Dark King Of The North (Book 3) (16 page)

Lerebus’s eyes shifted to Fortisquo, the gangly sword master also concealed beneath a cloak, then he looked back to Belgad and Lendo. “You’re looking for someone, I suppose. Do we do this here?”

Belgad glanced to Lendo but saw no words coming from the captain.

“Here is fine,” Lerebus said, reaching into a pocket of his black breeches.

The sergeant’s big hand withdrew a tiny pale object of which Belgad only caught a glimpse. He could have sworn it looked to be a small animal’s skull.

Lerebus rubbed his hands together then blew air onto the tiny object he cupped. “Who is it we are seeking? I need at least a name, or a description.”

“Kron Darkbow,” from Belgad.

“His garb is black,” Fortisquo added.

Lerebus grinned. “This is Kobalos. Everyone’s garb is black.”

“He wears a long sword and bow on his back,” Belgad said. “Short, dark hair. Pale skin. He’s well built, and taller than many a southern man.”

“That’s enough.” Lerebus breathed on the object in his hands again, then closed his eyes. He stood still as if hearing a distant noise that reached the ear of no other.

“What kind of magic is this?” Fortisquo asked.

Lerebus held up a hand for the others to remain quiet.

A few seconds later, the sergeant’s eyes fluttered, then opened. “It’s the oldest of magics.”

“The magic of the ancient north,” Belgad said, almost with awe. “The magic of the skein weavers.”

Lerebus’s smile grew wider. “My father taught me this trick from our village weaver. It’s never failed me.”

“What about our man?” Captain Lendo asked.

“He’s beneath our feet.”

“What? Where?” from Fortisquo.

Lerebus turned and pointed. “He’s within the castle, at the foot of Lord Verkain’s tower.”

“
Markwood
!” Captain Lendo took off at a run.

Chapter Seventeen

Kron rounded the final corner without stopping, striding forward with purpose as if he had every right to be there.

At the far end of the hall were four men. Two were Kobalan soldiers with halberds crossed, blocking the path. Of the other two, one was a soldier with a sword on his hip, while the last wore dark robes. Kron nearly grinned. It was simple to pick out the wizard.

The robed man was kneeling next to the swordsman. They appeared to be playing some game of chance with coins.

Behind the four, at the end of the corridor, stood a wooden door with an iron bar across it.

“What can I do for you, sergeant?” one of the halberd bearers asked, taking note of the insignia on the approaching man’s black tabard.

Kron walked up to the speaker. A dagger flashed. The man fell back against the wall, blood spurting from the slit crossing his throat.

The other halberd bearer tried to bring his weapon around, but the polearm was a clumsy tool. Kron sidestepped the weak blow and slashed out with his knife again. This man too fell back, the wound less serious but still a gash along a cheek.

The other soldier sprang to his feet and yanked out his sword.

Kron ignored him.

The wizard posed a far deadlier threat. The man in robes stood and began waving his fingers in his foe’s direction.

Kron flipped his dagger until he was gripping it by the wet blade, then let loose with a throw. The weapon struck true, impaling the robed figure in the chest but not killing him.

The guard with the sword jumped over a wounded comrade and lashed out with a mighty blow that would have cracked Kron’s skull if the man in black had not dodged away.

Spinning to confront his opponent once more, Kron reached for the long hilt at his shoulder.

The charging swordsman never knew what killed him. One second he was swinging his heavy blade, the next he was disemboweled, Kron’s sword jabbing up beneath the man’s hanging chain shirt.

The last living guard regained his senses. He used his halberd to push up to standing, then crossed the long weapon in front of himself as if to block the hall.

The wizard was made of sterner stuff than Kron thought. The man in black watched the robed fellow yank the dagger from his chest and drop the weapon.

“Assassin!” the halberd bearer yelled out.

“Damn!” Kron dove forward, his sword smacking aside the guards’s ungainly weapon as he shouldered the man to send him reeling.

The soldier smacked into the wizard, who in turn was sent flying into the door.

Blasts of lightning crackled forth from the doorway, frying the wizard and sending numbing jolts through the last soldier’s body. Odors of burnt flesh and copper permeated the air.

Kron dropped to the ground and shielded his eyes with a raised cloak, but the danger was quickly past. A protective spell had guarded the door. Kron only hoped it had dissipated.

The last living guard lay on the floor, his eyes flitting as his limbs jerked from the electrical shock.

“Only one way to find out.” Kron lifted the soldier by his collar and shoved him against the door.

No lightning this time. The man slid to the ground and into unconsciousness.

“Too easy,” Kron said as he sheathed his sword.

Spotting a lock on the iron bar across the portal, he went to work rummaging through the bodies in search of a key. He soon found one on the robed man.

Sounds of trotting booted feet caused Kron to glance behind himself.

No one was there.

He leaped to the door and jammed the key into its home. He twisted the iron instrument,but the lock did not budge.

The boots grew nearer, as did the noise of yelling men.

Sweat dripping off his brow, Kron went back to work. He yanked out the key, inserted it again and twisted it, but still nothing.

“Damn!”

He didn’t even know if this was the right key. Perhaps it wasn’t. Perhaps there was magic in the key or the lock. Perhaps a lot of things.

Kron let the key drop, then slid back his left glove and withdrew a pair of tiny, black instruments hidden on the back of his hand. Taking his time, remaining patient, he inserted the tools into the keyhole and went to work. It was a simple lock made for a skeleton key. All he needed was a few seconds, and he should be able to twist the tumbler.

“Hold it there!”

Kron looked back over his shoulder. At the far end of the hall was a large, black-haired man in dark plate. Kron recognized the man as the guard who had led Markwood to Verkain.

Behind Captain Lendo were a dozen soldiers crammed into the hallway. Each carried a crossbow.

“If you value what little life you have left,” Lendo said, “you will draw away from that door.”

Kron wrenched the tools in the lock, heard the tumbler roll and shoved the bar aside.

“Slay him!” the captain yelled.

The Kobalans charged.

Kron shouldered the door, shoving it open, and jumped into the room. Without taking in his new surroundings, he spun and slammed the door closed.

The last Captain Lendo saw of Kron Darkbow was a smile and a wave.

***

Kron’s luck continued. His side of the door also had a locking mechanism. He yanked the bar across the portal just before someone heavy slammed into it from the other side.

Kron stepped back, weak torch light offering him sight, and looked the door over. It was thick and heavy. The iron bar was, too. They would hold for now.

He turned slowly to take in the room.

Despite what he had been told by Sergeant Knox, Kron was almost surprised to find Markwood present. The old mage was nearly nude, a torn pair of breeches all that covered him. He was strapped to a metal chair, his arms and legs pinned by thick leather. What concerned Kron most, however, was the mess of bloody flesh that covered the wizard’s chest. The wounds were shallow, deep enough only to draw blood, but there were many. Drops of dried red had splattered the floor.

Kron dropped to his knees in front of Markwood and began to fish through pockets hidden within his cloak. With hammering blows still smashing at the door, the man in black took out a small metal vial and pulled its cork. He sniffed the contents, his head jerking back as he reacted to the strong, musty odor.

“Maslin, if you can hear me, I’m going to give you something to help.”

The wizard made no acknowledgment he had heard the words.

Another blow rocked the door.

Kron lifted the open vial beneath his friend’s nose.

The response was instant. The old man’s head came up so fast he banged it on the chair’s back. “Oh, gods.”

Kron corked the tiny bottle and returned it to its hiding place. “I’m glad to see you’ve come around.”

The door was struck again, the blow sounding of metal on wood. The Kobalans had an ax.

Markwood looked with red, bleary eyes upon the man kneeling in front of him. “Kron?”

“Yes,” the warrior said as he withdrew a dagger from his left boot and went to work sawing at the straps holding the mage. “We have little time. Kobalan soldiers will burst through that door at any moment.”

“There’s no other exit.”

“I was hoping you would be able to help in that regard.”

The door shook again, rattling in its frame.

Markwood’s face appeared haggard, his eyes dropping. “Even if I weren’t so weak, Verkain has placed a ward on the room that prevents my magics.”

Kron finished with the leather bands, freeing the wounded man’s limbs. “You can’t cast here?”

“No,” Markwood said, “and I’m so drained, I’m not sure any spell of mine would work.”

The door was slammed again, creaking as splinters from it fell to the floor.

“Can you walk?” Kron asked.

Gingerly, Markwood pushed himself from the chair and stood on wobbly feet. “A little,” he said, “but I’m in no condition to run.”

“How far do you have to be from the room before you can cast?”

“Just outside the door,” Markwood said. “I watched Verkain lay down the ward.”

The portal was struck again, once more shaking and cracking.

Kron slid his dagger back into its boot scabbard and unsheathed his sword. “Grab my cloak.” He held out an end of the black cloth enveloping him.

The mage gripped the dark hem as best he could with his shaking, wearied fingers. “What are you planning?”

“Our only chance is to get you out that door,” Kron said. “If I attack head on, they won’t expect it. All we need is a second or two for you to get off a spell, to take us somewhere else.”

“I’m pained and I’m exhausted,” Markwood said. “I can likely get off a spell, but I won’t be able to take us very far. And I’ll be useless to you afterward.”

“Don’t worry about that. If you get us away from here, I’ll take care of the rest.”

Another blow struck the door, louder and bringing a creaking moan of wood.

Markwood sighed. “This won’t work.”

“It will,” Kron said. “Randall told me it would.”

“Randall?”

“He came to me. In a dream of sorts.”

The wizard shut his eyes and sighed again.

The man in black put a hand on the iron bar across the exit. “At their next blow, I’ll throw open the door and charge out. Just don’t let go of my cloak, and cast your spell as soon as possible.”

“We’re both going to die.”

“Not without a fight.”

A hammering blow struck.

***

Lendo was as surprised as his men when the door sprang open and out lunged Kron Darkbow, chopping left and right with his sword, slashing into the throat of the soldier hefting the ax.

The tight confines of the hall were pandemonium. Before the ax man dropped to the floor, Kron kicked another soldier into a side wall while swinging his blade at another man, driving him back.

Behind the sword-slashing madman followed the prisoner, the wizard hanging on to the end of  the black cloak.

“Capture them!” Lendo roared from the back of the soldiers.

Two more Kobalans charged, and Kron swung his sword in a figure eight across the hallway to hold them off.

“Cast!” Darkbow yelled.

Markwood began to whisper words as old as the world.

A soldier stabbed at Kron but found his blade blocked and knocked away. Another tried a thrust, but the man in black sprang away from the blow.

The din of thunder filled the hall.

The ground shook.

Men dropped to their knees and clapped hands to their ears.

When Captain Lendo looked up, Markwood and Darkbow were no longer there.

***

The wizard’s knees buckled and he fell into Kron’s arms.

The shock of instant travel was not familiar to the man in black, so at first all he could do was hold Markwood while he blinked away uncertainty and glanced around at their surroundings.

They were in a hut of sorts, though it looked as if no one had lived there for some time. An empty fireplace stood in the wall facing Kron, to his left a closed wooden door and a shuttered window allowed a touch of moonlight through their cracks.

His eyes finally focusing on a mattress of dirty straw in a corner, Kron eased the wizard down upon the hay.

He leaned over Markwood long enough to hear gentle breaths still coming from between the old man’s lips, then stood and allowed his senses to explore further.

No noise came from beyond the door, and a stale hint of burnt oil hung on the air.

Kron moved to the window and stared out between the space where the shutters met. A cobbled street revealed itself, as did a dark, short building across the way.

They were still in Kobalos.

“Kron?” Markwood’s voice was weak, distant.

The big man moved to the mage and knelt. “Sleep. You need your rest.”

Markwood’s eyes were barely open, but those slits still showed the glow of life. “I must cast a protective ward over us.”

“It can wait,” Kron said. “We’re safe for now.”

“Verkain will find us,” the wizard said. “I have to hide us.”

“No.” Kron placed a hand on Markwood’s naked shoulder.

But it was too late to argue. The old wizard muttered a few words then his eyes closed and he slid into unconsciousness once more.