Steel and Sorrow (7 page)

His shoulders bunched.

A short, wiry man came up beside him. Kroke whipped out a blade and picked at his nails. “You look a little tense.”

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t.”

“You ain’t scared of a bunch of upstarts are you?”

Krytien chuckled. “These are more than a bunch of upstarts. They were trained by one of the greatest mages in recorded history. Even their weakest should be well-versed in the basics from a technical standpoint.”

Kroke sheathed the blade and pulled out another, switching hands. “So you are scared?” He grunted. “I’ll have to remember this day.”

“I’m not afraid of spoiled brats whose parents had the money to pay for their education,” Krytien snapped. “I’ve faced off against mages who had twice their talent. They aren’t better than me.”

Kroke cocked his head. “Never said they were. Just giving you a hard time is all.”

“I know. Sorry.”

Kroke sheathed the dagger and folded his arms. “So, what’s it about this place that bothers you so much?”

Kroke usually wore such an indifferent attitude that the intensity in his stare took Krytien aback.

“It isn’t just the people who live here, it’s the place itself,” said Krytien. “I was once someone with a natural talent and no means to cultivate it. An old mage named Philik befriended me and eventually gave me the robes I wear to this day. He had been schooled on this island and planned to write a personal letter that would have guaranteed me entrance.”

“And what happened?”

“He died before he could write the letter. When he died, so did my dreams. This place,” said Krytien, gesturing to the ever-growing island before them. “has haunted me ever since. The great unknown of what could have been.”

Kroke bobbed his head. “So, that’s why you tried to get out of coming?”

Krytien nodded.

“And I thought it was because of Kaz.”

“What do you mean?”

Kroke pulled out a knife again as the mood of the conversation changed. “I just find it odd that he sent us both along. I mean, I can see why he wanted you to come. Still, Jeldor has a couple of black robes who actually trained here. Why not send them instead?”

“Kaz said it was important for me to come.”

“And me? What purpose do I serve here?”

“To watch my back I assume.” He smiled. “And to listen to my sob stories.”

Kroke flashed a rare grin. “Perhaps.”

“What about Drake? Kaz was adamant about him coming along too.”

“Somebody has to spy on us.”

“What?”

“I don’t blame the kid. I doubt he even knows. But I bet Kaz asks Drake his version of what went down to see if we hold anything back.”

Krytien chuckled. “And I thought Raker was the paranoid one. So what do you think were Kaz’s reasons for singling us out?”

“To get us away from the army. He tolerates me, but there is little love between us. And I think he doesn’t like you questioning his decisions.”

“That’s always been my role.”

“Under Ronav? Sure. Jonrell? Yes. Kaz?” He shrugged. “He’s a different man than either of them.”

Footsteps drummed behind them as the captain barked orders to his crew.

Krytien asked, “Why do you think others follow him so easily?”

“For some, who’s in charge matters little. This life is all they know. Others, like Hag, genuinely like him. But I think most follow Kaz out of memory of Jonrell. It was no secret they grew close in the short time they were together, almost as close as Jonrell and Cassus used to be. I think those people hope Kaz ends up like the man Jonrell was.” Kroke shrugged. “He hasn’t botched things up so far.”

“Is that why you follow him? Out of hope for the future?”

“I’m not sure, but that’s probably part of it. I guess he hasn’t given me a reason not to yet.”

Krytien scratched his jaw. “He did the right thing by seeing this through with the queen. Jonrell would have wanted that.”

“Yeah. But he didn’t have many other options either. He can’t exactly go home if he doesn’t know where home is.”

“Home is where you make it. I’ve called the Hell Patrol my home and family for most of my life, and you have for over a decade. He doesn’t strike me as the kind of man who would just up and abandon those around him on a whim.”

“You never know what a man will do until he is presented with the option.”

* * *

Drake found a spot on deck away from the bustling activity. He had considered joining Kroke and Krytien at the bow if only so he could catch a better glimpse of Estul Island. But the thought came and went.

He still had yet to feel much closeness with many of the old hands. For those like Kroke and Krytien, he lacked the common ground that he shared with Raker to overcome their age difference. Drake had tried and failed several times over the voyage to connect with the mage and assassin.

I wonder if they blame me for what happened.

His knuckles turned white as he balled his hands into fists. Jonrell had died, murdered by Drake’s friend Mal, someone he had known better than anyone.

I saw how unhappy Mal was and I let it go. I should have done something. But, I never thought he was capable of that.
He sighed.
That’s got to be it. They resent me for my part in taking Jonrell away from them. He was their friend more than their commander.

Drake realized that he felt the same about Kaz as others did about Jonrell. Training at night when nearly everyone else slept, Drake would see glimpses of the black warrior few others ever saw. Kaz did whatever he could to help Drake succeed, all while listening to the boy’s ramblings. At times, Kaz even shared the occasional joke.

But some of the old crew still see him only as Jonrell’s replacement. And Kaz isn’t blind to that.

Kaz instructed Drake to search the library at Estul Island. He even had the queen sign off on doing so in hopes that Drake would be able to find some hidden bit of information that might help them on the battlefield.

A lover of books, and having devoured a great deal of the queen’s personal library, Drake jumped at the chance until he began asking himself why.

He posed the question to Kaz while they sparred. “Why not just ask Krytien or Kroke to look at the library? Raker will be shorthanded if I go.”

“Raker can handle things here. You’re better suited than the others to decide what’s of use and what isn’t.”

Something in Kaz’s tone had caught Drake’s attention. “You don’t trust them completely, do you?”

Kaz looked off into the night. “No. I don’t.”

“You don’t think they’d do anything to hurt the Hell Patrol?”

“No. Never that. But they have little love for me. They only follow me because I’m finishing what Jonrell started and they don’t wish to tarnish his memory.” He paused. “They won’t do anything that might harm what I’m trying to accomplish. I just wonder how much they would do in order to ensure I succeed.”

* * *

Kroke sheathed his knives long enough to grab his bag and fling it over his shoulder. He ran his free hand through his hair, damp from the ocean spray, and brought it around to the back of his neck. Scratching at the stubble on his chin, he stepped off the ship and onto the dock, aware of the looks cast his way from sailors. Most seemed relieved, though few dared to meet his eyes.

Kroke stopped cold as one burly fellow caught his attention, a man he had noticed throughout the journey.

Always eyeing me and then whispering in someone’s ear.

The sailor set down a massive crate. He looked to his left and right, gaining confidence from the two at his sides. All three moved toward Kroke.

The man to the right carried a length of chain used to secure cargo while the one on Kroke’s left seemed content to trust his fists. The sailor in the center, the largest of the three, held a knife nearly twenty inches long with a pearl white handle.

Of all the times for this.

Kroke dropped the bag from his shoulder and it hit the dock with a thud that silenced the activity around them. The three sailors flinched at the noise, stopping a few feet from him. He felt dozens of curious eyes find them.

“You think you’re something don’t you?” said the center man. Green as seawater, Kroke saw the doubt hidden behind the man’s eyes. The sailor’s forehead gleamed with sweat that ran down into his ratty beard. The man spat when he spoke, the spray catching Kroke in the face. “I asked you a question.”

A hundred responses ran through Kroke’s mind, none was how to nonviolently answer the sailor. Most of his thoughts lingered on what knife to use.

“Kroke, wait!” Drake shouted out.

Kroke never looked away, but the green-eyed sailor did. “Shut your mouth, kid,” said the sailor. “I’ve heard all these crazy stories about the Hell Patrol since I was a boy and then all these new ones floating around since you came to Cadonia, crazier than even the ones my pa told me. Then when I finally see you up close, I see a smooth chested boy, an old man, and this piece of trash,” he said, turning back to Kroke. He leaned in. “I hear you’re supposed to be some kind of killer.” He laughed. “Them little knives you keep playing with don’t scare me none.” He lifted the one in his hand. “This here is a man’s weapon. You’re probably too little to even use one of these, huh?”

A small burst of laughter came from those watching.

The man continued. “You know, I’ve wanted to test you for awhile, but we were at sea and captain’s rules are never to kill a passenger at sea. Bad luck and all.” He stomped his foot on the dock. “Well, we ain’t at sea no more, are we?” He gestured with his head to Kroke’s bag. “And you’re no longer a passenger.”

Drake called out once again. “Don’t do it, Kroke. They’re who we’re supposed to be fighting with, not against.”

“That ain’t true,” said the sailor. “I was born and raised in Tomalt’s territory. I just sail with whoever pays best. I could give a lick who wins this war.” He stared at Kroke. “So what do you say, little man? Are you gonna prove to me all those fairy tales about your outfit are true? Or are you going to let that little kid up there talk you out of it. Maybe I should’ve picked a fight with him. He seems to be the one with fire in his belly.”

Kroke clenched his jaw.
I promised Krytien I wouldn’t do anything. So naturally, they test me.

He longed for the touch of steel in his hands, but he wasn’t one to break a promise. The rest of the dockworkers started to egg Kroke on and as they did, the three sailors grew brasher.

“Kroke!” called out a different voice. Kroke finally turned. Krytien leaned over the railing next to Drake.

“I kept my word,” said Kroke. “I ain’t killed anyone.”

The mage smiled. “I know. But I never said you had to take this garbage.” He paused. “Just make sure nothing’s permanent. I don’t want the captain to be shorthanded. It isn’t his fault his men don’t have any brains,” said Krytien.

“I can do that,” Kroke smiled.

Krytien looked to the three sailors. “You might want to ready yourselves.” He called over to two others nearby who had come up and joined in the heckling. “And you two may want to give them a hand.”

The laughing started up again until Krytien pulled out an apple from his sleeve and nonchalantly took a bite. The mood turned grim and Kroke looked back to the five men before him. The sailor who started it all met Kroke’s eyes. The remains of his smile faded as the blades dropped into Kroke’s hands.

* * *

Despite being part of the Hell Patrol for well over a year, Drake hadn’t spent much time with Kroke. Their areas of expertise lay in two very different areas. During the campaign season, Drake spent his time designing, building, or manning various forms of machinery.

On the other hand, Kroke had been busy doing whatever it was Kroke did. Drake hadn’t ever been sure what that all entailed, though he heard plenty of stories. After witnessing Kroke’s dismantling of the sailors, Drake finally understood.

He thought about the encounter again and realized that fighting did not accurately describe what Kroke had done. Fighting insinuated that some sort of struggle occurred between the combatants. But there wasn’t any real struggle because the assassin had been in control the entire time. What Kroke had done, despite all the spurts of blood flying through the scream-filled air, seemed more like art.

A pretty twisted form of art, but art nonetheless.

Five people had come at the mercenary, brandishing weapons of all shapes and sizes, stabbing and swinging. None of those blows found their mark. Drake could barely follow Kroke’s movements, slicing at hands and legs to disarm each person.

And in every instance, the cocky sucker left a paper thin line across each person’s throat. Just enough to let them know he could’ve killed them.

Drake had stood there in awe, as did everyone else who had watched the scene unfold.

All except Krytien.
The mage had been busy chomping on the apple in his hand like it was the last one in the world. Drake realized that Krytien had sent his own message to the others watching.

Seem indifferent and let them guess what he’s capable of.

Drake had to smile. In those moments, he most enjoyed being a member of the Hell Patrol.

Even still, each step away from the docks eased his worries. Kroke and Krytien may have felt confident in what they could do, but he couldn’t say the same. Kaz had taught Drake a lot over the past year, but he still felt far more comfortable behind a catapult than a sword.

They procured mounts from workers near the harbor, which they planned to use to reach the citadel that loomed in the distance atop a small rise in the land. Despite the queen’s written orders, none seemed to care who they were.

“This ain’t starting out well,” said Kroke.

“When does it ever,” Krytien said. He struggled into the saddle and clicked the reins. “C’mon we need to get there before dark.”

Drake looked to the sky and then the citadel. “That shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Don’t let the landscape nor the size of the place fool you,” said Krytien. “In order to make it there by sunset we may have to push the horses.”