The Lord of Death (The Age of Dawn Book 2) (8 page)

“You cannot demand I do anything, you simpleton, you commoner,” The king angrily waved a finger at Baylan, who sighed. The king turned his head, looking at one of the stained glass windows. He stuck a finger in his mouth and started biting it.

“Okay, maybe it wasn’t human. Then what was it?”

“I am sure the scholars have a copy of the ‘Age of Dawn’ in your impressive library. I would suggest you give it a read when you have a chance.”

“Who do you think you are —?”

“My lord, there is an evil mounting below the surface and it has arisen to strike.”

The king’s posture sagged and he slid halfway down his seat.

“My lord,” Walter said. “How long has Malek been your advisor?”

“A great many years, I don’t know.”

“Has he served you well?”

“I suppose, where are you going with this, boy? I don’t have much time, I have to be at dinner tonight.”

“You seem to me to be a decisive man.”

“Yes, one of my many excellent traits, yes.”

“Have you found yourself, ah, having trouble making important decisions lately? Perhaps conflicting voices?”

The king rested his hands upon his chin and stared with his icy gray eyes at Walter.

“Why, yes there has been one decision of particular import that has been keeping me up nights recently. It’s quite strange, really. Whenever I think about sending the army to the Nether and Breden, it’s almost like my mind enters a strange kind of fog.”

Baylan cocked his head at Walter. “Where are you going with this?” Baylan whispered.

“The decision you have been grappling with— have you told anyone else about it?” Walter asked.

“No, only Malek. Of course, the guard may have overheard, but they don’t ever seem to really pay attention to the things I say these days.” The king frowned and started twiddling his thumbs, giving him a childlike appearance.

“Malek,” Walter repeated the man’s name. “Sire, this is going to sound really weird, but we… I think that Malek may have been somehow controlling your thoughts about this decision,” Walter said, rubbing his square jaw.

“But that’s preposterous! How could he — there’s no way.” The king beat his fist against the arms of his chair. “I’m exhausted and this is lunacy.”

“You said so yourself, my king. You’re a decisive man and for some reason you’ve been unable to make a decision about defending the very people you love. You have seen Malek’s power and you believe in the Dragon and Phoenix gods, don’t you?”

“Of course, that is a silly question.”

“I saw Malek using a spell on you the night after the attack. It was at the very moment you were, ah, talking about deploying the Midgaard Falcon.”

“I — I remember. Yes, it was around that time that I felt as though I had lost my faculties. Wizard, was it Baylan?”

“That’s right,” Baylan said with a flourish of his robe.

“Can you confirm what this farm boy says?” the king flapped his heavy pants.

“I cannot confirm it with my own eyes, but I would trust Walter with my life. Can you think clearly in this moment?”

“Yes, it seems as though there is no mental fog at the moment. You have brought me grave news. You have brought traitorous accusations to one of my closest aides. Without any proof, this is all but hearsay.”

Walter started, “Yes, we can —”

The king interrupted, “I have a meeting with Malek tomorrow morning. I will inform the Black Guard of this accusation and we’ll have a test. If I find my thoughts mired in fog when I bring up the subject, then I will deal with my advisor personally.”

Walter bit the insides of his lower lip.
I want to deal with Malek, knew he was a damn scoundrel.

“Thank you for your time, Ezra, er, my king,” Walter said.

“Don’t forget. You have two more days. If you’re wrong, the clock still runs.” Ezra took a deep sigh. “Falsely accusing a member of the high council with false treason is punishable by flaying.”

Baylan swallowed and Walter felt a sudden wetness in his armpits.

“Be gone, I have other matters to tend too.”

“
H
ave you gone mad
? How did you guess what a Mind Eater would do? Have you been reading through my books?” Baylan gestured with flailing arms.

Walter walked with his arms crossed and scuffed his heels with each step along the Royal road. They passed a house with a thin woman in the front yard preparing to drop a squirming rabbit into the mouth of a Sand Buckeye.

“No, I certainly haven’t been looking at your books. I don’t know how to describe it. It’s like that feeling you get when someone is staring at you from afar, you turn to look and meet them directly in the eyes. It was just a feeling.”

“You are something else.” Baylan stopped and retrieved a pad of paper from his pack.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Very, very interesting,” Baylan said, scribbling away.

“Mind Eater, is that the name of the magic I saw Malek use on Ezra?”

“Yes, a Mind Eater. One of the many spells banned by the Silver Tower. He is no longer affiliated with the Tower, but if the Tower found out, it would not bode well for his future.” Baylan sighed. “A Mind Eater will bend the subject to the caster’s will, though not always, especially if the subject has a very strong one.”

“Let me guess, you’re documenting this?”

“Someone has to, one day you’ll thank me.” Baylan smiled.

“Who is going to get your work if we’re flayed?”

“Let’s not think about that.”

“
I
can’t believe
two days just went by,” Walter said, looking to the clear sky.

“I can’t believe how hungry I am,” Grimbald said. Nyset groaned.

They left the Temple of Meditation in the morning, crossing the wizard’s quarters and entering the market quarters. They came upon a pub with a bulbous looking sign carved with ‘The Shiv’s Fang.’ Walter recounted the strangely intelligent creatures chasing him and Juzo in their subterranean tunnels and found himself gritting his teeth and digging his nails into his palms, catching himself before drawing blood.

“Oh, elixir ale,” Grimbald swooned at the short menu posted beside the door.

Adjacent to the pub’s rectangular entrance was a set of jaws that spanned the width of Walter’s torso. Walter rubbed one of its dagger-like teeth and read the placard below the jaws. “Arturus was a true adventurer, for his spirit never found rest in one place. His most legendary accomplishment was mapping the Shiv Fang tunnels north of Midgaard, a place no sane man would dare to tread. This is a trophy from one of his many, courageous exploits. Arturus embraced the Phoenix from a pan that cracked his skull by his wife’s hand.”

“Poor bastard,” Walter said. He followed the others into the Shiv’s Fang. The thought of entering a place with this name just sat all wrong with him.

“You urchins can’t come in here,” said a burly man in a shirt much too small for his frame.

Baylan snickered.

“What’s so funny, wizard?”

“Are you sure?” Walter said, raising the hilt of his Breden guard stamped sword. The man grumbled and his lip twitched. He glanced around uneasily and uncrossed one arm beckoning for them to enter.

“Nicely done,” Nyset said, flashing him a smile. His stomach fluttered and his heart hammered in his chest.
The world really can be a beautiful place,
he thought. He watched her as they walked to a square table, smile pasted to his lips. He bumped into a lady standing up from a table beside him, causing her to spill some pink melon wine.

“Pardon me,” he said quickly.

“Not a bother,” she said, wiping a drop from her hand.

Baylan signaled for the barmaid, and she set four glistening brown ales upon the table.

“By the Dragon! Whoever thought of this was a scholarly genius,” Walter said holding his glass before his eyes.

“Oh yes, it surely does tickle the senses,” Baylan said, taking a slurp of his elixir ale.

“Cheers! To Midgaard, to hopefully keeping our heads on, and finding how this damn attacker got into the king’s quarters.” Grimbald said, smiling broadly. They all raised their glasses in a sonorous clink, turning the heads of a few proper nobles enjoying their morning supper.

“Malek is having his morning meeting with the king?” Walter said, licking foam from his lips.

“Think so,” Baylan said.

“What did you guys learn?” Walter asked, leaning forward in his barstool.

“Unfortunately the Black Guard was pretty tight lipped. I guess that’s not overly surprising.” Nyset said, staring into her mug.

“Like trying to turn stone back into magma,” Grimbald huffed.

“Was Malek able to get you into the dungeons?” Walter asked.

“Yes… what an awful place,” Nyset said, clenching and unclenching her fists. “Dungeons, more like torture chambers, no man should be held in those conditions. It’s just not right, it’s just not fair. I met a man who had missed his tax payment by a day and had been imprisoned for over a month. He looked like he was fed hardly once a week, just awful.” She shook her head and tucked a stray lock of golden hair behind her ear. Walter nodded, eyes fixed upon hers.

“We will unfortunately have to fight for prisoners’ rights another day,” Baylan said.

“Anyway, we did get to see the assassin,” Nyset said.

“Unlike anything I've ever seen,” Grimbald said frowning.

“Can I get you folks something else?” the barmaid said, stopping at their table. She had hazel eyes the size of saucers and white porcelain breasts half exposed beyond the bust line. Grimbald looked her up and down and Walter couldn’t help his eyes from drifting to the deep valley between her chest.

“Normally we have bacon, eggs, and rabbit. Right now, all we have is Shroomling soup.”

“People eat those things?” Walter said.

“Rabbit? Of course,” she said, hefting a tray full of ale.

“No, Shroomlings,” Walter corrected her.

“You would not believe what people eat in the Blue Oasis to the east Walter,” Baylan said.

“I think I’m all set, thank you. You guys?” Walter said, forcing a smile and looking to the others.

Walter turned back to Nyset to find her glowering across the table at him.

“What?” he asked, his eyes innocent. The others shook their heads at the barmaid, apparently deciding to stick to a liquid morning supper.

“I think we’re all set, thank you,” Nyset said to the barmaid. The woman strode to an adjacent table, red hair whipping behind her. “I don’t blame you Walt. I suppose I don’t have all that much to look at.”

Walter felt his cheeks burning and found himself staring into the foam on the lip of his glass.
How do I fix this? Apologize for being a man?

She sighed and let her face relax. “The assassin, well it was about what you would expect for someone in his line of work. Dark robes, muscular and lean. What was most fascinating about it was its face. It had two tiny nostrils and,” She paused to take a sip of ale. “Its eyes were flat and almost opaque. No mouth to speak of, just a mass of flash where it should have been. Its weapons were also recovered. Its swords had letters etched into the blade, much like those found around Malek’s chambers, and they glowed with this strange, soft yellow light. I didn’t dare touch them.” She visibly shivered and wrapped her arms around her body.

“There is an ugliness to those blades… pain, anger, fear. No, those weapons are cursed. I think vilely so.”

“Those blades just aren’t right,” Grimbald said, folding his massive arms.

“Then Malek had other affairs to tend to and Grimbald left to train. I made my way to the Midgaard Tower library. The Arch Librarian directed me to a text called the ‘Death Spawn Compendium’. The crux of it is, well, these are, in fact, Asebor’s soldiers.” She swallowed and Baylan’s lips formed a hard line.

“My suspicions were true. When living, their skin will naturally transform its color and texture to match the environment, much like the Zebra Fish, but much more sophisticated in its mechanism.”

“Truly fascinating, Nyset. What a fantastical discovery,” Baylan said, nodding with far too much enthusiasm.

“I still can't believe Malek would stray so far down this path. It’s just not like him. I’ve known him since we were children. We started in the Tower together, he always had a desire for power and strength… but I never thought he would have followed this route to get it.” Baylan said. Walter looked over at Baylan’s notebook, a mess of what appeared to be doodles.

“Sometimes there is just no way to understand it,” Walter said, nodding. “There was a man in my village, he used to sell soup, and give the kids sweets. Well, one day, he apparently decided it would be a better idea to poison the village to satisfy his own twisted sexual desires,” Walter said, his eyes burning in anger. “I’m sorry, what I meant to say is, I hope we’re wrong about your friend.”

“I am lost. What are you guys talking about?” Grimbald said. He wrapped both of his big hands around his glass.

“Oh, that’s right, we didn’t tell you about our meeting with King Ezra,” Baylan said. He and Walter recounted their meeting with the king.

Nyset placed a hand on Baylan’s neck and rubbed it briefly. “Don't worry, we’ll figure it out.”

“We do have a good lead,” Grimbald said.

“And what's that?” Baylan said, tapping his quill against his glass.

“I forgot to mention it to you guys when you were checking out the body, it just happened to turn out that the Cell Keeper, Ralf was good friends with my Pa, used to live right above the bar in Shipton, so I was able to get some knowledge out of him.”

Walter leaned back in his chair and flagged the bouncing barmaid for a refill.

“There are three entrances, service tunnels, from outside the palace that lead into the king’s quarters, set with guard stations.”

Baylan nodded and started drawing a rough map in his notebook.

“We could go and force some information out of them, how does that sound?” Grimbald said, flexing his muscles and grinning.

“It sounds like an awful idea, we don’t want more trouble with the king.” Walter said flatly. “Why don’t we try to catch a glimpse of their logs? They must have some type of document detailing who goes in and who goes out, right? That should be less risky than trying to beat information from them.”

“Yes, Walter that's absolutely brilliant,” Nyset said, putting her mug down with a thud. “It could work.”

“No, this man is the genius,” Walter said wagging his finger at Grimbald. Grimbald smiled and took a big gulp of his ale.

“There are two tunnels to the east and one to the north. How should we go about trying to check out the logs?” Grimbald said.

“Nyset and I will check the two to the east, you guys take a look at the guard station to the north. Grim, do you know if there are other ways people can get into his quarters?”

“Ralf seems to think it’s the only way in. He said the servants often complain about the long route they have to take to deliver the king’s meals.”

“That sounds good,” Baylan nodded.

“Remember, no violence if it can be avoided. We don't need any more trouble barking at our backs,” Walter said, folding his hands.

All of these delays are keeping me from searching for Juzo. Juzo, if he’s even still — no, he is alive. He is alive.
Walter sighed. Memories of Breden guards being impaled, cut apart, and consumed by nightmarish monsters flashed across his mind. The Breden messenger being tortured for his soul by Cerumal.
No more, no more violence for a bit.

Baylan fished a mark with a glittering topaz from his pocket and left it on the table of empty glasses. She should be pleased, that was a mighty tip for a few drinks.

Walter and Nyset left the Shiv’s Fang, heading east towards the market quarter’s center. A long trail of push carts snaked up and down through the market center, leaving no direct path through, by design he was sure. They were organized into separate columns by products. They first walked by rows of brilliant fruits and vegetables, some Walter recognized, others he wasn’t sure were even edible.

People crowded around the carts stuffed with produce, with enormous scales for weighing, and blackboards with hand-scrawled prices. They yelled and bartered and threw up wild gestures in their deal makings. People sniffed bags of spices and odd sticks of wood and rubbed bolts of cotton between their fingers. Some pressed on rare fruit, scratched marks, and peered through monocles to inspect gems.

Nyset hopped and said, “Wow, look at those!” She walked to a cart with shelves lined with small pebbles, glowing with varied hues. “So pretty.”

“How do you fair on this glorious day?” the shopkeep said with a toothy smile. He handed a cloth bag to a customer, who dropped a few glittering marks into his dirty palm.

“Okay, how much are these?”

Walter turned his back on the cart and watched as a pair of elderly men shouted something about today’s price of hens. Another woman waved a small canvas bag of her beans, claiming they can restore lost eyesight if consumed in sufficient quantities.

“Merchants,” he grunted.

The tumult of the market was not something he was used too or thought he would ever grow to like. He found the chaos of the market place unnerving. He felt a longing for the stillness of the elixir farm in the early morning.
Too hard to think with all this noise.

“Thank you, young lady.” The shopkeep said behind him.

“Isn’t this fascinating?” Nyset cupped a small pebble in her hands that glowed with an orange light.

“What does it do?” he asked.

“Nothing, it just glows.”

“But can’t you, you know,” he paused. “Make things glow whenever you want?” he said quietly.

“Yes, but this is different.”

“How?”

“It just is.” She stuffed the pebble into her pocket. “You’re annoying!” she said, smiling and lightly wrapping her hands around his neck to choke him. He pushed her hands off and threw his arm around her shoulders, pulling her by his side. They strolled through the market, taking in the scene.

“How do you think we’ll be able to convince the guards to show us their logs, assuming they even have one,” Nyset said, twiddling the brilliant pebble between her fingers.

“A good place to start would be asking, let’s hope they do keep logs here. They did in Breden, they must here.”

“And if they won’t let you see them?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” he said with a sigh. “Do you have any ideas?”

“I— I think I just may,” she said with intent eyes. Walter followed her gaze to a shop with hundreds of plants behind the windows. The sign above the entrance read, ‘The Herbalist’ and had carvings of trees on either side. He followed her into the shop and a small bell rang behind them. Along the walls from floor to ceiling were jars filled with loose flowers, leaves, roots, and other plant parts.

A thin woman came from a room behind the counter, shuffling and looking for something. She had a red line of paint down the center of her face and wooden beads in her hair. She wore an airy skirt and several large bags were draped across her body, brimming with branches and flowers.

“Oh, hi there. How are you?” she said, rifling through canvas bags on the floor.

“Good afternoon, my son is very sick,” Nyset lied. “He won't stop crying and it’s keeping the family up all night. Right hubby?”