by Wacht, Peter
“Yes, but …”
“Then this matter is closed. We have stated our purpose and the fact that we have no allegiance to any of the great houses of Inishmore. You will mark down our number in your ledger and we will be on our way so that we can find a place to stay after weeks on the water. Do we understand one another?” The sharpness of Kaylie’s eyes, sparkling with fire, made clear that the bureaucrat’s agreement really wasn’t expected or even necessary.
“Yes, my lady,” the man said weakly. Several of the soldiers on both sides chuckled, enjoying the brief spectacle in what was usually a long and boring day.
Kaylie nodded in satisfaction, striding past the table, under the gate and into the city proper. The Marchers trotted to keep up, Thomas finding his way back to her shoulder.
“Quite impressive. Remind me never to get on your bad side.”
Kaylie plunged forward through the crowd, head raised proudly, playing the part she had created for herself as they went in search of an inn. But she couldn’t keep a small smile from playing across her lips at Thomas’ comment.
6
An Opportunity
“News, my lord.”
“It had better be good, Orlas. I expect better from my spymaster. Your last few tidbits have been less than useful, and my competitor appears to be gaining an advantage as a result.”
Orlas cringed at the words, remembering the recent whipping that he had suffered for the supposedly faulty information that he had passed on to his master. It had come from an impeccable source, a man who knew the cargos that were coming into Laurag weeks ahead of time. The shipment of spices from the Distant Islands would have helped to fund his master’s campaign for the Inishmorian throne for several months. And Orlas reminded himself that his man had been right, though he could not say such a thing to his lord, knowing the toll of doing so would be high. The spices arrived exactly on schedule in the early morning of Monday last. It wasn’t his fault that his master’s man had failed to nick the shipment as they had planned. How was he to know that the spice shipment had been arranged by his master’s rival and would be so heavily guarded? His master should have been prepared for that possibility, not him. He was not a strategist. He was a purveyor of information. After that disturbing and painful occurrence, the wounds on his back still raw, he had half a mind to change sides, but knew himself too well. He didn’t have the courage to take such a risk, understanding the potential and likely consequences. His current master would put a target on his back with a price on his head that would be so high that his death would only be a matter of time. That bit of knowledge ate at him, irritating him to no end, but he pushed it down, focusing on the task at hand.
“Rumors of the new Highland Lord, Lord Eshel.”
Eshel leaned forward in his chair, resting his meaty arms on the large table in front of him. Handsome with a strong jaw and touches of grey coloring his wavy black hair, Eshel’s dark eyes gave away his true character. Conniving. Untrustworthy. Predatory. All characteristics of which Orlas had been well aware before tying his fate to that of his master, a decision that he regretted almost every day. True, the money had been good, the influence he exerted addictive, but he had the sneaking suspicion that he had tied his fortunes to the wrong racehorse. Eshel appeared to be a man who would sell out his own mother if it gained him his Kingdom’s throne. And who was to say he hadn’t done so already? Orlas had never met his master’s mother.
Looking beyond Orlas, Eshel peered out at the beautiful day beginning in Laurag, the sun breaking through the clouds to play off the frigid waters of the Winter Sea. He was of a mind to step onto the balcony and enjoy the warmth of the sun, but he quickly rejected giving in to such a dangerous urge. An assassin could be lurking in one of the nearby buildings with a longbow or, more likely, a crossbow, so why take the risk when he was so close to the victory that he craved. All the other noble houses seeking the throne had been destroyed or made to see the error of their ways. Now only Colasa, an upstart young girl with little standing among the more powerful nobles but a great deal of support from the common people of Laurag and the surrounding countryside, stood in his way. Once he eliminated her, Inishmore would be his to do with as he saw fit.
“There are always rumors of the Highland Lord, Orlas. Apparently, he stands ten feet tall, breathes fire like the dragons of ancient times and wields a blazing sword that can slice through steel like a warmed knife through butter. He can talk to animals, and they will do his will. And his fighters are the most fearsome in all the Kingdoms, terrifying all that look upon them and defeating all that oppose them. Oh, and my favorite one of all, they drink the blood of the soldiers they slay.”
“Yes, my lord. But these are new rumors. More fact than rumor, actually.”
“And what might these ‘facts’ as you call them be, Orlas?” Keshel leaned back, resting his hands on his ample belly. After the latest escapade based on Orlas’ facts he had lost more than a dozen of his best men trying to hijack that spice shipment. News of that failure had strengthened his rival in the eyes of her backers and had emboldened her. She had sent out proposals of alliance to some of the larger noble houses, and much to his dismay and anger he had heard that several of his current allies were beginning to see the girl in a more positive light. So he was loath to act on the advice of his spymaster after such an embarrassment unless he had incontrovertible evidence that the rumor was, indeed, true.
“That the Highland Lord is here, my lord. In Laurag. That he arrived here in just the last day.”
Keshel shot to his feet. “How do you know?”
“Spies at the harbor, my lord. The Highland Lord and a band of his Marchers made port yesterday.”
“That’s not good enough, Orlas. There needs to be more proof than that if I’m …”
“And the lady, my lord. I brought her to the inn where the Highland Lord is staying. She saw him, my lord, but he didn’t see her. She confirmed it. The Highland Lord is in the city.”
7
Regrets
“Oso, where is Thomas?” Kaylie had knocked on the door to Thomas’ room with the sun barely a thought in the sky. Receiving no response, she had begun to fear the worst. Using a trick that Rya had shown her, she had sent several thin streams of the Talent into the lock, manipulating the mechanism so that she could open the door silently and with no one the wiser. She discovered that Thomas had already left for the morning, her initial worry transforming into the beginnings of a simmering anger.
The Marchers had settled into the inn Kaylie had selected, happy to have dry land under their feet once more that didn’t roll or sway from one second to the next. The Stonecutter Forge was a small public house, the Marchers taking the top floor all for themselves. It offered a comfortable space, and, most important to Oso, good food. But the Marchers remained wary after the trials of the last few months. The danger seemed to increase with every step that they took on their journey, and they anticipated no less in Laurag or wherever they were headed next. So they would enjoy the quiet and the rest provided at the inn, but they would keep one hand on the hilts of their swords at all times, expecting and preparing for the worst.
“I thought he was with you,” replied the big Marcher, who sat on the front porch of the inn, watching the flow of traffic in the street. It was quieter here, away from the harbor and the larger markets, but still made for an interesting experience as he watched the people and goods pass by. He had found an intriguing piece of wood and was whittling it down with his belt knife, thinking that he could craft it into something for Anara. Though he wasn’t sure quite yet what it might be. He’d let the wood tell him that. “I haven’t seen him all morning. Do you think he …”
“Went off on his own in search of the captain Torlan recommended,” answered Kaylie, clearly exasperated.
Oso jumped to his feet, incredibly nimble for a big man. “Let me get Aric and a few others. We’ll join you.”
“Assemble all the Marchers, Oso,” ordered Kaylie
, the command in her voice clear and certain. “We’ll leave two Marchers here at the inn at all times in case Thomas returns. But we can search faster if all the other Marchers are out in the streets.” Oso nodded, immediately accepting Kaylie’s authority and running into the inn to rouse the Highlanders.
Kaylie turned to face the street, watching the steady flow of people. She had spoken to Thomas about this no more than a few days ago. The risks were too high for him to go off on his own. Yet he had still done so. When she found him, she’d strip his hide, Highland Lord or no.
8
Help Rewarded
Thomas strolled casually through Laurag’s streets on the eastern end of the harbor, eyes taking in everything going on around him. Normally he preferred the peace and solitude of the forest, but this morning he actually enjoyed the hustle and bustle of the people crowding around him. Mothers and fathers buying food in the market, merchants negotiating deals as their cargos came into the harbor, tradespeople selling their wares from stalls and shops lining the roads, the black and red armbands ever present and determining who sold to whom. And him just another traveler, invisible in the controlled chaos of the marketplace.
He had risen before the sun appeared, leaving the early morning quiet of the inn behind, driven by the need to get out and explore, not wanting to be cooped up inside as had been the case on the merchant vessel that had taken him and his Marchers west across the Winter Sea. At first, he had thought simply to wander and allow fate to take him where it would through the streets and alleys that formed the honeycomb of Laurag’s harbor district. But then as the sun rose in the sky, he decided to pursue the lead that Torlan had given him on the off chance that the captain he had suggested might actually be in port. He did remember his conversation with Kaylie, but he didn’t think the task he had given himself would involve much in the way of risk.
Thomas’ luck held. After a few inquiries, he had found the right inn. And despite the early morning hour sitting right at the bar was Brienne, just as Torlan had described her. Dark skin, flamboyantly dressed, brightly colored blouse and breeches, broad hat perched jauntily on her head, and a long dagger always in her grasp as she flipped the blade from hand to hand while talking to a few other ship captains. The negotiations had been quick, as Torlan’s name held a great deal of weight with Brienne.
In less than ten minutes they had agreed to terms, though the Marchers would have to wait several days before she embarked for the Distant Islands. The seas to the north could be rough this time of year. Rogue waves of a hundred feet or more that could sink a ship such as hers were common. Thus, the need to time the trip as best as possible. That meant relying on Brienne’s intuition and experience more than anything else. Thomas was reluctant to do so, but he understood the requirement to depend on her expertise. As each hour passed Thomas felt the crunch of time more acutely. The Key continued to pull at him, a constant tug that grew worse by the day. If he concentrated on the feeling, he knew that once he arrived in Afara, the capital of the Distant Islands, he could make straight for the Key, whatever in fact the Key might be.
As he wandered among the stalls and stores, his mind turned to Kaylie. Something had changed between them. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but their time spent together during this journey, and particularly aboard the Waverunner, had added a new dynamic to their relationship. One that he found both pleasing as well as a bit disconcerting.
With his only task of the morning completed, he had decided to buy Kaylie a small gift as a way to say thank you for her guidance, not ready to admit to himself that there might be more to it than that. That new mission had taken him down a street that more resembled an alley not far from the inn that held several forges and small shops displaying masterfully worked blades. He wasn’t sure what to get Kaylie, never having done something like this before. He had thought to ask Oso for his advice based on his relationship with Anara, but his friend seemed to be in the same boat as he was, as neither had much experience dealing with women. What was an appropriate gift to give to someone you cared for? How would Kaylie interpret a scarf or a necklace or a bracelet? What would she read into it? Pondering what he initially thought would be a simple chore had released a swarm of butterflies in his stomach. So he settled on what he knew best, resolving to find a dagger that might appeal to her. Something that he was certain would reflect his feelings for her. Or at least he hoped it would. After exploring several shops, he had finally found what he was looking for. A slim, blue-bladed, foot-long dagger with a bone-white handle and silver-colored crossguard. When the steel caught the light, it flashed much the way Kaylie’s blue eyes did when she smiled. Pleased with his acquisition, he tucked the gift into his belt as he headed back to the public house.
Passing by an alley that crossed with his own, he stopped when he heard a cry. Taking a step forward, he peered into the shadows. The alley opened into a small square. A woman hidden by a hooded cloak stood against the wall, a small blade in her shaking hand. Three large men stood around her, keeping her back against the wall. They hadn’t drawn their blades yet, but it didn’t appear that they’d need to. Three to one, and the one with an inadequate dagger, left little chance of success to the woman.
Ignoring the warning that played across his mind, including his latest discussion with Kaylie, Thomas stepped into the alley. He had left his sword at the inn, not thinking that he would need it this morning and that it might attract unwanted attention. But now he missed the comforting feel of the hereditary steel in his hand. Instead he pulled the two daggers he wore, one on his leg, the other on his hip, leaving Kaylie’s gift tucked safely in his belt. He approached quietly, the men unaware of his presence.
“Come now, lassie. Put the blade away. You don’t want to hurt yourself.”
Back against the wall, she kept the dagger in front of her, sweeping it from side to side nervously as the three men spread out around her, eliminating any avenue for escape.
“Stay back,” she said in a frightened voice, the cowl covering her head muffling her words as Thomas silently approached.
“Put it away,” repeated the man who appeared to be the leader, large, heavy-set, and with the broken knuckles of an accomplished brawler. “It could be fun. It’ll certainly go better for you if you listen.”
The men tightened the semicircle, but still stayed out of reach of the woman’s blade.
Recognizing how the situation would likely play out, the odds of breaking free clearly against the woman, Thomas continued to ignore the warning going off in the back of his head. Something didn’t feel right, something was off. But he didn’t have time to give it more thought. He needed to deal with this quickly.
“Leave her be.”
The three men jumped around, startled by Thomas’ quiet words.
Realizing that it was only one boy who sought to intervene, the big man’s swagger returned, despite the blades in Thomas’ hands.
“Run along, lad,” said the brawler, contempt dripping from his voice. “This is no business of yours. You don’t want to get hurt.”
Thomas ignored the dismissal. “I’ve made it my business. As I said, leave her be.”
“And if we don’t?”
“Then you deal with me.”
The three men stared at Thomas for a moment, taking in his serious, confident expression as he balanced on his toes, reminding them of an animal prepared to strike. At first, they hesitated, sensing something about this quiet intruder that made them uneasy. Then they laughed in an attempt to rebuild their courage, remembering their advantages in numbers and size.
The man closest to Thomas, a hulking fellow with more fat than muscle, tried to end things quickly, lashing out with a metal baton he had been holding against his leg. Designed to crush a man’s skull, the baton missed Thomas as he danced back easily and avoided the blow. His attacker had overextended with his swing, and Thomas had no intention of giving him a chance to recover.
Stepping forward in a flash, he drove his
dagger between the man’s ribs, then slid it across to his belly. The man’s eyes expanded first in shock and then debilitating pain. Dropping the baton, his hands went to the wound of blossoming red as he sagged to the cobblestone streets and tried to keep his guts from escaping.
His two companions stood rooted to the courtyard stones in shock, not expecting what had just happened. They didn’t have long to ponder it, as Thomas attacked with astonishing speed. The skirmish lasted just seconds, as Thomas’ daggers whipped out to mark each man in a half dozen places before the two ruffians, blood dripping from their arms, chests and legs, realized that they had bitten off more than they could chew. Seeing that their opponent had left the way to the alley clear, they each took one of their fallen comrade’s arms and dragged him toward the main street, weapons forgotten, as they sought to escape the deadly whirlwind that they had just encountered.
Thomas let them go. He had never intended to kill them, not wanting to become involved with the local authorities. He had simply hoped to drive them away from the woman. His goal achieved, he wiped his daggers with a piece of cloth ripped from the shirt of the attacker who had slid along the wall, then sheathed his blades.
He had barely let go of the hilts of his daggers when he was forced back a step, the woman having dropped the blade with a clatter and rushed to him, her arms encircling his neck, her head, still covered by the cowl, resting against his chest. Her scent, a mixture of honey and lavender, teased at his memory of a time not too long in the past. But he didn’t have the chance to focus on that unexpected discovery.