City of Scars (The Skullborn Trilogy, Book 1) Read online

  I should probably stop doing that.

  Dane shifted the vra’taar sheathed across his back. It was a rare weapon in Jlantria, and all but invisible that far east. He knew it was probably a mistake to display the sword so prominently, but at that moment he didn’t care.

  “If you’ve got no coin,” the innkeeper said, “there’s nothing I can do for you.”

  “Fine.” Dane turned to leave the dingy establishment when a hand caught his arm. He pulled away and turned around to face a lovely Den’nari woman. She wore a crimson overcoat, a tight white blouse that hugged her voluptuous frame and a burgundy skirt embroidered with silver. Silky midnight hair hung down to her waist, and her sapphire eyes shone bright, a contrast to her dark and painted skin. She smiled.

  “I’ll buy you a drink,” she said, her tone at once commanding and sultry. Dane guessed she was a woman used to getting what she wanted.

  “Actually, I need a bed,” he said.

  “One thing at a time,” she said. “We just met.” She pointed to an empty table in the corner before moving past Dane to speak with the innkeeper.

  Dane hesitated. It wasn’t in his nature to trust people, but the possibilities of both a drink and the company of an attractive woman were enticing, so he made his way to the table.

  Pipe-smoke suffused the inn. Rickety tables packed the main room, which was barely large enough to accommodate a handful of people. What looked to be a century’s worth of alcohol spills covered the hardwood floor, and the scent of hard black brandy – one of the few cultural remnants of the vanquished Empire of Gallador – blended with the odor of sweet tobacco. Reddish dusk light crept in through the dirty windows.

  A pair of black antlers hung over a tiny hearth, thick wolf-hide rugs lay scattered on the floor, and a number of old war trophies from Gallador’s long-lost days of glory had been crudely nailed to the walls. Most curious of those trinkets were the ring’tai, small throwing blades which could sever a man’s hand from twenty feet away. Dane doubted those on display were capable of such a feat, since they were so obviously dull they might as well have been training forks.

  Dane was so busy watching the wall he accidentally bumped into someone’s chair.

  “Watch it!” a thin man yelled. He’d been engaged in a dice game with a pair of fellow Raithians, pale-skinned seafolk wearing dark cloaks and facial chains. Those dice players, the Den’nari woman, and a few local laborers were all that passed for patronage in the Red Witch.

  “Sorry,” Dane said, in a tone he hoped made clear he wasn’t sorry at all. The Raithians wore evilly curved blades on their belts. They started to rise, but Dane stood his ground, and after a moment the man he’d bumped into hesitated, looked Dane over and slowly sat back down. The others followed suit, and the three of them returned to their game. Dane waited a moment longer before he moved on and seated himself at the table furthest from the center of the room.

  “You’d best be careful,” the woman said as she sat down across from him. She set a pair of goblets filled with dark liquer on the table. “They’ve killed before.”

  “So have I,” he said. The sharp licorice-flavored brandy burned down his throat. He looked at the three men, now quietly discussing some gambling event they planned to attend later that evening.

  “I’m sure you have,” the woman said with a smile. “My name is Vellexa.”

  “Azander.” He took another sip. Goddess, this tastes like piss. “Why did you buy me a drink, Vellexa?” Dane pulled the vra’taar from around his shoulders and set it on the table. The exposed hilt blade shone even in the dull light.

  “Because you obviously needed one, Dane,” she smiled. “Your social graces could use some honing.”

  Dane sat back and considered her. “How did you know my surname?” he asked in his best mock-friendly tone.

  “I know a lot of things, especially about former Dawn Knights.” Vellexa was coolly reserved. She flashed an impossibly bright smile.

  “Well, we are a dying breed,” Dane said. He looked around the Red Witch, struck by an unusual sense of awkwardness. My social skills are lacking, he thought. “So…you live here?”

  “What, in the bar?” she said with a laugh.

  Dane laughed as well, in spite of himself. “No, in Ebonmark.”

  “Yes, for a while. It’s become an easier place to live since Jlantria took over again.” Vellexa sipped her drink, and for the first time Dane noticed her black tongue. It was only apparent in just the right light, but the muscle was tainted with shadows, an almost invisible layer of dust-like particles that might have been smoke.

  She’s a Bloodspeaker, he thought. Great.

  “But you just arrived,” she said.

  “Don’t worry. I won’t linger.”

  “You won’t be able to without Jlantrian coin,” she said. “I’m surprised to see you this far west. I’d heard you were in…was it Raithe? Or Blackmoon?”

  “Raithe.” Azander cracked the muscles in his neck. The journey through the Bonelands had been long, and he was badly in need of a real bed. “I was up there a lot longer than I had any right to be. Long enough to miss the big news…when did Jlantria re-take Ebonmark?”

  “Just a few weeks ago,” she told him. “The Empress appointed a Marshall for the city – Colonel Blackhall – and he promptly liquidated Ebonmark’s Den’nari council. I don’t think the Den’nari government cared, because they didn’t put up much of a fight. The Den’nari in the city have been allowed to stay so long as they follow Jlantrian laws, use Jlantrian money and worship the One Goddess in Jlantrian churches.”

  Dane laughed. With so much chaos at the end of the Rift War the Empires had nearly fallen apart…except Gallador, which was already gone, and whose destruction had actually helped bring about the end of the conflict. Thirty years had passed since the Blood Queen’s death, yet neither Jlantria nor Den’nar had managed to reestablish much control over their territories. The time of the Empires had all but passed, and Malzaria was now populated by city-states fighting to maintain their autonomy.

  Ebonmark had never fared as well as some of the other places like Urag Kesh, Allaj Mohrter, Kaldrak Iyres or Raithe, all of which had actually managed to keep Imperial influence at bay. The city had originally declared independence from Jlantria only because Den’nar had lent them military aid; naturally, Den’nar promptly took the city over following that first secession, at least for a time. Then Ebonmark won its independence from Den’nar and Jlantria once again seized control, and a few years later Den’nar reestablished enough influence over the city’s trade to force the Jlantrians out, but that didn’t last long, either. Even this “new” Jlantrian control over Ebonmark would be temporary. Everyone seemed to want Ebonmark because of its advantageous location at the old boundaries of the Empires, like that mattered anymore. Dane wished both Jlantria and Den’nar would just fade away and get it over with instead of dying this prolonged death, kicking and screaming and dragging everyone else down with them.

  “Well, the White Dragon’s control over Ebonmark must not be too tight,” he said. “I only spotted a few troops, and I strolled right through the East Gate and up to the door of this fine establishment.”

  “Like I said…life’s been easier since Jlantria took over,” Vellexa smiled. “I understand Blackhall hasn’t set up garrisons in the city yet. Ebonmark is a big place. You’re lucky you didn’t try to come in through the North Gate – that’s where most of his troops are stationed. They’re camped outside like they have us under siege.”

  Dane nodded. “Good to know.” He took another drink. “But you didn’t answer my other question,” he said.

  “You mean why I bought you a drink?” She’d just finished her own.

  “What do you want?” he asked.

  “Maybe I just want to help a man in need,” she said with a smile. “Everyone knows what happened to the Dawn Knights.”

  “And they’re smart enough not to talk about it,” he said coldly. “So…you
paid for my drink. Thanks. I’ll pay you back in the next life.” He stood to leave but Vellexa grabbed his wrist. For such a petite-looking woman she had an ample grip.

  “Wait,” she said. “Please.”

  Dane looked down at her hand. “That’s the second time you’ve laid hands on me today, darling, which is two times too many.”

  “All right,” she said. She set both of her hands flat on the table. “See? No touching…if that’s what you really want.”

  Dane licked his lips. She was easy on the eyes. He hesitated a moment before he sat back down.

  “Thank you,” Vellexa said. There was a hint of impatience to her tone.

  “Thank me by telling me what the hell it is you want.”

  Her eyes were cold. Dane had no way of knowing how powerful she was, but as a Bloodspeaker she was bound to know plenty of charms and illusory enchantments, neither of which worried him. Dane knew a thing or two about Touching the Veil himself.

  “What brought you to Ebonmark?” she asked.

  “Do you always answer questions with more questions?” Dane asked. “It’s an annoying habit.”

  “You seem to know all about those,” she said. “Just like you know what kind of place the Red Witch is, don’t you?” Dane did, or at least thought he did: a den of cutthroats and mercenaries-for-hire. Ebonmark’s state of perpetual disorder made it a haven for black market smuggling and slave trafficking, though so far as crime went the city paled in comparison to Kaldrak Iyres or Raithe. But the turnout at the Inn wasn’t exactly what Dane had expected…a few ruffians and a pair of strong-backs wasn’t an altogether impressive clientele, and he told Vellexa such.

  “It’s early yet,” Vellexa smiled. “And it’s not Knuckle-Night. That’s when things really pick up in here.”

  “Knuckle-Night?”

  “Blood sports. Illegal death battles. Knuckle-Night is when the Red Witch gets crowded – it’s one of the betting stations.”

  “Then maybe I should come back then,” Dane said, and he started to stand up.

  “I can give you work,” Vellexa said, exasperated.

  Dane smiled. I can wear down anyone’s patience. “Well, Goddess be good, we’ve finally come to the point,” he said. “But what makes you think I’m looking for work?”

  “Don’t kid yourself,” Vellexa said. “A former Dawn Knight in a place like this? You’re either looking for work or you’re looking for something to buy…and we both know your money is no good here. Besides, like I said…I know all about you.”

  Dane sat back and folded his arms. “All right,” he said with a nod. “You’re in charge…what kind of work?”

  Vellexa put a hand down her blouse, reached between her ample breasts – Dane tried not to gape – and pulled out a small leather pouch, which she dropped on the table with a heavy clink.

  “There’s money for a meal and another drink. Be at the Old City Center an hour after sundown. My employer wants to meet you.” Vellexa stood to leave. “Try not to start too many fights, Azander. Blackhall and the Jlantrians might not take too kindly to your presence.”

  “You’re leaving?”

  “Yes,” she said with a smile. “It seems your charm has its limits.”

  She crossed the smoky room and vanished out the door. Dane wanted to ask who her employer was, but thought better of it. He needed the money, and too much knowledge would probably just make him want to change his mind.

  He sat alone for a time, one hand resting on the table. He stared into the smoke-filled room, focused on nothing in particular. Vellexa might have grated on his nerves but he was still disappointed she’d left. He hadn’t had a woman in months. He hadn’t had much of anything in months.

  No…I’ve been adrift much longer than that.

  Everything had been better before, in his other life. There was nothing for him now, and yet he searched for something he couldn’t even put a name to, day after day, without direction or purpose. Dane knew something had to change, but there was little chance of that happening in Ebonmark…or Raithe, or Blackmoon, or Kaldrak Iyres, or any of the other shitholes he’d been crawling around in for the past three miserable years.

  Dane closed his eyes and rested his forehead on the back of his dirty hand.

  Goddess, I’m tired.

  His nerves were frayed, and the old scar on his stomach itched. Dane’s heart pounded, so he took slow and easy breaths to calm down.

  He wanted to be away from himself. To vanish and reappear in some far off place.

  It’s too late for that, he thought. You made your choice. You live with it.

  “What am I doing here?” he whispered.

  He sees the black face. Its toothy smile is broad and wicked.

  The man walks around a circle of women, their heads bowed low. Their naked bodies shiver against the cold night wind, and tears run down their faces. The blaze of orange fires casts flickering light on their dirty flesh.

  The man laughs. He presses the tip of his serrated blade against each woman’s back, one at a time, leaving the edge just long enough to draw blood before he moves on to the next. It takes a long time for him to decide which one to kill first.

  Dane watches. He knows it will be his turn to take up the blade next.

  What have I become?

  Dane snapped to at the sound of the front door. Four men and a short woman – their unkempt appearances and mottled fur hides marked them as Hill People – entered the Inn and took a table not far from Dane. Everything else was the same as when he’d dozed off. Dane shook himself. The brandy must have hit him harder than he’d thought.

  He picked up the pouch and turned it around in his hand, felt the weight of the coins inside. He looked out the window. New shadows fell on the wooden rooftops, and the molten sun oozed low behind a bed of blue-black clouds. The wind had picked up, and thick dust whipped through the street. The grain shop across the road had its lamp lit, as it would be dark soon.

  Dane’s eyes focused on his own reflection in the window. He saw unkempt blonde hair, a week’s worth of stubble on his lean face, dead blue eyes that had once sparkled with life. He was tall and broad-shouldered, could even be considered a fine physical specimen, but he didn’t feel it. All he felt was empty inside.

  Sometimes he still heard the screams. They haunted him, and always would.

  Keep moving. That’s all you can do now. Just keep moving.

  Dane slowly stood up, walked over to the bar, and ordered the first real meal he’d had in weeks.

  Two

  Night ran chill fingers down the nape of Dane’s neck. He shivered and drew his heavy cloak tight as he checked his Dragian pocketwatch for the time. Thin shards of moonlight sliced through the cobalt clouds and danced across the rooftops. The air was thick with the stench of burning.

  Most of Ebonmark’s buildings were a combination of wood and stone, but the structures near the Old City Center were made entirely of crumbling marble, a testament to the area’s age and faded significance. Ebonmark had once been rich, but from what Dane had seen the nexus of the city had fallen on even harder times than its poorer neighborhoods, and in spite of the presence of stone columns and statues the streets were caked with mud, the walls had been ruined with scorch marks and most of the doors had long been smashed apart.

  Dane stood hidden behind a stone column in the vestibule of an old building, out of sight from anyone in the street but still positioned so he had a clear vantage of the Old City Center, which was dominated by a twenty-foot tall statue of Corvinia. That particular depiction of the One Goddess wasn’t the more popular visage of an avenging warrior-dame; rather, the Jlantrian architects of Ebonmark had chosen the less severe depiction of the mother-queen holding a loose robe over her breasts and around her lower back. The stone Goddess’s braided hair was done in the style still worn by Dames and the female aristocracy. A blue-white fountain at the statue’s base trickled algaed water into a pool of filth and refuse. Though the statue was tarnished and v
ery old – that much was plain from the jagged flaws winding their way up the One Goddess’s legs like crooked veins – Dane guessed it would still be there long after the rest of the dilapidated district had fallen to pieces.

  A serpentine road circled the statue and broke off into several side streets leading away from the heart of the city. Columns and wide steps stood before what had once been the library, the courts, and other now abandoned vestiges of the old city government. Packs of men prowled the shadows of the ruined buildings, rogues and thieves ready to ply their dark trade off in Ebonmark’s richer districts. Dane had seen similar conditions in other city-states, where once esteemed and respected sections of town had been ransacked, gutted, and abandoned. Those who now ruled the cities often did so from the safety of their private towers or homes, as the old offices of Imperial authority had become havens for the dregs of society.

  Dane had learned from the innkeep at the Red Witch Inn that Ebonmark’s new leader, Colonel Blackhall, had his own headquarters amidst the bivouacs outside the city walls. Dane wasn’t sure why Blackhall would camp outside Ebonmark, but the Jlantrian likely had his reasons. In any case, Dane wouldn’t have to worry about the authorities for the time being.

  Laughter echoed through the vacant vestibules and stone crevices around the City Center. The thieves were in control when night fell. His father had once told him it hadn’t always been that way, that the law in the White Dragon Empire had once been respected and feared, but Dane was too young to have seen such times. His home city of Ral Tanneth hadn’t fared as badly as other places, and many considered the Empress’s seat of power the last true bastion of civilization left in the world.