The Mercenary Trilogy Boxed Set, page 15
part #1 of The Mercenary Series
“Tribesmen.” Corin managed a wan smile. “Where’s Sulina?”
“Visiting family in Sedinadola; I’m working double shifts to cover her leave.” Tysha sounded resentful.
“Have you any ale?”
“Don’t think you need it in your current state.” Tysha scratched her tattooed cheek. “But it’s your choice.” She shrugged and went off to get a jug. “Here, but drink it slowly. You’re half dead, by the look of you.”
“I’ll survive.” Corin’s said. “Just get that beer.”
***
Corin gulped his ale down while Tysha watched him with dark, thoughtful eyes. “How about another?” Corin drain the mug and belched.
“No way—you need to rest.” Tysha got one of the other girls to help her carry Corin upstairs, and together they pitched their long-legged burden onto a straw cot usually frequented by the drunks who couldn’t find their way home. They left him be, and Corin slept well past noon the next day.
***
Rested and somewhat back to himself, Corin had allowed Tysha to scrub his naked body in the wash tank and pick dirt from his many wounds. She also performed another small service that he hadn’t requested but enjoyed all the same.
“You’ll be staying around here, then?” Tysha reluctantly withdrew her hand from the filthy water and wiped it dry on her sleeve. “I’m free most nights.”
Corin closed his eyes, feeling exhausted again. He pictured Yazrana’s dark eyes and felt a sudden shame. “I left her,” Corin told Tysha, who glanced back at him in surprise.
“Who’s that?”
“It doesn't matter now.” Corin thanked Tysha and begged her to leave him be. The girl obliged with a quizzical quirk of her lips. Corin spent most of that day and the following one resting up and recovering. But at night he kept his ears sharp as he supped ale in the taproom. He learned that Barakani, after having teased and tested the Crimson Elite in a few damaging raids outside Sedinadola, had withdrawn his force and slipped back into the desert where, rumor was, he had a secret camp somewhere inland from the Silver Strand, the long white beach that ran from the royal city to Syrannos.
There was no news of any northerners having been involved. Corin assumed his regiment was still close by and was determined to ride out and join them as soon as he could. If Taskala was there, Corin would kill him. If not, he’d find where he’d gone and catch up with the swordmaster, however long that took.
He listened in as a couple of merchants shared coffee and comments on events transpiring in the west. “Going to be a long war,” the merchant facing Corin said, a lean fellow with hooked nose and thick lips. He spoke with an unusual accent Corin couldn’t place and seemed unconcerned that anyone might be listening. The inn was quiet that night, but Corin wasn’t the only drinker.
“Let’s hope it’s a profitable one,” replied the merchant with his back to Corin. That one’s head was covered by a dark-red burnoose, hiding his features, though Corin caught the glint of something shiny and then saw the diamond stud in his left ear.
“The Crimson are overconfident,” the hook-nosed merchant said. “Barakani knows he has to play a waiting game to win, and the sultan’s not known for his patience any more than his soldiers are. Therein lies the warlord’s strength. Barakani knows how stone and water will turn to sand if you allow enough years to pass by.”
“Poetic, if a trifle irrelevant.” The merchant with his back to Corin chuckled. “He’ll need to act at some point, if only to keep the tribes together. You know how wild those nomads are, Nula.”
Nula nodded. “Barakani is not his father. There is something about him. You'll see when you meet him next month.”
“I’m looking forward to it.” The merchant with the earring chuckled slightly as if he’d said something funny. “These are high stakes we play for, Nula.”
“The highest. What of the sorcerer in the north? Has he shown his hand yet?”
“Not yet, but it’s only a matter of time. My contacts in Kella City say the high king’s health is failing fast, and Caswallon has fed him with lies until he’s paranoid that everyone is plotting against him, when the only real enemy he has is the serpent feeding him the lies. Kelsalion had his own brother arrested, you know.”
This last was said in a raised tone, as if to deliberately draw comment from anyone listening close by. “It’s alright, Corin an Fol. You’re among allies here.” The second merchant turned in his seat, and Corin stared into the dark cunning eyes of Silon of Port Sarfe, the arrogant aloof merchant he had escorted north that second time he’d left Permio.
Oh, it’s you . . .
Corin hid his surprise and instead demanded to know what had happened to Lord Halfdan. “He escaped custody,” Silon explained. “Lord Halfdan still has friends in that city, though they grow fewer every day, falling victim to fatal accidents at alarming rates.” Silon’s shrewd black eyes pinned Corin’s stormy gaze.
“And why are you here, Longswordsman?”
“That’s my own affair, and I could ask the same of you, Merchant.”
“Who is this rough young fellow?” Nula asked his friend.
“The one I told you about,” Silon replied and winked at Corin. “One of Lord Halfdan’s stray Wolves.”
“How do you know me?” Corin’s hand edged toward Clouter’s hilt. The merchant, Nula, looked nervous, but his companion shrugged.
“You’re not easy to miss with that big sword, Corin an Fol.” Silon smiled at Corin. “And if you’re looking for Taskala, he’s headed back up north. General Belmarius leads the Permio campaign now that the Wolves are to be disbanded.”
“They’re to be what?”
“Hunted down and killed by order of Lord Caswallon, as their patron has been branded a traitor who seeks the high king’s crown for himself.” Silon raised a calming hand as Corin half-leapt from his chair, only stopping when his almost healed cuts seeped open again. “Just one of several lies Caswallon has been spreading throughout the realm.” Silon continued. “Many follow that canard now, including one individual you know well. Rumor is, Taskala took gold from his new master, Perani, and is returning to Point Keep to put an end to the high king’s brother.”
Corin slumped back in his chair. “This is no surprise meeting, is it?” He pinned Silon with an icy stare. “What do you want from me, Merchant?”
Nula looked puzzled, but Silon smiled. “Oddly enough—loyalty, Corin an Fol. You see, I know quite a bit about you. Things you don’t even know yourself. Suffice it to say, I’ve work for you down here in Permio, should you wish it.”
“I don’t want anything from you, and I’m buggered if I know what your game is. But don’t worry about Taskala because I’m going to gut him open from bollocks to chin.”
“That might well prove harder than you think.” Silon finished his coffee and rested a tanned hand on his fellow merchant’s hand. “Come, Nula, let’s finish our business elsewhere. This tavern has served its purpose.” Nula nodded and after awarding Corin a quizzical stare followed Silon to the door.
“Excellent coffee.” Corin watched Silon wink at Tysha as she brushed past him. “I’d stay clear of that northerner if I were you.” Silon hinted to where Corin sat scowling at him. “I reckon he’s got a roving eye.” Silon grinned at Corin and vanished into the street outside.
“What the fuck was all that about?” Tysha asked Corin as she gazed at the doorway where the merchants had just left.
“I have to leave as soon as I can,” Corin told her. “Tomorrow at the latest. I don’t know what that little shit is up to, but I dare not chance he’s lying. I’ve a debt to pay, Tysha. A matter of honor. I had planned to take my time, but fresh events have forced my hand.”
Tysha just shook her head, confused.
“Once that’s done I’ll return here, as I’ve business in Syrannos too. Expect me back in a few weeks.”
“I might still be here.” The girl looked disappointed.
Corin wondered how he would fund a trip back north when he was down to his last coin. That question was answered for him when the coffeehouse owner came in and dropped a large purse full of gold on the table where Corin was seated.
“What—?”
“Don’t ask me.” The portly proprietor, Gorfe, shrugged. “That merchant with the earring was here last night too. Said he was looking for you and that you would need this soon. Oh, and he said you can pay him back later.”
“What does he want with me?” Gorfe didn’t respond and Corin turned to examine the gold, his mind clogged full of unanswered with questions.
Despite his fear for Halfdan’s safety, Corin didn’t feel strong enough to leave yet. He stayed another week, practicing with Clouter in the stable yard until his arms felt like lead. He asked Gorfe if he’d heard of the merchant Oliam but he hadn’t, so Corin decided to leave that task be for the moment. What difference would a few weeks make? Ceilyn’s pretty face was a distant memory, but Yazrana’s dark eyes haunted his every waking hour.
He needed strength and for his body to repair. Day after day, Corin exercised with Clouter in the yard outside the coffeehouse, and at night Tysha helped banish some of the desolation swamping his soul.
That last morning arrived, and Corin rose early. He gazed down at Tysha’s naked brown body sprawled akimbo across the bed. “Thanks,” he said. “You’re a true friend I won’t forget. But I’ve a score to settle that cannot wait.”
Corin left the tavern as dawn paled the cluttered streets of Cappel Cormac and the first vendors and hawkers emerged sleepy-eyed from their dens.
He ventured down into the harbor and after an hour’s steady bartering booked passage on a merchant ship bound for Port Sarfe. Once there, he traded coin for a fast horse and began the long ride north to Kelthaine.
Chapter 16 | The Challenge
It had taken Corin three weeks of hard riding to reach the remote outpost known as Point Keep. He’d ridden through much of Kelwyn and Kelthaine as the weather turned increasingly colder, with frost and the occasional snow flurry whitening fields he passed. Corin had shivered throughout the journey; he wasn’t ready for winter, having spent so long in the south.
At last he reached the Gap of Leeth, a wide-open plain wedged between the mountains, beyond it the vast wilderness called Leeth, a land Corin knew nothing about.
He turned south, hugging the foothills of the High Wall—the great mountain range that guarded the Four Kingdoms from the barbaric realms beyond. Centuries past, Point Keep and its sister fortress, the redoubtable Car Carranis, had been constructed as eastern watchtowers and over time were strengthened and enlarged to serve as city fortresses. Point Keep was the smaller of the two, positioned high in a defile hidden by a shoulder of the mountains.
After a few hours Corin found the track leading off and up into the hidden cleft. High above, the walls of Point Keep frowned down at him. Corin scowled as he recalled how he’d enjoyed his last trip here. But times changed. He only hoped Lord Halfdan was still breathing. He’d find out soon enough.
Believing surprise his best option, Corin waited until well after nightfall, then yelled for the gate guards to let him in. They saw a tall man on horseback with a longsword and flapping cloak, his face buried beneath a hood.
“Who calls?” Corin heard a muffled voice behind the gates.
“An old friend. I seek Taskala Swordmaster,” Corin answered, trying not to shout. “I’ve a message from the high king himself.”
“Wait there.” There followed a series of bangs, thuds, and grumbles, and the sound of keys jingling, and finally one of the huge gates creaked ajar enough to allow Corin through. He didn’t recognize the young guard, but that wasn’t surprising as most of the men he knew were dead, their bones bleached white beneath that murderous Permio sun. “Who are you, and why were you creeping about in the dark out there?”
“Not your concern,” Corin responded. The young guard caught the glint in this stranger’s eye and saw the length of his sword and clearly decided not to press the matter. “Is Lord Halfdan present?” Corin pinned the lad with a steely stare.
“He’s most likely resting. The commander and the swordmaster were out hunting early this morning.”
“Were they alone?” Corin’s voice was sharp.
“No, there were twenty or so. They ranged out into the forests hunting boar and keeping an eye out for any stray barbarian. They say Leeth has a new ruler, and that one day he’ll invade our—”
“Where’s Taskala’s quarters?” Corin cut in. The guard blinked back at him. “I haven’t got time to fuck about, mate. Where will I find him?”
“He won’t like being disturbed.” The young guard looked unhappy. “In the Great Hall,” he said eventually. “Lord Taskala has taken that for his personal quarters, as the regiment is not what it was.”
“Lord Taskala?” Corin barked an ironic laugh and left the puzzled guard behind.
“Shall I call someone to accompany you?” The young watchman looked increasingly worried.
“Don’t bother,” Corin shouted back. “I know the way.”
Corin left the gatehouse behind and trudged up the long path leading to the castle main. The Great Hall lay within the keep, the highest tower overlooking the rest of the fortress. Lord Halfdan’s quarters were above it, dangerously close to where Taskala now resided. Corin jogged across to the keep, found the narrow spiral stairway within, and took the stone steps two at a time.
***
Taskala sat alone in the heavy chair. The hour was late, and the fortress slept. But there would be no sleep for him tonight. He swilled the glass of port around his fingers as he studied his options. Clearly things had gotten out of hand, and he had been caught neatly in the middle. The agents he met with back in Kella City had been most insistent.
“The high king’s brother must die,” they’d told him. “For the good of the realm. Halfdan’s a threat and will continue to be so at Point Keep. At some point he’ll return with an army on his back. We cannot let that happen.”
Taskala had listened to their lies and nonsense without a word. He knew his commander to be the most loyal of men who would never conspire against his brother. But that didn’t matter a nonce. The Wolves were outlawed now, and Taskala had to look to himself. So he’d met with General Perani of the Tigers and explained his difficult position.
“You’d be a valid asset,” Perani had told him. “And I would reward you with a commission that brought with it a fine salary, including a house in the royal mile. But first I need a show of loyalty.”
Loyalty . . .
Taskala smiled at the irony. He had always been passionate about his regiment. He’d loved the Wolves and had served for more than thirty years. But at forty-six he was no longer young, and the thought of being hunted down like a rabid dog and then eventually hung, drawn, and quartered for treason was beyond contemplation. Untenable. So to survive, he had to betray his commander, a man Taskala respected like no other.
But what choice did he have? Halfdan had brought this on himself—and the rest of them, for that matter. Instead of seeing how things stood and allowing Caswallon a free hand in Kella, Halfdan had gone out of his way to aggravate the high king’s counselor, now known to be the only real authority in Kelthaine and thus the Four Kingdoms too. Caswallon was ambitious, shrewd, and very dangerous—always had been. Taskala didn’t like the man, but that was irrelevant. You had to back a winner in this life.
Halfdan had lost. And now to earn Perani’s trust, he, Taskala, most loyal of captains, would have to slice open the throat of his commander. So be it.
Taskala gulped down the rest of the port and hurled the glass into the roaring fire. And why delay? He’d had several opportunities this afternoon when they’d been pursuing that boar, but Taskala knew he’d need a stiff drink before he could commit to such a task.
But now he was ready. Taskala stood and wiped the smear of port from his mouth. He was more than half drunk and dreading what he had to do. But needs must. He turned to face the door and then froze upon seeing Corin an Fol standing there.
“What the . . . ?” Taskala’s hand dropped to his side, where his dagger hung from his belt.
***
“You piece of shit.” Corin stormed into the Great Hall and kicked Taskala in the gut before he’d time to free his blade. The swordmaster fell backward, but drunk though he appeared, Taskala was still quick. He rolled aside and tripped Corin, who fell across him.
Taskala reached down with his left hand and freed his knife, but Corin grabbed an ear and rammed his face down hard against the slate flagstoned floor, crunching Taskala’s nose and snapping the small bone.
Corin sprang back on his feet and then kicked the swordmaster hard in the groin as Taskala struggled to get up. Then Corin freed Clouter, stood over his prone enemy, and pricked the longsword’s point under Taskala’s chin. “I’ll not slay you here and stain our regiment’s name. Have you the balls and honor to face me alone?”
“You know that I have,” Taskala choked as blood from his broken nose filled his mouth.
“Good. First light then.” Corin hoisted Clouter up and the slung the longsword back in its scabbard. “You name the place, and make sure you come alone.”
“Gardale Moor.” Taskala rolled to feet and spat blood on the straw-covered flagstones.
“And where is that?”
“A lone hill, four miles south of the Gap. You would have passed it on your journey here. Its crown is encircled by beech trees and can be seen easily from north, south, and east.”
“I shall find it.” Corin watched as Taskala took hold of his nose with his right hand and snapped the bone straight. “I hope that hurt,” Corin added. Taskala just stared at him. “First light, Swordmaster—don’t be late. And remember—this is just between us two.”
“I’ll be there.” Taskala smiled up at Corin. “I’ve been wanting to gut you open for years. Thought I’d lost my chance and you’d died in the desert, but they say bad pennies always roll back.”
