Dark Legion (3 page)

“By the Gods,” Marcus said. “If he's not the spitting image.” The man was in his thirties, had a shaved head and a black goatee, and, as Marcus pointed out, he looked a great deal like me. There were subtle differences, of course, but I counted on the bloating and the brand on his forehead to distract anyone who could pick them out.

“This your work?” Marcus asked, pointing at tooth marks that covered the man's neck and arms. I nodded. “And this?” He gestured at a large gash across the man's abdomen, his entrails sliding out as we watched. I nodded again.

“And things that can do this are down there?” he asked, tipping his head to the swamp.

“Yeah—balaur. But they usually keep their distance.”

“Balaur?” Marcus asked.

“Bipedal reptiles. Nasty little buggers. I've only seen them on a handful of occasions. It's probably a small pack. They have a claw on top of each foot, which they use to… well, do
that
,” I said, pointing at the opened stomach of my double.

“Is that how he died?” Marcus asked.

“Nah, I poisoned him and added the embellishments later.” It had taken a lot longer than I'd thought it would to get it to look authentic. It's not often that I would call a corpse a work of art, but the man at my feet most certainly was. I walked back to the cart and retrieved my clothes from the oilskin bag before handing it over to Marcus.

“The hells happened to you?” Marcus asked as I pulled off my tunic.

Blood had soaked the bandage on my shoulder. I decided to leave it as it was for the time being, as we needed to get away from that place. Fortunately, the wound was on my left shoulder; my right had a tattoo that was precious to me. A spiral image in the shape of an eye. When the wound healed, it could join the rest of the scars that covered my body—some caused by Angus, some I'd added myself. Don't get me wrong—I wasn't some sick-minded person who took pleasure in self-mutilation. It was just that pain fueled my naming, giving me some power over others.

“What happened?” Marcus asked again.

“I was interrupted by a sorcerer,” I said.

He raised his eyebrows. “Gods… I assume you killed him?”

I nodded.

“Remind me never to get on your bad side,” Marcus said. “You are deceptively dangerous. I doubt I would have fared as well.”

 

When I was changed, I walked back to the cart. Marcus fastened his belt and attached a short sword, dagger, and a number of small knives while looking out over the swamp. I held a hand out, feeling only the occasional raindrop.

“Ready?” I asked.

Marcus nodded at the swamp. “I think we should cross here,” he said.

I raised an eyebrow.

“You said you've only seen those creatures a few times, right? We should be safe enough. Still easier than walking down the road, I reckon. A bigger-than-average Prylean fellow such as myself, black as the night, and a bald Ubraian with a slave brand between the eyes…—we don't exactly blend into the populace, now, do we?”

“I suppose not,” I muttered.

Marcus smiled, grabbed onto some tree roots hanging over the bank and started climbing down. “Stay here. I'll scout ahead,” he said as he dropped out of sight. Within a few seconds, he was at the bottom. He moved fast for a big bastard. “Gods!” I heard from below. “You have been busy.”

 

I walked back to my double and dragged him closer to the bank, arranging the body to make it look as though he—or rather I—had crawled up from the bottom. Standing back, I looked at the arrangement. Satisfied, I made my way to the edge and peered down. From my position I could see little more than the tops of trees. The stench of rotting corpses sat thick in the air, but the fresh arrivals were by far the worst.

The sound of a breaking branch and a muttered curse came from the swamp. I turned an ear in that direction and heard a high-pitched squeal, a short series of splashes, and then nothing. Raindrops hit leaves, frogs croaked, and a lone owl hooted off in the distance. The horse snorted to my side and tossed her head, flicking water from her skin. I stared at the beast, willing her to be quiet. A bird took flight from a tree nearby, and I ducked as it flapped close overhead.

“Yeah…” Marcus said from behind. I jumped, nearly slid down the bank, and waved my arms to keep on my feet. “We should probably go the other way,” Marcus said, wiping a blade on his sleeve. “Those balaur things aren't very big, but there sure are a lot of them. Thought you said it was a small pack?” I shrugged. Marcus walked to the horse and stroked her neck. “Taking the road would still be a bad idea, at least until we've put some distance between us and this place. I suggest we cross that ridge,” Marcus said, gesturing behind me. “We can't take the horse,” he said as he patted her side. “She'd have a hard time crossing the ridge and leave tracks that any idiot could follow.”

“She can find her own way back,” I said.

“Up the ridge we go, then,” Marcus said. Castralavi sat on a peninsula. We stood on one side, the brackish swamp separating us from the mainland. On the other was the South Sea, with near vertical cliffs falling to the ocean. The ridge ran down the center of the peninsula.

“Lead on,” I said.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER FOUR

Rest in the Mud

 

Our walk across the ridge turned out to be a long one, and several hours later, when Marcus gestured to a rock overhang to rest under till dawn, I could still make out the few lights of Castralavi like glowworms behind me. I had a good view of it from beneath the overhang, high up on the ridge. The term “overhang” was perhaps a bit generous. A slight protrusion? Whatever you called it, it offered little shelter, and if the rain returned we would be soaked. Marcus tossed aside a few loose stones and made himself comfortable.

You might think that, having spent a decade in a dungeon, I would have few qualms about sleeping in a bit of mud. You'd be wrong. I did not sleep in the mud like some peasant. Even a forgotten prince did not sleep in the dirt. Alas, as I looked around me, not a single inn leapt into existence. I made do with a bed of leaves I fashioned with fronds from a tree fern, and while it was far from comfortable, at least it wasn't mud.

I removed my coat and shirt and sat down on my bed. My eyes were squeezed tight against the pain as I peeled the bandage off. It was stuck to the raw skin beneath, and a gasp escaped through my clenched teeth when it peeled free. The night sky above was black as ink, the stars blurry circles through the tears in my eyes. I blinked them clear and went to work stitching the cut. Marcus winced and turned his eyes to the stars instead.

I smiled, glad to have him by my side. A master with the blade, he would come in handy on the difficult road ahead. But quite apart from that, he was a genuinely good man, the first I had met in a great long time, and I felt a better man myself for being in his company. My journey would not be an easy one, and I hoped to reach the end with him still beside me.

I'd learned a great many things in my time as a torturer, but it was not the dirty secrets of nobles that had spurred me to take on this monumental task. It was news of my people's suffering. When I was taken as a slave, I did not realize how many of my people would share my fate. And even those who still lived free were mostly considered second-class citizens.

This knowledge was like a lion; it could not be gently embraced. Instead, a fiery passion grew within me, a determination to see my people free and Ubrain restored to glory, free of its shackles to the empire.

But I was no king. My brother, Shakir, was the rightful heir, and my ultimate goal was to find him and put him on the throne. First, though, I needed to track down the Ubraian crown. In Ubrain, it has always been the custom that he who wore the crown ruled the land. Without it, our claim would be empty, especially as it was widely believed that we were dead—burned in the palace along with my parents.

For years, I'd asked those I put to the question about the crown, but none had even heard rumors. A week ago, I'd finally given up on finding it and decided to go in search of my brother. This very night, I'd tortured the man I was sure knew his location. Angus. Turns out, he did not; but at long last, I found out about the crown's whereabouts instead. “Often, you only find what you are looking for after you stop searching for it.” My mother had taught me that, and time and time again, life had shown her to be right.

 

As I tied off the thread, my wound stitched closed, Marcus looked back my way. Funny; I hadn't taken him to be the squeamish type. I smiled, and we stared up at the stars together. The sounds of the night were strange. Not unpleasant, but not what I was used to. Most nights in the torture chamber were deathly quiet, only broken by the occasional sobs of the men and women in the adjoining cells. I hate to admit this, but sometimes I cried too. Then Marcus arrived. I was warned that he was the bloodthirsty leader of the rebel movement. A cunning man, I was told, who would stop at nothing, spare no life to bring down the empire. It turned out that he was none of those things. A leader, perhaps, but none of the rest. Over the weeks that preceded our escape, we struck up an odd friendship through the bars—a friendship based in a mutually beneficial arrangement. I got a man who knew his way around in a fight; he got an escape from certain death and the promise of gold.

“So what's the plan?” Marcus asked. “Where is that brother of yours?”

“Would that I knew,” I said as I put away the needle and thread and re-dressed the wound.

His brow furrowed in confusion. “Thought you said Angus knew where to find him?”

I sighed. “Well, he didn't. But I did not leave empty-handed. I finally learned the whereabouts of the crown. And another thing, too—the Ring of the Lion. I'd thought it a story, but Angus assured me it's real enough.”

“Never heard of it,” Marcus said.

“No? Legend has it that the ring has a magic to it, and that it was used centuries ago to forge our kingdom. Alas, Angus said that Solas had no luck in finding its magic, but I'll take what I can get.”

“Well, that's good, I suppose,” Marcus said. He was too polite to call me an idiot for believing tall tales, but his face said enough. “Where are they then?”

“They were both in the free city of Qash,” I said as I pulled on my shirt. “But they are now on their way to the Capital.”

“To Morwynne? Why?”

“Apparently the emperor is getting increasingly paranoid and suspects that his nobles are plotting to overthrow him.”

“He probably has the right of it,” Marcus said.

“Probably. The empire is stretched thin right now, and as you well know, the people strain under the heavy taxes. If ever there was a chance for him to be overthrown, this is it. So he decided to consolidate his power and move everything of strategic value to the capital. He is also sending his sons out into the empire. The princes have been provided with a province each, which they will rule with his authority. A reminder of the imperial power, direct oversight and so on. The orders went out two weeks ago.”

“Not to sound selfish… but what about the money?” Marcus asked.

I smiled at him. “With the value of that shipment, you will get your due and more.”

Marcus sat up, leaning on his elbows. “You know it's not for me.” The man sounded offended.

“You can do with it as you please, but you are wasting it on your rebels.” I did not know how to break the news to Marcus that his rebel movement was no more. In the months since his arrest, imprisonment, and trial, they'd disbanded. I did not want to put our arrangement in jeopardy, so I'd kept it from him.

A mosquito buzzed in my ear, and I slapped my hands together, but my prey had escaped. I was sure it would return to wreak its revenge. “Ideally, we will intercept the shipment before it gets to the capital,” I said.

“Gods, yes,” Marcus said as he lay back down. “Sneaking it out from Morwynne would prove challenging.”

“Like carrying ten kilos of shit in a five-kilo bag.”

“Are you sure you got the truth out of Angus?”

“Yes, I was very persuasive, and as the head torturer, he knew… well, pretty much everything worth knowing, and he answered directly to the princess.” Princess Milliandra was feared throughout the empire and probably beyond. As the princess, spy master, and from what I'd heard, a magic user, her power was frightening—more so as she had no qualms about using it. I had only seen glimpses of her in the dungeon, as she occasionally took it upon herself to put prisoners to the question. Angus kept me well clear of her, though—not for my own safety, but in case I might do something to direct her anger at him.

“Got any ideas on how we are going to do this?” Marcus asked.

“None. I haven't exactly had a lot of time to think it over.”

Marcus reached under his back, picked out a stone he missed previously, and turned it in his hand. “Reckon we should make for Sagemont. It's not far from Morwynne, just a day's travel. It's a small town with a large port. If I were to move a lot of cargo from Qash, I'd ship it across White Lake. Also, people from all over use that port, so we wouldn't stick out.”