by Mark August
Giomar twisted his mouth, “I don’t know.” She would not get any more out of him.
“I’ll be down for breakfast in the morning.”
Giomar smiled and nodded. He paused and then decided. “Are you ok, Vedette?”
“I’m ready to get out of this room and away from volumes of books written by people dead for decades.” Her humor fell flat as concern remained etched across her brother’s face.
“You look tired. The fight was days ago, but you look like it was an hour ago.”
“What do you mean?”
“Vedette, the lines in your face and hands…”
“I’m exhausted.” She didn’t want to deal with this now. A good night’s sleep without haunting thoughts and images of flames would restore her strength.
“Even your eyes have a haunted look of war-weary soldiers.”
Her brother led men and women in combat on the mainland on behalf of her city and her family. Ruling families never shied away from tests for their children to show they could rule in their stead. But to describe her this way?
“I think I need to get out of this room and get my legs and mind going again.”
"Then we'll see you for breakfast tomorrow."
Morning broke, and Vedette dressed in a deep red gown. A single golden lion emblazoned her right shoulder. The fine clothes of royalty shielded her uncertainty as she took to the halls.
Her worries were unwarranted as servants stepped to the sides of stone hallways to allow her to pass. When she approached within six paces, they would bow from the waist in respect. She was not a pariah. Vedette had a unique place in the family, and the household acknowledged the change.
As she approached the main dining hall, her five siblings met up with her in the outer chamber. Giomar nodded respectfully at her arrival. The bell towers rang across the city for the workday’s start, and her family was light and cheery. Confidence returned and straightened her posture.
She took advantage of this moment with her brothers and sisters. “You didn’t see Magi Cormac?” She ignored the warning look from Giomar.
Her sister Olympia, two years her senior, replied first. “No, Father put him on a mission immediately following your battle.”
“Perhaps it was to track the wizard who tried to attack our house.” Vedette turned toward her middle brother, Orsino.
“He tried to kill me, Orsino. He could’ve destroyed the house after he killed me.”
“Maybe Cormac was involved in the plot to remove our sorceratti?” Orsino said. Conspiracy theory was always one of his favorite pastimes. Being a middle child didn’t carry much responsibility.
“Good morning.”
The greeting sounded like a command. Chairs scraped against the floor as the six children stood. They waited as the lord of the house made his way across the room to the long table.
“Vedette,” her father paused, “sorceratti.” He nodded his head to her with respect.
Duke Atros commanded attention. His figure was taller than most men, and he held himself with the posture of authority. His hair had a handsome blend of gray and black. His steps had the balance of a trained warrior, and his dark eyes held the calculating look of a man of power.
He sat at the head of the table and pulled off his gloves. He motioned his children to sit. On command, they pulled their seats in. Servants rushed to set the table with hot food.
“I’m glad you’re here, Vedette. I think you now found your place with us.” His voice was a baritone that could rally forces across a chaotic battlefield.
“Thank you, Father. Have we found who sent the assassin?”
“I’m still looking. I don’t think the attack came from the other families. I suspect the threat is from external sources.”
“I won’t let someone like that come close to our family again.”
“I’m counting on it.”
The food disappeared as the family discussed household scheduling.
“Dad, how is the interrogation going?” Duke Atros glared at his heir with disgust. Vedette caught the glance in her direction.
“No change, Giomar.”
Realization struck, and Vedette dropped a crystal glass to the stone floor. Fine glass exploded on impact and summoned several servants. “You’ve imprisoned Magi Cormac? This is your special project?”
The children backed away from the confrontation between the Duke of the city and his sorceratti.
“He knew the man. The one you killed.”
Vedette struggled with her next breath. She came up short with a counterargument. Would Cormac betray her and her family? She straightened the folds of her dress and looked her father in the eyes, “I want to see him.”
“I would expect no less, sorceratti.”
Vedette passed a test.
Ten
Kincaid - Taking Lumps
Darkness and light fought for Kincaid’s consciousness. Movement shot pain through his chest and wrist, and light lanced into his sensitive eyes. His body longed for the return to darkness, but his mind relived the thugs and Master Barnet.
He managed a groan through cracked lips. Two dark shapes rushed into his fuzzy vision and hovered over his body. Someone brushed aside his hair and placed a cool compress against his forehead. At least he wasn’t a prisoner.
“Don’t show us how strong you are. Lay back, you little idiot.”
Liane’s voice was an anchor for his mind and soul as he let the light burn through the darkness in his awareness. He tried a word that still sounded like a groan.
“Take it easy, my young journeyman. Please take a moment to collect yourself.”
Kincaid couldn’t recall a time the carpentry master using the word please. If he had, it wasn’t with an apprentice or journeyman. Kincaid wasn’t sure if he should be proud or be scared because his injuries put him at the end of his life.
Kincaid took a few moments to gather his thoughts and strength. “At least I’m not dead.”
His gallows humor was enough to elicit a few laughs, and he knew they needed a positive sign from him as he lay motionless. The sheets were cool to his bare skin, and he didn’t feel the poke of straw. No coal stove holding back the morning bite.
He took a chance and opened his eyes. Shuttered windows filtered out direct light. His vision cleared, and Kincaid took in his three visitors. His sister and Master Barnet stood over his broken body, and they glowed with relief. Sholeh sat on a nearby stool. Kincaid’s heart pounded, and he didn’t want this moment to end.
Pounding in his skull kept him from turning his head and assessing his environment. The walls were clean and white, and his ears picked up low voices nearby. He took a deep breath, happy he didn't find piercing jabs of pain. His ribs must already be mending.
“Liane, where am I?”
“Those thugs hurt you.”
“I can feel that.”
“By all that is good and holy, you’re lucky to be in a hospital and not on a funeral pyre.” Sholeh’s voice cracked at the end of her words, and Kincaid was sure she had more she wanted to say.
“A hospital?” It hurt too much to move, and he relaxed his muscles to sink back into the mattress.
“Kincaid, I wasn’t sure if you would survive. None of us knew how to help you. Master Barnet and I brought you here.” Liane’s explanation made sense, but Kincaid’s mind cleared enough to calculate the costs.
“Liane, we can’t afford this.”
“You and your sister do not have to worry about the payment.”
“But you didn’t have the money for the thugs last night—”
“Four days ago, Kincaid,” Liane said.
Four days gone. He closed his eyes. Days lost for a journeyman carpenter. Work not completed. The cost of care.
“Kincaid, my friend, Liane sent for me at the forge because she didn’t think you would survive. I prayed the other side was not ready for you.”
Kincaid smiled. “All that is holy was not ready for this man. Maybe th
ere is more in this world left for me to do.”
“You jerk. You must be fine if you are already joking about it. Should put you back to work.”
“I’m sorry, sis. I held up the afterlife so I could spend holidays with my sister and her boyfriend.”
“Ouch, not fair.”
Liane sat in a nearby chair next to Sholeh. They shared a look, and their faces relaxed. Kincaid turned to Master Barnet.
“Master Barnet, please tell me what is going on.”
The old man turned away from his journeyman and looked around the room. Kincaid wasn’t sure if he wanted to avoid the question or check to see who was listening.
“Seven families who take the powers of law and trade seriously rule Caesea. The city streets are normally safe, and a merchant can earn a good living for their families. But even the brightest sun creates shadows. You remember that. Even heroes fight darkness within.”
These words captured Kincaid, Liane, and Sholeh. Master Barnet never talked this way.
“When I was younger, I wanted it all. I wanted to create something that would last the ages. I wanted to create art every family in this town would want. But I couldn’t do it alone.”
“You needed money.” Kincaid wished he could take those words back. However, Master Barnet didn’t register them.
“You three must listen to this: no one gives you anything. This life, this world, and the city are always about compromises. Even the wealthiest and most powerful families find this out.”
“What did you pay with?” asked Liane.
“I took several loans from different families to make my moment in the city happen. But I was greedy and wanted it all too fast. I played with families and pitted them against each other to bring in larger sums of money.”
“By the holy one. You took money from them all.” Sholeh shook her head.
“Yes. My downfall. Pride. Greed. The first thing I lost was my wife. She could not bear the threats and crushing debts. I was stupid and didn’t listen.”
“Oh no.” Now he knew what Master Barnet saw in his sister and himself.
“I used funds from one to pay off the others. I was lucky. I had the skills to earn my keep, and I could make enough to pay the bills.”
“But not all the way out, and families hold a grudge for a long time. Right?” asked Liane.
“That’s what was happening when Kincaid tried to save me. My debts are growing, and the families are keeping me under their control. They keep me on the edge because they admire our work, but they won’t let the debts go.”
Master Barnet’s voice trailed off as they considered the impact of his decisions. Kincaid was now part of this debt. After a few awkward moments, Liane got up and kissed her brother on the forehead.
“I’m heading back to the shop. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Master Barnet took the cue and nodded his farewell to the young man. Sholeh got up and placed her hand in Kincaid’s. Her warmth flooded up his arm. She gave him a smile and a gentle squeeze and also left.
Kincaid rested for a few moments in the comfort of the soft bed. His mind surged into motion and weighed his plans. He couldn’t afford to lounge in a bed, and Master Barnet needed his work. Time for a change.
“I’m ready to leave,” Kincaid told one of the passing staff members.
“Your belongings are by your bed, brother. You may leave whenever you wish.”
“My bill?”
“Paid in full.”
He lost track of the time needed to put his clothing on with the fire burning through his ribs. He considered walking barefoot and carrying his boots rather than trying to bend over and slip them on.
Kincaid found a blackwood cane in his belongings. Not just any cane. His fingers slid over the carvings, and tears blurred his vision. He stood up with the aid of the cane. Determination fueled his travel to the hospital door. The clack of the cane aided his progress.
Rather than tax limited strength by walking through the city, Kincaid moved toward the closest waterway. He didn’t wait long until a boat came by. The step down onto the platform was the most painful of his life.
The address he gave wasn’t near the carpentry shop.
Eleven
Kincaid - Request
The ring of hammers and forges sounded across the island and carried their metallic tunes in echoes down the streets. Blacksmith Street was wider than most city streets to act as a firebreak in an industry that harnessed flames. The houses were squat and thick as few wanted to live over the pounding of metal on metal. Kincaid was only visiting one forge today.
“By the holiest of the holy, what are you doing?”
“Making changes, Sholeh.”
“Liane will kill you, and then she will kill me.”
“I need your help.”
Sholeh glanced to the other members of the shop. None paid attention to her interaction with Kincaid. Most of the workers recognized him. After barking commands to her apprentices, she pulled off her leather apron. Grabbing Kincaid by his arm, she pulled him outside.
“I will listen to your request, but I hope it is good.”
“I need a sword and a swordmaster to train me.”
“So you can rush to your grave? By all that is right, no.” She let go of his arm and turned away from him.
“The next time I meet those thugs, I will be armed and trained. Or I will stand and die.” Kincaid could burn through her stubbornness. He had to. He couldn’t do this without her.
She turned her body back toward him and jabbed her index finger at his chest. “Immigrants may not carry weapons. Even citizens may not carry weapons in Caesea. You will break the law.”
“Where was the law when the extortionists took money from Master Barnet? Where was the guard when they beat me up?”
“Master Barnet brought the attention upon himself—”
“That’s not my point, Sholeh.”
She crossed her arms across her chest and placed her legs shoulder-width apart.
“Weapons take time to forge, and the materials are expensive.”
“You’re the only one I trust. Will you help me get a weapon?”
Even the strongest metals have a melting point. The iron defense rusted with his request, and her arms dropped to her sides.
“My friend…”
Kincaid stepped in close and held her arms with his hands. He looked into her eyes. “Stand with me, Sholeh. Don’t let anyone else end up in the hospital.”
“That is not fair. I stayed at your side as you lay broken. I did not think you would return to us.” She took another breath and shrugged off his touch. The pain flared through his ribs and made him wince. “I have been with you for years.”
Kincaid almost lost his resolve. He gathered his thoughts and pressed. “Then help me now. I need to learn how to use a weapon, and I need the weapon to start.”
Sholeh paced the street. The thick soles of her work boots thudded on the cobblestones. Travelers and merchants on the road gave her wide berth as she leaned forward into each stride. The intensity of her thoughts could bend steel. The suspense played with Kincaid’s hopes, but he had already used his best arguments.
“Kincaid, I cannot believe you are asking me to do this. If I do what you ask, I am putting you at risk.” She stopped her pacing and stood within arm's reach. She didn’t drop her eyes as she faced him.
“I’m also putting you at risk, Sholeh. But I know I can’t do this any other way.” He wanted to reach out and touch her.
Sholeh stepped back. “It is not right. It is revenge. It is passion. It is—”
“To protect my sister. My shop. My master. And the people who work there. I can’t think of another way. What happens when they come back? We know too much, and I’m involved.”
“Kincaid…”
“Sholeh, what do you want me to do? You said it yourself. The next time may be worse than the care of a hospital.”
She paced again. Kincaid had her. If she considered den
ying him the weapon and the training, she wouldn't be engaged in their argument. Wisely, he waited for her response, resting his weight on the cane.
“Kincaid, I will help you. But you are a man of deep honor. You will promise me one thing before I help you.”
Kincaid couldn’t hide the confusion on his face. A confident look warmed Sholeh’s eyes. “Do I get to know the conditions of your support before I swear to comply?”
“Yes. You must promise to only use the blade for defense. You will not seek the ones who fought you for revenge.” She made no move until she heard his answer.
“I agree with your terms.”
“Then meet me back here tomorrow.”
Sholeh turned away without another sign. Kincaid won, but he wondered what price he might have to pay.
Twelve
Kincaid - Swordsman
Kincaid wrestled with sleep as his mind raced through possibilities and planned a new future. Giving up on rest long before the morning bells tolled, he lit a candle on his desk.
All apprentices hoped they would start their own shops in Caesea. Most settled for work in a shop or left the city to find places for less competition. Kincaid was different.
From the first days as an unpaid intern, he saved whatever he could for his own shop in Caesea. As he gained experience and a small salary, he retained a percentage of each job. Dreams became plans, and he shared his aspirations with his sister and helped her with her wages. They would always be close.
Slipping a hand through a loose floorboard, he grabbed his leather bag of hidden savings. The trunk at the foot of the bed also had a pouch, but that was his spending cash. That pouch had enough money to distract would-be thieves, but the sum of his wealth was in his hands. Sliding the bed into position, he lowered himself into the straw pallet to ponder this new path.
He looked over the silver coins, not just pennies for food and travel. Real money; real future; real possibilities. He didn’t have enough to buy his dream, but he had enough to take a chance. Kincaid owned his tools, the start of any craftsman’s life.