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  The girl came back, sliding bread trenchers of food in front of them. Colin hurriedly dumped his journal in his lap before she set his meal on top of it. She moved a step away, naming the price. Mica fished out coins, which the girl scooped up before running off.

  Mica pulled a face as he brought out his dagger and fork to cut into the meat. The first bite all but made him gag. The other two, seeing his reaction, did their best to choke down what they were able.

  “No more of this, Mica,” Eron spat, once he could talk again. “I’m sick of eating putrid meals and bad ale, of sleeping on lumpy flea-filled beds. I’m a human being, not a dog.”

  “And I shall continue to say so, as it’s true,” Mica retorted. “Nothing matters but the quest.” As if to prove his point, he attacked the food with more vigor and chewed heartily.

  “Company coming,” Colin murmured, lifting his mug to drink as the biggest person at the bar walked toward them. The immortals couldn't decide if he was mostly built of muscle, or fat. The floorboards trembled from his heavy tread.

  His leather armor appeared new and unscratched, firelight gleaming off jewels and metal. His leather boots had hobnailed soles. Without asking, he spun a chair around, sitting down with them.

  “Ah, a drink would be welcome now, and right nice of ya. I’m the sheriff of this town, those are me men.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder to the group at the bar. Turning his head, he bellowed, “Hey, Mary Elana, youse slut! Can’t you see we’s need refills.”

  Luckily for the sheriff, he missed the poisoned look all three men gave at his hailing of the girl. Their faces had the same bored expression as before when he turned back.

  “So who the hell are ya?”

  “Mica, Colin and Eron,” replied Mica.

  “Call me Jake.” The girl approached with fresh tankards. The sheriff hawked, spitting on the floor in front of her. She set down the new mugs, snatching up the old. Mary Elana was not quick enough to escape Jake’s hand snaking out to catch her around the wrist, forcing her to his side.

  “Now, ya be good to these here men, ya hear me? I don’t wanna be tellin’ the lord about ya misbehavin’ to anyone here.” He leered at her in a meaningful way as a shudder went through her thin frame.

  I hope you drop dead soon, you drunken sot, and leave me be,The sheriff turned to his new acquaintances, booming, “Youse can have ’bout any most girl in the place ’ceptin’ this one. This lazy slut here is our Little Lord’s property an’ ain’t no man ’ceptin’ him and her father allowed to touch her. Just warning youse before ya do somethin’ stupidlike.”

  Mica had to remember to keep his temper in check. “I’m sure we’ll keep it in mind. Thank you. Perhaps the girl would like to finish going about her job now?”

  The sheriff stared at him for a minute or two, as if trying to decide whether or not Mica was being sincere, before he let go of the girl’s wrist, smacking her hard on the ass. She let out a strangled scream, fleeing back behind the bar. His eyes hardened, voice no longer friendly.

  “Ya better watch who ya try to give orders to around here. Could be kinda unhealthy-like to piss off the wrong person; ya might not make youse trip outta here in one piece if ya catch me drift.”

  Colin swallowed his anger. Men like the sheriff did not need an excuse to try and kill him. He was about to offer to pay for cleaning as the sheriff grabbed his shirt to yank him closer.

  The table wobbled, food and drinks falling off. The sheriff’s other hand hauled back in a fist. Colin braced for the punch as his hands kept his journal and remaining writing implements from crashing to the floor. Mica pressed his dagger into the man’s side.

  “What kind?” When the man didn’t answer, Mica pressed harder, making the sheriff mutter something which he repeated louder at another prod.

  “I can assure you, my brother likes women. You will let him alone, won’t you? I’d hate having to leave this place so quickly for killing you when we just got here.”

  Colin eased back, peeling the journal from his shirtfront. The page he had just written was an unreadable, smeared mess. He risked a quick glance down; the ink blended with the blood stains on his faded brown shirt.

  Colin took the chance to look for his stone. He didn’t see it and guessed one of the patrons had already stolen it. He added it to the growing mental list of things he needed to replace. He was rather upset with the loss of it, it being the last one he had. The sheriff sat back to drink deeply before replying, “Not unless ya want to lodge wit’ the sailors.” His smirk said it all on the subject. “Lucky for youse there might be a room. Tom’d be able to tell ya for sure. He’s owner and bartender.”

  Colin noticed Jake’s intricately designed clasp and decided to risk the man’s wrath. “That’s an interesting piece you’re wearing, not in keeping with the rest of your . . . outfit.”

  “It’s a gift from the king for doin’ me work so well. He don’t mind how’s I’s do it, only that it’s done. A part of me job is to tell ya that ya gots to see His Majesty tomorrow if ya wants to stay here. Other side o’ the bridge. Ya can’t miss the palace, top of the hill.” He lumbered up, making his way back to his friends at the bar.

  Chapter Two

  I f the three companions hoped last night’s run-in with Sheriff Jake would be the worst the town offered, they were badly mistaken the next day. Breakfast was comprised of a second putrid meal washed down with more ale. The three men stepped out into the weak morning light, which revealed the full dismalness of the town. An auctioneer’s loud cry echoed nearby. Mica turned toward the sound, his brother and friend trailing after. Within moments, they stood gazing upon a slave market. A wooden platform held rows of naked men and women, some with babies or small children clinging to them. All had iron collars around their necks.

  “What’ll you fine men give me for this next one? Sixteen years of age with plenty of work left in him. Captured in Tyronalese, good for farming or mining. Starting bid at one hundred.”

  As they approached the bridge, the men saw richly uniformed guards, most likely from the palace, blocking access as one of them hailed the travelers.

  The guards stepped aside to allow the men to cross. The major street leading to the palace appeared paved with a mixture of rock and old concrete. Unlike the lower town, crude sidewalks existed, and no trash or animal droppings marred the way. The air even smelled better and was quieter. The men passed large houses made of stone or stacked concrete pieces. Some had personal guards in uniforms, and massive crested banners, hanging from the eaves, which nearly brushed the ground.

  “Figures the little blighter would like a place like this. He’s suckered some rich noble into caring for him,” Colin muttered as they climbed the twisting street.

  Eron remained silent, eyeing the big stone building that was their destination. It looked to have originally been a cathedral. The arrow slits and crude stone towers added to fortify the building for its new purpose clashed with intricate carvings and stained glass. A crude, manned wall with large iron-studded wooden gates signified the end of the street. The men joined the line slowly shuffling inside the compound.

  Even with the queue, it didn’t take long to reach the portal. Those in charge did their jobs efficiently. A pair of guards to either side relieved visitors of all visible weapons before waving them past. The second set did quick pat-downs, pulling people out of line for a more thorough search if they felt it was needed. The third station had two men at tables on each side of the pathway, taking down information.

  “We are a band of merchant men wanting information on a thief that is known to be in this area. And the sheriff said we had to present ourselves,” he added as an afterthought.

  The clerk’s eyes narrowed as he took the bribe and signaled to a guard. They had a quick, low-voiced conversation before the man ran off, shortly coming back with yet another man.

  Colin noticed the palace badge had a different coat of arms than the sheriff’s: three diagonal bars with a rearing h
orse and a crown to either side. His brother attempted to make conversation but was gruffly rebuffed. Mathias led them into a large whitewashed room. Plain, hard benches lined the walls. A middle-aged man clothed in bright, clashing colors and holding a staff stood before two tall doors.

  He studied them for a moment or two with his small, beady eyes. “I am Aranthus, His Majesty’s most treasured and revered chamberlain. I must know your identity and your business in His Majesty’s town before I decide if the King should be bothered with your petition. You may speak.”

  “No disrespect intended, sir, but our request is of a delicate nature— the fewer people who know about it, the better. While I’m sure you are a man of the utmost discretion, others may overhear who may not be as circumspect.”

  Aranthus narrowed his eyes slightly; he had no intention of letting anyone by him today, as the king was in a foul mood, and he didn’t want it taken out on his hide. It was so hard to say nowadays what would set the man off. “Tell me what you can. I will do my best to impart to His Majesty the gravity of your situation.” Aranthus motioned to a male slave behind him; the slave started taking out his writing implements. “There are some questions which must be answered first.”

  And here is where we waste precious hours which could be spent looking for the little boy,The Chamberlain was an exacting man, soon he knew all but what size of clothing the three before him wore. “Now, what is this delicate situation you cannot report to any but His Majesty?”

  Mica glanced at the other two men, did some quick editing in his head. “We are looking for a young boy who was apprenticed to us. He ran off with a large portion of our wealth and a valuable family heirloom. During our inquiries, we came across information indicating the boy had settled down here.”

  Eron narrowed his eyes as the scribe’s head came up sharply, but seeing he was noticed, lowered his head again and continued note-taking. Eron kept his eyes on the man, as he could tell by the slave’s demeanor that he was avidly listening to every word.

  “I’m surprised men such as you do not hire mercenaries to do what must be considered dirty work. Why do you stoop to conduct your own investigation? Perhaps you are not as successful business-wise as you would like us to believe. Mayhap you are even lying concerning the boy.”

  Mica gave a tight smile. “Truth be told, the last man we used came back with information on the little boy’s whereabouts only after inadvertently alerting him and letting him escape. His incompetence lost us a year of searching. Since then, we haven’t found many mercenaries who can handle the delicateness of the task of bringing the boy back to us for justice without losing him again.”

  “What makes you think the king will be able to help on such a mundane matter?” The contempt in the chamberlain’s voice was scorching.

  Mica bit back a hot retort, smoothly replying, “A leopard does not change its spots for long. The boy must be running out of funds and will no doubt pull a similar stunt on someone here. Whether he will pick another wealthy merchant or try higher, such as one of the nobility . . .”

  Aranthus cocked a brow, laying a forefinger upon his lip. “Yes,” he mused. “I do begin to see the problem. If the boy has set his sights higher, the nobles would be understandably upset. However, they are given leeway to dispense justice within their own households without going to His Majesty. It is possible this has already occurred, in which case we would have no record of it. You would do better to ask of them yourself.”

  Colin decided to speak up. “Forgive me, but if the boy hasn’t tried it yet, who here would keep records of the merchants’ complaints? Should we should try them first before disturbing the titled?”

  Mica ground his teeth as the other two men winced inwardly. After their run-in with the man last night, they doubted he would help them without some kind of massive bribe. Why the hell must everything keep getting so damn complicated?

  Colin waited until the men were out of earshot. “I don’t like this, brother. How are we going to convince a man who already doesn’t like us to help? We are running out of coins for bribes. I don’t think we have anything else someone like him would want.”

  Mica growled. “I don’t know. Why don’t we split up and see if we can seek out the places the little boy would most likely frequent. We’ll meet back at the wretched tavern around dusk.”

  Colin watched his brother’s square jaw clench and unclench. “We can’t sit around waiting for the boy to show himself. We’re going to have to come up with a plan to get the sheriff’s help until I can think of a better one.”

  “It is what we’ve always done. It’s worked in the past, and it’ll work again. He doesn’t change his habits, you know that. How many towns have we seen to which he’s gone? They all had things in common. He always has favored hunting spots in the countryside, spots in town.” Mica’s eyes swept over his brother, patiently waiting for them to begin.

  “My problem?! I’m looking at it! This is bullshit! You know why you can’t get a handle on the kid? Because it’s like he can smell your obsession, and runs off.” Mica rolled his eyes in exasperation as Eron continued, “The expiration date on the kid’s soul gem? Guess what? It’s past. The sound of rushing wind you hear? That’s The Guardian coming for the gem and your immortality; you’re dead, he wins.”

  “Not if I find him first, and I’m not going to the sheriff until I can think of an angle that’s going to get results and not more enmity on his part. You can take the docks.”

  Mica turned away from Eron, looking at his brother. “Colin, just scour the countryside. I trust you to come up with something to find Nicky’s place out there without it getting back to him. I’ll take the town.”

  “You . . .” Eron tossed his hands up in frustration. “Fine, go do whatever you want. Enjoy the taste of defeat while it all blows up in your face.” He stalked off.

  Eron strolled along the docks, trying to compose himself. Open sheds stinking of offal received newly arriving captives. His stomach roiled at the sight of human beings packed tightly into pens with barely enough room to stand, much less sit. A lot of the pens didn’t have a roof, leaving the occupants to shiver in the raw drizzle. The misery around him illustrated it was past time to be done chasing phantoms, living in shit holes. Fuck Mica’s mad quest. I quit. He turned around just in time to spot a handful of men do a poor job of looking elsewhere. Oh, bloody hell! I don’t need this. Time to teach a lesson about the dangers of spying.

  Eron zigged behind a pile of crates, threading his way through the stacks of goods and people, trying to find a secluded area. Rounding the next set of stacked cargo, he stopped, damning his luck for finding the only dead end. He turned to go back, cursing as a fist plowed into his face.

  “I got ’im! Hey! Tell ’em I gots him!” the excited voice rang out.

  Eron shook off the ringing in his head, repaying the favor by punching his assailant in the jaw. The man went down like a log. Eron nipped around him only to be met by a wicked dagger. Of all the stupid moves, I had to go and not pay attention to my surroundings.

  “Bloody hell, how many are you?” Eron spat out in disgust as meaty arms wrapped around him from behind, lifting him a few inches off the ground,

  whooshEron had no time to brace himself; he hung in Jonas’s arms, fighting to stay conscious, as the pain rolled through him. He felt his nose break, warm blood splashing down, making it harder to breathe. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been jumped and beaten. Eron barely heard Jonas whine, “I wan’ a turn too.”

  “Sheriff wants him alive to deliver a message.” The speaker, noticing Eron was still awake, followed his words with a few more punches to the face and gut.

  Eron’s lip split with the last blow, blood trickling down his chin, left eye swelling closed as he wondered how much longer the beating would continue. He fought against unconsciousness as his attacker demanded, “Where’s your friends?”

  Incredulously, Eron replied, “You followed me just to ask that?” His bo
dy throbbed in pain. Stars floated across his vision, arms about him tightening and cutting off what little breath he had left.

  “Quit squeezing him so damn hard, Jonas!” The dagger came up to menace his throat as the hold around him loosened a fraction, still not enough for him to suck in a good breath. “Keep it up, smart-ass; just give me a reason to cut your pretty-boy face.”

  “Last chance, stop cutting me.”

  “Tell us, or the next cut takes your balls.”

  Eron thought: If it was just my face, I could deal with it, but my balls? Fuck them. Even though he was in pain, gasping for air, he had time for one move to get free.

  The men didn’t have time to respond as their victim brought his legs up, kicking Jim in the groin. The man gurgled as he sank to the ground. Jonas staggered back at the sudden movement, his hold loosening. Eron grabbed Jonas’s forearms with his hands, letting his weight drop, dragging his body toward the ground, breaking Jonas’s hold. Eron‘s knees hit the wood; he twisted and overbalanced the other man. Pain ripped through his gut, causing him to writhe on the ground briefly, but he scrambled up as he saw the big man in his peripheral vision raising a club. Jim was down, breath wheezing in and out with a high-pitched whine. Eron kicked out, catching the man full in the gut. Jonas stumbled away, grunting, absorbing most of the blow.

  Something the size of a small boulder slammed into his back, pitching Eron headfirst into the wooden dock as a sharp pain shot through his lungs. He rolled over to see an unknown third attacker holding a bronze sword, the blade bloody.

  Crap on toast! The day just keeps getting better.Bronze Sword and Jonas came toward him. The immortal did the only thing he could, rolling out of the way as the sword slammed down where he had been. He caught the club with both hands, almost losing his grip at the snapping sound his palms made. The pain sent long black streamers across his vision, and a greasy roiling through his belly. Eron knew he had to ignore it or they’d kill him, and he didn’t fancy being reanimated under water. He shoved the club backward and rolled onto his knees.