by Brian Murray
“Come in,” called Zorain.
Conn, one of his constables, and his friend walked in.
“Zor, a party of Royal Lancers just passed the office heading for the docks. They look travel weary; shall I go and question them?”
Captain Zorain liked Conn: a diligent man, too diligent at times, but a man who took pride in his work. The two had known each other for a few years and had grown to be friends. Conn was a very likeable character, but he was a big man, with an equally big temper. Everyone in Teldor knew of his temper. It took a lot for him to lose it, but heaven help the person on whom he lost it. The particular occasion when he had gained his reputation was a tavern brawl where he had knocked out and arrested ten men single-handed after they had beaten his partner.
“No, Conn, leave them be, I’m sure they have good reason to be travelling though the city at this time of night.”
“You’re probably right, Zor. How is that lad of yours?”
Zorain smiled, as always Conn asked about someone’s family or friend. “My boy is good, thank you.”
“He got over his fever?”
“Yes, thankfully, it was just a cold. The healer said my boy is as strong as a horse.”
“Like father, like son, eh!”
Zorain laughed, the first time all day. He missed his family. The thought of going home to his wife and son cheered him up.
“How many do we have in the cells tonight?”
“We only have two drunks who were making noise on the roads, and those two brawlers from the Laughing Horse Inn.”
“Is that all?”
“Aye, it has been a nice quiet evening. You off soon, Zor?”
“Shortly,” replied Zorain, now lost in thought. He did not hear the constable say farewell or close the door behind him as he left. Zorain stared up at the ceiling, trying to answer a puzzle without knowing the question – something did not feel right.
***
The Royal Lancers continued their slow march through the docks of Teldor. To their left, rippling in the moonlight, was the Great Bay of Teldor, which opened out into the Endless Sea. Within the docks, two Kingdom naval vessels were moored; one of them, the Gliding Falcon, carried the admiral’s colours.
The Chosen marvelled at the sight of the bay and the two naval ships. Living in Kal-Pharina away from the ocean, he had forgotten how much he loved the sea, especially at night. The way twinkling stars and the silvery moon glistened off the surface of the water, and the gentle, rhythmical swoosh of the waves lapping up against the rocks became slightly hypnotic and calming. For the first time since his arrival in Teldor, the Chosen relaxed.
***
The Gliding Falcon was one of the fastest and oldest ships in the Kingdom’s navy, built back in the days when the shipwrights made vessels with pride rather than just for coin. The admiral had saved the Gliding Falcon from a watery grave and claimed it as his own. He had had the vessel fully restored and now it was used as the royal boat when his Highness wished to travel which, luckily for the admiral, happened very rarely.
On board the Gliding Falcon, Admiral Rendel (Reedie to his friends), stood on the deck watching the city. From the sea, the city of Teldor looked almost graceful and at peace, with lanterns twinkling, as though the night sky had merged with the land. He squinted and made out a group of Royal Lancers marching slowly past through the docks. He could just hear the clatter of horseshoes on the cobbled lanes over the whooshing of the sea. Sighing, the admiral ducked below to his cabin.
In his fifties, Admiral Rendel had been at sea all his life. People said his legs could not walk on land, hence the reason he spent so much time at sea. That was partially true, but the main reason he spent so much time at sea was his love of it. He had not married, had no children, and owned an empty house in Uptown, but remained happy.
Reedie rubbed his hand through his thinning hair as he completed his next report. He had been at sea for over three months and enjoyed every moment, chasing slavers and monitoring the fleets from both the Empire and the Rafftonia. He reached for the parchment from General Brooks, which carried the royal seal. Reedie had purposely delayed opening the parchment as it meant he would probably have to go on land and sit through many boring meetings. He broke the seal and read the report. The old sea dog smiled and called out, “Captain!”
Moments later, his captain knocked and entered the cabin. “Aye, sir?”
“I need to go to the palace, there may be trouble afoot. Prepare my launch, and I want my ship ready to sail at one hour’s notice.”
“Aye, aye sir.”
“I also want Captain Kirby of the Grey Sunset to set sail immediately and round up our fleet. I want a skeleton patrol for the slavers in the north and the rest of our fleet anchored outside Teldor Bay within two weeks.”
“That will be hard going, Admiral,” replied the captain, without questioning his orders further.
“I know, but it must be done.”
“Aye, aye Admiral.”
Reedie crossed his cabin and pulled his dress uniform from a closet. He removed his sailing clothes, washed, and dressed in the black leather leggings, black calf-length leather boots, white shirt, and blue knee-length coat braided with gold and silver weave. In his formal uniform, with his hat under his arm, the admiral left his cabin and made for the deck.
“Admiral on the deck,” came the call.
Every sailor saluted when the admiral appeared on deck in his court uniform. This was an unspoken rule, in case there were dignitaries on board. When in his sailing uniform of brown and green, without the elaborate embroidery, the men knew they did not have to salute. In the admiral’s opinion, this cost time, and time could cost lives.
The admiral climbed down the rope ladder into his launch and twelve men began to row towards the docks. He watched as his colours on the Gliding Falcon were lowered to half-mast, indicating the admiral had gone ashore. Glumly, he turned to face the city and sighed.
“Land,” he muttered miserably.
The crossing to the docks went smoothly and the admiral stepped purposefully ashore. One of his crew hurried off to get his carriage, kept nearby in the admiral’s dockside stables. Within half an hour, Admiral Rendel headed to the palace, along the winding uphill streets of Teldor.
***
The Royal Lancers turned inland away from the docks and rode uphill to the palace. Within a mile, the streets opened out to wide thoroughfares with large houses to either side. They passed a market square, now empty; the shops surrounding the square were all closed and boarded up, but one could still sense the hustle and bustle that blessed the market during the day. The Chosen looked at the houses with a lump in his throat. In the dimness of the night, this looked like his home city of Kal-Pharina and now he felt homesick. The Chosen gazed to his left and saw a huge man standing silhouetted in the window of one of the houses. He watched the figure for a moment before the man turned away.
***
Rayth, the owner of the Flying Vessel tavern, watched as the Royal Lancers passed his window. He saw one of the hooded figures turn and look straight at him. Rayth could not see the man’s features as these were well hidden deep within his hood, but he could feel his gaze. Rayth could not see any faces except those of the Royal Lancers, and shook his head. Nothing good will come of this, thought the innkeeper. With a shrug, he moved away from the window, feeling more and more impatient as he had now been waiting for more than half an hour for his host. He did not like leaving his daughter, Aurillia, alone in the tavern this late at night and began to fret. Rayth sat down and thought back to the time when he adopted Aurillia.
Aurillia’s mother had been a pay-maiden who gave birth to the child but could not afford to bring her up. She had gone to her man for help but he told the woman to sell the child to slavers from the north and receive some coin. The woman did not want to sell her babe and sought Rayth for help. His wife had died a month earlier and he had no kin. Late one stormy evening, the woman knocked on the door o
f the Flying Vessel. Rayth opened the door swaying slightly. Since his wife’s death, Rayth had succumbed to drink, and on that night he was, as usual, drunk, and the tavern had stayed closed.
“Rayth, I need your help,” the woman said.
“I have no coin to give you woman. Be gone,” snapped the innkeeper, pushing the door closed.
The woman held the door open. “No, I do not want any coin. I need a home for my child.”
“And what am I to do for you, woman?” stormed Rayth in a drunken rage, leaving the door, heading for his drink.
Nervously, the woman entered the tavern, closing the door quietly.
“You need someone in your life, Rayth, or you’ll die from your drinking. Your wife would not have put up with it.”
Rayth threw his goblet across the room, shattering it against a wall. Rayth was a huge man, scarred from his time in the army as a fabled axe-wielder fighting the Kharnacks in the north. Normally a gentle soul, had had become very aggressive when he took to drink, after the loss of his wife. Menacingly, he towered over the young woman.
“Get out of my inn, whore!” he roared furiously.
“Not until you help me.” The baby in the woman’s arms started to cry.
“No, no, no . . .” slurred Rayth, drinking now straight from a jug. “I will not look after your child.”
“Rayth, it is either you or the slave market,” pleaded the woman in tears.
“I have no time for that,” he said pointing at the baby, almost falling over.
“Please, Rayth.”
“You can stay here the night and then you better be gone in the morning and take the brat with you.”
The woman just nodded.
Cursing, Rayth stumbled upstairs, collapsed on his bed, and fell asleep fully dressed.
Around dawn Rayth woke up, his head throbbing. He felt so thirsty it seemed as though his throat had been cut. He reached over his bed for his jug, his eyes still full of sleep. The innkeeper felt something warm under his arm. He rubbed his gritty eyes trying to banish his grogginess. He prodded the bundle and heard a high-pitched giggle. His world collapsed when he opened the bundle. His head instantly cleared when he looked into the baby’s large violet eyes – eyes just like his late wife.
He tilted his head to one side and groaned as fresh pain lanced though his head. The baby gurgled and cooed. Rayth shook his head. No, this is not good, he thought. He rose slowly, trying to avoid any sudden movements that would cause more discomfort. He was sitting on the edge of the bed rubbing his head when the alarm went off. This was the alarm of all alarms; the sound from Hell itself when one had too much drink – a baby crying. Rayth grabbed his head as the wail rattled everything in his head. Then deep in his mind came a voice, whispering at first, then becoming clearer and clearer. It was the voice of his wife, Aurillia.
“Rayth, darling, this is exactly what you need now. Straighten yourself out and look after the child. I will be with you all the way. I love you. Do this for me. Please.”
Tears flowed from the man’s eyes and he pleaded, “I can’t do it . . . not without you. I can’t.”
His wife’s voice became chillingly stern. “Rayth, you will do this for yourself and for me.”
Rayth looked down at the crying babe and said two words: “Quiet, Aurillia.” The baby stopped crying and cooed at him reaching up with chubby hands. Tears flowed down his cheeks as he picked up the baby and hugged her close. Within a week, he had legally adopted the child and reopened the tavern. From that day, Rayth had become a doting father to his new daughter, Aurillia.
“You look lost in thought, my friend,” said Emyra, who stood in the doorway smiling sweetly.
“Aye, thinking of my daughter. You know I don’t like leaving her alone.”
“Yes, your daughter. Who’s the man dating her?”
“Zane? He is fine,” replied Rayth, mishearing the question.
“Who is he?”
“The son of a merchant from the north quarter. His father is a powerful merchant, I believe,” said Rayth with pride.
“The most powerful,” said his host as she sat opposite the former soldier.
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing.”
The huge man’s eyes became hooded. “This is my daughter we’re talking about. What do you mean by nothing, Emyra?” His voice hardened.
“You have no idea who he is, do you?”
“What do you mean, woman? Stop playing games with me.”
Emyra laughed. “Rayth, the devoted father.”
“Do not mock me, Emyra,” stormed the big man, surging to his feet.
“Sit down, Rayth, I do not mock you. Honestly.”
Rayth sat down, controlling his anger.
“Rayth, my friend, I don’t intend to mock you. You should be a very proud father; your daughter is courting the heir to the Kingdom.”
“Pardon me?” enquired Rayth, confused.
“Aurillia is courting Prince Zane, you lummox. As he was being so elusive, I had him followed for you and discovered that he resides in the palace.”
Rayth sat still for a long moment, not saying a word. “I had no idea”, he whispered.
To the innkeeper, Zane was just a merchant’s son and he liked the young man very much. Rayth smiled slowly. “Would you believe it, my daughter and the prince?”
“Yes, yes, now down to business.”
“My daughter and the prince.” He beamed proudly. “I knew she was . . .”
“Rayth,” snapped Emyra, “think about it, she’s going to have her heart broken. How can the future king marry the daughter of an innkeeper?”
Rayth’s mood darkened. “She went to the best schools and can read, write, and do numbers. She’s good enough for him or he will have to face me.”
“Ah yes, the mighty Rayth against the Royal Lancers, I can just see it.”
“Now you’re mocking me,” hissed the man menacingly.
“Rayth,” said Emyra softly, “I am preparing you for what will happen. He will have to marry some noble woman or a royal from another nation.”
“The rules could change.”
“Rayth.”
“I know, I know, thank you, Emyra.”
“Now, down to business.”
“Yes, yes.”
“Have you heard any news from the docks?”
The big man took a deep breath to clear his thoughts. “Nothing new, our people are laying low. There are strangers on every corner and down every alley. There is also a stream of new blood from somewhere, new bashers who seem to be skilled with weapons.”
“Not just your usual bashers?”
“No, these men have the eye of a hawk. Soldiers, I would say, definitely not usual muscle, but I am not too sure from where or aligned to whom.”
“What has Zorain said?”
“Nothing really, we’ll get no help from the Watch at this time.”
Emyra sat and thought for a long time. “Thank you Rayth, my friend, I will call you soon. Tell our people to sit tight and let’s see what happens.”
Rayth rose and kissed Emyra on the cheek. “Thank you for the news.”
“I look after my people, now be gone with you.”
***
Emyra went to the window to watch Rayth’s huge frame blend swiftly into the shadows. She had done well in choosing him to be the father for her daughter. She had not interfered with her daughter’s upbringing, leaving that in Rayth’s capable hands, and he had no idea she was the mother. Emyra had used a different name back in those days and left Teldor for many years, returning and fighting her way to her current standing. Now known as the Mistress, leader of the Nightband, after the queen she was the most powerful woman in Teldor. Up until recently she had controlled the docks, all contraband, the thieves, the pay-maidens, and the taverns in Downtown. Nothing happened in Teldor without the Mistress’s knowledge or sanction. Emyra sighed. Tonight she could see she had upset her closest friend.
She saw
the happiness in Rayth’s eyes when he realised Zane was the Prince of the Rhaurns. Then the sadness when he realised it could not be. Try he would, even battle against the whole Rhaurien army for his daughter, but the odds were stacked against him and sadly, she saw it.
***
Rayth paused in an alley on his journey home to let a coach pass him and recognised the colours of the Admiral of the Rhaurien Fleet. No good will come of this, he thought again. After half an hour of careful creeping through the shadows, Rayth arrived home. He knew Aurillia would be sleeping on his chair in his room, with a blanket wrapped around her. Silently, he opened and closed the backdoor, then crept up the creaky stairs to his bedroom. He opened the door and there in his chair was the light of his life. Rayth had not touched a drop of liquor in over eighteen years and promised Aurillia he would only drink on her wedding day and at the birth of his grandchildren.
Carefully, he picked up his daughter and kissed her brow. She opened her eyes and smiled dreamily, looping her arms around his thick neck. His heart melted. Gently, he carried her to her room and put her to bed without fully waking her. In this, he had years of practise. He returned to his room and saw the note bearing the royal seal on the floor by the chair, and he sighed. The couple had been seeing each other for the past six months and appeared deeply in love. What should he do? Should he tell her? No, she was happy. He would pick up the pieces when the time came. He went back to Aurillia’s room and put the note under her pillow. When he finally went to sleep, he dreamt of happy times with his wife.
***
The Royal Lancers made good time through the city and an hour after passing through the western outer gates they arrived at the inner gate. The Chosen marvelled at the inner wall that was higher than the outer wall and made from grey stone smoothed so that there were no handgrips for climbers. At the small gate stood four Royal Lancers who, seeing their comrades, opened the small gate. The group entered the palace grounds and the Chosen smiled at the grand building that resembled a castle’s keep rather than a palace. He quickly surmised even in the poor light that the palace grounds contained the royal household, the king’s court, and the barracks for the Royal Lancers, the King’s personal guards.