The Inquisitives [4] The Darkwood Mask (24 page)

“Leave Haedrun alone. Your only chance to survive this is to run, before I hand you over to General Thauram myself.”

Tallis’s expression darkened with suspicion. “I can’t leave her out of this. She’s the reason I’m
in
this at all.”

Bentius closed the distance between them, pointing his sword at Tallis. As he moved, Soneste observed a severe limp in one leg. Soneste had seen something like that before. A once-broken kneecap, healed by magic but probably not soon enough to fully restore it.

Tallis dropped the cudgel and held his hands out in a show of truce. Soneste had seen him in action enough now to sense the tension building within him, especially when he appeared unarmed.

“You brought this on yourself, half-elf.” Bentius gestured with his blade to the Lhazaarites on the ground. “You make too many enemies. Did you really think this pathetic Lyrandar get-up would hide you here?”

Soneste noticed a number of dark figures emerging from the crowd of spectators who’d already begun to watch the unfolding scene. They were armored with studded and banded leather and each wore a mask bound tightly to his face with thick straps. Soneste felt a chill across her spine as she realized they weren’t merely masks but the metal faceplates of common warforged. The effect was
intimidating, made even more unsettling with living eyes staring through the open sockets. Every one of them was armed.

A circle was tightening around Tallis. Soneste herself was shouldered aside by a half-orc brute with a warhammer. She counted seven thugs in all.

“I’m not here to hide, Bentius. I’m here to talk.” Tallis winked. “Say, how’s that knee doing?”

Tallis noticed the armored thugs gathering around him, but he seemed undaunted. Soneste had the sense that Tallis had fought and triumphed against numbers before, but it was obvious this was about to get ugly. Her mind raced. Surely he couldn’t survive this one? She considered running to fetch Aegis, but she didn’t know if she’d make it back in time.

“Since when did you run with the Steel Face?” Tallis asked with casual interest.

Bentius glanced over to a man standing near Soneste and nodded. She saw one of the thugs point a large crossbow at Tallis and take aim. She sucked her teeth.

“Host,” she swore quietly to herself then slowly drew out her own rapier.

“You don’t want this outcome, trust me,” Tallis said with a sigh, then sprang into action. With his gloved hand, he swatted Bentius’s sword tip away and lunged for the man himself.

The crossbowman took the cue and loosed his bolt. His aim was true.

Malefaction
Zol, the 10th of Sypheros, 998 YK

T
allis had expected to meet Bentius tonight—had
counted
on it—and he expected the rogue mercenary to know better than to confront him alone. The Host knew, Tallis had nosed around long enough among the mercenary’s acquaintances to flush him out. After their last meeting—in which the hot-tempered Blademark had wrongly accused Tallis of courting Haedrun—Bentius would be aching for vengeance. Still, hiring the Steel Face was a little unexpected.

The click of a triggered crossbow was unmistakable. As he lunged for Bentius, Tallis felt an unpleasant pressure in his stomach as the thick bolt slammed into him—then broke apart without causing injury.

He’d come prepared. What was a few hundred galifars, after all, on the good chance that someone would try to feather you? Tallis would gladly pay Verdax a few hundred more the next time too. Unfortunately, the potion’s effects would do nothing against the hand-held weapons now arrayed against him.

With the mercenary’s blade turned aside, Tallis found a grip on Bentius’s collar. He pulled one of his rods free and slammed it across the man’s face twice, hearing the tell-tale crunch of a
breaking nose. So much for all that armor. As Bentius clutched at his own face, Tallis shoved him roughly at the nearest assailant. The Steel Face thug stepped back, allowing Bentius to drop awkwardly to the ground, and swung his mace.

Tallis knew he could escape them all easily, but that would get him nowhere. He’d wanted to find Bentius and he’d done so. Now he needed to survive the Blademark’s new friends long enough to make use of the man. He drew from his belt the strange dagger he’d taken from the Brelish girl. A quick look around revealed troublesome odds.

When the next thug closed, he ducked just beneath a killing sword stroke, countering with a vicious stab into the man’s armpit. The thug dropped his sword and clutched at the streaming arterial wound. Tallis kicked him aside and looked for the next.

Two men were upon him immediately, and the tip of one’s long sword caught him on the left forearm. It hurt like the fires of Khyber but it wasn’t serious—for now. Tallis grasped the blade itself with his gloved hands, ignoring the pain as it sliced through the fine leather, even as the thug braced his grip to prevent it from being pulled away. Instead, Tallis pushed inward and redirected his strength
up
to slam the pommel against the man’s eye. The blow loosened the thug’s grip, at which point Tallis wrenched it free and hit him again in the same place. The thug dropped, squaring Tallis off with the second man. Tallis gripped the hilt in one hand, dagger in the other, and took a deep breath.

He hated swords. From the day his father had tried to teach him how to use one to the day Tallis had been tested with the Rekkenmark Sword Drill, he’d hated them. Swords were just big, heavy knives and a great deal more predictable than most other weapons.

The Steel Face thug was a head taller than Tallis and held his blade ready. He would expect Tallis to start swinging, expect to parry and return, so Tallis threw his sword with all his strength at the man’s head. It spun through the short distance, moving erratically through the air. The thug swung wildly to knock it out of its path, which he did effectively.

Tallis lunged for his throat. The man tried to bring his weapon back, but he wasn’t fast enough. The tip of the violet-tinged blade sheared easily through stiff leather and skin, coming to a stop only when it hit the collar bone. With a scream, the thug retreated, trailing blood behind.

This hadn’t bought Tallis a lot of time, but he used it to reassess the battlefield. To his surprise, only one opponent was ready to face him, a dwarf whose unruly beard spilled out beneath the jawless faceplate. In his hands he spun twin axes with considerable skill. Over the dwarf’s shoulder, Tallis saw the remaining Steel Face thugs facing a new combatant.

An ally?

She wore a dark, hooded cloak and scarf, shifting her feet to stay in constant motion. For one fearful moment, Tallis thought it was the Ebonspire assassin, concealed by cloth and nimble of motion, but there was something different about this woman’s movements. A flash of fair hair confirmed it was someone else.

She knew how to lead her opponents, to allow them an offensive strategy to tire them out. With a rapier in hand, the woman searched patiently for a vulnerable place to strike. Tallis saw one of the thugs already lying on the ground near her feet, clutching a wound in his leg. Whoever she was, Tallis felt a surge of gratitude for her assistance.

He also hoped he didn’t have to fight her, too, when this was over.

Tallis brought his attention back to the dwarf, just in time to dodge a pair of axe blades. They chopped the air beside him, allowing him to step just inside the dwarf’s reach. The dagger scored the studded leather he wore, but Tallis wasn’t close enough to dig deeper. As the thug drew back for another series of swings, Tallis ducked down, feigning a bad step. He locked one of his rods in place at his knee level. He moved back, feigning exhaustion as he eyed the dwarf.

“Khyber!” he gasped. “That beard could use a good wash. Smells like rat piss.”

With a growl, the dwarf surged forward, raising both axes. He hit the magic rod where it hung—suspended in the air—and he buckled over it, arms flailed ineffectually as he struggled for balance. Tallis grabbed one arm to still it. A single dagger slash across the fingers of that hand had the thug yelping in pain and dropping both weapons. He followed up with a pommel blow to the head. It took three to drop the stubborn dwarf. Tallis retrieved his rod and looked to the mysterious woman.

Three Steel Face men surrounded her now. She dodged the first few attacks with considerable agility, but she was clearly outnumbered by seasoned fighters. A half-orc with a mace slammed her in the shoulder. She groaned and dropped the sword in her hand from the incapacitating shock that must be coursing through her arm.

The woman managed to evade the clumsy swings of the other two. Tallis realized with a start that she was the woman who’d been juggling daggers near the market’s entrance.

The woman paused for a moment and simply
stared
at the hulking half-orc as if in challenge. Even Tallis wouldn’t have wasted such precious moments for that! What could it gain her against such a foe? To his surprise, the half-orc used his mace predictably, the swing taking exactly the same angle as his last strike. The agile woman easily stepped away from it.

Tallis moved to join her but felt a painful jerk at the back of his neck.

“Keeper!” he swore, turning to see an eighth thug not ten feet away with an empty crossbow pointed at him.

Half hidden by the metal faceplate, the thug’s mouth twisted in dismay. Irritated by the attempt to kill him
yet again
, Tallis threw the only legitimate weapon he had. The violet-tinged blade caught the thug in the neck.

Tallis didn’t waste time to see the man’s fate. He turned to assist his ally, only to see her backhanded to the ground by the half-orc. The thug’s other hand was now empty and bled from the wrist. The hulking half-orc looked like the kind of man who was just
as dangerous without a weapon. He lunged angrily at the prone woman.

Before his massive hands found purchase, the half-orc grunted in shock. Blood and bits of ruined flesh burst from his armored chest. His mouth fought to scream even as he died, dropping without a sound. Behind him stood a tall, heavily plated warrior with a faceplate of his own and eyes that shined with a soft blue light. In two gauntleted hands—to Tallis’s utter horror
and
delight—was his own hooked hammer! The pick’s end dripped with gore.

This was no member of the Steel Face gang. It was a true warforged, and its glowing, crystalline eyes were very much alive. The construct threw aside the canvas tarp that had wrapped it like a cloak and turned immediately to the next thug, whose hesitation at the sight of the warforged cost him dearly. The thick buckler attached to the construct’s left arm rammed into the man’s face, wrecking his nose and knocking him out cold in a single strike.

Buckler? By Khyber—

The warforged at the Ebonspire, Gamnon’s bodyguard. Tallis had disabled the construct on the balcony, using the very weapon now gripped in its hands.

If the same warforged was
here
, that meant—

“Tallis!” The woman rolled to her feet.

“Host …” Tallis swore quietly. The Brelish inquisitive. In the tumble, her hood and scarf had fallen free releasing the wild spill of blonde locks unraveling from a braid. Her eyes had been rimmed with black makeup in Karrnathi fashion.

Still wary of the dangerous warforged, Tallis glanced back to Bentius, who was climbing to his feet, one hand at his face. He couldn’t let the mercenary leave the Market. He had to deal with him here and now, but now he had to deal with the Brelish too. His control of the situation had slipped away.

“Tallis, please,” the inquisitive said. “Just wait. Let’s talk.” She held her hand out even as the warforged began to pursue the remaining Steel Face thug. “Aegis, let him go. We’re done.” The warforged halted then jogged back with loud, clomping steps.

Most of the spectators had retreated a safe distance. Few even looked their way now. Tallis nearly thanked the Dark Six that none would summon the authorities
here
, but he still felt he owed that to the Sovereign Host.

The warforged fixed its glowing eyes upon him, reminding Tallis of an angry gorgon stamping at the ground—symbol of the very house which created it.

“You are not absolved, intruder,” the warforged said to him.

“Aegis, calm down.” The woman approached Tallis, hands still empty. “My name is Soneste, and I’m here for the same reason you are. To find the
real
killer.”

Tallis backed away, unsure whether to run again or take his chances with Bentius in front of her. “Oh,
now
you give me your name? I asked you several times yesterday, but forgive me if I’m not yet convinced of your motives, miss.”

“Who’s your friend?” Soneste asked, pointing to Bentius, who was now aware of Tallis and began to limp away. She gazed at the mercenary, her attention focused, and for a moment Tallis thought he felt a hum in the air. He watched as the man seemed to freeze in place. He hadn’t seen the Brelish cast any spell. Was it magic or something else?

“Bentius d’Deneith,” Tallis answered. “An
unmarked
man out of favor with his own house. A man about to die.”

“You can’t just—”

Tallis turned back to her. “With all due respect,
Soneste
, this is my world, not yours.” He gestured to the Market street behind her. “If you want answers, let it be.”

Soneste stared back with open disgust. She’d retrieved her rapier but moved no closer. The warforged, Aegis, stood beside her. Its posture suggested it wouldn’t be handing him his weapon back anytime soon.

He’d deal with that later, then.

Tallis pulled the violet-tinged dagger from the thug he’d dropped with it, wiping the blood on the dead man’s leather. He casually walked over to Bentius and kicked him to the ground.
Tallis eyed the blade. “It looks like crystal, but I’m guessing it’s quite a bit stronger, right?”

Bentius had shaken free from whatever paralytic spell had seized him. He glared at Tallis defiantly, but he was too sore to fight back. “We had a disagreement last time, Bentius, and it didn’t turn out well for you.” He looked at the man’s knee, the one he’d once broken. It wasn’t the same, but at least the man could walk again. “I let you live and this is how you repay me?” Tallis reversed his grip on the dagger, blade pointing down. “ ‘Once he is shown to be intractable, a wise ruler allows his enemies no means of retreat or surrender.’ ” He peeled back part of the chain of his hauberk, exposing the man’s good leg. “ ‘Only utter destruction prevents a foe from rising again.’ ”