Savage (17 page)

Bazur grinned and loudly proclaimed, “In that case, do me a favor. Make sure everyone knows I’m looking for Jasper Vargas.”

“It’s your funeral,” said Rory Black. “Beating up bouncers is a whole different world from General Vargas.”

“It’s a world I’m comfortable in. This subtle investigation crap is for others. I’ll take my chances being the bait.”

Rory nodded. “Well I can’t fault a man for playing to his strengths. Best of luck to you.” He lifted his glass in a salute.

Bazur lifted his glass and drank with the man. He swallowed the rest of the honey mead down. It truly was a treat to have a drink from his old home. “If you ever get the opportunity, bring in some blackberry mead from the Orc province of Grigkiz. It is truly exceptional.”

…

Leaving the Black Widow, Bazur headed to the royal palace. He wanted to check on Kyra. As he walked, Bazur went over the conversations he’d had with all three facilitators, Hoggard, Grundal, and Black. His instincts told him that Hoggard was the most trust worthy of the three, but he couldn’t disregard him as a potential suspect. Grundal and Black were entirely different personalities but both came across as being at least partly genuine. He couldn’t expect men who dealt in illegal activities to be completely forthcoming with him, especially when they all knew he was acting on the behalf of the royal family, but he did think that at least to a degree all three men had cooperated.

As he walked, Bazur noticed a shadow on the building next to him. A shadow that didn’t belong there. Instinctively, he jumped to his right, hugging the building wall. An arrow sliced his shoulder, only his last second move had prevented the arrow from striking his torso. His attacker was almost above him, but with the lip of the building was having a hard time getting an angle. The building was a two story deal with a flat roof and a brick lip that acted as a rail for the roof. Bazur suspected that, like many of the other small shops in Draisha, the second floor was the shop owner’s residence and the flat roof had a small garden. Bazur’s quick movement to the wall had saved his life, or rather the fool on the roof not accounting for the sun had saved his life. Bazur leaned into the wall and kept moving forward. Ahead of him was a narrow alley and then another building. The second building was only a single story building with a curved clay rooftop. If he could get to the second building’s roof, he could get up top to the shooter.

Taking a chance, Bazur sprinted towards the next building and when he was almost to the building he leaped into the air, springing backwards to hit the wall of the first building. Like an acrobat, he twisted and rebounded off the first building springing himself out and up onto the roof of the second building. Crouched on the roof, Bazur watched the first building’s roof. The assassin was up there somewhere. He would either have to come to this end of the building to fight or give up his attempt and flee. That the attempt was made in broad daylight made Bazur suspect that the assassin would not flee easily. Bazur was now in an awkward and dangerous position. Jumping up onto the first roof would require pulling himself up, and for a good second he would be vulnerable to attack. However, if the assassin showed himself now, Bazur was completely exposed. Neither was a good option but the alternative was fleeing, and he didn’t intend to spend the rest of his day looking over his shoulder for a bow wielding assassin. His decision made, Bazur jumped up and back across the alley. He grabbed the ledge of the roof, pulled himself up with one arm until he could swing his leg up and over the ledge. With a deep breath, Bazur flipped himself over the ledge and onto the roof.

The assassin was crouched halfway down the edge of the building, peeking over the edge. He had not heard Bazur sprint into the alley! Seeing Bazur climbing onto the roof, the assassin stood and smoothly drew his bow back and fired.

Now on the roof, Bazur hurled himself forward and sideways, twisting as he lunged forward. The assassins arrow barely missed him. Bazur lunged forward again, this time he barrel rolled forward.

Having missed Bazur twice now and with the distance between them rapidly closing, the assassin dropped his bow and drew his sword.

Seeing the assassin dropping his bow, Bazur rose and sprinted the rest of the way to the assassin. Pulling his dagger from its sheath, Bazur charged forward. When he was in striking distance of the assassin, he didn’t slow down at all. Instead, he used his dagger to block the assassin’s sword strike and kept running forward, colliding with assassin. With his free hand, Bazur hooked his arm around the back of the assassin as their chests slammed together. Bazur then took a powerful sidestep that sent both him and the assassin over the edge of the roof.

The assassin panicked. He let go of his sword and desperately tried to reach out and grab the building but their momentum had already carried them well away from the building.

Bazur didn’t panic. He knew exactly what he needed, a soft place to land. As the assassin tried to reach out for the building, Bazur found a home for his dagger, the blade sliced up through the assassin’s ribs and into his heart. Bazur jabbed the blade home a second time for good measure and then focused his attention on the rapidly approaching ground. Letting go of the dying assassin’s back, Bazur placed both his hands on the man’s shoulders, and his head against the assassin’s chest. When the assassin hit the ground flat on his back, Bazur was directly on top of him.

The assassin didn’t make a good pillow. Bazur’s head bounced uncomfortable off the man’s chest as their bodies banged into the ground. The repeated stabs to his heart and the hard landing had taken the life out of the assassin. Bazur had fared much better. The man’s body had cushioned the two story fall enough that Bazur managed to land unharmed. Standing up, Bazur assessed the damage. His left shoulder was sliced open and bleeding from the assassin’s first arrow, and his right hip had a small gash in it as well. Apparently, he hadn’t dodged the assassin’s second arrow as well as he thought. Two minor flesh wounds… he’d gotten off lucky thanks to the assassin’s mistake. Next time, he might not get so lucky. From here on he would have to be extra cautious. He’d stirred the bees nest and now they were stinging back.  

…

The royal healer greeted Bazur as he entered the palace infirmary. “Hello. Your friend is doing well. She is resting right now, but I suspect she will be awake shortly.”

Bazur was relieved to hear she was doing well. “Good. I’ll wait until she is awake. I do need to speak to her.”

The healer looked Bazur over. It looks like you’ve acquired some new injuries since you were last here. We might as well fix you up while you wait. Take off your shirt.”

Removing his tunic, Bazur revealed his lean and powerful torso. It was covered with the scars of previous battles, his badges of honor. An orc would only need one look to know he was a warrior worth respect. The healer noticed this. “I was going to say being an investigator for Prince Astor is a dangerous line of work, but it seems you already have a knack for acquiring wounds.” The healer made Bazur sit on an examining table while he stitched his wounds. “I’m going to give you a small package of magical salve for the next time you’re in a fight. It isn’t a heal-all. If someone cuts off your head or stabs you in the heart, applying the salve won’t heal it. But if you clean and care for a normal wound, the salve will speed the healing, and will save you from a wound that might otherwise kill you. Use it wisely. I only have so much. Until Prince Astor is king and changes the laws against the use of magic, this is strictly contraband.”

“The prince lets you bring in magical salves? Isn’t that contradicting his father?”

The king is dying. He no longer cares about being king, he barely gets out of bed these days. For all intents and purposes, Prince Astor runs Draisha. However, some things can’t be done in the name of the king. I know that King Astor is leery of magic, but he isn’t against its use. It is the religious leaders that don’t want mages in Draisha. The king has close ties with the priests, and is a follower of Verisha.”

“Verisha?” asked Bazur. There were many religions in Draisha, and he’d never taken the time to learn them. Religion wasn’t needed in the badlands, not by Bazur at least.

“The god of virtue,” said the healer as he started applying salve to the new stitches. “A cynical man would note that the king didn’t take up religion until his own mortality came into question about ten years ago during an uprising. The royals were living a little too high on the hog and the peasants, with the religious leaders’ approval, started an uprising. They almost took the royal palace, and King Astor was wounded during the battle. After that, King Astor focused more of his attention on appeasing the religious leaders.”

“What about the peasants? Did he work to appease them as well?”

The healer shrugged. “The king lowered the worker tax slightly and gave away enough food and wine to placate the poor. But real reforms didn’t start until about five years ago when the prince had a new well dug for the poor. The prince actually cares about his people and will do great things for the common man if he lives long enough to achieve his goals.”

“Is that why he allows you to use magic salves. To put magic use in a good light so that he can advance his cause?”

“Yes,” replied the healer as he handed Bazur his shirt back. “But I hear the cynicism in your voice. The prince doesn’t allow me magical salves as a way of introducing magic into the kingdom. He allows me magical salves because they are an effective treatment. Draishan healers are in the dark compared to the magical healers of the eastern kingdoms, or your orcs to the north. If the prince wanted to push mages on the kingdom, he’d start with performers. People love performers. They only love healers when we are a necessity. Besides, the introduction of magic to Draisha is only one of his many reforms he’d like to make. It is only a small piece in the puzzle.”

“The prince is going to make many enemies with his reforms.” Bazur knew that giving to one group often meant taking from another. Reforms, like the ones the prince was talking about, help the poor and common folk of Draisha, but it would erode the wealth and power of the elites. Those with the most often didn’t like to lose anything.

“He already has,” said the healer. “Otherwise, why would he need the likes of you two to investigate. I hear there has been a bit of an uproar among the royals about such distasteful individuals being given royal brooches.”

Bazur grinned. “The royals don’t like seeing a half-blood and a woman wearing their marks?”

“You know damn well they don’t. The prince made Kyra and you two of the most powerful people in all the kingdom. That upset many of the royal tit suckers. But too bad I say. You and the woman have done a better job surviving than the last three investigators, and judging from the number of wounds you have, I’d say Kyra is the brains of the operation.”

“You’ll get no argument from me on that one,” agreed Bazur.

“It’s time to feed Kyra. I’ll wake her and you two can talk.”

While the healer woke Kyra and checked on her, Bazur thought about his conversation with the grumpy old healer. He’d enjoyed the conversation with the old goat. Conversation wasn’t something Bazur got a lot of in the badlands, and for the most part he was happy with it that way, but once in a while it was good to talk with someone like the healer. Someone who said what he was thinking and had opinions that mattered. While Bazur loved food and discussing it with people like Hoggard, sharing recipes and cooking techniques was a selfish passion. The healer thought only of his community and its people. It reminded Bazur of the orcs. Sometimes Bazur missed being part of a community.

“Are you going to stand there staring at the wall or are you going to come talk to me?” asked Kyra from her bed.

Bazur looked to her bed. Kyra was sitting up and the healer had already left them. “Sorry, I was thinking.”

“Yes, I can see that. I can also see some new wounds. Your tunic is getting rather tattered.”

“Scratches,” said Bazur. “Nothing more.” A shirt could not show if one was a warrior of respect. His tattered tunic was well earned.

“Good. If you die, who is going to protect me?”

“You are in the royal palace and the prince has placed royal guards at every entrance. Only the healers and myself are allowed in this area. I think you are safe for now.”

“Ya, for now. Tonight they’re moving me to a room in the palace, and even there I’ll be under protection, but until we solve this case, Vargas will come for us.”

She was right. Vargas would come for her and that was on him. “That is my fault. I screwed up when I underestimated him in the desert.”

“No, it’s our fault. We both underestimated him, and I pushed you to follow him. If we’d killed him when he first saw him, we wouldn’t be in this situation. And you don’t have to lie to me. I know you are hunting Vargas.”

Bazur put his hand on top of Kyra’s. I know you wanted to track him and hope he leads us to his employer, but we don’t have that sort of time. Vargas is hunting us. He’ll try killing you, and I won’t let that happen.”

“You are the one with fresh wounds. I would say you have more to worry about than I do. I’m sitting here in the prince’s care. You are the one who needs to be careful. But I agree. We can’t worry about who is behind Vargas. We know enough about Vargas and Prince Astor that I should be able to figure out who is behind the attacks. I can feel it in my brain. I am missing something small and stupid that I’ve already seen. Once I figure that out, we’ll deal with the mystery man. For now, you need to go deal with Vargas before he gets to us. I don’t want to lose you.”