by Lee LaCroix
Act Three
Chapter Twelve
For another night, the Salty Dog was packed with loud and boisterous fare. Every seat in the tavern was taken, and every spot on the floor was filled. Only this night, the rhythmic pound of feet could not be felt from outside, and sailing sea tunes did not fill the tavern but were replaced by voices and fists that rose in unison and anger. The shutters were closed, the deadbolts were locked, and the thick door of oak was shut tight. Mont’s hard-faced brothers, Rotch and Behn, waited arms-crossed outside the tavern doors to deny admittance to any who had shown up late to the night’s affairs. A small crowd that gathered outside conversed in frantic whispers while the traffic of commoners passed the Salty Dog with a peculiar interest. Inside, Tummas stood cleaning some mugs with swift and strong motions, and the ones he did not break with his terseness were shined to perfection. The middle-aged barkeep stared out over the crowd with his dark brown eyes, looking out of his face which featured gritty stubble, a rounded jawline, cracked lips, and a head of wavy, brown hair. Behind the bar, Berault, flanked by Eyrn and Garreth, heard the resurged volume of protest.
“They killed my son! He was only a lad. He wanted to do best by learning to protect his family from those thieves! And now he’s dead!” one tearful man shouted in the short-lived wake of accusation and exclamation, and the crowd soon joined in a similar roaring.
“We of the Crown Aegis share your pain, for we all have lost those who are dear to us from the Blackwoods’ callous and selfish actions. But your losses will not be the last. The Blackwoods will stop at nothing to make powerless all those who oppose them,” Berault incited with his fists against the bar.
“Their thieves and highwaymen pilfer our goods in the streets and on the roads while the Queen’s Aegis turns a blind eye. As if we are too simple to understand who employs the black and who wears the insignia!” one man yelled, who worked as a caravaneer routing from Amatharsus to and from the southern towns.
“There is no one to save us now. No one but ourselves. Our guiding voice, the paragon of honour and duty, our true King, has been silenced unjustly and without vengeance. You have heard the lies, the stonewall of excuses, and the lack of explanation. You know the truth! Our King was killed!” Berault roared as his fist slammed into the table, and the fervent crowd matched his enthusiasm with their voices.
“We have only been the victims of Vyse’s industry for a short time, but all of us have felt the sting of his villainy. The Queen stands complacent or in compliance of these actions and will not yield us justice. In the absence of kings, it is our duty to us to rise up, fill the void of righteous action, and return this city to prosperity,” Berault proclaimed with his fist raised high, and the voices of the crowd rose with it.
“The Crown Aegis may not have a King anymore, but we have his legacy. All of us, every single one of us here, and everyone who has found themselves wronged by the Blackwoods, will carry his honour and his memory up to the Royal Palace, and we will end this tyrannical façade!” Berault shouted with conviction as the crowd burst anew with frenzy of stomping feet, rising fists, and clapping hands.
Soon, the door of the Salty Dog flew open, and an innumerable amount of impassioned people took to the streets to correct the wrongs they saw in their vision. The crowd soon divided at the main intersection and the roar of the crowd could be heard spreading throughout the Lower Quarter. Garreth, Novas, Kayten, and Berault stood outside the tavern and watched the crowd vanish into the early night. Novas saw that people opened their windows to observe the spectacle in alarm but was surprised when others dashed from their houses, and he hoped they ran to join them.
“I hope they don’t burn the whole city down,” Berault chuckled with a smirk.
As Berault had been stabbed, and the others had spent their fair share of energy of defending the courtyard that day, the four returned to their quarters for rest and to pass the rest of the night but not before enjoying some complimentary ale in gratitude of their service. Novas was lightheaded almost instantly and stumbled up the stairs on his way to his room. Kayten, noticing Novas’ inebriation, tried to conduct herself with more dignity and managed to retire without embarrassment. They all slept deep and were full of rest that night but not before repressing the visions of blood and the sounds of screaming from their heads.
The next morning, Novas woke to an empty room. He helped himself to some cheese and bread he found in the study and then headed downstairs to the Salty Dog to locate a familiar face. Berault and his father were packed into one of the shady corner stalls while Tummas stood at the table’s end.
“They got a little out of hand last night. Several Blackwoods collaborators in the Lower Quarter had their homes and shops overturned and were thrown into the street. Some say even unfounded accusation and personal prejudice brought the mob against others. I suppose it’s not all bad. The people and their attitudes have been more civil this morning. The street vendors are less disturbed, there has been less theft than usual, and the people walk easy knowing the vigilant are among them. There isn’t a single Blackwoods banner left in the Lower Quarter, and the Queen’s Aegis are being alert and dutiful if not on edge,” Berault informed Garreth as Novas approached, and Tummas nodded his head in agreement.
“Have you seen this morning’s guards?” Garreth questioned.
“I heard that the newly armoured guards appeared shortly after the rioting began to contain it to the Lower Quarter. The kind of plate mail they wear was reserved for ceremony in the King’s time, but I have no doubt about the formidable protection it offers. They will be dangerous foes if it comes to facing them,” Berault explained.
Just then, Kayten appeared in the entrance to the tavern and went to continue up the stairs until she saw her company. The telltale red of her flush face piqued their collective curiosity even before she walked over to meet and speak with them.
“I decided today that I had my thoughts straight enough to approach the Admonition Alcove to protest my case. When I got to the gates of the Trade District, there was a huge line up to get through. From what I could overhear, it seemed to be moving much slower than usual. When I got to the gate, I was stopped by a clerk in a newly constructed streetside booth, who informed me I would need a pass to enter the Trade District. He said the pass was introduced to safeguard the livelihood and commerce of Amatharsus’ vital tradesmen,” Kayten recalled before rolling her eyes.
“How much does the pass cost then?” Berault inquired.
“He told me it was ten tetra per month,” Kayten informed him.
“Ten tetra! I’ll be damned. Who can afford that in Lower Quarter?” Berault raged as he slammed a clenched fist into the table. “The less fortunate who visit the Trade District are lucky to find compassionate vendors who will still accept barter over coin. As the Trade District is a primary source of food, utility, and cloth, what are the people to do?”
“We’ll find something out, Berault. The people will find a way. We will find a way,” Garreth encouraged.
“Go. I have others to meet with shortly. Meet with Eyrn and oversee the armory and courtyard today,” Berault said as he waved some new arrivals over, and shooed away the roundtable of guests.
Kayten, Garreth, and Novas walked east towards the intersection and came across three different buildings with shattered windows and burnt stone. An elderly crone was sweeping glass out of an alleyway as they past, and men moved the ruins of furniture destroyed by fire from a stone house. Garreth hoped the choice to empower the people was the right decision, and that the fervency that Berault had inspired was to be used with discretion.
When they arrived at the streetside entrance to the courtyard, Garreth was surprised to see all the leafy tangle had been trimmed or torn down. In its place, a wall of newly mortared bricks stood that was flushed even with the neighbouring buildings and surrounded a solid iron door. As there was no handle or lever to the door, Garreth could do nothing but knock upon its sturdy frame. A sheet-like
panel slid aside at face level, and a peering set of eyes glanced out, which was soon replaced with a mouth.
“What’s the password?” the voice demanded.
“What password!” Garreth responded.
The panel shut with a laugh and all was still. Garreth was unsure if he was correct or not and was about to pound on the door harder when a latch was loosened and the great door swung inside.
“Greetings, Garreth. Come on in,” the doorman said with a smile.
The trio continued down an alleyway and came to another door at the entrance to the courtyard, and no time was wasted in letting them pass. When they passed through the final door, Garreth was met with a shock as the courtyard was packed with many more than he had seen in his days since returning to Amatharsus. The training ring was filled to the brim with Eyrn at the front of the formation. There was a line up for people trying to get into the armory for gear. The archery range was filled with men and women shoulder to shoulder, and more dummies were being constructed by some of the veterans. Garreth found Behn inside the armory helping with some of the distribution of the gear. While there wasn’t much armour to go around, there were plenty of weapons from the spoils of yesterday’s blood feud.
“Plenty of new recruits have been pouring in since this morning. More and more people want to stand up to the Blackwoods and put their safety into their own hands. What’s more, too many people were lost yesterday, and the people that knew them are itching for revenge. I can hardly blame them. Not at all,” Behn told Garreth when he stepped away from the desk for a couple of moments to take a break from the busy work.
Garreth stepped into one of the chambers of the armory and shortly returned again. When he returned, he handed Kayten an embossed kite shield with a decorative sigil of a smith’s hammer surrounded by rising flames. The hammer shined gold in the sunlight, and the flames seemed to flicker in reflection.
“It’s a sturdy shield based on the old Crown Aegis style, but we have imbued it especially for you. Berault and I thought you should be rewarded after your acts of bravery yesterday. In truth, I think we need you more than you need us. The armory could use another skilled smith,” Garreth spoke to her with genuine appeal.
Kayten opened her mouth to speak. After a second, however, she closed it and grasped the shield. She slid her arm into the holster and moved her arm around a bit. She was glad to see it was a snug fit and protected her elbow properly.
“I know I’m no soldier like you Garreth, but I’d be honoured to smith in service of this cause. Now I can stay in the city, fight, and work towards to seeing my father avenged. This is a fine gift. I could not ask for a better arrangement,” Kayten replied with a glowing smile.
Novas and Garreth also smiled. They were glad that they could continue to keep company.
The three went their separate ways shortly after, for they each had a specific duty to fulfill that day. Weary of his son being unprepared for the next battle, Garreth selected a longsword for Novas from the armory and soon left to see to the archery practice. The weapon was made from bright iron and featured a rippled grip, a pointed cross guard, and a rounded pommel. It was a heavier sword than the one Kayten had given him, but its reach was much longer. Novas practiced holding it aloft and straight in front of him but found that he did not have the necessary strength yet. Still, Novas was able to swing the blade well enough, and he spent most of the afternoon hacking away at a training dummy and feeling the resound reflection as the blade bounded off metal. Eventually, he tried to move more fluidly and let the sword slide off the dummy instead of making harsh, hacking strikes. Novas tried to loosen up his footwork and not stand so still, letting his movements flow with the sword while guiding it as well. Soon after, he moved over to the swivel dummy when it became available and practiced on a less static target. With such a hefty blade, Novas found it a challenge to land strikes and set up his guard shortly after, so he tried to move the dummy’s spinning counter aside with a parry that followed the sword’s path. Worn from his exhausting training, Novas spent some time at the harbour until sunset.
Garreth introduced Kayten to the forge and the attending smith, Mose, and she became familiar with the man, the shop, and the tools. Taking up her place at one of the less used anvils, she spent some time fixing imperfections from the blades the Blackwoods had left behind and forged them into smooth and seamless weapons. Mose, although initially skeptical, was impressed with her handiwork and her quick adaption to the forge, and the two worked hard for many quiet hours.
In the afternoon, Kayten left the forge to practice with the shield on the dummies. She trained on a swiveling dummy for some time. She practiced her blocks, shield bashes, and counters as the dummy swung around, but it was hardly a challenge for her. She spied a young man who was standing in wait for a swing at another dummy.
“You there. How would you like to skip the wait and practice on a real target?” Kayten challenged the boy in a boastful manner. “I promise I won’t be too hard on you.”
“I, uh, I could do that,” the boy stammered, and he followed Kayten to a clearer part of the courtyard.
They stood facing each other apart, and Kayten raised her shield.
“Alright, now give me your best swing,” Kayten commanded with an enthusiastic nod and smile.
The lad stepped forward and brought his sword down upon the bulwark. A clang rang out as the sword bounced off, and the shield rattled in Kayten’s hand. She tightened her grip on the handle and asked him to strike again. Again the sword was deflected, but Kayten widened her stance to absorb the shock better. While the lad was soon tiring, Kayten could hardly feel the blows to the shield anymore, for her grip was becoming rock solid. She thought she would need a stronger opponent. They fell into an easy routine of exchanging blows. The youth would deliver a mixture of strikes, and Kayten would do her best to deflect his improvisation and would respond in turn.
“Enough! Thank you. That will be all,” she told him as he continued to strike her shield.
The young man nodded as he caught his breath and then paced off into the crowd of trainees. Kayten was satisfied with the practice she put forth and returned to the smithy to see if her services were required before she headed home.
That night, Novas, Kayten, and Garreth were enjoying a pot of vegetable stew that they had purchased from a roadside vendor named Fesstil, who was a chef that vended outside the city and knew Mose personally. The money they all earned at the courtyard was scarce because Berault charged nothing for training and accepted donations where he could find them. The workers were rich in gratitude however, and this led to gifts of a different nature. He was a sibling in struggle, Fesstil said to them.
When they returned to their rooms, they found that the celery was crisp, and the potatoes and carrots were firm without being too soft. They had bought just enough to be filled without extras to spoil, and they were satisfied. Garreth and Kayten were conversing about their day of labours, and Novas was sitting near the window’s side when there came a sturdy knocking at the door. Garreth picked up Novas’ sword, paced over to the door, and opened it with the blade at the ready. Not looking at all shocked, Berault stood behind the door, nodded at him, and then hobbled down the hallway to his room.
“Novas, Kayten, you are needed. Follow me,” Garreth ordered with a flick of his hand.
The two rose up from their seats and followed Garreth out into the hallway, and Novas locked the door on instinct. They found Garreth standing over Berault, who was sitting at his desk hunched over his map. The bench was pulled up close to the desk, and Berault motioned for the two to take a seat.
“With all the new recruits and trainees, we have fears that the Blackwoods have sent their men among us to learn about our tactics and receive our training as well as to keep an eye on our plans. We’ve been trying to watch the shady ones, but everyone looks like a commoner, and we shouldn’t be accusing the upright folk who want to support our cause,” Berault uttered.
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��In order to rout out these spies and gain an advantage of our own, we’ve decided to send one of our own into the ranks of the Blackwoods. They never say no to men with no conscience. After this week’s battle, I am sure they’ll be looking for fresh faces. We need someone we can trust absolutely, and I can hardly spare any of my lieutenants with the new influx of recruits. So we’ve decided that, you, Novas, are the best choice to be our spy,” Berault proclaimed to them.
“Me? But I hate them. I don’t want to become one of them. There’s got to be someone else,” Novas protested.
“There is no one else, Novas, no one else we can trust completely. You will be in the position to learn about the Blackwoods from the inside, and you can learn about their plots and their weaknesses. If you want to help stop the Blackwoods, this is the most beneficial way about it,” Berault explained, keeping his gaze and his words calm and direct.
Novas felt the eyes of his company on him. He knew the expectations placed upon him by his father, and the silent oath of vengeance the boy had sworn. He was nervous he could not do what they asked even if he did not entirely know what their request entailed.
“You have yet to fail us so far, son. You have been brave and forthcoming in your duties to me and this kingdom. You are ready for this responsibility. We believe in you,” Garreth said as he placed a hand upon his shoulder, Kayten doing the same on the opposite.
“I’ll do it. I will not fail you. Any of you,” Novas spoke and met Berault’s gaze.
“Good, good!” Berault replied after a sigh of relief.
“We have reason to believe that a ship docked in the harbour, the Obsidian, serves as a meeting point for Blackwoods members. You’ll head there tomorrow and inquire about finding work among their ranks. Let me remind you that you’ll take on another name, and you’ll come from a different place. You might have to stay away from this place a day, a week, or even longer. You’ll have to do whatever they need you to do. Gain their trust by any means,” Berault informed him.