Shadow Of The Mountain (35 page)

She felt the crushing loss of him as if for the first time all over again. Its darkness pressed down harder upon her with each step, each breath. But she would not let it overpower her, for she knew Kreiden was everywhere. She could feel him watching over her, protecting her, even at that very moment.

The sun was setting to the west, pink and gloomy, but still there was enough light to push forward. Landis Lake was a two-day hike, and from there they should have the academy mountain in their view, with perhaps another day of traveling to reach it.

They would make it to this place, the Gambit. There would be Amorian soldiers there, and a surgeon to bring Argos back from the brink. They could finally stop being afraid.

These weren’t hopes she conjured, but truths. Natalia was certain of these things because her husband watched over them from above, guiding them to safety. He was the champion, First Sword of Amoria, and he never failed.

Chapter 19

Desik peeled an orange, letting a piece of the rind fall to his boots. “You remember your role in all of this, yeah?”

The warrior leaned against the corner of a dust-colored brick building, some sort of city magistrate office that now sat locked up tight with boards and chains. His eyes gazed off in the distance, narrowed against the afternoon sun. A block west of them on an intersecting street was a single-level tavern with a split shield hanging above the door.

The Broken Shield Inn.

Desik had done a few quick passes of the place earlier, reaching the street at first light. The inside was dim, there was no back entrance, and he hadn’t seen a single soul enter or leave since arriving. Typically not the best of signs. Whatever was waiting for them had been set up well before he had eyes on the position.

Tenlon scratched his head. “My role? I’m to stand here and do nothing. Is there more to it than that?”

The street leading to the tavern wasn’t exactly empty, but neither was it very crowded. People were still making their slow way out of the coastal cities, pushing overburdened carts or hauling away whatever shit they might deem valuable before men with weapons came nipping at their heels.

Desik flicked another peel of his orange to the street, watching the citizens go by at a half-hurried pace.

Everywhere he looked there was stupidity. When you’re fleeing the push of a war, you want to travel light and move fast,
flight
being the root of the word as well as the essence of the action. Slow can land you in a bad spot before you even know where you went wrong. Learning that lesson the hard way usually means never getting another chance at it.

Foolishness in all directions, but who was he to pass such judgments? Walking through the doors of that tavern—whether it turned out to be a trap or not—would still earn him the fool’s crown. Unfamiliar meeting place, unknown numbers expecting him, and all in a town on the fringes of an open war.

Desik kept eyes on the tavern, seeing nothing but darkness through the windows and a closed entrance. The place was a bear trap.

He should’ve called the whole thing off, but damned if he wasn’t growing more curious about it by the minute. Soon he’d walk through that door and find out for himself what was on the other side.

There were still a few vendors trying to sell their wares, spread out down the street as if being too close to one another were bad for business. The air was cool and the sun rested above them in a sky of scattered clouds, sharp and bright enough to give him a headache. Murmurs of an approaching storm off the coast were heard all morning, but their view of the Venda was obscured by the city buildings and Desik didn’t know how bad it’d be or when it was to make land.

Hagart and his crew were eager to depart aboard their ship, the
Lancer
, as soon as they were ready. The egg was already stowed safely below decks within a locked trunk, along with the rest of their belongings. Desik just had to get everyone there in one piece.

The present brightness of the day irritated him, but there was nothing to be done about it. The meeting had been set for noon and the time was quickly approaching. Noon was always bright. Desik preferred the night. He liked the shadows.

“You’re to stay right here where I can see you, and run if there’s trouble. Head for our meeting points and if I’m not at the first one in ten minutes or the second one in twenty, make for the ship and tell Hagart to shove off. Do we need to go over your routes should you need it?”

“No, I have them memorized and I think walking them five times each should suffice.”

Desik took a juicy bite from the half-peeled orange before wiping a sleeve across his bearded face. The move caused his long jacket to open wider, showcasing two short swords sheathed at his hips and the polished wood handle of a knife near his belt buckle.

“You think this is a game we’re playing?” he asked evenly, expression perhaps a little too hard.

“No. No, of course not,” Tenlon stammered. “I just meant…I’m all set. Are you set with your part of the plan?”

Desik let out a breath. “I go in, find the black-haired woman and the bald one with a glass of wine and a cup of milk in front of him.”

“And then?”

“Then I ask him why I can’t see the stars.”

“To which Darien replies?”

“To which the plump bald man replies: because we are in the shadow of the mountain.”

Tenlon adjusted the deep blue cloak about his shoulders. “Then you wave me in for a quick chat and we’re off to the docks aboard a swift ship to a safe place. Where do you think we should…”

Desik laughed, brining Tenlon’s words to a halt. His young face was just too happy, too oblivious to the danger they were in. The boy was so optimistic, even after all they’d been through. It was almost refreshing.

“What?” Tenlon asked, not seeing the humor.

The warrior shrugged, still grinning. “Nothing. There is absolutely nothing wrong with your plan. It’s splendid, really.”

“…Except?”

“No exceptions. As long as everything goes exactly as you say it will, then you’re right, we’ll be fine.”

A worried look suddenly crossed the youth’s face. “And what if it doesn’t go the way I say it will?”

Desik took another bite of the orange before heaving it over their heads to land on the roof of the magistrate building. “Then you turn and run, just as we discussed.”

Tenlon was clearly frightened now, having at last grasped the risk of possibly being left alone. The warrior gave him a quick pat on the shoulder and headed toward the tavern. Noon was here and there was nothing left to say.

“You’ll be back, won’t you?” Tenlon asked nervously.

Desik turned around, walking backwards a few steps, hands resting easily on the hilts of his swords. His face was harder now, the rare glint of humor behind his eyes replaced by a gloss of intensity.

“Just remember the plan, yeah?”

***

There were several men and women milling about on the street—two lads chatting up a yellow-haired whore, a father and son haggling with a vendor over a few loaves of black bread for the road, a family strapping their belongings onto a horse-drawn cart.

In total Desik walked past five men who were obviously armed. He counted four moving with purpose in the opposite direction, lone mercenaries bustling with enough plate armor, weapons, and gear to keep them fighting for five seasons. These he dismissed, just lean and weathered men off to war against the Volrathi. He had half a mind to cast his dragon duties aside and join them.

The Volrathi! They were never far from his mind. Sparks of anger sputtered up at the thought of the force that had decimated his army, his brothers.

Black-eyed spawns of fetid sluts. His swords would push more of them through the Veil soon enough, hundreds of them if he had his way. Thousands. He’d tie a few down and get some bloody answers. Rope and a knife is all you need. Simple really is best when it comes to those sorts of conversations. Forces you to be creative but doesn’t let you spin out of control.

Desik felt his pulse quicken at the prospect of enemies under his knife. The Volrathi would pay for their crimes, he would see to it.

Calm yourself
, he ordered, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand. There would be a time for revenge, but today was not that day.

Desik opened his senses and saw everyone around him, heard their conversations, listened to their voices and tones. He registered flickers of movement behind closed or shuttered windows, he counted his steps as he walked, noting again the distances to nearby building entrances, windows, and alleyways.

Archers above? No, not yet. If there were, not on his way in. Going out might be a different story, though. No sense in killing a man when he might have information of value.

He scanned the thin crowd as he moved, letting his eye wander, watching their faces, their hands. Seeing where they looked, where they wanted to look. Bulges beneath tunics could be poisoned blades, money pouches, or nothing at all.

There was another armed man on the street with a lone saber at his belt, but this one was stumbling around too drunk to walk straight. Desik saw him knock over three stacked crates of red apples as he passed a canvas-covered fruit stand, earning himself a rush of curses from an irate vendor.

The Amorian loosened his swords, drawing each out just enough to get the steel past that first sticky inch of scabbard.

Finally he stood before the heavy door. The weathered and split shield creaked above him, suspended on hooks from a rusty bar of iron secured to the tan stones. Wide windows on either side of the entrance were swung out and open, and the edges of thick curtains occasionally flapped out with the breeze.

He cast a quick look back to Tenlon, seeing the youth waiting right where they last spoke, the boy’s body tense and tight as a drum.

The warrior knew he would face great danger out on his own. Tenlon would know it too. Best to be careful with all of this, for the both of them.

Darien and his sister, Lesandra, had better be worth the risk. Providing things went well, all of them would need to move fast from here since their ship would be setting sail in a few hours.

Providing things went well.

Desik pushed the door open, tripping a small bell that clattered above him as he entered.

And if it turned out to be an ambush, Desik thought, then he’d kill everyone involved.

***

The tavern was dark inside and he stood in the doorway for a moment, letting his eyes adjust.

A scraggly bartender with long gray hair stood behind a small bar to the immediate left of the entrance. To Desik’s right were three square tables and two booths against the far wall. A lone bald man in green robes sat at a table facing the entrance, while a hard-looking man in black leather occupied one of the booths with a cinnamon-haired woman on his lap, the both of them sharing a jug of wine. After glancing at him for a moment, the two returned to a hushed conversation dotted with the woman’s occasional giggle.

Seeing no one else within, Desik reached up and grabbed the brass bell still vibrating softly above. Twisting the bracket, a nail bounced to the floor as he ripped it out of the wall.

“Hey!” the bartender called out. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Desik took the bent metal and jammed it into the foot of the door, propping it open before walking in.

“Be quiet,” Desik told him.

The bald man looked up from a text he was reading as Desik approached. His head was shaved clean, the top of his scalp red with sunburn. Nose wide and flat, he had thick bushy eyebrows and hazel eyes that peered outwards with expectant curiosity. Two mugs were set within reach.

Desik looked down at him from the opposite side of the table.

The green-robed man closed the leather-bound text he’d been reading and cleared his throat. “I’ve been expecting a visitor. Am I correct in assuming that you’re the man I’ve been waiting for?”

“Get up,” Desik ordered.

“You’ll be paying for that doorbell, long-jacket!” the bartender swore at him. “I hope you know that!”

“What did you say?” the bald man asked uneasily.

“I said…” Desik reached over the table and roughly grabbed the collar of his robe, pulling him to his feet. “Get up.”

The man stumbled into the table as he was dragged around to the other side, knocking over one of his mugs. Desik pushed him into an open chair and moved around to take his seat. Now his back was to the wall and he faced the propped-open door with a clear line of sight on Tenlon’s blue-cloaked figure down the street.

“What’s your name?” Desik asked.

“Darien Foll.” He extended his hand across the table.

“I expected you to be fatter, Darien Foll.”

Darien grinned, removing the outstretched hand to scratch a flaky patch of red skin on the side of his head. “Lean times make for lean meals, I suppose.”

“I expect that’s true,” Desik said as he leaned forward to pick up the spilled mug, now empty. “I also expected a man who was balding, not merely bald.”

Darien spread his hands wide and smiled. “A man’s hair can only grow so thin before he decides to do something about it, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I’ve never given it much thought, to be honest. I was told my grandfather had thick hair when he died, just as my father did.”

“You’re lucky then. Thick hair runs in your family.”

“That or we tend to die young before it gets a chance to thin out.”

“That’s a possibility I hadn’t thought of.”

Desik looked at the stain of the spilled mug on the table, then glanced at the still full cup of wine before him.

“Sorry for being so rough with you earlier,” he said ruefully. “I didn’t mean to spill your drink. Allow me to buy you another. What were you having?”

Darien leaned forward, looking to his left and right to make sure no one was listening. “We’re not here to drink and talk about hair, are we?” he asked quietly. “Aren’t there more pressing questions for you to ask?”