Dark Fate: The Gathering (The Dark Fate Chronicles Book 1) (47 page)

In addition to his post administering and overseeing all trade through Basinia, Lord Banlor Graves had an absolute grip on the illicit activities that proliferated in any city. Each position buoyed and supported the other, and his master twitched the strings of both artfully. Much as he was known by face and name in official circles, Banlor’s reputation preceded him in others. For the shadow empire, he was known only as “the Servitor”; ironic, since the servants were those who involved themselves in his dealings. His official commands were never signed with anything but a seal, and Jagger would know that seal. More importantly, he would know what it meant, and if Kesh could spin the context well, Jagger would carry him home.

Four horses came into view as Kesh pushed through a wall of heavy vines. The animals were wide-eyed and a bit skittish as the group approached, but appeared unharmed. More importantly, Kesh’s own mount still wore the saddlebags that held his salvation.

“Take hold of him,” Jagger announced to no one in particular as he came through the vines. Two of his henchmen stepped forward and grabbed Kesh roughly. The leader of the rogues studied the beasts for a moment. “Which horse is yours?”

Kesh pointed. “The mare on the end.”

Jagger gave wide berth to the dark percheron Kinsey had ridden. The horse had been trained for combat; it rolled its eyes at the thief and showed its teeth in warning. The scarred man circled around to the mare and untied Kesh’s saddlebags. Bits of clothing, writing implements, and other odds and ends fell to the earth as Jagger rummaged. He blatantly pocketed several items while looking at Kesh, until finally he pulled forth a worn, folded piece of parchment.

Kesh recognized it immediately as the message he had received the day the escort had left Stone Mountain. He could still remember the look of disbelief on the little messenger’s face when he had placed the extra coin in the boy’s hand. He should have burned the letter, but he hadn’t. He had treasured it as his first trophy, his first step toward independence.

Jagger opened the letter. After looking it over for a time, he folded it back up and put it in some hidden pocket under his mismatched armor. “Mitchum, take the horses back to camp.”

His lieutenant stepped forward with two others.

“Leave that one,” Jagger amended, pointing at Kinsey’s warhorse. With a wave, he beckoned Kesh forward. “Chancellor, walk with me.”

Kesh fell in beside the aged bandit. The tension in his shoulders started to build as they walked along the river toward a ford that butted up next to the southern wall of the Keep.

Jagger scratched his chin as they walked. “The seal is genuine; I’ve seen enough of them to know the difference.” Jagger eyed Kesh askance. “What I don’t understand is what possessed you to disobey a guild dictate. I might as well kill you now and save myself the danger of having been close to you.”

“It’s too late for that. My master, your
true
employer, already knows of your involvement,” Kesh lied.

Jagger frowned. “Those girls were supposed to die, not be captured. This failing will be seen as mine—”

“No, mine,” Kesh interrupted. “The letter in your pocket is proof enough of my betrayal to my master.” He paused and waited for Jagger to meet his eye. “Or more appropriately stated, my
previous
master.”

“You seek to claim your own seat of power?” The scarred man stopped at the ford’s edge and turned to look at Kesh.

“No. I serve another now.” Kesh willed the thief to believe him. He was fairly certain Jagger would see his true aspirations as unattainable. If he knew what Kesh actually desired, he would certainly kill him on the spot and wash his hands of the entire matter. If Jagger believed, however, that others more powerful than Kesh were involved, there was a sliver of a chance. Kesh sweetened the pot. “One who is much more generous. To
all
he employs.”

Jagger narrowed his eyes. “If what you say is true, it is a dangerous game you play. It is not only your head that could end on a spike, but mine as well.”

Kesh spread his hands. “It is no game, my friend. I can offer you more than what was promised originally, if you take me to Waterfall Citadel and retrieve the girl. Or you can kill me here and now and walk away with your losses, whatever those might entail.” Kesh focused on his breathing and projected an air of indifference and confidence.
Take the bait, you mangled bastard
, he prayed.

The rogue leader just stood there, staring at Kesh. His flinty eyes scraped at Kesh’s layers, trying to uncover the truth.

Kesh’s eyes burned from not blinking.

That uniquely twisted grin made its way across Jagger’s face. “I want twice my initial price,
and
my forces replenished, with better weapons and armor. Also, I want a favor from your
new
master.”

Kesh didn’t let his sheer relief show, but his skin tingled as the tension released from his shoulders. “What favor would that be?”

“He will know when I need it.”

The chancellor raised his swollen brow. Finally, a game he was more than equipped to play. “Ridiculous. The men and money would pose no problems, but I could not promise an unspecified favor.”

Jagger’s twisted smile took on a tinge of avarice. “The men and money simply return me to even.” He cocked his head slightly to one side and said, “I need the favor to make the effort of recovering the woman and transporting you worth my while.”

Kesh warmed to his haggling. “An unspecified favor is impossible. Surely you can see that. Double fee, the replacement of the men, and an upgrade to your equipment is more than fair.” He raised a hand to forestall the protestation he could see forming. “But I
do
have influence. What would you say to triple your original fee—I will cover the extra third from my own coffers, and my intercession for your ‘favor’?”

“You wouldn’t lie to me now, would you?” A dangerous look painted Jagger’s face.

Kesh shrugged. “Obtaining the favor will be difficult, and it will most likely be limited, but the other requests.” He nodded his head as if in thought. “They will pose no problems.”

Jagger’s eyes bore into Kesh’s own, evaluating and weighing the words. “So be it. We have a deal.”

Kesh nodded and waited until Jagger turned to walk across the ford before he smiled. The rogue was a dead man. All that remained was for Kesh to arrange it. He drew in his first sweet breath since watching Kinsey’s last twitches. He lived, and his world was opening to him.

S
LOANE
looked over the balcony of her quarters and down on the waking city below.

The past few days had been filled with glorious celebration. People danced in the streets at all hours and music played on every corner, long into the night. Happy throngs laughed and handed drinks to passersby.

It was a world Sloane had not experienced before—the carefree attitude and the actual offer of welcome from these people appeared to be genuine. She couldn’t help but smile as small groups of partygoers staggered about the streets and were trailed by men and women in green, picking up trash and leftovers from the past night’s merriment.

If only Sacha were here to see it.

Sloane’s smile dimmed at the thought of her sister. She raised her eyes to the jungle that lined the top of the eastern ridge. The questions of who had taken her, where she was now and whether she was safe had plagued her mind thousands of times since that night. No answers had come forth.

Worse still, the news of hobgoblins advancing north from Skelris had thrown the Basinian leaders into a panicked uproar.

The council was demanding the wedding be moved up so the alliance could be cemented and her father’s aid secured. With the furor of a possible invasion, Sacha’s plight had been shoved aside. Only through Prince Alexander’s constant insistence that forces be spared for the search did it remain on the table. She was frustrated at her personal lack of usefulness, too. She needed to be more involved, actively searching. The constant posturing the last few days had kept her away from what was really important.

A knock came at the door and she turned her head from the lethargic amblings of the populace below. “Come in.”

Sloane stayed on the balcony. It was too beautiful of a morning to be inside. The air was cool and crisp, and if the shadows may have been a bit too cold, the warm sunlight made the temperature invigorating.

The heavy door to her room swung open to reveal Prince Alexander. Her smile, which was turning into a habit upon his arrival, froze before it come to full fruition. The prince was... not in his usual attire.

Peculiar only just began to describe the “uniform” he wore; if pressed to describe it later, she would have had to say it was made of leather. Every stitch was made from the hide of some animal or another.

The extent of the material alone might have been cause enough for her perplexity, but the outfit’s oddity went well beyond a single-minded devotion to material. Overlapping pieces of form-fitting leather covered the length of Alexander’s body like the belly scales of a giant snake. Spaced at intervals along each seam on either side of his body were heavy loops, starting under his arms and ending at his ankles. Each loop supported a heavy leather belt with worn steel buckles that dangled loose before him. The rattle and click of the fasteners overlay the creak and stretch of the leather as he walked into the room. Alexander grinned at her gawking and asked. “Are you well this morning?”

“What in the world…” She waved a hand to indicate the outfit.

Alexander spread his hands and continued to smile. In fact, his grin seemed to deepen. “I am quite well, thank you.” The clink and rustle grew as he drew close to her on the balcony. “And you?”

Apparently, he was going to make her wait. His repeated question about her own welfare brought thoughts of Sacha to mind once more. Suddenly, she found herself unsure of how to proceed. The two of them had not been truly alone since that first evening on another balcony. Having his undivided attention made her feel awkward.

“I know the defense of our kingdoms is, no, has to be of paramount importance. It is an issue of both our nations’ survival, but...” Sloane hesitated as her emotions surged and threatened to break what composure she had managed to retain. “Sacha.” Her hands tightened into fists and she forced herself to continue. “This waiting is about to drive me to madness. I must look for her, I can sit idle no longer.”

The prince’s jovial expression mellowed to one of concern, and he nodded in understanding. “You are right, of course, and I understand why you feel this way. I must apologize for my countrymen and myself. Your needs have been set aside and for that, there is no excuse.” He bowed in a protest of creaks and soft clatters.

Sloane blinked away the moisture in her eyes. “Unnecessary, but thank you.”

His face took on that wonderful smile again. “On the contrary, something must be done about your sister’s predicament, and something
will
be done this very day.” He snapped his feet together and spread his arms once more. A clatter of ringing buckles accentuated his pose. “I would be honored if you would join me?”

The thought of
actually
doing something to find her sister, combined with Alexander’s ridiculous outfit, made her laugh out loud. “For Eos’ sake, what are you wearing?”

His deep, soothing laughter echoed her own. “You shall see.” He clapped his hands together twice. “Shahara, come!” An older, almond-skinned woman with dark eyes and black hair came through the open door with four young women. They were dressed in the same emerald-and-gold silks of the Citadel servants, with one exception. The eldest, Shahara, she assumed, wore a thin band of gold on her smooth brow. The four younger women carried between them a suit similar to the one Alexander currently wore.

Sloane frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“You will.” Alexander arched an elegant brow. “Please, put on the gear.” He made his way to the door, hesitating for a moment as he passed Shahara. “When she is ready, bring her to the lift.” The servant bowed and the prince made his exit.