Dragon Heartstone > Chapter 37–Unwanted Decisions

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Dathon stared at the scrolls on his desk in the palace study and frowned. It was as he feared. Less than a third of the men listed on the King’s Guard muster rolls remained. Some companies had melted away entirely. The call-to-arms had done no better, with fewer than half the provinces sending anyone. Those who did arrive were often unusable–old men, cripples, and idiots. Such material made it impossible to wage war on Bretagne. Conscription wasn’t an option–there wasn’t enough time to follow through. Only one way remained; though he didn’t want to, Dathon had to use it.

He looked up at an aide. “Send in the commander of the Mortain Guard.” The aide disappeared and returned within minutes, followed by a stubby, bald man clad in black leather. From his hip dangled a short sword. “I have a task for you,” Dathon said.

Quorous smiled, and a gold tooth gleamed. The Magus tossed the man a bag of coins. “Take this and round up any sellsword who wants to earn gold daily as part of the King’s guard.”

The mercenary hefted the bag and raised an eyebrow. “My men will be pleased, for now.”

Dathon glared. “You needn’t worry. There’s plenty where that came from. That will get you started. Have everyone hired and ready to march in the next day or so.”

“That doesn’t give me much time to find or train them,” Quorous replied, his voice raspy.

“I don’t care,” Dathon said. “I’ll take what I can get.”

“As you wish,” Quorous replied, tucking the money bag into his belt. He turned on his heel and left.

Dathon sighed. Mercenaries were expensive, but for once, money was not an issue. The funds came from what the Council had initially agreed to pay the Brotherhood, which was no longer needed.

* * *

Coronados ground his teeth. The same result at every gate. No one is allowed to leave. Only a long line of riffraff shuffling into the city. He had already dodged three patrols by the red-robed Enforcers, whose job was ensuring everyone followed the new King’s daily proclamations. A more apt description of their duties was to harass citizens and keep them off the streets. He avoided eye contact as they led their horses by the southwest gate. His thoughts darkened at being taken unaware and, worse, betrayed. Though he had considered the idea, he hadn’t believed the Council would turn on the Brotherhood and go after their safe houses.

“Look,” Larah whispered harshly. Coronados followed her gaze to the right. A group of Enforcers huddled in the shadows of a side street, and one of them followed their movement.

“I see them,” Coronados commented. “Just keep walking. I have one more place to go.” So they continued to walk toward the palace, but the Enforcers followed at a distance. In front of a tavern, Coronados hastily hobbled their horses and led Larah inside. He looked at the empty tables and chairs and for the barkeep, but none could be found. His hackles went up. He whipped around and asked Larah. “Where are the Enforcers?”

She risked a glance out a side window. “They’re almost here.”

He needed to lose the girl. “This way,” he whispered and darted behind the bar. He squatted on the floor and ran his hook along the surface before catching it on a metal latch. A quick yank and a floor panel swung upward, revealing a dark hole. He spoke to Larah, “Get in.”

She hesitated.

“Do it, or we will get caught,” Coronados insisted.

Still, she resisted.

“Will this convince you?” He reached up and touched the witch’s noose around her neck, “Dimitte pythones [Release the witch]” The necklace popped off and fell into his hand.

The door to the tavern opened. “Now, get in,” he hissed.

Larah slid inside, and Coronados lowered the door, but Larah held it open for a second. “Aren’t you coming?”

“No,” Coronados said. “Escape if you can. I will do likewise.” With his good hand, he pushed the door shut.

* * *

In the cramped darkness, Larah rubbed her neck, free of that infernal witch’s noose. Relief washed over her but was replaced by the reality of her situation. How was she going to get free? The scuffling of feet overhead caught her attention. Shouts, thumps, and the sounds of breaking glass erupted above her. Footsteps echoed from all directions, followed by another loud thump that tossed ceiling dust onto her clothes. Yelling continued, as did a scraping noise, which wandered toward the tavern door. Then silence.

She waited several minutes, then pushed on the trapdoor. Bits of glass fell on her as she peeked through the crack. She raised the door slowly, then pulled herself up into the tavern. The room was dark except for the shafts of ambient light coming in from the windows. Broken cups, plates, and glass littered the floor, as did several puddles, one of which was unmistakably blood. Bloody footprints trailed out the door, as did boot scuff marks. A quick inspection of the area revealed no one. After lowering the trapdoor back into place, she slipped toward the window and looked outside. The streets stood empty and dark, filled with shadows, as the late afternoon sunlight now only caught the tops of the city’s buildings.

She was free. Or was she? Free of the witch’s noose but trapped in a city full of anti-magical zealots. What had happened to Coronados? The boot marks on the floor were his, so the Enforcers must have dragged him off. She should have been happy her captor had been taken since he killed Alric and meant to sell her into slavery. But, he did not force himself on her, as she feared, and instead saved her life by hiding her. For that, she was grateful.