The Mercenary Trilogy Boxed Set, page 45
part #1 of The Mercenary Series
“I wasn’t,” Keel said. “I just said I didn’t like him.”
“You can kill him next time you meet.”
***
Yazrana snuffed the candle and let the darkness creep into the room. Outside, Corin heard the crash of breaker against the harbor wall. He sipped the remnants of his ale and lay back, tired and dreamy, head throbbing with too much ale and nose still hurting badly. The woman’s musky scent filled the room, and her sweating body pressed against his own.
“At least you still know how to please a lady,” she breathed in his ear.
“Lady . . .?” Corin smiled as she cuffed him.
“The Crimson Lady.” Yazrana smiled back, her face just visible in the night. “Terror of the ocean.”
“I’ve heard the stories,” Corin said. He hadn’t, but didn’t want to spoil the moment. They’d made love passionately three times and he was beyond exhausted and strangely happy. Corin wondered if he were dreaming already. She had been dead in that desert pass. Cold and gone. But paradox or not, Yaz was back from the grave and warm in his arms.
I’ll worry about that in the morning.
“I need to sleep,” Corin said. “If I can with this buggered nose. Then tomorrow you can tell me all about your adventures, and how you returned from the black shore.”
“Sleep?” Yazrana chuckled, the throaty deep sound he remembered so well. “We’re only getting warmed up.” Corin groaned as her hand slid down his belly and stiffened him below. Amazing how weariness can vanish in a second.
Next morning, Corin stood at the quayside watching the waves lash and boom against the stone. Yazrana stood beside him, a crimson headscarf masking her features, and heavy cloak keeping her warm. She was from Permio and not used to this climate.
“Need I assume you’ve a plan in place?” the woman asked him. Corin had told her about the botched attempt on King Nogel’s life.
“Report back to Silon,” he said. “Little else I can do—lest he send another wench to murder me.” She punched his arm and he smiled, feeling very happy this morning.
“If he sends another woman, I will kill her first,” Yazrana said, and Corin raised a brow. “Not that I’ve forgiven you, Gray Wolf. Last night’s activity soothed my loathing of you temporarily, but I still could stab you at any time.”
“I’ll bear that in mind,” Corin said. He reached down and kissed her full lips, pressing her body against his until she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close.
“But maybe not today,” Yazrana said.
“Silon sent you to kill me.” Corin looked pained. “I find that a bit excessive—I saved his daughter from slavery. Funny way to show his gratitude.”
“I expect you shagged her too,” Yazrana said. “That merchant has a warped sense of humor, and I liked seeing the horror in your eyes. Owed you that much.”
“I didn’t think Silon had a sense of humor,” Corin said. “Nor do I understand why you are so fucking angry with me.”
“Because you fucking left me to die. The only man I loved! Gone. I woke cold and alone, my body wracked with pain, a pile of corpses everywhere and no fucking lover. And you wonder why I’m hurt?”
“You were dead, Yaz,” Corin insisted. “I held you against me, felt your last breath fail and fade. I wept for hours over your corpse, woman. I just cannot believe you’re alive.” He felt the salty sting of tears cornering his eyes. “Gods—I loved you woman. Still do.”
Her tough face softened. She looked younger than her forty years, a handsome strong woman, never beautiful—but the warmest soul he’d ever known.
“For a while I thought I was dead,” she said, allowing him to hold her again as the sea lashed with increased vigor against the stone. “My body was broken, my heart torn apart. This world and everything in it my enemy. Yet here I am, and still wondering whether I should kill you.” She smiled a sad smile and he kissed her again. “I’m not the woman you knew, Corin an Fol. A made a pact with fate. And I’m getting old, and tired.”
“You weren’t last night, Yaz,” Corin smiled. “At least tell me what happened, how you survived, and the years following, and how you met up with that shithead merchant in Port Sarfe.”
“Perhaps I’ll tell you that story one day,” Yazrana said, her eyes dreamy and gazing over the high, crashing waves. “I’m cold in this drab country. Miss the sun.” As he studied her face, Corin thought he saw the ghost of another woman gazing at him. A woman with eyes of green and gold. The moment passed and he shook his head.
“Something amiss?” she asked. He didn’t respond so she turned away. “Let’s return to the tavern and plan our next move.”
Corin got his grin back. “You’re staying with me?”
“At least until I’ve got a better offer.” She smiled.
Two days later, Corin and Yazrana were seated in a crowded roadside inn a dozen miles north of Calprissa, the dour merchant facing them across the table.
“I’m glad you two made up,” Silon said. Was that a smirk on his face? Corin repressed the urge to jump over the table and stick something sharp in the merchant’s face, widen that half grin.
“You sent her to kill me.”
Silon shrugged. “You needed a jolt, and I needed to know what happened in that forest. You are unreliable as a scout.”
“I saved your daughter’s life.”
“That’s your profession—it’s what you do,” Silon said. “And you’re well paid.”
“Not lately,” Corin said. “I think—”
“Shut, up,” Yazrana said, silencing the room as all faces turned her way. The dark woman wrapped in crimson cloth. Corin grinned at her, and Silon wiped his face with a napkin.
“Is there a problem here?” The portly landlord inched over and addressed Silon. He looked worried; Yazrana’s curved swords and Corin’s massive longsword had caught everyone’s attention.
“Just friendly banter, good fellow.” Silon waved the patron off to fetch more ale. “Time we discussed our next move,” he said to the pair facing him across the table. Silon lowered his voice. “This mad dog Keel will strike again.”
“You know the villain?” Corin asked.
“By reputation only,” Silon said. “He’s a clever, unpredictable killer, and Keel’s not his real name. I’m not entirely certain, but suspect I know the rogue’s true identity.”
The innkeep brought the ale. Corin and the woman both took hearty sips, but Silon stared at his cup forlornly. Corin remembered how the merchant disliked ale, preferring his own grape in the distant south.
“Well then indulge us—who is he?” Corin asked, but Silon shrugged the question away.
“Nogel must be protected at all costs.”
“He has an army.” Yazrana wiped froth from her mouth and glared at some of the men still watching her from corners of the inn. They turned their faces away and whispered. This crimson-clad woman was causing quite a stir.
“Obtuse Kelwynians.” Silon shook his head. “Soft and useless. Nogel’s a warrior, but the king surrounds himself with nobles who don’t know one end of a sword from the other. His daughter’s a better fighter than most.”
“He has a daughter?” Corin blinked at Silon, and noticed Yazrana’s dark eyes flicker his way. “A princess?”
“Congratulations on working that one out,” Silon said, the sarcasm lost on Corin. “We need to warn Nogel firsthand that Keel will strike again, and that the king needs to watch Caswallon closer than ever.”
“By we you mean Yazrana and me,” Corin said.
“Correct,” Silon said. “But first you need to mop up his rag tag confederates and track down Hagan Delmorier. Kill them all and then close in on Keel. That one needs to be caught alive.”
“Hagan’s a former ally,” Corin said. “I’m not killing him unless I have to. Besides he’s quit the job. Gone back up north.” Corin had explained to the pair how he’d met up with Hagan, and what they’d found in the forest, including Lord Staveport’s suspected murder by Keel.
“You’ll have to kill Hagan one day,” Silon said. “Best you do it sooner, else he gets you first.”
“Apart from the Morwellan, who else is there?” Yazrana swept the room with her cool gaze, one or two faces turned away again. The rest appeared preoccupied, and an awkward silence had filled the taproom. Corin eased Biter at his side. He’d greased the scabbard and could slide the short sword out in a nonce. Preparation is key. This could turn dangerous.
“Hagan mentioned five others apart from Keel,” Corin said. “As far as I know, they stuck around. Hard to be sure, but Nogel was quick to set watches on all the ports and roads leaving this part of his country. And we watched the Kelthaine road. That’s how we caught that messenger. The man could have been useful, but Hagan gutted him.”
“Start with Postin,” Silon said, his eyes sweeping the room carefully. “He’s from around here.”
“I heard his name mentioned,” Corin said, but couldn’t recall where. Beside him Yazrana nodded slowly.
“Makes sense.”
“Postin’s a local thug,” Silon said. “He’s a huge brute well known as a troublemaker. ‘Postin the Hammer,’ they call him. He recently escaped the hang man’s noose and had a price on his head long before this sorry business. He’ll be lurking in the woods, is my guess. You can start by scouring those and flushing him out. Once you’ve dealt with Postin, move on to the others. But hold off with Keel—we’ll want to link that one back to his master in Kelthaine.”
“The High King is our enemy?” Yazrana looked puzzled. “The Tekara—his crown. I thought it protected all Four Kingdoms.”
“Not the High King, his councilor. And, yes—the crown has done so until recently.” Silon looked bitter. “But Caswallon’s no common schemer. He’s deft at sorcery and I fear for Kelsalion III. The High King suffers poor health and his mind is feeble. If Caswallon takes out King Nogel—the only real opponent left since Belmarius and Halfdan have gone to ground—the High King will be on borrowed time. We need to act fast.”
Corin downed his ale. It was stuffy in the room and the familiar sound of rain drummed on the dirty glass of the lone tavern window. “Ready when you are,” he said. They looked at him.
Silon nodded. “Let’s go.” He stood, nodded to the innkeep and tossed some coins on the table. Yazrana and Corin followed the merchant outside, both had hands on swords. Faces turned away, except one character hidden in a corner who Corin glimpsed before exiting the room.
Outside in the rain, they mounted their horses and Silon bid them good day. “Find Postin,” he said. “And when you do, watch out for that hammer he carries.” Corin and Yazrana watched horse and rider vanish in the misty rain. Time to go. They spurred their mounts northwards, back towards the forest surrounding Port Wind and the wilderness beyond.
***
The inn’s occupants resumed their business, the three strangers soon forgotten. As was the lone figure who stole from the busy taproom and saddled his horse. Keel smiled. This game was getting interesting.
Chapter 8|Hunters and Quarry
The arrow passed an inch from his face and stuck in a tree trunk. The shaft quivered and stilled as Corin dived headfirst into the bracken. He’d left Yazrana and the horses a mile up the lane before he’d diverted towards the thin trail of smoke.
A crawl through bushes had revealed their quarry, a huge man sitting hunched by the fire. Postin the Hammer looked half troll. Shaven head with right ear missing, and massive bulk hunched in misery in the drizzle, the tell-tale hammer resting like an iron sapling against a nearby tree.
Corin made his move when sudden lightning struck close by, blinding him and making him jump in alarm. And also saving his life. For the briefest moment he’d glimpsed the archer in the distance, allowing him to dive before the shaft struck home.
Corin rolled to his knees and scanned ahead. Another lightning strike, this time further away. Postin still sat there like a stone carving. A trap to lure them in? But who had warned the giant, and where was the archer now?
Corin feared for Yazrana, still out on that road. The horses would give her position away and the bowman would turn on her. I’m not losing you again. Rage gave him strength as he surged free from the brush, pushed down on his legs and ran zig-zagging toward a thicker clump of trees. He heard another arrow zing close, a third a moment later.
At least the bastard was still focused on Corin. But what if there were more? He dare not worry about that. Lightning struck again behind him and the growl of thunder filled the forest. Corin heard the horses neighing and cursed the bad luck. Poor Thunder—they’d be an easy target unless Yazrana found cover for them fast.
Clouter gripped in his palms like a paddle, Corin lay low and shuffled through the soaked bed of pine needles and mulch as he worked his elbows and knees toward the wispy smoke trail. He reached a clearing and looked down.
Postin had gone. Corin heard a bearlike growl behind him. Instinct saved him again as he rolled sideways, the massive hammer smashing into the dirt where his head had been. The giant tugged the weapon free and, legs braced wide, swung again.
Corin lashed out with a sidekick, catching Postin’s knee and overbalancing the big man. The hammer missed again. Corin hoisted himself up with Clouter, blocked another swing that almost knocked him off his feet, turned and ran back into the thicket.
Postin swore and gave chase—a shaggy mass of bone and muscle, but slow moving—and Corin soon left him panting for breath at the edge of a rise. Let the giant rage—he needed to find that archer.
Corin watched as Postin glowered down below, making ready to climb the hill. Corin left him there and ranged sideways, keeping out of sight. That bowman had to be close, and he’d fired from this direction. Corin searched for several minutes to scant avail. Postin’s curses informed him the wretch still looked for him nearer the campfire. But Corin had circled back to the road, and a quick run had him arriving at the place where he’d left the woman.
Yazrana had vanished, as had the horses, and Corin heard no sound. He cursed their ill fortune again, crouching low on his knees as he gulped down breaths. Then he smiled in relief, hearing hoofs on stone and seeing her emerge, riding the mare with Thunderhoof clomping behind, her gloved hands leading him by the reins, and her face veiled by scarf and mist.
Corin waved her back but Yazrana rode close then vaulted from the saddle. “He’s not alone,” Corin said, and the woman nodded. Then her gaze swept past Corin and her face whitened.
“Who is that?”
Corin saw a man standing in the lane some twenty yards away. He was smiling like a fool and held a war bow in his right hand. He took a step toward them and bowed slowly, his hands swept wide. Corin cursed, took brisk strides forward, but the archer vanished in the shadow of the trees. Out of sight, he had the advantage again.
They led their horses back down the lane before mounting up and cantering south toward Port Wind, Postin’s shouts fading in the distance.
“What now?” Yazrana asked as they reined up and watched the lane. Nothing moved out there, and the only sound was the constant drip of water on leaf.
“That bastard nearly got me,” Corin said. He explained how he’d seen Postin but had then been shot at. “He used that troll for bait.”
“But who was he—another outlaw? Perhaps Postin has joined a gang?”
Corin shook his head. “That was Keel.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Something Hagan said, the bastard’s playing games with us.”
“Well then, he’ll regret that—won’t he,” Yazrana’s eyes were large with anger but she looked worried too. They both knew how lethal an archer was in these woods. “Let’s head back into town,” she said. “At least we can take shelter and feed our horses. If this Keel’s all he’s rumored to be he’ll follow us, catch up with us in a tavern. I hate this fucking country, so I’d rather cut his eyes out by a nice warm fireside while you replenish my ale.”
“Agreed,” Corin said. “Though Keel might prove hard to net. Whatever the bastard is planning, there’s no point us waiting here for him to fill us with arrows.” The two riders urged their soaked beasts to continue through the wooded lane until the trees parted and the valley revealed the stone walls and roofs of Port Wind in the distance, the thin gray line of ocean beyond.
Corin cursed. Keel had stolen a march on them. But this game had only just started and that wouldn’t happen again. Let the killer come with his night-gangers in the deep of darkness. Yaz and Corin would be ready for them.
***
Postin looked up as the archer emerged from his hide. “Do I have to do everything for you?” Keel said.
“You told me to wait here.” Postin leaned against his hammer, his round face red with rage. “I could have killed that bastard if you’d have warned me he was creeping about.”
“I wanted to see how he worked, learn who this is stalking us.”
“You let them get away?”
“I needed to give you boys some work,” Keel said, waving a hand as the others appeared through the trees. “Keep you busy and the attention away from me.”
“They’re making for Port Wind,” Rasheffan said, interrupting as he loomed before Keel. The other three stood alongside, shuffling their feet as Keel watched them.
“That’s predictable.” Keel felt slightly disappointed. “You’ll need to draw them out.”
“Why didn’t you kill them when you had the chance?” Crall asked.
“Because I need to know who they’re working for, and that means questioning them with a hot knife and some enjoyable leisure time. Your task, Crall. Postin can break the bones and you can work the knife. I hate missing out but I’ve more important matters to attend. So off you run—go do the grunt work and get details.”
“Two men?” Torke asked. “Shouldn’t be a problem. But why bother? This entire region’s still crawling with soldiers and bounty hunters, all baying for our blood.”
