Free Dark Legion by Paul Kleynhans Page B

rush.”
    We walked down the street, and I looked behind me as casually as I could, but not directly at the man. He was looking in our direction. When we rounded the corner I looked again, but the centurion was talking to another legionnaire, no longer facing us. “See,” Marcus said. “Nothing to worry about. I bet he wouldn’t recognize me if I walked right into him.”
    â€œI wouldn’t bet on that,” I said. “You’re like a cliff with arms and legs. I don’t like his presence here—it could ruin our plans. Permanently.”
    â€œUnfortunately, there’s not much we can do about it,” Marcus said.
    Marcus was wrong, of course, there was plenty we could do about it. As we rounded another corner, Marcus pointed at the smithy. “Actually, I might go into the forest for a bit,” I said. “I need to clear my head, and I want to gather some herbs and such. It’s been a long while since I made salves and tonics, and I need some supplies to practice with.” Marcus shrugged.
    I walked with Marcus to the blacksmith. He handed over his weapons and sat down to talk with a young boy while he waited. It was likely the blacksmith’s son—he shared the man’s red hair. I looked at the swords on display. While I was next to useless in a fight—at least a fair one—I could recognize a good blade, and the smith clearly did too. My attention was drawn next to a row of daggers, which more suited my style. A dark alley; a turned back. I decided to buy one and picked out the best of the daggers. Not the largest, not the best-looking, but the most practical. I paid the smith’s wife and walked to the edge of town.
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    Leaves crunched underfoot as I made my way into the forest, and while my progress was slow at its edge, with the trees shrubby and the undergrowth dense, I soon walked beneath the tall canopy. I tripped several times on the steep slope, with my eyes lost in the leaves high overhead, scanning the branches for the plant I sought.
    It was common near Castralavi, but I had no idea if it grew around these parts. Dragon’s root was a small plant with bright red roots, an epiphyte usually found on forking branches of large trees. It took a long time, but I eventually found one. “Nothing is ever easy,” I muttered to myself, looking at the small plant close to the very top of an enormous tree.
    My job as an assassin had taught me to climb, a skill that served me well. When I finally reached the little plant, I pried it free using my new dagger and let it drop to the ground. I sat on the bare fork in the branch to rest. My stomach lurched when I looked down. The giant tree had to be very old; it stood tall above the canopy. I was facing White Lake, and the view was impressive. Maps really did not do its scale justice. Even from up here, the lake disappeared into the horizon. I wondered how many of the old stories my father had read me were true. The stories of adventures across the lake, of battles with massive monsters from the deep—of treasures found and treasures lost.
    I turned myself around to face the other way. Looking down, I saw a long line of cleared forest and could make out a number of bare-chested men constructing something, though I couldn’t tell what. It looked like a road made of timber planks and metal beams, but I was sure that wasn’t it. I considered going for a closer look, but then I noticed a number of white-hooded men. Slave masters. Just like that, my plan evaporated.
    I made my way back down the tree and dropped the last meter to the ground. Bent on one knee, I picked up the plant and shook it to remove the dirt.
    â€œThat’s a long way to climb for dragon’s root,” a voice said from behind.
    I spun around and saw the blond girl, Neysa, standing over me, her arms crossed. She had all manner of herbs and plants tucked into her belt. She looked pissed off, but still