Dark Legion (25 page)

I looked up at the balcony to see who the crossbowman was. A pudgy figure in a dark robe stood at the top, reloading. Then he darted down the steps. Marcus leapt to his feet and picked up his sword. His leg was bleeding, but not badly. The figure stopped when he saw Marcus. He removed the hood and stepped forward. It was warden Adair.

“You need to get to the tavern,” Adair said. “They were trying to stall you, or kill you, while they hit the tavern.”

“The door is barred,” I said.

“The balcony has a door to the outside,” Adair said. “Go that way.”

“Wait, why are you here?” I asked.

“These fuckers sold me out to the Inquisition. I came looking for revenge,” he said, tapping the crossbow. “But there were more men than I could handle. So, I sat up there, hidden in shadow and waited for my moment. Then, I overheard their plans to hit the tavern. I was about to rush there myself, but then I heard someone come in. I couldn't see you from up there,” Adair said, pointing his thumb up to the balcony. “Tavern. You need to go.”

Marcus held my shoulder. “Go. I will help Adair with those behind the door. Help Neysa.”

Neysa!
I bolted up the steps and through the door at the top. There were a set of stairs leading down to the street from there. I ran all the way to the tavern, shoving aside anyone who did not make way. I ran up the steps to the front door of the Bleeding Wolf. It was locked, so I ran to the side door leading to the brewhouse. The door was ajar, and two men were fleeing out of it but… were frozen in place.

I walked up to the first. The man's eyes were following me and he was breathing heavily. I felt the cold running down my spine and knew that magic was involved. On closer inspection, he was covered in a shimmering layer. I dashed past them and into the brewhouse. The place was a mess. Several barrels had been drained onto the floor, and the ground was covered in dried hops and other ingredients. I found Neysa, slumped against some bags of malt. She hummed a quiet song, and looked utterly exhausted. But, her eyes were open and she looked intense.

“Neysa!” I called to her and ran over. She looked pissed off.

“Secure them… now. I can't hold them much longer,” she said then continued her humming.

I looked for rope, or something to tie them up with, but I couldn't find anything with the place in such a mess. I thought about killing them but decided against it. My friends were less than happy with my murderous ways. But what to do? Seeing no alternative, I ran to the first, picked him up, and made my way inside with the man over my shoulder. I strained under his weight, and with his body rigid, he made for awkward carrying. I struggled up the rungs of the ladder to the large kettle and dropped the man inside. The drop was more than two meters, and I wondered if he would shatter when he hit the bottom. All I heard was a loud thump, and I did not look back. Instead, I ran to the second man and did the same with him. I dropped that one once along the way, and while he was silent, his eyes spoke of pain. When the second one was in, I closed the heavy lid and placed two bags of malt on top of it. I was exhausted, having sprinted to the tavern from the other side of town, and I collapsed next to Neysa, who finally relaxed. As soon as she did, the screaming started. The men in the kettle screamed in agony. It was a horrible sound, but I was not bothered by it. I'd heard similar screams daily for nearly half my life. I could only guess at how many of their bones broke when they hit the bottom. Plenty, I thought. Neysa leaned against me, her head on my heaving chest. I stroked her hair. We were both too exhausted to speak. All the while the men screamed, their agony and fear bouncing around the copper kettle.

 

Sometime later, Marcus and Adair came running in. Adair stood at the door looking at the mess before focusing on the noise from the kettle. He lifted the lid and looked down at the men. He spat on them from above, then closed the lid and climbed down. Marcus ran straight to us.

“You okay?” Marcus asked, sitting on his haunches. We nodded but still did not speak. He brought us a cup of water each, and we sat up to drink it. The cool water eased the burning in my throat.

“What happened?” I asked, my voice hoarse.

Marcus sighed and shook his head. “They didn't surrender. Had to kill two. We subdued the last one, but he is in bad shape.” Marcus gestured over his shoulder at the kettle. “Those ones sound worse—what did you do to them?”

“Neysa froze them, and I tossed them into the kettle. I think they got hurt when they hit the bottom,” I said.

Marcus looked at the kettle, grimacing at the sound. Their screams had died down to wailing, but it was still unpleasant. “I would say so. Can you stand?” Marcus asked, holding a hand out. I took it and let myself be pulled to my feet.

“I'm sorry I did not stop them sooner,” Adair said.

“Your help is appreciated, Adair,” Marcus said.

“No, I owe you a lot,” Adair said. “I know you helped me out in that cell after the inn burned.” Adair looked at me as he said it.

“How?” I asked.

“Well, after Neysa over there disappeared, and I still don't know how in the hells she pulled that off, I looked through the bars. I thought I saw Saul peering around the corner. I wasn't sure at the time, but… well, to be blunt, you are the only people in Sagemont who don't hate me.”

“They hate you?” Marcus asked. “Why?”

“Long story. The short version, I was sent to Sagemont to replace the old warden. Everyone loved him. And he was better at the job.”

“You do alright,” Marcus said.

“Really?” Adair asked. “Look around you. I didn't stop this. And there have been a lot of unexplained deaths over the past month. The Sagemont killer is still at large, and I have no leads.”

“The… Sagemont killer?” I asked.

“That's what we call him,” Adair said. “A serial killer, the worst kind. But I still have no leads. The deaths seem random; there is no order to them. A lot of slave masters died, so there's that. And the slaves were freed, of course. But then there was that fellow with the hacked ankles, a legionnaire who disappeared, and three men working at our favorite gambling den who up and vanished. If you believe the Dark Legion—and why would you?—that centurion was poisoned in his sleep. Oh, and he released the three-horn that killed several more legionnaires. There is no rhyme or reason.” Adair shook his head. “Oh, well. It's been a peaceful week or two, not counting today, so perhaps he has left town. Hopefully the Dark Legion stays away. I have witnesses who can place me and Neysa well clear of the Shady Oak when it burned. That should keep us from further suspicion, but still… Look, I need to go. I'll get my deputy and a few legionnaires to come and help with those two,” Adair said, pointing at the kettle with the wailing men. “I'll be back shortly.”

We walked through the chaos that was our brewhouse and made our way past the spilled ingredients and into the barrel room. More than half of the barrels were empty, now a deep puddle on the floor. We found the rest crammed full of hops.

“Everything is ruined…” I said.

Marcus nodded his head. “No time to brew more, either.” The town fair was in three days' time.

 

It took us the rest of the day to clean up the mess. Neysa visited all of our customers to see if she could rescue some of the barrels delivered earlier that day. Unfortunately, our ale was proving very popular. The proprietors told her that customers were often waiting for the ale, and the barrels were empty or close to it.

 

We were mopping the floor, now sticky with ale. Marcus looked depressed, which for most would be understandable, but I had never seen the man that way. Not even when he was in the dungeon awaiting torture.

“You okay?” I asked. “We'll find another way. Breaking into the palace will be trickier, but we'll manage. Somehow.”

Marcus stopped mopping and looked at me. The man looked miserable. “It's not that. It's just… those men. They all had the tattoo,” Marcus said, pointing to the back of his neck. “I feel responsible for this. How did I screw it up so badly?”

“The Clenched Fist?” I asked.

“The Clenched Fist.”

“Well, you have new rebels now. Or you will, when this mission of ours is complete. You can hardly take responsibility for the actions of these idiots,” I said.

“No? Then who will?”

“Hells, Marcus, you are the best man I know. I don't know why these men turned out the way they did, but I can say with certainty that it wasn't your doing. I'd guess your selection criteria were perhaps a bit on the lax side. But beggars can't be choosers. Did Adair say who hired these bastards?”

“He got few answers,” Marcus said. “Only that the men were paid off by one or more of the local brewers. But they never met face-to-face and didn't know their identities, only that they paid good money. Looks like someone else have their eye on winning the competition. Or maybe they just didn't like that the town are clamoring for our ale.”

“I'm sorry, guys,” Neysa said from inside the kettle. The men in the kettle had thrown up from the pain and pissed themselves. Neysa volunteered for the disgusting task of cleaning it.

“What for?” I asked.

“For not getting to those fuckers quicker. I thought you guys had gotten back from your deliveries. I came down to tell you to stop making such a racket.”

“Don't worry about it,” Marcus said.

“And you stop worrying about it,” I said to Marcus. “It's not your fault those men are arseholes.”

“Well, all but one are dead now,” Marcus said.

“How so?”

“They took too much of a battering when you threw them into the kettle and bled inside, or so the doctor said. Adair is covering for us. His story is that he chased the men and they fell from the balcony,” Marcus said. “Which is good—we don't want any word of Neysa's magic spreading about.”

 

I looked at our barrels. They were so crammed with hops that the dried flowers stuck from the bungs. Those bastards really did shove as much of the stuff in there as they could. It was such a shame. The ale was amazing, and proving incredibly popular. I retrieved a mug from the shelf, and tipped the dregs of coffee into the mop bucket. I filled the mug, and raised it in a toast to our deceased ale. “For the one who waits… even for ale,” I whispered to my god. I sniffed the mug. Hops. So much hops. I closed my eyes, and braced myself as I took a sip. I clapped my tongue on the roof of my mouth, then opened my eyes and took another sip.

“Erm— Marcus, taste this,” I said, holding the cup out to him.

Marcus turned, leaned the mop against the wall, and took the mug. He sniffed at it, took a long sip, and frowned. “This… is amazing. What is it?”

I tapped on the side of the barrel. Marcus started laughing, picked me up in a bear hug, and danced me around the barrel room, my feet dangling. Neysa stuck her head out from the top of the kettle.

“Get a room,” she said, and climbed down the ladder. She walked into the barrel room, and Marcus handed her the mug. She looked at it, and took a sip, swishing the ale around her mouth. “Hoppy as all buggery. But I like it. What's it called?”

Marcus put me down, put a finger to his lip, and rolled his eyes. “Hmm…” He picked up a piece of chalk, paused for a moment, then added an
I
in front of the
P.A.
already chalked onto the barrel, smiling.

“Oh, it's
that
ale. Thought you said it was ruined? Don't tell me no one actually tasted it before declaring it ruined,” Neysa said. “What does the
I
stand for?”

“Imperial pale ale. What do you think?” Marcus asked. “Those empire-loving bastards will love it. I.P.A.—it has a certain ring to it, don't you think?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Solstice

 

Winter solstice was on us in no time at all and with it, the town fair. I found it odd that people chose to celebrate the coldest, darkest day of the year. But I guessed if you were going to freeze your arse off anyway, you may as well get drunk and eat a lot. Neysa told me that, in the past, and still in some smaller villages, many died from hunger and illness over winter. Being alive was worth celebrating. My own continuing survival was somewhat of a miracle, and so I was in a celebratory mood myself.

The Bleeding Wolf was so busy we actually had to turn people away. Patronage had increased significantly since the release of our near-disaster of an ale anyway, but Solstice Day was insane. We were not the only ones doing well for ourselves. Malvin bought into a mercantile business with the fortune we'd paid him. He came by, as he was on shore leave, and brought his business partner along. His partner went by the name of Smid. He was the captain, and he looked the part. He sported a truly impressive beard and had arms thick enough to rival a bear's. Well, perhaps a small bear. He seemed a nice enough man, but he was to the point and spoke in bursts. I watched them from behind the bar as they drank our ale. I was trying to decide if they liked it or not by watching their expressions. I suspected not. They sniffed at it constantly, their faces serious. You can't please them all.