CHAPTER EIGHT

Scars

 

A nightmare plagued my sleep, recurring time and time again. It was familiar to me, as I paid witness to it more nights than not, and it was always the same. A nightmare I could deal with, but this was no mere nightmare. It was a near perfect recollection of one fateful night twelve years ago.

 

Armored men surrounded the palace as I arrived, and others wore robes. Some red; some white. My father stood in an open doorway, shaking his head. Three flaming arrows flew through the night. They took forever to make their way to the palace.

One hit a wall and bounced off, falling to the ground; another found purchase in the roof; and the last flew through an open window. I heard a scream and saw my mother through a window on the upper floor. My father turned his head to look at the men, shook it again, and ran upstairs. “Get Mother,” I whispered. My father was in there a long time, but when he emerged, it wasn’t with Mother. He dragged a heavy chest through the door and left it a short distance away. He looked at my brother Shakir and me for a long moment, and I felt his eyes pierce mine. He turned and ran back upstairs. All the while, more flaming arrows rained down, and bottles of Eagle’s Fire were shattered against the wall, coating the palace in flames.

I saw them embrace through the window as flames licked at the walls. Mother was shaking with it all, and I thought I saw him weeping. A white-robed figure approached my brother, Shakir, kicked away his blade, and tied him up. A large fat man came for me and did the same. I did nothing to resist him, I was in shock. I barely paid attention to what was happening around me, my eyes locked on my parents and the flames. The fat man dragged me away and licked at my face. “I am going to enjoy you,” the man I would later know as Angus said. His breath stank of drink, and I was about to pull away when I saw my father cut mother’s throat, then stab a blade through his own guts and yank it up sharply, falling out of sight as well.

A man laughed to my side. The sound was so at odds with what I’d just witnessed that it snapped me out of my state. A man in decorative armor sat on a large black steed. He laughed again. I had never seen the man, but I knew of him. Emperor Solas.

I screamed.

 

I woke from the dream, a cold sweat coating my skin. I had turned that memory over in my mind countless times, but the sharp edges were never worn smooth. When my nerves settled, I closed my eyes, drifted off, and relived that night again.

 

The next morning I enjoyed the best breakfast I had in a long time. I found it odd to eat from a ceramic plate. It seemed too delicate, fragile, like it would break beneath the pressure of my fork. The tin dish I’d eaten from for so long was certainly more durable, and equally functional, if less glamorous.

The meal left me in high spirits, but the coffee—that really made my day. The warm sweet coffee sliding down my throat was like a missing piece of me finally returned. How I’d managed to live without it for so long, I did not know.

Neysa came stomping down the steps and out the door. “I wonder if she ever just walks,” I said, staring after her. Marcus smiled at me as he finished his coffee. He looked like a new man. We both had long overdue baths that morning, and Marcus combed his hair out and trimmed his beard. Combing my own would have required an imagination that bordered on insanity, but I shaved the shadow forming on my scalp. The neat and tidy look did not sit right on Marcus, clashing with my image of the man. He looked ridiculous.

“You look happy,” Marcus said. “I like the happy Saul, much less complaining and sneering.”

“I’m sure it won’t last. So, what’s the plan for today?”

“Let’s stop by the dock, take another look. We need to start watching for when the guard changes are, patrol routes, that kind of thing. See if we can spot any important-looking ships. I also need to stop by the blacksmith’s—my girls are in desperate need of some love from a big sweaty man.”

 

We stepped out into a frosty morning. The sky was a boiling mess of gray, but I could not help but smile. The town looked a lot nicer on a full stomach. A boy sat on the corner playing his lute, the case open in front of him. He was good, and as we passed, I tossed in a few coppers. The boy missed a beat, but corrected himself quickly and nodded his thanks.

We walked down a street that passed the large port. Seven ships were moored, along with a multitude of smaller craft. The largest of the ships dwarfed the remaining vessels. I knew nothing of boats, or their larger cousins, ships, but it was clear that I was looking at an uncommonly great example. Apart from being enormous, it was also grand. Few would bother to add as many decorations to the hull as this one displayed. It sported the emperor’s personal banner, in addition to that of the empire, which explained rather a lot.

We paused to watch as men lowered a large crate to the dock. It was larger than our room at the Shady Oak and had a number of warnings painted on its sides. The men unloading it looked to be taking great care with it.

I looked at Marcus. “What do you suppose that is?”

“If I were to venture a guess, I would say something large and valuable.”

“Could be.” The large ship certainly looked important. The type of vessel one might expect to use for valuable cargo. My feet itched to get aboard. To be that close to the crown and ring, and yet to just stand there… it grated on me.

Men were climbing about the masts and securing sails. My suspicion that the ship had only arrived that morning was confirmed when a gangplank was lowered a few minutes later. A large number of legionnaires walked along it and down to the dock. The first made his way along to the bottom and stepped to the left; the next did the same but stepped to the right. This continued until two long columns of legionnaires were lined up, a couple of meters between them. I watched as the men, used to a rocking ship, tried to stand perfectly still. Many struggled.

A small crowd gathered around us. Any idiot could see that someone of import was aboard the ship, and people were ever nosy creatures.

Four figures in red robes stepped onto the gangplank and slowly made their way across. The rumble in the crowd when they appeared turned to hushed conversation when they were halfway and dwindled with each step they took, until the Dark Legion arrived to deathly silence. They walked through the passage left between the legionnaires and assembled a short distance away. I took a step back into the crowd. While I’d rarely had to deal with the Inquisition directly in Castralavi, I still feared that I would be recognized. Their hoods were up, but I thought I could make out black tattoos across all of their faces. Black tattoos were preferable to silver, but while these weren’t sorcerers, they were still high-ranking Inquisitors. The Dark Legion inked their skin with small black letters that covered their bodies. The confessions and last words of those they put to the question were written on their skin. The writing was small, and it took many years to look as black as these men did. I reckoned that if I’d followed their custom, I would have been as black as Marcus a long time ago.

“Now who is this?” Marcus asked. “I’d like to meet her.”

I took my eyes off the Inquisitors and looked back to the gangplank. A woman came walking across, looking down on those below as though she owned the place. She wore a dark blue dress, her black hair tied back in a bun. A rather ordinary-looking woman, but she was far from ordinary. “No… You really don’t want to meet her.” I said.

“Why? Do you know her?” Marcus asked.

“Not personally, no, thank the Gods. That, my friend, is Princess Milliandra.”

“The princess? I have not heard good things… she’s nice to look at, though.”

She had the face of a street dog licking piss off a nettle, which Marcus would have known if he’d looked up from her ample bosom. It did not really matter how she looked; I could never find her attractive. She was a coldblooded woman, brutal and ambitious. Milliandra made even the twisted shell that I had become look divine.

Behind the princess came a white-robed man. I felt an anger rise within me. There were few I hated more than slavers. My brother and I had been thrown into their wagons once, and on that day our lives had changed forever. The slaver held a chain wrapped around his wrist, and behind him came a dozen slaves. The slaves were young, many yet to grow a beard. And they were my people. The chain passed through their manacled hands, its other end held by another white-robed man at the rear.

The princess joined the Inquisitors and talked with them. I tried to read her lips but only made out the occasional word, not enough to get an idea of their conversation. I’d hoped to catch a reference to the treasure I sought, but no such luck came my way.

There was a gasp in the crowd, and I turned to see what they were pointing at. One of the slavers, the one at the rear, had a bloodied nose, and the rearmost slave stood facing him. Another blow fell as the slave smashed him in the face with his manacle. The slaver let go of the chain as he tripped, fell hard on the gangplank, tipping over the edge to splash into the water.

The slave at the back ran a few steps, then leapt from the gangplank, cleared the couple of meters of water, and landed to the side of the legionnaires. He displayed the grace of a lion and the speed too, and I doubted he would be caught. Just as I started to smile—the boy well on his way down the street—that damn sensation curled up my spine again. I’d felt it far too often over the past two days.

A flash of light erupted from behind me, casting long shadows for the briefest of moments. Then, what looked like a ball of lightning surged past me and toward the boy. He looked behind him, his mouth wide in shock; then the ball hit him full in the face and threw him head over heels. He writhed in agony, clutching at his face. Princess Milliandra walked up to him slowly, the Dark Legion close on her heels. She kicked him hard, then again. Her sleeve was rolled up, and I could see silvery tattoos up her arm. Not as many as on a sorcerer, but there was no mistaking them.

“Want us to teach him a lesson, Princess?” one of the red robes asked.

“No, leave him,” she said, and looked at the crowd. “Nobody touch him! He stays there till he rots. Anyone who interferes will answer to me.”

Much of the crowd dispersed at that point, and Marcus and I joined them, walking past the boy in the road, clutching at his face. Between his fingers, the skin on his face was raw, and his eyes were swollen shut. There was an odd smell too, like burning, but not something I could put my finger on. I wondered if the boy was blind, and I felt for him, but I was powerless to help. He looked to be in a bad way and I doubted he would suffer long.

 

We made our way to the noticeboard by the port, and as we stepped up, I could see the board was bare apart from the small nails that would, under better circumstances, be used to pin up job announcements. That, and a poor sketch of someone’s missing dog, though the sketch was old, barely visible, and took me a moment to discern what it was. I reckoned the dog would be lucky to still be alive. I was staring at the sketch when Marcus pulled me closer.

“That centurion is on the corner of the dock,” Marcus whispered.

I peeked past the noticeboard and spotted the man. It was hard not to, with his decorated armor, his thick red cape, and the red plumes of his helmet sticking up like a peacock’s tail. “He’s facing the other way.” I said. “We should just walk away, but don’t rush.”

We walked down the street, and I looked behind me as casually as I could, but not directly at the man. He was looking in our direction. When we rounded the corner I looked again, but the centurion was talking to another legionnaire, no longer facing us. “See,” Marcus said. “Nothing to worry about. I bet he wouldn’t recognize me if I walked right into him.”

“I wouldn’t bet on that,” I said. “You’re like a cliff with arms and legs. I don’t like his presence here—it could ruin our plans. Permanently.”

“Unfortunately, there’s not much we can do about it,” Marcus said.

Marcus was wrong, of course, there was plenty we could do about it. As we rounded another corner, Marcus pointed at the smithy. “Actually, I might go into the forest for a bit,” I said. “I need to clear my head, and I want to gather some herbs and such. It’s been a long while since I made salves and tonics, and I need some supplies to practice with.” Marcus shrugged.

I walked with Marcus to the blacksmith. He handed over his weapons and sat down to talk with a young boy while he waited. It was likely the blacksmith’s son—he shared the man’s red hair. I looked at the swords on display. While I was next to useless in a fight—at least a fair one—I could recognize a good blade, and the smith clearly did too. My attention was drawn next to a row of daggers, which more suited my style. A dark alley; a turned back. I decided to buy one and picked out the best of the daggers. Not the largest, not the best-looking, but the most practical. I paid the smith’s wife and walked to the edge of town.

 

Leaves crunched underfoot as I made my way into the forest, and while my progress was slow at its edge, with the trees shrubby and the undergrowth dense, I soon walked beneath the tall canopy. I tripped several times on the steep slope, with my eyes lost in the leaves high overhead, scanning the branches for the plant I sought.

It was common near Castralavi, but I had no idea if it grew around these parts. Dragon’s root was a small plant with bright red roots, an epiphyte usually found on forking branches of large trees. It took a long time, but I eventually found one. “Nothing is ever easy,” I muttered to myself, looking at the small plant close to the very top of an enormous tree.

My job as an assassin had taught me to climb, a skill that served me well. When I finally reached the little plant, I pried it free using my new dagger and let it drop to the ground. I sat on the bare fork in the branch to rest. My stomach lurched when I looked down. The giant tree had to be very old; it stood tall above the canopy. I was facing White Lake, and the view was impressive. Maps really did not do its scale justice. Even from up here, the lake disappeared into the horizon. I wondered how many of the old stories my father had read me were true. The stories of adventures across the lake, of battles with massive monsters from the deep—of treasures found and treasures lost.

I turned myself around to face the other way. Looking down, I saw a long line of cleared forest and could make out a number of bare-chested men constructing something, though I couldn’t tell what. It looked like a road made of timber planks and metal beams, but I was sure that wasn’t it. I considered going for a closer look, but then I noticed a number of white-hooded men. Slave masters. Just like that, my plan evaporated.

I made my way back down the tree and dropped the last meter to the ground. Bent on one knee, I picked up the plant and shook it to remove the dirt.

“That’s a long way to climb for dragon’s root,” a voice said from behind.

I spun around and saw the blond girl, Neysa, standing over me, her arms crossed. She had all manner of herbs and plants tucked into her belt. She looked pissed off, but still beautiful. Even through her narrowed eyelids, I could see that her eyes were as blue as the sky. Well, not the gray blanket of a sky that sat over Sagemont; they were more like the impossible blue of the pools in the Great Oasis in Ubrain. I could swim in those eyes. I realized I was staring, so I smiled and I tried my best to look nonchalant, but I felt my face flushing, as red as a smacked arse, no doubt. “Only one I could find?”

“I’m surprised you found any at all, but the question is, why do you need that in the first place?”

I stood up and brushed the dirt from my knee. “Sleeping tonic. It’s for a sleeping tonic.”

“Oh, really?” she asked, hands on her hips. “When… there… are…”—with each word she tossed a different herb from her belt at me—“plenty of other plants, right in front of you that would do the job, and not involve climbing that monster of a tree?” She raised her eyebrows at me, bent to pick two mushrooms at her feet, and then tossed them at my face as well.

“This is the one I know how to use,” I said, frowning at the girl. It was a lie, I knew of all the plants and the mushrooms too.

“And it just so happens to be one of the strongest sedatives? And completely tasteless and odorless?”

“How would you know? I thought you were a failed mage?” I muttered. I had barely spoken those words when a small fist connected with my eye.

“I was an herbalist first,” she shouted at me. “I sell herbs. But none of that vile shit you have.” She turned and stormed off.

“Ladies don’t punch!” I yelled, rubbing at my eye.

“Your mother lies with dogs!” she yelled back, now some distance away.

“Ladies definitely don’t say that,” I said to myself, still rubbing my eye. I placed the dragon’s root in my satchel, then looked at the plants she’d tossed at my feet. “Might as well take these too. Thanks, Neysa.”

 

When I returned to town, I made for the market to pick up additional supplies. On the edge of the market sat three wagons. A large white-hooded figure leaned against a wheel with a short whip in hand. The slaver’s wagons were nothing more than cages on wheels, filled to the brim with Ubraian slaves. My people had suffered with me those years I spent in the dungeon. A part of me felt guilty for having escaped their fate, when their chances of living a normal life again were so slim. The cages were filled entirely with men, and I thought back to the construction project in the forest. The hooded man saw me staring, so I quickly ducked away into the market.

I made my way through the mess of stalls, which showed no semblance of organization. A stall offering barber services and one selling meat faced each other. I next walked past a food stall selling dried fish, extending off another offering shoe repair. These two were at least partially related, with some of the dried fish resembling the leather strips of the stall next door. As I walked on, the smell of incense assaulted my nose, and I turned to look into a purple tent with a beaded entrance. Through the beads I saw an older woman tossing corn to a rooster. The sign above the entrance read, “Alectryomancer,” though I had no idea if that was her name, or whatever she did to chickens. Groups of children were playing wherever space allowed. One boy was on his own, creating his own entertainment. I watched as he hid on the inside of a tent, his face to the ground. As he saw a lady walk past, he stuck his foot out, tripping her, then ran away.

It took a long time to find the items I needed within the maze of canvas. I bought a small cleaver, a burner fueled by lamp oil, and some bottles of various sizes. I also bought thin fishing line and some small weights, and I stopped by a tailor’s and arranged for him to come by the inn when he was next available. We’d left Castralavi with nothing but the clothes on our backs and had only managed to acquire an additional set each on our way to Sagemont.

 

Still searching for a few items, I saw Neysa storming down an alley in the direction of the lake. What was it about the girl that fascinated me so? She had a foul temper and the mouth of a sailor. Yet there was something about her. My eyes followed her until she disappeared down an alley. That’s when I noticed a large man trailing close behind her. Before I knew what I was doing, I followed the two in and saw the man exit the other side. I made my way to the end and leaned around the corner to watch. My gut told me the man was up to no good. Something about the way he walked spoke of his intentions. I was still deciding what to do when a hand grabbed me by the shoulder and pushed me hard up against the wall.

The slaver in the white robe had me pinned. Most of his face was hidden in the shadow of his hood, but I could see his mouth. With his free hand, the man reached up and lightly traced his finger on my forehead. Round and round his finger went, following the faint scar left where I removed the brand. A toothy smile appeared on the man’s face. “You’re not the first slave to cut his face. But you are a slave, aren’t you? My slave now,” the man said, leaning in. I could smell his flowery perfume, and garlic on his breath. I showed him my teeth, which confused him for a moment. “What a pretty smile,” he said. He ran his tongue up my neck, then brought his face close to mine and gave me that perverted look that Angus used to give me.

My teeth still showed, but if you ever see the fangs of a lion, do not mistake it for a smile. His face fell as my dagger found his heart. I followed the man to the ground as he slumped, and gave the dagger a vicious twist. “I am no one’s slave,” I said, and stomped my heel down on his face, snapping his neck with a loud crack. I looked both ways down the alley, but it was hidden in shadow. No one had seen what happened.

His previously white robe was soaked with bright red blood, and the contrast made it look all the redder. I wiped my dagger on a clean patch, put it away, and then searched the man. He had a heavy coin purse in one pocket, and a key hung from a gold chain around his neck. I took both. “We were kings once,” I said to the corpse.

Stepping from the alley I looked in the direction Neysa had gone. There was no sign of her or the man. I turned and looked in the direction of the inn, knowing full well that I needed to get away from the body and off the streets. I hesitated for a moment longer before running after Neysa. She was still nowhere to be seen, and I soon arrived at the lake. The lakefront was empty, at least where I was at. Not knowing what else I could do, I turned to leave. Then I heard a muffled scream.

Looking again, I saw a small pier to my left, with two feet sticking out from beneath it, just short of the waterline. I rushed forward and peered underneath to see the man lying on top of Neysa. He did not hear me approach. Too bad for him. His hand was over her mouth, and he licked at her face. She struggled, but the man was large. It looked like I’d gotten there before anything truly unpleasant had happened. There was little room between where they lay, he on top of her, and the pier overhead. A handspan, two at most. I quietly opened my satchel and took the small cleaver in my right hand and the mushrooms Neysa had pelted me with in my left. Neysa noticed me and her eyes went wide. I waved, a smile tugging at the corner of my mouth.

I took a firm grip on the cleaver and struck down as hard as I could on the back of the man’s ankle, cutting clean through his tendon and well into the bone. I was pleased with my purchase. It had been a while since I’d last used such a sharp cleaver, as small as it was. The man screamed and smashed the back of his head on the low pier. His hand slipped from her mouth, a big mistake, as she sunk her teeth into his ear. I used the distraction to strike again on the other ankle. The man rolled out, thrashing and screaming. As he rolled out, I shoved the mushrooms into his open mouth and kicked him hard in the jaw, ensuring he bit down on them. Within moments, the man was unconscious.

I looked around to see if anyone came. No one did, so I cut his throat before wiping my cleaver on the man’s shirt and placing it back in my satchel. “Two for the one who waits,” I said to my god. An offering. I looked beneath the pier at the girl. She was spitting and gagging, a part of the man’s ear to her side, lying in a pool of blood. “You can come out now—it’s safe,” I said.

She crawled out and looked at the man, then at me. She didn’t say anything as she backed away. Not knowing what to say, I turned my back on her and walked into town. I was too angry to be cautious and went up the alley with the dead slave master. I stepped over him and walked to the market to buy the last few items I needed.

Behind me, I heard a scream. Neysa must have followed me to the corpse.

 

I walked back to the port and made myself comfortable on the corner of the intersection. From my position I had a good view of the imperial warehouse. I placed the cloth hat I’d bought in front of me and brought my new flute to my lips. With the ragged clothing I had on, I made a good imitation of a transient busker. As I played, I watched the legionnaire guards at their posts. I could not even remember the last time I’d played, years in any case, but while I made mistakes, coins dropped into the hat often enough for me to feel satisfied with my performance. The sound of the flute filled the street, and the sad melody had many peeking from their windows.

The slave kid still lay in the road some distance away. He wasn’t moving, and I suspected he was dead. It was probably better than being a slave. Probably. The sight of him tugged at my heart and my sadness filled the music flowing down the street.

 

Many of the giant crates were already in the warehouse, but a few still remained on the ship. There were now two guards on the door and one at each corner of the building, making six in total. Another ten legionnaires appeared to be on a more general patrol of the port. The centurion walked among these men.

 

An hour before dusk there was a changing of the guard. The number of guards on the warehouse remained the same, but now only four legionnaires patrolled the port. I put away my flute and picked up the heavy hat which I emptied into my satchel. My busking more than paid for the goods I’d bought in the market. I followed the centurion at a distance, but my skill at tailing was wasted on the man, as he never looked behind him. He was dragging his feet, and his shoulders sagged. He entered a house, and through the window, I saw him remove his breastplate and boots and flop down on a bed. I watched for a while, but saw no one else enter or move around the house and I left, satisfied it was the centurion’s house.

As I walked toward the inn, I noted that most of the roofs on both sides of the street were tiled. I smiled. Thatched roofs were the worst; tiles I could deal with. When I reached the Shady Oak, I walked past it and continued on instead to the market, which was quieter than before. Some stall owners were packing up their wares. I hunted around until I found the mischievous boy I’d seen earlier that day.

 

I approached the boy and went down on one knee in front of him. “Do you want a reward?” I asked the kid. The boy looked suspicious but nodded. “I have an important job for you. The owner of those wagons over there has dropped his key,” I said, dangling the slaver’s key in front of the boy. His eyes followed it as it swung in front of him. “Now, your job is to look after this until the slave master returns. If you do this important job for me, I will give you this copper coin.” I held the coin in my open palm, and the little brat snatched it away before I could blink. “It’s very important that you not use the key on those wagons. Promise me that you won’t?” He promised.

A cheeky smile played on my face as an idea occurred to me. “Would you like to say a naughty word to those slaves? Something in their language?” The boy nodded, his eyes sparkling. “Can you say, Wah ‘ha Gabeera?” It took him a couple of tries, but he soon had it.

 

I rushed back to the port, knowing the lad would set the slaves free sooner rather than later. I arrived short of breath and leaned against the side of a building. My heart was still racing when the warden’s bell called the legion to arms. In the next few minutes, several legionnaires ran past me toward the bell, but the guards on the warehouse remained where they stood. “That answers that question,” I thought to myself.

 

When I returned to the Shady Oak, I was in a foul mood. Perhaps it was foolish to hope that my quest would turn out to be easy after all my years of planning in the dungeon. But the suffering I’d endured over those years did not cause the Gods to lighten my load. I’d killed two people, which while far fewer than my daily average still ruined my mood, and the warehouse was guarded well enough to make our entry a challenge. To top it all off, when I stormed into the inn, I saw Marcus and Neysa talking at a table. It looked like she had been crying, and knowing Marcus, he was comforting her and would be well on his way to getting between her sheets. I had no right to feel slighted by this, but when added to my already less-than-pleasant day, it stung. I sneered at them and stormed up to our room.