Betrayal

Chapter Twelve Graelor’s End

Maldred stood on the bank of a narrow stream, listening to the musical noise the water made as it rushed over the rocks that littered its bed. A few of the larger stones that protruded above the surface gleamed in the early morning sunlight, looking almost like gems. He found himself staring at them for more than a few moments, then he raised his gaze to the horizon, a scowl etched deep on his handsome face.

“What’s the matter, Mal?” Rikali sidled up to him and poked him in the arm. “This is lovely. You should be enjoyin’ it. No more swamp. No snakes. This all smells so sweet, an’ all you can see is tall grass and trees… an’ that town ahead.”

Maldred refused to look at her. Instead his eyes were locked onto what appeared to be the largest collection of buildings and the thin trails of smoke rising around them.

“C’mon, Mal, what’s up? Why are we just standin’ here rather than goin’ into that town? I figure I could buy me a nice, big breakfast—over which you can tell me all about this pirate treasure again. Pigs, but I’m hungry, Mal. An’ then I thought…” She shook her head when she noticed he was thoroughly ignoring her. “And then I thought I might dance around naked and stick mushrooms in my ears.” She snorted when there was still no reaction. “You could at least listen to me, you know.”

“I’m listening to you, my love,” Varek gently tugged her away from Maldred. He nuzzled her shoulder and twirled his slender fingers in her hair. She relaxed slightly, resting the back of her head against his chest, but she still kept her eyes on Maldred.

“Somethin’s botherin’ him, Varek,” the half-elf persisted.

“Small town. He’s concerned there’s far too many cookfires for the size of it.”

“Might not mean anything,” Dhamon said, as he joined them, “but our course takes us very near that town.”

“Through it—our course takes us through that town, if we want to buy a wagon and horses,”

Maldred said, his gaze unwavering.

The half-elf raised an eyebrow. “Wagon?” she mouthed.

“To haul the pirate treasure in,” Dhamon provided. “I’m going in for a closer look.” He nodded to Mal and started through the tall grass. “I’ll be back soon. Keep an eye on our sivak, won’t you?”

The half-elf was quick after him. “I’ll come, too.”

Varek’s hand shot out and firmly closed around her elbow.

“If there’s something wrong, Riki,” he cautioned, “I don’t want you anywhere near the trouble.” His glance dropped to her swollen stomach, then he raised his eyes and saw her disappointment. He drew a finger to his lips, silencing any argument, kissed her on the cheek, and started after Dhamon.

* * * * *

Dhamon waited just beyond the edge of the town, called Graelor’s End according to the weathered sign. He heard someone coming up behind him and guessed it was Riki, but when he turned he frowned to see it was Varek.

The youth slipped up to Dhamon’s shoulder and laid his staff on the ground. “I don’t see anyone stirring, do you? Not a single soul out on the streets. But those cookfires, there’s got to be people. Indeed, I—”

Dhamon’s narrowed eyes silenced him.

The town had some age to it. The homes spread to the west and were made of field stone mortared together with mud and dung. All the roofs were heavy thatch. There was a scattering of farms to the east. Some of the farmhouses were grand, and Dhamon could see goats and sheep milling about in pens. Two dozen or so businesses and hostels were between the homes and the farms, most of them two-and three-story buildings made of stone and wood.

“Aye, there’s people,” Dhamon whispered after several minutes. He pointed to the closest house.

“Someone walked past a window.”

Varek squinted and shook his head, seeing nothing. “Can’t see that far.”

“There.” Dhamon pointed to a business down the middle of a dust-and-gravel street. The street was wide and seemed to be the main thoroughfare through the town. A man and woman were looking out of a bakery window. “But why are they all inside and…?” His voice trailed off when he saw a figure step from a side street onto the main road.

The man was tall and broad-shouldered, with a sweeping black-lined cloak fluttering away from his plate mail-clad form. The armor was distinctive and ornate—a collection of steel plates with chainmail gussets, more functional and lightweight than the armor worn by Solamnic Knights or Knights of Neraka.

“A Legion of Steel Knight!”

“A commander, actually. And be quiet,” Dhamon sternly warned. “We can’t afford to draw attention to ourselves. All the townsfolk are avoiding him. We should too. Keep your head down. We’ll watch a few minutes more, then we’ll go back to Mal and Riki and plan a route well away from here. We’ll find somewhere else to buy a wagon.”

Varek opened his mouth to protest, but another sharp look from Dhamon cut him off. Dhamon grasped Varek’s shoulder and pointed. Other figures spilled out of a business to join the commander—Legion of Steel battlefield medics and sorcerers, judging by the markings on their tabards. The small group conferred for some time before the commander clapped his hands twice and whistled shrilly.

More Knights appeared, drifting out from a few businesses, many from side streets. They formed up, eight across, all in plate mail, walking stiffly in unison. They practically filled the main street, as others marched in from alleys at the edge of Dhamon’s and Varek’s vision.

“They were camped on the side streets, maybe farther back on the main street, too, and maybe south of town.” Dhamon whispered. “I used to know commanders who preferred that to camping in an open field. The buildings cut the wind, and their presence impresses the locals.” His eyes closed to slits, and the hair stood up on the back of his neck. “And I know that commander.”

Dhamon studied the details of the lead man’s weathered face. A steel-gray mustache curled down over lips that were twisted by a thick, ropy scar that continued down his chin to his throat. The eyes were an intense bright blue, and the eyebrows above them bushy white.

“Lawlor,” he hissed. “Commander Arun Lawlor.”

“Too far away,” Varek whispered. “How can you tell who it is?”

Dhamon was so caught up in studying the commander and his men, trying to determine the strength of the unit, that he didn’t notice Varek rise, and he didn’t see the young man take the first few steps into the town.

“Varek!” Dhamon called quietly when he finally spotted him. “What are you doing? Get back here now!”

Varek glanced over his shoulder and shook his head. “I’m going to talk to them, Dhamon,” he said matter-of-factly. “I’m going to ask Commander Arun Lawlor why he has so many Legion of Steel Knights here.”

He sprinted forward, staff in one hand and free arm waving to draw the Knights’ attention. Dhamon cursed and wheeled, keeping low and running back toward where he’d left Maldred and Rikali—never once looking over his shoulder to check on Varek. The moment he got there, he grabbed the half-elf by the arm.

“Riki, Mal, let’s get out of here. Fast!” He pointed to the southwest, where in the distance there was a small rise and at the top of it the beginnings of a forest. “It looks to be about two miles from here, maybe less. Should be quite a bit of cover there. Run like a hundred Legion of Steel Knights are after you—because that may very well be the case.”

“Legion of Steel? Where? Where’s Varek?” The half-elf was quick to panic.

“Introducing himself to them.”

“Damn fool,” Maldred spat. “If he mentions our names…” Maldred let the thought trail off and met Dhamon’s gaze, then looked at the sivak.

“Ragh, come with me,” Dhamon said.

Riki’s eyes were wide. “Legion Knights. What about Varek?”

“The Knights aren’t after Varek,” Dhamon snapped.

“Meet us in the woods as soon as you can, my friend,” Maldred said. “Be careful. Very.” Then he was tugging the half-elf and rushing away.

“Ragh?” Dhamon whirled, and the sivak followed him back toward the town, keeping low in the grass, the two of them practically crawling at times. They circled to the northeast side of the town, between the business district and a farm, lying behind a row of spreading golden-rod bushes where Dhamon could better see the assembled Knights. There had to be at least three hundred, Dhamon guessed, maybe as many as four hundred, an impressive force occupying this small town in the middle of a sprawling plains.

What are they doing here? he thought. What could be going on in the Plains of Dust to interest them? And why in the depths of the Abyss would Varek stroll right in for a chat?

“Why do you fear the Legion Knights?” Ragh’s hoarse voice ended Dhamon’s musings.

“I don’t fear them,” Dhamon lied, eyes scanning the throng. “I just… what’s this?”

He spied Varek, shadowed under a faded awning, face to face with Commander Arun Lawlor. The commander extended his hand, Varek shook it. They talked for several minutes, and Dhamon wondered just what they were discussing and how long they’d been at it before he spotted them. Then Lawlor patted Varek on the back and walked away, inspecting his men as he headed to the front of the column.

“So you’re friendly with the Legion of Steel, Varek,” Dhamon said quietly. He kept his eyes on the young man, who was leaning against the building now, staff propped next to him, arms folded and face fixed on the assembly. Dhamon and the sivak crawled toward the east, heading for a narrow side street extending toward the main road. “Common sense says we should head for the trees, find Maldred and Riki, and give this place a wide berth.”

“But Varek…”

“Is a fool, Ragh. What are all these Knights doing here?” He sighed and shook his head. “Follow me, and be quiet.”

Dhamon led the sivak down the street and into the shadows of a two-story building. Hugging the wall, they inched closer.

The Knights were quiet but alert, eyes forward, looking at Lawlor, whom Dhamon couldn’t see at the moment. There was no murmuring among them.

A few steps closer, and he risked a quick glance around the corner. Dhamon was able to get a better look at their numbers. There were at least five hundred Knights, and they stretched south beyond where the main street ended. Dhamon spotted a nervous young woman looking out a second-story window across the street. There were a few other folks watching too, that he could see. On their faces was a mix of indifference, admiration, revulsion, and fear. There was a wooden wall next to a leather worker’s shop, and on it were sheets of parchment. It was too far away for Dhamon to read, though he suspected by the crude drawings on some of the sheets that they advertised things for sale. As he watched, a Legion Knight approached the board, rolled pieces of parchment tucked under his arm. The Knight began tacking the notices up, right in the center of the wall, not caring if he obscured the other postings.

“That’s you on the parchment,” the sivak whispered.

Dhamon growled from deep in his throat. The sketch on the sheet the Knight was tacking up indeed bore a close resemblance to him. The next one posted looked like Maldred. Two more sheets went up, these sketches of men Dhamon didn’t recognize.

“So you have a right to fear the Legion,” the sivak continued. “They search for you. What did you do to draw their ire?”

Dhamon didn’t answer for several minutes, watching the Knight finish his work, then stroll away to join the column.

“What did—”

The words hissed from his mouth. “I stole from some Legion of Steel Knights who were laid up in a hospital in Khur.”

“Khur is a long way from here.” The sivak’s brow knitted. “For that, an army is looking for you?”

“There was a little more to it than a simple theft,” Dhamon admitted. “Mal and Riki were with me. We were finished in that town, had as much coin as we were likely to get from the theft, and we were trying to leave. Unfortunately, more than a few Knights spotted us and gave chase. Some of them were injured, maybe killed. We had to defend ourselves.” He paused, watching a few more Knights spill out of businesses and join the ranks. “In our rush to escape we accidentally set the stable on fire. Khur’s a dry place. I understand most of the town burned to the ground before they could put it out.”

The sivak stonily regarded Dhamon. “For that they might indeed send an army.”

Dhamon shook his head. “No one would send that many men after a small band of thieves. I suspect the Legion could care less about a dusty town in Khur. They’re just posting notices along their normal route.”

The Knights posted notices for the better part of an hour. Dhamon eased farther away from the main street, still staying within earshot and catching bits of Lawlor’s orders. The commander was directing the men due east it seemed, naming a small town they would reach at sunset. Truly wonderful, Dhamon mused. How many towns had they already posted the notices in? Travel certainly would be… uncomfortable… because of it.

Some mention was made of the Silvanesti Forest and the elves, and of the Dark Knights of Neraka. Dhamon, a former Dark Knight himself, wished he could hear more. Finally the men moved out, and Dhamon sagged against the wall in relief. He waited until the loud and monotonous sound of the Knights’ footsteps told him they’d passed beyond the main road and were well into the tall grass north of town, then he edged out onto the street. He intended to pluck the wanted posters from the wall, fetch Varek, and head quickly after Maldred and Rikali, then the pirate treasure. They’d find another, safer town to purchase a wagon in.

“Stay put,” he told the sivak. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

Dhamon had not taken a half-dozen steps when two Knights strolling out of the leather worker’s shop crossed his path. Perhaps they wouldn’t have given him a second thought, but his usually imperturbable mask melted into an expression of surprise. As well, he was still wearing the inside-out Solamnic Knight tabard. The tallest Knight inspected Dhamon, taking his measure and clearly not recognizing him—though his sketched image and name in block letters was hanging only a few feet away on the wall. His stockier companion, however, was reaching for his sword.

“Dhamon Grimwulf! Murderer! Thief!” the Knight cried.

The taller Knight drew his sword, too, though by the look on his face he still hadn’t made the connection.

“Commander Lawlor will reward me well when I present you to him. You will be strung up and…”

The rest of the stocky Knight’s words were lost on Dhamon. He spun about and dashed toward the alley where he’d left the sivak. From windows above the street came the shouted questions of townsfolk. “Murderer? Where?” “Thief!” People came out of the shops onto the main street where the dust was still stirring from the Knights’ departure.

Dhamon drew his sword as he slipped into the alley. “How many damn Knights are in this town anyway? I thought they all left,” he hissed. “And where’s the damn sivak?” The draconian was nowhere to be seen.

The two Legion of Steel Knights raced into the alley behind him, and Dhamon parried their first blows.

“I’ve no burning desire to kill you,” he told them, “but I’ll not let you take me.”

The stockier Knight made no reply, but he had considerable skill with his sword, and Dhamon found himself working to keep the man from skewering him.

The taller Knight was looking for a chance to join the fight, but his companion and Dhamon were moving quickly, circling and dodging and making it difficult for him to get in a solid blow without injuring his fellow Knight.

“I’ll summon the others,” the taller Knight said finally, withdrawing and heading back toward the street.

“I think not,” came a hoarse voice. The sivak stepped from behind a stack of crates, catching the Knight by surprise. Before the man could raise his sword, the sivak had stepped in, grabbed his head, and twisted it, breaking the man’s neck. The Knight fell to the ground, and the sivak looked down on the corpse with mild interest. Ragh shoved the body behind the crates, closing his eyes and concentrating. Silver muscles rippled in the shadows, folding in on themselves and changing color. A moment longer the sivak had transformed himself to look like the slain Knight.

“Murderer,” the stocky Knight spat at Dhamon. “Thief.”

“Aye,” Dhamon admitted, as he ducked beneath the swing of the man’s sword, leveling his own and slicing forward, finding a gap in the plates of the man’s armor. “I am both of those things.” The steel hissed against the Knight’s ribs, then he pulled the sword free. “Though I hadn’t intended to kill you.” Another blow and the Legion Knight crumpled. Dhamon bent and wiped his sword on the man’s cloak, then rolled the body into the shadows.

Out on the street, Dhamon saw a half-dozen more Legion Knights stirring, obviously responding to the shouts of their comrades. One was striding toward the alley.

“Damn it all,” Dhamon cursed. He put his back to the wall and readied his weapon to meet the man, but the sivak—wearing the guise of the tall knight—waved him back. Ragh stepped into the mouth of the alley and drew the approaching Knight’s attention.

“I saw the thief,” the sivak said. “One of the men on the posters.” His hoarse voice drew a puzzled look from the Knight. The disguised sivak gestured down the street. “He was running that way. I’m searching this alley for his companions.”

That seemed to satisfy the Knight, and he turned away. Ragh was quick to rejoin Dhamon, who had hid his victim’s body behind a crate. Dhamon kept his grip tight on his sword as he glanced out onto the main street.

“So… you should kill me here,” the draconian stated. “My usefulness has been served. My body will take on your appearance, and the remaining Legion of Steel Knights in this town will think someone killed you. In death I will aid you.”

Dhamon inhaled deep and considered doing just that.

“You would wear my guise, revealing your slayer,” Dhamon said. “I thought you turned to stone or exploded or something.”

“Bozaks.”

Dhamon cocked an eyebrow.

“Bozak draconians explode when they are killed. Baaz become petrified like stone.”

Dhamon nodded, recalling that the sivak he killed in the mangrove took on his appearance. He hadn’t had much experience with draconians.

The sivak glanced away, listening to a Knight passing by on the street. The Knight was talking to himself and shaking his fist in the air. He hadn’t noticed them in the shadows, and so the sivak returned its attention to Dhamon.

“You will have little peace in this part of the world if the Knights continue to post signs and seek to—”

“Bring me to justice?” Dhamon gave a clipped laugh. “I haven’t known peace for quite a long time.”

The sivak took a deep breath. “Peace would be yours if you killed me, if the Knights found your body here in this alley. They would think you dead and end their postings.”

A length of silence passed between them, then Dhamon said, “I’ve got to find Varek, get back to Mal and Riki.”

The sivak nodded. “If you are not going to kill me, I will find Varek. It is too risky. It is your turn to… stay put.”

Several minutes later, the sivak, still looking like the Legion Knight, was leading a surprised Varek into the alley. Dhamon’s hand was instantly on the young man’s throat, cutting off his words and his breath.

“You pompous young fool,” Dhamon snarled through grinding teeth. “You’ve not got the sense of a pack mule.” He relaxed his grip, then dropped his hand to his side. “Do you have any idea what you could have done, Varek, coming into this town with the Legion here? Do you? You walk right in, bold as a rooster, strut right up to the commander. The Legion of Steel Knights—any Knights for that matter—are to be avoided.” He glared at Varek for several moments. “C’mon, we’ve got to find Mal and Riki.”

They headed back, circling Graelor’s End and aiming toward the rise where Dhamon had sent Maldred and Rikali. As the three jogged toward the forest, Ragh dropped his Knight guise. Varek rambled on about the town, telling Dhamon and the sivak that he learned Graelor’s End was named for a wizard of the Red Robes, Cazen Graelor, who more than a hundred years ago died successfully defending the settlement from a force of brigands. Now a dozen Legion Knights were stationed there for defense.

“I could care less what the town’s named for,” Dhamon said. “I’ll not be visiting it again.” He picked up the pace.

As he neared the trees, a shrill scream broke the stillness. Dhamon tripped once, on a twisted piece of root hidden by the tall grass, but he picked himself up swiftly and rushed to the top of the rise. A moment more, and he was into the cover of the trees.

The screaming stopped.