads into the forest. A single path.”

“What is its purpose, do you suppose?”

“At a guess… I think it was used to smuggle goods in and out of Sagemont.”

“I don't know, that passage looks pretty old,” I said.

“Yeah. I doubt Elijah built it. Let's see where this path leads.”

“We're going into the forest at night?” I asked as I looked out into the darkness, but it called to me as the passage had. “Why not camp here till dawn?”

“How long do you suppose it will take before the Dark Legion ventures into the cellar? You don't think they'll follow that passage to this very spot? I want to be at the end of this path before the Inquisition gets there to ask tricky questions.”

“Why follow the path at all?” I asked, but I knew. It called to him, too.

“Adventure? Curiosity? I don't know…”

“Well, it beats going back into that passage without a torch,” I said.

Marcus slid the door back into place. It was a large timber board that was covered in dirt that had grass growing in it. When it was back in place, it was hard to spot—or it would have been, were it not for the footprints leading to the grassy mound.

 

We set off along the track and walked for about an hour before the path split into three. The surrounding forest had become denser the further we'd walked, and I could not see far down any of the paths. The call… Call to what? Adventure? Whatever it was, the thing that had called me into the passage and then down the forest path was gone.

“I say we make camp,” Marcus announced. “I'm standing right next to you, and I can't even see your sneering face.”

“By ‘make camp,' you mean we sleep in the mud, right?”

“Pretty much.”

I grunted in disapproval.

 

I woke, surprised that I slept at all. My clothes were damp, just short of soaked, and I cupped my hands to blow hot breath into them, rubbing them together. I would have killed for a fire. And a hot coffee; the things I would have done for a coffee.

Dawn had barely broken, and I saw Marcus crouching next to a path that led up a ridge. “Morning,” I said. Marcus shook his head and did not respond. “What's wrong?”

After a long pause, Marcus said, “Last night, the path split into three. Now, I see only one path.”

“It was dark. I thought it did too, but maybe we were mistaken?”

“Maybe…” Marcus stood up and shook his head again as he started down the path.

 

An hour later we crested the ridge, and I tugged on Marcus's coat. I pointed down the valley below at the cleared line of forest I'd seen from the old tree.

“Look, it's that construction project I told you about. The one they are bringing all the slaves in for.”

Marcus stared down into the valley. “That's not the same one, but I see it.”

“It's not?”

“Do you see the lake?” Marcus asked.

I looked. I could see a long way from our vantage point, but the lake was nowhere to be seen. “Shouldn't I be seeing the lake?”

“Yes, you should,” Marcus said, nodding. “Something… strange has happened. We have been walking for a long time, true, but we are a long way from Sagemont. Impossibly far.”

We were staring down at the valley for a while longer when a raven landed in a tree nearby. It cawed at us. I walked toward it and tried to shoo it away. But the bird just looked at me until I was close, then flew to the next tree. And so Marcus, the raven, and I made our way down the path.

 

We walked for a long time, and my legs ached. I asked if we could rest, but Marcus kept walking. I had never seen the man so nervous. His hand frequently went to the hilt of his sword, checking it was where he left it. The call was back too, ever tugging us forward.

 

At long last, Marcus agreed to a rest, and we sat on a large boulder protruding out over a steep cliff. The sun beat down on me, and from its position it looked close to midday. Below us, forest stretched out to the horizon, and canyons marred the terrain. There was no sign of human life to be seen. The only sound was that of birds, cicadas, and the rivers that flowed through the canyons below, cutting ever deeper. Above, a flying reptile glided in lazy circles.

“Do you think we should turn back?” I asked.

Marcus shook his head. “I am not convinced we would get back where we started. Forces are at play, I am convinced of it. Whether for good or bad, I intend to see what they want with us.” The raven cawed, and Marcus stared at the bird, baring his teeth. The raven did not seem concerned.

Part of me was relieved. For reasons I could not explain, I desperately wanted to know what lay at the end of the path. I wondered if, as Marcus said, there were forces at play, or if it was simply the compulsion that all adventurers felt.

I reached into my satchel and retrieved one of the small wheels of cheese I'd pinched from the imperial ship. I cut a thick slice and held it out to Marcus. He shook his head, then frowned and took it anyway. I sliced one for myself. Damn it, I should have taken more. It was delicious and strong, and it's not like the princes still needed their cheese. I tossed the wax strip at the raven. It cawed, but remained where it was.

 

A short while later, we stood and started walking again. Barely had we started when Marcus froze in his tracks. I peered past him. Straight ahead, nestled between two hills, stood a large mansion with smoke rising from its chimney. I sure as hells had not seen the house when we'd stopped to rest. It was a rather large thing to miss. The raven looked at us, cawed once more, and then flew to the mansion.

Marcus's hand was back on his hilt.

 

We approached the mansion, keeping low. The place simply made no sense. Who in the hells would build something of that size in a location so remote? We snuck past the front door and around the mansion, but saw no one, and no other way into the house.

“What do we do?” I asked.

“Knock?” He still looked tense, but knock he did. There was no answer, so he knocked again and got the same response. I tried the door and found it unlocked. The hinges squeaked as I pushed the door open. “Hello? Anyone home?” Marcus yelled down the long corridor. He turned to me with a questioning look. I shrugged, and we went in.

The floorboards creaked with each step we took. I looked at the walls as we crept along. Tapestries and paintings of all sizes covered the wall. Some depicted large battles, some beautiful landscapes, but most were portraits. I did not recognize any of the people depicted. Most were human, but there were also elves, and others… I had no name for. One of the paintings was familiar, though. Not the painting itself, but I had seen a crude copy of its subject before in a children's storybook about brave adventurers delving into ruins, hunting a great treasure or some such. The painting was of an island chain that the book had claimed to be in White Lake. I wondered if the author had just copied this painting without knowing the island's true location. The one on the wall appeared to be an original, but it had no caption.