A World Without Heroes - Brandon Mull [145]
He returned his face to his hands and shook with ragged sobs.
Jason waited politely.
Finally Tark lifted his tear-streaked face. “You must have been up to some mischief to get in here.” He wiped his leaking nostrils with the back of his hairy-knuckled hand.
“I do what I can.”
“Tell me.”
“I became chancellor of Trensicourt. I also helped kill a bunch of conscriptors, manglers, and a displacer.”
“I never got a displacer,” Tark said in admiration, sniffling. “Good work.”
“How did you end up here?”
Tark brightened a bit. “It all started the day I left you. I felt really good, full of resolve, ready for my penance. As it happened, on my way up the road out of town I was stopped by a conscriptor. He had questions about a fellow who fit your description, and a girl who sounded like Rachel. I acted very compliant, and then I put my knife through his back. His mangler friend came at me, blades whirling, and I was sure I had arrived at the brink of my waterfall, if you take my meaning. But I flung the knife, and it found a weak spot, slaying the monstrosity. I could hardly believe it.
“I retrieved my knife and raced off into the woods, leaving behind the corpses and the horse. From that day onward I have waged a private war against the minions of Maldor. I sank a barge, burned down some warehouses, even undermined a bridge. In a pass east of here I buried a whole column of conscriptors and manglers in a landslide. I’d wager that stunt was what finally earned me an invitation to the feast.”
Jason nodded. “Do you plan to remain here?”
Tark stared at his feet. “I had intended to stay. Not a soul has ever left. They die wallowing in vices, all of them men and women who once bravely defied Maldor. Some expire choking on lumba pie. Others are so fat they can’t leave their beds. I stumbled across Bokar the Invincible my third day here—you know, the great hero from Kadara? Legendary swordsman. A placard beside the door proclaimed his identity. He was lying on his back on an enormous bed like a beached sea elephant, his face drowning in blubber. Attendants were cramming meat pies down his greedy throat. I asked if he was really Bokar the Invincible. He said he was, his mouth full of food. I asked why he gave up. He said he hadn’t. He said he was planning to leave in a couple of weeks. I almost laughed. The only way he was going anywhere was in a really big wagon pulled by a whole cavalry of horses. Strong ones.
“I decided some undignified end like that would be fitting for a coward like me. But now my mind is mending. I could be convinced to leave. What about you?”
Jason lowered his voice. “Wait a day or two, and we can leave together.”
Tark grinned. “My will is reviving. Fate has made you the guardian of my self-respect. Once again I will abandon self-pity. I will join you, Lord Jason.” He pulled out the same heavy saw-toothed knife he had wielded in the Tavern-Go-Round, holding it so the sun glinted on the polished blade. He scrunched his heavy eyebrows. “If you mean to leave so soon, why accept the invitation in the first place?”
“It’s a secret. But I had a legitimate reason.”
Tears pooled in Tark’s eyes. “You came to show me the way.” He spoke with amazed realization. He slid off the bench, dropping to his knees. “I knew it. Tell the truth, are you a mortal being or some heavenly apparition?”
Jason stifled a smile. “I’m a friend. I’ll warn you when I plan to leave. Try to stay out of trouble.”
Tark blushed, swiping a hand over his nose again. “As you say, Lord Jason. I’ll scout the perimeter. I’ve noticed they tend to keep the drawbridge shut. We’re never permitted beyond the castle wall. They may resist our attempt to depart.”
“We have to find a way,” Jason said.
“Aye, we’ll set a new precedent. Perhaps others will follow.”
“We’ll see,” Jason said, rising. “I need to visit the bathhouse.”
“On your way.” Tark shooed him. “We’ll talk later.”
Jason’s fingers and toes had shriveled into pink prunes by the time Kimp appeared.