CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
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King Te’Korei
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26th of Decepter, 935 PC
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How dare you! How dare you put a healer in my presence and then make him useless to me! What have I done to deserve this?! He knew though. He’d always known. I have spent years trying to make up for what I did. Why can’t you see that?! Why doesn’t it matter to you?! Anger was the only emotion willing to stand strong in his mind. The others were hiding like children when their parents fought. What kind of Creator are you?! A weaver of woeful tragedy? A devilish monster we’ve mistaken as something worthy of worship! Why?! Why dammit, why?!
The cloth of his wool mask tugged at the skin on his cheek as his head fell to the side. Colin was asleep beside him. Not a care in the world. He grabbed the boy’s hand softly, knowing it was the only one that would be there when the end came. It’s not that he doesn’t have any cares. It’s that he is so full of love and kindness that nothing could possibly make him act differently. At least not for days at a time. And I didn’t even tell him I was glad he survived. I’ve just been stewing in my own pity. He squeezed Colin’s hand.
“King,” Colin whispered groggily. “Everything alright?”
“Yes, my boy. Everything is fine. Go back to sleep.”
Colin smiled and closed his eyes. “See you in the morning, King.”
*~~~**~~~*
His whole life, King had thought he was full of blessings, good luck, good fortune – whatever commoners believed it to be – a possessor of things all people wanted. But he wasn’t. A destiny full of cruel misfortune. That’s all his life had been. It was so clear now that the blinders had been taken off. In fact, looking back, no use of his magic was ever without a slap on the wrist. Like the time he’d used it to help his friend Iggy find his dog in the woods only to have the mutt bite King’s arm when they found him. Or when he used it to help his father get a job and three weeks later he died in the fire that burned down the shop. And of course, he’d come down with a disease that couldn’t be cured, not even with magic. If that wasn’t bad luck, he didn’t know what was.
The covered wagon came to a stop. He didn’t know where. He didn’t care where. Tol’s voice came from the driver’s box. “I have work to do. Don’t wander too far from the wagon.”
Savar hopped down, followed by Barik. Useless piece of of shit. Colin started to crawl toward the back of the wagon before stopping and looking back at him. “Coming?”
“No.” King wasn’t going anywhere. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever. He’d die right here in the wagon, whenever The Creator was done torturing him.
Colin put himself on his rear end, tucking his ankles under his thighs like the young children in Steppe used to do when King would tell them stories of his travels. “I know you’re upset. I’m upset too.” Shut up. Just shut up! You should be dead! Magic saved you! Like it should save me! If The Creator wasn’t such a… “But you can’t just lay in here. You should get some fresh air. Stretch your legs.”
He’d told himself after Colin had fallen back asleep that he’d try to be stronger, try to get out of this rut he’d fallen into. That’s what a warrior would do. But right now, all he wanted to do was cough in the lad’s face to remind him of how sick he was. Probably would have if he didn’t think the disease would spread and ruin Colin’s life. The lad didn’t deserve such a miserable fate. No one did. “I’d rather not.” He coughed into his elbow, then some more, and more still, until he curled over, dotting his cane and the wood planks of the wagon with droplets of blood.
“Here, drink some water.” Colin put King’s waterskin on his lap. King refused. No sense in prolonging the inevitable. “Drink.”
“Go somewhere else.”
“No.”
“Now.”
“Only if you come with me.”
King coughed some more. Less this time. “I’m not playing this game with you. Give me some peace and quiet to die in.”
“Stop being dramatic.”
“Dramatic!” He coughed angrily. “You think I’m being dramatic! Who are you to say if I’m being dramatic, Colin Humphrey?! I don’t want to die! And neither did you! You begged for help like a pitiful child! At least I’m man enough to deal with my despair in silence.” He coughed. “I’d thank you for leaving me the hell alone! Now!” Colin’s wavy bangs were long enough to hide a bit of the hurt in his eyes but not all of it. King could have sworn there was enough to send him off with his tail between his legs but lords he was stubborn. Just sat there, staring at King like a dog that didn’t understand his owner didn’t want him anymore. “Leave.”
Silence. Fine. Silence was perfectly fine. He crossed his arms and laid his head on the sack of grain.
“I watched men and women die in Rubora’s shop, you know. Children too. Everyone of them wanted the same thing… to be with those that cared about them. Whether it was at their bedside or on a weak walk through the garden. They were together until the very end.”
“I don’t have any-”
“Don’t you dare.”
King opened one eye, then the other when he saw Colin sucking his teeth with his upper lip. “We met two weeks ago. You barely know me.”
“And how many more days do I need before I can care about you?” Ten seemed like enough to make sure he died first but before he could spit off his retort Colin said, “You’re going to die… but you’re not dead yet. And if you care about me at all you will help me get away from these people. So I don’t die too. So I can see the empire like you did. So I can tell stories when I see you again.” There was no need for this. Alaric would arrive soon and free them from Tol’s grip. King didn’t need to do anything but rest and sulk. Die in peace.
He pulled himself up painfully, locking eyes with Colin tightly. He spoke slowly so not even a halfwit would misunderstand. “I don’t want to hear your stories. Not now. Not ever.”
The boy’s eyes were overflowing with hurt now and no amount of bangs would hide it. It had flooded into his drooping mouth and his slouched shoulders, his hunched back. “You don’t mean that.”
Of course he didn’t mean it, but he wasn’t in the mood for this. He’d never be in the mood for this again. Still, it was no excuse for what he said next. Unfortunately, his frustration had filled him so full he wanted to burst, his words slipped through the stretching seams. “I do. I do mean it. There’s no reason to help a coward like you escape. Not when you won’t make stories of your own. You’ll just watch others from afar while you hide in the bushes. You’re a coward and that’s all you’ll ever be.” A pause to let the words sink in. “Now leave me alone.” He started to lay back down. By the time he got all his aching muscles to the bed of the wagon Colin was at the opening in the back.
“I thought you were my friend…” He climbed out of the wagon carefully and stood at the opening, nodding his head up and down slowly, waiting for King to say something that would mend the wound he’d inflicted. Eventually, his nod became a disapproving shake as the silence grew longer. Angry lips pushed his nose up a bit. For a moment King thought he might speak yet again, but he didn’t. Instead, he spit those last words at the tip of his tongue into the dirt and walked away.
*~~~**~~~*
There was a saying in Shirk. “If you don’t belong to Shirk, you don’t belong in Shirk.” Everyone knew it, no matter what realm you called home. It was one of those things that traveled with merchants who had seen the atrocities that occurred in the ramshackled town. It was nothing more than misplaced pride in King’s opinion. He could name any number of cities he’d rather have been born in than this wasteland. The houses were a wreck and the people looked like they’d survived that wreck but never moved on – torn up clothes and weathered boots, blank stares from those on pills, angry stares from those who couldn’t get them. King felt… unwelcome… to say the least.
There was another saying, “When in Locke, do as the Lockians do.” It had less reach and nothing of the same consequences for disregarding it, but it did exist and it did mean something. Tol must have heard it somewhere because he was walking like he’d spent his whole life in Shirk. And for a while most of the ruffians on the streets believed it, giving him, and him alone, nods of respect. The rest of them were watched like walking treasure chests ready to be cracked open and rationed out. No one dared make a move though. Territory and ownership were significant here and it didn’t take an overly observant eye to know Tol owned his followers. He had demonstrated that influence back at the wagon, when he all but dragged King from his deathbed. His stern voice, the fierce look in his eyes, they were more compelling than Colin’s compassionate speech. Not to mention, King was curious about what Tol expected of him.
They approached the one house in town with a full set of shingles on its roof and a door that hung on both hinges. It reminded him of the lotus that grew in the swamps; beauty surrounded by filth. A group of men dressed nicer than most of the other poor denizens of Shirk sat on the front porch, smoking and rolling dice. They talked quietly amongst themselves, only using the corners of their eyes to watch the intruders until Tol stepped onto the first stone of the path leading to them. At that point, you would have thought he had insulted one of their mothers by the way they glared. Tol hardly noticed. Barik glared back. Then again, his face was always scrunched up and angry. Who knew what he was really feeling.
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Tol took the first few steps down the path like he owned the house and it was the men who were trespassing. King on the other hand, slipped to the back of the single file line, forcing even Colin to go before him with a swat of his cane. The lad was no longer crying, but his cheeks were still flushed red and the lines of his tears still cut through the dirt under his left eye. A bad time to look so pathetic. A bad time to make King feel so sympathetic.
King started to open his mouth to apologize to the lad but what appeared to be the man in charge of the lackeys was barreling down the stone path to meet them head on. He made himself an obstacle with beefy arms folded across its barrel chest. His bottom lip was full of suri, evident by the red juices he spit in the dirt. When he spoke his eyes blinked much more frequently than what could be called normal. A sign he was an avid user of Sundrop. Iggy had convinced King to try the hallucinogenic once upon a time – a good time, but nothing he needed regularly.
“I think you’re lost gents,” the lackey said. And not with the voice King had expected as it was much too high and far too feminine for his physique. Memorable.
Tol turned to Savar. “Take care of this.” Then to the others. “You may want to shield your eyes.”
The guard started unbuttoning his cloak, ready to do things the way people did them in Shirk. Poor fool clearly wasn’t a Purist. He got to the second button before the lightning bolt struck, lighting up the world so bright that King had to squeeze his eyes as tight as he could not be blinded, even with his face hidden in his arm. No boom of thunder, no crack of a whip like you heard in storms. Just a grunt and a thud. When King opened his eyes the man was still an obstacle but a much easier one to step over now. Black scars covered his skin, branching all about as they followed the path the electricity had taken through his body.
A man on the porch stood. Tol pointed a finger at him, sitting him down without argument.
The door was locked. For a moment. Tol kicked it in so easily it became clear the Black Merchant didn’t believe anyone had the audacity to break into his home.
The servant that met them in the front room was a pretty woman with pale skin, red hair, and clothes so scandalous she couldn’t possibly have chosen them for herself. Her terror showed beneath her discipline, cracking the exterior coating quickly. “C-Can I help you?” She put the silver platter she was carrying in front of her mostly-revealed body.
“We’re looking for Wolfgang,” Tol said.
“Master-” She paused, unsure if these intruders were privileged enough to know her master’s surname. “The Black Merchant is unavailable.”
“Tell us where he is or die,” Tol said, scratching his beard carelessly. King cringed at the threat. This poor woman wanted to be here even less than he and Colin did. And yet, she was the one put between a rock and a hard place. It’s always those who have no dog in the fight that find themselves most likely to die.
She kept her lips pursed tight but pointed straight up, finger between her breasts to hide them from any eyes that may be watching from behind her.
“Wolfgang!” Tol screamed up the staircase, making Colin jump. King too but not as badly. Tol planted a boot on the first step of the staircase. “Wolfgang Ritter!” Another step. “The Black Merchant!” Thump. “Seller of arms!” Thump “ Keeper of secrets.” Thump. “The man who sold Rhyne Camdrie five thousand swords at a price that couldn’t be beat!” Tol stopped halfway up the stairs when he heard a creak of a door.
“Who’s got a stick up their ass down there?” A raspy voice came from the top of the stairs. Sounded like the man had swallowed a glass of fire. King had seen hairstyles from all over the empire. The bald warriors that were so prevalent in Tevron, the burly look of Resken men, the flowing locks of Mornish ones. But he’d never see a man with hair like Wolfgang’s with his brown bangs that were combed up and stiff like a group of soldiers standing at attention and the way the sides of his head were shaved so thin you could see off-color skin. His sideburns worked their way down his face into a thick beard he could be proud of and his spectacles somehow made him look tough. He was much more rugged and startling than Colin had described him. His imposing presence was aided by the long metal cylinder mounted to a piece of wood that laid across his shoulders, his hand holding a grip at one end.
“Men of The Creator have come knocking, looking for answers,” Tol said.
“Well then, wouldn’t want to upset that old bitch,” Wolfgang said. “Come on up.” He flicked his finger at the servant who moved the platter out from in front of her bare stomach. “That’s better. Now, be a good little bitch and fetch our guests some tea. You gents drink tea?” He examined Colin. “Course ya do.” He pulled the weapon from his shoulder and flicked it in a way that meant to follow him.
*~~~**~~~*
Weapons from every war in history were mounted to the walls of the Black Merchant’s office. Spears from the First War, hatchets made of sticks and sharpened rocks, swords made of bronze and iron. There was even a hammer so large no ordinary man could lift it alone. Anything and everything that had ever been devised with killing in mind could be found in this room. If it was a collection to be viewed by the public it would be considered impressive, even had the suits of armor standing in the corner to watch over it, but since it was simply a ruthless killer’s toy chest, frightening was a better word.
King would have preferred to continue learning about the history of senseless death but Tol had other thoughts. He pulled out a chair beside Savar at Wolfgang’s desk and said, “Brother King, won’t you join us.” What an honor. A seat at a table full of maniacs.
A quick glance at Colin confirmed the lad was still holding a grudge against him. Part of King believed it to be childish but a larger part knew he didn’t deserve Colin’s smile or friendship. He sat down, sadder than a moment before and still with no idea of what Tol expected of him.
“So, what are ya? A cult?” Wolfgang asked. “Won’t find too many chaps interested in The Creator in Shirk. She don’t give much time to us either. Get the feeling she might not be too proud of what she made here.”
“If despair has befallen Shirk, it is no one’s fault but those who live here,” Tol said. “All her children are given the same chance to become worthy of her praise.”
Wolfgang’s brassy beard curled into a thin smile. “You can take that veil off behind these doors. She’s not looking in here.”
The two went back and forth like this long enough to bore King into seeking better entertainment. His eyes fell upon the cylindrical weapon lying on the table. Up close its intricate deviancy enthralled the darker sides of his imagination. There was a hole at one end with a small piece of metal sticking up that could only serve as an aiming mechanism. The other end was mostly wood and curled down slightly. A trigger hung not far from this end.
“You like that, do ya?”
He looked up to see Wolfgang staring at him over the brim of his spectacles. “It’s… interesting.”
“She’s my baby doll. I’d trade any number of my bastard children for a few more of these gals.” He ran his fingers the length of the weapon slowly, proudly. “They’re calling it a fire lance but I’ve named this one Alice after my ma. She could be just as big a cunt to ya when she wanted to be.” He pointed at the trigger. “Pull that son of a bitch and shards of debris come flying out of that hole down there. Kills with the force of five arrows if you can get close enough to the bastard you’re teaching a lesson. More accurate too. Or at least they say the next ones will be. This one made me look like one of them fucking Lotus throwing their magic in every direction but where they want it to go. I suspect you’ll be seeing these puppies everywhere soon.”
“Impressive,” King said but for the first time he thought perhaps it was best he wouldn’t be around much longer to see where the world was heading.
Barik leaned on the side of the desk with both hands and examined the weapon closer as he said, “Where did you get something like that?” The man deserved an award for appearing annoyed longer than any other man alive. A frown had taken up residency on King’s face recently and it was torture. He could only imagine the thoughts swirling around in the healer’s head.
“Does a whore tell who her best clients are?” Wolfgang said.
“Not a smart one,” Barik said.
Wolfgang slid the fire lance across the table, letting the hole point at each of them briefly as he did so. It stopped when it stared at King. Even with the merchant’s finger off the trigger, he felt the powerful sense of doom crawling out of the weapon. It was enough to convince him to trust his magic once more. Warmth filled him, improving his mood enough to wipe away his frown but not enough to replace it with a smile. “Enough with Alice. You gents didn't strike down one of my men with lightning and break into my house to talk about things you didn’t know existed, did ya? You’re here for something else. Hopefully, something I can help you with.” He looked directly as Savar. “Wouldn’t want to upset this one.”
Tol leaned back in his chair, laying one arm across his stomach to brace the other as it held his chin. “The Creator tells me you work with General Camdrie, leader of The Hounds of Haldar.”
The Black Merchant waved a finger covered in dry blood at Tol and shook his head. “I know who he is. And I worked with him. Never working with that two-faced bastard again.”
“I could have used your wisdom before I met the bastard,” Barik said.
Tol had a habit of letting his chin slowly rise when he stared at people. What that meant, King hadn’t the slightest idea, but he was doing so now as he stroked his gray beard. “You’re sure? I’ve heard you follow the trail of Leos and its destination matters not. If the general were to come to you with the right sized chest, would you forgive and forget?”
Wolfgang opened a drawer near his stomach, sending tremors of concern through King but no one else. He placed a recognizable box in front of himself, closing the drawer with his gut. Botahana Browns. “You gents smoke? I get the feeling we’re gonna be here awhile.” He took his own cigar and slid the box toward Barik. “You know. I tend to get to introductions before I dive right into business. And seeing how you were screaming my name all throughout my house, it looks like I just need your names.”
“Are you done with The Hounds of Haldar or not?” Tol asked.
“Barik Lisken.” An unexpected decision from the healer.
“Nice to meet you, Barik Lisken.”
“Please, just Barik. I conduct business the way it’s supposed to be conducted,” he said, looking at Tol. “On a first name basis.”
“I think I’ve heard your name muttered a few times over the years,” Wolfgang said, striking the flint with his steel and lighting his cigar. “You have a knack for pissing off the wrong people if I’m not mistaken.”
“Aye. Never my fault though.” Barik grinned. “I find most people want more from me than I can provide.”
Wolfgang opened his mouth ever so slightly and let smoke billow out. “I’ve never heard those words in that order before. I tend to deliver more than is expected of me.” He glanced at Tol. “What is it that I can deliver to you…?”
“Call me Tol. And all I want is General Camdrie.”
The door across the room opened. Wolfgang waved whoever was there into the room. King had already made a decision not to take his eyes off the Black Merchant, or his dastardly weapon.
“Then that’s what you’ll have. But I must warn you. It won’t be easy. Not now that he’s on the Lotus Queen’s chain. That’s the cunt you should be worried about.”
“One step at a time,” Tol said.
The red-headed servant from downstairs appeared between King and Savar, placing cups in front of each of them. The scent of pomegranate and cherries on her breasts tickled King’s nose so fiercely he couldn’t hold back a sneeze. His knees kicked up, slamming into the lip of the desk and knocking over both cups of tea. Liquid raced across the wooden desktop, straight for Wolfgang’s fire lance. He snatched at it quickly, setting off a loud bang that froze everyone with shock on their faces, even Tol.
No one moved for a moment. Not until the silver platter slid off the servant’s hand and onto Savar’s lap, tea spilling everywhere. She clutched at the holes in her exposed stomach, staring at her master as if he’d betrayed her. One clumsy step led to another and before long she was on her back, trying frantically to put her blood back where it belonged. King glanced at Barik. Barik glanced at him. The healer didn’t move and for some reason that made King feel a little better.
“Told you it works,” Wolfgang said.