Dark Legion (41 page)

The mayor was swaying on his feet, and he took a step sideways. “To girls! Or boys, whatever takes your fancy,” he said, and nearly fell. There was a nervous laughter from those around the table, but they drank. “To… to…”

The mayor fell on his face, not suddenly, but as a large tree that starts slowly, then topples with ever growing speed to smash into the ground. A hush fell across the room, though a few saw the humor of it. A man near the front stood and walked to the dais, presumably to take the mayor's place. He took half a dozen steps before he, too, was on the ground. Those around the table looked to each other, suspicion starting to grow. Then, like dominoes, they fell, one after the other.

“Sound the alarm,” one guard bellowed. Another ran forward to get help, but he did not make it to the door. Within less than a minute of the mayor's toppling, only Marcus, Neysa, the slaves, and I were still conscious.

Out of curiosity, I lifted my tankard, and a block of frozen ale slipped onto the table. I smiled at Neysa, stood, then gestured for the slaves to come. They gather and bowed. “Drain all the barrels, but leave a few blue ones. Then make your way to the station. Ferran will lead you from there. I assume you know of ways to get there without raising suspicion.” They beat their chest twice, then ran to do as I commanded. Commanded… the thought scared me more than just a little. Who in their right mind would listen to me?

Neysa reached down the front of her dress and removed the three masks she had hidden. With the disguises there, she had looked to have an ample bosom. Without it, she was quite flat-chested, the dress hanging low with the excess fabric. Beneath it, she wore a servant's garb. She stripped the dress off and stuck it behind one of the pillars. Marcus and I did the same, and Neysa helped us put on the masks. She really was fantastic at making those. No one would spare us a second glance, or at least I hoped not.

Marcus went searching for the red barrels. He found them stashed away in a side room and came out with the two explosive barrels on a cart. “Let's go,” Marcus said.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

A plan into action

 

We stood in a storage room for the second time that night, combing over my plans of the palace, the room lit by Neysa's magical light. Her light was not just light but a ball of fire, though small. It was also ridiculously hot, and sweat dripped from my face.

Our disguises had held up in three encounters on our way there—twice with legion patrols, and once with real servants. We had explained that we were moving the small red barrels to the barracks kitchen as ordered. From the plan, we knew that the path to the kitchen passed near the vault. Or at least there used to be a kitchen there, and I deduced it was still true by the fact that none had objected.

“I told you we should have gone right,” Marcus said. “But there is a fork up ahead, so if we follow it to the right, we should be back on course.”

I ran a finger along the plan and saw that Marcus was correct. “Okay, let's go,” I said, pushing the folded plans back into my boot. I held the door open a crack, and when I was sure the way was clear, we moved out. I bit my lip as we walked along it, my heart racing and my breathing shallow. Time was not on our side, and this embarrassment of a heist had already taken longer than planned.

Those decorating the floor and tables in the banquet hall would be out for an hour or two, but that did not mean they would remain undiscovered for that long. My heist was not turning out to be as easy as I had hoped, but this was not the time for doubt, and it was setting in thick.

 

We followed the fork as planned and came to a corridor that curved in a wide arc.

“There should be a set of stairs leading down,” I said. “There.”

“How do we get these down?” Marcus asked, leaving the cart of barrels against the wall.

“We'll have to carry one down,” I said. “Leave the other. We can come back for it if need be.” My large friend picked up the barrel and slowly made his way down the steps. “I was going to help,” I said.

 

At the bottom of the steps, the corridor opened up to a wide rectangular room. Two wooden doors led off each side of the wall, and front and center stood an impressive metal door, twice as tall and wide as the others.

The three of us smiled at each other. I approached and ran my hand over the cold steel of the locking mechanism. It was well made and would not be easy to open. I retrieved my lock picks, and knelt beside the door with an ear to the lock. I moved the picks inside the mechanism, listening to the metal clink inside, painting a mental picture of its interior. It was a complex lock, but I was sure I could pick it with enough time. Time, of course, was in short supply.

I had been at it for a few minutes when I heard a heavy clang against the door and dived aside. I lay on my back with my elbows propping me up, and Marcus towered over me, a sly grin on his face.

“Reckon I'll have a go at picking this thing,” he said. The red barrel sat against the door. I stood and was about to object when Marcus started going through the procedure to set the fuse. “Might want to get some distance between you and this door,” Marcus said. Neysa and I jogged partway up the steps, but when Marcus came from behind, he tripped and knocked Neysa off her feet. We heard a faint click, and Neysa stretched out her hand, humming her song.

A burst of fire rushed at us. Neysa's shield formed mere moments before the flames reached us, but with the force of the explosion having nowhere else to go, it threw us up the stairs and hard against the wall opposite.

The wind knocked out of me, I gasped for air and put a hand to my side. I was sure one of my ribs was broken, or at the very least cracked, and it felt as though I had been stabbed.

When my sight returned, green afterglow followed my eyes as they tracked to where Neysa and Marcus lay rolling in pain. I found my unsteady feet and stumbled over to them.

“Come,” I groaned. “To your feet. We don't have much time.” I reached down and helped Neysa up. Marcus was getting up behind me.

They looked to be in as much pain as I was, but we made our way back down the stairs as quickly as our injuries allowed. The room was littered with rubble, the timber doors blown to splinters. The door to the vault still stood, but was bent out of shape, leaving enough space on one side to squeeze through.

I went through first and stood in silence in the dark, letting my eyes learn their way. The vault was large, dark… and empty.

“The hells?” Marcus asked.

“It's empty!” Neysa hissed. “We did all this… for nothing!”

It felt as though my guts had dropped from my body, and I fell to my knees, my fists clenched as I beat the stone tiles. Empty? How could it be empty? Malakai, that traitorous bastard, had assured me the crown and ring would be here. I was at an utter loss as to what to do, what to say, and I let my emotions have their way with me. As I sobbed, I felt heavy hands on my shoulders which lifted me to my feet. Marcus embraced me, a short but tight hug. “We have to go, Saul,” Marcus said.

“But…” I said, looking at the empty vault.

“Standing here won't fill it with treasure. We have to go. Now.”

Marcus half pulled me, half carried me out of the vault. I still faced into the vacuous room. I honestly could not believe it. Empty, apart from some paintings leaning against one corner. All this work for nothing. Marcus stopped suddenly, letting me go, and the ground smashed into my already-battered body.

“What in the hells, Marcus,” I said through gritted teeth. Marcus did not respond. “Marcus?” I felt the cold tingle down my spine, somehow making itself known through all the pain, and tilted my head back. Marcus and Neysa stood like statues, facing the stairs. I painfully spun myself around to see what was bothering them.

 

“Oh, come the fuck on!” I shouted. The armored Inquisitors stood at the bottom of the steps. Those with blades held them outstretched, pointing at us just as they had in the dining hall. The crossbowmen kneeled below them. I slowly got to my feet. A small eternity passed as our two groups faced one another. Marcus growled and went to draw his sword. A bolt of lightning shot through the room, hitting the wall behind us and sending chunks of rubble through the air.

One fragment hit me in the small of my back. I winced in pain and fell to my knees, smashing them on the stone as well. One of the crossbowmen slowly lowered his weapon. Had his crossbow done that? How was that even possible?

“I would stand still if I were you. You will not get another warning—throw down your weapons,” someone said from the back. Marcus scowled, then dropped his blades to the ground. I tossed my dagger in the pile.

The Inquisitors parted to reveal the man. The so-called Beloved, Emperor Solas himself, stood there, his arms crossed and a satisfied smile on his face. A few steps behind him stood another man, obscured by darkness. My eyes picked out an old face and a wiry body, but not much else.

“What sort of fool do you take me for? Did you honestly think that I, the divinely sanctioned emperor, would keep my valuables in a room? Keep all my eggs in a single nest? Come now.” Solas shook his head.

“What use is a vault, then?” Marcus muttered.

“A distraction?” Solas said, then laughed. “No, not even that. This vault has been here for centuries. I just have no use for it. I own one of the biggest banking houses on the continent. What use have I for a single vault? But enough of this.” Solas looked to his Inquisitors. “Take them to the dungeon. Except for him,” Solas said, pointing at me. “Put him in the chair.” My jaw dropped. “You have something on your face,” Solas said with an evil smile.

I held a hand to my face and felt a flap hanging from my cheek. I pulled on it, and a large chunk of my mask ripped off. It must have been torn when I got blown back by the explosion.
Shit
.

A burst of fire erupted in the room. I held a hand in front of my eyes, the flames blindingly bright. I looked to the side. This did not help, as the flames were flowing from Neysa's outstretched hand as she hummed. The heat was close to unbearable, and I could see bubbles forming in Neysa's mask. The burst cut off suddenly, and Neysa fell to her knees, gasping for air.

The flames cleared but for a few tongues of fire still licking from a shimmering shield. It appeared to emanate from the points of the Inquisitors' outstretched blades.

“Well, well,” Solas said. “Now
this
is interesting. A magic user… and powerful. We can't have that.” Solas looked to the Inquisitor beside him. “Remove her mask,” Solas said. The man hesitated. “Oh, don't be frightened, brother. She just expended all her energy. It will take her a long time to recover.” The Inquisitor nodded, dropped his sword to his side, and walked over. He still looked cautious, however, as he reached to the side of her face, scratched a small portion off with the tip of his gauntlet, then yanked hard to rip the rest off. Neysa gasped, her head flung sideways by the force of it.

“Oh,” Solas said, laughing to himself. “This just keeps getting better. I remember you now. You three were in Sagemont. I saw you with my old teacher, Malakai. You must be his latest puppets, and he is getting desperate if he is choosing fools like you. He usually has better taste,” Solas said, holding his chin up high. “Take them.”

Six Inquisitors stepped forward.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

The Chair

 

I found myself in a metal chair, stripped of my coat and my hope, my arms and ankles restrained with leather straps. I knew firsthand what my chances of escaping such a chair were. I had seen monstrous men try and fail, and at that point, I had barely any strength to spare. So I sat on my own in that torture chamber. The routine was familiar to me. Beat the crap out of the prisoner, restrain him, then leave him while his worries chewed away at his resolve. That was when the pain started.

I should have been worried, but instead I looked about the room and compared it to the one I still thought of as home. It was disappointing, to be honest—smaller and less well equipped than the one I was used to. The table against one wall, lined with the tools of the trade, was poorly stocked as well. I observed all of this, but I no longer cared. I had failed at my quest, failed Marcus and Neysa, failed my brother, failed my people and my kingdom, and I knew I would not leave that chamber alive. So I simply stopped caring.

The biggest weakness I had observed in those I had interrogated was their insistence on keeping hope alive. It started off as a hope that they wouldn't actually be tortured, which turned to a hope that it would stop at any moment, and ended as a hope to die quickly. None of these hopes were ever realized. I knew this, and I gave up on hope.

 

There was no way to tell how many hours had passed by the time the door swung open. Solas, emperor and so-called Beloved, walked in with the old man who had been with him when we had been caught. The old man wore his age well and walked with a perfect posture. When he leaned against the back wall, it looked as though he was supporting it, not the other way around. Solas was nothing compared to this man. The age without frailty and the power that surged from him reminded me too much of Malakai. But the feeling was different. Just as insistent, just as powerful, but while Malakai's power was like a cold wind after rain or a mountain stream, his was dry and dead like the desert wind at night.