Shadow Of The Mountain (36 page)

Desik held the clay mug in his hand, rubbing his thumb against a braided design before looking up. “You would like me to ask you about the stars, wouldn’t you?”

Darien was confused. Clearly this wasn’t the way he had expected the meeting to happen. “I want you to--”

“I may have a bit of a drinking problem, Darien Foll. Now don’t misunderstand me. I love it up and down. But I respect it, too, you see. And that respect dictates I buy you a drink to replace the one I spilled, so tell me, what were you drinking?”

The tall man to Desik’s left whispered something into the woman’s ear and she burst into laughter.

Darien looked at Desik as if he was joking, but the warrior’s green eyes watched him keenly. Desik saw tiny beads of perspiration appear at the man’s temples.

“I was drinking what I always drink here.” Darien paused then as if his next answer was the missing key that would open all of these stubborn doors in his way. “Wine and ale.”

Desik slowly nodded his head while not breaking their gaze. “Wine and ale,” he repeated slowly.

Ale. It was the wrong fucking drink.

Tipped over and he almost missed it.

His heart dropped and he looked out the doorway. Tenlon was still waiting patiently for him in the distance. Today was their chance to get a bit of help with this dragon’s egg business and it was going to shit, just as everything else had so far. Now they were truly alone.

“Ale it is,” Desik said bitterly, tossing the mug off the table to break apart on the wood floor. Pieces scattered to his feet. “Bartender! Another ale for my not-so-fat friend, Darien Foll here!”

Darien cleared his throat, struggling for a smile. “You shouldn’t draw so much attention to yourself. This is a dangerous city you’re in. You will need good friends to see you through this.”

“Will you stop breaking things in my tavern, please?” the bartender snapped at them.

“It’s quite alright, Tombsy,” Darien assured the disheveled bartender with a wave. “You can add it to my bill.”

Desik couldn’t be bothered with the barkeeper. “See me through what, exactly?”

“I was told to expect a package from Amorian riders,” Darien explained. “Something of great value. If there is some sort of misunderstanding, then I apologize. But I don’t know why you’re acting so hostile.”

“Hostile?” Desik raised an eyebrow. Was this lump really still sticking to the ruse?

He looked over to the man and woman. The large oaf she was with had his face buried in her neck, but the woman’s eyes were on him and they darted away at his gaze.

These four had been waiting for him.

“Are you sure this is what you want to do?” Desik asked the green-robed man.

Darien laughed again, the sound of it grating and nervous. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean. Why don’t we start over? I‘m Darien Foll--”

“I mean these two.” Desik pointed to the man and woman on his left. “And the stupid one behind the bar. And you. I don’t think you know what’s about to happen here.”

Darien crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, face turning serious. “And what is it that you think is about to happen?”

“Where are they?” Desik asked, quietly sliding the knife from his belt under the table. “Darien and Lesandra, the brother and sister? What have you done with them? Are they still alive? Just tell me that much.”

The man across from him smiled then. “I was wondering when you’d ask about the sister. We couldn’t find a suitable replacement for her in such a short amount of time.”

“No brunettes willing to do you a favor?”

“None willing to wait around for you to show up. I’d rather pull out of this stain of a city before the rest of the Volrathi arrive, but Okin said to stay put until you show. Said you’d be bringing a big payday with you that was worth the risk.”

There was that name again, Desik thought. Okin. He’d have to meet this man sometime.

The woman to Desik’s left stood up, pointing a small, loaded crossbow at him. Her man rose as well, drawing a long, unsheathed sword from behind their booth.

Desik turned back to the green-robed man before him. “Last chance.”

“Indeed it is. Tell me, what is it you’re carrying? It didn’t take much for the Volrathi to get him talking before your boy Darien opened up like a flower. Told them the only thing he was good for was working with dragons. Said the king’s First Mage was sending him a package, post-fucking-haste. He guessed you were bringing him a hatchling. Is that what you’ve got? A hatchling?”

Desik felt the crossbow aimed at him, the girl’s hand loose and jittery. The man in leather took a step toward their table.

The Amorian’s blood boiled to a rage, muscles subtly trembling.

He let the rage have him.

Bursting forward, Desik flipped the table up with a splash of wine. His knife reached out as he rose, the razor edge stabbing through the man’s robes to slice open the artery on the inside of his thigh near the groin. Even through all the fabric, he felt the blade meet supple flesh and knew he’d hit his mark.

He pushed the table into the fatally-wounded bald man, knocking him backward over his chair. Turning to the left, Desik’s knife spun once before sinking into the softness of the swordsman’s neck near the collarbone, faltering his charge. A crossbow bolt sliced through the air, released in a panic to thud into the wall above his head.

Desik’s short sword came out and he rushed toward the booths. The girl was frantically trying to reload her crossbow while the man still stumbled forward to attack.

Ducking under a clumsy swing, Desik pushed his sword through the center of the man’s chest until it burst blood red from his back. Letting go of his weapon, he spun toward the woman, second sword already drawn.

“No! I’ll--”

The crossbow dropped to the floor as Desik grabbed her throat and shoved her against the wall. A slender dagger appeared in her hand. Desik blocked the strike with an elbow, pinning her wrist back. She screamed soundlessly beneath  as his sword entered her belly. He thrust the blade up and into her heart.

“Sorry, girl,” he whispered.

Pulling the weapon clear, she whimpered once and slid down the wall, slumping to the floor.

Turning to retrieve his first sword, Desik saw the gray-haired tavern keeper behind the bar holding a crude wooden club out before him, face full of fright.

“Don’t come any closer!” he managed to scream.

The big man was still alive when Desik pulled the short sword from his chest, the sucking sound of it intensifying his dying gasps. Without the blade to stem the wound, slow blood spread around him now as if poured from an unseen pump.

Desik was about to wipe his steel clean when he heard a scream outside. He flung the curtains over a shoulder and looked out.

People on the street were starting to run, and Tenlon could be seen thrashing between two hooded men cloaked in gray.

They were large men, huge men. Maybe the biggest men his eyes would’ve ever seen had he not been at Goridai, had he not already seen such size and strength opposite his shield on the flatlands as thunder exploded above him like the end of the world.

Volrathi. The imposter had even told him, but he hadn’t believed it. Somehow, someway, they were here.

“No!” he roared, rushing for the door, sword in each hand.

His third step under the sunlight had him collide into one of the younger men from earlier who’d been talking with the yellow-haired whore.

Desik shouldered him off his feet and kept running. He saw a sword slide across the dusty street from the lad he’d hit.

More men after him?

The other youth who’d been with the whore now charged in on a direct path toward Desik, sword raised high, screaming.

Yes, more men after him.

Desik shutter-stepped to his right, then cut left, opening the youth’s stomach as he passed.

Everyone was running, voices yelling in all directions. A carthorse reared up on hind legs before bolting, sending chests of clothes and supplies smashing to the ground.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Desik huffed, sprinting harder in pursuit, pushing people out of his way. “Move!”

He saw the gray-cloaked giants had Tenlon’s still form slumped over one of their shoulders. A third, smaller man in a matching robe held his hand out to him. There looked to be a shining glass orb in his palm, which he dropped before disappearing down a narrow alley at the other end of the block.

The orb floated in the air where he had released it, then slowly lowered to the ground as if suspended by a string.

“Tenlon!”

A glimmering saber glided through the air toward his face. Desik hadn’t seen him in the fray, but the drunkard from before who couldn’t even walk straight seemed to have sobered up and was angling for his scalp with a vicious swing.

He dropped, skidding to the ground, the steel sailing over his head. Desik sent out a backhand with his own sword that cleaved through the tendons behind the man’s knee before springing back to his feet. Certainly not a kill-strike, but he wouldn’t be pursuing anyone at more than a hobble now.

Again, he was off, sprinting as fast as he could. He saw the strange orb finally touch the ground--

And everything around him fell apart as white light burst into his vision.

For some reason, the explosion reminded him of those men he’d found out in the desert—melted to a river of molten black, slowly cooling into a jagged tombstone of scorched rock and metal half a mile long, made from a thousand souls all snuffed out in seconds.

He wasn’t standing anymore. Didn’t know where he was, exactly. Floating somewhere, it felt like.

Had it happened to them just as swiftly? No chance to run, no moment to even cover their eyes from the flash.

Was that what this was? Dragonfire?

The bright white before him melted to black. Molten, swirling, screaming black.

It didn’t matter what had happened, he decided as darkness wrapped its strong arms around him. He’d lost him, lost the boy.

He’d lost Tenlon.

Chapter 20

He was somewhere cold below the ground, far from the warm touch of the sun. A cellar maybe, or a cavernous dungeon. If the latter were the case, he felt more like a tourist free to wander than a prisoner. Desik walked, but he didn’t know where he was heading. Nothing could be seen; the blackness was so absolute, so oppressive. There was a sense he was underground though, or at least far away from wherever he’d been before this place, whatever that meant. He couldn’t explain it. He was just…away.

There was no weight of swords at his waist or back. He was unarmed, yet it did not matter here. He was safe for the moment. Desik wasn’t sure how he could feel safe alone and in the dark with no idea of how he came to be there, but he was. Nothing bad would happen in this place. It protected him somehow. He was sheltered.

Desik continued to walk.

“Hello?” he called after a long while.

The word echoed back around him as if he were in a deep canyon, his voice folding over itself and gradually softening to whispers that sounded nothing like him.

Where was this place?

“Hello?” he said louder.

A tiny dot of light appeared before him, like a lone eye startled awake by his rude outburst. A star on the black horizon.

As Desik moved toward it, the star grew. Each step closer saw it expand until it became a clear orb the size of a house. Shapes could be seen moving within, liquid colors and warm light that swirled and twisted like a living thing.

His steps brought him right up to the center of the orb, the bottom portion extending beneath his feet somehow, below the unseen ground he stood upon. Reaching out, he half-expected the sphere to collapse in on itself at his touch, snapping shut with the same speed it had opened with. But it didn’t.

The surface was like glass, cool and smooth. The brightness within responded to him, spinning around wherever he touched in a vortex of colors. It was beautiful. He laughed then, quickly tapping the glassy shell in different places, making the lights jump and dance at his command.

“What is this?” he wondered.

Suddenly whatever moved within the orb pulled away from him, and Desik brought his hands back for fear he’d done something wrong.

Gathering at the center of the sphere, the bright liquid slowly blended together before plummeting downward. Smashing into the base of the orb, the colors turned to a burnished gold that surged up like a tidal wave, covering the inside of the clear shell in all directions.

The speed of it forced Desik back a step. It had happened in a blink.

Now nothing could be seen within and the entire object glowed a dim gold.

Slowly Desik moved toward the sphere again. His touch found the surface warmer.

Soon the layer of bronze beneath his hands began to crumble, falling away like shattered porcelain. Desik watched in wonder as the entire inside coating of the orb broke apart in this fashion, the collapse spreading all around.

The glass sphere was clear once more, but now there were people inside it. Moving, breathing, living people. Desik could hardly believe his eyes.

He saw a well-appointed bedroom with a large window open to the sun. Vases full of flowers covered an armoire and smaller matching bedside tables, a few of which were beginning to wilt. Many young women were in the room, huddled around a wide bed. They were holding each other and weeping, hands clinging white handkerchiefs embroidered with delicate designs to their faces. The scene was a sad one.

Desik leaned in, putting his face up against the warm glass. One of the women moved and he saw Kreiden’s wife, Natalia, kneeling at the side of the bed, her face gentle and lined with tears. She held the hand of another who lay upon the mattress, had it pressed to her lips. The woman she held was small and thin, her white gown matted with sweat. This one was clearly sick with the fever. Light-haired and of delicate feature, she was
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