To Belgad, Percifidus looked like an old frog that had long outlived its hopping days. The man was short and stooped with a head that held only a few white hairs combed over it. His yellow eyes appeared too large for his pinched face and his chin did not exist, the skin of his jaws flowing into fleshy jowls. He wore a simple toga, once white but now stained yellow with age and grime. Percifidus’s hands clutched a small black bag by its twin leather handles.
“It is about time you arrived.” Belgad was none too happy.
Percifidus, with Lalo glowering behind him, paused in the doorway to one of the many rooms in the basement of Belgad’s manor. This particular room was dim, a single torch hanging on a wall to provide light. The far wall was of natural rock while the others consisted of mortared stone. In the center of the room was a table of gray marble atop which lay a man of size, his ankles and wrists tied by leather bands attached to ropes that disappeared beneath the table. The man appeared to be unconscious and was unclothed except for a simple cotton loin covering.
Percifidus lumbered into the room and placed his bag at one end of the marble table between the unconscious man’s feet. He proceeded to open the bag and rummage through it. After a few moments he withdrew miniature tools, similar to those surgeons and healers used. One of the tools was a small pair of sharpened pliers with points on their ends. Another was a saw small enough to fit into one hand. Other tools appeared to be needles of various sizes and shapes, some with crooked or curved ends. The last tool extracted from the bag was a small knife, mostly handle with a short, curved blade.
Percifidus turned his attention to the master of the house. “Will you provide an apron?”
Belgad waved a finger at Lalo. “See to it.”
Lalo nodded in return and disappeared into the dark hall beyond the room.
Percifidus blinked his froggy eyes, looking for all the world like a sick toad ready to croak. “A chair would be appreciated. I’m not as young as I used to be.”
Belgad grimaced and reached beneath the table to withdraw a wooden stool. He placed the four-legged seat next to the table to the left of the unconscious man’s head.
Percifidus used a cloth to wipe down his tools and placed them on the table between the unconscious man’s legs. “If I may ask, who is he?”
“Local sergeant of the city guard. He has information of which I am in need.”
“So you will want to be present during the operation?”
Belgad nodded, irritated. “Yes.” He did not like Percifidus. More correctly, he detested the service Percifidus performed, however necessary it might be.
The little, toad-like man was a vivisectionist, a non-magical healer who performed surgery and experimentation on living beings. He was known in Bond’s underworld as useful for interrogations.
The vivisectionist went back to work, making sure his utensils were in good order. “My usual fee will be doubled since you wish to be present for the procedure.”
Belgad gritted his teeth. “Very well. I’ll need to ask him some questions once you waken him.”
Percifidus retrieved a pair of brown stoppered bottles from his bag and placed them next to his tools. “How far do you want me to take this?”
Belgad was nonplussed for a moment. He understood the question, but he was not sure how to answer.
“Your man Lalo did not explain to me the extent to which you want me to attend to this man,” Percifidus said, gesturing over Gris. “Do you wish only minor treatment? Amputation? Dismemberment? Complete dissection?”
“I want answers to my questions, and I want them to be truthful.”
Lalo the Finder appeared in the doorway with Stilp, but they did not enter the room. “My lord, we have a situation.”
Percifidus continued to arrange his utensils as if he were not interested in what Lalo had to convey, but Belgad immediately walked to his servant.
The lord grimaced as if anticipating bad news, the only kind he seemed to receive of late. “What is the problem?”
Lalo looked up to his employer. “Master Markwood is in your library awaiting your presence, and he has made a bit of a ruckus while waiting.”
Belgad’s grimace did not improve. “What kind of ruckus?”
It was Stilp who spoke, his face ashen. “A bunch of guards have been put to sleep, and Markwood won’t wake them until he speaks with you.”
Belgad grabbed Lalo by a shoulder and glanced over at Percifidus and Gris. “Stay here and do not let him begin until I have returned.”
“As you wish.” The Finder nodded.
Belgad pointed at Stilp. “Come with me.”
***
Although Kron had been inside Belgad’s mansion before, he had not had an opportunity to familiarize himself with the layout of the building. Fortunately for him, Adara had spent a good deal of time within the confines of the walls and could describe the basic design of the place.
The man in black and his student skulked in an alley near the Dartague’s manor.
His black cloak making him all but invisible, Kron stared out across the way and up the hill to the mansion. “Randall will be expecting you.”
“You should not attempt this alone.” Adara gave her new teacher a stern look which went unseen in the shadows. “It is much too dangerous and Belgad will show you no mercy.”
“I am expecting none, and I would show none, but you as of yet are not wanted by local constables, and I need someone to buy horses for us before we leave in the morning.”
This was part of Kron’s plan. Adara had been taken into the man’s confidence, learning in their trek from the healing tower to Belgad’s that Kron and Randall were traveling to Kobalos. She had thought it suicide, but Kron had promised she did not have to enter Kobalos. Considering the powerful enemies Kron and Randall faced, Adara was not sure it was smart of her to join them, but she had always entertained challenges. And heading to Kobalos with Belgad possibly trailing definitely would be a challenge.
Some of the gold for buying horses and supplies came from Kron, but Adara was not without a good bit of funds and offered it for the overall good of the three. Darkbow was hesitant, but accepted knowing he had little other choice. Adara prompted him on his current lack of heavy weaponry, meaning a sword and bow, and his reply was that he would correct the situation at Belgad’s mansion.
Soon they parted, Kron slinking toward the walls of Belgad’s manor while Adara made her way east into the heart of the Swamps, seeking stables willing to sell four steeds in the middle of the night.
Nearing the walls of the fortress, Kron trotted around the structure. He was surprised to find the front gate hanging open and two guards flat on their backs on the gravel path leading to the main house.
From inside his cloak, Kron drew a dagger and a fire grenado. He approached the open gate with caution but as far as he could see there were no other guards.
He checked the downed men near the gate and discovered they were not dead, but snoring away their time on duty.
The man in black grinned. He did not know who had performed this miracle for him, but he realized it was of a magical nature. He hoped it was Verkain, his war demons perhaps returning early and not happy with Belgad. He doubted as much, but Adara had told him she had heard the demons were expected to return for an answer as to Randall’s whereabouts.
Kron helped himself to one of the dozing guards’ swords and belt. He wrapped the weapon onto his back, noting it was heavy but shorter than the sword he was used to carrying.
Under shadow he made his way toward Belgad’s front door. There was little cover in the openness of the huge front lawn, but Kron felt sure no one could see him. It was a dark night and he was, as usual, all in black.
To his surprise the heavy front doors to the main building also hung open. Just inside, another pair of guards slept on the floor. Kron would never have planned on walking through the front door, but it appeared either Ashal had taken pity on him or a stroke of stupendous fortune had presented itself.
Belgad’s voice boomed from inside. “What the hell does he want?”
Kron leaned forward to spy around the edge of one of the open doors.
Belgad, along with the dumpy figure of Stilp, was hurrying up the curved stairs of the front hall.
“It’s got something to do with the healer, Tendbones,” Stilp said, not more than a few feet behind the hulking Dartague.
Before more could be said, the two men vanished upstairs.
Kron hesitated. What little he had heard had given him pause, making him wonder if he should not try to follow the two. They had been speaking of Randall, and the healer’s safety was of import. But Gris was somewhere on these grounds, needing his freedom or already dead. Kron decided he would have to go on with his search for the sergeant. Randall was in no immediate danger, and Kron had faith Adara would not turn traitor. Gris needed saving. Kron Darkbow was the man to save him.
As he moved into the house, Kron promised himself he would not make the same mistakes he had in the past. It was a time for results, not showmanship. He had embarrassed Belgad enough. Rescuing the sergeant had to be the priority, but he still hoped for a chance to end the large northerner’s life.
***
Percifidus found himself with nothing to do until the Liar returned, so he sat on the stool next to Gris’s unmoving body and waited. Belgad had left Lalo the Finder with the vivisectionist, but the two had nothing to say to one another.
Lalo stood as still as the unconscious sergeant, his hands clasped in front of him near the room’s open door.
The servant and the vivisectionist had not been long in their silence when both heard soft steps approaching through the hall outside the room.
Lalo turned to the sound. “Did you placate him, my lord?”
A black fist caught the Finder in the face sending him reeling to the floor in front of the table.
“Oh my.” Percifidus stood away from the stool.
“Do not move.” Kron entered the room with his new sword pointed at the vivisectionist.
Lalo touched his broken nose, which was leaking red down his robes. Kron gave the man credit for not crying or calling out; it would have been the end of his life if he had done either.
The Finder glared up at the man who had wounded him. “What do you want?”
“Him.” Kron’s sword pointed at Gris.
Lalo gave a snake’s smile. “Take him if you like, but you’ll never make it out of the house.”
“I beg to differ. It appears someone has already taken care of the guards.” Kron wore an evil smile of his own.
Lalo moved to stand.
“Don’t.” Kron waved his weapon in front of the Finder’s face.
Lalo remained sitting on the floor, but his face showed he was not happy about it.
“You,” Kron said, turning his blade toward the vivisectionist, “untie the sergeant.”
Percifidus glanced at Gris. “He’s leashed with leather straps. I’ll have to cut them.”
“Then proceed, but do so very carefully. I’m only a hair away from finishing you both as it is.”
With shaking hands, Percifidus reached out slowly and lifted his small knife from the table and began to saw at the bindings around one of Gris’s wrists.
Lalo used a sleeve to wipe the blood from beneath his nose as he glared up at Kron. “Even without guards, Belgad will take care of you.”
“Just like at his party?” Kron’s words held some mirth, but he continued to watch every move of Percifidus.
Lalo sat back, resting on his hands. “He is not alone. He is upstairs in his library this minute with Professor Markwood from the college of magic. I am sure the professor can deal with you.”
Kron gave a brief glance to the Finder before turning his eyes back on the vivisectionist. “Then your master can explain why he was trying to kill the professor’s friend.”
Lalo sneered beneath his crumpled nose. “You mean that healer?”
“Exactly. I don’t think Markwood would appreciate —”
The blade came in high, aimed for Kron’s throat. He barely had time to step back and avoid the slash before Percifidus was swinging the knife around for another attack.
The short, plump man had caught Kron off guard. The vivisectionist no longer looked afraid. The animal instinct to kill had replaced the fear in his eyes. He had used his own deceptive appearance and Lalo’s distraction to his advantage.
Kron mentally scolded himself for making another mistake, for not paying more attention to the possible threat Percifidus presented. But he had no time to linger on his thoughts. The knife was coming in for a killing stab.
Instinct and training took over. Kron sidestepped Percifidus’s blade, twirled and swung his own sword.
A meaty chopping noise followed as the heavy blade cut through the vivisectionist’s throat, spraying streams of blood on the gray walls.
Percifidus remained on his feet. His knife dropped as he grabbed at his throat in a vain attempt to stem the flow of life. It was too late, however, and the man’s froggy eyes rolled back in his head. He splattered to the floor in his own gore.
Kron pointed his dripping sword at the Finder. “Release the sergeant.”
After witnessing the vivisectionist's scarlet death, Lalo wasted no time doing what he had been told. In less than a minute, Gris’s bindings were removed.
Kron’s luck still held. Belgad had not returned.
But the man in black could not leave Lalo free. The Finder was no combatant, and to Kron’s knowledge had never killed anyone. Belgad’s servant would live.
“My apologies.” Kron threw another punch.
The Finder bounced back from the blow and crashed into the wall. He slid to the ground still conscious, but he now wore a black eye.
“Sorry, again.” Kron smirked and stepped forward.
Lalo put up an arm to shield himself, but it was no good. Two more punches and Belgad’s man was out cold.
Kron rubbed his gloved knuckles. “Must be losing my touch.”
***
Unaware of the events going on beneath his feet, Belgad marched into his library, slamming the door open before entering.
Maslin Markwood sat in one of the cushioned chairs facing the desk. The old wizard’s gray beard hung over his dark robes as he twisted in his seat to glare at the master of the house.
Belgad noticed the flames in the fireplace were higher and brighter than he had left them. A bottle of Ursian brandy from his personal stock sat uncorked on top of the desk. A short glass with a hint of brown liquor in its bottom sat on the corner of the desk nearest the wizard.
The northerner had not known what to expect, but he would not have guessed this. From what Lalo had said, Belgad had expected the magician to be in an uproar.
“Welcome. Have a seat.” Markwood waved at the chair behind the desk. “It is your house, after all.”
“Yes, it is.” Anger was building behind the Dartague’s eyes, but he was smart enough to remain wary. Belgad feared no man, but Markwood was more than a man. Magic, in the northerner’s experience, was not to be trusted, and Markwood was said to be one of the most powerful wizards in the city.
Belgad cautiously made his way behind the desk and sat, scanning the room to make sure everything was in place and he was in no imminent danger.
“I suppose you know why I am here.” The wizard reached for the glass.
Belgad watched the old man throw back the last of the drink. The wizard did not appear drunk, but his subdued behavior unsettled the Dartague.
Markwood slammed his glass on the desk hard enough for a narrow crack to appear in the drinking vessel. “Where is he?”
“I know not the location nor the condition of the healer.”
Markwood’s unblinking eyes remained on the much larger man.
Belgad watched the mage tighten his grip on the nearly-shattered glass. “Is that why you have invaded my home and disabled my guards?”
Markwood’s dark gray eyebrows creased. “I know much of what happened today. Randall’s use of the ring was difficult not to notice. The presence of the war demons was even harder to ignore. I know Randall was at the cemetery, and I know three demons made an appearance. By the time I arrived at the cemetery, all I found were dead men, all of them known to work for you. After that, I do not know what became of Randall. You will tell me.”
“I have nothing to say.”
“Are you positive?”
“I cannot tell you of what I do not know.”
Markwood stared a moment further at the northerner, his dark look growing more hard, then he turned to the fireplace. He pursed his lips as if he were kissing the air, then spat a straight line of auburn fluid across the room into the fire.
As soon as the liquid reached the flames, a blaze sprang from the hearth and shot up the wall to catch afire the bottom of a scarlet tapestry threaded in gold.
Belgad looked more annoyed than frightened.
The wizard gestured and the fires attacking the tapestry disappeared as if a strong wind had blown through the room.
The northerner did not look overly impressed. “Very nice, but it will get you nowhere.”
“If I find you are not telling the truth and Randall has been harmed,” the wizard said with gritted teeth, “I will return and burn away everything in this household. I will melt all your gold, slay all your soldiers and watch the bricks of this place crumble to the ground.”
Belgad leaned forward, his elbows resting on his desk as his hands formed into a triangle beneath his chin. “I have taken into consideration who you are and what you mean to this community, but do not make the mistake of threatening me.”
“I do not threaten.” Markwood stood, looming. “I only make you aware of certain possibilities.”
“Then allow me to provide my own possibilities. If you ever intrude upon my home again, I will be forced to arrange for one of my swords to intermingle with your intestines.”
Markwood nodded. “It is good we understand one another.”
“Yes.”
The wizard spun, his robes billowing out behind him, and marched out of the library.
The large northern man sat and pondered the wizard’s words. Belgad would have to do something about increasing the magical security of his home. With Trelvigor gone, he would need a new wizard, one who was not so insane.