Darkness Rising: Disciples of the Horned One Volume One (Soul Force Saga Book 1) (24 page)

A
little after
noon the first supply station came into view. It jutted up out of the snow several hundred yards ahead of them. Damien had never felt so glad to see a building, even a slumping, three-room shack like the station, in his life. Eight days of riding and sleeping in a tiny, two-person tent with a woman that barely tolerated him left him eager for a bed and someone, anyone, else to talk to. A bath wouldn’t hurt either of them as well.

Behind the station a fenced-in paddock and modest stable housed about ten horses. Army patrols stopped at the station to swap injured mounts and tend to tack and shoes. No soldiers manned the place, only a farrier, stable master, and their apprentices. It struck Damien as a peaceful if tedious post.

They rode around to the paddock. From the stable a middle-aged man with a beard wearing a heavy fur-lined jacket ambled out to meet them. “Can I help you?”

“We need fresh mounts and supplies,” Lane said.

“Yeah, and you are?”

She frowned and fished around in her furs. After a moment of hunting she pulled out a badge and pointed it at him like it was a crossbow. “Lane Thorn, diplomatic corps. This is my bodyguard.”

No introduction for him. Damien tapped his forehead in a two-fingered salute. “Damien St. Cloud, pleasure.”

The stable master studied the badge a moment then nodded. “Looks official. You two staying the night?”

“Yes.” Damien didn’t give Lane a chance to speak. “Please tell me you have a tub in this place.”

He glowered at Damien. “Of course. Just because we’re in the middle of nowhere doesn’t mean we live like savages. Leave the horses and mule to me and the boys and head on in. Nigel can show you where everything is.”

Damien swung down and grabbed his rucksack. Lane joined him, pausing to collect the smallest of her bags from the back of the mule. They trudged through a foot of snow to the back door of the station. An iron ring served as door knob and Damien pulled it open. He went through first like a proper bodyguard.

The main room had a big, potbellied iron stove in the center that threw off a pleasant heat, its chimney running up through the roof. Four chairs sat around a rough-hewn dinner table. Two closed doors, one straight ahead and a second to his right, led to other rooms. Not exactly luxury, but it would do.

Lane came in behind him. “What a dump.”

The door straight ahead opened and a bald man wearing a leather apron stepped into the room, a crossbow at his shoulder ready to fire. “Who the hell are you?”

Damien was halfway across the room before he finished the question. Damien leapt onto the table, gathered himself, and leapt again.

His heel crashed into the man’s crossbow. It clattered to the floor.

Damien grabbed the man by the throat and slammed him into the wall. “Nigel?”

Nigel croaked something then settled for nodding.

“I’m Damien, that’s Lane. We’ll be spending the night tonight. The stable master said you could show us where everything is. If I let you go you’re not going to go for that crossbow, right?”

A red-faced Nigel shook his head.

“Good.” Damien released him and stepped back. “Crossbows make me nervous.”

Nigel coughed and rubbed his throat. “You didn’t look nervous. Who are you again?”

Lane flashed the badge a second time. “Diplomatic corps. You must forgive my bodyguard. He can be over protective.”

Nigel coughed again. “You don’t say.”

Damien bent down, removed the bolt from the crossbow, and uncocked it. “Here. Be careful, you could hurt someone with that thing.”

Nigel managed a hoarse laugh. “Yeah, like myself. Dinner’s a few hours away. Want me to set up the tub?”

“Yes!” he and Lane said at the same time.

The second door led to a supply room with an open space for the heavy iron tub. They melted snow on the stove to fill it. The whole process took half an hour. It would have taken double that, but Damien sped up the project with a little subtle sorcery.

Of course, Lane went first. She went in and slammed the door. A moment later it opened again. “I’d better not catch you peeking.”

“Can I peek as long as you don’t catch me?”

Lane slammed the door again. He took that as a no. Damien had only been half joking about peeking. Lane was a beautiful woman if you looked past her personality. He wouldn’t have minded a closer view of those long legs. He sighed. The look wasn’t worth the argument. Anyway he had more pressing matters to attend to.

Damien dug a scrap of paper and pencil out of his kit and wrote a quick, two-sentence note to the archmage. She’d taught Damien how to send his constructs to a location he knew so he didn’t have to guide the message the whole way. He conjured a bird and sent it to his master’s office. That little task finished he pulled a chair over beside the stove, grabbed a second one to use as a footstool and settled in to wait.

A hot bath followed by a hot meal left Damien in a much-improved mood. His good mood soured slightly when Nigel explained that they had to sleep on the floor. At least they were inside and warm.

Damien woke early as usual and found a scroll on his chest sealed with crimson wax. A reply from the archmage. How had she gotten that scroll inside the station?

He slipped out of his bedroll and headed for the outhouse. Damien shivered when the cold air hit him. With a thought he increased the temperature of the air inside his shield. It was pitch black out this early in the morning, but the short path was well marked.

Damien closed and latched the door of the rickety little building. He conjured a tiny light and settled down to read. One good thing about the cold: it kept the stink to a minimum.

Fifteen minutes later he finished reading about Jen’s adventure. It sounded like she’d had a rough time. She was okay, and that was what mattered. At least they knew Dominic Santen hadn’t been involved in the assassination attempt, though his son appeared mixed up in it.

Damien sighed and incinerated the message. He hated complicated things like this. He wished someone would just tell him who to blast and let him get on with it. Oh, well.

T
en weeks
later found Damien and Lane on the outskirts of the first good-sized town they’d seen since the capital. The roofs of two-story buildings rose above the wooden palisade that surrounded the town. This far south the worst of the cold had passed and the first buds were visible on the maples growing along the road. A single, four-story mansion towered above all the other buildings. Damien assumed it belonged to whichever noble oversaw the town.

“What’s the name of this place again?”

Lane glanced over at him. “Allentown.”

“Right. And we’re stopping here why?”

She sighed. “Because we have another week until the meeting and I want to spend a little time getting a feel for what the people think about the barons’ plan to leave the kingdom. We’re only forty miles from the border. These people sit right on the edge of a potential war zone if the barons abandon their responsibilities and let the bandits cross en masse.”

“Does that matter in the grand scheme of things?” Damien wanted to tell her even if she failed the barons wouldn’t be allowed to leave the kingdom alive.

“Of course it matters!”

Damien raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, maybe it doesn’t matter to the negotiations, but it matters to me. Looking after these peoples’ wellbeing is as much my job as dealing directly with the nobles.”

Damien smiled. Even if she didn’t like sorcerers, she had a good heart. That made it even harder to keep his secret.

They reached a set of double doors built into the palisade that served as a gate and reined in. A pair of guards with swords and spears stood on either side of the doors. “State your business,” the left-hand guard said. He couldn’t have sounded more bored

“We’re just passing through,” Lane said. “We need an inn for the night. Could you recommend a nice place?”

The right-hand guard chuckled.

“We’ve only got two inns, miss.” The left-hand guard ignored his companion’s laughter. “And I’d never send a lady to one of them. Best head over to the Golden Stag. It’s clean and they serve the best food in town. Just take the second left, you can’t miss it.”

“Thank you.” Lane smiled in a way that made Damien jealous for a moment.

The guards pushed the doors open and they rode through. The streets were a little muddy, no surprise this time of year. All the buildings looked sturdy and well taken care of. They all had flat roofs that could also serve as archery platforms. If bandits ever attacked the town they’d find arrows raining down on them from every direction.

Damien counted the streets and turned his mount toward the second left.

“No. We don’t want to go somewhere fancy,” Lane said.

“We don’t?”

She shook her head. “The people I want to talk to can’t afford a place like the guard described. If the nice inn is to the left we want to go right.”

Right, heaven forbid they stay at the nice inn. They might have soft beds and decent food. Better to find some rat hole liable to give them a disease.

Damien followed her away from where he wanted to go. The farther they went down the street the worse the buildings looked. The first couple of rows seemed okay. Then the cedar shakes covering the walls became patchy before giving way to simple rough-sawn boards covering the walls.

Shouts and music sung with more volume than skill led them to The Horny Badger Inn, a take on the name of an aggressive animal native to the badlands. The less said about what the owner had painted on his sign the better.

The sign hung at a forty-five-degree angle from a single chain. Nothing about the building looked square. The entryway cocked a few inches left and the back wall had sunk a foot into the ground. Damien seriously considered shoring the place up with soul force before letting Lane enter.

The inn had a hitching post out front, but no sign of a stable. What should they do with the horses? If they left them tied up out front he had no doubt they’d be walking the rest of the way to the gathering.

Damien dismounted and tied off his horse. “What now?”

“We’ll talk to the owner.” Lane dismounted and tied her mount next to his. “There must be somewhere nearby we can keep the horses.”

“Right.” Damien grabbed his rucksack and slung it over his shoulder. He started for the stairs, but she brushed past him. He sighed. “After you.”

He feared Lane’s foot might go right through the half-rotted steps, but she made it up to the landing and pushed the door open. Inside, the common room was full of people laughing, drinking, and eating. Smoke filled the air. Damien examined it with invisible strands of soul force and found only mild stimulants, nothing poisonous.

The crowd looked rough: loggers and farmers mingled with thugs and whores. Everyone carried a weapon of some sort, mostly wooden cudgels and knives. From the number of scars and bent noses it looked like they weren’t afraid to use them.

Along the far wall ran a bar behind which stood a middle-aged man with one eye and not many more teeth. “Talk to the bartender and rent us two rooms. Find out what we should do with the horses. I’m going to mingle,” Lane said.

Damien shook his head. Lane had too many teeth and not enough scars or holes in her clothes to mingle with this lot. She looked like a swan swimming through a pond of raw sewage.

The archmage said she knew what she was doing and Damien had to trust that. Leaving Lane to her mingling Damien ambled over to the bar. The bartender met him with a gap-toothed smile. “You sure you folks are in the right place?”

Damien set his bag down. “No, but it looks like we’re staying the night, assuming you have two empty rooms.”

The bartender coughed and spat something thick and black on the floor behind the bar. “We got six empty rooms. Hell, we ain’t rented a room by the night in years. You best keep an eye on your lady friend. She’s attracting the wrong kind of attention.”

Damien glanced over his shoulder and found the men leering at Lane as she worked her way through the press. Maybe they’d be content to look and he wouldn’t have to kill any of them. He returned his attention to the bartender. “Don’t suppose there’s a stable around here.”

The bartender barked a phlegmy, congested laugh. “Only thing we do with horses in this part of town is eat ’em. You want a place to store ’em you best head back to the fancy part of town.”

Damien concentrated and conjured an invisible barrier around the horses. That would keep anyone from taking them to the butchers while he figured out how to convince Lane to stay somewhere else. Maybe someone would pinch her ass and she’d realize this wasn’t a good place for them.

“Still want those rooms?”

Damien sighed and nodded toward Lane. “She’s the boss. I’m just a bodyguard.”

The bartender whistled through his teeth. “I wouldn’t mind guarding that body. Uh-oh. Looks like you’ve got work to do. She’s caught Bonzo’s eye.”

Damien grimaced. Sounded like the name of a dancing bear at the summer fair. “Who or what is a Bonzo?”

“He’s the biggest man in the place. Head enforcer for the Daggers. They run this town.”

“What about the nobleman that lives in the mansion?”

“Ha! The Lord Mayor? The Daggers pay him off with gold and young girls. His soldiers won’t lift a finger to stop them.”

Damien’s anger rose. When he finished with the barons he’d have to visit the Lord Mayor as well. That sort of behavior couldn’t be tolerated in the kingdom.

But first Bonzo.

Damien spun around and scanned the room. It didn’t take long to spot the brute leaning against the wall near the end of the bar, his gaze following Lane’s every move. He stood nearly seven feet tall, broad-shouldered, with a raw-boned, weathered face. Made Sig look like a midget.

Damien looked closer. Bonzo had weak internal soul force he used to augment his strength and toughness. His technique was sloppy. Probably self taught rather than Citadel trained. Bonzo wasn’t strong enough to be a threat to a real warlord, much less a sorcerer, but his ability would give him a huge advantage over a normal person.

Bonzo pushed away from the wall and sauntered across the common room toward Lane. Everyone rushed to move out of his way. Lane had her back to him as she chatted up a painted whore whose best days had come and gone before Damien was born. Maybe Bonzo would do the job of convincing her to stay somewhere else for him.

“You’re pretty.” Bonzo patted her ass.

Lane spun around and craned her neck to look up at him. “Watch where you touch.”

Bonzo leered at her and reached for her chest.

Lane slapped his hand away and raised a fist. “Try that once more and I’ll deck you.”

Bonzo laughed and stuck his chin out. “Take your best shot.”

Lane reared back. Quick as thought Damien wrapped her in a full-body shield and anchored her to the floor. Next he added a sphere of soul force at the end of her fist.

She swung. The sphere hit Bonzo’s chin and released the stored energy.

He flew across the common room and slammed into the wall.

Lane blinked and stared at her fist. “Asshole.”

Everyone held their breath, waiting for him to stand up.

They’d be waiting a while. He’d put enough energy into the blast to kill a normal person. Even someone like Bonzo wouldn’t shake that off any time soon.

When it became clear the giant wouldn’t be getting up again a cheer rose from the crowd. Damien reabsorbed all the energy he’d wrapped Lane in and smiled.

Damien turned back to the bartender who shook his head. “What does she need you for?”

“She keeps asking me that very same question. Truth is I work for her mother. The old lady worries and pays well. Who am I to argue?”

The bartender laughed. “Words to live by, my friend.”