Song (The Manhunters Book 1)

by Jesse Teller

  Rayph nodded. “We will see. I want to walk the town, see if it is too distracting for me, see if I’m overcome with grief. If I can stay here, I will.”

  They took a small path that wound down to the city streets. Rayph handed his reins to Smear and walked into the houses and buildings.

  He knew not where he was going, but he sought something. He walked through byways and weathered roads until he came to a gathering of streets and a mound of small stones over four feet tall. At its center, rising up from the unnatural hill of stones, stood a statue, a sculpture of such artful rendering that his heart filled with emotion. He ran a hand across the haggard face of a working man, a miner shouldering a pickaxe, holding the hand of a small girl while a woman stood behind them.

  “Ironfall. How could I have forgotten you? I remember them placing their stones here.” A person stood behind him, and he turned to see Dreark’s solemn countenance regarding the scene. “This is where the food was stored while they rationed it out. Big wagons of food stood here. And when they came for their daily portion, they brought a single stone. They placed it at the foot of this statue and took what they were given.”

  Dreark laid a hand on Rayph’s shoulder and squeezed. “This is the only monument to a brave community where people starved to death before attempting to steal a morsel of food. With each stone left here, someone went without so another could live.” Rayph wiped away his tears and shook his head. “I can’t deny it is perfect for us, but I can’t use it. This place is too sacred.”

  Dissonance joined them. “Too sacred to house a group dedicated to the safety of the nation, a humble band of men and women who sacrifice themselves and their lives for the protection of something higher?” She shook her head, pulling back her dark blue hood and dropping to a knee to draw a symbol in the dust. The crude symbol of Cor-lyn-ber graced the ground before her, and she turned to Rayph. “I have walked the streets of this place in prayer. I have asked for a sign as to whether this is our home or not, and I want to show you where my feet led me.”

  They walked through the streets, passing shops that would never sell again and houses where no one slept, until they reached a stout, humble building near the corner of town, out of the way and safe from the collapse. The keystone above the door bore the mark of Cor-lyn-ber. Rayph’s vision blurred with tears.

  “This sanctuary was built for me. Whoever designed it and commissioned it had me in mind. Come, let me show you,” Dissonance said.

  She pressed gently on the door and it swung soundlessly. Within, not a speck of dust waited, not a splinter of wood or a smudge of grime. She walked to the altar where three statues stood watch over the sacred space. Each figure stared at the symbol of Cor-lyn-ber before them, and Rayph looked up at each one. He gasped as his eyes beheld the same face carved three times.

  “By the beard of the king, look at this,” Dreark stated.

  Dissonance had been carved three times. One held a small spear, no larger than a dagger. The next held a longer weapon, the blade as high as her hip. A full-sized spear leaned against the shoulder of the last.

  “How is this possible?” Rayph asked.

  “Churches are built all the time for warriors to guard and tend. A priest is most times present as well. I imagine Cor-lyn-ber will send my priest any time now. This church was built over three hundred years ago. It was my mighty father’s plan that I tend it. I will live here while we perform our tasks. And when I fall, my body will lie in the crypt below. I would imagine it has been carved and left empty for me. This is sign enough to me that I am meant to stand with you, Rayph Ivoryfist. You command my spear until Cor-lyn-ber dictates otherwise.”

  “So what do you think, boss, did I do good?” Smear said.

  Rayph closed his eyes and thought for a bit, taking long breaths.

  “I guess we are home,” he said, breaking his silence. “I will take the magistrate’s chambers over the cells. You are all free to claim your spots within the city.”

  “My men and I seek your permission to build a proper Stalwart,” Dreark said. “We have been to the pub and find it wholly unacceptable.”

  “Do as you wish.”

  “There will be a throne left for Garrison and Mycenae at my Stalwart,” Dreark said. “They will command my men if they ever arrive. Are we clear?”

  “Yes, see it done. Everything to your liking. None may disturb the stones or the statue in the center of town,” Rayph said. “Never will the fall be moved from the collapse in the back of the city. It will stand as memorial to those who died here.

  “The Manhunters have a home,” Rayph said.

  “Manhunters?” Smear asked.

  “Has a ring to it, doesn’t it?”

  Wheezer

  In his room above the magistrate’s office, Rayph pulled the rotted curtains closed and lit a candle that had been given to him over a decade ago. He sat at a table looking at it. He spoke in reverent tones and closed his eyes.

  “Wheezer, I sent word ahead so as not to surprise you. Do you have time for an ally? Do you have time for a warning?” Rayph said.

  He heard a wheezing gasp and he opened his eyes. The candle smoked, weeping black tendrils into the air to gather in a small cloud above the flame. The smoke curled and pulsed until, from within its depths, a small face appeared.

  The mouth opened but the black, oily lips did not move when the voice issued.

  “Rayph Ivoryfist,” the voice wheezed. “How long has it been since we talked last?”

  “It has been sixty years since I saw your visage smiling back at me from above a fire,” Rayph said. “I do not wish to bother you, for I know you are busy, but I wanted to make you aware of a thing that might bring trouble your way.”

  “Why would the Hope of Lorinth worry about me and my troubles?” the Wheezer asked.

  “I have always respected your cause, have always seen virtue in your struggle. Can I not help you find a way to bring your might to bear against your enemies?”

  “What is this trouble you worry about, Ivoryfist?”

  “Black Cowl, your enemy, is gathering strength,” Rayph said. “He has raised up an army of fiends to bring rage upon the world, and he will not willingly leave the Reft to their own. I heard of your victory. The death of Dotley Cherlot could not have been easy to arrange.”

  “We had a mighty ally in our struggle. A bit of coaxing and they were able to do the impossible,” Wheezer said.

  “Well, congratulations. Black Cowl will not let that victory go unanswered. Beware his new companions,” Rayph said.

  “I will watch it all very carefully,” Wheezer said. “You have been a great friend to our people. When we win back our home, we will praise you for your involvement.”

  “I will fight him from my land,” Rayph said. “Be wary of him in yours. If you need my aid, do not hesitate to call for it.”

  “Thank you, Ivoryfist. May your battle be just and your victory complete.”

  And with that, the Wheezer was gone. Rayph pinched out the candle and let it cool. When it had, he snapped it in half and stowed it in a pocket of air to forget about it forever. No one could ever find that candle. The ramifications, if the wrong person did, would be irreversible.

  The Drink Wench of Kuck Street

  From the walls of Song, large flags of jet black flapped lazily in the desultory breeze. They framed the gate. They hung in rows down the sides of the city, and Rayph pulled a black robe tighter to his neck to fight the dry cold. Smear’s garb was dark grays and blacks, fitting attire for a city in mourning. They merged with the large crowd entering Song, disappearing in the citizens and visitors that thronged to the inner streets.

  Beast snarled at the crowd, snapping her hard teeth at any who drew too close. Rayph’s savage jerks of the reins and frequent scolding held her temper in check as he wove through the masses, leading the way for Smear. They found a break in the throng at the cross streets of Benges and Kuck, and Rayph turned to Smear.

  “Kuck soun
ds pleasant to me. It’s lined with pubs and other fine shops. Let us seek shelter here tonight. I am in need of a rest and time to think.” Rayph twisted his head to the dominant structure in town. The castle of the Song family flew its own colors at the pinnacle of the turrets. “The king is not in town yet. We have plenty of time for me to reacquaint myself with Song. It has been a few years since I came to the festival. I will need to walk the streets a bit to find myself.”

  “A pub then?” Smear asked.

  Rayph nodded and kicked Beast forward.

  They reached a small, clean-looking pub called the Rain Barrel and tied their horses out front. They stepped into the cool, dark main hall, and Rayph opened his third eye, Smear doing the same.

  The dim lighting hid many faces, all pleasant enough and none of an unsavory sort. They found a seat in the far corner, and a serving girl with a huge smile and a beautiful face approached them. She carried on her tray two glasses and a small plate. She swung them to the table and handed drinks to Smear and Rayph.

  “We have yet to order, ma’am,” Rayph said. He looked at the glass set before him and stared, dumb. The goblet was brimming with a dark purple wine. He lifted the glass, stirring its contents under his nose as he breathed deeply. He splashed a bit in his mouth and let it roll off his tongue.

  “What year is this vintage?” he asked the drink wench.

  She smiled bright. “The year of Gnarls’s Knighting,” she said with a wink. Trimerian wine was named after great events in their nation. Gnarls’s Knighting was rare and considered fair by all the palates of the world. But Rayph had never seen it at any pub outside of Ebu.

  “How did this come to your master’s stores?” he said.

  “Does it displease you?” she asked. Rayph looked at Smear, who sniffed his own drink, something plainly different, and looked up with wonder. It steamed, warm and inviting, and he stirred it with the small copper spoon. “I had him secure it for the festival this year. If you don’t want it, I will take it back.” She reached for the goblet, and he jerked it from her, holding it covetously to his chest.

  “I was at that knighting. It is where I met Geffanol,” Rayph said.

  Smear nodded as he took a slight sip from his mug. “How did you know what I would order?”

  She ruffled his hair and set the plate on the table, smoky, discolored cheese piled high on it. Smear’s jaw dropped as he caught sight of it.

  “That’s my cheese!” he said. “How did you get my cheese?”

  “Why did you get his cheese?” Rayph said.

  Smear sneered at him and grabbed a bite.

  “What’s your name, drink wench?” Rayph asked.

  “Well, it is not drink wench to start. Tell him to ask me,” she said, pointing to Smear.

  Smear looked up, almost afraid. “Huh?” he said.

  “Ask me my name, sugar. I’ll gladly tell you.” She smiled at him, and he blushed.

  Rayph laughed and leaned back. “Yes, sugar, please ask the lady her name.”

  “May I have the pleasure of your name?” His face alight with wonder, Smear was gone. He had been blown away in a matter of moments. His eyes held a flame that could only be sparked by infatuation. Looking at Smear made Rayph miss his wife.

  “I’m Trysliana,” she said. “Try to remember it.” She winked.

  “Oh, it will be a long time before I forget that name,” Smear said.

  “If you boys need anything, you just holler. I’ll be waiting.” She ran a hand through Smear’s hair and sauntered away. Smear turned to watch her go. He turned back to Rayph, shocked and breathless.

  “Close your mouth,” Rayph said.

  Rayph left Kuck Street and headed north on Bud. He wore a black armband around his bicep as a show of respect for the city at large. It would also help him blend in. Nearly every window in town boasted a thick, black flag that rippled and snapped in the early spring air. The citizens wore black almost exclusively, and Rayph had to respect their devotion to their home.

  He moved through Song, his eyes roving, watching for any sign of his quarry. There was no convincing Rayph that Julius was not already here. No one would be able to tell him the assassin was not poised and ready for his attack.

  “He will be waiting for me, watching for my meddling in his plan. Black Cowl has seen us now and will do what he can to warn Julius of my attention. Kriss is an arrogant man, though. He will not deviate from his plan. He will try to see me, so I am letting him,” Rayph said, his finger stroking the bat skull on his breast.

  “You should have let me come along with you, Ivoryfist,” Smear said.

  “No, he must see me alone, must think I travel without my crew.”

  “You are vulnerable to a stray dart or quarrel out there,” Dreark said. “Do you have spells on yourself at least?”

  “Let us not worry about my hide. Smear, are you ready?”

  “I am not. I have not scouted my point of entry yet.”

  “Be careful not to raise alarm.”

  Smear didn’t comment on that. Rayph knew how stupid a warning it was, and he shook his head in annoyance.

  “What will happen, Rayph, if you can’t control every aspect of the next few days?” Drelis said. “How will you ever be able to live with yourself? Dear, you must trust in the people you have gathered around you. Smear may be the greatest spy in the world. I think he knows not to get caught.”

  “Yes, it was a dumb thing to say. Can we move on?” Rayph said. The group fell silent. “Is the cell ready, Dreark?”

  “As ready as it will likely be. The bars are not set right. A little work will make it stronger. My men could reinforce them if given a little time.”

  “How much time?”

  “Two weeks.”

  “We don’t have two weeks. That is where we are going to put him,” Rayph said.

  “Well, I will tell you they are weak. They would hold no one dedicated to escape.”

  “They will have to do I guess,” Rayph said. Dreark grunted. Rayph forgot the skull on his chest and concentrated on where he was going. He reached the gate to the parks and met with the solemn-looking guards there. Rayph attempted to peer past them, and one stepped forward.

  “Can I help you with something?” the man said.

  “Just hoping to get a peek is all,” Rayph said.

  “We are in the season of mourning, stranger. This is no time for visitors. Piss off or be dealt with harshly.” The man flexed his grip on his halberd, and Rayph nodded. He walked away, half a mile down the cleanest part of the city, until he reached an alcove in the wall. He stepped in and burst into a slight mist. In the light of day, he was still visible, and he wasted no time in gliding like water up the side of the wall and into the park. Two more walls waited for him with lonely flowerbeds, dead and lifeless, stretched between them. Rayph poured over these and over the second wall. Benches and a small artificial river flowed between these two walls, and he made his way over them to set himself down on the green grass of the gardens.

  The sight of the gardens of Song took his breath away, and he let himself bask in their greatness.

  Miles of planted trees and vegetation stretched before Rayph. He threw his gaze over gentle, man-made hills that waved to the city wall some seven miles away. The scent of the place was dead, but Rayph could see buds, ready and waiting to open, that would return the Breath of Song to the city.

  Two hundred years ago, the Lady of Song had lost her husband and four children in one terrible tragedy. The crown told her she needed to remarry if she was to keep her lands. They warned her no lady could retain land on her own. Rayph had begun his flurry of a campaign to change the law, but it looked as if he would not be in time to save her her lands.

  She fell into a deep depression and wallowed in her loss for many months, until spring came and she devoted herself to a new project. She began planting the garden of Song, dedicating herself to the gathering and planting of hundreds of flowers. When her garden could no longer be contai
ned by the city, she broke down her walls, making room for more flowers and orchards.

  Her garden breathed life back into her and she found a husband. He took her name and assumed leadership of the fiefdom, but he left the garden to her. Over the next three decades, she devoted her life to the planting. She planted thousands and thousands of flowers and trees, and miles of land were devoured by the garden. When she died, she was planted in a tomb in the center of it. Her daughter-in-law took over command of the garden. Her love for her mother-in-law was so great she kept up her work, gathering from all over the world the rarest, most endangered flowers she could and planting them here. On and on it went, through the generations, until Phomax took over control of the crown. He demanded the gardens be hemmed in by restoring the wall she had knocked down. The garden’s growth came to an end, and the city would never be the same.

  The flowers were planted in such a way that winter blooms rested the summer near their fair weather cousins. The blooms of winter kept the life of the garden flourishing until the Month of Mourning. The cold month between winter and spring would see the death of every flower in the garden. The city mourned the loss of the noble lady who began the gardens. Her city mourned her death until the first blossoms of spring brought life back to the people.

  Song was well known for the fragrant scent that hovered in her streets. The sweet smell of flowers flourished in this place, and was called the Breath of Song. The Festival of Blossoms was near. The mourning month would pass, and the Breath of Song would grace the city once again.

  Phomax had decided this year to come to the festival he had shunned for many years, calling it an inane celebration devoted to a silly woman who wasted good land on nonsense. Rayph had not seen the flowers awaken for many years, and he looked forward to it this year.