by Jaxon Reed
Mita reached over with her other hand, grasped the bird’s head and twisted it off.
“Very good, dearie! Your first kill! Now pluck the feathers. We don’t want to eat them, now, do we?”
When all the feathers had been stripped from both birds, Cookie reached for a knife and gave it to Mita, then pulled another one out for herself.
“Right, then. Next we have to gut it. You don’t want to eat the organs, just the meat. Here we go, now watch me.”
Cookie cut the quail’s belly open, from bottom to top, and pulled out the bird’s inner organs.
“Be sure and get all the crap out. Tastes nasty, that does. Clean the inside well so you have no bad tidbits left.”
Mita wrinkled her nose, held her breath, and made an awkward cut with her knife. Soon she had all the organs removed, and the insides were relatively clean.
“Very good! Now today, we’re going to do a campfire spit. This is how you might prepare game in the wild whilst camping. We’ll do our campfire in the fireplace over here.”
Cookie walked to a nearby fireplace, and a fire started up by magic. She took a couple of skewers, handing one to Mita.
“Get it on there good, like this. Now we’ll let it cook over the open flame. That’s a good girl! You’re getting the hang of it!”
Several minutes later, wolfing down the birds in ravenous bites, Mita decided they did not taste bad at all. They were actually rather good, and all remaining guilt about wringing their necks dissipated. But she wondered if they tasted so good because she was hungry, or if quail cooked over an open fire really was delicious.
Either way, preparing birds for food wasn’t too difficult.
I can handle this, she thought.
As she finished the last bite of her meal, she looked up to see Cookie beaming happily at her.
“Tonight after you finish scrubbing down the main hallway, we’ll slaughter a pig!”
Trant led Margwen on a walking tour of the village.
“It’s not much to see. But, it’s home and it carries a certain rustic charm.”
“So, Greystone started it for himself?”
“Yes. But, he put spells on the gateways that help guide some people here and keep others out. Those who have needs he can meet find an entrance easily. The pixies help bring them here.
“Most people who show up are here for a reason. Usually, they’re running from something or someone. The spells Greystone put on the entrances seem to draw in those who need to find this place. It’s an interesting sort of magic, but it’s resulted in a village that is full of good people, often running from some mistake or other they made back home.
“I joked with him one time and called it ‘Second-Chance-Ville.’ He didn’t disagree.”
“But, where are we exactly? Are we in the forest, still? Why did we have to go through a gate if we’re in a forest?”
“Greystone is a master of dimensional magic. We are in what ordinarily would be a small patch of ground in the forest. He expanded the ground tremendously, giving plenty of room for an entire village and all its buildings and people.
“The forest gateway is the main one, and the first one he built to enter the village. The others are on the other side of town. He made one for each of the major kingdoms so that those needing to find the village would not have to travel all the way to the Hidden Forest to get here.”
They neared the church at the far end of the main street, a simple wooden structure with two large doors and a steeple on the roof. Either side of the doors featured ornate stained-glass windows, displaying scenes from the lives of the Early Prophets. They stood fifteen paces tall and seven wide, with red, blue, gold, and clear pieces of glass.
“They’re beautiful.”
Trant nodded.
“We had an artisan from Salt who came here, completely penniless and running from his past. Our priest let him stay in the church and kept him fed. In return, he created these two masterpieces. The funny thing is, they look so out of place compared to the simplicity of the rest of the building. Nonetheless, everybody loves them.
“In the morning, when the sun catches them just right, the sanctuary is bathed in multicolored light, and it’s really quite an astonishing sight. The pixies love it. You’ll find them in the church most mornings dancing along the shafts of light.”
They stood for a moment admiring the windows.
“Personally, I think the artisan deliberately used pixie colors, and that’s one of the reasons they love it so much. You’ll see them mostly dancing with their corresponding light. The blue pixies dance along the blue shafts, and so on.”
“He must have had some powerful magic to put into his art. What was his name?”
“I don’t know. I’m not sure anyone did. Perhaps he told our priest. We all tend to leave one another alone, and nobody asks too many questions.”
After admiring the windows a while longer, they walked past the church and toward the town’s periphery. The road broke off into several different directions, each ending in a hazy wall. Signs pointed the way to different kingdoms down different roads.
“Speaking of names, I must say yours is a beautiful one. What does ‘Margwen’ mean?”
The princess smiled at his compliment.
“Coral is a seafaring kingdom, you know.”
“That’s right. ‘Masters of the Sea,’ known far and wide as having the most powerful navy and the finest sailors.”
“So, the royalty has a tradition of naming their children accordingly. ‘Margwen’ means ‘Blessed Seas’ in the old tongue.”
They stopped and watched a horse and cart trundle down one of the roads. It turned onto the road marked “Sapphire.” At the hazy terminus, it disappeared.
“What does ‘Trant’ mean?”
He turned and looked down at her, a slow smile spreading across his face.
“It means, ‘Lover of the Blessed Seas.’”
She laughed.
“It does not!”
But she didn’t stop him from bending down and kissing her on the lips.
Endrick, Ruler of Emerald and all its lands, leaned back in his chair and regarded the raggedly dressed wizard pacing the room with a certain level of contempt. The two were ensconced in a private conference room high in the Emerald Palace, in the capitol city of Kathar.
“I thought you were better than this, Darkstone.”
The wizard turned and snarled at the king. Darkstone’s hair lay in long, greasy clumps over his shoulders. His face was filthy, from grime on the road and the smoke of his own magic. His clothes had not been washed or changed in quite some time, years maybe, and they hung in rags about his narrow frame.
“Don’t forget, Endrick, who placed you on that throne!”
Endrick scowled, but nodded. The light brown hair on his head was heavily frosted with gray. He neared his fifties, but he suspected his years on the throne may have increased the aging process. Privately he wondered if Darkstone had something to do with that, if the wizard had cast some sort of aging spell making him endure two years for every one. He shoved the thought aside. There was nothing he could do about it, even if it were true.
Fourteen years earlier, Darkstone fulfilled his end of a bargain. He helped Endrick assassinate his cousin King Tren, along with the royal family and their loyal nobles.
Endrick grabbed the Emerald Throne, and quickly demanded fealty oaths from the kingdom’s remaining nobles. In the weeks and months after the coup, Darkstone used his magic to uncover plots and traitors in their midst, and Endrick secured a firmer grip on power.
But as the months passed into years, Endrick realized a truth so many kings before him had also discovered. Wizards cared little for gold or other riches. What they dealt in was favors. And favors, Endrick discovered, were worth far more than treasure. To be in a wizard’s debt for a favor was far more onerous than owing him gold.
Endrick eventually realized he had become Darkstone’s pawn. Darkstone ultimately decid
ed what happened in the Emerald Kingdom. Endrick merely saw to his wishes.
The king watched the filthy wizard pace back and forth in the conference room, and stewed in the juices of his own helplessness. To fight his feelings of inadequacy, he decided to needle the wizard some more.
“It was just a princess and her travel guard. You should have been able to handle it easily.”
“I told you, another wizard appeared! It was Greystone with some minions. He killed most of my men, then battled me. If one of his hadn’t attacked me when my attention was on Greystone, we wouldn’t be having this discussion. There was also a cat.”
Endrick raised his eyebrows.
“A cat helped defeat you?”
“Never mind!”
Darkstone continued pacing the room, even more irritated than before.
Endrick sighed, and decided not to stir him up again. He stood up from his chair, and walked over to a map of the world on the conference room wall. He stared at his realm, the Emerald Kingdom, land-bound and surrounded by mountains. Within those mountains, copious quantities of the precious gem for which the kingdom was named had been mined over the ages. One giant piece had been hauled out of the deepest mine centuries ago, and craftsmen had formed the Emerald Throne, the one he and Darkstone had spilled so much blood to acquire.
To the kingdom’s south lay the Hidden Forest, a vast and uncharted arboreal wilderness with two navigable road crossing roughly in the center. To the north, through mountain passes, his land connected to the seafaring Coral Kingdom. He glanced across the other great lands on the continent: Ruby, Quartz, Diamond, Salt, Sapphire. They were all within easy travel distance by caravan. He knew in good weather and fine conditions a caravan could even reach the distant Sandstone Kingdom, in the far south, within six weeks or so.
All the minor principalities like Jaspar, Beryl, Opal, and Topaz were also represented on the map. So were the dwarven lands to the northwest, the major islands off the coast, and the holy lands containing the temple Hightower, roughly in the center of the continent.
He looked at them all and frowned at the thought of their preparations going awry.
“It was a simple plan, Darkstone. And if the power of my throne increases, yours will too. We capture the princess from Coral and arrange a marriage. Given time, I could legitimately claim the Coral Throne, especially with your assistance in killing off King Keel and his crown prince.
“With both kingdoms firmly in hand, we could wage war on the nearby territories. Coral controls the shipping and the seas, Emerald controls the major overland trade routes. In due course, I would have influence over every important throne while you and your dagger could defeat our enemies on the Magic Council and control the mystical realms.”
Darkstone stopped pacing, and glanced over at the king.
“Yes, about that dagger. It disappeared.”
Endrick raised a questioning eyebrow.
“I’ve already punished the fence I hired to obtain it. He was utterly incompetent. The thief who stole it from the Duchess of Windthorn stole it from the fence. And evidently he has left Ruby City.”
Endrick commiserated with the wizard for a moment.
He likely faces far bigger troubles than mine, Endrick thought. Things dealing with high magic were far above anything the king wished to think about.
“Well, a common thief shouldn’t be too difficult to apprehend. I’m sure he’ll show up someplace.”
Chapter 6
Stin woke up and stretched. He pulled back the covers on his bed, stood and walked toward the piss pot in the corner of the room.
He stumbled over the street urchin sleeping on the floor.
He started to berate the child and send him away, but he thought better of it when he remembered how useful the boy had been the night before. He turned back toward the piss pot. After finishing, he made a decision.
The boy stretched and sat up, fully awake now.
“You stay put. I’m going to get you cleaned up and you’re going to help me get out of this city.”
He pulled the bell cord for the hall butler. The servant knocked on his door almost immediately.
“May I help you, Sir Diebster?”
“Yes. Please bring me a washtub with warm water. Also, I need to have an immediate consultation with the inn’s tailor. Tell him I will make it well worth his time.”
He winked, and handed the butler two large silver coins.
“At once, sir. Right away, sir.”
When the door closed, Stin looked over at the urchin, now sitting on the floor in a corner. He smiled at the boy.
“Servants are bred to be polite, but silver makes them ever so much more attentive.”
The boy said nothing. Stin wondered for a moment if he might be a mute.
“What’s your name?”
“Kirt.”
“Kirt? Like Old King Kirt in the faerie tale?”
The boy nodded and smiled.
“Well, that’s a good name. Anybody named after a king, especially one as famous as that, has been named well.
“You know, they say we take on the attributes of those we’re named after. Old King Kirt was brave and wise and made good decisions, ones that saved the Ruby Kingdom from disaster. I imagine you’ll grow into the same sort of man someday.”
Kirt smiled, but Stin could see in the boy’s eyes the reflection of gloomy thoughts as he sat on the floor in dirty clothes, skin caked in filth and smelling like a midden heap. The boy did not look or feel very kingly.
Stin chuckled at the pitiful look on the little boy’s face.
“Don’t worry, Kirt. We’ll have you fit for royalty in no time.”
The butler brought the washtub, filled it from a large pitcher of warm water, and left behind a bar of soap and a towel. Stin had Kirt strip and jump in to clean up.
About the time Kirt dried himself off with the towel, the tailor knocked on the door. Stin let him in and told him a tale about his “nephew” who had been waylaid by robbers and stripped of all belongings, including clothing. Then he gave the tailor several coins and asked if it might be possible to outfit the boy immediately.
The tailor nodded, and immediately began measuring Kirt. He bustled off, but not before leaving some ill-fitting garments for Kirt to wear temporarily.
Stin rang for the butler again and asked for breakfast to be brought up to their room. The butler returned moments later with food. Kirt wolfed down the hotcakes and sausages. Stin watched him while sipping on tea. He wondered if a bad diet might contribute to the stunted growth and poor health he had noticed many beggars seemed to suffer.
About the time they finished their meal, the tailor returned with three outfits for the boy: a simple everyday set of pants and shirt, a more expensive set for social wear, and a formal set nice enough for a royal feast. He also produced three corresponding sets of shoes, explaining he had obtained them from a nearby cobbler.
Stin thanked him, and paid him several more coins. The tailor bowed, offering his services toward any future need Stin might have.
When the door closed, Stin said, “Alright then. Put the simple clothes on, I’ll go get you a travel trunk for the others.”
He poked his head out the door, looked both ways down the hall, and walked over to another door nearby. He knocked on it. Hearing no answer, he retrieved his lock picks and quickly opened it.
Inn locks are the easiest, he thought.
He walked into the room and looked around for travel trunks. Finding them near the wardrobe, he picked out a smaller one and popped open the latches. The owner had left a handful of garments inside. He tumped it over, spilling out clothes on the floor, then carried the empty trunk out into the hall and back into his own room.
He set it down on the floor.
“There you go. Now pack up your stuff.”
Stin packed his own belongings too. By nature, and in case he needed to make a hasty departure, he traveled light. He had only one trunk for himself, as we
ll.
“I happen to know the stable master next door takes a long break each morning about this time. Let’s go pay the stable a visit and obtain some transportation.”
He stripped the bed of sheets, twisting and tying them together. He fastened one end of the makeshift rope to the window frame, and dropped the other out into the alley below. Then he carried the trunks to the window.
“Can you lift these, Kirt? Try it. Great. Once I get down there, I want you to drop them down to me, then you climb down. Alright?”
Kirt nodded. He seemed fresh and alert. With a bath, new clothes and a full belly, the little street urchin looked like a handsome wellborn boy, Stin thought.
He climbed out the window and lowered himself to the alley, then waved. Kirt’s head disappeared for a moment, then he reappeared holding his trunk out the window. He dropped it, and Stin caught it. They repeated the procedure for Stin’s trunk, then Kirt swung out the window and quickly shimmied down the rope.
Stin carried both the trunks, and hurried over to a side door for the stables. Setting them down, he looked both ways down the alley, then retrieved his picks and quickly opened the door.
Inside, the stable was gloomy and dank. They caught a whiff of horse manure. Several steeds poked their heads out of stalls to look at them.
Stin walked by all the stalls, glancing at each horse in turn.
“Nope, nope, no. Nay. Ha! That’s a good one, Kirt. I said ‘nay’ to a horse.”
The boy looked up at him and frowned, but didn’t say anything.
“Never mind. Come on, let’s find the perfect horse for getting us out of the city. One not too showy. More of a workhorse.”
They came to the last stall. An old draft animal peered out at them, his back stooped.
“Perfect! Notice he’s in the least expensive stall. This poor animal is our ticket out.”
Stin patted the old horse’s nose. He grabbed a handful of hay from the neighboring stall and offered it to the animal. The horse munched on it, seemingly grateful for the food.
“Next we need to find his wagon. Stay here.”