City of Rogues (Book I of the Kobalos trilogy)

  “Spider.” Markwood knew the man. Spider had been a student at the university a decade earlier.

  The wizard allowed his mind to expand further, and eventually the image of a bald head with a squat nose above a white mustache appeared.

  “Belgad.”

  Markwood opened his eyes.

  ***

  “Master Markwood.” Belgad extended a hand as he rose from behind his library desk. “It is not often I have the pleasure of such esteemed company.”

  The wizard took the sturdy hand and shook. “Thank you for seeing me, Master Belgad.”

  The northerner returned to his seat and motioned for Markwood to take one of the chairs facing him.

  The wizard sat, but turned slightly in the chair so he could still see Lalo the Finder standing near the door.

  Belgad placed his elbows on his desk and steepled his hands beneath his chin. “My servant informed me you wished this meeting today.”

  Markwood nodded. “I apologize for taking time from your schedule. I realize we have never been formally introduced.”

  “We have both often attended the same public functions.” Belgad offered a polite smile, which almost looked out of place beneath his short, crooked nose and steady gaze. “In fact, I believe you were at my festivities several days ago.”

  “Yes. It was an ... entertaining affair.”

  Belgad’s face hardened. His grin remained, but it was now faked.

  The wizard sat forward in his chair. “You are a busy man, Lord Belgad, and one rumored to waste little time on foolish endeavors, so I will get straight to the point. Randall Tendbones means you no ill will, and I would be disturbed to hear if harm should befall him.”

  Belgad’s eyes flashed to Lalo’s, both men’s minds suddenly filled with a thousand questions.

  After a moment, the lord of the house regained his composure. “Why would I have interest in the healer, other than his ministering to my clients?”

  “One of your clients, a former student of mine, only yesterday entered the private quarters of Randall Tendbones at the healing tower in the Swamps,” the old wizard said, his face remaining impassive. “Inside those quarters your client came upon a ring. I am guessing you have much interest in this ring, and possibly in Randall himself.”

  Belgad’s lips smiled again beneath his mustache and his eyes shifted to Lalo once more. This time the look on his face was one of mirth.

  Belgad looked back to the wizard. “I wish I could hire you on my staff, but I doubt I could afford a man of your scruples.”

  The old mage gave a grin of his own beneath his gray mustache. “My interests lie elsewhere, but the offer is appreciated.”

  Belgad chuckled. “You know about Spider and the ring, but what else do you know?”

  “I suspect you have Stilp and Spider spying on Randall because you believe him of being Kron Darkbow.”

  Now it was Belgad’s turn to nod. “Very astute, but in truth I don’t believe Randall is Darkbow. The surveillance was merely a precaution. Randall admits to being Kobalan, after all.”

  “And Darkbow wears black. Very Kobalan.”

  “True,” Belgad said, lowering his hands so they were flat on the desk, “but I promise you I have no plans to harm or harass the healer.”

  The wizard sniffed. “That is all well and good, but you have uncovered this matter of the ring.”

  “I’m sure it is worth a small fortune, but I have no need of another’s gold.”

  Markwood frowned. “Don’t play me a fool. You know exactly what that ring signifies.”

  Belgad sat back in his chair and stared out a window to the front lawn beyond and the edges of the Swamps beyond that. He knew what the ring meant, but he did not know what it meant for him. He had seen no easy, subtle way to turn a profit from the ring, and the healer Tendbones did not appear to be any threat.

  “Your friend is a conundrum,” Belgad said, keeping his eyes facing the window and the view outside. “He claims to be Kobalan, even has this ring, yet he’s a healer in our city. None of that makes sense. What is he doing here? And why in the name of the ancients is he a healer? A Kobalan healer. It’s like a crude joke you’d hear in a tavern.”

  “Nevertheless it’s true.”

  Belgad swiveled to face the wizard again. “Master Markwood, I do not know what you want of me. I have told you my reasons for watching Randall and I have told you I mean him no mistreatment. What else need I say or do to ease your mind?”

  The wizard’s face showed he was not appeased. “I want to know what you plan to do now that you know of the ring. That is more important to me than your business with Kron Darkbow.”

  Belgad held out his hands as if making a peace offering. “I have no plans.”

  “Don’t give me that,” Markwood said, his voice grating. “You might not have anything in the works, but a man of your reputation would not allow something like this to pass.”

  Belgad sighed. His reputation, fairly earned as it was, always preceded him. “I cannot claim to know any actions I will take in the future,” he said slowly so the words would be fair and would sink in well, “but I give you my word as a knight of the Western Church that I have no plans to harm Randall Tendbones.”

  “You expect me to take the word of a man known as ‘the Liar?’ ”

  Lalo gasped.

  Belgad raised an eyebrow. He did not detest the appellation he had earned in the fighting pits of Bond, but he did not appreciate its use in front of him. Belgad had found rare reason to lie in his life. The truth was often more harmful.

  Belgad gritted his teeth, then exhaled. “I have nothing else to give but my word. Further promises will profit you nothing.”

  Markwood knew what he was doing. He was pushing this northerner. He wanted to push this northerner. He had to make Belgad realize he was serious. “You know my feelings on Randall, then?”

  Belgad nodded.

  “And you know who I am,” Markwood added. “You know I can bring hell’s fire down upon you if I should wish.”

  The Dartague appeared surprised. “You stoop to threats?”

  “Not a threat, not even a warning. I am simply making you aware that I have considerable power at my disposal. I am not just some feebleminded professor.”

  Belgad sat stunned for a moment. Then he half turned so he was staring out the window again. “I believe we understand one another.” He waved a hand at the door.

  “Thank you for your time.” Markwood stood. He lost no time in exiting the room.

  After the wizard was gone, Lalo approached his master’s desk. “I can’t believe he would speak to you in that manner, Lord Belgad.”

  Belgad sat back and rubbed his chin. “I still wish I had him on staff. The man could tell me a thousand things in a day. I need to find myself a proper wizard. Trelvigor might be looking for another job very soon.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Kron had been following them for hours, since they had left the Rusty Scabbard together shortly before the ringing of the night’s ninth bell. It had been dark on Belgad’s roof several nights earlier, but Kron had no difficulty recognizing them tonight. The man was the tallest Kron had ever seen, looming at nearly seven feet, and his long arms and thin waist only added to his towering stance that would have been outlandish on anyone else; tonight the man was dressed more like a woman than was his female companion, with a pale pink silk shirt above dark britches that were cut off at the knee above lanky boots. The woman wore a tan jacket, a silky white shirt beneath and dark boots that rose to the knees of her black pants. Both of them wore rapiers on the left of their sword belts and each had a large dagger sheathed on their back.

  Upon leaving the Scabbard, the man and woman had roamed the streets, aimlessly wandering while chatting. They almost appeared to be lovers, and Kron was convinced they were intimate, but the way they did not hold hands or remain near one another showed there was no real love involved. Whatever held them together was beyond the man in blac
k who walked the rooftops. He was following them tonight because he deemed them the most powerful weapons in Belgad’s arsenal.

  After an hour of strolling north into the Swamps and along its myriad paths, the couple linked arms and entered another tavern, the Stone Pony.

  Kron waited patiently from a roof across the street. Finding the man and woman had been a simple task. He had seen them before at the Rusty Scabbard and guessed correctly they had a room there. Keeping up with the couple was another matter. The wound to Kron’s leg had healed nicely because he had kept it wrapped in a catnip paste since the fight on Belgad’s roof, but Kron still could not sprint for long, and he was dependent upon his arms for climbing. He was fortunate the sword fighter and the woman had taken their time traveling from one tavern to another, otherwise Kron would have lost them early in the night. As it was, he had managed to follow, staying on the roofs whenever possible.

  After a half hour of waiting with little to see other than the occasional drunk wandering in from the street or out from the Pony, Kron went over a mental list of the weapons he carried for the night, a common practice of him. It kept his mind from wandering. He had decided against the bow for the night, not planning to need it, but he had one special weapon. The woman’s dagger was stuffed into the top of his left boot. He planned to return it to her.

  Another ten minutes passed and Kron began to lose patience. He counted his weapons again. Still, the man and woman did not show.

  Ten minutes further and Kron decided he had had enough. From the roof he should have been able to tell if they had left by either the front or back exits, but they had not. He would wait no longer.

  A silk cord attached to a grappling hook appeared in his hands from the shadows of his cloak, and within seconds Kron was down the side of the building. He landed in a dark alley as quietly as he could on his good leg and whipped the cord so it and the hook returned to his hands.

  He limped to the edge of the alleyway and peered into the street. The night was late, but not too late for a few stragglers still roaming the street. They were no matter. What could a drunk see of him in the night other than a cloaked figure?

  Kron made his way across the dusty road and up the rickety steps to the Stone Pony entrance. Windows to the side of the doors were so dirty they gave only a vague impression of a few low lights inside.

  As Kron tugged on the door’s handle, he heard a familiar voice. “I promise you a shopping trip tomorrow, Adara.” It was too late to keep the door from opening.

  Kron found himself face to face with Fortisquo.

  “You!” the sword master cried out, yanking his sword and slashing.

  Kron’s instincts told him to jump back and roll away from the flashing blade, but his injury did not cooperate. He took one step and his leg gave way, sending him tumbling backward. He grunted but continued to roll away from the Stone Pony.

  Fortisquo sprang from the top of the steps and landed in the road, the light of the street lamps glinting off the rapier blade that mimicked its owner in its length and width. He stabbed at the rolling dark figure but managed only to snag the edge of Darkbow’s cloak.

  Kron rolled around to face his attacker and forced himself up on his good leg while drawing his heavy bastard sword from its scabbard on his back.

  “Adara, around him,” Fortisquo ordered, motioning to his left with an empty hand as the woman drew her sword.

  Kron’s eyes locked on the woman for a moment. She had neither the reach nor quite the skill of her companion, but she made up for it in speed. She circled to Kron’s right, attempting to flank him.

  “I believe this is yours.” A black glove flashed out, shooting forth the woman’s dagger.

  The thrown blade sunk into the dirt at her feet but had the desired result in jarring her, causing her to cease her forward momentum.

  Fortisquo took Kron’s moment of distraction and darted forward.

  The man in black’s big sword was too cumbersome in one hand to parry the coming blow, but Kron gripped his weapon like a staff, one hand on the hilt and the other on the far end of the blade, and brought it up just in time to ward off the assassin’s thrust.

  Fortisquo stepped back for a powerful lunge, giving Kron a second to take in his surroundings. The woman called Adara was to his right but was cautious now, keeping pace with the fight but not approaching. An alley lay behind Kron and he knew it was his only hope. Eventually the woman would regain her bearing and would swoop in from the side, but if he could get his back into the alley at least he would only have to deal with them one at a time. Plus, he would be closer to his ally, the darkness.

  Fortisquo dashed forward. Kron raised his weapon in two hands again and blocked, taking a step back as he did so.

  Fortisquo’s eyes flashed over Darkbow’s head and spotted the alley. He knew what his foe was attempting. He would have none of it. Fortisquo darted in with another attack, and another.

  Kron swung up his heavy sword as fast as he could, knocking aside each blow and taking a step back with each new attack.

  Fortisquo sliced, hitting only air. “Damn it, Adara, get behind him!”

  The woman did as she was told, slinking further around Darkbow’s right.

  Fortisquo knew he had to keep his enemy’s attention on him and stabbed out again. Kron swiveled on his good leg to avoid the blow, spinning to his right; he came around swinging his sword at Fortisquo’s head.

  The sword master had not expected the offensive move, but he was skilled enough to slink back, putting space between himself and the heavy blade.

  Kron saw he had some space and dared to take advantage of it. He hopped back several feet on his good leg in the direction of the alley. He was near the shadows when Fortisquo screamed again and charged forward.

  The sword master’s renewed attack was furious, like a tornado full of razors jabbing at the man in black. Kron did everything he could to ward off the blows, blocking as many stabs as he could with his heavier sword. A few of Fortisquo’s attacks got past his defenses, but managed only nips or scratches through the cloak flowing around Darkbow’s body.

  “You cannot evade me forever!” Fortisquo shouted through his assault.

  Kron could sense Adara moving in at his side. He had little time left to save himself.

  With his long arm, Fortisquo thrust his blade at Kron’s face.

  Everything seemed to slow down for Kron. He saw the tip of the lengthy steel driving forward, right for his face. He felt the weapon brush his eye lashes.

  With a hand Kron knocked aside the weapon, tearing a gash in his left glove.

  Fortisquo saw his chance. His foe had been forced to let go of one end of his sword to knock away the last attack. There was no way Kron Darkbow could be fast enough to grasp his weapon and raise it again before Fortisquo could drive home another attack.

  Fortisquo lunged at the full length of his arms.

  Having no other choice, Kron turned on his bad leg, hoping to spin away from the assault.

  Fortisquo’s blade crashed into the brick wall beside Kron’s head, missing by inches.

  Kron screamed in pain as his bad leg gave out beneath him and he plummeted to the ground.

  Seeing his opponent was finished, Fortisquo drew back his rapier for a final stab.

  Tangled in his cloak, Kron managed to roll to face the man it appeared fate had deemed to kill him. This would be a stupid death, Kron told himself, impaled by a man in pink finery.

  Fortisquo thrust his blade.

  Adara’s sword lashed out, blocking the sword master’s attack.

  “What in hell?” A surprised Fortisquo shot a look to the woman.

  Kron wasted no time. Adara had given him his chance, for whatever reason. He slid three tiny throwing darts from the back of a glove. He launched them.

  Fortisquo was too befuddled by his companion to see the attack coming. The first dart jabbed into the back of his sword hand, causing him to yelp and drop his weapon. The second dart snagged
the hanging shirt sleeve below his other arm. The final tiny javelin caught him in his right eye.

  The tall assassin screamed, dropping to his knees as blood and gore trickled down the sides of his nose and across his cheeks.

  The agonized look on Fortisquo’s face forced Adara to step back and lower her weapon.

  Kron needed no more incentive. He cracked a grenado on the ground where he lay, immediately filling the area with black smoke, and leaped to his feet.

  Fortisquo bent over as the blood and screams continued to emit from him. He thrashed his head from left to right in pain and dislodged the small black bolt that had been imbedded in his eyeball. The sword master’s shrieks did not diminish as the dart landed in his own blood at his feet.

  Paying no more attention to Darkbow, Adara rushed to her lover and wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

  Kron limped back toward the alley, keeping an eye on the man and woman.

  Adara looked up into Darkbow’s face. She would recognize that hard look for as long as she lived, but mixed within the harsh eyes was a minute spark of pity. The man in black regretted, at least a little, what he had done to her teacher.

  A late crowd was beginning to gather, mostly tavern carousers who had heard the commotion.

  Adara spun to face the nearest man. “Get a healer, now!”

  The man turned and ran. Adara was thankful to see he did not appear to be too drunk.

  Fortisquo’s screams quieted then, turning into rough sobs as his exhausted body lapsed into a coma.

  “I am so sorry,” Adara said, squeezing the man’s shoulders. But she knew in her heart she was not sorry. She could not have let Fortisquo kill Kron Darkbow. The dark man deserved a better death than to die in a street brawl. She only hoped Fortisquo wouldn’t kill her once he had recovered his senses, whether or not he ever would recover his eye.

  Around the kneeling woman and man swirled the smoke left behind by Darkbow. Adara peered through the dark haze, but saw no sign of the man in black.

  Chapter Twenty

  Fortisquo lay on his back in a near stupor while blood pooled in the empty socket of his injured eye.

  Randall leaned over the cot where the sword master lay and gently pressed a damp cloth to the hole. Fortisquo winced but did not scream out; the potion of mixed herbs Randall had given him had dulled most of the senses.