Dark King Of The North (Book 3) (12 page)

Lendo grabbed the nearest man with a sergeant’s badge on his shoulder plates.  “What is the situation here?”

Sergeant Fanto pointed to the flat roof of a three-story apartment building halfway between each line of soldiers. “He’s up there, sir.”

Lendo stared where the man pointed, but saw nothing. “You’re sure he’s there?”

“Saw him myself, sir,” the sergeant said. “He was at the edge with a bow. Put an arrow into any man who came near.”

Captain Lendo’s eyes locked on the building. The place’s single door to the street hung open. On either side of the structure ran narrow, dark alleys.

Lendo glanced around. “Do we have any archers?”

“None yet, sir,” Fanto said, “but several of the boys on duty have got their crossbows with them.”

“I want them to loose every bolt they have at the roof until they see me rush through the front door,” Lendo said, pointing at the apartments. “Once I enter, I want you to work a team of six light fighters into the alleys, three men to a side. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Sergeant Fanto said, “but I would like to point out we already tried to rush the door.”

“What happened?”

“He killed two men. Dropped them dead with arrows in their hearts.”

Lendo fumed, and stared at the building again. “He’s only one man. You should have been able to make the door.”

“That fellow on the roof is pretty imposing, sir,” the sergeant said, “but my men are no cowards. Before you came along, I was ready to give orders to move in again.”

Lendo drew his sword from the sheath on his belt. “No matter now. Just give the order to start launching those arrows.”

“Yes, sir.” The sergeant hurried away to do as he had been told.

Seconds later, four men in the row closest to the captain and three in the farther line launched missiles into the darkness above the building.

Lendo took off at a run. Halfway to the open door a black arrow crashed into the road in front of him. The captain blinked and skidded to a near halt, but quickly charged forward again.

The Kobalans loosed another stream of arrows, sending the bolts high into the air to arch down in a rain of death upon the rooftop.

Lendo was almost to the door, mere yards away, when another black bolt shot out from above. The shaft caught him in his left shoulder, lancing through chain links beneath a plate of steel, and sending him spinning. The captain crashed to the ground at the foot of the open door. Ignoring the lightning coursing through his left arm, he shoved himself to his feet with his sword arm and dove into the building.

***

Kron stood on the edge of the roof and placed another arrow against his bow. As he dragged back the string, he took note of a curiosity. The string made no sound, where it usually gave the slight squeal of tightening.

He took a step back from the edge and noticed his boots no longer made scuffing noises.

“I’ve placed an area of silence around us.”

Kron spun, raising his bow.

“I suggest against that,” Maslin Markwood said mere yards away as he stared down the length of the black arrow.

Kron lowered his weapon.

“What insanity are you up to?” Markwood asked. “Have you forgotten why we are here?”

Kron remained silent, but his eyes spoke of hate.

“What are you trying to accomplish?” Markwood said. “You can’t believe you can kill all these men.”

“No, I can’t,” Kron spoke, “but that’s only because I’ve no grenados and am nearly out of arrows.”

“Your actions serve no purpose. Killing these few does not save Randall.”

“They killed Adara.”

The wizard hissed and rocked back on his shoes.

“They nailed her to a post in front of the city,” Kron said, “strung her up like a slaughtered deer.”

Markwood stared blankly off into the dark sky as if trying to think of words to say.

“These bastards have to pay,” Kron said.

The wizard’s head snapped around to face his companion again. “Revenge will not save Randall.”

“Go ahead and save Randall,” Kron said. “I’ll remain here and keep the Kobalans busy.”

“I will need you,” Markwood said, shaking his head. “I’ve already expended more energy than I had planned, and Verkain will be no easy foe.”

“You don’t need me. What good is a sword or bow against the likes of Verkain?”

The wizard frowned. “You’ve faced wizards before and bested them. Trelvigor. Karitha.”

“I was prepared for Trelvigor,” Kron said, “and Karitha was not the most experienced of mages.”

“Nonetheless, you have experience in fighting magic,” Markwood went on. “I will need your skills. Otherwise, Randall will die within the hour.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’ve spoken with him. Verkain is to execute him in some ceremony just before the rising of the sun.”

Kron stared at the lines of soldiers on either end of the street.

“We don’t have much time,” Markwood said.

Kron faced the wizard again. “What do you want of me?”

Markwood glanced out across the road and over rooftops, his eyes lifting to focus on the upper levels of Verkain’s castle. “Do you see those windows?”

Kron followed the wizard’s gaze to three tall, narrow windows set high in the castle’s structure. He nodded.

“I believe they look down upon Verkain’s main hall,” Markwood said. “How long will it take you to get to those windows?”

Kron counted the roads, roofs and alleys between him and the castle, then he accounted for the climb. “Ten minutes,” he said, which would have sounded as a boast or joke from any other man.

“Get there, then,” Markwood said. “My cone of silence should help you escape. Try to remain unseen, and wait for my entrance. When the time is right, come to my aid.”

“How are you going to get inside the hall?”

“I’m going to walk in the front door as an invited guest,” the wizard said.

***

As ordered, the Kobalan archers ceased their attack.

Lendo lay on his side in the dark hallway, taking time to catch his breath. Once his lungs were full again, he broke off the shaft hanging from his shoulder and climbed to his feet. No lone archer was going to stick him and not pay for it.

He quickly discovered wooden stairs that took him up a level, but on the second floor he found only a shaky ladder that appeared to lead to a vent in the roof.

Lendo stared at the opening, moonlight through the hole offering the only illumination. The captain was waiting for his opponent to make an appearance, but the man did not show, nor could Lendo hear anyone walking on the roof.

After long seconds the captain sheathed his sword and yanked out a dagger, placing the blade between clenched teeth. He would have a hard enough time climbing the ladder with a crippled left arm, but he would not do so unarmed.

He gripped the ladder’s side with his good hand and planted a boot on the bottom rung while keeping his eyes on the opening above. Now, while he was on the ladder, would be an opportune time for his enemy to take the advantage.

Still, there was no attack.

Lendo bit down harder on his knife and pulled himself up a peg. Nothing happened still, so the captain went on with his slow climb, moving up a rung, checking for an enemy, then proceeding.

Finally he reached the top of the ladder, but held his head low so as not to provide a target for the archer above, if the man still lived.

Lendo strained his ears, trying to listen for any sound.

Again, nothing.

The captain, frustrated, decided action was necessary. He thrust up, his legs kicking off the top of the ladder, and launched himself onto the roof. He rolled away from the open trap door and came up on both feet, his knife now in his right hand.

In front of him stood an old man, tall with worn gray robes and a lengthy beard hanging from his chin.

“You are going to help me,” the old man said.

Captain Lendo didn’t lower his knife. He saw no archer in black, but was familiar enough with magic to know in this situation he should not trust his own eyes. “Who are you?”

“Who I am is of little importance to you,” Maslin Markwood said. “What is of import is who
you
are, captain.”

Lendo’s face went tight. This old man knew who he was? No, he must have seen the markings of an officer on Lendo’s shoulders.

“There is to be an important ceremony in less than an hour,” Markwood said. “You are going to ensure I am invited.”

Lendo clenched the dagger. “What madness is this?”

“It is not madness,” Markwood said, waving a hand in front of the captain, “but you will do as I ask. You have no choice in the matter.”

Lendo frowned, then blinked and smiled. The world suddenly seemed so much clearer to him. Of course he would take the old man to the ceremony. His new friend would be the perfect guest.

“Drop the dagger,” Markwood said. “You won’t need it.”

Lendo tossed the weapon.

The wizard motioned across the rooftop to the dark castle in the center of the city. “Now, take me to Verkain’s hall.”

Chapter Thirteen

Belgad sighed as he drew a black silk robe around his shoulders. Not that the large man was interested in fashion, but he had been in Mogus Potere only a matter of days and was already tired of black on everyone. At least the last few days had kept his mind occupied with putting together a team of Verkain’s assassins to track down Darkbow and Markwood. The Dartague believed it would only be a matter of time before those two made an appearance.

The door to his bedroom slammed open. Fortisquo stood there looking flustered, he too wearing a black robe over his ruffly shirt, short breeches and tall boots.

“What do you want?” Belgad asked. “We’re not to go down to the ceremony for another half hour.”

“You haven’t heard?” the sword master asked.

Belgad’s eyebrows raised above a glare.

“There’s been fighting near the south gate,” Fortisquo said. “Nearly a dozen men killed. They tracked the culprit to a building in their slave quarters.”

“Darkbow?”

“The killer is supposed to be dressed all in black.”

Belgad grinned. “Sounds like our man.” He grabbed his long, two-handed sword from where he had left it on his bed.

“Wait.” Fortisquo held up a hand. “Apparently he escaped.”

Belgad’s grin turned into a frown. “It definitely sounds like our man.”

“There’s more,” Fortisquo said. “Markwood was caught. Turned himself in, from what I’ve heard. Lendo is taking him to the main hall as we speak.”

Belgad’s grin returned. “Then Darkbow won’t be far behind.”

***

Kron had been wrong in his assessment to Markwood. It only took him eight minutes to reach the ledge outside the windows set high in Verkain’s keep.

Running and jumping from rooftop to rooftop, he had covered the distance to the castle’s outer walls in little time. From there it had been one last jump to the top of a building on the other side of the wall, a sling of his grappling hook and a lengthy climb to the windows.

Now he looked through yellow glass upon Lord Verkain’s great hall far below. A dark purple carpet ran down the center of the long room, from open doorway to the throne, and hundreds of soldiers were lined up on either side. Sitting on the throne was a tall, muscular man in dark robes, his long, graying hair tied in a tail hanging down his back. Kron was seeing Lord Verkain for the first time, and he had to admit the king’s stare was imposing even from a distance.

Military music bounded through the air, drums driving a stirring beat, but Kron could not make out any musicians from his vantage point.

His eyes shifted around the room, looking for any sign of Markwood. Instead of the aging mage, he found himself staring at another older man seated in a chair to the right of Verkain. This fellow wore long, dark robes as well, but the tall, cylindrical hat on his head was a mark of Eastern clergy, especially of the higher ranks.

This was a surprise.

The carriage at the front entrance of the city suddenly returned in Kron’s memory. What could a member of the Eastern church hierarchy be doing with Verkain?

***

“You’re doing fine,” Markwood whispered, his left hand gripping Lendo’s elbow as the two strolled through the open doorway into the main hall of the castle. “Just take me to Verkain.”

“I will do my best,” the captain said as they walked along the purple rug down the center of the room, lines of soldiers on either side watching their movement.

Seeing the two approaching, Lord Verkain raised a hand.

The distant drums died.

“I see you’ve finally shown yourself, Maslin,” the king said.

The wizard gripped the captain’s elbow tighter. “Keep walking.”

“By all means, come closer,” Verkain said.

The two continued their march, only halting at the bottom of the steps leading up to the Kobalan throne.

Captain Lendo blinked, as if waking from a dream, and stared about.

Markwood could feel the eyes of the hundreds of warriors and officers upon him, but the one person who drew his interest was an elderly fellow in dark robes next to the lord of the land. Upon the man’s head sat a tall, round hat.

“A representative of the Eastern church?” Markwood asked.

Verkain chuckled. “Are you surprised at Bishop Althgar’s presence?” He waved a hand at the man seated next to him.

“I did not believe the church would stoop to dealing with you,” Markwood said.

Bishop Althgar scowled. “Who is this man, Verkain?”

“You should know him, your holiness,” Verkain said. “An old enemy of the church is Maslin Markwood.”

The bishop’s eyes burned into Markwood’s skull. “That was the name of one of The Twelve. I’m surprised he’s still alive.”

“Alive and well,” Markwood said, “but no longer a rebel. Those days are long past.”

“Not as far past as you think,” Verkain said with a grin.

“The East and West went their separate ways long ago,” Markwood said. “I am here only for Randall. Where is he?”