City of Scars (The Skullborn Trilogy, Book 1) (18 page)

It reminded him of the war.  He’d been a young soldier when the Blood Queen was killed, serving in the hellhole that had once been Savon Karesh.  Proud structures had fallen into smoldering piles of rubble, and the streets had been devastated by siege weapons and Vossian technology, leaving the marbled city in ruins.  Sometimes Blackhall still heard the dull explosions of arcane weaponry and the savage cries of Tuscars as they assailed the walls.  He remembered the screams, the cramped quarters, the waking after scant hours of rest and wondering if he’d ever sleep again. 

Seeing the blast sight made him think of those times.  It was little wonder he wasn’t sleeping well.

Blackhall was no closer to discovering who was behind the explosion now than he was three days ago.  Every shred of evidence pointed to the Black Guild.  They had a long running feud with Jorias Targo, the man whose arena had been destroyed, and the Guild also had access to the sort of Vossian technology Blackhall’s men had found in the rubble.  According to Gess the fragments they found were chief components in several different Vossian war machines that could have caused that level of devastation.

Blackhall might have thought the Voss themselves were responsible, but the bodies of two Black Guild agents – the same two wanted in connection with the magical disease which had taken the lives of several Jlantrian soldiers – had also been found in the vicinity of the explosion, apparently killed by the blast they themselves had set off. 

The clues couldn’t be any clearer…and that was what worried him.  Something about the situation simply refused to make any sense.

A knock sounded on the trapdoor below.

“Colonel?” the voice said from the other side.

It was Toran Gess, Veilwarden of the House of Blue, a cabal of mages in service to the Empress.  House Blue was not to be confused with its rivals House Red or House White, both of which Blackhall thought sounded like wines.  All of the Houses were advisors of sorts to Empress Azaean, and between the three groups they controlled most of the information and arcane knowledge in the western continent.  Only their loyalty to the Empress kept them in line, and the Houses vied for her favor by constantly attempting to outdo one another with feats of arcane wonder, acting as the better spies or servants, and generally making a grand display of their power like a bunch of preening peacocks.

Blackhall looked himself over.  He was entirely disheveled, still in his robe, hadn’t shaved, and his breath reeked of alcohol.  He decided he didn’t care.  “Good morning, Toran.”

Gess appeared from below, his eyes bright and alert. He’d dressed in his usual drab shirt and breeches, and the Veilwarden was so gaunt he put skeletons to shame.  He gave Blackhall a look.

“Ready for the day, I see,” he smiled.

“I’m not in the mood, Toran.  What do you want?”

“We need to talk.”

Blackhall sat down heavily and pushed his hands though his thick hair. 
Goddess, I’m so tired. 
“Have a seat.”  When it became clear Gess was going to stand, Blackhall sighed.  “Go on.”

“I spoke with Argus Saam’siir this morning,” Gess said in his sprightly voice. “He had some distressing news.”

Argus was the head Veilwarden of House Blue back in Ral Tanneth, and he was a ruthlessly honest and dependable man.  Blackhall liked him, and would have preferred his company to Gess’s any day of the week. 

“Official or unofficial bad news?” Blackhall asked.

“Official, or at least it
will
be.  And I said ‘distressing’ news.  Not bad.”

“Goddess, please just get to the point…”

Gess nodded.  “Argus wanted us to know what was happening before any official declarations were made.”

Blackhall stiffened.  He’d been waiting for this, but he hadn’t expected it so soon.  “Go on,” he nodded.

“It goes without saying General Karthas is quite displeased with what’s happened.  Argus said the General used foul words he’d never even heard before to describe our performance here in Ebonmark…which at least means Karthas has taken steps to improve his vocabulary, I suppose…”

“Focus, Toran.”

“I’m getting there,” Gess said.  “Anyways, Karthas has his own plan to rid Ebonmark of its criminal population, and it involves using the men from Wolf Brigade.  He’s going to present his plan to the Empress soon.”

“Shit,” Blackhall sighed.  “I can guess what his plan is.” 

Wolf Brigade was an Imperial unit only by the loosest definition of the term – most of its soldiers were former mercenaries and hardened killers who’d been recruited into Jlantrian service, and their more brutal tendencies had been nurtured and encouraged.  They were never sent into places where civilian casualties were a consideration.

“Oh, it gets better,” Gess said.  His sounded genuinely worried, and at that point he sat down.  “Argus thinks the Empress might just go along with Karthas’s proposal so long as it puts the amulet in her hands.”  Gess must have read Blackhall’s anger.  “This is no surprise, Aaric.  You know how impatient she can get.”

“Damn it!” Blackhall stood up and paced the room.  “You know what this means, don’t you?  Karthas will come rolling in here with Wolf Brigade and turn this city into even more of a battlefield than it already is.  He’ll burn it out killing those criminals and not care about what happens to the people who live here!”

“Aaric,” Gess said sternly as he stood up.  “Calm down.  Karthas
can’t
do that – he doesn’t have the time.  He has to be in Tarek Non within the week to reestablish control of The Fang.  Empress Azaeaen assigned him the task personally.”  The Fang was one of the most important fortresses keeping the Tuscars contained in the Skull of the World and out of Jlantria, but it had fallen into disarray when the venerable General Winter had died. 

Blackhall tried to contain his anger.  It wouldn’t do for Gess to see him lose his temper, especially since the Veilwarden was required to report everything happening in Ebonmark back to his superiors in Ral Tanneth.  He may have been under Blackhall’s authority, but he answered to House Blue. 

“Karthas might not be able to come here and do it himself,” Blackhall said, “but he can still send the Wolf Brigade and start a small war.”  He thought that would actually be worse.  Karthas was by no means a loving man, but with him around the Brigade might at least behave like White Dragon soldiers; without him they’d just act like the undisciplined murderers and rogues they really were. 

Damn it.  Karthas resolves every situation like it’s a full-scale war, and for some reason the Empress lets him.
 

“What are your thoughts?” Gess asked.

“I won’t do it,” Blackhall said quietly.  “I won’t do things his way, Toran.”

“You
will
,” Gess said quietly, “if your Empress wills it.”

Blackhall hesitated.  He didn’t entirely trust Gess, and had to be careful what he said.  He nodded.  “Then we need to make sure she has no need to let Karthas do this.  We can handle things in Ebonmark, and quickly.”

Blackhall turned up the lamp on the desk and walked over to his chest to fetch some clothing. 

“If I may ask,” Gess said, “how are we going to ‘handle this’…?”

“Find Slayne,” Blackhall said.  “Tell him I need to see him right away.  It’s time we changed the rules of this battle, Gess, and I think I know how.  But we have to move fast.”

Twenty-Seven

Vellexa shivered in spite of the heat.  The anticipation of meeting with the Iron Count chilled her blood. 

She walked through the black halls of the Cauldron.  Her shadow grew long in the flickering torchlight and her tall boots clacked loud on the floor as she passed the alchemy labs, where the Black Guild’s most devious minds toiled day-and-night concocting drugs, potions, powders, elixirs, salves, poisons and diseases to sell on the black market.  The alchemist’s creations were a recent addition to the Guild’s illustrious enterprises and had proved to be quite lucrative, even if several key members of the organization – Vellexa among them – didn’t approve.  Veilcraft was risky, and the Guild’s alchemy was among the deadliest she’d ever seen.   

Luckily Vellexa didn’t have to see the alchemists or their foul experiments very often.  The twisted Veil engineers had been given their own space in the Cauldron to work, and they kept hidden behind locked and carefully warded doors except when they moved their goods for shipment.  The strangest sounds issued from behind the cold black portals housing the alchemist’s chambers – liquid churning, crackling ozone, ghostly whispers, grinding metal, and the occasional cry of pain.   

A door popped open and released a cloud of yellow haze and the smell of burning alcohol.  One of the alchemists stepped out, a hideously gaunt figure dressed in tattered red robes stained with powder.  A heavy cowl and black goggles concealed most of his face, and what skin she saw was cracked and peeled and nearly green from weeks of saturation in rooms filled with poisonous air.  The alchemist ignored Vellexa as he dumped a large iron bucket of greenish waste into a floor grate before returning to the room. 

Vellexa caught a glimpse inside as she passed, and wished she hadn’t.  A naked man lay stretched out on an iron table, his every orifice filled with tubes pumping some phlegm-like substance into his body.  Vellexa kept moving.  Her stomach was strong, but she had her limits.  She’d killed a great many people in her time with the Black Guild, sometimes in cruel and unique ways, but what the alchemists did made her sick.

Sammeus and Cronak waited for her at the end of the hall.  Braziers lit the intersection.  Chambers filled with smuggled goods lay in one direction, the slave pits in the other. 

She nodded at her henchmen.  Sometimes the two of them seemed to be her only true allies, especially when the Count was angry, as he surely was now.  Cronak behaved like his usual grim self – he only ever smiled when he was being cruel, and then only half-heartedly, as if emotion pained him.  Sammeus flashed a crooked grin.  Her magic had restored his nose nicely, and because she’d used her power to heal him he’d behave like a devoted slave for a while.  That was fine with her.  Sammeus wasn’t the smartest of men, so it would be good to have a tighter rein on his behavior for the next few critical days.

“So what is this about?” he asked as she drew close.

“What do you think?” she snapped.  Vellexa carried on down the right-hand hall, and the two fell in time behind her.  The vaults were dark and silent.

“He must know we had nothing to do with it,” Sammeus said nervously.

“That doesn’t matter,” Vellexa answered.  “The Jlantrians think the Black Guild is responsible, and now we have to deal with it.”

“Don’t forget the Dawn Knight,” Cronak added.

Azander Dane.  There was a strong possibility he’d been killed in the explosion.  As far as Vellexa knew he’d hunted down Jorias Targo in an attempt to find Bordred Kleiderhorn.  If so, that meant bad news for the Guild and worse news for Vellexa, since the Count had made clear she’d be held accountable for Dane’s actions. 

Vellexa’s already chilled skin grew colder.  The end of the Black Guild seemed imminent, hard as that was to believe.  She’d been with the organization for years, and it had existed in some form or another since before she’d been born.  Life without the Black Guild didn’t seem possible.  She knew how much it had taken from her, but she still grieved at the possibility of its demise.

“What will he do to us?” Sammeus asked weakly.  Vellexa slowed.  She’d never heard him sound so afraid.

He should be, and so should you
, she told herself.  But Vellexa couldn’t show fear, not in front of Sammeus and Cronak, both of whom she’d trained and watched over since either of them had been old enough to carry a weapon.  They were like family to her, though she’d never tell them as much. 

“Nothing,” she lied.  “The Count has a plan.  He always does.  We just have to be ready.”

“I’m going to kill Dane,” Cronak said matter-of-factly.  “When he’s found the woman, I’m going to bury my axe in his head.”

Vellexa smiled.  “In time,” she whispered.

“Who do you think caused the explosion?” Sammeus asked. 

“The Phage,” Vellexa said without a trace of doubt.  “That rat-faced bastard Harrick is responsible, I’m sure of it, and somehow he convinced the Jlantrians it was us.”

And it’ll work
, she thought. 
Because the Count foolishly ordered us to use Serpentheart on the Jlantrian soldiers
. 
Serpentheart
was a magical disease so potent even the foul-hearted Arkan wouldn’t purchase it.  Unfortunately the Count had found other uses for the vile substance, and his eagerness to play with alchemist Aram Keyes’s deadly new creation was liable to bring the wrath of the Jlantrians down on the Black Guild like a hammer.

“What are we going to do, Vellexa?” Sammeus pressed.  He was desperate for an answer, but Vellexa didn’t know what to say. 

They walked down the rest of the corridor in silence until they reached the Count’s frozen room, and the mirror that waited inside.

Twenty-Eight

Mezias Crinn licked the dead woman’s face.  He savored the taste of her cold flesh on his tongue, just as he’d savored every moment of her suffering.  Crinn probed the gaping wound in her abdomen with a metal finger, and for a time lost himself in the stillness of her fragile form.  He stirred up the tiny maggots nestling in the new rot before he turned away, tantalized by the thought of seeing her again.  Eventually he left her mangled corpse in his private quarters and climbed the stairs to the heights of his lonely tower.

A cold shaft ran down the center of the black citadel.  Crinn couldn’t navigate narrow doorways or passages due to the bulk and height of his remade metal body, so with the exception of a few sparse chambers Crinn’s tower was just a hollow cylinder.  Wide steps wound up around the inside of the tower at an angle easy enough for his thick legs to navigate.  Rows of spikes lined the damp mortared stone, each decorated with a nearly fresh corpse.  What little skin was left on Crinn’s body scraped painfully against his more numerous metal portions as he climbed the stairs.  The heavy fall of his iron feet echoed through the tower.