Savage (23 page)

“Nothing in Prince Astor’s plans involves expanding the kingdom. From what I’ve seen, his intentions are to remove some of the corruption in Draisha and improve the quality of life. His main focus on magic is to help the healers,” said Bazur. He was now a believer in the virtues of magical healing. Twice now it had made a big impact on his life. First, when Kyra was injured, and now his own life-threatening wound was healing at an amazing rate. The prince was doing the right thing by bringing magic to Draisha.

“That ain’t so bad. But I can see why someone paid Vargas. Nobles don’t like it when corruption goes away, especially when they are the corrupt ones,” said Carter.

“Oh, you’re awake now,” said Tomas. “The horses are watered and ready to go. You want to get going?”

“As soon as someone gets me some more of that pheasant, I’ll be ready.” The bird was bland, barely seasoned, and needed salt, but Bazur was beyond caring, he needed nourishment.

“Here you go,” said Jared as he handed Bazur the rest of the bird, and a small loaf of bread. “That should fill your belly until we reach Draisha.” Jared and Tomas mounted their horses while Carter took the reins of the team leading the wagon.

As the wagon started moving, Bazur took a big bite of the bread and contemplated his life. While he was rapidly healing thanks to the magical salves of Marcus, the stab wound had been near fatal. Death wasn’t something Bazur feared but the event gave him reason to pause and take stock of his life. His formative years had been dedicated to becoming a great orc warrior, but as long as Snagluk was chieftain of the Lagvon, he was unwelcome on orc lands. After that, he hadn’t had a goal or aspiration other than survival. His one passion was food, and it wasn’t something that he wanted to dedicate more time to. Being a chef for a king or a cook for an inn didn’t interest him. He created his own recipes for his own palette and it was a hobby, nothing more. Something to pass the time while he existed.
Shouldn’t life be about something more,
pondered Bazur.

“How’s the ride back there? Should I slow down to avoid the bumps in the road?” asked Carter from the front bench of the wagon.

“No, the bumps are minor. I believe my wound has healed enough that I can handle them, and to be honest, I hardly noticed them. I was caught up in my own thoughts.”

“The past or the future?” asked Carter.

“I’m not sure I understand your meaning?”

“My experience is that when men like yourself have a grave injury, they start having thoughts about the past or the future. Thoughts that they always brushed aside as unimportant, but once they are reminded of their own mortality, become relevant again.”

Bazur chuckled softly. Carter was a perceptive man. “A little bit of both. I’ve been thinking about the past and pondering the fact my life has little meaning or goals. A man should have goals beyond simply existing.”

“Goals are good. They give us direction and purpose, but I think you understate your own worth. Aren’t you the royal investigator? Isn’t that why you killed General Vargas? Being the royal investigator is a job filled with meaning. That is something to take pride in. I don’t know if Prince Astor is truly a good man or not, but I know General Vargas was evil, and you were willing to die to make sure your blade found its home in his heart. That is the kind of action a man can take pride in. Knowing his life and death are for a good cause. It beats dying for a couple gold coin like most of us mercenaries do.”

“Yes, I am a royal investigator, but it is a temporary position. I don’t know if I will stay on or return home to the badlands. Besides, I didn’t kill Vargas because I was the royal investigator. I did it for my partner. I did it so Vargas couldn’t hurt her.”

“So you were willing to sacrifice your own life for the life of someone you care for. That is as worthy a reason as one can have. Look, there isn’t a mercenary worth his salt that has been to Pera and doesn’t know a little about the story of the Badland Savage, the half-orc brawler. You spent years living alone doing nothing but surviving and occasionally making an appearance in Pera for work or a fight. Now you are a royal investigator and you have a partner you feel is worth dying for. What more could a man ask for?”

What more could a man ask for?
The simple question put things into perspective for Bazur.
Who did he want to be
? A badlands mercenary for hire when the mood suited him, or a royal investigator working for a prince who was truly trying to improve the lives of his subjects. The answer was clear. Much to his surprise, because it went against his orc half side, he enjoyed the mental challenge of being an investigator, using his wits as weapon versus his blade. It also honored his father.  Now that he’d found some clarity on the matter of his feelings about the position of royal investigator, Bazur only had the bigger issue to deal with. What about Kyra? He was only a royal investigator because of her, separating her and the job was impossible. They came hand in hand. So sorting his feelings out for the beautiful vixen was something he could no longer put off. Part of him still wanted to go back to the badlands and his simple existence. The risk of loving and losing Kyra terrified him. As Carter pointed out, he was already willing to sacrifice his own life to protect her. It was too late to avoid having feelings for the woman. He had them in spades. But what would happen if they took their relationship further? Right now they worked well together. They bantered, flirted, and found success despite the sexual tension. Would they be able to maintain a partnership if they had sex? Or would succumbing to their emotions destroy the partnership and the connection they already had? The risk of losing what he had now seemed too great. He would have to be strong and not give in to temptation. It was better to have her as his partner than to risk losing her altogether.

“PUSH,” said Marcus.

Kyra pushed her leg against Marcus’s hand.

“Any pain?”

Kyra pushed harder, making Marcus’s hand move back. “No, and it feels strong. I’d forgotten how effective magical salves can be. I hadn’t used one since I left Televia.”

“Televia. I’ve heard wondrous stories about the great northern Azmarinian city. Is it as rich as they say? Are the streets paved with gold?”

Kyra smiled and shook her head. “Televia is the richest city I’ve ever been in, but it isn’t like the stories. It certainly has a lot of gold. Many of the palaces have gold features. The nobles wear excessive amounts of gold. You can’t walk down the streets without seeing someone with a gold necklace or bobble of some sort. That is where the streets of gold really come from. The roads are cobblestone.”

“Ah, I liked the idea of roads of gold better. It makes for a more interesting story,” said Marcus with a grin. “Magic was commonplace? You had mages in Televia?”

“I wouldn’t say commonplace. There weren’t a great number of mages there, but almost all the healers had access to magical healing, either by using basic magic themselves or from magic infused salves. Only a few mages with truly awe inspiring power lived there. Once a year during the harvest festival, all the king’s mages would work together and put on a display. The night sky would be lit up with magic. I watched a hundred-foot-tall glowing elf dancing with a hundred-foot-tall goblin and then both disappeared and turned into a pack of horses, which ran across the sky.”

“Fascinating.” I’d probably die of shock if I saw something like that.

A royal guard interrupted the checkup. “Apologies, but I have a messenger with me waiting to speak to Royal Investigator Kyra.”

Kyra rolled her eyes at the formal title and looked at Marcus. “Well, does my leg pass inspection?”

“Yes. I’m afraid I no longer have an excuse to demand visits from such a lovely young lady. Your leg is healing exceptionally well and you don’t have to come back again. I wouldn’t recommend jumping off any buildings or anything of that nature, but other than that… you are good to go.”

“Thank you, Marcus. I’m sure I’ll find reason to come visit you again. If not an injury, for your wise council.”

“I don’t know how wise it is, but I would be delighted to help you with anything that comes up.”

Kyra left Marcus and followed the royal guard to a side entrance of the palace where a messenger boy stood. Kyra recognized him as one of Hoggard’s regular messenger boys.

“Shall I stay?” asked the royal guard as he suspiciously eyed the messenger. The guards were still wary of attacks against Kyra and the prince.

“No, I know this boy. It will be fine.”

The royal guard nodded and stepped away.

“What is your message?” asked Kyra.

“Hoggard has information regarding your half-orc friend. He didn’t want me mentioning anything in front of any of the royal guards. Hoggard wouldn’t say what only that you should come to the shop and see him right way.”

Kyra gave the boy a coin. “Thank you. Hoggard sending a messenger boy was potentially bad. She had already been concerned about Bazur heading to Southend alone, but now she was really worried. Bazur was the strongest person she knew, but Southend was not his territory. He’d gone right into the lion’s den, hunting the most dangerous man Kyra had ever dealt with, and who knew how many men Vargas had with him. The more Kyra thought about the possible outcomes, the more nervous she became. Quickly, she made her way towards Hoggard’s shop. The sooner she knew what news Hoggard had the better.

“Kyra, you’re looking well, the royal healer has taken good care of you,” said Hoggard as Kyra entered the shop.

Kyra glanced around the room. She recognized several faces as regular customers and employees of Hoggard’s. A few faces she didn’t recognize. “Hoggard,” she said in greeting while purposely scratching above her right eye. A signal to Hoggard asking if it was safe to talk.

“Come in, have a seat. I’ll get you a bite of something sweet.”

Kyra knew something bad was coming. Hoggard never delivered bad news while standing. He always served a treat when telling someone something they didn’t want to hear. From experience, Kyra knew he would say nothing until she had a seat, so she sat down and braced herself for bad news. Since the messenger boy had arrived at the palace, she’d been imagining all sorts of terrible scenarios.

“Here you go,” said Hoggard as he handed her a plate with two pieces of tarka cake. “One cinnamon and one chocolate berry.” Hoggard waited until she took a bite of one of the pieces of cake before speaking. “One of my men just returned from Southend. He came bearing news of a great fight between the Badlands Savage and the reigning pits champion, Vargas.

Kyra dropped the cake back onto the plate, her appetite was gone. She gripped the end of the table, her knuckles turned white as she squeezed nervously.
Bazur
, she thought.
Is he dead
? Kyra couldn’t stand the idea that he might not return. The brooding half-blood with the piercing dark blue eyes meant something to her. He wasn’t just some expendable muscle hired to protect her or some fling that filled her physical needs. She felt a connection to Bazur that she’d felt with no other man. The rest of the world might see him as a savage, but to her he was something else. To her he was the only man she could both trust and desire. That Hoggard could be about to tell her of his death filled her with dread. “What happened?” she asked softly, trying to hold her emotions in check.

“Supposedly, it was the grandest display of fighting skills that any of the mercenaries in attendance had ever seen. General Vargas moved like the wind, dancing and prancing around the pit, launching fearsome attacks. Bazur was able to defend himself, but he suffered a series of small cuts and as the fight went on, his vitality was drained and he started to slow down. Eventually, General Vargas landed a deadly strike to Bazur’s belly.”

Fear gripped Kyra’s heart in an icy embrace. Strikes to the belly were supposedly excruciatingly painful and often ended in death.

Hoggard noticed Kyra’s discomfort and quickly continued. “However, Bazur pulled the weapon in closer so he could land a strike of his own. While the general tried to free his blade, Bazur landed a strike to General Vargas’s heart.” Hoggard paused to let the details sink in. “General Vargas is dead. Bazur was gravely injured and very well may be dead in a ditch right now. He left Southend before my man, Ned did, but Ned saw no signs of Bazur on the road north. Nor did any of the royal guards watching the city gates see any sign of him. I’ve sent a rider south looking for him.”

He can’t be dead! He is too strong,
Kyra thought to herself. She hadn’t realized how much Bazur meant to her until Hoggard’s words hit her like a hammer. The thought of Bazur dying filled her with dread and worry. She had only just accepted him into her heart, to lose him now would be a crushing blow she might not survive.
No!
He must still be alive!
She told herself. Instead of worrying that he was gravely injured, she focused on the relief in hearing that he’d completed his mission without falling to the general. She filled her hearth with hope. Bazur was too stubborn to die. He’d find a way to make it back to her. “Thank you, Hoggard. You didn’t have to send a rider.”

“Nonsense. I like Bazur. I’d not see him lying in a ditch somewhere waiting to die. He’s too good of a man to die that way.”

Hoggard’s attitude surprised Kyra. She felt the same, but most didn’t share the same opinion. “I’m a little surprised to hear you say that,” she admitted. “Most men are either terrified of him or just want to watch him fight. They don’t see beyond that.”

“People see what you show them,” said Hoggard with a grunt. “Bazur wanted to be alone so he became someone people wanted to leave alone. But once you start speaking to the man, it is hard not to like him. And the way he brought you through the badlands, any other man would’ve left you to die. It took everything he had to carry you across the badlands, and when he got to Draisha all he cared about was making sure you were safe. That is the kind of loyalty and bravery any man can appreciate.”

“I agree,” said Kyra. “However, I don’t believe any simple wound can kill him.”

“It’s possible. I wouldn’t put anything past that man,” admitted Hoggard. “If anyone could survive those wounds it is Bazur. Don’t worry, Kyra. I’m sure he will turn up soon enough.” Hoggard was surprised by how strong of reaction Kyra had to the news of Bazur’s fight. He hadn’t realized how close the two had become. He hoped Bazur did come back. Kyra deserved someone like him. “I suppose you’ll be wanting to inform the prince of Vargas’s death. It will be a welcome relief for him, I’m sure. Have you made any progress on finding out who hired him?”

Yes, she did need to speak to Prince Valentine right away, before word of General Vargas’s death spread too far. “Yes, I believe we’ll be wrapping this case up any day now. I do have to go speak to Prince Valentine again. If you hear anything about Bazur from your man, leave word at my room at the Inn.” With Vargas’s death, she no longer needed the protection of the prince’s royal guards, and now that Marcus had given her a mostly clean bill of health, she no longer had reason to stay in the palace, which despite its opulence and security made her feel cooped up.

…

“General Vargas is dead,” said Kyra. She was in Prince Astor’s private office. The prince had been examining a routine trade document when she arrived and had eagerly invited her in to the office to discuss the investigation.

“Really? That is impressive. General Vargas is, or rather was, a very dangerous man. I’m glad to hear that he is no longer a threat. Bazur’s handiwork, I presume?”

“Yes, he found him in Southend and challenged him to a duel. I don’t know why General Vargas accepted, but he did. Bazur was wounded but he defeated General Vargas.”

“Is Bazur okay?” asked Prince Valentine.

Kyra studied Prince Valentine. The concern in his voice seemed real. There were times she had a hard time understanding the prince. His emotions were at times just slightly off. Laughing at inappropriate things. It wasn’t any one thing that she could place her finger on, but there was something about the prince that was just slightly off. However, his concern for Bazur seemed totally appropriate for the moment and was welcome. That Prince Valentine cared about Bazur being injured showed that his interest wasn’t solely in her, something she often found with males who wanted a working relationship. Whatever it was about the prince that was bothering her wasn’t a lack of empathy. She would have to keep an eye on the prince. Her instincts weren’t often wrong about such things. For now, she saw no reason to worry. “I don’t know. He survived the fight but hasn’t returned to Draisha yet. It sounded like his wounds were severe but I believe he will turn up in time.” Kyra wanted to believe her own words, the alternative was too much to think about so she focused only on positive thoughts about his return.

“I hope he is well.” Prince Valentine paused for a moment as if he was struggling to find the right words. “I don’t mean to be indelicate and talk about business as if it has a higher priority over Bazur’s life, but your plan hinged on Bazur talking to Owen Pickett and seeing if he confesses to his crimes so we can be fully sure the matter is solved. Should I have the royal guards detain him?”

“It isn’t indelicate. Your life and that of your associates is in danger as long as Owen remains alive, assuming it truly is him behind the attacks. But I still believe that detaining him is a bad idea. Discretion is still the best option. However, with Bazur possibly out of commission, we will need to think of a new plan. Can you think of any areas where Owen would be vulnerable? Any secrets or associations that could be used against him? Or even a way of tracking his location or a way into his residence?”

“The Pickett Estates are almost as well guarded as the royal palace, perhaps even better as it is smaller and very secure. I wouldn’t recommend that as a first option.” Prince Valentine scratched his head as he mulled over the problem. Suddenly, he smiled. “By the gods I am dense sometimes. Why didn’t I think of this earlier? Owen has a particular type of woman he desires, or rather a particular way of being pleasured. One that his wife is not likely to embrace.”

“So he brings in mistresses?” asked Kyra.

“No, even better. He frequents a particular brothel to get the attention he desires.”

“Please tell me you know which brothel?” asked Kyra hopefully. Sex was many a man’s weakness and it was one Kyra knew how to exploit.

“No, but I know that it is one of Grundal’s establishments.”

“Your Highness, that is perfect.” Grundal, for all his flaws was someone she knew she could work with, someone who understood discretion.

“I don’t know why that slipped my mind. I guess it didn’t seem relevant when you first told me that Owen was likely behind the attacks. But compared to some of my cousins, Owen’s little fetish seemed mild, and even for the nobles, visiting Grundal’s establishments is commonplace. His women are exceptional, or so I’m told,” said Prince Valentine with a bit of a guilty smile.

“Yes, they are,” agreed Kyra. Grundal’s establishments were the cream of the crop in Draisha’s sex trade world. To have a place among Grundal’s concubines was a place of honor, it meant the woman was not just beautiful, as Draisha was full of beautiful whores, but she was a student of her craft and exceptionally skilled at giving pleasure. In a city where so many of the poor were only half a step removed from being slaves, and many others still were if not in name, the upper-class pleasure houses were a godsend for many women. A girl starving and begging for food one day could suddenly become a desired and powerful goddess that rich and powerful men begged to bed. In Draisha, working at one of the high end brothels was the equivalent of being a blacksmith or a baker, you were a tradesperson with an exceptional skill and not a slave forced to submit to a master’s demands.