“Why, with you, to see you kill the elfling, of course,” the templar said.
“Of course, nothing,” Rokan said, shoving him back hard enough to make him land on his rump in the middle of the street. “Stay here and keep out of the damn way.”
“But I am to watch...”
Rokan turned without another word and stalked off with his men. The templar picked himself up out of the dirt and glared at Rokan’s back with loathing. There had been a time when no one would have dared to treat him that way. However, those days were gone. Kalak was dead, and the templars had lost their magic. In Kalak’s time, the templar had struck fear into the hearts of anyone he even looked at harshly. Now he knew enough to be afraid of a man like Rokan, and the feeling did not sit well in the pit of his stomach. He remained behind, watching as the marauders disappeared down the street. He nervously moistened his lips. Timor would not like it, but Timor was not here, and Rokan was.
One of the marauders sidled up to Rokan as they followed Sorak at a distance. “What happens after we kill the half-breed?”
“Then the job is finished, and you will be free to go,” Rokan replied, keeping Sorak in sight as they followed him through the twisting streets. “How do we know we can trust this Timor?”
“You don’t,” said Rokan. “But never fear, Vorlak. He is not interested in you. We are insignificant in his scheme of things. He has a much bigger game to play. We are but tools he will use briefly to serve his immediate needs, and then he will cease to be concerned with us.”
“This was a bad venture all around,” grumbled Vorlak. “We never should have come here to begin with.”
“We were well paid.”
“Not nearly well enough to compensate us for what has happened,” Vorlak replied sourly. “Nor shall we receive the balance of our payment from our Nibenese patron now that we have been exposed as spies. The caravan for Altaruk has already left the city, and they have a full day’s head start. Even if we managed to secure a string of swift crodlu, which we cannot, we would never reach the others in time to warn them. They shall attack the caravan as planned, and ride straight into a trap.”
“You think I don’t know that?” Rokan replied in a surly tone. “What do you expect me to do?”
“There is nothing to be done,” said Gavik, one of the other marauders. “It is finished. Even if some of our comrades should manage to escape, they will still have to cross the tablelands, and if the desert does not kill them, what is there for them to return to? What is there for any of us to return to?”
“We still have our camp in the Mekillot Mountains,” Rokan said, “and we still have our women, and the men who did not come on the journey.”
“A mere handful,” Gavik said. “Not even enough to ambush a small caravan.”
“I began with less than that,” said Rokan, “and I can start again. Nothing is finished.”
“Then you do not plan to take this templar’s offer and remain here in his service?” Vorlak asked.
“Rokan serves no one but Rokan,” the bandit leader said, his voice practically a growl.
“But... what of your face?” asked Gavik. “You said the templar promised to heal your wounds if you served him faithfully.”
“An empty promise,” Rokan said bitterly, “which I am sure he never intended to keep. He thinks it has given him a hold on me. He shall find he is mistaken.”
“Then... why bother with this elfling?” another marauder asked. “Why not simply accept our losses and leave the city now?”
“Devak is right,” said Tigan, the fifth man of the group. “Let us quit this city now, before we run afoul of the city guard or treachery from the templars.”
“When this is finished, the rest of you can do whatever you damn well please,” said Rokan. “If you want out, then go suffocate in the Sea of Silt for all I care. But the elfling is going to pay for what he has done. And when I am finished with him, I am going to go back and kill that templar.”
“Go up against a defiler?” Devak said. “Not I.”
“Nor I,” said Gavik. “You know better than any of us what Timor can do, and yet you still think you can kill him?”
“He will think I am his man, held in thrall by his promise to heal my face and make me rich,” said Rokan. “I will act the part of his lackey, and when the moment comes, I will snap his neck or drive a blade into his ribs.”
“Leave me out of it,” said Vorlak. “I have had enough of this whole thing. I am done with it.”
“You will be done with it after the elfling is dead, and not before!” said Rokan, grabbing him by the throat. “After that, you can all rot for all I care!”
“All right,” said Vorlak in a constricted voice. “The elfling dies. But I want no part of trying to kill the templar.”
“None of us do,” said Gavik. “Suit yourselves,” said Rokan, releasing Vorlak and continuing on Sorak’s trail. He was almost out of sight now, and they had to quicken their pace to close the distance. The streets had become very dark and almost completely deserted. Lamplight burned in only a few of the buildings. Sorak turned down another street, and they hurried to catch up with him. As they came to the corner, they saw that he had entered a narrow, winding street that ended in a cul de sac. There were several alleyways leading off to either side, between the tightly clustered buildings. It was a perfect place for an ambush.
“Let’s get it over with,” said Vorlak, moving forward and reaching for his blade.
“Wait,” said Rokan, grabbing his arm. Sorak had gone into a wineshop, the only building on the street that still had lights burning within. Several people came out as he went in. The marauders watched quietly as they passed.
“We shall wait until he comes out,” Rokan said. “Vorlak, you and Tigan get ready in that alley over there.” He pointed to the dark and refuse-strewn alleyway across the narrow street. “Devak, you and Gavik take your posts in the alley on the other side. I will wait in the street, beside the entrance to the wineshop, and pretend to be a drunk. When he comes out, I’ll let him pass and then come up behind him while the rest of you come out and cut him off.”
“What if he should not come out alone?” said Tigan. “What if anyone is with him?”
“Then it will be their hard luck,” said Rokan.
Sorak paused briefly outside the entrance of the wineshop. It was an aging, two-story building of plastered, sun-baked brick, and like many of the buildings in the area, much of the plaster had worn or flaked away, exposing the bricks and mortar beneath. The entrance was not protected by an overhang. A short flight of wooden steps led to an arched, recessed opening with a heavy, studded wooden door. Above the door hung a wooden sign on which was the image of a drunken giant, rather inexpertly painted. There were two windows in the wall on either side of the door, now tightly shuttered against the night chill and the swarms of nocturnal bugs.
A couple of patrons came out of the wineshop and passed by Sorak. They were walking a bit unsteadily. As they came out, Sorak heard shouts and laughter coming from inside the shop. He went up the steps and through the doorway.
He paused a moment within the alcove and looked around. The shop was laid out in a long, open rectangle, with battered wooden tables and benches to the left and a long bar to the right. Behind the bar were crude, dusty wooden wine racks holding a vast array of bottles. A few oil lamps provided illumination in the bar area. Large, square candles, thick enough to stand by themselves, stood in the center of each table, dripping wax onto the tabletops. The interior walls, as those on the outside, were made of plastered brick, with the plaster flaking off in many places. The wood-planked floor was old and stained.
The atmosphere was a far cry from the elegance of Krysta’s dining room, and the patrons seemed to fit the atmosphere. It was a rough, surly-looking crowd, and Sorak noticed a couple of brawny half-giants at each end of the bar, keeping an eye on the customers. Each of them had a club within easy reach, and several obsidian-bladed knives tucked into his belt. The one nearer the door gave Sorak an appraising glance as he came in. His gaze lingered for a moment on the sword, its hilt just visible beneath Sorak’s open cloak. A number of people looked up at him as he came in. Sorak paused and glanced around, then passed his hand over his mouth, as if rubbing his chin absently. If anyone recognized the signal, they gave no sign of it. He walked up to the bar.