The White Dragon (14 page)

People scrambled to get out of the way, and it was obvious that there was going to be a fight. It wasn’t a fair fight as far as the odds went. If the historian was discounted, since he only carried his dagger and seemed more intent on saving his jar of pickles, then it was six on three.

“Argos?” the tall thug said, approaching sword-first.

The raider nodded and swung his own blade in front of him, loosening his muscles and feeling the weight of the steel in his hand. He hadn’t drawn it since his losing fight with the Ulathan woman, and he wasn’t sure of himself anymore. “Long time no see, Giles.”

“Stand aside,” Giles ordered, deciding not to continue with the pleasantries further. His fellow thugs tried to fan out, but the table was set between the end of the bar and the outer wall of the tavern. They couldn’t approach further.

“Can’t do that, mate,” Argos said. “Have an oath to keep here.”

Giles nodded, swinging his own blade. “Suit yourself.”

The attack was immediate, and Giles went for Argos, leaving the other thugs to move on Eric and Zokar. It was tough to approach more than three or four wide as the table got in the way, as did the bar and the wall.

“Stay back.” Eric pushed Diamedes to his rear, bringing his own sword up to block a vicious blow by one of the thugs. The small historian managed to grab his pickle jar with one hand and draw his dagger with the other. He looked anything but frightening in his simple brown robe, clutching his pickled cucumbers.

Zokar didn’t believe in fighting fair, nor allowing an opponent to maintain any sort of advantage. With lightning-fast reflexes, he lifted the edge of the table up, spilling their ale, food, and cutlery all over the floor, and pushed the round table at the nearest killers approaching them. Both hands reached behind his back and pulled out his throwing knives, which were sent flying over the lip of the table, and each one found a target.

One thug clutched at his throat as the assassin’s small blade implanted there, and the other managed to bring his arm up to block the thrown weapon, yelling in pain as it too embedded deep into the man’s forearm.

Eric was getting the worst of it as he had sat closest to the bar, and three of the thugs managed to swing at him with their short swords. One had even flanked him by pressing up against the bar as the mercenary was engaged with the other two. Three on one would not last long.

One blow ricocheted off of the overturned table, hitting Eric in his left calf with the flat side of the blade. The blow didn’t cut, but it bruised the mercenary enough to cause him to drop to his knee in pain. Bringing up his sword again, Eric managed to halt the counterblow from the same blade, as well as a simultaneous swing by the second thug.

“Watch out,” Argos shouted from the other side of the table, warning Eric of the third blow, which was a thrust from the side by the third thug who had flanked him.

Eric was on one knee and threw his head back, narrowly avoiding a powerful thrust at his head. He could feel the blade as it crossed his front tunic, slicing it but missing his flesh.

“Oh, bloody hell,” Diamedes said, leaping forward and bringing his jar of pickles first up high over his head and then as hard as he could, striking the flanking bounty hunter on his skull, smashing the jar and splaying vinegar juice across all three of the combatants, Eric included.

“Damn,” Eric said, blinking wildly at the stinging in his eyes from the acidic liquid. He couldn’t see his opponents clearly, so he disengaged, rolling backward on his back, and completed a full reverse somersault, landing on his feet and wiping furiously with his tunic sleeve at his face.

Diamedes had followed up his attack with a quick stab, hitting the flanking thug’s arm, and pulled his blade back, taking a couple of quick steps to his side to avoid Eric crashing into him.

Zokar didn’t wait. He leaped over the table, stabbing first to one side and then ducking a blow from overhead by a fourth killer to impale the man in his chest with the same sword. Two more of the bounty hunters fell dead to the Balarian’s blows.

Giles had lost his sword when Argos landed a blow across his forearm, and the tall thug leader clutched his hand in pain, trying to stop the bleeding. The other hunter, who had taken a blade in his arm, backpedaled, falling down a dozen feet behind them. He took one more look at his fallen comrades and then twisted onto all fours, blade still implanted in his forearm and scrambled to his feet, running toward the front entrance.

Eric couldn’t see well, but he thrust his blade at the last man he saw standing and, for a moment, had the horror of thinking that he had gored the historian instead. Wiping furiously with his tunic arm sleeve, he finally managed to tear up enough to clear his eyes, and saw the last thug falling dead off of his blade. Diamedes was to his right in his blurred peripheral vision, holding his tiny dagger in front of him, half a pickle dangling from his mouth.

Seeing his last companion retreating, Giles held his bleeding hand and understood that he had underestimated his prey. Living to fight another day was a favored axiom amongst his kind, and without hesitation, he ran at the window to his side, leaping head-first out onto the street and disappearing into a crowded, dark street, glass being strewn everywhere in his wake. There would be no pursuit.

“Time to go,” Zokar said, allowing a sigh to escape from his still-darkened hood. He grabbed first Argos and then Eric and pushed them toward the back door that led them to the kitchen. The historian followed on his own accord quickly. With one last look at the bewildered server, Zokar informed her, “Tell Abrasos that the guild will compensate him within a week for the damages.”

She nodded, and the Balarian disappeared through the kitchen door.

Within seconds, they had exited a back door into an alley, and Zokar led them winding this way and that to a more deserted section of town before he pulled them all close into the deeper shadows of a smaller alleyway.

“They found us too quickly,” Eric said, blinking away the tears from his eyes.

Zokar nodded. “It seems that the double-crosser has been crossed.”

“Who would that be?” Eric asked.

“That would be me.” Zokar held a hand to his chest and looked down the small alleyway that they had run through for any signs of pursuit.

“What does it mean?” Argos asked, catching his breath and looking the other way for signs of ambush.

Zokar waited for the raider to turn his head back, and when he had all of their attention, he answered, “It means we’ll be lucky to live to see tomorrow.”

The Balarian executed a bold plan the night before. He used his knowledge of the Akun temple complex to actually secretly enter their outer compound and climb into the attic of the main administration building. The temple building itself was too securely guarded, but not so the one that they slept in.

Zokar gathered a few food supplies and had their traveling water flasks filled for their stay. They had to help Diamedes up into the crawlspace door located in one of the minor offices in the building, and once inside, they had to lay their traveling blankets on the cross planks and ensure they didn’t roll onto the thin ceiling timber planks, which would have resulted in them falling through and into the building proper.

It was warm and stuffy inside, but there was no better place to hide from an entire city of armed thugs, killers, and bounty hunters than the religious complex of the Akun death worshippers. There were always rumors of death and sacrifice in that particular cult, so it was avoided by all but those who had to conduct business with them. Eric noted that by the lack of activity below, the Balarian knew what he was doing. They were literally hiding under the very noses of those who would want his head for the bounty placed upon it.

“I’m going to need a good bath after this,” Eric said, trying not to breathe too heavily in the muggy air. The attic smelled of more than just them. The entire complex reeked of decay, as if a body were decomposing somewhere nearby, and that was something that seemed very plausible when accounting for the organization that used the compound.

They had spent the entire day in the attic, eating the meager food that Zokar had pilfered from some market stall, and drank from their flasks, which were now empty. Night was almost upon them, and they had to give the Akun cleric an entire day to consummate their deal, so the Balarian advised to stay put.

“Won’t we all?” Diamedes said, allowing a faint chuckle in the dim light that filtered through a few ventilation shafts built into the structure.

Eric faced Zokar. “You’re sure that there was no other way to avoid another fight? This seems rather excessive.”

“We’re almost done. I know it wasn’t pleasant, but someone has double-crossed me from within my own organization. My own safe houses, contacts, and connections within my guild are no longer safe for me to use.”

“You think someone passed our whereabouts on?” Argos whispered out of habit. The entire day they whispered, and now that the building was closed and empty, there was no need, but the man kept his voice low nevertheless.

Zokar nodded. “I don’t think, I know.”

“Yes,” Diamedes chimed in, speaking normally now. “There was no delay in that gang arriving right after us at the Velvet Vest.”

“How could they know?” Eric asked.

Zokar sighed before answering. “The Kesh know enough to change the rules in the middle of our game, but the movement of the information was well within the scope of my contacts. Someone in the guild’s organization passed on my whereabouts soon enough to allow for someone to trail us to this place and then follow us to the Vest.”

“I know Giles’ gang well. We were rivals for more than a year before I was forced to take mine into the wilds for contract work,” Argos explained. “Giles would not access to this kind of information, and he’s a terrible tracker. That’s why he keeps to the city. No, someone had to pass this information along to him as well as tracking our movements. I’d say you have more problems than a simple loose tongue, Master Zokar.”

“It’s worse than that,” Zokar said, rubbing his eyes to assist his vision. He had his hood back for a rare moment, and Eric noted the man’s scarred face and dark black eyes. The eyes of a Balarian killer. Despite their reputation, Eric was finding that the man had a human side to him. It wasn’t all death and murder. He also clearly cared for his homeland. Eric had no doubt that he was only a pawn in this massive game between titan realms, but the fact that he was a pawn worth assisting gave him pause when he thought about the Balarian and his kind.

“How much worse?” Eric asked.

Zokar cocked his head, listening for a moment as if he had heard something, and then just as quickly, he answered as if nothing was amiss. “The Kesh could track either the staff or the magical orb, but once we left those items here, they could not track us. That had to be done by a professional, and not just any tracker. One that could keep up with me.”

“Another Balarian?” Eric asked.

“I’m not sure, but whoever it was managed to stay with us until we reached the Velvet Vest,” Zokar said.

“I thought you Balarians were supposed to be untrackable,” Eric said.

“I am close to that, but lugging the three of you around with me is like tying a dozen hungry cats to a rope and dragging them behind me. You three make more noise than a pig in heat.”

“I had no idea that mating pigs made so much noise,” Diamedes stated matter-of-factly.

“What does a hungry cat sound like?” Argos asked just as sincerely as the historian.

Zokar shook his head and rubbed his hands through his short-cropped hair. “Never mind. All you need to know is that it would be easier to track the four of us than just myself. I took precautions, but obviously not enough. I was lax because I thought we were ahead of the Kesh, and I also didn’t account for a betrayal from someone in my organization.”

“It may not actually be
in
your organization,” Diamedes ventured. “There was something interesting that Master Seth explained to me when we last discussed this.”

There was an awkward silence before Zokar nodded at the historian, either giving him permission to continue or acknowledging his statement. “Go on.”

Diamedes looked at each in turn when talking. “He explained to me that there was a divide between his own guild and the thieves’ guild. It could be that someone in your rival guild betrayed your trust.”

“That would explain much,” Zokar said, a plan formulating in his mind. “When it’s time, we send you alone.” The Balarian pointed at Eric.

Eric nodded. “Where will you be?”

“I’m going to find whoever is tailing us,” Zokar said. Turning to Argos, he continued. “You know your way around Ulsthor enough to return to our inn?”

“I do,” Argos said.

“Good,” the assassin said. “I will shadow Eric while he makes the trade and then pick you three up at the main entrance to the temple.”

“Won’t the gate guards notice us leaving but not arriving?” Argos asked, rather attentive of the man.

“Very observant, Argos.” The Balarian praised the raider. “The guards change when the twin sisters rise. We’ll be sure to leave after the change.”

“Other than a bit more light than normal from the moonlight, I think the plan will work,” Eric said.

“Do we have to go straight to the inn?” Diamedes asked.

The three other men looked at the royal historian oddly before Zokar asked the obvious. “Where else would you go?”

Diamedes shrugged sheepishly. “I was thinking of stopping by the Velvet Vest to see if we could secure a jar of their pickles.”

Eric walked confidently toward the main doors of the Akun death temple. At first, he could see Zokar on top of the administration building as he paced alongside the mercenary, but that was only because the Balarian allowed himself to be seen. After several dozen yards, the man all but disappeared, though Eric knew he was close by.

The trip was uneventful, and the pair of acolytes at the main doors nodded at him as if he were expected, with one of them opening a door slightly enough for him to enter the antechamber of the holy building. He walked to the middle of the room and waited for a few minutes, a touch of anxiety setting in as the minutes went by.

Finally, one of the side doors opened, and Dour, the Akun cleric, entered, walking straight to Eric and stopping in front of him. The man reminded Eric of the historian in a way, shorter, older, and stockier, dressed in fairly simple clothes. The cleric seemed to look Eric over from head to toe before addressing him. “So only you, eh?”

“You are correct. Is there a problem?” Eric asked.

Dour looked around before answering. “No problem. I have your payment, and though I can’t see him, I know your Balarian escort is nearby . . . I can
feel
him.”

The statement at first felt weird to Eric, but then it changed to one of comfort or self-assurance. Having the Balarian assassin helping him nearby seemed to give him a measure of security, and though odd, it was a rather pleasant surprise. “Good,” Eric said simply, referring to the payment, though the cleric could easily interpret that to mean that Zokar was indeed nearby. The vague answer sat fine with Eric for now.

“I’ll return momentarily,” Dour said, walking to a different door and exiting the room. True to his word, he returned after a couple of minutes carrying something wrapped in the same cloak he had used to conceal the Kesh staff. Eric immediately had the impression that the cleric was going to return the metallic magic device and cancel their deal.

When he got closer, Dour passed Eric and went to the same table he had used the night before when assessing the staff. Eric watched as the man unwrapped the cloak and unsheathed an ornate sword that gleamed brightly even in the faint candlelight. He held the tip in one hand and the hilt in the other, hefting it slightly and feeling its weight. Turning to face Eric, the man held the sword out in front of him. “Take a look.”

Eric took a few steps and approached the other man. “May I?” He held his hands out.

“Go on,” Dour said, lifting the blade so Eric could take it.

Gingerly taking the blade, Eric immediately noticed how light it felt to his touch. It gleamed as well and looked shiny and new. “This is amazing.”

“I agree,” Dour said, nodding in approval as Eric held it one-handed and took a few swings in the air with it, making sure to turn and take the provocative action well away from the cleric.

“It looks so new,” Eric said, admiring the blade. Dour laughed out loud, shaking his head. “What’s so funny?”

Dour stopped his laughter and looked at Eric intently. “The blade is many centuries old. It is anything but new.”

Eric felt stupid in front of the cleric. How was he supposed to know how old the blade was? In fact, how was he supposed to know the sword would have any effect against a dragon, for that matter? “How do I know it’s strong enough for my quest?”

The group had never told the Akun cleric what they needed a magical sword for, but the man seemed to know. “Oh, it’s strong enough to kill a dragon.”

Eric nodded. “So you expect me to take your word for it?”

Dour allowed a scowl to cross his face before he answered. “You’re too stupid to wield
Kingmaker
.”

“
Kingmaker
?” Eric asked.

“The name of the sword,” Dour explained, huffing in the process to demonstrate his lack of approval at Eric’s ignorance. Eric was starting to miss the Balarian.

“Wouldn’t
Kingslayer
be a better name for the blade? If it’s magical and powerful enough to kill a dragon, why not a king?”

Dour snatched the blade from Eric’s hand, almost cutting himself on it. “Draw your steel.”