The Chronicles of Amberdrake

by Loren K. Jones

  The merchant and his friends left, grumbling all the way. Once they were gone, Standral turned to E’tha. “You are of the Silent Clan?” he asked in Zamarian.

  She nodded and answered in the same language. “I am of the Silent Ones. You know of my family?”

  “I do. I most certainly do.” Switching back to Darendian, he continued. “You acted in Sinsa’s defense. Thank you. Return to your duties.” He turned his back on her, though he had some misgivings. Assassins. Damn, it makes me nervous having her behind me.

  Sinsa was standing with her back against the wall, staring wide eyed at Standral. “Are you all right. Sinsa?”

  “Master Standral, what happened? Why did he do that?” She was a virgin, and she had never been touched like that before.

  “Don’t let it concern you, Sinsa. He won’t bother you like that again. No one here will.” He patted her shoulder and directed her back to her work.

  Chanbern cornered Standral that night. “I told you, the customer is always right. Because of that scene with Merchant Perit, we may lose the merchants as customers. There are better ways of handling unruly drunks.”

  “Chanbern,” Standral’s voice was almost inflectionless, “long ago I witnessed a young girl being raped. She was only fourteen. I will tear the shaft off any rapist I catch and shove it up his trap.”

  Chanbern stopped what he was about to say. “If that is the way you feel, then so be it. But be careful what you do out there. Our livelihood is tied to those customers. If they are not happy here, or feel uncomfortable, then they will not come back.”

  “We don’t want some of them back. Someday, I will tell you my story. Not soon, mind you. There is much about me that you cannot know. Things that no living human can know.”

  “You say human like you aren’t one of us. What are you, Standral? Where did you come from?” Chanbern was afraid of the answer, but had to ask the question anyway.

  “Originally? I was born in Chanders, the eldest son in a clan of a wool weavers. I have traveled a great deal, pursuing my chosen task of ridding the world of at least some of its bandits. I have seen the Eastern Sea, climbed the Mountains of Sorrow, seen sights that would stop your heart with their beauty. I have killed men and beasts, and loved a hundred women in a hundred towns.”

  Chanbern was still unsure. “And what of that creature, that daemon you can become?”

  Standral laughed. “I only become the daemon when I am going against great odds. Something happens to me when I take that form. Daemons enjoy killing. I don’t.”

  Chanbern had to be satisfied with that answer, though he was still unsure of his partner.

  * * *

  Weeks turned into months as the Unicorn flourished. Standral worked diligently as an innkeeper, as well as a Mage. He brought in a great deal of extra cash by invoking powerful spells against fire, rot, and pests. Eventually, he felt the need to travel around a bit. Not as Amberdrake, but still as Standral Emverson, or Drake Standralson. The clientele of the Unicorn had settled down after almost a year of continuous harmony. The lack of an Ice-Laird was making life in Greater Westport better, and the presence of Standral kept anyone from trying to set themselves up in Grandine’s vacant place.

  “Chanbern, I need to get out and about. I never have been one to let moss grow under my feet. I will be back, or at least in touch, every moon or so.” Standral was packing his things as he spoke.

  “I can’t like it, but I guess I understand. With the girls and your reputation, our customers have come back, and with them more. Come back when you can.” Chanbern shook hands with his partner, then returned to his duties.

  Standral rode out of the city gates on a fine white gelding. His saddlebags were full of gold and silver, and he was dressed as a successful man. On his saddle was a depiction of Amberdrake, an addition of Chanbern’s.

  “It will let the rest of the clan know who you are without you having to do or say anything.”

  His destination was Chanders. After almost three hundred years, he was going home. The trip was unremarkable, and he arrived after fifteen days of easy travel. Chanders was still a small city, but it bore little resemblance to the city that he had last seen. The city walls he remembered were far from the edge of the city now. He rode slowly, looking at the city that had grown from the town he remembered. It must have tripled in size.

  Twisting, turning roads led through a haphazard collection of buildings. Inns sat beside warehouses, homes hid in the shadow of mansions, tanners sat beside slaughterhouses. Standral was unsure of the direction he was traveling after a time. Then the gates came into view. They were not the gates he remembered. These were decorated with a carving of Amberdrake. When he asked the obvious question, the guard looked at him like he was an idiot.

  “Haven’t you ever heard the story of how we were attacked by the dragon, and he tore the old gates loose?”

  “Obviously not, or I would not be asking.” Standral let a little annoyance creep into his voice.

  “Well, the dragon came in the wake of the War of the Gods, and attacked the city. He was driven off by a team of Magi, and went away. The gates commemorate our victory.” The guard was very proud of that, and Standral didn’t have the heart to correct him.

  “I am Laird Drake Standralson, up from Westport. Where is a good inn?” He was looking past the gates, but the guard directed him back the way that he had come.

  “The inns are all back that way, Laird. Only the resident lairds and their guests can enter the inner-city.” The man was deferential, but it was clear that he was not going to let Standral, now Drake, into the inner-city.

  Drake nodded and turned his horse around. He would see the place of his birth soon enough. For now, he needed a place to stay. A nice place. Riding out the way he’d come in, he went to the first decent looking inn that he saw.

  The Crooked Tree was an impressive inn, even by Drake’s standards. Two storied, with a separate stable and yard, the windows all appeared to have real glass in them. Drake was met as he entered the stable yard by a young man in what appeared to be a servant’s uniform.

  “May I take your horse, Laird?”

  Drake nodded and dismounted, then watched as the young man quickly and expertly stripped the animal. When he reached the saddlebags, he paused at the weight. “I’ll take those, thank you.” Drake relieved the man of his burden and flipped him a silver, then went into the inn, confident that the young man would take good care of his horse.

  Inside the inn, he was met by the innkeeper. “Welcome, good sir. Welcome to the Crooked Tree. How may I be of service?” He was a large man with iron gray hair and hazel eyes.

  “I am Laird Drake Standralson, from Greater Westport. I will be needing a room for quite some time.” He fished a gold Empire crown from his belt pouch and tossed it to the innkeeper. “When this runs out, come see me.” He was looking about the room curiously. The Crooked Tree had a round main room, with two wings set off at angles.

  “Welcome, Laird Drake. Welcome. I am Bandar Wensterson, owner of the Crooked Tree. Please, come this way.” He led Drake upstairs to the second floor of the south wing. A door opened to the twisting of a key, and Bandar stepped aside to let him enter.

  Drake was impressed by the size of the room, and its furnishings. This was obviously a room reserved for the best of the Tree’s clients. The room was an easy fifteen cubits wide, and ten deep. A large curtained bed with a down comforter and carved posts was the centerpiece, while the rest of the room was appointed as a laird’s bedchamber. Desk, table and chairs, wardrobe, chest of drawers, and side tables were all made of matching cherry wood.

  “This will do nicely. How long will that crown last?”

  “The room is fifty sparks a night, Laird Drake. This will hold you twenty days. There are less expensive rooms available, if that is your wish.” Bandar was quite serious of manner, and Drake was curious to see his reaction when he accepted his price.

  “Very well, here are three more crowns.”
He fished out the mentioned coins before continuing. “I expect that meals are included?”

  Bandar was suddenly not so serious. “Oh, yes, of course. And anything you wish to drink as well. Yes indeed.”

  Drake nodded, then turned away. He heard Bandar leave, then laid back on the bed. He was finally home. But home is not here anymore. The first order of business is to find out if I still have any family here. Out of six children, at least one line should have continued.

  Drake ate and drank that night in celebration. A buxom lass shared his bed, and went away with a smile and a silver crown for her exertions.

  Morning found Drake again at the gates, but with a definite destination in mind. The City Registry would tell him the story of his family. In the city seat he found the records of the city that stretched back to the founding. The family of Standral Emverson was not an important one, but he found his father and mother, his brothers and sisters, even himself. Hm, died when the War of the Gods came to Chanders. At least it doesn’t say I stupidly ran out cheering. Not my brightest moment. Page upon page showed him the progress of his line. Then the plague had come. One hundred and thirty years after his birth, the family of Standral Emverson died out, along with two-thirds of the population of the city. They’re gone. Every last man, woman and child who shared my blood died of the Blue Pandemic.

  Stumping his way back to the Crooked Tree, Drake returned to his room and sulked. Almost three hundred years separated him from his mother and father, but he had hoped to find a least some of their descendants. Some continuation of his family that he could associate himself with. But they were gone, dust in the soil of their birth. A serving girl brought him his meal in his room, but he didn’t eat. He couldn’t eat. Finding out that he was alone had stolen his appetite.

  Drake spent two days sulking in his room before he finally snapped out of it. It was far too late to grieve. More than a century and a half separated him from his last living relative. The time has come to rejoin the living.

  Drake began by exploring the city, both physically and mentally. He found that Chanders had become a very cosmopolitan place. High Laird Newberry Shanbelson ruled the city loosely. The Council of Lairds made suggestions, and he approved them. If they worked, he claimed credit. If they failed, he passed on the blame to the council. Drake used his gold sparingly and purchased a piece of a number of small businesses. Among them was a competing inn, the Stooping Falcon.

  The Falcon was run by a degenerate named Lervin Janderson. He did not walk so much as waddle, being a grotesquely fat little man. Sparse hair topped his skull, and his eyes had an unhealthy cast to them. He was not happy about Drake buying up his debts, but had no choice in the matter. The Moneychangers were happy to see him off their rolls, and Drake got a good deal because of the long standing of some of the debts.

  Lervin did not so much greet Drake as he entered the Falcon as confront him. “Well, Laird Standralson, what have you done to me? I have been making my payments on time. Why did you buy up my debts? They don’t total the three-fifths of the value of the Falcon that you would have to own to take it away from me.” He was being belligerent, which didn’t bother Drake. After all, a belligerent little fat man was nothing to worry about.

  “I bought your debts because the Falcon is doing so well, and I want a part of it. I am going to be a silent partner, whether you like it or not. I may not own three-fifths of the Stooping Falcon, but I do own almost half.” Drake kept his eyes and voice controlled and cool. After all, Lervin was his partner now.

  Lervin looked him up and down, then sneered. “What do you know of running an inn?”

  “Enough. The first thing I’m going to do is brew up a batch of good ale. This mule-piss is fine for the common folk, but I want lairds to come in here.” Lervin bristled when Drake called his ale mule-piss, but kept his mouth closed. After all, he knew he wasn’t the best brewer in the city.

  Drake kept his room in the Crooked Tree. It was by far superior to any in the Stooping Falcon, and he was getting used to comfort. He also didn’t have to worry about Lervin poisoning him.

  In the ensuing weeks, Drake began brewing thirty casks of the Amberdrake Clan’s ale. He kept his promise and did not let Lervin in on the secret. This annoyed Lervin, but there was nothing he could do about it. Once he tasted the ale, he stopped complaining. His own brew was given a secondary place, while Drake’s brew began drawing more customers.

  The other investments that Drake had made were bearing fruit as well. His monetary support of a wool trader brought him into contact with the upper class in Chanders. Chanders had become a major supplier in the wool market, and the most powerful lairds were old wool merchant families who had bought their nobility. It was on an excursion to the Wool Traders Guildhall that he encountered Lady Danlin Shreversdaughter.

  “Good Day, Laird Drake,” she said as she smiled at him. Danlin was an extraordinary pretty young woman with a very generous bosom. “Are you here to buy more of our business?”

  Drake gave the girl a formal half bow. “No, Lady Danlin. I own quite enough. I have come to see how the business is doing. After all, I did tie up nearly fifty gold crowns in wool. It seems prudent to me to keep an eye on things.” Drake smiled and let his eyes drift down to her breasts.

  Danlin saw the direction of his gaze and smiled thinly. She took a deep breath, causing her breasts to rise. “We are very happy to have you with us, Laird Drake. Please come this way.” She led him to her father’s office and poured him a drink.

  Laird Shrever Fonbarson entered the room after Drake had been seated. “Ah, Laird Drake. Come to see us again so soon. Is something wrong?” Laird Fonbarson poured himself a drink and seated himself at his desk.

  “No, I just like to keep an eye on things. How is trade?”

  “Oh, fine. Just fine. Our herd is well into its second shearing. We also have the opportunity to buy all of the wool from Laird Willowby’s herd.” Laird Shrever was no happier about Drake’s presence than his daughter, though he hid it better.

  Drake nodded and stood, forcing Laird Shrever to stand again. “Very well. I think I can leave things in your capable hands for now. I will check with you later in the moon. Good day.” He turned and left, not bothering to wait for an escort.

  “Daddy, that insolent bastard has no business being in our business.” Danlin sat heavily in the chair that Drake had so recently vacated.

  “No, he does not. But what could I do? He had the gold ready at hand when I needed the extra capital. Should I have turned him down?” Laird Shrever got up and poured himself and his daughter another drink. “He is spreading himself thin. I learned today that he has been buying little bits and pieces of businesses throughout the city.”

  “So what is he up to? Daddy, do you think I should try and find out? I can go see him at his inn.” Danlin sounded slightly out of breath as she spoke, and that told her father all he needed to know.

  “Very well. But be careful. I have a feeling that we do not know all there is to know about young Laird Drake.”

  Danlin visited the Stooping Falcon first, only to be directed to the Crooked Tree. This puzzled her. Why would he be staying at an inn that he doesn’t own a piece of? Her answer came when she saw his room.

  “Laird Drake, this is an impressive room. Very impressive.” She was walking about, trailing her gloved fingers along the furniture. “I see now why you stay here instead of the Falcon.”

  “Yes. It’s unfortunate that the Falcon only has one really good room. Lervin has that one, so I stay here. Now, what can I do for you, Lady Danlin?” Drake was seated by the fire, and she came over to his side.

  “We can talk later,” she said as she pulled him to his feet and kissed him. “For now, we have more important things to do.” She stopped his reply with a kiss that lasted for several minutes.

  Drake had the idea and led her to his bed. Her clothes slid away to reveal that she was nude under the silky dress. Drake gazed appreciatively at her large, full bre
asts, then bent over and gently sucked her nipples erect.

  Danlin’s breathing became deeper and faster as Drake used over two hundred and seventy-five years of experience to bring her to readiness. When he laid her on the bed, she was so anxious to have him that she was almost panting. When he entered her, she arched her back and mewled like a cat. They both reached their climax in moments, and lay together in a limp, boneless pose on his bedcover.

  “Laird Drake, we are going to be great friends. Very great friends,” Danlin whispered as she began to recover.

  “I hope so. If that is what you do to your friends, I want to be among the best of them.” Drake was still spent, his muscles quivering with reaction.

  “You are, dear man. You are definitely the best of them.” Danlin reached out a hand and grabbed a bottle of wine. “Here is to new friends.” She upended the bottle, then passed it to Drake.

  After he drank to their new friendship, she disengaged herself and sat up. “Drake, this is not the only reason for my coming to you. I have a proposal that I want you to consider. This is my project, not my father’s, so please don’t mention it to him.” At his nod, she continued.

  “I want to start buying more of the wool trade. We control almost twenty percent as of your acquisition. I want half, or more of it. I want to be able to set wool prices, and that requires a majority. If we control fifty percent or more, then we control it all. And I want to control it all.” The light in her eyes was very much like the light in her eyes when they were making love.

  “And what does this have to do with me? I have already bought my share of the wool market.” Drake was always lethargic after sex, but that lethargy did not extent to his brain.

  “You are going to help me.”

  * * *

  Six months after he had gone to Chanders, Drake returned to Greater Westport. Chanbern greeted him when he entered the Unicorn. “Well, you did come back. I was beginning to worry.”