“How long will that last?” he asked, keeping his eyes on hers.
“Ten days and nights, with three meals a day. One beer or glass of wine is included with each meal, Lord.”
“Then we’ll start with ten days and see if I can finish my business by then.”
The girl nodded and motioned to someone off to the left. A tall, heavy woman came forward with a ledger and nodded. “I am Mistress Brendal. If you’ll give me your name, I’ll register you and your payment.”
The young man smiled as he looked at the woman. “I am Adept Drake Standralson.”
“I know that name,” she whispered, “but he’s an old man.”
“He is indeed. I call him Gran’pa.”
Mistress Brendal nodded. “Are you here on family business?”
“Not officially, no. I took a commission to track down and free a bunch of young women who were wrongfully enslaved and sold to whorehouses here in Darvin’s Port.”
“From Woodberry?” Mistress Brendal asked suspiciously.
“You’ve heard,” Drake said and nodded once. “Is it common knowledge?”
“It is, but they are expecting old Drake, not some young buck like you.”
“They’d do better with him. I’m not as merciful.”
Mistress Brendal gave his a very intense look. “Don’t go causing trouble for the Clan, young man.”
Drake gave her a small smile but never looked her in the eye. “So long as none of the cousins have turned to trafficking in whores, there won’t be.”
“The Clan Council would have taken care of them long before now, young Drake. But there are a number of influential and wealthy men who have invested in the whorehouses down by the harbor.”
Drake finally looked her in the eye and smiled as she stepped back. “I will find those girls and free them, even if it means leveling this pest hole. Believe me, I have more than enough power to do that.”
The mistress backed away until the wall stopped her. “Don’t make threats like that.”
“It’s a simple statement of fact. Gran’pa Drake feels that it is a matter of family honor.”
“Then the whole Clan is going to be drawn into this,”
“No, just our branch. This is personal. It was his adopted son who sold those girls.”
Mistress Brendal stepped forward again, shaking her head as she looked at Drake. “You are messing with forces you don’t understand.”
“I understand that the Sisters of Mercy were taken over by a foundling that Gran’pa Drake adopted. I understand that free men and women were wrongfully enslaved. I understand that the boys were forced underground in a mine, and the girls were brought here and sold as whores. I understand—”
“Understand that you’ll be jailed if you cause trouble,” a voice interrupted.
Drake turned to find a handful of men behind him. “Oh?” he asked as he looked at them, a slight smile curving his lips.
“Show respect to Lord Mayor Bensett!” one of the men snarled and reached for Drake. His hand stopped short, then he began to howl in agony as Drake crushed the bones in his hand.
“Stop that!” another man shouted. “You can’t do that to a City Enforcer!”
Drake looked at him and snarled, and let out a growl that turned the man’s blood to ice water. “Who are you?”
“I am Lord Mayor Darial Bensett!”
Drake smiled, and suddenly the lord mayor found himself suspended in the air at shoulder height, with Drake’s golden eyes just glaring into his. “Understand me. I will find and free every girl that was sent here from Woodberry, even if I have to scour this harbor clean of every trace of humanity. That is the task that has been set for me, and no human has the power to stop me.”
A well-dressed man stepped forward and snapped, “Drop him!”
Drake looked at the man and smiled, then dropped the mayor—without lowering him first. Lord Mayor Bensett hit the floor hard and screamed.
The other man struck at Drake with a magebolt, but he was just an Adept. Drake’s counterstrike vaporized him where he stood. “I can and will destroy this miserable town if I have to. I don’t care who the whorehouses belong to. I don’t care what they paid for the girls. Those bastards in Woodberry left their mark on those youngsters, and I will find them.”
“You’ve assaulted Lord Mayor Bensett!” another of the Enforcers shouted. “You’re under arrest!”
Drake turned and growled again. As the men stepped back, he snarled. “You will find me far more challenging than anyone you’ve faced before.”
“We can bring a hundred men against you!” another man shouted.
“And I’ll slaughter every one of you,” Drake growled in reply.
“No,” a pain-filled voice gasped from the floor. “No, leave him alone,” the lord mayor sputtered. “No one is to interfere with him in any way.”
“Lord Mayor Bensett, no! He’s committed crimes enough to warrant execution!” the enforcer shouted.
“Stand down, you stupid ass. Stand down before he destroys the city and slaughters us all.”
Drake smiled slightly and said, “Good decision. I don’t want to kill everyone, but I will.”
The lord mayor’s men helped him from the floor, then they all hurried away. Drake smiled slightly, then became aware of someone at his side. “You disapprove.”
“There are better ways to deal with people, young man. Ways that don’t cause the family trouble.”
Drake turned and looked at Innkeeper Alledan. “He doesn’t know I’m Clan. He doesn’t even know my name, and he won’t unless one of you two tell him.”
Mistress Brendal stepped forward and grabbed his hand, then slapped the gold royal into his palm. “Get out. You’re going to bring the wrath of the entire city down on us. I’ve already told Valdan to bring your horse around.”
Drake looked her in the eye, then Alledan. Bowing slightly, he turned and walked out of the inn. He’d stirred things up, as intended, and now all he had to do was wait.
* * *
Morning found the city in an uproar. Drake was down by the waterfront, in the portion of the town where most of the whorehouses were located. He didn’t skulk about in the shadows: He boldly strode down the center of the street, scanning.
A door opened, and a large woman hurried out with three girls in tow. “Here! Here are the girls you want!” she shouted, all but throwing the girls at his feet. “Take them! I don’t want any trouble.”
Drake looked down at the girls and nodded. All three bore the taint of Davik and his partner. His eyes closed and when he opened them the girls were dressed in golden robes, and golden sandals were on their feet.
Drake turned his attention on the madam and bowed his head slightly. He said, “Thank you,” then started walking again, and the girls fell in behind him.
The scene was repeated over and over again until nearly a hundred women walked behind him. Finally, Drake turned to face them. “There are still more women in this city who need to be rescued. I am going to take you out of the city to a safe place, then come back for them.”
“But where is safe for us?” one of the older girls asked. “Where can we go that they won’t come after us?”
Drake smiled and glanced up toward the top of the city. “There’s a manor house up there that will do nicely.”
“Whose?”
Drake chuckled. “Mine.”
Drake led the women up out of the city. There were hundreds of people who watched them go, and Drake was certain that they were hoping they’d seen the last of him. At the high road he tuned east and led the girls to a manor house that had a rampant dragon crest over the gates.
A servant hurried out of the manor when he saw Drake. “Master Drake, I thought the rumors sounded like you. What are your commands?”
“See to these women, Carrad. I have others to go find.”
Carrad bowed deeply, then spoke to the woman as Drake walked away. “If you will follow me, I’ll try to find rooms
for you. Master Drake didn’t warn us, of course.”
“Anything is better than where we were,” one of the youngest women whispered, then they all went inside.
* * *
Drake didn’t descend into the city again. The last dozen women were all up top, in the manors of the lords. The first manor he stopped at belonged to Lord Mayor Bensett. The mayor came to the door himself and screamed, “What do you want?”
Drake looked him in the eye and said, “You know full well what I want.”
“I bought her honestly!”
“You can take that up with the Gods. Bring the girl out, or I’ll take her and level your manor with you in it.”
The mayor turned, and a girl was shoved out the door. Drake looked at her and shook his head. “That’s not the one.”
“What?” the mayor asked in obvious confusion. “How can that be? I bought her from—”
“I’m the one you seek,” a different voice said as a young woman walked out. “But I’m not going with you.”
Drake bowed his head. “You may do as you wish.”
A young man came out and took the girl’s hand. “Elin is my wife, Adept Drake. She is not a slave.” Drake bowed and turned away. It’s the girl’s right. I hope she is happy.
The other girls were all servants, and it was easy to get them to leave. All he had to do was offer them freedom. The nobles and rich merchants gave them up with bad grace, but none of them wanted him to destroy their homes.
Drake returned to his manor and found the young women waiting for him. “These are the last of the women I came here to free.”
“So what will happen to us now?” one of the older women asked.
“That will be up to you.”
“I want to go home,” one of the other women whined.
Drake nodded and bowed to her. “I will do everything I can for you.”
Over the next few weeks Drake sent the young women back to their families with traders. He provided a generous purse to each of them, and a dire warning to the men they traveled with: These women were under his protection.
At last only three women remained. They had nowhere to go. Drake faced all three in his library. “I have provided for all of the others. What can I do to provide for you?”
“With respect, Adept Drake, I would like to go to a place called Free Port. It’s east along the coast. I have a cousin there who will take me in.”
Drake nodded. “I know Free Port. I’ll arrange passage on a ship going that way.”
“Can I go too?” another of the girls asked timidly. Drake’s eyebrows rose when he realized that they were holding hands.
“You may go with her.”
Two days later there was only one girl left. Drake stood on the porch, looking out to sea over the city, and she stood at his side. “Are you satisfied with what I have done?” he asked.
The girl smiled and nodded. Her form shimmered, and she became a tall, willowy, blonde-haired woman. “You have performed your task with admirable restraint, Amberdrake. We feared you would simply kill them all.”
“I would have if necessary.”
The woman smiled and looked at him. “You know, for Kaysandershandaram’s creation, you really are a force for order. That has to annoy him to no end.” Then she vanished, leaving no trace that she had ever been there.
“Master Drake?” Carrad asked as he eased out of the manor. “Who was that lady?”
Drake smiled and looked at Carrad. “Her name is Mariniva. And She’s no lady. Not by half.”
* * *
Mellody was almost glaring at Drake. “You did not just tell me that you stood face-to-face with the Goddess Mariniva!”
“Yes, I did.”
“Why?”
Drake shrugged. “I stumbled into one of Her temples late one night. I was drunk.” He shrugged and grinned. “When I woke up the next morning, She was there. I didn’t believe She was really Mariniva until she offered to unmake me. She knew what I was, who I was. When I politely declined, she set me the task of discovering what had happened to the Sisters of Mercy. I didn’t know it before then, but the Sisters of Mercy are worshippers of Mariniva. She was somewhat put out that Her worshippers had fallen so low.”
Saunder sat forward again, putting his elbows on his knees. “You’re telling us that the real, ancient Goddess Mariniva commanded you to rescue those boys and girls?”
“Yes, She did. Remember when Dracol called me God-Child? I’m not just Kaysandershandaram’s creation. Somehow, I’m not sure how, all of them are responsible for me being here. And They have no compunctions about using me.”
“When?” she asked. Her tone sounded uncertain, but her eyes looked frightened.
“Kaysandershandaram was eight hundred years ago. Mariniva was almost fifty years ago. I don’t think we need to worry.”
Afterward
What Amberdrake never knew about Shreverston—
THE OLD MAN RUBBED HIS EYES wearily. He seemed to collapse in on himself as his hands covered his face. So tired. But his time here was done, and now he had to go. Where was a question he’d not let enter his mind. He had no home. No place he called his own. He stood with evident effort, slowly straightening his legs and back. The old leather boots on his feet were once the property of the Army. He’d found them in a refuse pile outside the fort. His ratty, stained, deep-blue cloak was another soldiers’ cast-off. His floppy felt hat seemed of better material and had the look of a gentleman’s belonging but for the rent in the back surrounded by a tell-tale dark stain. Someone had died wearing that hat. Under the cloak was a mismatched assortment of wool and linen clothing. He was covered, though it was obvious to anyone who saw him that his outer clothes covered other layers of cloth and were arranged to place whole cloth under the many rents in his overgarments.
The old man wasn’t unusual for Shreverston: There were hundreds like him. Men displaced by the war. Men displaced by Leanden’s conquests. Men who had known a better life that was lost to them now.
Resolutely walking away from the pathetic little shelter of refuse he’d contrived, he left what little there was of it for someone else. That was the law here: You couldn’t be in the same place twice when the watch came by. That meant you had to move every twelve spans. It didn’t matter how far you moved, so long as it was out of sight of where you had been.
He ducked into an alley cautiously. Thieves sometimes hid at the entrance to alleys and were likely to club first, seek possessions later. He gave a prayer of thanks to the Gods that no one was there. He moved deeper into the gloom and stumbled into something solid. He bit back a curse against whatever he’d banged his knee on. It wasn’t worth the effort. The light wasn’t sufficient for him to see it, but he knew the feel of the object: A barrow. What kind of fool—?
Movement at the far end of the alley made him shrink back, but it was just a man straightening his clothes before he walked away. Probably just relieved himself.
His hands traced the shape of the box, then felt a miracle: There was produce in the barrow. He looked around quickly. A whole barrow of produce, just sitting in an alley? How can this be? Then shrugging off his questions and caution, he grabbed what felt like a carrot and smelled it, then took a bite. Gods Above! It is a carrot! He ate quickly, then looked around again. Someone brought this here. Where are they?
The question brought a flock of ideas to his mind, but none of them ended well for that unknowable stranger. Their bad fortune was his good. He felt around the barrow as his eyes adjusted to the dim light. A splinter told him of the rough wood, but he just bit it and pulled it from his finger. Piles of trash crowded the alley, and he cautiously moved the barrow behind one. He shifted the box, so nothing could be seen from the street, then wedged himself down between the handles. A piece of thin wood from a discarded crate made a roof as he wrapped his cloak tightly around his emaciated body.
I have food. And the watch can’t see me here. Not even they dare the alleys at night. He carefully
reached into the barrow and found something round. What is this? He smelled it, then took a cautious bite. Pear! Gods Above, it’s a pear. He quickly devoured the fruit, core and all, sucking the juice from his fingers. So long! Such a long time since I had a pear. Such a long time since I had so much food. His thoughts couldn’t keep him awake as his full belly drew him down into sleep.
Arandar’s light flooded the alley as the new day began. The old man awoke to the strange sensation of not being hungry. Now he had light, and he examined the rest of the produce in the barrow. It was all fresh. That didn’t seem right for some reason, but he shrugged off his doubts. He ate another pear, for they were plentiful. Then he had a thought. I could sell this. I could sell this at the market. I could get enough coin to escape Shreverston.
That thought set his feet in motion before doubt could stop him. He knew where the market was. He’d begged there for a bite of moldy bread or rotting vegetable. Now, he had something to sell. Now I don’t come a beggar.
The market was noisy this early in the day. Servants and vendors shouted at one another over the price of the foodstuffs that were on offer. He’d barely entered the fray when a well-dressed servant accosted him.
“You there! Have you fruit? My mistress desires fruit!”
The old man bobbed a scanty bow and said, “I do, good laird. I have pears and cherries and apples. What does your mistress desire?”
“All of it,” the man replied. “She is with child and craves what she will.” He looked into the barrow and nodded. “I’ll take all the pears and apples. What do you ask?”
The old man hadn’t bargained for anything in a year, but the tone of the servant’s voice set him off. “For all that? Three silver!”
“Fool!” the servant shouted. “What you have is worth six sparks at most.”
“I’m not fool enough to give away my produce. Be gone, then.” He waved the servant away, and the man looked surprised at being rejected.
“A silver and two!” he offered.
“Two silvers and six.”
The servant looked at the old man and shook his head. “A silver and six.”
The Chronicles of Amberdrake Page 52