Kron smiled again. He had expected the boy would be too curious not to pry into his bundle. “It’s right in here,” he said, pulling several small glass vials from inside a pocket of the cloak. He held the vials up so the boy could see them well in the firelight.
The youth frowned. “Didn’t think to look for hidden pockets.”
Kron’s fingers pried a small cork stopper from the top of a vial. “That’s why they’re hidden.” He sniffed at the small bottle’s contents.
“What’s in that one?” Wyck pointed at the vial Kron held to his nose.
“It’s a narcotic. It will knock me out for several hours, allowing my body to heal. That’s why I need you to stay here until the sun rises. Then you can wake me and retrieve a healer.”
Wyck looked skeptical. “Are you sure you don’t want me to try now?”
Kron shook his head. “We’ll wait. Morning will be easier, and I need the sleep. I just wish I knew a good healer. I might have to send you to someone who can find a healer for us.”
“Who?”
“Gris.”
“You mean Sergeant Gris?” Wyck said the words as if he couldn’t believe they had come from Lucius’s mouth.
“The very man. He’s an old friend, and he won’t turn me over to Belgad.”
“You hope,” Wyck added.
Chapter Twenty Six
The morning was still some hours away when Sergeant Gris began to wonder if he would survive to see the sun again. His meeting with Belgad had turned dangerous quickly and had remained so. The man from Dartague had always seemed sanely stable to the sergeant, but he was angry about the Kron Darkbow affair and the day’s events at the Asylum. The conversation had turned accusatory and paranoid with the sergeant facing the brunt of the northerner’s anger.
Gris had never thought he would become an enemy of Belgad the Liar, but now he feared that was his future. Whatever had happened to Lucius Tallerus, the man had left behind a legacy as Kron Darkbow that was not to Gris’s betterment. Belgad was nearing a breaking point, and Gris believed the larger man’s physical wrath would fall upon him. At that point, weapons would be drawn and Gris would have no choice but to fight his way out of the mansion. He doubted he would survive, because Belgad himself was a formidable opponent and he had numerous guards, but there was still the future to think about. Gris would find no protection from city officials. Belgad’s mighty hand reached too far. Gris would then know a life on the run, a life that would probably not be very long, especially since Belgad seemed to believe there was a link between the city guard sergeant and Kron Darkbow. None of the sergeant’s answers to Belgad’s questions had been suitable to the bald man. Belgad had gone on and on with more questions until the sergeant’s tongue was dry and had to be wetted with wine.
For the moment, both men were silent. Belgad stewed with his own thoughts while Gris pondered his chances of survival and escape.
Adara Corvus intervened. One of the library’s doors slammed open and the woman marched in with a nervous Spider and a stunned Lalo at her back.
The Finder was the most flustered of the lot. “Many pardons, my lord, but this woman would not listen to sense. She insists upon speaking with you immediately.”
Belgad waved a hand for his servant to be quiet as Adara came to a stop in front of his desk.
She stared down at the seated Dartague. “Darkbow may be alive.”
Wrinkles increased their depth on Belgad’s forehead. “Go on.”
“There was a boy at the Scabbard who had a black bag, possibly from one of the rooms. A silver tankard fell out, a silver tankard with your name on its side.”
“The son of a bitch stole it from me. Where is this boy?”
“Vanished. We gave chase, but he evaded us.” Adara sneered at the words, displeased at not only having to relay the message, but having been a part of the failure herself.
“So you’ve no idea where he went?”
“No,” Adara and Spider said together.
Belgad smashed a fist onto the desk, sending sheets of parchment flying off the edge. Lalo moved forward quickly to return the papers to their proper place.
Belgad spun in his chair to face Gris. “You may leave, but by the ancients you had better have told me everything about your friend.”
“Everything I know,” Gris said, standing. “I’d thank you for your hospitality, but ...”
“Just leave.” The Dartague growled.
The sergeant hurried out, straightening his orange tabard.
Adara nodded in the direction Gris had gone. “He might have been able to lead us to Darkbow.”
Belgad shook his head. “I don’t think so. I believe he told me all he knew. I pressured him, even making up some conspiracy nonsense to rattle him, but he didn’t break. However he knew Tallerus, I don’t believe he was aware the man was Kron Darkbow.”
Adara neared a chair, as if ready to sit. “Where do we go from here?”
Belgad pointed a finger at Spider. “Have Lalo take you to Stilp, and I want the two of you to follow Sergeant Gris. He might be innocent in all of this, but Darkbow might try to contact him.”
Spider bowed and exited the room behind the Finder.
Adara finally sat, tired from the night’s excursion. “What about me?”
“You can go to the healing tower. Fortisquo will want to see your face when he wakes. If Darkbow is alive and we can discover what hole he has slunk into, then I want the two of you to dispatch him.”
***
The morning sun was just spreading its fingertips across the rooftops of Bond as Sergeant Gris slogged his way down South Road in the direction of the city guards’ main barracks. It had been a long night for him, one of several he had had of late. After dealing with Belgad and seeing to the reopening of several of the city’s flood gates, the guard sergeant was too exhausted to travel to the Rusty Scabbard to look for Lucius. He needed rest, even if only a few hours, and then he would be on his friend’s trail. Until he could get on the job himself, he planned to station several of his men at the Scabbard to keep an eye out for Lucius or anyone entering Lucius’s room. Gris only hoped he would find his friend, if Lucius was alive, and would be able to help him before Belgad’s goons found him.
The sergeant was walking up the steps leading to the entrance of the barracks when a waving arm caught the corner of his eye. Gris stopped to look in that direction.
A boy of little more than ten years stood behind a marble column to the side of the steps. He smiled and stopped flapping his arms once the sergeant’s eyes fell on him.
It took a moment for Gris’s tired mind to recognize the lad. He had seen him at Lucius’s apartment the morning after Belgad’s infamous party. Adara had said she and Spider had chased a young boy from the Scabbard the night before.
With hanging shoulders and bleary eyes, the sergeant tramped toward the boy. “What do you want?”
The youth glanced into the street to make sure no one else noticed him behind the pillar.“I’ve been sent to get your help.”
“Lucius is alive.” Gris closed his eyes in thanks to Ashal.
“He’s breathing, but he’s not in good shape. It looks like he’s got some broken ribs, and there’s a pretty nasty gash along one leg. Also, he calls himself Kron Darkbow now.”
Gris opened his red eyes and rubbed them with the fingers of one hand. “It was you at the Scabbard last night, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah, it was me.” The youth grinned. “I bet they thought they had me for a minute there, but I gave them the slip. Learned it from the best there is himself.”
“You mean Lucius?”
“Nothing like traveling by rooftop.”
Gris swayed slightly on tired legs and put a hand against the marble pillar to hold himself up. Lucius, or Kron, must be in dire straits to risk sending the boy to him. How could Kron know Gris wouldn’t arrest him on sight? “What does he want?”
“He needs a healer. Someone trustworthy but knows what
they’re doing.”
Gris closed his eyes again to allow himself to clear his mind. There were a good number of healers in the city, several of whom Gris knew personally, but could he trust any of them? Healers were generally not men of means; they could be bought off by a gold or two.
A face popped into his mind and he opened his eyes. “Randall Tendbones.”
“You mean Belgad’s healer?” The boy wore disbelief on his face.
“He doesn’t work for Belgad.”
“I can’t send him Tendbones. He’d never trust the man. He might even try to kill him for all I know.”
Gris frowned. “It doesn’t sound like Lucius is in condition to harm anyone.”
“It’s Kron now,” the lad said as if he liked the sound of his friend’s new name.
“Whatever he’s calling himself, he needs healing, and Randall is said to be one of the best, and one of the most trustworthy. I don’t believe he would turn one of his patients over to Belgad. Besides, Randall has his own secrets.”
“Really?” The boy leaned forward in anticipation.
Gris waved the lad off. This was no time for spreading rumors. “Tell me where to meet you in three hours and I’ll be there with the healer. I’ll try Tendbones first, if he’s available. If not, I’ll bring the best I can.”
“The old graveyard in the Swamps.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Thanks.” The boy spied the street again. He saw only a few early pedestrians walking along the way, and none seemed to be paying attention to him and the sergeant.
The youth dashed down the steps and away from the barracks.
Gris leaned against the column for a moment to rest. “So much for sleep.”
***
Stilp swallowed the chunk of salted fish that was his breakfast and grimaced at its bitter taste as it slid down his throat. From the corner of the barracks building closest to South Road he had had a good view of Sergeant Gris talking with the boy. He had not been close enough to hear what was said, but he had seen enough to know something was in the works. The lad had acted too suspicious and had darted away too quickly to not be up to no good. The sergeant had merely appeared tired, but he also had appeared interested in whatever the boy had had to say.
“Keep on the sergeant,” Stilp said to Spider, also swallowing his breakfast of dry biscuit.
Spider grinned. “You think he knows something, don’t you?”
“I think there’s a good chance he can lead us to this Darkbow fellow, and that’s why I want you to stay on him.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going back to Lalo to let him know what we saw.” Stilp turned to leave. “Belgad might want us to make a move on the sergeant, but more than likely he’ll want us to watch the man and see if he leads us to Kron Darkbow.”
Chapter Twenty Seven
It was no easy task for Gris to talk Randall into going to the cemetery. The young healer was torn apart emotionally after what had happened at the Asylum the day before. Convincing Randall he was needed at the cemetery was difficult enough, but when he was told he would be administering to Kron Darkbow, the young man nearly lost his nerve. Randall still didn’t know if Kron was an agent of Lord Verkain.
As quickly and softly as he could, the city sergeant assuaged some of Randall’s fears by explaining what he knew Lucius Tallerus who was now called Kron Darkbow. Gris also explained the straits in which Kron had landed himself.
Randall didn’t seem happy about the situation. “If Belgad finds out, this could get me killed.”
Gris nodded agreement. “This could get us both killed.”
“At least allow me to speak with Markwood, to let him know what is happening and where I’m going.”
“Wouldn’t it be the safer for him if he knew nothing, at least until it is finished?”
Randall had to agree. Once Darkbow was healed, Kron could be on his way with his war against Belgad. As a healer Randall was sworn to attend to the ill or wounded, but once he was finished with Darkbow there would no longer be a link between the two.
“I’ll do it.” The healer had finally agreed as he fingered the ring in the pocket of his robes. He had never trusted the ring, and most definitely did not trust it after its show of power at the Asylum, but he dare not leave it unprotected. He swore to himself he would never use the ring’s power again, but he wanted it with him in case Kron did turn out to be Kobalan. Randall wasn’t sure how he could use the ring to protect himself, but it was his best chance at escape.
He and Gris were soon on their way. The boy had not told Gris where exactly in the cemetery they would meet, but the sergeant figured the youth would find them.
Gris was proven correct.
“There you are.” A young voice greeted the healer and the sergeant after they walked through an iron gate that opened onto a path of gravel leading into the large cemetery.
The boy appeared from behind a large gravestone.
Gris waved to him as they approached one another. “My apologies for being late.”
“It was only a few minutes.” The boy said, eyed the fellow in white robes next to the sergeant. “Who is this, then?”
“Randall Tendbones at your service.” The healer gave a short bow of the head.
The boy’s unhappy eyes returned to the sergeant. “Decided to stick with Belgad’s boy, I see.”
“I am no one’s servant,” Randall corrected. “I practice the healing arts for any in need.”
“And lately that’s been Belgad.” The boy turned away and strolled through the maze of standing stones.
Randall looked to Gris, who shrugged, then both men followed the boy’s winding path through the cemetery.
After several minutes the youth came to a stop in front of a large mausoleum with its iron-gated doors hanging open.
“Through there.” The boy pointed into the crypt.
Gris glanced inside and saw a small fire burning on the floor in the center of the empty chamber. “There’s no one in there.”
“He’s in there.”
The sergeant stood in front of the open mausoleum for several silent seconds while searching the inside of the stone building. The only hiding places he could see were any of a dozen stone sarcophagi. He couldn’t imagine having to hide in one of those, among the musty bones of long-dead strangers.
“Lucius?” Gris asked of the room.
“The name is Kron.” The voice echoed from within the crypt.
Randall squeezed past the sergeant to enter the stone building. “This would appear to be the correct place.”
“Are you the healer?” The voice remained elusive, giving no clues as to Kron’s hiding spot.
With Gris and the boy trailing, Randall stopped near the fire and allowed his eyes to become familiar with the shadows in the corners of the room. He could just make out a cloaked figure huddled on the floor in a corner, a black bundle next to him.
The healer nodded to the figure. “I am Randall Tendbones, and yes, I have come to soothe your wounds.”
Kron’s eyes flashed on Sergeant Gris. “The only healer you could find was one who works for Belgad?”
Randall straightened as if to assure Kron of his dignity. “I promise I will not reveal anything. I have no particular loyalty to Belgad.”
Kron grimaced. “Then why work for such a man?”
“I offer my services to all. Politics, religion, none of that makes a difference to me.”
“I don’t care about the man’s politics or religion,” Kron said, wincing at the pain eating away at his gut. “I only care that he ruins people’s lives.”
“And I would be ruining lives if I refused my healing skills.”
Gris stepped forward so his friend could see him, the sergeant’s face showing no pleasure in the situation. “Lucius, you need help, so take it.”
“The name is Kron,” the man on the floor repeated. “Lucius Tallerus no longer exists.”
“This is cra
zy.” Gris looked to the healer. “Have you ever heard of an illness that makes a man think he is someone else?”
Randall nodded. “It’s a form of insanity.”
“I am not insane.” Kron shifted on the floor to ease his pain. “I have merely chosen a path in which Lucius Tallerus is no longer of use.”
The sergeant glared at the man in black. “Lucius Tallerus was my friend, and I don’t intend to lose him just because he wants to play at revenge.”
Despite his movement, Kron appeared to have received no relief from his anguish. “This is no game.”
Randall ignored both men and approached the injured man. He cautiously kneeled next to him and stuck a hand out. “Will you allow me to heal you?”
Kron’s stone eyes went from the healer to Gris then back again. “If you try anything, know I will kill you. And if you should reveal anything about me to Belgad the Liar, I will count you among my enemies.”
“I suppose you would kill me then, too,” Randall said, reaching between the folds of Kron’s cloak to place a hand on the man’s chest.
“Yes.” Kron closed his eyes as the magic began to flow throughout his body.
Gris watched as Randall too closed his eyes and leaned into Kron. It seemed to the sergeant the healer’s soul was reaching out to the man who had waged war against one of the most powerful figures in all West Ursia.
Seconds passed and Randall opened his eyes and leaned back as if weary.
Kron’s eyes also opened, staring at the healer.
Randall glanced over the injured’s man’s body. “You’ve cracked several ribs. You’re right leg has a fresh cut down one side and an older wound in the back. There are also numerous cuts and bruises over your flesh.”
Kron allowed a weakened smile. “You bring good tidings.”
Gris and the boy chuckled.
“The same old Lucius,” the sergeant said.
Kron’s eyes hardened again as he glared at Gris.
The sergeant frowned, noting his wording. “My apologies. Kron.”
Randall ignored the brief tension and allowed a narrow grin. “What would have been a bad report?”
Kron looked to the healer. “Internal bleeding, or a major wound. I’ll live to fight again.”
“Yes, you will, but you need at least a week off your feet.”