Dark Legion (19 page)

“I have been thinking about how we are going to get into the palace,” I said.

“We haven't given up, then? I am pleased to hear that. I don't know why, but I was feeling lost without the knowledge that we were continuing on with your quest,” Marcus said. He was frowning. I knew why he felt that way. When compelled to a task with your true name, it was difficult to do anything else, even when that task became an impossibility. “I reckon we have quite a challenge ahead of us,” Marcus went on.

“Agreed,” I said. “I think we should stay clear of Malakai, regardless of his claims of assistance. I do have an idea, but tell me what you think. Hobart has been bitching and complaining about being stuck in Sagemont. He tells it like it's his wife's idea to leave, and it might be. But I get the feeling he is as keen as she is to move to Morwynne. So, I propose we buy him out,” I said, an uncertain smile playing on my lips.

“Go on,” Marcus said.

“Well, you heard the man. If we can win his brewing competition, we get a ticket to the palace. No sneaking about required. And the Harvest Festival will be chaos. Chaos we could use to our advantage.”

“You sound awfully certain of our chances,” Marcus said.

“Have you tasted the other ales? Terrible! Absolutely awful. Beating those ales should be a breeze. True, it will mean a long delay, but considering the trouble our actions have caused over the past week, it might not be the worst idea to let it die down. With the death of the princes, security at the palace will be insane.”

“Okay, I am with you,” Marcus said after a brief pause. “You had me at ‘ale.' You do realize that getting into the palace will be the easy part, right?”

“Yep, but a plan has to start somewhere. I have a few poisons that may lubricate our way into the vault, but the details can be worked out later.”

“Okay, we'll talk to Hobart today, then,” Marcus said. “Why do you think the Dark Legion want to keep the death of the princes secret? I would have thought they would be hunting those responsible without mercy.”

“Oh, I'm sure they are hunting. But the empire currently has no heirs. Well, there's the princess, but I doubt the people would stand for an empress. If Solas was worried about his position before, he'd be crapping himself now.”

 

I looked at Marcus as we walked. He had a faint smile on his face. The man's perpetually happy demeanor annoyed me on most days. Like there was some joke that I didn't get, and that I was the butt of. That morning, though, it made me feel guilty. I was fortunate to have Marcus at my side, but he really had no choice in the matter. He was bound to my cause, no matter his will.

“Marcus… I would understand if you wanted to abandon this quest of mine. I am sure you will be well rewarded if we should succeed, but… I don't feel like the smart money is on our success.”

“And miss out on this adventure? Never. Besides, there appears to be something bigger under the surface of all this. And I gave you my word, I never break that… it's all I have. I'm afraid you're stuck with me, my friend.”

I thought it would make me feel better to give him a way out. But unless I broke the binding using his true name, these were hollow words. Still, I could not bring myself to release him.

“You're sure?” I asked. “Honestly, I had hoped this task would be easier. I should have known better.”

“I am sure,” Marcus said. “You have asked, cleared your conscience. So, let us be on with it.”

My conscience was far from clear. If anything, I felt worse for it. With the town below us, I turned back to him. “What about Neysa? Will we do as Malakai asked?”

“I don't want to do anything he asks. But it's as I said. I don't think I can stop myself. It's like he has power over me.”

“I'll do it,” I said.

“Man, you really like that girl,” Marcus said. “Have you even spoken to her?” I shook my head. I did not count our confrontation in the forest as a conversation. My attraction to the girl had little to do with this, however. I just wanted to ease his burden a little. Give him one less compulsion to worry about. Marcus smiled at me and clapped me on the back. “Very well, then, noble knight,” he said, and handed me the scroll. He looked surprised when I took it. “Huh. I did not think I'd be able to actually hand it over.” I was less than certain myself. I guessed that it had to do with the fact that Malakai had compelled us both to this task.

I looked at the scroll, ran my thumb over the textured paper, and saw that this too had the raven seal pressed to it. The scroll was tucked into my satchel as we entered Sagemont.

“Let's see the tailor first,” I said to Marcus. “Making a business offer while looking like transients is generally frowned upon.”

 

We made our way to the market to speak to the tailor. It took us a long time to locate him, and I started to suspect that the man had left town. It turned out that the various stalls of the market were more fluid than I thought. We were informed that vendors were rarely in the same stall from one day to the next, and many arrived early in the morning in order to secure the best spots. When we found the tailor, he was running down a gap between two stalls, chasing a rooster with scissors in hand. I suspected that the bird had found its way into his stall. Close behind them came the lady I'd seen before in the beaded purple tent.

When the tailor returned, swearing and muttering, we followed him to his stall. He had a red mark on his cheek in the shape of an open palm. The chicken lady clearly did not appreciate him chasing her rooster with the scissors. He informed us that he had only finished two garments, one apiece, and that he needed more time. He somehow made it sound like we were at fault for his tardiness. I paid him for the garments, and after trying them on behind a screened area, we left the stall in our new clothes. Marcus was pulling at his tunic, clearly uncomfortable. Walking into the market, we'd looked underdressed for peasants. Now we looked finer than frog's hair, split three ways and sanded. The tailor was an ass, but he did a good job.

 

As we left the market, a dozen legionnaires came running past. One stopped in front of us.

“Have you seen any slaves running about?” he asked.

“No,” I said. “Why?”

“Someone has freed a large group of slaves in the forest. One of the slavers had his throat slit. Another claims to have seen a young man with a scarred face running away. Seen anyone like that?”

I shook my head. “No, sorry.”

“Inform the warden if you do,” the man said, before rushing to re-join the others.

I looked at Marcus with a smile. “Young Kaleb?”

“Sounds like it,” Marcus said.

 

We entered the tavern well short of lunchtime. Two men were at work repairing the damage done by the explosion. Either they had worked fast, or the damage had been less severe than I'd thought. We sat down at the table by the window and waited for Hobart. We were the only patrons, and I wondered why Hobart bothered to open the tavern as early as he did. Patrons only arrived well after lunchtime. We seemed to be the only ones ever there that early. I rubbed at the butter stain I'd left on the table as we waited. “We will have to sand this table down if he agrees,” I said.

“The stain you left? You can barely see it.”

“No,
you
can barely see it. To me it's a glaring fault.”

Hobart walked in, looking less than happy, and I wondered if he'd overheard our conversation. Perhaps he, too, was displeased with the stain I'd left on his fine table.

“Morning, gentlemen. What can I help you with today?”

“A pale ale for me,” Marcus said.

“Can I have some more of your oud bruin?” I asked.

“No problem. You'll have to pay for this one, though. And… I have to charge a silver for the bottle.” I agreed, and Marcus grimaced. Hobart walked behind the counter to serve the drinks.

“A silver!” Marcus whispered.

“It's damn good,” I assured him.

Hobart returned with a tankard of ale for Marcus and a bottle of oud bruin and a wine glass for me.

“Get yourself a glass, too, Hobart; we have a proposition for you,” I said.

“Is that why you come in here looking like salesmen?” he asked, but went to get another glass.

Hobart sat down and poured himself a generous helping. He'd lost the smile that I'd come to expect to see on his face and he looked too ordinary without it, his eyes missing their sparkle.

“So, out with it,” Hobart said.

I looked at Marcus, who gave me a nod to continue. I gathered my words into order while I took a long sip. “It has come to our attention that you would rather be in Morwynne. That the Bleeding Wolf has become a shackle to you. We wish to offer you the means to free yourself.”

Hobart looked dubious, his eyes narrowed. “I hope you won't be proposing a similar exit strategy to the one used across the street?” Hobart asked.

“No, no. Something of far more financial benefit to yourself,” I said. Hobart waited patiently, and a small sparkle returned to his eyes. “We wish to buy the business from you. We realize you don't own the building. We are offering to buy the brand of the Bleeding Wolf, along with its current stock, equipment, furnishings and ingredients.”

“Go on,” Hobart said.

“No, that's pretty much it. But I suppose money speaks louder than words.” I took a gold coin and placed it at the center of the table. Before Hobart could object, I placed another, and another, until ten gold coins sat stacked on top of each other. Hobart said nothing, but his eyes were fixed on the coins. “But wait, there is more,” I said. “If you stay on for a month to teach us what you know of brewing, you can remain a partner in the business. A quarter of the business will stay with you. We will absorb one hundred percent of the taxes but pay you a quarter of the profit. What do you say?”

Hobart finished his glass with a couple of gulps and placed the glass down hard on the table. “I can't do it,” Hobart said. Marcus and I looked at each other. I was so sure that Hobart would agree. It was a ridiculously good offer. “I can't in good conscience agree to this deal,” Hobart went on. “This place makes practically no money. And this,” he said tapping the pile of coins, causing them to tumble. “This is too much. It's more than I have made in the last two years. I can't take it,” he said putting his fists on the table, causing the coins to clink together. His eyes were still resting on the gold scattered on the table.

I looked at Marcus. We smiled at each other, before bursting into laughter. It was a contagious laugh, the type that grows in one's belly, and only stops when the pain gets too much. Even Hobart started laughing, though he had no idea what we found so funny. Honestly, it was probably just that we were incredibly tired and sleep-deprived. “Oh, Hobart,” I said when I got enough air into my lungs. “We aren't trying to make money.”

“You're not?” he asked, his brow furrowed in confusion. “Why, then?”

“We have our reasons, and we won't burden you with them. Now, will you take this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, or do I have to talk to your wife about it?” I asked.

Hobart started nodding slowly, and a big smile pulled at his face. He started laughing too, and soon we were all in tears again.

“Oh… I forgot to ask,” I said, holding my side. “Do you have somewhere for us to sleep? Our inn is not living up to our expectations.”

Hobart nodded. “My wife usually forbids it. We have two rooms for when the boys decide to come and see their dad. I think in this case she will welcome you with open arms. I think this calls for another round. It's on the house… your house. I'll go get the wife and tell her the good news. She doesn't usually drink, but I have a feeling that she will be making an exception today.”

 

I stumbled out of the tavern some hours later. Hobart's wife, Mariana, did indeed join us for the celebrations. It turned out that she had a foul mouth, which contrasted with her gentle grandmotherly appearance. Marcus was pleased to fill them with that much joy. I was just happy that something was working out for a change. Hobart mentioned that warden Adair and Neysa were being held in a cell at the warden's office. I found the irony amusing—a warden in his own cell. I was on a slightly intoxicated mission to deliver the scroll, and I looked forward to being done with Malakai.

The streets were emptying fast in the hour leading up to curfew. The people I passed greeted me warmly. I found it odd how much value people placed on one's appearance. I was the same terrible person I'd been earlier that morning, but now that I was dressed like a merchant, they looked up to me. People were idiots.

 

When I arrived at the warden's office, I found the place closed up. I wondered what Adair thought of his deputy leaving his post like that. I knew the office had been open until curfew prior to Adair's arrest, but it suited me just fine.

I turned to look behind me, and when I was sure no one was watching, I made my way down the narrow alley behind the warden's office. Three small barred windows faced the opposite wall, and a faint light emanated from them. In the middle window, I saw fingers clasping bars, and Neysa's face pressed up against them. She must have been deep in thought, as she only noticed me when I stood directly below her. Unfortunately, she screamed and hastily backed away. Panic struck me for a moment, but I shook off the drink and gathered my wits. I tossed the scroll through the bars and fled the alley. Nothing quite as subtle as fleeing, was there?