Free Dark Legion by Paul Kleynhans Page A

though.”
    She had the face of a street dog licking piss off a nettle, which Marcus would have known if he’d looked up from her ample bosom. It did not really matter how she looked; I could never find her attractive. She was a coldblooded woman, brutal and ambitious. Milliandra made even the twisted shell that I had become look divine.
    Behind the princess came a white-robed man. I felt an anger rise within me. There were few I hated more than slavers. My brother and I had been thrown into their wagons once, and on that day our lives had changed forever. The slaver held a chain wrapped around his wrist, and behind him came a dozen slaves. The slaves were young, many yet to grow a beard. And they were my people. The chain passed through their manacled hands, its other end held by another white-robed man at the rear.
    The princess joined the Inquisitors and talked with them. I tried to read her lips but only made out the occasional word, not enough to get an idea of their conversation. I’d hoped to catch a reference to the treasure I sought, but no such luck came my way.
    There was a gasp in the crowd, and I turned to see what they were pointing at. One of the slavers, the one at the rear, had a bloodied nose, and the rearmost slave stood facing him. Another blow fell as the slave smashed him in the face with his manacle. The slaver let go of the chain as he tripped, fell hard on the gangplank, tipping over the edge to splash into the water.
    The slave at the back ran a few steps, then leapt from the gangplank, cleared the couple of meters of water, and landed to the side of the legionnaires. He displayed the grace of a lion and the speed too, and I doubted he would be caught. Just as I started to smile—the boy well on his way down the street—that damn sensation curled up my spine again. I’d felt it far too often over the past two days.
    A flash of light erupted from behind me, casting long shadows for the briefest of moments. Then, what looked like a ball of lightning surged past me and toward the boy. He looked behind him, his mouth wide in shock; then the ball hit him full in the face and threw him head over heels. He writhed in agony, clutching at his face. Princess Milliandra walked up to him slowly, the Dark Legion close on her heels. She kicked him hard, then again. Her sleeve was rolled up, and I could see silvery tattoos up her arm. Not as many as on a sorcerer, but there was no mistaking them.
    â€œWant us to teach him a lesson, Princess?” one of the red robes asked.
    â€œNo, leave him,” she said, and looked at the crowd. “Nobody touch him! He stays there till he rots. Anyone who interferes will answer to me.”
    Much of the crowd dispersed at that point, and Marcus and I joined them, walking past the boy in the road, clutching at his face. Between his fingers, the skin on his face was raw, and his eyes were swollen shut. There was an odd smell too, like burning, but not something I could put my finger on. I wondered if the boy was blind, and I felt for him, but I was powerless to help. He looked to be in a bad way and I doubted he would suffer long.
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    We made our way to the noticeboard by the port, and as we stepped up, I could see the board was bare apart from the small nails that would, under better circumstances, be used to pin up job announcements. That, and a poor sketch of someone’s missing dog, though the sketch was old, barely visible, and took me a moment to discern what it was. I reckoned the dog would be lucky to still be alive. I was staring at the sketch when Marcus pulled me closer.
    â€œThat centurion is on the corner of the dock,” Marcus whispered.
    I peeked past the noticeboard and spotted the man. It was hard not to, with his decorated armor, his thick red cape, and the red plumes of his helmet sticking up like a peacock’s tail. “He’s facing the other way.” I said. “We should just walk away, but don’t