The White Dragon (13 page)

“Is this the man?”

“Yes,” Zokar said, nodding his hooded head and maintaining an alert posture.

“Hmm,” the small cleric said, pondering the proposition. “He doesn’t seem worth half the bounty placed on him.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Eric asked, sounding defensive.

Zokar held up a hand, indicating silence. Eric held his temper and allowed the assassin to negotiate with the death worshiper. “Do we have a deal or not, Dour?”

Dour, the Akun cleric, rubbed his chin with a free hand for a moment before making a fist and holding it out. Zokar made a fist as well and tapped the other man’s fist on top, which seemed to seal the deal. The cleric, clad in chainmail that peaked out from under his black clothing, looked to be old, in his fifties or sixties at least, though his muscles and overall physical appearance indicated he could fight and fight well if need be. “Done.”

Zokar turned to Eric. “Give him the staff and the ball.”

Eric nodded, pulling the bag off his belt and handing it to the cleric, as well as the staff, which was wrapped and hidden in a spare cloak. “Here you go.”

The cleric smiled. Taking the items and turning to his right, he walked over to a table and sat them on top, opening the bag first to ensure it was a critir, and then closing the bag quickly, he unfurled the cloak to admire the metallic staff. “It’s amazing how they make these,” the old cleric said, looking at the staff as he spoke.

The group was in a side chamber of the cleric’s main temple complex. It was similar to one of the nobles of Ulathan’s villas, with a high wall completely encircling the complex and several buildings inside, including the largest, which acted as a temple for their order. It was late at night, though not so late that the pubs and taverns had all closed. The streets outside were busy with commerce, revelers, and others partaking in business or pleasure.

“You’ve never seen one before?” Eric asked, thinking it safe to address the cantankerous holy man despite the Balarian’s warning.

Dour looked at the staff in awe for a few seconds longer before covering it and leaving it on the table and then turning to face Eric. “Of course I’ve seen them before, but it’s obvious you haven’t and you have no idea what you’re involved in.”

“The deal stands,” Zokar stated.

“Of course it does.” Dour walked back over to them, looking at each man in turn. “I’ll need the standard time to broker the deal. Come back this time tomorrow to finalize it.”

“And my message?” Zokar asked.

“It will be delivered right away, though I can’t make promises where an answer is concerned,” the cleric said.

The Balarian nodded and started to walk away, grabbing Eric by the arm as Diamedes and Argos turned to follow. Eric whispered to Zokar. “We’re just going to leave the items with him?”

“Trust me,” Zokar said.

“Oh,” Dour added as the group walked away, “one more thing.”

Zokar stopped but did not turn to face the Akun cleric. “What?”

“I can only promise the same amount of time on your companion’s head.” The cleric grinned.

“Understood,” Zokar said, leaving through the same front doors that they had entered not long before. A quick walk took them through the main gates at the complex’s entrance where they navigated their way a few blocks through the crowded streets till they found a rather feisty street filled mainly with drunk foreigners and local women strutting their wares.

“What was that about?” Eric asked.

Zokar looked around and then pulled him into a rather nice-looking tavern, where they were met by a serving wench who seemed to recognize the Balarian. “You’re back so soon?”

“Yes.” Zokar nodded and motioned toward the side of the bar where a vacant table sat near a back door and away from the main revelers.

“Of course for you, Master Cleo,” she said, nodding her head and motioning toward the table.

“Four ales,” Zokar said as they moved back.

“Make that three with one red wine, if you please.” Diamedes changed the order.

The four sat and waited for their drinks. “Cleo?” Eric asked.

Zokar shrugged. “I have to use different names depending on my cover. Cleo sounded good at the time.”

“It sounds rather like an old person’s name,” Argos said.

Eric and Zokar looked at the raider for a moment in surprise; the man was usually silent. Zokar nodded then. “Yes, after I sobered up, I realized my mistake, but there was no going back.”

Diamedes chuckled. “So you’ll forever be known as Cleo at the Velvet Vest.”

“What’s the Velvet Vest?” Eric asked.

“Don’t you pay attention?” Diamedes asked, giving the mercenary a knowing smile. “It’s the name of this establishment. I noticed it when we entered.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t have Master Cleo over here pulling on your coat and giving away your property to perfect strangers,” Eric complained.

“Quite true, Master Eric. I see your point,” Diamedes said, nodding in approval and smiling as their server arrived with their drinks.

“Anything else?” she asked.

“Do you have any pickles?” the historian asked, and Eric could imagine Zokar’s eyes rolling back into his head, if they were visible.

“We do,” she answered.

“Then add some crackers and cheese to go with them, then, as well.” Diamedes looked at his companions. “What? Aren’t you hungry?”

No one responded, and the maid left to fetch their food. Eric picked up his tankard, as did Argos, and they both drank while Diamedes sipped his wine. Only Zokar refused to drink, having sat with his back toward the wall with the door to his right and the main common room to their left. It seemed odd, but Eric was understanding that the Balarian was working even now and that they really weren’t enjoying a beverage and snack after a long trip, though this wasn’t something that you could tell to the historian, who seemed to relish his wine.

“You’ll need to explain things to me a bit, then,” Eric began. “I’m trusting you, but this entire situation seems to be getting more and more out of control.”

“Whoever is willing to buy your booty has indicated this willingness long ago. Oftentimes buyers will line up ahead of time with their brokers in case their desired items become available. The Akun cleric is simply acting as a broker and must inform his buyer, or buyers, that an item is available. Any buyer will have a day to make an offer, and he will select the highest for completion.”

“So he’s a broker?” Eric said, nodding in understanding.

“Yes, but he also has to make a request of your desired item as part of the payment. This takes time,” Zokar explained.

“What’s to prevent him from simply taking my items without payment?” Eric asked.

“Nothing,” Zokar explained, “except the fact that it would ruin his reputation; he would never conduct any sort of business like this again. It would dishonor his deity and beliefs, and he would face the wrath of the Assassin’s guild, among other things.”

“Assassin’s guild?”

“I’m helping you, and he knows that I’m a member of the guild.”

“So he can’t break faith with you at least,” Eric said, taking another sip of his ale.

“Correct,” Zokar said.

“And his final reference?” Eric asked.

Zokar nodded. “He was indicating that after the deal was complete, you were fair game for his order. They will remain neutral with regards to your mark by the Kesh.”

“Oh, that’s so comforting,” Eric mocked.

Their waitress returned, bringing a small tray with two plates of cheeses and crackers and a small jar of pickles. “Here you go,” she said.

Zokar pushed two silver coins at her from across the table, and she scooped them up with a smile. Diamedes couldn’t resist a parting, “Thank you,” as she left.

He pulled up his dirty sleeves on his robe and speared a pickle, pulling it from the jar, preparing to take a bite, when his eyes got wide and his hand with the fork lowered. “Bloody hell,” he said.

Eric turned to look at the front door and noticed several rough-looking thugs entering the tavern and looking around. One seemed to spot them and nudged his companion, who looked their way. Soon all six of them were staring at them.

“You ready to fight?” Zokar asked, seeming to direct his question at Eric and Argos.

“I know that tall one there,” Argos said, putting a hand on the hilt of his sword. “He’s a real swine and killer. This doesn’t look good.”

Without a word, the group of six thugs at the door started to fan out across the room, walking toward the rear where they sat. They all placed hands on the hilt of their swords as well, and the tall cutthroat started to grin in anticipation of their bounty.

Zokar stood, pushing his chair back against the wall, and Eric and Argos followed suit as all three men drew their swords, preparing for combat. The six bounty hunters also drew steel, and customers in the tavern started to scramble for cover.

The silence was broken by Diamedes. “How I’ve been craving a good pickle for days now. What a bloody shame.”

The pickle would have to wait.

“Are you sure you want to come to Moartown with us?” Lucius asked his daughter as she packed the last of her belongings in her private chambers.

Gabby nodded while continuing to work. “Our marriage may have not worked out well, but there’s still a part of me who loves that stupid lout.”

“I thought as much, though I can tell you that his request for you to help him is a bit selfish.”

“Of course it is, but can you blame him?” She took a moment to turn and face her father. When he shrugged, she continued to pack. “Well, you forget my sword-fighting days. I can help him.”

“You take up too much after your mother, may Agon bless her,” Lucius said, moving to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Yes, you never did approve of her lifestyle, which explains much of your behavior regarding mine.”

Lucius sighed. “Let’s not go there again.”

Gabby shrugged this time, pulling a few more tunics from an old dresser and finding a place for them in one of two packing bags she was using. “I never felt that you approved of mine, and when you conspired with Eric to take the company away from me, it hurt me very much.”

“I know,” Lucius said, defeat evident in his voice. “I guess in a way you could say that is why I didn’t protest more vehemently when Eric mentioned asking for your help. I knew you could help him if anyone could.”

Gabby finished and then sat next to her father on the bed. “That was uncharacteristically nice of you to say.”

“Well, I love you, and . . . well, part of me wishes things could have turned out differently.”

Gabby put her hand on her father’s shoulder. “Not just things between Eric and I.”

Lucius looked up at Gabby, looking into her eyes intently for any sign of emotion. “No, not just between you two . . .”

“I know,” Gabby said, putting her head on his shoulder and stroking his neck with her free hand.

Lucius put his arm around his daughter and held her close. “We never would have approached you if Eric wasn’t in serious trouble. If the dragon didn’t kill him, we felt the law would.”

“Why does the justiciar think Eric could murder, or arrange to murder, his own companions? Something doesn’t make sense.”

“There are factors at play here far larger than anything we have ever faced before,” Lucius said.

“The Kesh?” Gabby sat upright so she could see her father better.

Lucius nodded. “No doubt. Eric says they saved his life from the dragon, however, so the mystery as to why is still not known, but associating with the Kesh these days doesn’t bode well for anyone.”

“I still can’t believe he faced a dragon and lived to tell about it. Actually, I’m still having a hard time believing him about the dragon in the first place,” Gabby said.

“You’re not the only one. The justiciar, most of the town, and even myself can only wonder if his tale is true or not. If I hadn’t known the man for so many years, I’d thought he was mad for sure.”

“So why did you believe him?” Gabby asked.

Lucius brought his hand from around her body and used both of them to rub his head, closing his eyes and thinking for a second. “I saw Eric when they brought him to Moartown. He was on death’s bed, and I can’t imagine what could have done that to him. He had frostbite on his neck, his arms, and both ears, and his body was swollen as if he had broken half the bones in his body. It was horrific.”

“I thought you said you weren’t allowed to see him?” Gabby asked.

Lucius nodded. “Yes, at first they would not allow me in, but they carried him right by me and old man Frankel when they first arrived in Moartown. I almost didn’t recognize the body that they were carrying was Eric.”

“I see,” Gabby said, shaking her head.

“Then later,” Lucius continued, “they healed him rather well, or actually paid a death worshipper to cure him of his wounds, and paid Frankel well to tend to him for a fortnight, including a room, provisions, and a servant.”

Gabby narrowed her eyes. “I take it that tart Mary cared for him?”

“Well, yes, she volunteered.” Lucius sighed again, and not for the last time that day.

“I figured so,” Gabby said, standing and moving her things to the door. “Speaking of which, where did you two dreg up that holy warrior woman?”

Lucius stood, pressing his hands on his clothing to smooth them out. “Who? You mean the Fist of Astor? Alexi?”

“Yeah, barbarian woman out there,” Gabby said, motioning with her head to the door.

“She hardly looks like a barbarian,” Lucius said, confusion in his voice.

Gabby rolled her eyes. “Not literally, Father, but she is larger than most any male warrior I’ve met, and . . . well, haven’t you seen her face?”

“She is rather large, even for a man, but what does her face have to do with anything?” Lucius walked over to the door.

Gabby tilted her head. “By the Nine, I haven’t seen a jawline that pronounced since Forstag joined the company.”

“Oh, that,” Lucius said. “You won’t say anything to her about it, will you?”

“She probably already knows, but the secret is safe with me,” Gabby said, opening the door and allowing Lucius to exit. Standing for one last time in the hallway, she took a long last look at what had become her prison for the last several years. Yes, prison was a rather harsh term considering it was one of her own making, but she had never fully been at peace with her decision. Tending to a second-rate inn and tavern was not what she had yearned for all her life.

She thought about her deceased mother and the warrior spirit that she had conveyed to her only daughter, even over her father’s objections. She would approve of her decision to sell the inn and return to soldering. She had maybe five or ten good years left in her, being somewhat younger than Eric, again a marriage initially done without her father’s approval.

I won’t need that long. The damn dragon will probably kill us all soon if the Kesh don’t first
, she thought to herself.

“Time to go, Gabby,” her father said, breaking her thoughts.

Sighing, she shut the door, shouldering her bags and heading to the common room where her father and the Fist of Astor waited for her. Her entire staff was there; all five of them stood with their heads down, chins on their chests. Only Rosterman seemed unfazed by the abrupt news.

Looking at the tall holy warrior, Gabby assessed her arm. “You look healed.”

Alexi nodded, looking down at Gabby. “Yes, the historian’s potion did as he said it would. My arm feels stronger than it did a couple of days ago. It’s a miracle from the Mother.”

“Yes, either that or some sort of sorcery from Kesh,” Gabby said, eliciting a frown from the warrior woman.

“Ready to go, then?” Lucius asked. “Did you need any help with your transaction?”

Gabby shook her head. “No, I signed the contract last night. Boris has wanted this place for years. Now he’ll own the only store, inn, and tavern in town.”

“I don’t dare ask the terms, do I?” Lucius pried.

“No, you don’t,” Gabby said, part of her hard veneer coming to her naturally. It was a habit from years of protecting herself as she was told that she couldn’t do this or couldn’t do that because she was a woman. Today, she would do what she wanted, and she put her hands on her sword hilts after dropping her bags to the floor for Rosterman to secure on their pack horse. “Ready to save your historian?”

Alexi nodded. “I should not have left him in the first place.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it,” Gabby said, nodding at her staff and exchanging smiles if not words with them.

“Used to what?” Alexi asked.

“To saving the men in our lives,” Gabby said, laughing and throwing her hair back around her shoulders with a playful shake of her head. “Come now, let’s go save our men.”

The trio walked outside to their waiting horses, and Gabby could only smile at the Fist’s words. “Agon knows the men need saving.”

Lucius snorted.

“Report?” Justiciar Corwin asked the man reporting to him in Moartown, setting down the book that he had been reading before being interrupted by the scouting party commander.

The man seemed out of breath, though he wore the uniform of an officer from Ulatha. “Survivors from the Highstone, my lord.”

“Survivors?” Corwin sat up at the term. It could mean only one thing.

The other man nodded. “Yes, Justiciar, the last trade caravan was attacked in the pass not more than two days ago. A few escaped to report.”

Corwin leaned forward from his elevated seat in the main chamber of the small keep’s military building. “Don’t tell me it was a dragon.”

“No, my lord,” the officer said, shaking his head. “They reported it was mountain wolves.” Another soldier leaned in to his superior and whispered something to him. The officer shook his head and looked at the justiciar.

“Well, what else?” Corwin looked at the pair of soldiers, both still breathing heavily from their forced march in bringing the survivors back from their patrol where they found them on the road a few miles away.

The officer looked at the Ulathan judge and took a deep breath before responding. “There were a few reports that a small dragon-like creature attacked with the wolves, but this can’t be confirmed yet.”

Corwin shifted uneasily in his chair. “What do you mean that you can’t confirm it yet?”

“Reports of the creature are mixed. Some claim to have seen it, others mention only the wolves. Also the few who say they saw the beast claim it wasn’t much larger than a horse. Surely that can’t be a dragon?”

“Of course not,” Corwin said, dismissing the report immediately. “It must have been a wild wolf, one of those rogues that are twice as large as the normal ones. Did they say what color the beast was?”

“No, my lord,” the officer said.

“Very well,” Corwin said. “Alert the town officials, send out an overnight patrol to supplement the day patrol, and dispatch a messenger to Utandra to report to the duke that the Highstone is under attack from . . .”

“Yes?” the officer pressed.

Corwin thought for a moment before changing his mind. “Belay that last order. Instead, send a messenger to inform the duke that we are investigating an attack in the Highstone by forces unknown and that any future travelers must have a military escort.”

“Yes, my lord.” The officer turned and left to carry out the justiciar’s orders.

The garrison commander leaned in so that only Corwin could hear him. “A wise decision, my lord.”

Corwin nodded. “By all that Agon holds dear, the duke would never accept a report that outlandish.”

“No,” the commander replied, “wolves and a small dragon-like beast would not be received well by the Ulathan nobility.

“And neither would I, if I returned to the capital with a fairytale like that.” Corwin sighed and resumed his reading. He would not be made a fool of.