“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.