The Shadowed Path (22 page)

The brewery and pub had grown more crowded since their morning arrival, but the wagons were nowhere to be seen. Jonmarc headed for the barn, wondering if Trent had grown frustrated enough to leave him behind. At the entrance to the barn, he stopped, waiting for his eyes to adjust. One of the wagons they had brought from the caravan was there, its horse already in the harness. The other wagon was missing.

“Where in the name of the Crone have you been?” Trent grabbed Jonmarc by the arm and yanked him so hard into the shadows that he nearly pitched headfirst into the hay.

“They’ve got Maynard,” Jonmarc said, trying to tamp down on his panic.

“Who?” Trent demanded, looming over him.

“Chessis and Vakkis. I followed Chessis to a tavern called the Hind and Hound—”

“I know the place,” Corbin replied. “Not one of the better sort.”

Jonmarc shook his head. “No, it isn’t. Linton was meeting with a man there I didn’t recognize. The man got up and left the tavern, and Linton finished his ale, then collapsed. It had to be poison. Chessis and Vakkis were waiting, and they swooped in and grabbed him, then whisked him out the back into a wagon.”

“It can’t have taken that long to come back from Hind and the Hound,” Trent said, his voice clipped with anger.

“I followed the wagon,” Jonmarc said. Now that he had made it back safely, his heart was pounding. “They took him to Stormgard.”

Trent and Corbin exchanged glances. “Going to be hard to find him in there.”

“I know where they took him. There’s a storehouse in the center of Stormgard—”

“Oh sweet Mother and Childe, don’t tell me you followed them into Stormgard?” Trent’s face was a mixture of anger and horror, which might have been funny if Jonmarc were not on the receiving end of his temper.

“Someone had to,” Jonmarc snapped. “Then Vakkis left the wagon and I thought about jumping Chessis and stealing the wagon with Maynard still in the back.”

“Please tell me you didn’t,” Corbin replied, his tone dangerously flat.

Once again, Jonmarc shook his head. “Too many people around. Then Vakkis came after me, and I shoved him down a ginnel and ran.” He recounted the rest of the escape, including the foray into the shrine, as Trent and Corbin looked on, incredulous. During the telling of the tale, several more of the caravan’s regular members came out of the shadows to hear Jonmarc’s story. Dugan, one of the junior riggers, and Zane, a knife-thrower with deadly aim, along with Kegan, a healer-in-training.

“That’s a tale you’ll be telling when you’re old and gray, assuming you live that long,” Corbin said with a sigh when Jonmarc finished. He eyed the rolled up supplicant’s robe. “Still, it was quick thinking on your part, and you made it back in one piece. That’s more than most men can say who’ve come toe-to-toe with Vakkis.”

“How did the rest of you get here?” Jonmarc asked, looking at Zane and the others.

Trent glared at him, apparently still not ready to forgive his disappearance. “When you didn’t come back, I sent Corbin back to the caravan with orders for them to strike camp and move to our next location. Just in case Vakkis and Chessis were planning some trouble. He came back with volunteers to find you and then beat the shit out of the bounty hunters for what they did to Conall.”

“Do you know if Linton was still alive?” Corbin asked.

Jonmarc shook his head. “I couldn’t get close enough to tell. But something about the way Vakkis responded made me think whoever paid for Linton’s capture wanted him alive.”

Trent muttered a few creative curses. “I don’t know how we’ll get back in there without bringing the guards down on us.”

Corbin nodded toward the supplicant robe. “We could waylay a few more seekers.”

Trent shook his head. “Vakkis may not have found Jonmarc, but the fact that he went looking in the shrine meant he had a good idea how he disappeared. He’ll be watching.”

“We could wait for night, get a couple of the
vayash moru
who work for the caravan and tear the place apart,” Zane suggested.

Corbin gave him a withering look. “That just sends the bounty hunters after our
vayash moru
, and every other
vayash moru
within a dozen leagues. Bad idea.”

“I have an idea,” Jonmarc said, looking up. “But you’d have to be barking mad to make it work.”

Trent gave a mirthless laugh. “Then you’ve come to the right place, lad. Tell us what you’ve got in mind.”

A
FTER DARK
,
NO
one paid any attention to the two men in ragged clothing pulling a cart full of corpses.

“Damn, they’re heavy,” Jonmarc muttered to Trent as they hauled the ramshackle wagon through the shadowed streets of Stormgard. They had cobbled together a makeshift wagon from parts Trent and Zane stole from the brewery’s barn, and helped themselves to clothing on a wash line within easy reach. Jonmarc and Trent had smudged their faces with dirt and soot, patting liberal amounts on their clothes for good measure. Corbin, Kegan, and Dugan were rolled up in burlap like corpses, and Zane followed mournfully in the supplicant’s robe, chanting for the souls of the dead. Corbin had brought their weapons from the caravan, so the cart with the ‘corpses’ also carried their swords and throwing knives.

“You’d just better hope no one pays any attention to what Zane’s chanting,” Trent hissed. “He’s gone through every tavern song I know, and moved on to some I doubt you’ll hear outside a whorehouse.”

“I hope we’re not too late,” Jonmarc said. Worry had knotted his stomach all afternoon. Not only might they find Linton already dead, but their rescue attempt could easily cost the lives of his friends. Despite that, none of the men had questioned the need to go after their boss.

“How much further?” Trent asked. “And why are we still going uphill? Isn’t anything in this city level? I may not be able to swing a hammer for a week after this.”

“Not far,” Jonmarc said, lifting his head to have a look around. Stormgard was even more intimidating after dark, when the fortified walls loomed, dark and menacing, casting the interior of the city in shadows that even the torchlight did not fully dispel.

They turned a corner and Jonmarc signaled for them to stop. “That’s it,” he said, pointing toward the two-story building. “And the wagon is still over by the stable.” He looked to Trent. “Any idea who the building belongs to?”

Trent gave a cold smile. “Actually, yes. While you and I gathered our disguises, Corbin made a few inquiries around town. It seems that the head of the merchant guild fits your description of the man Maynard met at the pub. And even more damning—he’s said to own a fine barn and warehouse in Stormgard that he won from a noble in a card game.”

Jonmarc and Trent pushed the cart into the shadows. Corbin, Kegan, and Dugan cast off the burlap to ready themselves for the work at hand. Trent had a set to his jaw that told Jonmarc the blacksmith was ready for a fight. “Dugan—go get Vakkis’s wagon ready. Hitch up the horse and wait around the corner, out of sight but close enough to hear me whistle,” Trent directed. “Kegan—go with him and lend a hand. We won’t need you until the fighting is over.” Dugan gave a sharp nod and ran off with Kegan close behind.

Unlike that morning, the area was quiet, and nearly empty of foot traffic. The storehouse had few windows, so it was impossible to tell if anyone was inside. The rest of the street was dark. Jonmarc heard Dugan in the stable and froze, awaiting discovery, but when no one appeared to check on the noise, Jonmarc breathed a sigh of relief.

“Think it’s a trap?” Jonmarc murmured.

“Probably.” Trent replied. He signaled for Zane and Corbin to go around to the back. “Don’t see a choice, do you?”

Jonmarc shook his head, and Trent grinned. “Let’s make it expensive for them,” Trent said, drawing his sword.

The wooden door splintered under their weight as Jonmarc and Trent shouldered their way in. A crash at the other end of the building signaled that Corbin and Zane had the same idea.

Barrels, crates, and bales filled most of the storehouse’s large, open interior. Sawdust covered the hard dirt floor, and stout wooden pillars and roof beams indicated that more goods were likely housed above. A single oil lantern hung from a rusted nail below a roof support, and its light cast a dim circle. From the footprints and scuffs in the sawdust, the storehouse had seen plenty of recent traffic.

Stacked wooden boxes and bales made it impossible to see beyond the center of the building. Here and there, piles of barrels lay on their side, stacked one atop the other taller than a man’s head. Linton lay in a heap on the floor to one side, bound hand and foot, and he did not stir at the noise as they entered.

“You go for Linton. We’ll circle around,” Trent whispered. A shake of his head confirmed Jonmarc’s suspicion that Vakkis and Chessis were likely to be waiting for them in the darkness.

“I wish we knew whether or not Tarren is with them,” Jonmarc said.

Trent shrugged. “I’ve heard he works on his own sometimes. Maybe we’ll get lucky and he’s off making someone else’s life miserable. We’ll find out soon enough.”

Jonmarc’s sword was in his hand as he approached Linton. Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed Trent moving behind the boxes on one side while Zane headed into the shadows on the other. Corbin removed the ladder to the top floor, and stood ready with his sword in one hand and an iron rod in the other.

Linton groaned as Jonmarc turned him over. The caravan master’s skin was ashen and clammy, and his breathing was shallow. From his torn clothing and the bruises on his face, it appeared his captors had vented their anger with a beating. Blood flecked Linton’s lips, and one eye was swollen shut.

The clang of swords and the scuffle of footsteps sounded in the darkness behind the crates and barrels. One set of crates wobbled dangerously, and the top crate tumbled to the floor, sending splinters and shards of pottery flying.

Jonmarc hoisted Linton over his left shoulder, leaving his right hand free for his sword. Shouts and curses rang out from the shadows, and Jonmarc heard the familiar thud of Zane’s throwing knives. A loud crack echoed as Corbin’s iron rod collided with force against something hard. He could not see the battle, but it was easy to guess that Vakkis and Chessis had brought reinforcements.

Halfway to the door, Chessis stepped out from behind a pile of barrels. The squat bounty hunter shook a lock of oily blond hair out of his eyes and gave a predatory grin. “Figured you’d be dumb enough to come after him,” Chessis said, his voice a nasal whine.

“Get out of my way.”

“And let you walk out with our prize catch?” Chessis gave a wheezing laugh. “Not when we could get good silver from the slavers for the likes of you.”

Chessis was plump and slackjawed, but it would be a mistake to underestimate his skill with a sword. Jonmarc had seen Chessis in action the night Conall died, and the bounty hunter was faster than he looked. He was also not encumbered by the dead weight of a grown man, which Jonmarc knew would slow his own reactions. Chessis looked like he was relishing the chance for revenge.

“Your friend’s not quite dead yet,” Chessis said. “But soon. The Guild Master wanted a slow death, as a warning for others.”

“Go to the Crone,” Jonmarc muttered.

Chessis lunged, and Jonmarc parried, but Linton’s weight made him slow and blocked his field of view. Chessis laughed and came at him from the left, forcing Jonmarc to wheel, slamming Linton’s legs against the stack of barrels, which tottered but did not fall.

“Vakkis saw you at the Hind and Hound,” Chessis gloated. “He figured you’d follow us. He wanted to catch you for the slavers then, but you got away and we figured you’d be back.”

Jonmarc did not waste his breath with a reply. He remembered Chessis’s fighting style from the last time, and recalled that the bounty hunter relied on strength rather than style, bashing his way through an enemy’s defense.

Chessis came at him again, driving Jonmarc back a step. Linton’s weight threw him off balance, and he caught himself against the center pole, jarring it hard enough to send the oil lantern crashing to the floor. Flames spread rapidly in the loose sawdust, but Chessis did not run.

“Burn or bleed,” Chessis taunted. “Your choice.”

Jonmarc had no desire to do either. He charged at Chessis, sword angled for a blow to the chest. Chessis parried, and Jonmarc swung suddenly to the right, using Linton’s dangling legs as a weapon and catching Chessis hard enough to send the bounty hunter onto his back and into the growing fire.

Smoke was rapidly filling the storehouse, and Jonmarc gasped for air. Across the way, he caught a glimpse of Vakkis and Trent still locked in combat. Corbin was fighting twohanded, using his iron bar to block the swings of a man in the uniform of a private guard.

Chessis rolled away from the fire to extinguish his burning shirt, and scrambled to his feet, coming after Jonmarc with a roar of obscenities. Chessis’s blade was angled to skewer Linton through the back, and Jonmarc dodged to the side, just as a streak of silver glinted in the firelight and one of Zane’s throwing knives lodged in Chessis’s shoulder.

Chessis howled in pain, but there was determination and hatred in his eyes and he slashed with his left hand, wielding a blade Jonmarc did not see until it was too late. The knife cut deep into his side, and Jonmarc bit back a cry of pain as he managed to land a solid kick to the bounty hunter’s chest that sent him sprawling.

“Come on!” Zane emerged from the smoke, and half pushed, half dragged Jonmarc and Linton out to the street.

“Trent, Corbin—” Jonmarc gasped, trying to breathe. The wound in his side staggered him, and he focused on keeping his feet.

Two figures crashed through what remained of the wooden door, wrestling for control of a single sword. Vakkis and Trent rolled into the rutted road, both bleeding from multiple gashes. Zane went running toward them, and Vakkis bucked beneath Trent’s weight, landing a solid kick before wresting out of Trent’s grip and running into the night.

Corbin came around the side of the storehouse as Zane helped Trent up. “Better hope Dugan got that wagon,” he grunted as he joined them. “Those flames are going to draw a crowd soon.”