A Choice of Blades: The Blade Remnant, Book One

by D. N. Woodward

  As she stepped back admiring the ferocious figure the big dog cut, she couldn't hold it in any longer. "This armor is going to work out great for these guys, and the wagon is perfect! Not sure what you're going to do with that rope, but we make a good team, don't we, Leon!"

  Leon chuckled. "Remind me never to get into a negotiation with you. You are an absolutely ruthless woman!"

  She beamed back at him. "I just know a good deal from a bad one. This covered wagon was really genius, though. Poor Ahab will be so much more comfortable riding back here, as opposed to under a blanket on your stinky Thunderbird."

  "Aha! He is growing on you!"

  Kyra pouted. "I didn't say that. I just don't like to see creatures suffer, no matter how dangerous they may grow to become!"

  Leon conceded the point and asked something that had been nagging at him all afternoon, "How did you know that armor wasn't true cured tusker, whatever that is…?"

  "Oh, it's cured tusker all right. Mr. Wysman doesn't know that, though. When I realized he wasn't a true member of the Sojourner's Merchant guild, I took a chance he wouldn't know how true tusker hides were cured, and I was right! Besides, I never actually lied, I just denied the facts he used to construct the lies he used on us."

  "How did you know he wasn't a real merchant?"

  "Simple, if he was a true Sojourner Merchant, he would have known all cured tusker hides come from the mountains, not the southern jungles. My parents did business with Sojourner Merchants my whole life, they are all hard men who brave dangerous lands. Flattery is not their strongest attribute, at least not on the ones I know. This guy must have inherited some Merchant’s gear. He's probably never been out of these woods, though he does know how to spin a good story!"

  Leon just shook his head and laughed, there was nothing more he could say.

  # # #

  Four days later, they arrived at the valley of the walls of Hollinger. The sky was clear, and the sun was warm. Not quite warm like the Texas heat Leon knew from back home, but warmer than he had grown accustomed to in Fayden.

  As they drew to a stop in the midst of a growing line, he could see the wagons of the slaver caravan a few hundred feet ahead. The line through the city gates stretched out in many directions, funneling down to one point.

  Streams of merchants loitered in small camps along the road, attempting to sell all manner of items and services as weary travelers stood their turn in line for entry into the city. To Leon’s surprise, there were also robed men walking up and down the lines offering blessed blades to all who had money for their cause. Just out of curiosity he bought one. It was longer than his own, and the pommel was decorated with dozens of tiny shiny rocks, but the guard was off-center, the edge was chipped, and the tang bent a hair to the left. It was junk, and the robed men were selling the junk like hotcakes.

  Leon reached down into his vest where his true Blade was hidden. There was no comparison between the two. However, rather than simply discard the blessed blade, and risking insult with the robed charlatans, he stowed it down in his pile of loot resting on the back of the Thunderbird. He would find a quiet place to discard it later.

  Another surprise to Leon was that the people migrating into the North Fang’s capital didn’t seem to have a preference for any one or two modes of transportation. There were animals of all kinds and types being used to carry things. Creatures as small as an oversized badger carried a farmer’s box of produce in leather saddlebag-looking packs, while a whole family was crammed up onto the back of some type of hairy rhino that possessed one extraordinarily long horn. Though the sights were far from boring, it quickly became evident that their wait into the city would be long and sweaty.

  He decided to tie the Thunderbird off to Grumpy's wagon and climbed up behind Kyra for a better view of the diverse mob of travelers growing around them. Several of the men nearby were already eying Kyra with unabashed looks of appreciation. Gone was her fur poncho. She was instead wearing one of the airy tops they had procured from the forest merchants. He instinctively slid his arm around her waist and drew her in against his chest as he caught their eyes and glared back at each one individually. The men took the hint and found more interesting sights to study when their eyes met his cold golden orbs.

  Kyra waited a full minute to lean back and whisper, “Leon, I was just thinking of something…”

  “Hmm, what's that?”

  “I wonder how many of my brothers can see us from here?”

  He glanced up at the cages not too far out beyond their current position and his arm dropped like it had been touching a hot coal. After a long minute of anxiety, Kyra’s raspy laugh made him smile as well. “It is way too hot to be stuck together like this up here on a furry bear rug. We keep it up, and we might start smelling like Grumpy!”

  "Heaven forbid!"

  He scooted back away from her until he caught a glimpse of a brightly colored wagon standing in line from a spur in the road further off to their left. He sat up and tried to catch a better look, but a drover herding a dozen of those large curly horned sheep blocked his view from the road between them. Their bleating caused Merle to perk up.

  “You mind if I go check something out?”

  “No,” she shrugged, “I’ll be here.” She, too, was busy looking around at the collection of characters around them and didn’t seem at all curious over where he might be heading off.

  “You’ll be okay?”

  “Grumpy? What do you think? Will I be okay?” Grumpy turned to show his teeth. He gave Leon a halfhearted huff. A not so gentle reminder of who was technically better equipped to protect their lady friend.

  “Yeah, well, I’m leaving everyone but Merle here with you. Just heading over there to take a closer look at that wagon.” He pointed in the direction where he had last seen the painted wagon.

  Once Leon finally extricated himself and Merle from around the frantic herd of bleating sheep, all of whom had become extremely irritated at the sight of Merle slinking along behind him, he found the cart he had first seen.

  A heavyset red-bearded man in a bright blue vest stood atop the cart, giving the evil eye to anyone who shuffled by too closely. He wasn’t much taller than Leon despite standing on the cart, a good foot and a half off the ground. A filthy pair of warthogs were harnessed up front and the back end of the wagon was stacked high with crated merchandise.

  “Excuse me, sir? Sir? Could I talk with you for a moment?”

  The little man looked from one side to the next before narrowing his eyes when it dawned on him that Leon had addressed him directly. “What do you want?” His voice was nasally and irritated.

  “Are you Otterkin?” Leon didn’t know if it was rude to assume such a thing one way or the other, but Gus had always made a point of highlighting how the word ‘ass-u-me’ could be broken up to demonstrate a derogative connotation for those who use it.

  “You soft in the head, boy? That why you ask fool questions, yes? Off with you!” He flicked his reins, and the warthogs took three slow steps forward.

  “Sorry sir, I didn’t want to… never mind. Do you know anyone from the Haberkorn clan?”

  He hocked a loogie at Leon’s feet and took a seat on a crate behind him, stroking his beard.

  In a much calmer voice, he answered, “Might be I know of the Haberkorns, what’s it to you?”

  Leon stepped up closer and lowered his voice, though no one seemed to be paying the two of them any mind. “A friend of mine, Sved Haberkorn, he told me to give this to the first Otterkin merchant I was to come across. He said the Haberkorn Clan will be in your debt if you get word back to them as quickly as possible on where I am staying.” Leon saw the man’s beady little eyes light up in a green shade of greed.

  “Let’s say I do know how to get word to the Haberkorns? Where will you be staying, young master?”

  Leon blinked. He hadn’t even considered where he and Kyra might be staying.

  The little man pounced on his indecision. “I take i
t you are new to Hollinger, yes? Are you…well-funded or…in poor condition, might I ask?”

  Leon knew better than to give too much away. Still, he didn’t want the guy to recommend some pigsty, “We're bringing in trade goods that should fetch a decent price. Where would you recommend?”

  A smile spread across his face. “The Wounded Duck would be my advice.”

  “The Wounded Duck?” Those words did not have kind of taste that cried out classy establishment.

  The man quickly intervened, “On my word, it's as decent a place as any in all of Hollinger. And it's run by a much-respected Otterkin relative of mine.” He touched his nose and winked. “Just tell him Fat Fickleburr sent you. My cousin will take care of you. Honest, son, he will.” Leon wasn’t sure he trusted the man, but he was fairly certain he could trust the man’s greed for the Haberkorn’s indebtedness. He held out the small talisman Sved had given him.

  “If you can, tell them everyone entered Hollinger today, but to hurry.”

  “Yes, sir! You can count on me!” The man grinned at the scent of easy money. He took the talisman, and it disappeared into a pocket between one of his rolls.

  # # #

  The drone of a thousand hawkers ringing oppressively in their ears matched the suffocating closeness of the masses on the crowded street. For Leon, it was uncomfortable, but for Kyra, it proved downright disorienting, though she stayed seated in her saddle, above the fray. On the ground level, Leon was forced to use his gift on all their animals to keep Merle close to his side, and to keep Ahab and the owl huddled together within the covering of the wagon. He even made the extra effort to help Kyra calm Grumpy as they entered through the gates.

  Tall signs in decorative calligraphies hung proudly over expensive-looking businesses on either side of the main entrance. Each storefront sported sturdy brick facades. The business establishments closest to the city wall were the largest and most opulent. They stood aloof in painted rows, adorned with bright flowers and verdant hanging gardens. Old, but full of character and with a smidgen of authoritarian charisma.

  He was, however, grateful for one distinct attribute of the crowds, the slaver caravan had a harder time navigating them than his little group. Otherwise, he might have lost them before they ever made it in through the gates. Fortunately, the guards merely passed them through for a small fee, and he was able to catch sight of the cages.

  He fell in a close distance behind before the wagons made the first turn. Leon led the way, following in the void created behind a collection of boisterous slave guards who shouted obscenities in every conceivable direction, pushing and prodding at any poor soul caught flatfooted in the path of their progression.

  They followed behind the last cage in the caravan. It held a colorful assortment of spotted monkeys, all howling and screeching at every person they passed. Despite the palpable energy spawned by a veritable sensory overload of new sights and sounds, Kyra rode with drooping shoulders, a look of quiet contempt in her eyes.

  Leon could empathize. To be so close to the people they cared about while still completely helpless to do anything for them ate at him until his knuckles turned white and he yielded to the urge to push his hat up and give his head a scratch.

  The slavers hung a right down a moderately less busy lane of traffic. The quality of the establishments gradually dwindled. The people moving about didn’t appear to step with quite the purpose and pomp as those buzzing around the city gates.

  When they eventually stepped up to cross over a wide, heavy stone bridge, Leon caught a whiff of Hollinger’s equivalent to the other side of the tracks. The air simply had a more pungent scent than what he had noticed clinging to the masses of people at the city gates.

  Gazing out over a muddy river, Leon caught glimpses of all manner of merchandise, both people and otherwise, housed in stationary cages and open-air warehouse platforms along the river’s opposite shoreline. Medium-sized cargo boats, that looked to him like ancient Viking vessels, bobbed gently up down over brown water. The boats were tied off to weathered docks. Each dock extended a third of the way out into the river. Indeed, an endless tangle of swaying docks, bobbing boats, and moving cargo lined the port on the far side of the bridge for several blocks in either direction.

  On closer inspection, as they descended into the seedier side of town, the dingy buildings running parallel to the river were a mottled blend of old and new construction. The older portion contained the ancient remains of much more refined yet crumbling stone edifices. The newer portions included a hodgepodge assortment of wood and brick patches, poor substitutes for the former’s quality. If Leon hadn’t seen the remains of those wind-swept walls and abandoned rotundas on his first day in Fayden, he might have overlooked the truth that broken arches and chipped marble columns hid in plain sight. The slave market was built upon the ruins of an ancient Bladed City!

  The slavers came to a stop several hundred yards north of the bridge. Leon tried to be as nonchalant as possible while stepping around the wagons parked along the edge of the street. He continued on like he had someplace to be, leading the Thunderbird by its reins alongside Grumpy. He didn’t dare look to the right or the left, not trusting himself to peer into the cages.

  He couldn’t help but flinch as filthy clusters of now loitering slavers gave Kyra catcalls and crude solicitations for their impending celebrations that evening. He just kept his eyes forward and marched past them all, praying that Reed and Haddie might be looking his way when he moved past their wagons. He could give them nothing, but perhaps being able to see a familiar face sliding by in such a bleak circumstance might just leverage a sliver of hope their direction. It wasn’t much, but it would have to be enough, for now.

  Once past, he continued for another two blocks, then turned left down a side street. He looked back at Kyra. When she met his questioning eyes a solitary tear slid from her own, and she nodded yes. She had seen her brothers. They were alive.

  He picked up the pace, continuing straight through another block, then turned left again. He wanted to put some distance between them and that filthy bunch of degenerates, but he knew he needed to circle back toward the bridge before he drifted too far into the slums.

  He hurried them all through an empty back alley, thankful the sun still hung high above. If he could make it back across the bridge quickly, they might have a chance at finding the Wounded Duck before night came to the city. Who knew what night might bring in a city that sold people like appliances? He hustled everyone forward a tad bit faster. Making a hasty beeline for the water’s edge.

  Three large men dressed in the unmistakable gear of the slavers stepped out into the alley, directly blocking their path. The one in the center had porkchop sideburns and a lazy eye. He strutted forward with a shiftless swagger.

  “Woah there, boy! You’ll get them animals all hot and sweaty. No need for that! Can’t blame you, though, if I had a looker like that…” he whistled low over his shoulder at his companions, “well, I’d be in a hurry, too.”

  His friends laughed at his joke though the humor never touched their eyes. They spread out to either side of the leader, blocking any easy path around the group.

  Leon took a deep breath before addressing Mr. Lazy-Eye. He expected a fight would be coming any second, but he would at least attempt a peaceful departure. “Yeah, well, you’re right about it being hot out today. We are looking for a certain merchant we were told works down at these docs. His name is Fat Fickleburr. You wouldn’t know him, would you?”

  The man to the left of the leader called out, “Sure, get over here, and I’ll introduce you.” They all broke out laughing once more.

  Leon heard a scraping sound over his should and took a chance to peek back at the disturbance. Three more men stepped out into the alley behind them. When he turned back to the leader, he only heard the distant drone of a crowded street. None of the three in front of him were laughing anymore. A half a block away, past the scum, he could see people moving about the do
cks, going on about their business, oblivious to his worsening plight.

  Lazy-Eye grabbed his attention once more... “You two think you’re the only ones to ever try following a slaver crew back to the docks? Fools!” He spat at Leon’s feet and drew a long ugly sword. The kind of sword only useful to someone who had an everyday type of use for it. “What is it going to be? Want to do this the easy way…or the hard way?”

  “You do realize she’s riding a giant bear, don’t you?” Leon couldn’t help but wonder how Lazy-Eye thought things would play out in his favor, even with the three goons behind him.

  The only response he received was a hand signal from the leader followed by the resulting sound of a heavy thwack. Grumpy jerked back instinctively and reared up causing Ahab to tumble down out of the back of the wagon.

  Leon glassed the rooftops above. Two men were leaning over the roof to his left, one held a loaded crossbow trained on him, the other looked to be loading the one just emptied.

  Lazy-Eye smirked back at him. “That's an interesting creature you have there, boy. He'll fetch a decent silver, no doubt. I haven’t got all day, and those bolts have enough nasty gunk plastered on the spike to freeze a rhino in his tracks! Give in now, and we’ll keep this business like before we throw you both in with the rest of the loot. Make us work for it, and I make no promises!”

  Merle was already growling, and Leon could feel his chest beginning to tighten. He held up a hand like he needed time to consider the man’s offer while his mind raced through alternatives. Unfortunately, no workable solution came to mind. Reaching down with his right hand, he absentmindedly grazed his fingers across the top of his bone-hilt Blade as he studied the men before him.

  If we could only take care of those two crossbows above, we might have a chance!

  A surging pulse reverberated up through his arm from where his fingertips rested against the Blade. The pulse ricocheted through his chest and outward, leaving him gasping for air.