A Choice of Blades: The Blade Remnant, Book One

by D. N. Woodward

  Ahab, who had circled and had taken the position opposite Merle, at his side, sprang into action. He raced forward faster than Leon had ever seen the young griffin move, catching everyone off guard. As he leaped directly at the leader’s face, his wings, which were always tucked up firmly against his body, kicked open and spread wide. They twitched, and he sailed up over the man’s head just as Leon heard the sharp thwack of a crossbow being released.

  The bolt sliced down through the air, but Ahab was already gone. Instead of striking the griffin, it slammed into the bald spot on the top of old Lazy-eye’s head. His melon cracked like an egg, and he was dead before he hit the ground.

  Merle and Grumpy needed no invitation. They barreled forward next, each taking down one of the two remaining men. Though Merle was no two-thousand-pound bear, his growth, like Ahab’s, had been further accelerated by Kyra’s attention over the past month. A three-hundred-pound hound in full battle armor, bearing down on you at chest height was not good odds.

  Leon drew his Blade and pivoted back to face the three behind him. They hadn’t even moved. He backed up a step. A frantic scream came streaking down from above. A man fell, hitting the dirt alley not two feet in front of him. The man bounced once and moved no more. Seconds later a second fell dead beside the first. Each time a body fell, Leon and the slavers jumped.

  Leon whistled. Ahab came gliding over the heads of the remaining three slavers from above, softly touching down to take a position at his side. The men were shaking but they continued to stare, eyes wide in shock. Leon didn’t take his eyes off them until his little group had just about cleared the alley. Then he ordered Ahab back up into the wagon as they all turned and hightailed it for the bridge.

  Chapter 25

  It took Leon and Kyra another two hours to find the Wounded Duck. When they did finally track it down, Leon was pleasantly surprised. It wasn't necessarily in a bad location, just a block off the main drag.

  The streets were still brutally busy outside when they arrived. They visited the stables first. It came as no surprise that stable hands wanted nothing to do with Grumpy. Kyra snorted at their mistrust of the big bear. They gave them a stall large enough to house the bear and the wagon both.

  “At least now we have a place where we can stash all our gear without worrying about anyone getting too close,” Kyra said.

  Leon could tell she was in a much-improved mood after exercising a tiny portion of the total vindication she hoped to levy on the slavers. He did not share her upbeat attitude. At any minute he fully expected some form of city police to barge in and take them both into custody. For crying out loud, their creatures still had the incriminating blood of five dead slavers on their paws! Still, there was nothing to be done about it; what was done was done.

  Gus always did say there’s no sense in crying over spilled diesel, just till it under and keep on plowing.

  The atmosphere in the tavern below the Inn was cheerful and accommodating. A short chubby lady, who Leon assumed was likely another Otterkin relative to Fat Fickleburr, sang bawdy songs from a corner near the bar. The music livened up the place while a barkeep served a mixed clientele of Otterkin and normal size people. The ceilings were high, and the air was decently cool. There were tables set up around the main room, though the evening crowd had not yet begun to arrive.

  Leon gestured for Kyra to follow, and together with Merle, they all took a seat at a table with their backs against the wall. It didn’t take long for a short, bearded barkeep to visit them. He had a ready smile and an honest face, much the opposite of Fickleburr.

  “Anything I can get you two?”

  Leon caught the whiff of freshly baked bread coming from somewhere back in the kitchens before he answered, “Food, drinks, and rooms?”

  “I can take care of the food and drink. Your gonna have a hard time with the rooms though, this place is booked solid on account of the Kingdom negotiations. You may want to try the Prickly Thistle closer to the docks?”

  Kingdom negotiations?

  “I was told by a friend of the owner we might find a room here, his name was Fat Fickleburr.”

  The man’s demeanor changed. “So, Fatty sent you?”

  “Yes, sir. I hired him to take care of some business for me, and he suggested I might be able to stay here while we tried selling some of our merchant wares.”

  “I see, well, if that’s the case, fatty better cut me in on whatever little deal he has going with you, yes? Maybe we can scrounge up a room after all. I’m the owner, by the way, Tendlewren Fickleburr, at you service!” Leon didn’t know what to say to that, so he smiled and extended a hand for a quick shake of the man's forearm.

  “Leon Waldman, and this is Kyra Stonebreaker.” They shook hands as well.

  “Any chance you also have a bath available?” Kyra piped up before the man could leave.

  He stopped and looked them both over once more.

  “Talk to my wife, Higlebuns, once she’s done with her set, yes?”

  Soon enough, Higlebuns finished her set. A little while later she came by and ushered them all to an upstairs room. “Sorry, but we really are booked. Just have the one room left for special occasions.” She gave Kyra a frown, not knowing whether to inquire further.

  “It’ll be fine, thank you,” was all Kyra said in return.

  The room was large, but best of all, in one corner, an open doorway led to an honest to goodness bathroom! There was a pull lever over a metal tub which allowed the user to fill a hot bath. Kyra went first.

  “Careful not to scrub your hair too much!” was all Leon managed to say before the door clanged shut.

  He made himself comfortable and set his owl on a perch near an open window. The evening breeze from three stories up didn’t quite carry the stench of the streets below, it served to cool the room instead.

  A half-hour later it was his turn. The warm bath and soap were absolute bliss after weeks on the road. When he returned to their room a small candle still flickered, though Kyra lay asleep on her bedroll in the corner. Leon gingerly scooped her up. She was fully dressed and armed, ready for anything. He snorted as he imagined she probably wouldn’t know what to do with a comfortable pair of pajamas. He carried her into the bed in the center of the room where he tucked her in under a threadbare sheet.

  Then, he rolled out his own bedroll and laid it nearby but couldn’t fall asleep. For the first time in weeks, he pulled out Ferschall’s medallion and studied it in the flickering lamplight.

  “What is that?” said Kyra. She rolled up on her side and reached out with an open hand.

  Leon couldn’t help himself, he handed it over. Then he told her his story and not just the story behind the medallion, but the whole story. By the time he finished, she was as wide awake as him.

  “So, you are a descendant of the Remnant who left before first culling?” She was practically beaming with excitement. Leon was just glad she wasn't super upset he'd held out on her for so long.

  “That’s a little over my head. I just know people like me have been around in my world for several hundred years.”

  “This is incredible! I knew there was something different about you. I've never seen a hat quite like the one on your head! I just never suspected anything so…outlandish?”

  “You mind explaining the first culling?”

  Kyra went on to explain how Bladed had been driven from the seven tribes in the past. The first time it happened, the first culling, occurred after the Bearskinners were driven from the kingdom at large. Once the Unbladed uprising prevailed against the warrior tribe, they turned their hatred inward.

  A movement grew to root out the remnant of Bladed who still lived among them. Many of those still left fled to the wilderness beyond the mountains or south beyond the Jaffer's borders, as had the surviving Bearskinners.

  But Kyra’s clan told the story of a large number of Bladed who barricaded themselves in one of the last of the ancient cities. When the armies of the Unbladed finally st
ormed their defenses, they found empty streets and silent buildings. Nailed to a large tree in the center of the city was a letter that promised those Bladed would return from their new world when their brothers and sisters of the six remaining tribes no longer hunted them because of their Blades.

  “That had to have been a Royal Tree! Which city? Do you know which city they abandoned?” Leon asked.

  “Yes, but that city, Leon," she shook her head slowly, “has been off-limits to all remaining tribes for generations. It's home to the most fearsome of all other tribes.”

  “Where is it? Please, tell me?”

  “It’s called the Silent City of the Vindarri. I don’t know where it is. I’ve only ever heard snippets of stories I thought were exaggerated tales…till tonight that is.”

  Now, it was Leon’s turn to stare wide-eyed at Kyra. He knew roughly where the Silent City lay, and he knew just as well the dangers of the tribe who ruled there.

  An urgent knock at their door made them both jump. Merle scrambled to his feet with a low growl.

  Leon and Kyra stood together. Once he quieted Merle, they stepped to the door. Both drew their Blades. Kyra took a position off to the side. Then, Leon yanked the door open and ducked down into a fighting stance.

  Fat Fickleburr squealed like a stuck pig before Leon grabbed him by his vest and yanked him into the room. Kyra slammed the door behind him.

  “Sorry about that, Fickleburr. You kind of startled us.”

  “Startled you? Startled you! I’m here trying to follow through on this big favor for you in the middle of the night and this is the thanks I get? Your people are gonna owe me big, yes?” the little man sputtered through a petulant scowl, but it was obvious he gave them a far worse scare than they managed to give him.

  “Again, I apologize. But you wouldn’t be here in the middle of the night if you didn’t have news, would you? You have word from the Haberkorn's already?”

  “Something like that. I sent your message, and I’ve been asked to take you two to their Market Holdings as soon as possible. We need to leave…now.”

  # # #

  The Haberkorn Market Holdings weren’t a single large warehouse. Instead, they were more like a gypsy flea market with many colorful booths and tented shops. The location was on the south side of the river, just across from the slaver’s port. Not the best real estate, but assuming they could haul their hippo carts in and out of the river with merchandise, Leon could see the usefulness of the spot. All told, the Haberkorn’s holdings meandered along that riverbank for quite a ways. They were surprisingly large and held impressive provisions, taking up over a full three city blocks.

  Fickleburr led them there through a maze of side streets while riding one of his ugly warthogs. When he dropped them off with a pair of Haberkorn escorts, he insisted upon on the spot payment. One of the escorts paid the man a small sack of coins, then Fat Fickleburr turned his smelly warthog and left without even a goodbye.

  “You couldn’t have picked any other Otterkin merchant to give the Heir’s Promise?” said the older of the two small men leading them further into their maze of tents and booths.

  “Sorry, didn’t see anyone else standing around when we arrived,” Leon said.

  The younger man waved him off. “Don’t let Scrimbleden here give you a hard time, he and fatty haven’t seen eye to eye for years. Ever since Fatty beat him in the Otterkin river races, yes? Fatty was once a more than a decent swimmer, believe it or not!”

  “I still say he found a way to cheat!” Scrimbleden remarked.

  Their two escorts led them through a maze of small shops before halting their march at a brightly decorated canvased booth. “Here’s your stop.”

  Leon could see light shining from inside, between the seams. He put up a hand to stop the retreating young man. “Quick question. Scrimbleden talked about the Heir’s Promise, was he referring to the clan’s talisman Sved gave me?”

  The little man chuckled. “That’s just like Sved! Sveddleton Haberkorn goes by Sved, but don't let him fool you. He's actually the sole heir to the whole of the Haberkorn Clan.”

  At Leon’s blank look, the man continued, “Sved is one of the richest men in the alliance of the three Kingdoms!” Then he turned and scurried off down the alley.

  Leon pulled back the tent flap to reveal the interior before entering. The tented structure was much larger on the inside than it looked from the exterior. It was well lit with plenty of room for them and all their animals, including the wagon. A large brazier of hot coals and skewered meat sat sizzling at the center of the room. It was surrounded by plush pillows for comfortable lounging. At the smell of the greasy chunks of meat, Ahab chirped, and Merle’s tail started to wag.

  A minute later, a rather plain-looking young woman popped in from a back entrance.

  “Oh, hello. I’ve been told to ask if you need anything else, yes? Your friends should be here soon. Oh, and you can bring the animals in as well.”

  They both assured her they were fine, and she disappeared the way she had come.

  An hour later, and several skewers fewer, the tent flap opened once more. Sved came charging in full of energy, looking handsomely dressed but still just as surly as ever. He was followed by Dimples! Dimples, however, had changed significantly. He was dressed in rich black fabric, trimmed with stained leather armor, clasped with silver buckles. He looked perhaps more dangerous than ever, but he wore a smile for once and Leon could see the hint of a dimple in his left cheek.

  “Ha! Leon you made it! And not alone I see?” Sved turned to Kyra, “Pleasure to meet you, my name is Sveddleton Haberkorn, but you can call me Sved.”

  Hugs and introductions were made all around. Afterward, Dimples went straight to Ahab, clearly amazed at how much the cub had grown. The griffin remained by his side, allowing the enamored Hootsi to stroke his neck feathers as they sat to talk.

  Sved wouldn’t share a word of his adventures until Leon shared the full story of his trip with Kyra. They all shed a tear as Leon explained the solitary burial he had given their friends. Only after his story concluded did Sved tell of how he and Dimples had trod their way through the backcountry along their path to the marshlands of the Otterkin. It was a very lively tale and Dimples felt the need to interject in several places to downplay some of the more extreme hazards described.

  As Sved concluded, he gave Dimples a nudge. “There’s one more thing. Are you gonna tell them, or should I?”

  Dimples, still grinning, didn’t say a word. Instead, he reached up behind his back and laid a Blade down into the carpet between them all. There was laughter and congratulations all the way around.

  At last, they came to the topic at hand. Leon and Kyra explained where the slaver band had stopped as well as their run-in with the slavers earlier that day.

  Sved stroked his beard. “That would be the clan of the Crimson Hatchets, yes? I've had my people doing their research on all the roving bands since we arrived. The Hatchets are a nasty, dangerous lot. I wouldn’t worry about them trying to retaliate, slavers are a twisted sort of folk, you most likely did them a favor by taking out those five - it will mean more silver per share for the rest of them after auction. The city guard won’t be nosing around in slaver’s port either.

  "I’ll try to negotiate a purchase in advance, but the Hatchets are one of those groups notoriously hardheaded about selling merchandise anywhere but the Auction block, so we may have to wait.”

  “When will the auction happen?” Kyra asked.

  “Typically, a day or two after the caravan arrives. All auctions are private, yes? There are at least three per day this time of year, though most just sell unique beasts. Don’t worry, we won’t miss it now that we know the who and the where.

  "There’s another problem, though. I just had word that large armies have been gathering beyond the Northern High Pass, with scouts seen in the mountain ridges south of that pass already this year. There is talk that there could be war with an outside kingdom,
yes? As such, the Northern Fang has called a war conference between all six kingdoms of Fayden.”

  “When?” Leon asked.

  “This week, two days from now, yes? As members of the Alliance, the Otterkin coalition and the Southern Fang already have representatives in town. We heard the Vin arrived last week. The Hootsi should be here any time for the annual prisoner swap. But I hear there is an Ageless Tribe contingent coming for the first time in recent history!

  Leon looked at Kyra. He raised an eyebrow, she nodded, and he spoke up, “Sved, it’s true. War isn’t just possible, it’s probably already here. Kyra and her brothers are from beyond the Anderle mountains. An army of giants is likely already moving for some high mountain pass as we speak.

  Sved’s fuzzy cheeks grew pale. He turned to Kyra.

  “How? No one leaves Fayden, neither in nor out. That pass is guarded year-round!”

  Leon cringed. He pushed his cap up and scratched his head.

  It's time I come clean with these guys and lay it all out there on the table.

  He divulged everything. The heritage he and Kyra shared, the truth of how he was actually from the world of the Bladed remnant and, last of all, he pulled out the Medallion and laid it before them. He and Kyra explained what they had been able to piece together.

  Sved took it all much calmer than Leon had expected, there wasn’t even a hint of doubt, “So, that's why you were searching for the Royal Tree? It's your ticket home, yes?” like always, the little man cut right to the truth in the bluntest and directest manner possible.

  Kyra flinched. She knew he had been searching for a Royal Tree, but she hadn’t truly had time to ponder the implications for why he wanted to find such an ancient relic of Fayden. He made a mental note to have a longer conversation with her about it all later.

  “Hold up a tick, I haven’t made up my mind on exactly what I’m going to do when if and when I find a Royal. I just know I need to send word back to my grandfather.” It was the best answer he could give them, but the words surprised him at how right they felt as they rolled off his tongue. The tension in the room eased back a fraction.