The Mercenary Trilogy Boxed Set, page 17
part #1 of The Mercenary Series
But it was too late; they were already dragging Corin an Fol out into the damp chill of that early winter’s day.
***
Corin glanced up at the scaffold and saw two ravens perched on either side. “Get rid of those birds!” Greggan ordered the three men standing up there. “Bloody things give me the creeps.”
The ravens hopped and croaked as the nearest spearman waved his weapon at them. They took flight for a moment before settling again, this time higher up the scaffold. From there they surveyed with cold black eyes the scene unfolding.
“I’ll not wear that,” Corin told Greggan as his friend reached for the rag to cover his eyes. Greggan nodded and knelt to tie Corin’s hands behind his back.
“We’ll make it quick,” Greggan assured him.
“Thank you.” Corin managed an ironic smile. “Taskala was a traitor, Greggan. Make sure you tell the commander that.” Corin gazed around, feeling the sharp cold air, seeing the white snow coating scaffold, planks, and flagstones below. He felt so alive; shame he was to die. Corin blinked back tears.
It doesn’t matter—nothing lasts forever. We are dust and wind and memories . . .
Corin was determined to die well so Greggan could report that back to Lord Halfdan. At least then the commander would know him as no craven. Funny how such a thing should matter here, but it did.
Someone spoke and Corin blinked again.
“I said he doesn’t need to—I already know.” The voice came from behind them.
Corin and the men around him turned to gaze at the smiling face of their commander. “Dismantle that ugly monstrosity.” Halfdan pointed up at the scaffold, where a guard was currently testing the drop. “We won’t be needing it today. Instead, you can cut up that lumber for firewood. We’ll want as much as possible for the feast tonight. It’s going to be a big one.”
Corin blinked backed tears of relief as the cold wind buffeted his ears. He wasn’t going to die today, despite his certainty. Corin felt his legs quiver and shake and he struggled to contain his joy and relief.
The guards, including Greggan, grinned in astonished wonder as they leapt to obey their commander’s orders. Halfdan turned and rested a gloved hand on Corin’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry I mistrusted you, boy. Forgive me—I grow old and my wits wander.”
“There is nothing to forgive, my lord.” Corin smiled as Sergeant Greggan, laughing, cut the ropes and freed his hands.
***
“It was a letter from Silon, a wealthy merchant, who I believe you may have encountered before,” Halfdan said.
Corin nodded as he tore at the pork chop. Close by, the hearth filled the Great Hall with glow and warmth, and three large hounds lolled sleepily in front of it. There were nearly a hundred and fifty men packed into the hall, feasting and drinking and toasting one another. Only those unfortunates on gate duty were missing out on this feast.
“It tells in detail of Taskala’s treachery. Silon has spies in Kella City; he’s not just a merchant, by the way.” Corin nodded, having assumed that much. “How he planned to work for Perani—another traitor,” Halfdan continued. “And after killing me would be rewarded with a high commission in the Tiger Regiment. And, more important, win the gratitude and favor of one Caswallon.”
“Why would he do such a thing? No one liked Taskala, but we all believed him the most loyal of men.” Greggan was puzzled, as were many seated there.
“He changed after that last trip to Permio,” Halfdan told them. “I noticed how haunted Taskala looked at times, as though something twisted and wrong worked inside him. And he wouldn’t look me in the eye as he’d always done before. I ignored the signs, believing them just a soldier’s tortured conscience. We are all affected by the aftermath of battle, no matter how hardy we appear.”
“So what now?” Corin wiped his mouth and slurped down a large amount of ale. He still couldn’t really believe he was alive and was determined to get as drunk as he could during the next few hours.
“We stay put here in Point Keep,” Halfdan replied. “That knave Perani has shown his hand, throwing in his lot with the high king’s counselor, who I now believe to be the instigator of my brother’s sorry demise. And your suspicions were right, Corin. Rumors have reached me that Caswallon has been steeping in sorcery for some time now. It would explain his rapid rise to power. We cannot go near Kella City, gentlemen. I don’t know about Belmarius’s lot, but the Tigers would hunt us down to a man. We are much depleted, whereas their number surpasses three thousand strong.
“No, my dear Wolves, it is our task to watch and wait and be prepared for any outcome. Then, if and when the time is right, we’ll return and take the city back, and I shall kill Caswallon and free my brother from his invisible bonds.”
They toasted their commander and cheered.
***
The next morning Corin sat in the commander’s study, his head thumping and his vision blurred. “Are you sure this is what you want?” Halfdan looked displeased.
“I am. My lord, I cannot remain in the regiment. Too much has happened. And there are things I need to learn. Mysteries from my past that haunt me still. There is someone I must find down in Permio—a memory and a shadow, but a mystery I must solve. After that I desire to return to Finnehalle, my home. There was a girl there I once knew.” Corin pictured Holly’s smiling face and was filled with a desire to see her again.
Halfdan studied Corin’s face long and hard. Finally he nodded, then he stood and reached into a closet and passed a woolen bundle to Corin.
“A cloak?” Corin untied the strings and unfolded a heavy gray cloak with hood to match.
“An officer’s cloak. I wore it once, and it will suit you too,” Lord Halfdan told him. “I trust you still have that golden broach?”
“Of course. It’s in my saddlebag.” Corin nodded thanks as he wrapped the warm woolen cloak across his shoulders.
“Comes in handy in the desert.” Halfdan smiled wickedly.
“How did you know I wanted to return to Permio?” Corin was puzzled, as all those who knew about his sister’s existence were now dead.
“Funny you should say that.” Halfdan waved his hands. “I promised Silon swift response to any messages he sends me. It’s part of our agreement to foil Caswallon’s plotting.” Halfdan was grinning now. “I’d not trust to pigeon alone, though I will send a few. No, Corin. I need someone reliable and capable to carry my response to Silon in Cappel Cormac, where he’s currently working with the Permian Resistance.”
“The Permian what?”
“Didn’t you know? The sultan’s Crimson Guard massacred a squadron of Belmarius’s Bears after some quarrel down there. It prompted Silon to meet with Barakani in secret and together plot the downfall of the sultan. It seems they’ve much in common.
“There’s more to it than that, of course, and I’m certain Caswallon’s hand was involved in that massacre, perhaps hoping to do away with General Belmarius as well as me and let his Tigers rule supreme. But suffice it to say, our war with the nomads is over for the meantime. The sultan cannot be trusted, and it would serve us well to see his demise.”
Corin blinked. “I—”
“That cloak suits you, by the way.” Halfdan smiled up at him. “You are a lone wolf now, Corin. Or should I say a Gray Wolf?” He waved a dismissive hand and bade Corin to depart. “Farewell, Corin an Fol. I hope you find what you are seeking down there in the hot lands. Perhaps Sion can help you. May the gods bless your road, and may we meet again before the end.”
Lord Halfdan thrust out his hand, and Corin shook it vigorously. An hour later he was on the road riding a fast horse with the wind in his face and Clouter strapped across his sturdy new gray cloak. Corin’s life in the Wolves was over, but there was one task that still awaited him.
Chapter 20 | Syrannos
Tysha’s smile was a picture, and Corin wrapped his arms around her when the girl threw herself at him. Close by, Sulina—back from her sojourn—looked baffled and flustered.
“You did come back—and me thinking I’d lost you!” Tysha kissed him, and Corin felt a sudden warmth for this girl who had helped him at that darkest time.
“I almost didn’t—though through no wish of my own. But I couldn’t bear the thought of not seeing your lovely face again, Tysha.” Sulina rolled her eyes upon hearing that, but Tysha beamed and kissed Corin hard on the lips.
“So how long are you staying?” Tysha demanded as she returned with a steaming coffeepot and tray full of spice cakes. “I’ve already asked Gorfe, and he says you’re welcome here as long as you want.”
“That’s good of him, but actually I need to leave right away. I came to see you, girl, get a night’s rest—or whatever else is on offer.” Corin winked at her. “And then ride out early in the morning.”
“But you’ve just gotten here—where are you off to now?”
“Syrannos, on business.”
“Let him go, Tysha.” Sulina was still eavesdropping. “You know what these fighting men are like. Girl in every port—he’ll break your heart, so he will.”
“I will not,” Corin waved Sulina away. The older girl sniffed in disapproval but left them to it. “There’s something I have to do; it won’t take long,” Corin told Tysha, then looked up as Gorfe the owner appeared.
“That merchant you know left this for you yesterday. Said he knew you were on your way down here. Also said this might help.” Gorfe handed Corin the crunched parchment. Puzzled, Corin quickly broke the seal and opened the letter.
Corin an Fol:
I hear you are a free agent. Seek me out in Port Sarfe if you need a contract. I pay handsomely and on time. You could do worse. Apropos, Gorfe tells me you need to find someone you lost long ago. Don’t worry—he works for me as does everyone at the coffeehouse—it’s why my friend Lord Halfdan chose it as a safe house for his Wolves when they were in Cappel. I visit as often as can.
Gorfe is my eyes and ears, and Halfdan wanted me to watch you—I confess I do not know why. But I told Gorfe and his girls to listen in on your conversations. So he heard about the business with Torval and the merchant Oliam and passed that news on to me.
I met Oliam once. He kept a smart villa in the street of Olives close by the temple. As I recall, it had golden gates fashioned into dragon’s wings. Perhaps you should pay him a visit.
After that, think on my offer!
Speak soon,
Silon
Corin wasn’t sure whether to laugh or curse. “So you are all spies,” he said. “Even your little Tysha.”
“Tysha knows nothing,” Gorfe cut in. “Sulina is my master spy and reports back to me all she hears. Saved a few lives over the years, has Sulina. But I didn’t want to involve my younger daughter in such dangerous a pastime.”
“They are your daughters? Sisters?” Corin blinked and pored over the letter again. “Well—thanks, but now that I’ve read this, I need to leave right away.”
“What is this about?” Tysha demanded of her father, annoyed that she hadn’t been a party to whatever they’d been up to.
“Let him tell you if he wishes to. In the meantime there are other customers waiting and chores to attend.”
***
An hour later Corin stood with harness in hand and horse stamping beside him. Tysha blocked the stable entrance, her feet braced and long black hair tied back. She looked determined.
“I should go with you,” Tysha told Corin.
“No way; you are needed here. Besides, it might be dangerous.”
“I know Syrannos; our mother lives there. She’s who Sulina visited last month. Sulina’s close to Mother, whereas I love my father better.”
Corin scratched his ear, trying to take this in.
“They are estranged,” Tysha said. “Separated—have been for years.”
“Well, of course I understand that, but it doesn’t change anything. I need to do this alone, Tysha.”
“I’m coming with you.” The girl stood her ground. Corin stared at her for a minute and then smiled. Something about Tysha’s determined angry expression reminded him of Yazrana. “Very well—but don’t get in my way if there’s trouble. I need a lot of room to swing this thing.” He rested a palm on Clouter’s hilt, where it hung from the horse’s saddle. “You’ll need a horse.’
“I have one ready.”
“And you had better clear this with your father.”
“He knows.” Tysha grinned. “Well—are we leaving or not?”
***
Corin bade Tysha to wait behind with the horses as he slung Clouter’s harness across his back and approached the huge pale-blue villa with the intricate fountains and statues of birds. It had been easy to find, lying so close to the huge Temple of Telcanna and fronted by those gilded dragons more than twelve feet high.
Corin crossed the street, glancing back to see Tysha lead the horses under the shade of palms that were everywhere in this city. Three days’ ride had brought them here, and Corin was impressed by how clean and ordered this city was compared to Cappel Cormac. Tysha had told him it was nothing compared to the wealth of Sedinadola, the sultan’s capital.
Corin noticed chains around the gates and a large padlock. He stopped, puzzled, and looking closer saw that the gardens that at first had looked so neat and lush were overgrown and choked by weeds.
Surrounding the gates was a stone wall perhaps eight feet high. Corin jumped at it and hauled his body over the top, then dropped silently to his knees in the gardens beyond. He squatted and gazed about. The hot sun baked his shoulders, and a bird chirped from a spiky bush closely.
A noise caused him to turn his head, and Corin cursed when he saw Tysha’s brown legs straddling the wall. How the girl had climbed that, he had no idea.
“The horses are fine—tethered, safe, and watered. There’s no one around, “Tysha told Corin as he gaped at her. “Look like no one’s at home here either.”
“How did you get up that bloody wall?”
“I used this.” Tysha produced a long curved knife she’d kept hidden in her waist belt beneath her shirt. “Stuck it in the cracks and pulled myself up.”
Corin just blinked at her.
They weaved through the gardens, heading for the front doors, also golden and carved with dragon faces. Oliam was evidently an opulent fellow, but if he still lived, it looked as if he’d moved some time ago. Corin prepared himself for another disappointment but froze when he saw movement to the right of the house. Corin grabbed Tysha’s arm and pointed.
An old man was crouched on his knees clipping bushes; he was skinny and was clothed in baggy trousers and a loose flapping tunic. Oliam? Unlikely.
Seeing no harm in this fellow, Corin approached him while Tysha hung back, watching to see if there was anyone else around.
“Good day to you,” Corin said. The old man leaped up in alarm. “Wait, sorry! I mean you no harm.” The old man looked at Clouter, and his dark eyes were filled with panic. He turned to run, but Corin rested a hand on his shoulder. “I said, I mean you no harm. But perhaps you can help me—I’m looking for someone.”
Corin let go of the old man’s shoulder and waited as the man stopped trembling, realizing he wasn’t about to be murdered anytime soon.
“I don’t know anything, and there’s no money here.” His voice was hoarse and his gray hair long and scraggy. The old man saw Tysha standing several feet away, and he frowned. “Who is that?” he asked.
“Where is Oliam? I know this is his house.”
“Gone.” The old man was still looking at Tysha. She smiled at him, and he turned away, agitated. “Everyone’s gone. There’s only me left here now.”
“Gone where?” Corin patience was ebbing fast; it now seemed that they had stumbled across some vagrant beggar.
“Over there.” The old man pointed to a clump of thorn bushes fifty yards beyond the house in an area of shrub and sand at the far end of the garden. Corin raised his hand and shielded his eyes form the glare. Staring at the thorn trees, he saw two raised stones beneath their shadow and what looked to be some kind of dais. His eyes narrowed.
So Oliam was dead. That much seemed obvious now. Cori was disappointed; he’d been looking forward to killing the merchant. Now he felt cheated.
“What happened to him?” Corin grabbed the man’s collar again, but tighter this time.
“Murdered.” The old man spat out the word. “Nasty business.”
“By whom?”
“His wife; she stabbed him in the heart with a stitched knife.”
“Really?” Corin was struggling to take this in. “And what happened to her?”
“Fled with her lover—a rogue from the desert.”
“Are you hearing this?” Corin yelled back at Tysha, who nodded.
“Well, that’s not important to me. I want to enquire about one of his slaves.”
“Oliam never kept slaves—he was a good man.”
“That I doubt.” Corin gazed around the garden and saw three crows watching him from the thorn bushes near where Oliam the merchant lay buried. “He purchased a slave girl at market six or seven years ago. A pretty lass from the north—sold by Crenise pirates. Do you know anything about that?”
“Of course.” The old man looked indignant. “She was his wife.”
“What?” Corin’s hands tightened on the man’s tunic.
“Ceilyn her name was—came from some distant land.” The old man’s eyes narrowed as he studied Corin’s face. “Agh, I see it now. You are her kin—a brother perhaps?”
Corin said nothing but walked over to the tombstone and saw the words carved on it. Oliam—much-loved father and respected merchant of Syrannos. The grave beside it was unmarked.
“And who lies there?” Corin asked the old man as he joined him to gaze down at the stones.
“I will when I’m done cleaning up here.”
“That’s bit morose,” Tysha said as she came alongside. “Why did Ceilyn kill her husband?”
“He beat her somewhat.” The old man shrugged.
“You said he was a good man.” Corin rounded on the old man in sudden rage, and the wretch took a step backward.
