CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

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King

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23rd of Decepter, 935 PC

King walked side by side with the Hound as they wandered through the aisles upon aisles of odds and ends. There was little more noise than a handful of vendors talking quietly amongst each other in the occasional stall. As a tinkerer and collector himself, King was beyond fascinated, he was downright awestruck. Everywhere he looked was a more interesting stall full of better looking items. He had lost track of the immense variety about halfway down the first aisle though, only catching glimpses of some of the most eye-catching options now. One of which was a religious stall full of crosses and figurines, beautiful leather bound editions of The Book of The Creator were piled ten high. He made a comment so as not to lose credibility in his priestly scheme. There was an alchemy stall filled with mesmerizing trinkets that looked like one thing and did another. He did not stop though. To do so felt insulting to the generous Hound.

They stopped when they came to the end of the aisle. Even more luxurious and grand stalls were built directly into the walls that surrounded the inner aisles. He wanted so badly to look at the endless potions that stood in small wooden boxes with circular holes in the top in one such stall. The thought that a cure for the dark demise may be mere feet from him was oh so tantalizing. But alas, he did not beg to do so.

“Would you mind taking a seat for a moment?” the mercenary asked. He pointed to a corner area in the hall that was filled with comfortable chairs and one long divan that sat tucked close against the wall. King instantly felt a wave of hesitancy wash over him, but what was he to do?

“Of course not.” He followed the Hound to the resting area and sat down on the divan, staying tight to the edge, ready to spring up if need be. Relax. A man of The Creator wouldn’t hurt a priest. Not even one that killed for Leos.

The mercenary sat down in a chair not far from King. He took in the majesty of the enormous hall. “Truly an incredible place for such a small town full of nobodies.”

“Ah, but we are each something special in The Creator’s eyes.”

“Very true, but some more than others, I’d argue.”

“I believe many feel that way these days,” King said.

“What does a priest like yourself fall in the ongoing struggles between Purists and Lotus?”

“Ah. A very good question indeed. I tend to find myself flopping from side to side like a fish out of water.”

The mercenary chuckled quietly. “So then I take it you’ve flopped right in the Purist’s frying pan recently?”

King prided himself on not reacting to surprising comments, but he failed to do so this time. His left eyebrow twitched, his hands squeezed his knees tightly. Noticeably. “Whatever could you mean, sir?” The words had no sooner left his lips when he spotted half a dozen Hounds stroll out the end of a nearby aisle. Each armed and looking as dangerous as a hungry lion.

The mercenary sitting with him pulled a long dagger from its sheath on his hip. “One of my men spotted a dark-skinned gentleman like yourself walking through town with a man named Diedro Pyvere from the window. Either you’re that man or Amberwood has become a particularly attractive destination for men of Tevron.”

“I can assure you, never have I been in the company of a man with a name so strange.”

The other Hounds were on them now.

“Hmm.” The mercenary was stroking his mustache. “I’m inclined to believe a priest. I truly am. But something tells me you’re lying.”

“I’d never.” He quoted The Creator. “To lie to another man is to disrespect him in the highest fashion.”

The mercenary flicked the tip of dagger at his men and two walked toward King. Two of the meaner-looking ones King noted.

“Never really believed that line much. I’d have to a say fuckin’ another man’s wife might be a tad more disrespectful.” He stood. “Or killing him.”

Suddenly, King let out a flurry of coughs, directly at the incoming mercenaries. They both stopped. Looked at their captain. He exhaled in annoyance and flicked his head at King. They reluctantly grabbed him, scowling as they did.

“Filthy scum,” one said.

“I assure you, I do not know this man you speak of.” King was thrust from the divan, his arms held tight.

“Forgive if I’d rather make sure of that myself.” He looked at the men holding King’s arms. “Take him to the fountain. We’ll see just if Diedro feels compelled to keep this man’s head on his shoulders.”

“He’s on the roof!” He instantly regretted saying it, but the notion of losing his head to protect a man he had just met wasn’t appealing. Especially one that was no better than these pricks.

The captain looked at him. “In no rush to return to The Creator, I see.”

Words simply continued to pour from King’s mouth. “He’s on the rooftop with another Purist named Shade. He’s a Yilan assassin. A damn good one. I’d dare say you’d be better off not upsetting them.”

“Batwick.” One of the mercenaries not holding King looked at the captain. “Stay here with this one. The rest of you to the roof.” King was thrown down on the divan again. The one called Batwick stepped to him. He was a scrawny man. Most certainly not the typical-looking mercenary.

Batwick drew his sword and pointed the tip at King a few moments after his comrades had hustled toward the hall’s exit.

The captain put his hand on Batwick’s shoulder. “If he tries anything, make him regret it.” And he was off, leaving King to stare down his puny captor.

He remained silent until the captain was clearly down an aisle, then he pressed the unimpressive mercenary by reaching to take his cloak off.

“Stop. Don’t move,” Batiwick said. King continued. The mercenary repeated himself, more angrily. King continued. He was peeling the cloak apart now.

“There’s no harm in removing clothing, is there?” He asked. “I’m sick and sweaty.”

Batwick was unsure what to do and less sure what to say. His lips quivered with frustration. His eyes darted up and down King’s body but something told him the young man had no idea what he was looking for. He certainly won’t be looking for what I have in store for him.

King let himself cough violently. It bent him over at the waist.

“Stop that! Stop now you disgusting filth.”

King slid his hand from covering his cough to the string full of Nathaniel Ames’ bones. He gripped one tight in his hand. Continued to cough, which was not part of his plan as much as a common occurrence once one fit of coughs attacked. When he managed to regain control of himself he tugged on the bone, ripping it from the thin string with a little more than a quick snap’s worth of resistance.

Batwick was barking orders at him now but he barely heard him. Absolutely didn’t care to obey them. He sat up. Looked at Batwick. The mercenary snarled at him.

“Sit still you fucker!”

King let his magic course through his veins until he was satisfied he would survive a tussle with Batwick, then lifted the bone to the tip of his tongue, letting his saliva coat the end. He could feel the alchemical reaction beginning to crackle.

“I said sit still!” Batwick was in a fit of anger now, screaming loudly, trembling with nerves. He lunged forward, King saw it coming with ease. He leaned to his side. The sword stuck in the wall behind him. He tossed the bone directly at the mercenary’s face and rolled off the divan and to the floor. A loud explosion erupted above him. Then Batwick was screaming even louder than before. Though his words were far less comprehensible. King rolled over, saw the fire burning Batwick’s face. The man was smacking at the flames with his hands. King yanked Batwick’s sword from the wall as he climbed to his feet.

“Calm yourself, boy! Calm yourself.” he yelled. Batwick didn’t stop squirming and screaming. He is on fire I suppose. King lifted the sword over his head with both hands. Batwick’s skull split like a melon. Blood spurted in every direction, leaving a splattered line of crimson red across the front of King’s vestment. It was the first man he’d ever killed. At least in such a barbaric manner. It felt strangely invigorating. I see why Garth kills the way he does.

The corpse collapsed to the ground in a lifeless heap. He looked around the hall, vendors were staring at him wide-eyed and frozen solid in shock.

There weren’t really any words to say to the mortified audience of commoners to erase the image he had just etched in their minds for all eternity. So he simply apologized and took off toward the exit. No one got in his way.