Dark Legion (28 page)

“Marcus,” I blurted out using his true name. “You are free to do as you wish.”

Marcus looked my way, an eyebrow raised. “Erm… thanks?”

It did not work, clearly. If it had, he would have noticed the weight lifted. I tried again. “Marcus, I free you of your bonds.”

“Saul, by the Gods, what are you on about?” I looked away and back to the counter I was polishing. I could feel his eyes on me. “Wait… wait a second. You thought you'd bound me? As Malakai did? As I assume you did to poor Darcy?”

I looked up, meaning to play it off as a joke, but his expression told me he was not to be joked with. I was utterly confused. Either I could not break the bond, or I had never succeeded in binding him with his true name to begin with. “I…” I faltered and just shook my head. There was nothing more to say. My father taught me: “The truth is like a lion; you don't have to defend it. Let it loose, and it will defend itself.”

Marcus grabbed me by my shirt, lifted me from the ground, and held me a hand's width from his face. His teeth were bared, and I felt his heavy breath on my chest. I had never seen him angry. It was a terrible thing to behold.

“You!” he spat. “How dare you!” He threw me across the counter. I hit the ground hard, and it knocked the wind out of me. Perhaps the truth was but a sheep, as it did a piss-poor job of defending itself.

When I opened my eyes, I found myself beneath a table and in a great amount of pain. Marcus was gone.

 

A month passed, and I was sure he was gone for good. I thought about hiring someone to fill his shoes, but they were large shoes, and not easily filled. Who would be mad enough to join me? Perhaps a mercenary, but even then, it would need to be a desperate man. No, mercenaries were a fickle lot. They washed like the tides, drawn to the heaviest purse.

Late one night, with the tavern closed, I sat out on the porch drinking something strong from an unlabeled bottle. Then, just like that, Marcus walked back into my life, but not as the same man. It was past curfew as he walked down the road, a shadow among shadows, like a ghost from the past. He sat himself down on the bench beside me, and we watched the night sky in silence for a small eternity. It was quite clear that something had changed in him. Or at the very least, our relationship had. How could it not?

“I'm sorry,” I said in a quiet voice. But compared to the silence that surrounded us and separated us, it rang through the night.

He looked my way, but the smile I was hoping for did not appear. His face was as a granite block, solid and unmoving. He looked away again, and the silence surged back to fill the void I created. It continued on for some time. I got up, went inside, and returned with two glasses. I filled them both and placed one beside Marcus. He grimaced when he took a sip. Whatever it was, it was strong, but nowhere near good. He frowned when he looked at me.

“You know you're supposed to mix this, right?”

I shrugged. “I wasn't drinking it for the taste.”

The silence swelled once more, but he spoke before I drowned in it. “I went to Malakai. I spoke with him that day that… you know. I know you loathe him, but he made quite the case for you.” He took another sip, pulled his face, and put the glass aside, shaking his head. “He took me to the Great Oasis. Kaleb has been busy. You have more than a thousand slaves waiting for you there, you know?”

“Huh….” I did not know.

“I spent the past month with them while I decided my future course. I trained them, and they learn fast. They're eager to learn. Eager to fight. They hold you in the greatest esteem.” He shook his head. “But I guess they don't know you. They are good people, Saul. They need a good leader. I'll be frank, you are
not
that leader.”

“Fuck, Marcus, you don't think I know this? I am completely out of my depth.” I emptied my glass in a few swallows, and it burned my throat. I could feel the alcohol evaporating from my mouth. “That's why I need you. That's why I need to find my brother. I care a great deal for my people, and I risk my life for them, time and time again. I will continue to do so until I see Ubrain free, like the lion that adorns our banner, or until I'm dead. I know which is the more likely, but that won't stop me.”

We stared at each other for several moments. “Okay,” he said.

“Okay?”

“I'll see this thing through with you. I'll help you get the crown. If we can find your brother, I'll help you free him and make sure the crown makes its way to him. And I will make damn sure that it stays off your own head. Your people need a good king. We are not friends, not anymore. I'm doing this for your people. Do we have an understanding?”

“We do.” If he thought I had any ambitions of becoming king, he was sorely mistaken. I felt relieved to have him beside me again, but things were not as they had been. I would miss my friend.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

A Plan That Exists

 

Summer in Sagemont was in all ways the opposite of its winter. While this may sound obvious, the reality of experiencing it was another matter. It was incredibly hot and just as humid, and the two combined created a hell that diminished my love of Sagemont considerably. I could not recall the last time I wasn't covered in perspiration. Even the air felt like it was made of hot sweat. I would walk out of the lake after a cool swim and be covered again before I reached the tavern. Ubrain, while hot, was never humid. I hated summer in Sagemont.

“I hate summer,” I muttered.

“You also hated winter and spring,” Marcus said. “I'd say there's a good chance you won't like autumn much, either.”

Marcus and I were sitting bare-chested at the Bleeding Wolf, attempting to stay cool. We both wore our histories written on our chests. Marcus was covered in long clean scars, marks left by sword practice and his time in the rebellion. Mine were more disturbing. Badly healed burns and wounds inflicted with the purpose of causing pain. I also had a dark tattoo on my right shoulder, a spiral shaped into an eye—the icon of Svyn. I had received it when I'd completed my assassin training. Angus had known nothing of such matters, so he had sent me to train with a guild of assassins he had dealings with. The guild, the Sons of Svyn, followed Svyn exclusively and carried his mark.

Sheets of paper covered the table in front of me, numbers scratched all over. We'd been discussing our plans for the Harvest Festival, a mere month away. As the event neared, these discussions had become more frequent and more heated. The rift I'd created had not been bridged over the previous months, but still, I was glad to have him with me on my quest.

“I don't see how I can calculate this,” I said. “I can make a good guess, but if I'm wrong…”

“If you make the dose too strong, everyone dies,” Marcus said.

“But if it's too weak, then
we
die. I know which option I prefer.”

“Figure it out, or it doesn't happen,” Marcus said. “I will not let you kill hundreds of innocent people.”

“Innocent? You are talking about the upper echelon of the empire. If they died, it would solve a lot of problems.”

“You can be cold-blooded Saul, and stupid to boot. Don't you realize how fast those positions would be filled? And probably by people even hungrier for power than the ones they'd be replacing. Is it not enough that you killed the princes? And dozens of nobles? I won't let you kill more.”

“I can't believe it,” I said. “You're going to sit there and defend your beloved emperor Solas and his cronies after what he has done to our families? What in the hells were you rebelling against if you are so happy with the status quo?”

Marcus clenched and unclenched his fists. “I hate to even justify that with an answer. But the purpose of the rebel movement was to seek change for the people, not to unseat the emperor. And understand this—while he has royally shafted the ruling elite, Solas has had a gentle hand with the common people. At least, for an expanding empire at constant war.”

“You seem to be forgetting how many of the common people I have butchered in the name of the empire, many of them your people.”

I knew the punch was coming, but I did not see it. It knocked me clean off my chair, and I hit the ground hard. But I was no stranger to pain, so I stood and spat blood onto the floor, deliberately spattering some onto Marcus's bare feet. I sat back down on my chair and took a swig of ale.

“You sang a different tune in the dungeon,” I said.

“I have had more time to think on it, time to cool down,” Marcus said. “If we did it your way, we would be no better than those we kill.”

“Fine, then tell me who you would have me kill instead.”

“No one,” Marcus said.

“Well, that just plain doesn't work, Marcus,” I said, a thin smile on my face. “I have no way of knowing how much of the sedative it will take to knock them out for long enough. I have only ever used it to kill. Simply making them drowsy will do us no good. So at the very least, we need to test it out on a smaller group. I very much doubt anyone would volunteer for this experiment.”

“I'll do it,” Marcus said after a long pause.

“No, I won't permit it. Besides, you are a big bastard. You don't make for a good test subject. Think of something else,” I said. Marcus picked at his fingernails but did not offer any suggestions. I sighed. “Okay, how about the lovely people at the gambling den? Have you grown to love them, too?”

After a long silence, Marcus looked up. “Fine. If it has to involve a test, then the gambling den will have to do. But I see two problems. Firstly, how do we get in? The Gods know they won't just let us in there, and they definitely won't drink anything we served them. Secondly, this will need to be a controlled test. How will you measure the effectiveness of your poison?”

I thought on it for a moment, tapping a finger on my tankard. “Here is what I have in mind. Neysa is fantastic at making disguises. We walk in during one of their nights of business with a barrel of ale, disguised as different men. We tell them that we've been hired by a local brewer to do product testing, and ask if anyone would be willing to try some free ale.”

“Okay, that might work,” Marcus said. “But how do you propose we come up with an accurate dosage?”

“You know those cheap tankards we bought from the dock? The ones we can't get rid of?”

“I thought we
did
get rid of them. Haven't seen them for weeks,” Marcus said.

“I put them in the attic so that they wouldn't be used by accident,” I said. We'd bought several crates of very cheap tankards from a desperate merchant some weeks past. It turned out that they were defective, and that the handles frequently broke off after just a few uses. “We add a spot of paint to the tankards, five of each color, and dose them at different rates. One drop of sedative in the white ones, two in the green, and so on. We start with the white tankards, the lowest dose, and pass them around. We then use a few tankards with no sedative, providing us with some time to observe them. If it's too low, we move to the green, and repeat the process. Using five tankards will give us a good idea of how different people react to the same dosage. Unless the first dose is lethal, no one should die. Any objections?”

“No, I can live with that,” Marcus said. “My biggest concern would be that Neysa's disguises may not be good enough for someone of my size to look like another man.”

“We'll discuss it with her later. I need a swim.”

 

Later that night, we approached the edge of town, and I found it hard to keep from smiling. Neysa's hand with makeup was something to be seen, the result very believable, but her choice of disguise for Marcus was hilarious. At least, I thought so, but Marcus did not seem to share my opinion. I looked like an old man, perhaps in my sixties, with a walking stick, a faded brown robe and a wrinkly face. She even went as far as to add mottled ink to my scalp once she shaved it. Marcus… was a hunchbacked giant. While he was the same height as usual, the pronounced hump made it look as though he'd be another head taller were it not for the affliction. Marcus was pushing the barrel cart in front of him, and I hauled several crates of tankards.

I was covered in sweat beneath the robe, and I hoped that it would not make any of the makeup run. Neysa had assured me that actors got just as sweaty on the stage. Marcus was scowling. He was doing that a lot as of late, and a part of me missed the perpetually cheerful man I had met so many months ago. Another part of me felt that it justified my own worsening mood. The pressure of our planned heist, the schism in our relationship, and the pressure of running a successful business were taking their toll on us. We were making an incredible amount of money for two men so disinterested in wealth.

“I've been thinking,” I said. “We need to hire people to work the tavern when we leave. There are probably a half dozen positions we need to fill. We have been doing too much. We will be leaving soon anyway.”

“But who?” Marcus asked.