Trial and Glory (27 page)

He walked between rows of injured soldiers packed tightly on cots, bedrolls, and pallets of hay. Those asleep whimpered, haunted by what Kaz assumed were recent events. Soldiers in too much pain to sleep groaned into their pillows, holding a wound at their side or the stump of a severed limb.

Kaz paused briefly to offer words of encouragement. He slipped money from his pouch to those whose injuries he knew would hamper them for the rest of their lives and prevent them from providing for themselves.

Eventually, he worked his way to Kroke. Unless one looked into the man’s eyes, most would not think him an assassin while lying there. The wounds had taken a toll on his body in a short amount of time. Though Wiqua said Kroke would make a full recovery, the process would be longer than most, given the organs and muscle tissue affected by the simultaneous spear thrusts. The old Byzernian had been surprised Kroke had even lived long enough to be saved.

Yanasi dabbed a damp rag over Kroke’s pale face. They both looked his way.

“How are you—” Kaz started when Yanasi shot up from her seat, cutting him off.

“Rygar and I have decided to leave the Hell Patrol. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, but it was important that we saw things through here. But now that we’re done, we’ve decided that if we don’t get out now, we may never get out. We both want stability in our lives, and for us, that means starting a life together. A family.”

Yanasi’s chest heaved from the rapid nature she had spoken. Kaz had never heard her string so many thoughts together while maintaining a voice above a whisper. He recovered from the initial shock quickly.

“I accept.”

She blinked. “You accept? You mean you aren’t upset?”

“Upset? No. Surprised? Yes.” He kept his opinions about her being a perfect replacement for him as commander of the Hell Patrol to himself, worried that such news might change her mind. “Nothing in life compares to the joy I’ve had with my wife. You and Rygar are making the right decision.” He paused. “Elyse said that she plans to stop and say good-bye to everyone tonight. I think she wants to leave when I do. Why don’t you and Rygar ask to join her on the return trip to Lyrosene. She thinks very highly of you both, and I’m positive she’d be more than happy to help you find land of your own.”

Yanasi stepped forward, wrapped her arms around Kaz’s chest, and squeezed. “Thank you,” she said in her familiar whisper. “I’ll miss you.”

He hugged her in return. “Me too.” They parted. “Why don’t you tell Rygar the good news?”

She stepped back, wiping her cheek. “I think I will.”

Kaz watched her go.

“You did a good thing by her,” said Kroke.

Kaz turned back to the assassin. “I could say the same for you.” He gestured to the wounds on his torso. “Pretty brave thing you did.”

“She’s worth it.”

Kaz nodded, hearing a change in Kroke’s tone as he spoke.

He’ll never admit it, but he wants to go with her. I know just the way to ease his guilt. And my worry for that matter.

Kaz squatted next to Kroke’s bed, lowering his voice. “I need a favor.”

Kroke looked down. “That might be difficult, but I’ll do what I can.”

“I want you to go with them.”

Kroke’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“There is something bothering Elyse.”

“Obviously.”

He grimaced.

Kroke’s expression softened “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“That’s not what I meant. There’s something else. I’m not sure what it is though. She’s been pretty evasive. I’ll feel better knowing that you’re there with her in case it turns out to be something serious.”

“But what about you? And the Hell Patrol?”

“We’ll be fine. Besides, if my hunch is right, you’ll also be able to keep an eye on Yanasi and Rygar.”

Kroke mulled those words for a moment. “If that’s your decision . . .”

“It is.”

“Alright, then. I’ll go.”

“Good.”

* * *

After Kaz finished speaking with Kroke, he walked over to Krytien. Several members of the Hell Patrol crowded around his bed. Crusher had to hunch forward to avoid banging his head on the rafters.

Krytien looked better than he had when Raker brought him back to the fortress, but still a far cry from fully healed.

“Bald is a good look for you,” he said, trying to lighten the mood.

The mage’s hand when to his scalp. Kaz saw his comment had the opposite effect of what he hoped.

“Don’t get all upset,” said Raker. “Getting rid of those few hairs you had left from Asantia is an improvement. You don’t look so low caste now.”

Krytien gave the engineer a look that could melt ice, but surprisingly refrained from saying anything in return.

Kaz took the opportunity to recap his conversation with Yanasi and Kroke. Heads hung in response.

“Kroke too,” whispered Drake with a shake of his head.

“I’m not surprised. Probably just looking for an excuse to take it easy,” said Raker. “He always was the softest one of the group.”

Heads whipped toward him.

He spat. “What?”

Kaz changed subjects. With the mood already solemn, he couldn’t imagine a worse, or better time to pile it on. “I had hoped to leave you in good hands before tomorrow, but it looks like I won’t be able to do that.”

“What do you mean?” asked Drake.

“Well, I’m sure you will all be looking forward to a long-deserved rest, and I’m leaving for Hesh in the morning. I can’t wait any longer. If I could, I would leave tonight. So, this is where we part ways.”

He looked at the faces around him, confused at their expressions.

Did they think I would just stay on with them? They know I have a wife.

“You do realize none of us planned on a rest just yet,” said Krytien.

“What do you mean? Did someone offer you another job?”

“No,” said Raker. “We already had one outstanding. You’ll always be Hell Patrol. You did right by us, and we plan on doing right by you. The thought of anything else never really crossed our minds. You got a wife to get back to, and from what we heard from Wiqua, you got a brother to set straight.”

Kaz blinked in surprise. Crusher had demanded to go to Hesh, but their relationship had always been unique. He never imagined the rest of the Hell Patrol would want to join him.

He looked around at the others. “Is this so?”

Everyone nodded.

He looked to Krytien. “You’re not even at half strength yet.”

The mage waved a tired hand. “Don’t worry about me. It’s not like we’re going to get there tomorrow. It’s not ideal, but I can heal as we travel.”

The corners of Kaz’s mouth turned up into a smile, one he needed more than he realized. “Alright. We leave at dawn.”

Chapter 17

Cassus walked off the swaying trader, down the gangplank, and onto the dock. A breeze blew off the bay, slipping between the rocking ships in port and tickling the bare skin of his neck. He squinted down the docks. A long breath passed his lips as he tried to settle his nerves.

Calm down, Cassus. It’s just a city like any other. You’ve even been here before.

He had thought about how he would feel returning to Cadonia during the entire trip over from Slum Isle. Yet, no matter how much he had tried to prepare himself, he felt sick returning after fourteen years.

Thankfully, the news he gained on his way over kept him abreast of the situation at the High Pass. He prayed they would continue to hold.

“Hey, watch it!” someone shouted behind him.

He quickly stepped aside as the ship’s crew trudged after him, arms full of cargo. Adjusting the bag on his back, he set off toward the city.

Though the years had sped by since his departure, the city of Lucartias remained mostly as he had remembered it. He grew up in the western parts of Olasi’s lands, and Cassus fondly remembered coming to Lucartias when his father had business to attend.

At first glance, the cobbled streets, red stone buildings, and even the people themselves, showed no obvious signs of having been touched by war. Closer inspection showed the signs if someone knew what to look for. Despite high prices, the quality of produce displayed in open carts appeared fair at best.

The cost of feeding an army isn’t cheap.

A woman of noble blood strode past. She wore a pink ankle-length gown with a high corset. Two servants trailed behind her, one with her bags, the other with a parasol to block the sun. The noble had a look that Cassus once found attractive—pale skin, blond hair, and shaded eyes. Years away and time spent in other cultures had broadened Cassus’ tastes. He found himself disgusted over how the woman seemed to look down on those all around her.

He turned down a side street. After time at sea, he longed for a warm meal and news of the land.

* * *

Cassus slurped up the last of his thin soup. It hadn’t been much for nourishment. A few pieces of carrots and potatoes, a little onion, and a piece of pork he had to pay extra for.

But at least it was warm.

He used the small roll that came with the meal to sop up the residue from the wooden bowl. He pushed the dish away, grabbed a tankard of ale, and took a long gulp. The ale held a peculiar taste, thicker than his soup had been.

Cassus leaned back into the shadows, eavesdropping on the various conversations in the room. He already knew from Slum Isle that Markus had turned traitor and thrown in his luck with Conroy. Elyse’s army had managed to defeat them both, but soon after, a threat had come in from Thurum. According to the local innkeeper, the defense of the High Pass still continued, though Cassus knew that even the most recent news would be weeks old.

Who knows where things stand now?

With each story, he grew ever more anxious to reach the Hell Patrol.

And to be there for Elyse. It’s the least I can do for Jonrell.

He had only recently found out about the death of his best friend, and he still struggled to cope with the news.

Guilt began to eat at him as his mind wandered, thinking of the struggles his friends might be going through while he relaxed. He would have set off right then, but it had already grown dark.

Cassus learned the only place to secure a horse was on the edge of the city. It would be an early morning.

But even weary limbs could not pull him away from the accolades being heaped upon the Hell Patrol by the bar’s patrons. His mouth turned up at the mention of several familiar names, happy that Krytien, Kroke, Raker, and Yanasi still lived.

For now.

The name that interested Cassus most belonged to the man he knew least. Kaz, the man who took over leadership in place of Jonrell, seemed like a legend, stepping right out of the stories he remembered from his childhood.

Skin as black as coal. Demonic armor. Killer of giants.
He chuckled.
How did you find this one, Jonrell?

Eventually, the stories of war ran dry and another permeated the place. Far newer, it brought excitement to the tired patrons. Men spoke about a man from Cadonia who had freed hundreds of slaves from the Byzernian Islands over the last couple years. Somehow the man had even convinced them to fight, leading them in a revolt against a famed slave trader by the name of Melchizan.

“Hero of Slaves is what they’re calling him. They say he carved Melchizan up alive, and fed him bit-by-bit to the sharks,” said one man.

“That ain’t the kind of person you want to cross. He got a real name?” asked another.

“Cassex or something like that,” grunted the first.

“What’s he look like?”

“Beast of a man. Almost as big as a Ghal from what I heard.”

“He had to be in order to take over a whole ship like that with just a few skinny slaves,” added a third.

The first man clicked his tongue. “I don’t like it. If the Byzernians really found their backbone, what’s to stop them from coming after us? This land has seen enough war, I don’t want another.”

“We ain’t got any slaves here,” said the second man. “It’s those on Mytarcis who need to worry.”

“I don’t know,” said the first. “They get a taste of blood, they may not be able to quench it.”

“Blood is a taste the Byzernians will never enjoy,” said Cassus, sliding his chair out and standing. “Trust me, Cadonia has nothing to worry about from the Byzernians.”

The three men turned his way. “And how would you know that?” asked one.

“I’ve spoken with them. They’re good people.”

The three men stared and then all at once laughed. They went back to their conversation, going into more detail about the Hero of Slaves and the uprising he orchestrated.

Cassus shrugged and headed for his room.

The truth is never as interesting as the myth.

* * *

Cassus awoke early. He left the inn out of Lucartias before the first hint of yellow touched the sky, pulling his cloak tight against the chilly morning air.

Two figures blocking his way, just past the first bend in the road, caught him by surprise.

Both men looked ragged. One held a drawn sword while the other had an arrow-notched bow. Cassus slowed his mount, walking the animal toward them.

“That’s enough,” the one with the sword called out. “Stop where you are.”

“It’s a bit early in the morning for a robbing, don’t you think?” called out Cassus as he came to a halt. “Wouldn’t it be better to do this at night?”

The man smirked. “Maybe you should have gotten up a bit earlier then.”

“Fair enough.”

“We’ll be taking that horse and whatever else you’re carrying,” said the swordsman. “If you don’t cause us any trouble, we’ll let you live.”

Cassus met the man’s eyes.

Yeah, I bet you will.

“Sorry, I’m in a hurry, and I really need what little I have.”

The swordsman shook his head. “You’re going to be late.”

Cassus looked over both men more closely. The swordsman held his weapon all wrong, though at least it seemed properly maintained. He couldn’t say the same for the bowman. His weapon appeared warped while the arrow’s uneven fletching looked like a child crafted the thing.