The Mercenary Trilogy Boxed Set, page 48
part #1 of The Mercenary Series
“He means to finish what he started in the forest.”
The man called Corin laughed. “In Wynais? King Nogel’s city, surrounded by soldiers, guards, royal bodyguards, the king’s rangers, and royal Kelwynian Cavalry? Sounds like a winning plan. Or maybe you’re talking shit like I think you are.”
“If I was trying to hoodwink you, I’d say Calprissa—it’s the obvious choice being close, and Keel would expect you to seek him there.”
“You think Keel knows who we are.”
Crall managed a laugh despite his fear. “He probably knows how many shits you’ve had this week. Bastard’s in a league of his own, Longsword. You, me, your mystery friend over there. We’re not in his class.”
The other man showed his face. And Crall vaguely recognized him. The innkeeper at one of the taverns by the quayside. “You haven’t used a sword in a while,” Crall said.
The man smiled briefly. He produced a well-oiled broadsword and pointed it at Crall’s head. “It’s coming back to me,” he said. “Shall I poke him a bit, Corin an Fol?” The man looked at his tall companion. “If I’d known who you were, I wouldn’t have let you in my inn, Gray Wolf. A sodding deserter and renegade from Halfdan’s crew.”
“You shouldn’t believe everything you hear, Stane.” The Longsword’s hard eyes flicked his way, and Crall felt a glimmer of hope. Perhaps he could drive a wedge here. But Corin looked down on him again and smiled. “He doesn’t mean it. Stane’s an ex-Tiger. They’re all tossers. Besides, if he’s going to kill me, he’ll make sure you’re dead first.”
Stane snorted. “Bugger this conversation, I’m heating the knife—so this scarecrow bastard needs to start talking sense.” He rounded on Crall. “Where’s Keel now?”
“I’m not a fucking crystal gazer.” Crall had recovered some of his habitual courage after the initial shock and pain. “But I’d hazard a guess he’s riding the high road to Wynais, the woman in tow.”
“Why take her?” Corin kicked him hard in the groin and Crall swallowed the pain, looking up unblinking at the tall figure standing over him.
“Insurance.”
“What do you know about her?”
“Save as most people. She was a Permian assassin who’s been playing at piracy until she had to lie low after upsetting Lord Rael of Crenna. Tough lass—but that’s a man I’d sooner not cross. Last I heard she was doing contract work for that weasel merchant down in Raleen. Heard you’d worked for him too?”
“You are well informed for a lowlife scum bag,” Corin said. “But you’re still talking bollocks. Why wouldn’t Keel sell The Crimson Lady at Calprissa, where they love hanging pirates? Dragging her all the way to Wynais seems like a lot of hard work, and too risky even for a wild card like Keel.”
“He needs a scapegoat,” Crall said. “For when he kills the king.”
Stane loomed close. “He might be onto something there, though I hate to agree with the turd.
“Alright,” Corin said. “I’ll chew that unlikely cud in my mind while Stane gets his knife ready. Hot enough yet?”
“Almost.” Stane wandered off again to check on the fire.
“Next I need to know where the big lad is so I can shove that hammer up his arse,” Corin an Fol said.
“Postin stayed in Port Wind,” Crall said. “I expect he’s still there if he hasn’t killed some bugger and had to leg it. He’ll be drunk as a drowned rat in a cider vat, but that’s when he’s most dangerous.”
“Good,” said Corin. “You can go find him and I’ll do the wet work. First though, I need to know everything about your leader. Stane here’s a bit of a thinker. Too much time pulling pints, and perhaps his organ too. He thinks he knows your boss’s true identity.”
Crall paled. “You’re better off not knowing.”
“Try me.”
Chapter 10 | Hostage
Yazrana crouched low and spat blood from her mouth. High above, she saw buzzards circling, hunting for carcasses. You’re not having me yet, you bastards. Yazrana hated those birds and had good cause; they’d feasted on her flesh a year ago.
Her slender captor saw where her gaze led and smiled. A charming smile from a handsome face with almost perfect teeth. The loathing she felt for those birds paled in comparison to her feelings for this man.
“Think it’s you they’re waiting for?”
“I don’t care.”
“Tosh—that’s a touch melodramatic. No one wants to be eaten by birds. Messy, noisy things.” Keel dusted down his immaculate coat and tunic. He’d abandoned his outlaw gear and was dressed like a Kelwynian nobleman in russet and green, all smiles and pleasantry. “I’m inclined to think you care a great deal. You were tortured once, is that true?”
“Left for dead actually. Abandoned.”
“Ah, yes. The same long-legged loon that you’ve recently forgiven. I’ll never understand the fairer sex.”
“And I’ve heard you’ve no use for women.” She spat the words out, forcing a smile.
He looked pained and turned away. “I could hurt you in a special way for that. A lingering pain that would drain all your spirit, were you not part of my plan. But do have a care—I might change my mind if provoked further.”
“I’m not part of any plan. Forget it, Assassin. I know who you are, remember—and I don’t fear you.” The latter statement was a lie and they both knew it. Everyone feared this man. Especially those who knew his proper identity. Yazrana had seen his handiwork before. But the man now calling himself Keel wasn’t going to use her for his twisted games without a struggle.
He gazed down at her. “You’re damaged goods, Yazrana. I’ll bet you were a beauty in your twenties. Quite a stunner amongst the stinking hovels and fleshpots of Cappel Cormac. How many times did you raise your skirts for copper, or to service anyone at hand for a bite to eat?”
She spat at him and he laughed. “You’re say . . . forty, maybe even older, and that beauty has faded like rose buds in frost. Gone. Nothing left but the long cold gray of winter—the silence of the grave.” His expression hardened. “You shouldn’t have taken to the waters, else I’d never have heard of you.”
“What are you going to do—sell me?”
But he’d bored of the conversation, as he so frequently did. The man was quicksilver, his moods shifting effortlessly from almost amiable to sudden terrifying violence. She knew whatever he said, Keel could turn on her at any moment and slice open her throat. Perhaps that would be for the best—he was right after all. Her glory days were over.
But what about Corin? She’d always loved him in her way. At first when he was that gangly recruit she’d nestled after him, wanted to protect her protege from that sadistic bastard Taskala. But she’d been lonely too. Beneath her battle-hardened masks, Yazrana had been lonely, not only then but throughout her entire life.
Corin an Fol had been a brief glimmer of warmth in a cold empty world. She had no kin, no friends—save perhaps old Lord Halfdan, but that had turned sour when she’d become his lover for that brief time. Hard to be a fighting woman in a world of men.
She had been hurt when Corin abandoned her in the desert. She didn’t blame him entirely, but the rage she’d felt inside had wanted to tear him apart. He’d told her she’d been dead and clearly believed it was so. He should have made damn sure. Not that that mattered now, as she would soon be hanging from some gibbet in Calprissa, or gutted open by the monster who held her captive. Nothing else was certain in this life. Only death. You take what you can while breath allows and hope the gods are kind. They weren’t being kind today.
Keel was seated by the fire, ignoring her. The ropes chafed into her hands as she leaned back against the tree stump. She was thirsty and tired, and her sturdy but stiff body no longer recovered as it used to. Yazrana still had her pride, though. She could best any man she’d met with a sword, save perhaps Corin. He’d taken to the longsword like no other. A rare skill, and the passion to match. His wild anger and long limbs suited to the blade. Then there was this man—Keel. Yazrana doubted she could kill him even if she had her swords—now neatly lashed to his saddle, and doubtless to be sold along with her crimson garb.
At least he hadn’t stripped her, or worse. The man seemed disinterested in that, which was strange, but then maybe the rumors were true after all. She dared not mutter his true name, allowed lest the demon awaken inside him. Best not to test him again.
She gazed down at her battered body. Her worn leather trousers and the vest badly torn, her tanned arms bare despite the damp chill, the intricate tri-colored tattoos spiraling up from wrist to shoulder, accompanied by the scars of ceaseless campaigns.
She’d gotten strangely lucky in Permio, but that had cost her. A bargain with a creature she tried to forget. Always there, waiting on the edge of consciousness. Smiling at her with winking eyes of gold and green.
And what rash actions. Stalking the sultan in his own palace—a madness had taken her and the memory was hazy, as was the brief time spent with her current captor, out there on the ocean. The place where he was prince.
The price placed on her head in Permio had forced her into that new, albeit abrupt career. Raiding the coast with a ship full of freed slaves. So romantic, it was as though a different person had resided inside her. Emboldening her, prompting her to reach out to aspirations worthy of far better folk than she. She’d owned three ships. They’d done well for several months and she’d looked the part with her crimson dashing attire. What a farce.
The Crimson Lady. Yazrana smiled at the irony. I have never been a lady.
He turned and caught her smile. “What’s funny?” He seemed intrigued and ceased his constant prodding at the fire he’d just lit. Night had fallen and she hoped he’d toss a blanket her way.
“Life,” she said.
He stared at her for a long moment until she feared he’d turn on her. Instead he almost smiled, not the cruel mercurial grin he usually showed, but rather a whimsical sorrow, as though they were alone in a world of emptiness and void. “Is strange, agreed,” Keel said eventually. “But compared to what? I mean—what else is there?”
“The gods,” she said, puzzled by this new mood. “The other dimensions, outside and beyond the gates of death.”
“Hearsay. Maybe such places and beings don’t even exist,” Keel said. “Perhaps we are alone in this world. There are no gods and no other realms but this febrile filthy existence. We are lemmings rushing into endless dark, Yazrana. Why did you try to kill the sultan?”
She was shocked by the question, and couldn’t answer at first.
“I was curious,” he said. “Impressed even—why I accompanied you. Few professional assassins would dare the courts of Sedinadola, let alone a charlatan like you.”
“I had nothing to lose, and a lot of hatred against the man who’d taken everything from me.”
“The sultan? You were naïve, but I applaud your action. Enjoyed our venture, and for a while I was happy to let you roam the oceans in your stolen dhow. But when people started talking about you in taverns, and your renown spread, I decided to intervene—sent my men to sink your vessel. No offense.”
“I assumed that was you,” she said. “They killed everyone—I alone escaped.”
“And joined my wonderful crew.” He chuckled.
“I don’t recall being given a choice.”
“You could have done well in my service.” His jade eyes narrowed. “I might have made you a captain, for you were sharp. But you lack ruthlessness and then acted squeamishly on that beach.”
“Where you butchered everyone.”
“We are all killers, Yazrana.”
“But you enjoy it more than most.”
“Which is partly why I’ve taken you captive. I never leave a job unfinished. It’s bad for business.”
“Are you going to trade me for coin in Calprissa? Those noble folks will love watching me swing, and doubtless reimburse you generously for providing them with the leisure.”
“We’re not making for Calprissa,” he said, poking the fire again.
“Why not? Where are you taking me? Permio?” Again, she was puzzled, as Calprissa was both close and the main coastal city in Kelwyn—a land she’d raided for almost three months.
“Because that would be both boring and predictable,” Keel said. “And I despise those two things more than anything else in this life. Besides, I’m rich already.”
“What then?” She felt a cold quiver of dread in her belly.
“You are going to help me, my dear.” He saw the strain on her face and laughed. “We’re going to kill King Nogel, you and I—and I’ll make sure you’re the one they blame for such an abomination. They won’t just hang you in Wynais, Yazrana. They’ll cut open your belly with red-hot steel and tug out your guts. It’s nothing personal,” he added after a moment. “Strictly business.”
Yazrana closed her eyes and tried pushing back the fear. I will escape, take my own life. Ruin your fucking plans. But she knew he’d be watching her with those cunning jade eyes. This was a game to Keel. A sport and she was the bait. She felt tears of anger well in her eyes but refused to blink. “You’re still working for Caswallon like a common lackey.”
He didn’t like that and rose with that casual grace he always possessed. He stood over her and kicked her hard between the legs. “Don’t test me, cunt. Whatever they do in Wynais I can do better—make it last much longer. Now gets some sleep, if you can.” He laughed as though at some private joke. “Sweet dreams, Crimson Lady.” Then he removed a blanket from the horses’ saddle gear and reached down almost gently, arranging it around her shoulders. Yazrana ignored the pain and stared at him in silence. Somewhere close by an owl spoke in a long deep voice.
Despite everything, she slept for a time. Waking when he kicked her ankles. “You look younger when you’re sleeping.” His smile now resembled a kindly father gazing down on his favorite child. “It’s a clear blue morning. Rarer than hen’s teeth in this shitty corner of the world. I’ll bring you some gruel, it’s almost warm—so I’m spoiling you this morning.”
Throughout that day and the next they rode east along deer tracks and random paths flanking the southern banks of the Kelphalos and making for the low hills of central Kelwyn. Keel let her straddle the packhorse, her hands lashed behind her back and legs strapped tightly to the saddle with two leather belts. He rode ahead on his stolen stallion. Pilfered from a farm outside Port Wind, his deft gloved hands guiding the reins to the accompanying beast.
On the third day after leaving Port Wind, Keel’s stolen food ran out and he dared a tavern. They rode in at evening, the sun’s departing rays splattering the west like a discarded blood orange. He untied her arms and released the belts strapping her thighs. She almost swooned as the blood rushed back into her legs, setting off the pins and needles from ankle to crutch. She slid from the horse and staggered.
“Relax, I’ll be watching you,” Keel said. “Try anything stupid and I’ll not only gut you but everything living thing in the tavern and the village surrounding.” She felt her head nod, knowing that was no idle threat.
She followed him inside. A few faces turned their way and voices fell silent. Keel waved a hand when he saw a portly man wading through customers, a large plate of meat in his grubby hands. “We’ll have some of that, Master Innkeep,” Keel said, ignoring the stares.
“You’ll have to wait,” the fat man said, wiping sweat from his brow. He froze when the tossed knife struck a beam an inch from his right ear. It quivered and stilled as all eyes watched.
Keel smiled, and Yazrana saw the second dagger appear in his hand. “I’m not really one for waiting,” he said. He pushed Yazrana forward and bid her sit at the nearest table over by the fire. It was hot and stuffy in here but she welcomed the break from the weather outside.
The patron hurried off to comply, his round face nervous and lips trembling. Yazrana doubted they’d ever witnessed excitement like this before. The food, when it arrived, was nothing special but tasted delicious after days of clammy gruel. Yazrana wolfed it down using her fingers to scoop up the last crumbs and liquid. He smiled at her.
“How elegant you are—and us with company too.” As usual Keel looked immaculate, whereas her vest and leggings were stained and spoiled, his cloak and fur-trimmed garb was pristine as ever. The landlord hovered close.
“We need lodging too,” Keel said.
“We’re full, sir.”
“Then you’ll have to throw someone out—won’t you. And I’d do that quickly, as we’re weary and I get vexed when weary. I might be tempted to slice some of that bacon off your belly.” The man’s face paled as he hurried off to do as bidden.
The inn was almost empty, as most of the customers had mumbled excuses and left. Yazrana heard angry exchanges above her head and guessed the tenants had just found out they were sleeping in the street. Their curses grew louder and she wished she could run upstairs and slap them. What did they have to whine about? These people knew nothing about fear.
The innkeep led Keel up the stairs after the fuss had died down. Yazrana followed, her eyes glancing for anything sharp in reach. She’d probably not get a better chance of escape than in this tavern before they reached Wynais.
The room was shoddy but quiet, especially since the inn had emptied itself rapidly after their departure upstairs. She suspected it would be full tomorrow, as the entire village and surrounding farms would be huddled together discussing the sinister knifeman and his dark-eyed silent woman.
A single scruffy bed in the corner and a rickety window with two broken panes of glass; they awarded lantern views of some kind of garden below. Aside that, there was a drab chair and a candle burnt down to the stubs. She heard a horse shuffling about below, somewhere close by, and made of note of where the stables must be.
Keel stretched out on the bed and pulled off his boots, tossing them into a corner. Yazrana seated herself on the only chair, as far from him as she could get in that small room. He smiled, hinted the bed. “We can share if you wish.” She glared at him and Keel shrugged, lounging on his back and staring up at the badly peeling plaster on the ceiling.
