Blood Tempered: Book 1 of the Sword Monk Saga

Blood Tempered: Part 5

Korbo Dogrun was bored. Luckily, being bored made Korbo very happy. Mercenaries who longed for excitement tended to find it, and more often than not, it wasn't something they survived.

Korbo was many things, but survivor was at the top of that list.

He and his sworn brothers were dicing quietly in the hallway outside the witch's chambers when an agonized shriek sounded from within them. It echoed down the dusty stone corridors of the half-wrecked stronghold called Thunderhead and out into the twilight above the Wyeth Escarpment, also known as the Balcony of the Gods, louder than any human voice had a right to be.

Korbo Dogrun looked at his companions, cursed, dropped the dice and started running down the hall towards her chambers. Augin and Mung followed. Just my damn luck, thought Korbo. Something has to happen to the witch on my shift. He skidded up to her door, smooth-soled boots slick on dusty flagstone, and tried the handle. Locked. Slammed his shoulder into the door of her makeshift chambers. Earned a bruise.

"Augin. Pick the bastard. Hurry."

Augin bent to the task, picks out in a flash from one of the many pockets of his jerkin. In a few seconds they heard a creak, then a satisfying click.

"Lock's older'n my grandma. No problem."

Korbo pushed the door open, to find the red headed woman sprawled out on the floor.

"Shit. Bloody shit-smeared shit."

"What do we do, Korbo?" Mung asked the most grizzled of the swordsman, de facto leader of the trio. "What's wrong with her, then?"

"Syballa's seven tits if I know. Do I look like a cutter?" Korbo dragged blunt fingers through his salt and pepper beard. "Shit. Go get that miserable excuse for a warlock. And don't talk anyone else."

"Do I look like an idiot?" And Augin took off at a sprint.

"Should we move her?" asked Mung from the doorway.

"Hell no. Don't even touch her."

Korbo squatted down and pulled a knife from a thigh sheath. He put the bright steel under her nose, saw her breath cloud the polished steel, breathed a sigh of relief.

Then his own breath caught when her emerald green eyes snapped open, saw him crouched over her with a bared blade.

"Lady—"

The next instant Korbo was pinned against the wall, booted feet dangling a good hand span from the floor, held and choked by invisible hands. The princess Anya rose from the floor, a bit unsteadily, and approached him. His own dagger gleamed in her hand.

"You dare, dog soldier?"

He tried to speak, could not. Settled for shaking his head the fraction he could move it.

Mung spoke up, voice trembling. "Lady, forgive me. Korbo was only trying to see your breath in the blade, is all."

She cocked a brow. "Is that so?"

Korbo nodded vigorously despite the pain it caused him.

"So. Appearances can be deceiving. I know it well." With that the invisible power that held him disappeared; he fell to the ground, coughing. Anya briefly studied the knife she'd taken from the warrior. She dropped it at Korbo's feet, then turned to Mung. "You. Fetch Heirus. Or what do you brigands call him? Stench?"

Mung sketched a clumsy bow and said "Korbo already sent for him, Lady."

Anya glanced back at the veteran where he massaged his bruised throat. "So. Not only not after my blood, but with two wits to rub together." She looked at Mung. "Get out."

"Aye Lady." And Mung beat a hasty retreat, leaving Korbo to his fate.

Korbo rose on unsteady feet, snatching up his dagger and sheathing it. This Roumnan witch was as dangerous as a desert scorpion, and far less predictable. As far as he was concerned, Jaga Khun was an idiot to tie his company of mercenaries to her cause, whatever it was, and whatever the possible rewards. He'd seen the aftermath of what she'd done to the imperial cohort that had been her escort. He'd heard rumors of the terrible transformation she'd wrought on that imperial scout.

"Will you be killing me then, Lady?" Or worse?

"Why? Do you want to die?" she sat on a hide-covered camp chair, regarded him with beautiful, cold green eyes.

He shrugged, feigning ease. "Not particularly, Lady. What do you want with me, then, if you'll pardon me asking?"

"Pour me a glass of that miserable excuse for wine, for a start. Have some yourself, if you like."

Korbo crossed to where the cracked crystal decanter sat on top of an ironwood chest, poured into two mismatched glasses, gave her the one with the unchipped rim.

She sipped, made a face. Regarded him again. "How good are you with your blade, Korbo?"

He shrugged again. "Good enough to live this long, Lady. To be honest, a warrior's best weapon is his brain."

"Indeed. Though one might argue that making a living as a warrior suggests a stunning lack of intelligence."

"Or a lack of options, Lady."

She smiled, thinly. "Point taken. In any case, I find I have need of a warrior, Korbo. I have decided you will do."

"Jaga Khun—"

"Jaga Khun obeys my orders when he finds it convenient, for the time being. You will obey me implicitly, and I will pay you exorbitantly for it." She rose, opened a chest, and pulled out a purse heavy with coin.

"Lady, forgive me, but what if I don't want to take your contract?"

She looked at him with those cold eyes for a moment. "Then I have overestimated your intelligence. Have I, swordsman?"

Korbo felt a chill wind blow through his soul. He took the purse from her hand. "No indeed, Lady. I find that I would like nothing better than to take vast amounts of money from you, and fall over myself following your orders to the very syllable. Korbo Dogrun is at your service." He sketched a passable bow, though it had been nearly twenty years since he'd last had cause to do so.

"Clever man, Korbo Dogrun. Clever and wise."

"Do you mind telling me what I will have to do to earn all that gold?"

"Nothing very taxing. Just stick that knife of yours in the back of a fat imperial courtier named Olvera, when he shows up. And he will show up eventually. Now go find me that miserable tick of a mage. He's taking too long."

Korbo tossed off the rest of his wine and left.