At the Gates of Darkness Read Free

instruct?”
    “Ambition?” said Belasco, regarding the mercenary with a narrow gaze. “I’m not sure I like that.”
    “I do as you bid,” said the man, lowering his head.
    “Where are you from? You speak oddly.”
    The mercenary smiled broadly, revealing teeth filed to points. “I am of the Shaskahan, master.”
    Brightening up at that, he said, “Ah! The island cannibals! Lovely.
    “Yes, I will instruct. Sometimes you wish your opponent to think they are ahead. Other times not. This time, I want them to concentrate on bloody murder and dark magic, as if I were another mad necromancer like my brother.”
    “This is to serve Dahun, master?”
    “Of course,” answered Belasco as if annoyed by the question. “Just not in the way you think.” He stood up. “Get the horses,” he shouted. “We ride south!”
    The mercenaries all moved with precision. Of all the hired murderers he had at his disposal, this group was the most unswerving in their obedience and loyalty. The fanatics had their uses but were too willing to die for their “god,” and Belasco needed those who were willing to kill and reluctant to die.
    “Eventually,” said Belasco to no one in particular, “Jim Dasher and his masters will decide the time has come to investigate the Valley of Lost Men. We shall have to prepare another distraction for them when they do!”
    With that he leaped down from the rock and hurried to where a mercenary held his horse. Mounting up, he looked around to see that all was as he wished it. The fires would burn for hours, and the embers would remain hot for a day or more. The smoke and stench of death would drape this plateau for a week, but eventually the hot blowing sand and the scavengers would reduce everything to burned char and dry bones, and even the charred wood and dry bones would eventually be carried away by the unforgiving winds.
    He signaled and led his men down the steep trail into the Valley of Lost Men.
     
    Sandreena, Knight-Adamant of the Order of the Shield of the Weak, waited at the docks. Her orders had been simple: meet with a Kingdom noble. She had no idea who it would be, but she had been told he would recognize her. She didn’t know if he had met her before or had simply been provided a description; there weren’t many members of the order who were tall blond women.
    A pair of men covered in road dust approached down the docks. Their faces were obscured by the trailing edges of their keffiyehs being pulled up and tucked in, forming a covering for their noses and mouths—not unusual for men riding in from the Jal-Pur. Despite the oppressive heat, Sandreena stood motionless in her armor, her shield slung across her back and her sword within easy reach.
    The taller of the two men came to stand before her and handed her a bundle of parchment. “For Creegan” is all he said, and turned and walked toward the end of the dock where a Kingdom trading vessel waited.
    She wondered who this mysterious nobleman might be, but as he was obviously disguised as a local trader, she knew there were things at play that did not warrant scrutiny. Father-Bishop Creegan was always forthcoming with what she needed to know personally to ensure the success of her missions. Apparently all she needed to know in this case was that those papers needed to reach Krondor.
    She moved toward the stable yard where her horse waited. If the unknown nobleman needed her to ride to Krondor with his bundle, then his ship was bound for another destination. She put aside her musings and stopped at a local stall. She would need a week’s provisions and several skins of water, for from Durban to the first oasis was three days’ ride. And from there to the Kingdom town of Land’s End another four days.
    Not looking forward to the task before her, but resolute in her devotion to her duty, she paid for the dried meat, dried fruit, and roasted grain that would be her only sustenance for the next week. She also needed a week’s worth