The Chronicles of Amberdrake

by Loren K. Jones

  “And these others?” another of the old men asked.

  “These were employees of Davik’s. They ran the mine.”

  The man looked at Javallan and pursed his lips. “Where did the women and girls get sent, Javallan?”

  “Lord Nearan, you cannot—”

  “You seem overly fond of telling your elders what they cannot do, Javallan. I’ll remind you that you are magistrate by our decree. I call for a voice vote of the council: All in favor of throwing Javallan out on his ass, say aye.”

  Six of the seven men on the steps immediately said, “Aye.” The seventh man just turned away and refused to answer.

  “Guards, take Javallan down with his accomplice,” Lord Aric commanded, and two burly guardsmen grabbed Javallan by the arms and dragged him off the steps. “Now, I’ll ask you again. Where did the girls and young women go, Javallan?”

  “Davik, why don’t you answer?” Drake said, freeing Davik’s voice.

  “Darvin’s Port. The whorehouses in Darvin’s Port,” Davik said in a sullen tone.

  “Gods Below,” the man who had refused to vote against Javallan swore. Drake finally recognized him as Vertan Starvanson, Javallan’s father. “You are both a disgrace to your people. There is only one penalty for what you’ve done. As Lord Mayor, I call upon the council to vote. I say guilty, and call for be-beheading.”

  Lord Aric nodded. “I say guilty, and call for beheading.”

  One by one, the other five members of the City Council voted, condemning Davik and Javallan to death.

  “What of the others?” another of the councilmen asked.

  “They are paid retainers of Lord—of Davik No-Man’s-Son. As such, they are not responsible for the transgressions of their employers,” Lord Vertan said as he looked at them. “Drake, free them. They will be properly dealt with by the city guard.”

  Drake raised a finger and the slave yoke around the men’s necks fell to dust. A brace of guardsmen took the men and hurried them away, leaving only Javallan and Davik facing the council.

  “Imprison those two,” Lord Aric commanded. “They will face the headsman at dawn.” He frowned as the last of Davik and Javallan’s bravado fell away and both men began begging for their lives. Guardsmen came forward and dragged them away, ignoring their threats and pleas.

  “Drake, what shall we do with the Sisters of Mercy?” Aric asked.

  “I intended the temple to help the poor. I’d say clear it out and treat the people in it the same as the men from the mine.”

  “And the temple?”

  “It will stay. I was tempted to tear it to the ground, but there is a need for it. I just have to find someone more reliable to run it.”

  “That will wait. For now, I order the city guard to occupy the temple and seize everyone in it.” Lord Vertan looked to his right, and two guardsmen immediately went to do his bidding. “Now I have to go explain to my family why my son is going to be executed in the morning.” He turned and walked away with his head hung low, and no one stood in his way.

  “No man should have to condemn his own son like that,” Aric said as he walked down to stand by Drake.

  “Agreed. I don’t feel any better about Davik. I think I’ll go to the Golden Eye and drown my sorrows.” He smiled at his old friend. “Sometimes the best you can do is cry in your beer.”

  Drake walked away alone, hardly noticing that the crowd parted to let him pass. The Golden Eye Tavern was only a few hundred paces away, and soon he was sitting at the bar, ordering beer and sausage, along with bread and cheese. He didn’t know anyone there, but he was known and everyone stayed away from him.

  Once his belly was full, Drake headed for his old home. The estate was still as impressive as he remembered, and he headed for the door without hesitation. It opened before he got there and a majordomo stood in his path.

  “Who may I say is calling?” he asked.

  “Drake Standralson, Lord of this manor and estate.”

  “Lord Drake has been dead—”

  “No, I am not dead,” Drake interrupted. “I’ve just been traveling. Get out of my way.”

  The man stood his ground. “It will be up to Lord Davik to say who you are.”

  “Davik is in the city prison awaiting his execution in the morning,” Drake snapped. “He and his partner, Javallan.”

  “That does not prove that you are Lord Drake.”

  Drake was drunk enough that he didn’t care if people respected him or feared him anymore, and bright golden light shrouded him as he stepped forward. “Get out of my way, lackey, or I’ll burn your eyes out.”

  The man fell back, scrambling to get away from Drake. Maids and other menservants had come to see what the commotion was, and watched in awe as Drake returned to his home. He continued through the house and up the stairs, ignoring the shocked looks he was receiving. The door to the master’s suite opened before he got there, and a young woman stood defiantly in his way.

  “This is my house, and these are my rooms,” she said, stopping Drake in his tracks.

  “You’re Davik’s wife?” he asked.

  “I am.”

  Drake looked at her sideways, then nodded. “Boy always liked blondes. If you didn’t hear, you’ll be a widow in the morning.”

  She shouted, “What!” as she took a step forward.

  “Davik’s been convicted of taking freemen as slaves. He and Javallan will face the headsman at dawn.”

  Now the girl staggered back a step to lean her back against the doorframe. “What will become of us?” she asked in a stunned tone.

  “Us who?”

  “My children and I?”

  “You hardly look old enough to have children. How many?”

  “Three of my own, plus two from Davik’s first wife.”

  Drake stepped back and rubbed his nose. Damn nose gets itchy every time I get drunk. “I disowned him and disinherited him. Not really my son, you know. Foundling. But you and the kids—I don’t know what to do with you and the kids. I need some sleep. Which room is open?”

  She pointed back up the hallway with her nose. “The guest room is the third door on the right.”

  “Wake me in the morning. I have to attend the execution.” He turned away, ignoring the sob that Davik’s wife let escape. He went into the third door and found the room sufficient to his needs. He collapsed on the bed and rolled himself in the blanket without undressing. He was snoring in moments.

  Drake snapped awake several hours later. It took a moment for him to remember where he was, then he relaxed. His old house. The guest room. Davik’s wife and—

  Something crashed down on Drake’s head, almost knocking him out. He instinctively shielded himself and the next blow fell against an iron-hard shell of energy.

  “What the hells is going on!?” he shouted.

  “You’re not going to kill my father!” a feminine voice shouted. “I’ll kill you if you kill my father!”

  Drake exerted himself and every candle and lantern in the room flared to life. He rolled away from the girl and sat up, rubbing his head. “Your father signed his own death warrant, girl,” he said. He was sliding out of the bed, carefully keeping it between them.

  “You did this! Undo it! Make it not true!” The girl had tears streaming down her face as she shouted at him. She was holding an old walking stick like a two-handed sword and it shook as she shouted.

  “Havan! What are you doing?” Davik’s wife shouted as she came into the room.

  “I’m going to make him take it back! I’m not going to let him kill my father!”

  “Havan, this isn’t the way,” she said, taking the stick away from the girl. “I’ll petition the council, but if your father has been convicted, there will be little we can do.” She looked at Drake as she continued. “Your grandfather will have to decide what will happen to us.”

  “He can save him!” Havan shouted, pointing at Drake.

  “No, I can’t. And even if I could, I wouldn’t,” Drake sai
d as he walked around the bed. “Davik’s crimes can’t be so easily forgiven.”

  Havan screamed, “Why did you come here!” as she glared at Drake with her fists clenched at her sides.

  Drake shook his head. “To find out if the rumors about the Temple of Mercy were true.”

  “But why did you have to drag my father into it?”

  “Davik was into it all the way before I arrived. Havan, be thankful that you and the rest of your family aren’t facing the council. You could have been sold into slavery as a punishment for your father’s crimes. You still may, depending on the council’s mood after the execution.” He stopped talking as Havan took a step back.

  “They wouldn’t really do that, would they?” she asked, suddenly a young girl again.

  “They may,” her stepmother answered. “None of your father’s friends will speak for me.”

  Drake rubbed his sore skull as he walked toward the door. “I’ll speak for you if the question arises. For now, I need a cold cloth and some willow-bark tea. My head hurts.” He headed down the stairs to the kitchen, not caring if they followed him or not.

  The cook was new to him. The glass container of powdered willow-bark was not, and he reached for it automatically. “Sit, if you will, and I’ll prepare your tea, Lord Drake,” the cook said, and he obeyed.

  Davik’s wife went to the sink and brought back a cold, wet cloth. “Even if the council is lenient with us, what will happen now?” she asked as she handed it to him.

  “What is your name? I didn’t think to ask before.”

  “Ardana, Lord Drake.”

  “Ardana, I have no way of knowing what the council will decide. I will not throw you out, so you’ll have a place here. If they enslave you—I don’t know. We’ll see what we see at dawn.”

  Ardana took a step back, then turned and fled from the kitchen. The cook put a cup of steaming hot tea near Drake’s elbow, and he immediately began sipping it. The fate of Davik’s family rolled around in his mind as the tea took effect, and then a cock crowed in the yard. The sky was beginning to brighten, and soon Davik would die.

  Drake walked out of the manor house and followed the street to the center of town. A block was already in place, and a crowd was starting to gather. Whispers and the murmur of soft conversation followed Drake as he walked across the square. He stopped at the bottom of the city hall steps and waited. He didn’t have to wait long.

  The seven members of the city council walked out of the city hall, dressed in their formal regalia, and the struggling forms of Davik and Javallan were being dragged along behind them. The council stopped, but the four guardsmen who were escorting the condemned men continued to the block.

  Lord Mayor Vertan Starvanson took one step ahead of the other councilors and addressed the crowd. “People of Woodberry, yesterday it was revealed that two of our Lords were engaged in slave taking within the kingdom. Javallan Vertanson and Davik No-Man’s-Son were found guilty, and today they shall face their fate.” He gestured toward the block and a man in a black hood stepped forward with an enormous ax.

  “Javallan, kneel,” the headsman commanded, and the two men holding Javallan’s arms forced him to his knees. “Bow,” the headsman ordered, and Javallan was forced to put his head on the block. He was crying, begging for forgiveness, but no one answered his pleas.

  The headsman took a step back and in one smooth motion brought his ax around and down. The solid-thock of the ax sinking into the block ended Javallan’s cries.

  The headsman worried his blade free, then stepped back. “Davik, kneel,” he commanded, and Davik’s knees collapsed. “Bow,” the headsman commanded, and the two guardsmen holding Davik’s arms twisted them behind him, forcing his head down on the block. The headsman repeated his strike, and Davik joined his partner in death.

  Drake looked back at the councilors and saw that Vertan had left the steps and was walking away with his head low as grief shook his shoulders. The rest of the councilors had remained where they were standing.

  Aric Granvanson took the lead and addressed the crowd. “It is the decision of this council not to enslave the families of these two men.” There was a rustle of indrawn breath across the square, but no one said anything. “The temple of the Sisters of Mercy, however, has been seized. It is the decision of this council to revoke the temple’s charter. It will be up to Lord Adept Drake Standralson what happens to the building.”

  The councilors turned and went into the city hall, and the crowd dispersed. Drake went to his home and found Ardana and all five of Davik’s children waiting for him.

  “Lord Drake, these are your grandchildren,” Ardana said, motioning toward them. “Mican and Havan, from Davik’s first wife, and Jera, Narval, and Orandam, my children.”

  Drake looked at them and felt something in his chest tighten. All five children were trying to stifle tears, especially the youngest three. “It is unfortunate that we have met under these circumstances. Go to your rooms and grieve. There is no shame in tears.”

  The children fled, leaving Ardana and Drake alone. “And what of you? Don’t you feel anything at all for the man who was your son?” Ardana asked, tears shining in her eyes as well.

  “Yes. I grieve for the little boy I played horsy for. I grieve for the young man I taught to ride a real horse. I grieve for the man I taught to run this estate. But I don’t grieve for the slaver and whoremonger. I grieve for his victims.”

  “What will become of us now?”

  Drake considered her for a moment. “You’ll stay here. I’ll deed everything to you except the temple. That will go to another charitable order.”

  “And you?” she asked.

  “I’ll go to Darvin’s Port and try to free the girls and women they sold into slavery as whores. I have to try to undo Davik’s crimes.”

  “So once again you abandon your responsibilities?”

  “Don’t presume to tell me my responsibilities!” Drake snapped. “I left Davik here. That was my mistake. It’s my responsibility to try and make it right.”

  Ardana simply looked at him, then turned away and went up to her rooms.

  Drake waited until after midday to go to the city hall and approach the council. “Lord Drake, how may we be of service?” Aric asked from behind his desk. Five other councilors were arrayed to either side of him.

  “Aric, Lord Councilors, I wish to change my will. I wish to leave everything to Davik’s children in equal shares, under the control of Ardana until they come of age.”

  “Very well. And what proof of your death should we demand this time?” one of the others asked.

  “Nothing. I ask that the will go into effect as soon as I leave. I hope to never again set foot in this city.”

  “That is easily enough done. Is there anything else?”

  “No. Goodbye, Aric. I’d wish you health and prosperity until we meet again, but we both know better. May you find peace, my friend.”

  “Goodbye, Drake. Fair skies, and smooth roads to you.”

  * * *

  Drake rode out of town the next day on one of Davik’s horses. He passed the empty temple and shook his head sadly. So much tragedy amidst so much hope. As he passed the city limits, the old man began to change. Skin smoothed as flesh seemed to melt away. His hair darkened as his spine straightened, and soon no one would have associated the young man on the horse with the old man from Woodberry unless they looked at his eyes. Eyes as golden as a dragon’s, and as implacable in their resolve.

  * * *

  “You saved them, didn’t you?” Rochelle demanded. “You saved those girls, didn’t you, Drake?”

  Drake nodded. “That is the next story, Rochelle.”

  “Good.”

  Adventure 17

  Darvin’s Port

  FEW PEOPLE GAVE THE YOUNG MAN riding into Darvin’s Port a second glance. He was nothing special to look at: average height, average build, not even good looking. But if any of them could have seen his eyes, they would have fled. T
hose eyes, golden as a cat’s, held menace that would turn a brave man’s bowels to water.

  Darvin’s Port was in a deep, natural bay. The city had been built into terraces that had been laboriously carved into the sloping sides of the bay over the centuries. Stone piers jutted out into the water, and dozens of ships were tied to them. On shore, the town improved the farther from the water you went.

  The young man descended three tiers down into the harbor, then turned west. Inns that catered to the minor nobility could be found there, and he was looking for an inn with a dragon in its sign: An inn run by the clan of Amberdrake’s Children.

  The inn was easy to find: The Dragon’s Claw Inn was one of the largest in the city. The young man smiled thinly as he dismounted at the inn’s door. A child in servant’s livery appeared at his side before his foot hit the ground.

  “My I see to your horse, Lord?” the boy asked, looking up at the young man.

  “Yes. I’ll be staying, so put her in a stall. Give her a good currying and I’ll give you a pair of sparks when you’re done.”

  “Yes, Lord,” the boy replied, then led the mare around the building.

  The young man chuckled and shook his head, then went inside. The inn common room was full of people, mostly young and well-dressed men and women who shouted orders to the serving girls and boys between their bouts of laughter and shouted conversation. Making his way to the bar, the young man took off his hat and motioned to the tap girl.

  “Your pleasure, Lord?” the girl asked, giving the young man a winning smile.

  “Your master or mistress, and a beer.”

  “Master Alledan is seeing to Lord Mayor Bensett’s needs, Lord. Unless it’s of great importance, it would be best not to disturb him.” The young man nodded, then looked pointedly at the tap. The girl said, “Yes, Lord,” and drew him a beer.

  When the beer was in his hand, he pulled a gold royal out of his pouch and put it on the bar. “I’ll be needing a room as well.”

  The girl looked at the coin and her eyes widened. “For how long, Lord?”