Dark Legion (32 page)

The building was a train station, far larger than the one at Sagemont—probably larger than necessary. Several ships would fit inside with room to spare. It would have taken an impressive amount of stone to build. It had a grandeur to it, solid as a mountain and imposing. Most of it looked old, if not ancient, and contrasted with a section on the opposite side which was clearly a more recent addition—stark white against the weathered stone beside it.

At the end of the chamber the track formed a giant circle, with several other tracks veering off into dark tunnels. Large levers stuck out from beside the track, allowing the rails to be shifted.

At the center was a wide corridor, and one of the three-horns had been unhitched and was being led down it by three men. To the side of it, a ramp led up to a metal door with a large lock. Many more wooden doors were set into the walls as well, and I found it odd that they had not been replaced with something more solid. They looked too flimsy in a room such as this and one in particular, near the ramp, looked as though it would fall to splinters in a stiff breeze. The branded men soon had our bags loaded into handcarts and stood waiting for us.

“I wonder where that door leads,” I said, looking at the heavy door at the top of the ramp.

“What's behind that door?” Marcus asked of the slaves. They did not answer, but bowed.

I turned to the men and spoke in Ubraian. “Greetings. Can you tell me where that door leads?”

This startled the men, and they turned to each other. One was pushed forward, being volunteered as the spokesman. “To the palace, master. Your ale will shortly be carried through that portal.”

“Do you not understand common?”

His face flushed, and he bowed his head lower. “Apologies, master, we are discouraged from talking to our betters. Hearing my own tongue… it caught me off-guard.”

“I am not your Master. You can call me Saul.”

The man looked back at his fellow slaves before speaking again. “Please, do not dishonor yourself by speaking to us, Master.” The man stepped back to the cart and lowered his head.

“I will do as I please,” I said. “Tell me your name.”

“I cannot,” the slave said. “I am not worthy of a name—I am nameless like all who serve.”

“What if I ordered you to tell me your name?” I asked.

“My master's authority supersedes your own… my apologies. I mean no offense.”

I stared at the man. I could not believe that anyone would submit to another to such a degree. I never did, and sure, I paid for it, but one had to hold on to something. Your name was at the core of your being. The thought that these men were deemed unfit even to possess a name filled me with anger. But it was the fact that they agreed to it that pushed me over the edge. “I, Saul Baz Sharmoun, prince and heir to the Ubraian throne, demand you tell me your name!” I shouted, and my voice echoed through the chamber.

I immediately regretted my outburst, as every slave in the chamber stopped what they were doing and turned to me. The man fell to his knees and bowed low with his arms outstretched, and soon the rest of the slaves followed suit.

“What in the hells have you done now?” Neysa asked.

“Too much,” I said.

“Stand,” I yelled in Ubraian, and they did. I looked around but was pleased to see there were only slaves in the chamber. My party was not deemed important enough to warrant a reception. “Gather round,” I said. When I was surrounded by slaves, I spoke in a low voice. “As your prince, it's my duty to free you of your shackles, but I need time to devise a plan. A lion sleeps in the heart of every brave man, and you need to be brave. What is this lion's name?” I asked of the man once more.

“Ferran, my prince.”

I looked at those assembled. “Ferran will lead you in this. I will speak to him in the next day or two, and he to you. Until then, talk to your fellows, but do not utter a word in front of your masters. If word gets out, I will personally hunt you down and butcher you. Am I clear?” The slaves thumped their chest twice with the right hand as was the tradition when being commanded. “Good. Now resume your tasks before your masters come to see why you are dallying.” The slaves set off with a spring in their step that had been absent when we'd first arrived.

“Lead us to the Eagle's Perch,” I said to Ferran. Adair had arranged our accommodation, as he knew the city like the back of his hand.

“So,” Marcus said as we followed behind the slaves. “What in the name of the Gods just happened?”

“Well… I may have proclaimed myself as the prince of Ubrain. I may also have promised that I would set them free.”

“You did what?” Neysa snapped. “You're a Gods-damned idiot, Saul.”

“I know,” I said. “I lost my temper. But I intend to keep my word.”

Marcus clasped a hand on my shoulder. “You risk us all, but for once I am proud of you.”

“You are both morons,” Neysa said.

 

We followed the men up a wide ramp leading through an arch to a well-lit road. We came to a halt on the other side, as we had to wait for a column of legionnaires to march past. Never had I seen such well-ordered troops, not even in Castralavi. The red-plumed soldiers marched past in perfect unison, spears held straight. It was an impressive sight. When they were past, Ferran led us on. As we passed the station, the palace came into view on our right. It was the single largest structure that I had ever seen. It was surrounded by walls approaching twenty meters high, but these did little to hide the colossal structure behind them, its domed towers reaching for the stars above. A large metal gate barred the way, half as high as the walls themselves. My eyes picked out scores of archers atop the wall and heavily armed guards in front of the gate.

“I'm glad we picked a subtle way into the palace,” I whispered.

“Agreed,” Marcus said. “I doubt our bathrobes would get us through
those
gates.”

 

Ferran led us to a grand old building that was covered in stone relief work. Above the door was a large crest depicting an eagle perched on a branch. Ferran knocked on the door, which was quickly opened by a wiry old man in a flowing white toga. I had seen several men wearing togas since entering Morwynne. They looked ridiculous, like they were wrapped in bed sheets. The old man gestured behind him, and five slaves came running out to grab our bags.

Marcus, Neysa and I walked into the foyer of the inn, if one could call it an inn. The Shady Oak was an inn; this place was something else. The high ceiling was covered in frescoes. Morwynne had a thing for tall structures, and I had yet to see a single-story building. We followed the old man to a large desk that lined one wall, and our footsteps echoed on the marble tiles. The old man sat himself down behind the desk and adjusted his spectacles, with the slaves waiting off to the side.

“Do you have a reservation?” he asked.

“We do—it's under the name of our business, the Bleeding Wolf,” I said.

“Ahh, the purveyors of the fine ale that I have been hearing so much about. Let me see,” he said running his finger down a ledger. “Yes, here you are. I have you down for three grand suites. Follow me,” he said, and led us up a spiral staircase.

 

A long climb later, we arrived at our rooms at the very top of the stairs, and I wondered how the old man managed it with seeming ease when Neysa and I were short on breath. Marcus never seemed to tire. The old man gestured to three doors set to one side of the steps, and I could see another three on the other side. “Your bags will be up momentarily,” he said. “I bid you goodnight. Do not hesitate to call on me should you have any need.”

I opened the door closest to me and walked through. We walked in to find that the grand suites were aptly named. My suite was not limited to a single room, but had its own foyer, dining room, sitting room, two privies, a dressing room and two bedrooms. Each of the rooms were far more spacious than necessary and lushly furnished. The suite was larger than our family's summer home had been.

“By the Gods,” Marcus said. “Why do we need three of these?”

“I love it!” Neysa said, clapping her hands.

“This is going to cost us a fortune,” I said. I opened a door leading from the sitting room onto an expansive balcony and leaned on the railing. The city of Morwynne lay below—or mostly below. Many of the buildings were still at eye level, even though I stood at a great height above the street. Yet, the palace towered over all.

While the city was beautiful, and it truly was, I could not help but feel it was also sterile. It reminded me of the hospital I'd worked at when I was young. They had decorated the place with flowers and paintings to help the patients feel more at home, but it utterly lacked the feeling. This city felt the same to me.

 

The slaves soon knocked on the door and, once the bags were routed to the correct suites, were sent away with a request for food. After we shared a delicious meal together, Marcus and Neysa went to their own rooms, and I prepared for bed. I decided to get a full night's sleep and collapsed on the excessively large bed.

I leaned to the side and pulled the book,
The Names of Things
, from my satchel and unwrapped it. I scanned through the pages but got no more meaning from them than the last time I had done so. Every now and then, a new passage would come to light and lodge in my mind. The book was truly unusual. I could read every word of it, but as soon as my eyes skipped to the next word, the meaning of the former passed me by. Some passages, though, were as clear as day. Alas, they were few.

It was an odd book to be sure, quite aside from its subject matter. I had shown it to Marcus once a few weeks past. With the secret of my ability out in the open, I had seen no harm in it. But Marcus told me he could not make heads or tails of the script. According to him, the letters appeared to morph and change when his eyes tried to focus on them. I hadn't a clue what language it was written in, but at least I could discern some of its meaning.

I pulled the two sheets of folded paper out from between its pages. The first was the one Malakai had given me, a stylized depiction of a cat. The lion was important to my people, and so that was what it looked like to me, but the artist had taken some liberties in its creation. It could have been any number of large cats.

Malakai had said it would reveal my brother's location when the time was right, whatever that meant. The old bastard got on my nerves with his vague suggestions and plans wrapped in shadow, and I hoped he wasn't all mouth and no trousers. If this sheet of paper meant nothing, I would not be pleased.

Marcus, the other pain in my arse, trusted in Malakai, as did Neysa. Marcus was an eternal optimist who could walk into a room of shit and see a wonderland. Neysa was near as skeptical as I was, and her trust in the man made me doubt my own feelings, but I also doubted she knew of his power over us.

The other sheet had the illustrations of the crown and the Ring of the Lion. My purpose in crude drawings: my drive, my hopes, my life. Truly, without completing the goals they represented, a very large part of my life would be rendered a waste. The years I'd spent in the torture chamber, delving for answers, when I could have escaped. The many, many people who had died at my hands. Granted, if I had not been the torturer, another would have taken the job, but still.

The ring had become somewhat of an obsession for me of late, largely due to what Malakai had said. “Made for someone like me,” I mouthed. What that meant, the Gods only knew. The crown was all important however. The crown was Ubrain. It was perhaps more than a little ridiculous that a nation placed such import on a band of gold, but they did, and I planned to use it to my advantage.

 

Sleep did not come easy with my mind fixed on my foolish promise to the slaves. It occurred to me that I might have been wrong. I had assumed no one would believe that I was who I said I was—a prince, their prince—without the crown. But the slaves I had encountered had thrown their lot in with mine with a willingness that boggled the mind. On the other hand, being slaves, desperate for a better life, they were more likely to believe that their long-lost prince had returned to free them. It made for a nice story. Besides, many slaves were broken and ready to obey command. Those in Ubrain who were yet free… they might have different ideas, and I suspected that we would face more difficulty in that arena.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

A Day in the City

 

I enjoyed a cup of coffee on the balcony as I watched the sky grow lighter over the palace. On the table in front of me sat the plans Malakai had provided. As the glowing orb of the sun crested the central complex of the palace, I unrolled the plans and weighed them down with my empty coffee cup. My eyes flicked between the palace and the plans, trying to spot the differences. The main one I could see in the external structure was the large train station that lay to my right. It had had several previous incarnations.

At one point, it had been a walled-off rectangle with two gates. My best guess was that it allowed the palace to receive guests through the first gate, and then to judge how welcome those guests were to the palace proper. My father's palace had had something similar, but at a much smaller scale.