The Brat's Final Gambit

Jolan Kine waited in an indescript Inn on the outskirts of Kalavere. A low fog lent the nighttime air a dank, oppressive feel. He wanted to shift his feet impatiently, but instead forced himself to remain absolutely still. Already, time was moving against him, and he knew that the ruse was about to run its course. To everyone, it should have looked as if he had left the area. Everything that happened now depended on a variable Kine had only reluctantly set into play.

Well, he hadn’t set it into play. But if the three boys in Pirim Village were indeed what Joachim and Jort claimed they were, Kine knew that if given space and freedom, they were sure to stir up what needed stirring to expose Garrolus Kreeth and bring him down. All Kine needed to do was trust their nature. And that was a problem. When Jort and Joachim had first revealed the prophecy, Kine had been horror-stricken. Ever since Jort had brought him up from the wharf rat he had been all those years ago, fighting evil sorcerers and mages who practiced their art outside of the law had been Jolan’s life. Everything he stood for stood against the disaster wrought by the Valiere. Death camps, armies of living corpses, and wars without end had left the world scarred and decimated—and the name Valiere all but forgotten in lieu of a more fitting title—Dread Lords.

Many in Pallodine would have had the three boys’ heads parted from their bodies without hesitation. Kine still lost sleep over his decision to keep the three boys a secret. There were other elements in Pallodine, even within the Order of Hammers, that troubled Jolan. And hence, he waited uneasily on this cold night to speak with someone he would rather have avoided altogether. The crunch of gravel on cold earth alerted him to the fact that the time for the meeting had now come.

Jolan Kine spoke softly in the chilled air. “Dosir.”

The other curtly returned a name for a name. “Kine.” Jolan always found the priggish tone in Dosir’s voice grating.

“I got your message,” Kine told him—“What do you want?.”

Jolan had never liked Dosir. During his training with Jort, Dosir had done everything possible to hinder Jolan’s final ordination, stopping just short of lying about his performance.

”You are late,” Dosir said. “Some of us were beginning to wonder about you.”

Kine’s response was emotionless. “Friends give friends the benefit of the doubt.”

Dosir’s next comment left no doubt in Kine’s mind that it was both a statement and a threat. “Doubt has no benefit where the enemy is concerned.”

“And where is the enemy concerned?” Kine asked smoothly.

Dosir’s next words set him on edge. “Tell me what you have heard of this Dread Lord that appeared here two months ago.”

Kine betrayed no emotion as alarm built within him. “That depends on who you hear it from. I’ve heard he was ten feet tall and farted fire, that he could fly like a hawk, and one man even told me he took his gold and left him purse full of zemurs’ eggs before healing a little girl.”

Dosir’s voice was blunt. “One did appear to the family of a young girl. He did heal her. And he did catch the man responsible for raping her and killing her brother.”

Kine smiled easily. “Maybe he should be given a medal. You know stories like these pop up several times a year. I once had a lady tell me that a Dread Lord took all of her sheep. I was younger then and foolish enough to chase down every rumor I heard. A tree had fallen in the back of her pasture and knocked down the fence holding them in. The nearest thing I found to a Dread Lord was a hungry wolf with a sheep’s leg in its mouth.”

Kine was ready for Dosir’s next words. “I’ve heard that you are associated with a young man in the Lake Valleys named Davin Hapwell. I’ve also heard that he fits the description of the Dread Lord perfectly.”

“One problem, Hapwell doesn’t fart fire. Well, unless a particularly incorrigible friend of his holds the lit end of a stick at the bottom of his ass. Nor does he fly or turn gold into Zemur eggs.”

“I know he was at the Pelican Inn the night this Dread Lord appeared,” Dosir said, his voice suddenly becoming too smooth and too slippery. Kine knew he was trying to trap him.

“Alleged Dread Lord, you mean.”

“Yes . . . alleged.”

Dosir’s response was sly. Jolan knew it was time to end this. He dropped all pretense of flippancy. “I’ve already looked into this Dosir. Hapwell was sick in the inn. Everyone can account for that.”

Dosir wasn’t deterred. “I’ve also head stories of Gaius Sartor’s son. Rumor has it that he seems to appear and disappear at will.”

Kine interrupted him. “A complaint many mothers have about boys when chore time comes.”

“And the young man named Maldies—the incorrigible one I supposed. Is it true he found an injured boy at the bottom of Siler’s Overlook?”

“Many people like that view. All that proves is that the boy has two perfectly functioning eyes. These are just boys, Dosir. Nothing more. I’m having a hard time understanding your interest in them or your concern with my loyalties.”

Dosir’s voice became accusatory. “Why were you late?”

Jolan allowed his voice to turn icy. “I was held up by Lord Joachim discussing very real concerns in the Lake Valleys.”

“Yes. Jort’s death. Very little hard evidence to go on whether a sorcerer is present there, but I find it quite interesting that three boys keep popping up whenever there is trouble, and I’ve heard there has been quite a bit of trouble. One of our order was killed there, was he not?”

Now Jolan’s alarm shifted into defense. Dosir was way too deep into events in the Lake Valleys. Whatever his agenda was, Kine knew that the conversation was leading them across thin ice. “Whatever trouble there is, those boys aren’t a part of what is causing it. You have been there yourself. You’ve read Jort’s reports. There is a very powerful sorcerer at work.”

“You are friends with Gaius Sartor and Lord Joachim.”

Jolan was glad his hands were beneath his traveling cloak. His fingers silently loosened the thin sword hanging from his hip. “We work well together.”

Dosir leveled a steely gaze at Jolan. “Where is Lord Joachim?” he demanded.

“On his way to the closing assembly with regional lords, as is his duty.” Kine said coldly.

“And yet Garrolus Kreeth has lodged an official complaint about you and the undue interest you are paying him while you cozy up with your other two friends. Both Kreeth and Gaius Sartor have been named as potential appointments to the lower house.”

“If Kreeth has nothing to worry about, I’d think he would have no problem with one of our order doing our job,” Kine snapped.

“To many it looks like you are playing politics,” Dosir challenged.

“Too many it looks like are playing politics,” Kine countered.

“Garrolus Kreeth has many friends not only within both houses, but the crown as well, or have you forgotten?”

Ah. Here it was at last. Jolan’s body became as taut as a tightly wound spring. He was ready to draw his blade the instant Dosir made a wrong move. Now it was Kine’s turn to make accusations. “How many friends does he have among our order?”

“This is a very close to treason,” Dosir hissed.

“Then make your accusation and let’s settle this now,” Jolan said, sweeping his cloak aside, freeing up his sword arm.

Dosir gave him a sardonic smile. “No. Stories of those boys have reached the highest levels. If they are what has been rumored, you know what you were supposed to do. Or is your loyalty toward your duty in question?” Dosir asked mockingly. Kine’s blood ran cold, and he knew he had to leave for Pirim Village tonight.

*

Dosir watched Jolan Kine walk away. On cue, his associate stepped out from the shadows. “Tonight?” Ravel asked.

Dosir nodded. “Tonight. When I am in plain view of dozens of people.”

Ravel held up a crossbow. “Jort’s crossbow,” he chuckled wickedly.

Dosir smiled. “I do love life’s ironies.”

Jolan Kine hurried, not caring whose saddle he took. If this theft were the least of his sins, he knew judgment day would go in his favor. As he worked the girth’s straps and checked to be sure he had tightened it enough, his mind worked furiously over the conversation with Dosir, who had all but admitted he was in league with the sorcerer, which meant that if he didn’t leave immediately, his life was in grave danger.

No sooner did that thought pass through his mind than a searing pain lanced through the back of his hip. An agonized cry escaped his lips, and his left leg buckled. He went down. His entire leg felt as if it had suddenly been set ablaze.

Jolan crawled beneath his horse, trying to put a barrier between himself and his attacker, who must have been hiding in the rafters. If the assassin reloaded before he found cover, there was nothing he could do.

Suddenly, from the direction of the attack, Kine heard a loud grunt and then a pronounced thud of someone tumbling to the ground. A loud curse and the sounds of fighting followed. Kine continued to drag himself forward. When the fighting stopped, it was followed by the sound of fleeing footsteps.

Jolan prepared himself as someone approached. A firm grip closed around his arm. “Let me help you,” Joachim said gruffly.

“Good thing you stuck around for me,” Jolan said between gritted teeth.

Joachim grunted in agreement. “Solum bean poison,” he said, holding the thick shaft of a short crossbow bolt.

“How much time?” Jolan grimaced.

“The arrow went straight through. You probably didn’t get a full dose,” Joachim’s voice was matter of fact as always.

“Is that your professional opinion?”

“I’ve been wrong before,” Joachim deadpanned.

“That makes me feel better.”

“Those boys are in trouble,” Joachim said as he tried helping Jolan to his feet.

Through waves of pain, Jolan agreed. “This goes all the way to Pallodine.”

“No wonder Jort kept quiet about what he was onto,” Joachim said. “Curse the man and his secrets.” As he tried to hold Kine steady, he added, “Your plan to use those boys better have worked.”

Kine felt light headed. “They do have talent for trouble.”

Joachim was worried. “If we move against Kreeth, will it buy them some time?”

The world around Jolan began to spin and tilt. “It will certainly give Kreeth’s allies something to chew on,” he heard himself respond.

“Let’s get you on this horse,” Joachim said, moving his increasingly limp body toward the mount.

Jolan’s vision began to tighten and constrict. “Don’t think I can hold on,” he mumbled.

“If you fall off, I’ll drag you,” was the last thing he heard Joachim say.