The Beggar's Past

by J B Drake

  Just then, there came a knock at her door. Frowning, she turned to it.

  “Who is it?” she called.

  “Who else?” came the reply.

  Upon hearing those words, Anise’s eyes went wide as she stared at her bags and, darting to them, she grabbed them both and flung them under her bed before sitting upon the bed.

  “Come,” she said once seated.

  In response, the door swung open, and as her brother came into view, Anise smiled.

  “I thought you were staying with Thuridan,” she said

  Smiling, Daniton nodded. “I am. I came by last night to pick up a few things. You were already asleep when I arrived.”

  “Ah,” Anise said. “Well, I have an early start today and—”

  “You? An early start?”

  Anise pulled a face in response.

  “But I’m glad I caught you. There’s one thing I wish to speak to you about.”

  Frowning, Anise straightened as she stared at her brother.

  “Yes,” Daniton nodded, then leant upon the door. “Did you truly think I wouldn’t find out?”

  At his words, Anise’s eyes went wide.

  “Now, see here, Daniton,” she rose, “I know I promised to leave the wine alone, but I only took one bottle this time, alright?”

  “I’m not here to speak about…wait, you took another bottle?”

  Anise grimaced at her brother.

  “Please tell me you didn’t go into Mother’s personal collection.”

  “Uhm…”

  “Anise!”

  Biting her lip, Anise lowered her gaze and sat back upon her bed.

  Taking a deep breath, Daniton shook his head as he let it out slowly.

  “I did not come here to talk about wine, though we are talking about it upon your return…”

  Anise grimaced once more, but kept her peace.

  “…but what I was talking about is your little excursion with Marshalla.”

  Anise stared at her brother.

  “Yes.” Daniton nodded. “I know you’re going to see Arenya, and I know of your talk with the Matriarch.”

  A deep sigh escaped Anise’s lips as she shook her head. “She swore not to tell you.”

  “She didn’t.”

  “So who did?”

  “Finam.”

  “Finam?”

  Daniton nodded.

  “He just can’t keep his mouth shut, can he!”

  Daniton laughed, shaking his head. “No, he never has and never will.”

  Then, as his laugher faded, Daniton stood tall.

  “You should’ve told me,” he said.

  Anise shook her head. “I couldn’t.”

  “Do I no longer have your trust?”

  “Oh, don’t be stupid, Daniton, of course you do!”

  “Then, why didn’t you tell me?”

  Anise smiled at her brother, the warmth of her smile a clear contrast to the pain in his eyes.

  “Because I knew you’d want to come,” she said.

  “It’s that so wrong?”

  “Yes,” Anise replied, and as the pain in her brother’s eyes grew, Anise’s smile grew in turn.

  “You’ve always looked out for us, Daniton,” Anise continued, “Arenya and I. For as long as I’ve known you, you’ve always acted like our elder brother…”

  “Well, I wouldn’t go that far.”

  “…which can be bloody annoying sometimes.”

  “Hey!”

  “Well, it is. I’m the eldest of us all, and having you telling me what to say, or not say, to Arenya, well…it was difficult sometimes.”

  Daniton frowned. “You never said anything.”

  “Yes,” Anise nodded, “because you were right, every time. Stubborn as I was, I could see the truth in your words, so I heeded them.”

  “Anise, I—”

  “Hush! You asked me for a reason, so don’t interrupt!”

  Smiling, Daniton did as he’d been bidden.

  “A lot has happened in the last few days. I’ve learnt some things I wish I hadn’t, but I’m glad I did. Only, those things have made me rethink some other things. I’m the eldest of us all, Daniton, and it’s high time I started acting like it.”

  “By going off to see Arenya without me.”

  “Precisely. I’m going to mend things between us, and I’m going to do it without you. Then, I’m going to come back, and I’m going to be the one telling you what to do.”

  “Oh, perish the thought,” Daniton grinned.

  Grinning, Anise shook her head. But her grin was fleeting.

  “I mean it, Daniton. It’s high time I shouldered my responsibilities.”

  “You always have, sister.”

  Anise shook her head once more. “Not when it comes to our family I haven’t.”

  Daniton stared at his sister for a spell.

  “I must do this by myself, Daniton,” Anise continued. “I need to be the elder sister you deserve. Both of you.”

  “Is this about what Naeve told you?” Daniton asked. “About our parents?”

  Anise rolled her eyes at her brother. “Nothing truly is sacred in this place, is it?”

  Smiling, Daniton shrugged. “Sadly, no.” Then, his smile dimmed. “But is it, though?”

  Sighing, Anise nodded. “It was the clarion call, yes.”

  “Then you need to know something.”

  Anise shook her head as she stood. “You don’t need to defend them, I bear them no—”

  “Mother cried herself to sleep that night, Anise,” Daniton interjected. “The moment she and Father returned from seeing Naeve, she locked herself in her room and cried till she slept. Father went down to the wine cellar and drank till morning.”

  All blood drained from Anise’s face as she stared open-mouthed at her brother.

  “Then, why did they do it?” she asked at last, her voice barely above a whisper.

  Daniton sighed. “They thought you’d become a monster. And, given how close you came to killing Arenya, they didn’t want to risk having you around her.”

  “Better to lose one daughter than to lose both,” Anise muttered, her eyes glistening.

  Sighing, Daniton nodded.

  “It must’ve been hard for you to see them like that,” Anise said at last, wiping her eyes.

  Daniton shrugged as he lowered his gaze briefly.

  “I wanted to go with Baern, you know,” he said, “but he ordered me to stay and look after them.”

  Anise smiled at her brother. “I know. Baern told me.”

  Smiling once more, Daniton took a deep breath, then let it out slowly as he turned to the door.

  “You can come in now,” he said through the open doorway.

  “Who…?” Anise began, then smiled as Marshalla came into view, the young red-head laden with bags almost as large as Anise’s.

  “She was here earlier,” Daniton said. “I asked her to wait while we spoke.”

  Then, staring first at Marshalla then his sister, Daniton sighed once more, then left. The pair remained standing in silence, both staring at the open doorway till they heard the front door shut.

  “Surprised your brother can trust someone who lies so easily to him,” Marshalla growled as she turned to Anise.

  The Archmage stared at Marshalla with a gaze that could chill a witch’s heart, and it wasn’t long before Marshalla began to wilt under it’s weight.

  Shaking her head, the Archmage reached beneath the bed and pulled free her bags, then rose.

  “Let’s go,” she said, then made her way out of the room.

  Marshalla watched her leave in silence before gritting her teeth and hurrying after the Archmage.

  And thus did their journey begin.

  Perils Of The Road

  With the last of her strength, Marshalla placed the bag in her hand beside one of the chairs by the only empty table in the inn, then collapsed upon the chair. Such was her exhaustion, she had not the strength to remove the heavy ba
g slung upon her shoulder or even shake the snow from her hair, choosing instead to slump in her seat as her breath came in snatches.

  “Next time, when I tell you to slow down, slow down,” said Anise, placing her bags beside the table as she spoke. “You’re lucky you didn’t cripple that horse.”

  With her lips twisted into an open snarl, Marshalla glared at the woman, but she had not the breath for a retort.

  “Hrm?” Anise said, her gaze fierce as she brushed the snow off her coat before sitting.

  Just then, a maid appeared by their table.

  “What’ll ye both be having, then?” she chirped, her hands upon her waist.

  “I’ll have some mead, please,” Anise replied in much the same manner, “and some venison stew if you have any left.”

  “Ah, yer in luck!” the maid replied. “Cook’s jest finished a batch, plenty left fer ye and yer daughter both.”

  “Daughter?” Marshalla exclaimed.

  “We’ll have some,” Anise said before Marshalla could say more.

  “Err, right,” the maid replied, her cheeks reddening ever so slightly. “And something te drink fer yer…friend?”

  Anise’s smile grew. “Mead as well, please.”

  “I can order my own drink, thank you,” Marshalla snapped.

  In response, Anise’s smile dimmed to nothing as she turned to hold her companion in a hardened stare.

  “What’ll ye be having, then?” the maid asked, the chirp in her voice much less evident than before.

  Marshalla stared at the maid for a spell, her mind a blank.

  “What do you have?” she said at last.

  “Uhm, well…” the maid replied, then began throwing words at Marshalla that made absolutely no sense to her.

  “So, what’ll ye be having, then?” the maid said at last.

  With her mouth agape, Marshalla stared at Anise, who stared at her with the same hardened stare.

  “Uhm…” she said as the turned back to the maid. “Mead, please.”

  “Mead,” the maid said, giving Marshalla a withering stare.

  Smiling, Marshalla nodded.

  “Right,” the maid muttered, and giving Anise a knowing look, spun on her heels and disappeared into the throng.

  Marshalla watched the woman as she weaved past the other patrons, but movement in the corner of her eye drew her gaze back to her companion. As she turned, she watched as Anise raised one of her bags onto her lap before proceeding to rummage through it. A familiar silence fell upon them, settling upon the pair like a crushing wall, and as Marshalla stared at Anise, she found herself wishing once more she could banish the awful silence.

  But she couldn’t, could she? The silence was of her making after all, for it was a silence that had taken root in Mardaley’s kitchen, born of the snide remarks and condescending words she’d used repeatedly, words, she was sure, that had hardened the older woman’s heart. Granted, she’d been angry, but even so, she’d gone too far. The decent thing to do would be to apologise, to try and stem the rancour between them, for no other reason that to allow their journey some semblance of peace. Marshalla knew this to be true, she knew this with all her heart, but damned if she’d be the one to beg.

  “What in the world are you looking for now?” she said.

  “What’s it to you?” was Anise’s distracted response.

  “Well, for one thing, you’re making a scene.”

  Stopping, Anise raised her head to hold Marshalla in a withering glare, a glare Marshalla did her best to hold square with a defiant glare of her own, but even she knew how stupid her words were.

  “Hrm,” Anise muttered at last, then returned to her rummaging.

  The silence returned, but it did not last.

  “So you’re just going to sit there?” Marshalla demanded. “You’re not even going to enquire when a caravan—”

  “Did something happen to your legs?” Anise shot back, her head still bowed.

  Stunned, Marshalla stared at the woman. “Isn’t it your task?”

  “Is it?” Anise replied as she stared at Marshalla once more.

  Marshalla shrugged. “You’re the one who decided to drag us on a different route to what was agreed.”

  Anise stared at Marshalla in silence for a spell, her eyes boring into her companion.

  “Marshalla,” she said at last, sitting tall, “if you wish to follow Mardaley’s route so badly, be my guest. You have—”

  “Wait, I didn’t say—”

  “You have a bag full of provisions,” Anise continued, raising her voice as she spoke, “and you know where the door is, so go. Go, and gods speed to you. As for me—”

  “I didn’t say—”

  “As for me,” Anise said, raising her voice once more, “I will go and ask about the caravans when I am good and ready. If that bothers you, that is your headache, but do not rush me. Do not ever think to rush me.”

  The tense silence returned, and remained till Anise returned to her rummaging once more.

  “Whatever,” Marshalla growled, then rose, taking off the bag on her back as she did so.

  “Where are you going?” Anise demanded once Marshalla began to walk away.

  “To do your duty!” Marshalla snapped before marching towards the inn’s counter.

  As she went, Marshalla tensed, readying herself for another barb, but none came. This served to anger her all the more, however, and with her lips pursed into thin line, the young red-head marched to the counter, leaning upon it as she fought to bring her ire to heel.

  “Stupid cow,” she muttered before taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly as she looked for the inn-keeper.

  “Be right with you, my darling,” the inn-keeper said as their eyes met, and before Marshalla could draw breath, the elderly woman darted over to another group at the counter.

  Curious, Marshalla turned to stare at the group. They were five in total, all of them human, all of different ages. And all of them men. Their attire marked them out to her as adventurers, their armour a mix of plate and leather.

  “Adventurers,” she scoffed in her mind, her face once of pure tranquillity. “Gods help us all.”

  Then, she glanced at the weapons hanging by their sides. Each one she saw was well-worn, each blade dulled.

  “You can’t even care for your own weapons. Gods.”

  As a sigh escaped her lips, Marshalla let her gaze wander over the patrons for a moment longer, till she found herself staring into the eyes of the youngest of the group. And he was staring back at her. Forcing a smile, Marshalla nodded, then turned her attention back to the inn-keeper, who was sharing words with the eldest of the group. But even as Marshalla focused on the pair, she could see, from the corner of her eye, the young adventurer staring at her still, and it wasn’t long before she glanced back at him.

  There was beauty in his face, a great deal of it, with long black hair and the sort of deep blue eyes many would call mesmerising. He could not be any more than a year or three older than her, Marshalla was sure, but it was plain this was a boy that was never short of a woman’s attention. He was smiling now, and as they stared at each other, he nodded, then began making his way towards her.

  “Oh, gods,” Marshalla muttered, before turning to stare square ahead.

  “Hello there,” the young adventurer said as he reached her.

  “Hello,” Marshalla replied as she forced a smile.

  “Forgive me,” he said, brushing back his hair as he flashed what Marshalla could only assume to be his most winning smile, “but I couldn’t help notice you standing here all alone, in dire need of company.”

  “I’m my own company, thank you.” Marshalla replied, holding fast to her smile.

  “Oh?” the young adventurer said as he leant onto the counter. “Well, perhaps I can—”

  “I doubt it,” Marshalla interjected, flashing him her most winning smile.

  “Oh, but you don’t know me,” the young adventurer said, sliding ever so slight
ly closer. “How about I buy you a drink and we get to know each other a little better?”

  “I’d really rather not.”

  “Ah, but I insist,” the young adventurer replied, raising a hand to stroke Marshalla’s arm. “Perhaps if we—”

  “Look,” Marshalla growled, letting go of her smile as she squirmed away from him, “bugger off, alright? I’m not interested. Go waste you words on some mindless bar wench or something.”

  Anger flashed briefly behind the young adventurer’s eyes as his own smile dimmed to nothing.

  “You got a rude tongue in that head of yours, girl,” the boy growled, “take care someone doesn’t cut it out.”

  Holding her peace, Marshalla glared at him, and the boy glared back. Then, scoffing at her, he returned to his companions.

  “Thank gods for that,” she whispered, then turned to search for the inn-keeper once more.

  The inn-keeper was standing before her, staring at her with quite some concern. Forcing a smile, Marshalla nodded at the woman.

  “My friend and I are looking for passage to Kirsk, do—”

  “You new around here,” the inn-keeper interjected.

  Marshalla frowned. “Why would you say that?”

  “Because you got no idea who that boy is.”

  With her frown deepening, Marshalla turned to the young adventurer. He was sneering at her, talking to his companions.

  “Go back to your friend, girl,” the inn-keeper added. “Be sending someone over.”

  It wasn’t so much the inn-keeper’s words that unnerved Marshalla as her tone. Frowning still, she looked over at the boy. He was still staring at her, still sneering.

  “Go on, girl,” the inn-keeper urged.

  Marshalla turned back to her.

  “Go on. Someone’ll see to you soon.”

  Marshalla nodded at the woman.

  “Thank you,” she managed to say, before standing tall and turning to head back to Anise.

  “No job for a whore then, is there?”

  Stopping, Marshalla looked over her shoulder at the boy. His sneer had grown, twisting in part into a smirk.

  “Eh, girl?” he continued, then shook his head. “Too bad. Next time, don’t be such a frigid banshee. Bad for business, don’t you know.”

  With her ire mounting, Marshalla slowly turned to face the boy square, but before she could breathe a word, the inn-keeper spoke up.