Avenger, page 29
part #2 of Swords and Skulls Series
The beast clutched at its throat, gasping out choking caws. The stone around its neck grew red with heat and sizzled with noisy tumult.
The thing tried to claw off the collar again but could not. The collar had snapped on never to be released again. The relic, the thing of its dark dreams, was the binding force of the wizard Nergid who had created it for his own protection, and ultimately for Dapi’s doom.
In a brilliant wash of flame the collar exploded and flew off, taking Dapi’s head with it. The iron collar blazed in a bed of fire, coals sparking to white life. The jewels in it crackled and it burst into a green flame. The headless god-bird howled like a demonic wolf while the body hopped around mindlessly. But with some last intelligent purpose, it bounded toward Caglios who knelt moaning at the ruin of his arm, and his life’s work.
The imps came bounding out of their hiding places, taking up pokers to defend their lord. But too late. The headless body of the bird swatted them away with sweeps of its flailing wings and fell on them, trying to tear into their necks with grasping talons.
The explosion had set fire to all combustible objects in the room: worktable, silk hangings, rags, workclothes. Such things crackled and spit and seethed with tongues of red.
While Vetra stared in heart-pounding apprehension, the Sorceas gave a grunt of awe as the headless body of Dapi staggered to a halt. Like a candle caught in noonday sun, the god-bird melted into oblivion, leaving only a pool of molten green goo. A last piercing shriek and the bodiless head emitted a gurgling hiss. Smouldering in the hearth, it flared up once and was gone.
The hearth suddenly spewed forth a tongue of fire and another thundering blast rent the workroom as the hearth erupted in bouts of orange flame.
The last explosion pitched Caglios’s lab in an inferno. Dark smoke choked the entire room. Caglios, cupping palm painfully at his elbow, rose jerkily to his feet and hobbled down the stairs, hacking and coughing. Vetra followed at a brisk stride garbed in his armour. He took a last glance back, saw that the gold was scattered, melting in the hungry flames without chance of recovery. The imps, their leather smoking, fled under the mercenary’s legs and out into the pale sunshine.
“The god is dead—a minion lost, curse you!” Caglios wailed. He shook a fist as the mercenary sauntered out of the tower. Then Caglios uttered a high-pitched laugh, cursing the beggars and thieves and all the riffraff who were gathering outside his court. Many had come to gawk at the spectacle of his burning workshop and his misfortune, for he had never been kind to them. He screeched some expletives at his imps, gave poor Peson a boot, and pulled at Gisryn’s bloody ear. Thwarted of ambition, he stamped about like a bull, overcome with a rage, the work of a lifetime lost.
Vetra shook his head and marched on.
Caglios’s ghastly ravings faded in his ears even as the crackles and snaps of fire leapt to new life. He wondered, how hands were dealt by the gods in this card game of life. Of the wizard’s anguish, he thought nothing as he strode from the flames, recalling the woes of the past days and the many deaths he had seen. The wizard’s ravings now turned to whimpers of lost dreams, and like so many fading screams he had heard in the past days, those of Caglios’s passed from his ear like water through a sieve.
He had been fortunate to acquire Caglios’s magical armour. Certainly it would find its use. It had not come without price, nor was it worth the lives of his men, or any of the innocents who had fallen by Dapi’s beak. Vetra’s rancour could only be surpassed by his hatred of treacherous men like Caglios. Dergath’s bane, but the fools of his trade were more honest than the crafty wizards and priests that haunted the gutters! Though he might be a killer himself, he only took another’s life when he had to, and he never relished it, nor did he rob men of their wealth or livelihood.
Feeling somewhat unstoppable in his armour, he strode through the dingy back-alleys of Lausern, a chill tickling his spine. An unpleasant grin passed over his darksome features. Drawing the ancient sword dredged from the canyons of Gyzia, he whirled it with grim satisfaction, testing its grace and balance with a fighter’s pride. A worthy replacement for the one he had lost. Maybe he would take a detour via the shops to the thieves’ district to see what rogues were gadding about. He needed some new allies on this mission of life when ripe opportunity came his way.
THE LAND OF MAJA
I
The Vizier stared at his advisor, his eyes hinting at a hundred different ways to kill a man. “Tell me of Vetravincus, the mercenary.”
Kalvium nodded. “He comes highly recommended, Lord Ragnum. He dealt with Parsius, the counterfeiter, and helped sort out that sordid affair with the witch burner. Word reached us he succeeded in rooting out the gang of smugglers who killed our agents. If you recall, they sent their heads back to us in snakeskin bags.”
The Lord Vizier of Lvendar stroked his chin. “An unfortunate circumstance, yet this comes as a high testimonial for the mercenary. What of this other fellow, this Basineus?”
“A crass, unsubtle rogue. The lesser of the two in wit, perhaps. I suggest picking one or the other. Word is, they hate each other.”
“What do I care if they do, Kalvium? You saw the deplorable state of my daughter!” The nobleman struggled to regain control of himself, his intense gaze settling on the amber-dipped skull that hung on a far wall. “I would prefer that we have two trained, proven men on this assignment. When one fails, the other can pick up the trail.”
Kalvium toyed with a silver button on his doublet. He shivered at the many animal skull trophies that Ragnum found so gratifying. “That is difficult, lord. They are not a good match.”
Ragnum waved an impatient hand. “I don’t care. It will be as I say, Kalvium. Assign them at once.”
“As you wish, my lord.”
Ragnum turned to leave, but he paused under the statue of his father poised over the lintel. “And Kalvium—this better work, or it will be your head in a snakeskin bag.”
Kalvium bowed in formal acknowledgement.
* * *
Kalvium stood rubbing his temples a day later back in the Vizier’s study, choosing his words carefully. In front of him, a scowling man stood feet planted apart, towering over his own spindly frame. The man’s features were hard, rugged, but handsome, with no trace of a smile or leniency. Vetravincus. Even in the dim light, the man had an animal aura of energy about him. He was broad-shouldered, impassive, physically indomitable. His long weave of sable hair streamed from underneath his peaked steel helm in the style of the old Tolizian warlords. A broadsword lay sheathed in a baldric at his back; knives and an axe were belted at the hip.
Another man entered. A straw blond type, of stockier build, with similar gear, and boastful tattoos on his bared forearms typical of the mercenary thugs who controlled the docks at Syrn.
Vetravincus turned to him with a sneer. “You! What are you doing here?”
“I was just about to ask you the same thing,” retorted the newcomer.
“Let me explain why you have been summoned,” Kalvium said quickly. He brushed his delicate chin. “More and more people of this city are turning up addicted—to some mysterious drug, an alchemic, my witchers say. Victims turn into monsters. Ghouls, if you ask me. We believe the drug is being sold somewhere in the hills. Somewhere on the warring kingdom, Galashad’s border.” He flicked his fingers southward as if to indicate any destination from here to the southern sea. Vetra, the tallest of the three men, shifted in annoyance. The purported location of the drug smuggler’s den was beyond vague.
Kalvium unfolded a tattered sheepskin map on the table. He pointed to a remote place on his province’s southern border of Lvendar with Galashad. “This particular pass across the canyon is where we suspect the contraband is being grown and trafficked. ’Tis hard, if next to impossible, to identify the origin of the compound due to the remoteness of the region. If the trade is left unchecked, our capital Lausern and possibly all of Lvendar will be facing a ghastly horde down the road. Turned into a race of green-faced monsters! Hair and teeth falling out, violent and unpredictable behaviour, craving the drug as a wolverine craves blood.”
“What is the nature of this drug to cause such madness?” demanded Vetravincus. He stared with cold eyes at the other mercenary standing nearby.
“Some sort of plant oil squeezed from the bulb of a root.” Kalvium frowned. “Other than that we know nothing. Where it grows, how it is smuggled, it is beyond our knowledge. Some of the poison appears in leaf form; some with oil squeezed on leaves. Others as a brown gummy wad, possibly the heart of the bulb. The poison, if termed such, is highly addictive. ’Tis said that regular eaters of the foul ichor sprout roots and vines from their skin.”
The other mercenary grunted and gestured idly. “Why don’t you go along the border up there with a strong force and take out the ring-leaders?”
“We’ve thought of that, Basineus.” Kalvium scratched at his cheek. “However, the site we had been monitoring has recently been abandoned. So, we’re not sure where to concentrate our forces to eliminate these scum. We’ve lost touch with the head of our operation, Tas. Weeks ago we lost contact with him and his team. Meanwhile, the bulk of the contraband flows across our southern borders, from somewhere between Galashad and Lausern.”
“So, what do you want from us?” growled Vetra.
“The situation is unstable—or more to the point, out of control. We need somebody like yourselves to go in and assess the situation, get a fix on Tas. Take him out if he’s been corrupted. We’ve lost communications with all of them. Tas’s last reply, a cryptic message at best, was something about a ‘savage attack’, and ‘we must regroup’. The message came in by carrier pigeon over a fortnight ago.”
“This seems like a task for more than a few spies and two mercenaries,” remarked Basineus doubtfully.
A low moaning wail drifted through the wall, followed by the scrape of heavy chain.
Vetra grunted. “What’s that?” His hand sprang to his sword.
Kalvium swallowed. An uneasy frown crawled over his face and he started for the door, as if deciding whether or not to reveal a secret. “Come!” he hissed. “I’ll show you something. But keep your voices down. And make no aggressive movements.”
He led them to a chamber down the hall where he opened a door with a long key. He looked up and down the hall in fear, the curl on his lips more pronounced. A low growl escaped Vetra’s throat as he saw what lay within that room—a young woman crouched in a feverish, semi-sprawl in a corner of the room. She wore a metal girdle around her waist attached by a chain to the wall. Her brown curls were dishevelled and matted. She had about six feet of slack and only a basin of water, not much for a youthful prisoner. A feral expression infected her face. The stout rings of chain rattled to life as she sprang up and snapped at them like a wolf.
Vetra jerked back involuntarily. Basineus rounded on the Vizier’s aide, snarling.
“Stand down,” Kalvium ordered. “’Tis not what you think!” He pushed both palms up in awkward defence. Such gestures did nothing to placate Basineus or Vetra.
Basineus strode a step closer. Vetra moved in to squint at the girl, his lips crooking in distaste at the sight of her red welts pocked all over a haggard face and arms. Upon closer inspection he saw thin, plant-like fibres growing from pores on her naked shoulders. It cast that part of her anatomy in a strange greenish hue. It was as if her follicles had widened to permit such growths. Her garments were tattered and near stripped, as if she had been clawing at them with long, dirty nails; skin and blood clotted the spaces under them. A pot for urination lay askew, which she had beyond a doubt spilled. The acrid reek was unbearable. A lacklustre gaze glazed her face, as if she were possessed.
Kalvium pointed. “She is a victim of addiction to this mystery drug. Ragnum’s own daughter! I can hardly bear to look at her. Nor can her father, for she seems not to recognize him. Or if she does, she only reacts with violence, to bite, claw and hiss at him.” He shook his head in distress.
Basineus hopped closer, reaching out a hand.
“Don’t get too close. She—”
Basineus jumped back as claw-like nails raked his wrist, drawing blood, and he instinctively drew his sword. “Cursed bitch!”
Kalvium launched himself between the girl and mercenary. “Fool!” He slapped back the mercenary’s sword arm. “Do you wish us all dead? Think twice about harming a Vizier’s daughter, you brute, if you value your head!”
Basineus flashed the advisor a sinister glance. “Relax, old man. I won’t harm her, as much as she looks like she wants to be put out of her misery.” He inspected his wound, as if wondering if he would catch whatever the girl had.
Vetra approached with more caution, pushing Basineus back. “What grows from her shoulders?”
Kalvium gave a shivering grimace. “We think it may be the drug’s doing. The castle’s finest doctors have not found a cure. We have tried everything: leeching, powerful herbs, medicines, even shamanic exorcism. Nothing has helped.”
Basineus’s face grew pale with recognition. “Besthra’s ghosts! I’ve seen this before. In the slums of Lausern on the west side. Beggars lolling in their own filth. Harlots, glaze-eyed, violent, clawing their clients. I thought it was a plague.”
“No plague, master Basineus. ’Tis evil personified. A man-made scourge.”
Vetra shook his head in bewilderment. “What inspires anyone to take something so noxious?”
Kalvium could not answer. The woman’s breasts heaved, a peculiar wail erupted from her lips, a half moan and cry. Sweat sheened on her olive skin. Her breasts peeked out where she had gnawed or clawed at her own garment.
Kalvium spread his palms. “So, now you see. Who can explain the motives or practices of the addict? Tragedy has befallen this poor girl, Kealasa, and it is heart-wrenching. A sweet innocent child, betrothed to the governor of Xenses’s son in a formal ceremony. Now look at her!”
“I could give a rat’s ass for any of your royal liaisons,” murmured Vetra. “She’s a human being, a child, no more, for Dergath’s sake. She didn’t deserve this.”
“Let us quit this vile, reeking place before one of the doctors checks on her,” suggested Kalvium.
Neither offered objection. They returned to the study, Vetra casting one last look back at the maiden, who was drooling and clawing at her upper garment. He shook his head.
“Let me emphasize the delicacy of this mission,” reiterated Kalvium. “Our investigators have come up with nothing—in fact, three recent spies have gone missing, presumed dead.”
“What makes you think we won’t end up in a similar state?” inquired Basineus sarcastically.
“You have come highly recommended. It is my employer’s wish that this be done in—in secret and in haste.”
“You have chosen well,” said Vetra. He cast Basineus a chill gaze. “What about him? ’Tis no secret that we are sworn enemies. Pick one of us. Not both.”
“The Lord Vizier wishes—”
“I care not a whit for your Lord’s demands, steward,” snapped Vetra.
Kalvium’s eyes flashed in warning. “Careful with your tone, mercenary. You do not wish Ragnum as an enemy.”
Basineus gave an amused chuckle. “Vetravincus is known as the ‘hothead hammer’ in my circle. You would be best to leave him behind and contract my services alone.”
“As much as I’d like—”
Vetra turned to leave, but Kalvium eyed him coolly. “You wouldn’t let an innocent girl die, would you? Let others turn into ghouls?” He turned a frosty glance to Basineus. “And your opinion is noted, mercenary, but the decision is beyond me. Either the two of you accede to my master’s wishes, or both of you walk without fat purses. I’ll contract it out to the army—and gods only know what scandalous aftermath will come of that, when the truth about Kealasa comes out.”
Vetra made a non-committal sound. He was unable to suppress a stir at the thought of the innocent girl suffering, and the repercussion of a rampant drug addiction. “You’ll look far elsewhere for one such as myself.”
“Then make a decision!” growled Kalvium.
Vetra and Basineus shot each other heated glances, the dislike clear in their eyes. The history between the two was scored with treachery and intrigue.
Vetra’s powerful shoulders flexed as he heaved a sigh. His dark locks swished like a stallion’s mane under his helm.
“Fine,” he grumbled.
Basineus flicked fingers with rude implication at Vetra. “And if this arrogant simpleton agrees not to enact some impulsive stunt—”
“Then it’s settled.” Kalvium pulled two large bags of coins from a small chest and slapped them on the table. “A bag of fresh-minted gold for each of you to start. Three more to come when you return with the heads of the dealers. With proof of their complicity.”
Vetra nodded, reaching for the gold, but Kalvium brushed aside Vetra’s scarred, hairy arm.
“Hold up, I am not yet done,” he muttered. “The leader of the original team, this Tas, is a ranger of repute, a veteran captain in our outfit for five years. He’s formerly a veteran out of Varim and King Blestidarius’s elite outfit, in Umbria. We hired him from a rival company—he was a guard for Grand Vizier Akhbas too and worked as an escort for Hazim of Galashad’s seraglio prior.”
“So?” grunted Vetra. “What should I give him, a medal?”
“We have reason to believe Tas has switched allegiance or is running an angle of his own. But he always seems to have some alibi. He hobbed together a team of at least two dozen mercenaries with Ragnum’s money. You will, of necessity, be obliged to rub shoulders with some of the worst killers in the lands. It will be extremely dangerous. I bid you good luck.”
Vetra gave a silent nod while Basineus growled his own acknowledgement.
* * *
Grooms outfitted Vetra and Basineus at the lord’s garrisons with new coats, boots, and assorted weaponry. Hauberks too, but Vetra rejected their assistance in dressing him, preferring his own armour. Only a stable girl did he allow adjust his new garments, who had taken a fancy to him and promised free favours on his return in not so many words. Horsemasters prepared two roans in sturdy condition, laden with supplies. Vetra smoothed out his leather jerkin and the grey-gold cape slung over his shoulders. Basineus strutted about in his blue and white jupon and new, black knee-high leather boots. He tested the double-knocked high-powered crossbow at his side, grunting in appreciation. “A masterwork of Kirn design.”
