Hunter's Legend_A Baylore High Fantasy

by R. J. Vickers

  He grinned. “Done.”

  “Hunter and I met while we were both working with the city council’s treasurer. I was his scribe, and Hunter was his apprentice. When Hunter left the city to travel and build his fame, he invited me along as a record-keeper, documenting his saga for all time.”

  “Or so he told you,” Lieman said sagely.

  I shook my head. “Have you heard of the wandering prophet, said to be able to raise the dead and do all sorts of other nonsense?”

  “Bloody Varse. That’s not Hunter?” Lieman stopped in the middle of the street and stared at me. “He didn’t mention that!”

  “He’s been diligently spreading the word to everyone he sees. I believe that’s how he won me an invitation to the palace ball. I can’t imagine how you were left out.”

  Lieman resumed walking, brow furrowed.

  “Anyway, our return to Baylore has been in preparation for the great moment when he proves that he himself is the prophet.”

  “On Midsummer’s Day,” Lieman said. “Right. Is it true, then?”

  I shrugged. “I’m waiting along with everyone else to see what he pulls out of his sleeve.” We were nearing the main square, and the river of vendors and merchants on their way home had given way to a more distinguished crowd. From the proliferation of ball gowns far finer than mine, I guessed there were plenty of wealthy townsfolk who chose to live in the vivacious Market District rather than the sterile-feeling Gilded Quarter. I envied them.

  “What’s your story, then?” I asked, trying to take my mind off the creeping anxiety. I had never done anything like this before.

  “I recognized it in you the moment I met you,” Lieman said. “You have a keen mind. You may be quiet, but you don’t miss much. And if you’re at all like me, you’re a sharp judge of character.” He pinched my elbow. “In other words, you may well have already guessed my history. My parents were the typical upper-class snobs. Born into wealth—my mother was the cousin of the favored heir at the time, if you can believe it—and loath to leave safe confines of the Gilded Quarter, they put their every varlin toward ensuring my upbringing was as proper as possible. I attended all the best schools in the Gilded Quarter, got myself saddled with a renowned fencing instructor, and was taught to scorn everything beneath me.

  “Naturally, as soon as I got my first taste of the real world, I rebelled. I got tangled up in alcohol and thievery, chased an especially winsome whore all the way back to her family in Larkhaven, and ran a few rounds with a smugglers’ ship sailing to Whitland and Chelt.”

  I tried not to grin. Lieman sounded like a less-arrogant version of Hunter; they could have been brothers. “How did you sort yourself out, then? Surely no one would have allowed you to set yourself up here if they knew what you had done.”

  Lieman shook his head. “It’s a miracle my parents didn’t disown me. I think they just pretended I had vanished, all those years I was away causing trouble. Anyway, I got myself locked up in a cell in Whitland for about five years for fraternizing with demons—magical folk—and that sobered me right up. I wanted nothing more to do with Whitland or smuggling after that. I knew more than I ought to about every nuance of international trade by then, though, and had a bit of insight into some of the less-acceptable business tricks, so I returned to Baylore in the guise of a traveling scholar at last returning home. My parents told their friends I had spent my years apprenticing the mayor in Larkhaven, and I played my part, acting the pompous intellectual. Then I parted ways with my family, told them I wanted nothing to do with their fortune, and set myself up as an independent businessman.”

  I wanted to laugh, but we were at the palace gates, so I had to cover my mouth with a hand. “You’re absurd!” I whispered.

  “Glad you think so.” Lieman winked at me and straightened.

  As we swept through the gates and up the marble steps on a rising tide of people, I was aware we were on display. There were a number of young men flanking the stairway on either side, eyeing the newcomers as though assessing future dance partners. A thousand perfumes wafted through the sweaty mass of people, melding into one sickeningly sweet aroma.

  Then we were inside the palace, and every smell, sound, and sensation of being crushed was magnified a hundredfold. I had expected the ballroom to lie somewhere near the palace’s grand entryway, but instead, as I ought to have expected from the jumbled architecture, the crowd was shunted left, right, and then right again before at last descending into a magnificent hall.

  Six crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, which was itself a masterpiece of tiered stone; swirling gold patterns were set into the floor, onto which had gathered the first lucky arrivals of the evening. Those who had entered before the crowd were clustered around a refreshments table, gossiping away over narrow flutes of wine and crumb pastries, but they scattered at the appearance of the throng.

  “Maybe it wasn’t hard to get an invitation after all,” I said, nearly shouting to be heard over the din. “It looks like half the population of Baylore is here!”

  “Oh, hardly,” Lieman said with mock pompousness. “Only those whose names count for something were invited. No more than three hundred all told.”

  “Three hundred?” I gaped at the crowd. Despite how vast the Gilded Quarter had appeared, it still amazed me to think three hundred nobles of note—and mostly young nobles, at that—lurked within those lifeless streets.

  “Try not to gawk too much,” Lieman said. “If you can act proper for a while, I’ll snag you a few choice dance partners.”

  “Please don’t,” I said. “I’d rather just sit by the food all night. Hunter only wanted me to come here to keep me out of the way. Surely that doesn’t have to involve public humiliation.”

  Lieman chuckled. “Don’t be silly. You’ll be fine. Besides, I’m sure Hunter was hoping you would do a bit of gossiping about this big act of his. You’re perfectly poised to spread the word where it counts. Once he realized how important this ball was, I bet he wished he had rescheduled his little scheme.”

  I wasn’t sure if Lieman was just making this up, but he was right—bending a few helpful ears in my direction could not hurt. I just had no idea how to act charming or even speak to nobility without making a fool of myself. I would probably sound like a complete boor.

  Music drifted from the background—a harp, a soft woodwind, and a pair of violas. It was nearly indistinguishable beneath the din of voices.

  “Sire!” Lieman exclaimed, grabbing a friend by the shoulder. He was accompanied by two ladies, who also turned at his voice. “And milady! You grow more elegant by the day.”

  The younger of the two ladies blushed and curtseyed, muttering something formal and inaudible.

  “Where is your lovely wife?” the man asked.

  “Looking after the children, I’m afraid,” Lieman said. He put a hand on my back and drew me forward. “But I’m here to chaperone a young friend of mine for her first public appearance in Baylore’s high society. A Larkhavener, the sweet dove.”

  I swallowed and tried to make myself heard over the crowd. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance.” I gave them a curtsey.

  “Isn’t she a wee darling?” the man said. “I’ll be sure to put her on the right lists. In the market for a bit of royal blood, I might imagine?”

  “Only the best for Milady,” Lieman said.

  I glared at him as the three nobles turned away. “Did you have to?”

  “This will be easier for both of us if you just go along with it,” Lieman said, amused.

  Before long the flood of new arrivals had ceased, with the men who had been flanking the entryway now bringing up the rear. The musicians struck up a lively tune, and Lieman handed me into the arms of an eager-looking, curly-haired young man. “Meet me back here,” he said, patting the pillar to his right.

  I barely had time to nod before I was whisked away.

  I had never heard the names of these sophisticated dances, much less learned the footwork inv
olved, so I found myself stumbling along behind the man.

  “You’ve never been to a formal dance before?” he guessed.

  I gulped. “I’m from Larkhaven,” I said. “Our balls are rare, and the dances much different. I’ve never done this one before.” As soon as I closed my mouth, I worried that my manner of speaking had been too coarse; he would call me out for a commoner in an instant.

  “Never fear,” he said. “Just follow my lead. Pay attention to the pressure of my arms.” His tawny curls were bobbing with each rapid step.

  I tried to let him lead, realized I had poked my tongue between my lips in concentration, and flushed at the indignity of it all. He laughed kindly, and I realized he was triumphant to have partnered me, not suspicious of my origins. At last I was able to loosen up and give in to his lead. Now, rather than running to keep pace with his frantic steps, I allowed myself to settle onto the weight of his arms on my waist and sense the pressure of his lead. Though I still tripped over my own feet every five steps, and tangled my skirts more than once, the dance grew markedly easier after that.

  Before I expected it, the song ended. The young nobleman bowed, kissed my hand, and said, “Thank you for the dance. Shall I look for you later?” His eyes were bright with pleasure.

  “Oh! Um, I suppose.” I was scanning the wall, trying to remember which pillar Lieman had planted himself beside. “Thank you.”

  There he was. I threaded my way through the sweaty dancers, many leaning on their partners and laughing, until I reached my escort.

  “How was it?” he asked merrily. “Make any important connections?”

  “Funny,” I said. “I thought it was a notable achievement for me to untangle my feet after that disaster.”

  It was not until the third dance that I had grown accustomed enough to the whirl of senseless movement to think of anything besides my feet. As a bonus, my third partner was just as clumsy as I.

  “Dancing is not really my thing,” he said. His thumb on my waist was smudged black—a quiet, round-cheeked bookworm, if my guess was correct.

  “Mine either,” I said. “They should reserve a dance floor for clumsy people.”

  He laughed nervously. This wasn’t as hard as I had expected—to my surprise, it seemed even young noblemen appreciated the dry, honest tone I often adopted with Hunter.

  “Say—have you heard of the spectacle planned for midsummer?”

  He blinked dolefully at me and, in his moment of distraction, trod on my foot. “Sorry! Oh, you mean the wandering prophet’s great leap?”

  I hardly needed to bother spreading the word for Hunter. His fame preceded him. “Yes, of course. The prophet is my brother, as it so happens. A brilliant man, with more latent magical talent than even the University scholars can admit to seeing before. I tell you, his performance will be well worth attending. He plans to unleash a surprise no one can anticipate.”

  “Indeed!” The man readjusted his sweaty hand in mine. “Will you be there?”

  “Even if he weren’t my brother, I would not miss it for all the world,” I said. “Invite everyone you know. It would mean so much to me.” I gave him a sweet smile.

  Luckily the dance ended there, for he seemed to have forgotten the steps altogether.

  “You had a bit more success with that one, I take it,” Lieman commented, sidling up to me as I returned to the wall. “Look.” He pointed at the young man, who still stood open-mouthed in the middle of the dance floor.

  “He hardly counts,” I said. “I suspect he’s never laid his hands on a young woman before. He was as easy to charm as a lamb.”

  “Good,” Lieman said. “I’m glad you’ve regained your confidence. Your next partner is the son of the next heir in line.”

  Ever since the near disaster of a child queen three hundred years ago, Baylore’s inheritance laws had changed to a system of half-elected, half-nominated heirs to the throne. Every thirty years, the ruler in power was allowed to elect five heirs—most related by blood, though some were trusted friends—to whom the next cycle of ruling would pass. The first heir would take the throne, but after two years every eligible citizen of Baylore would vote whether to retain the current heir or transfer the crown to the next in line. And so on, until the five heirs had each gotten their chance and the first heir regained the crown.

  Thus the next heir in line was often the most influential political figure at any given time. He or she had the most to gain at the upcoming elections, and would therefore do anything to gain favor. My influence with those close to the next heir in line would have serious weight.

  I grew clammy at the very thought. “Couldn’t you take my place?” I begged. “Ask the man for a talk instead, tell him I needed a breath of fresh air?”

  “Why don’t you tell him yourself?” Lieman said. “He’s right behind you.”

  I jumped.

  He was devastatingly handsome. I could not find my tongue. This son of the heir—practically a prince himself—carried authority as though it was an integral part of him. His black eyes were large and sharp, his lashes thicker than I expected on a man. “Prince Donas,” he said, taking my hand and bringing my knuckles to his lips. So he was styling himself a prince, then. I was not short, yet my head barely graced his chin.

  “Cady,” I said. “Just Cady.”

  With a clever motion, the prince transferred my hand to his elbow and marched me onto the dance floor. “Your friend was willing to beggar himself to win you a dance with me,” he said. “I hope his plea was out of generosity, not desperation.”

  “What—you think he’s trying to sell me off?” Indignation helped me find my voice again. “Did he seriously bribe you for a dance?”

  “Tried to, rather,” Prince Donas said. “I am not a petty noble, to be swayed by a few coins. It was his manner that won me over.”

  The musicians were striking up a new song; two of the original four instruments had been traded for a brass horn and an exotic string instrument I did not recognize. It was no relief at all that the song was a bit more subdued this time. I had no chance of escaping conversation.

  “What is your story, then?” Prince Donas asked. “You have five long minutes with me, or thereabouts. How will you distinguish yourself from all the other young damsels?”

  I realized at once that he had assumed I was trying to win his hand. “You mistake me! I merely hoped to make your acquaintance.” I put one hand on his shoulder and the other in his outstretched palm, trying not to be distracted by the striking lines of his face. His eyes were dangerous. “I’m hardly in the market for a suitor.”

  “Not married, are we? Engaged?”

  I lowered my eyes to hide a flush. My utter devotion to Hunter counted for nothing, publically or politically. The prince would think me a courtesan if he knew the truth. “I am a private woman, sire. I did not come here to discuss personal matters.”

  Prince Donas whisked me toward the center of the ballroom as the dance began. I skidded a few paces across the floor before finding my footing. The prince was watching me with cold amusement; I coughed and continued talking to disguise my ineptitude.

  “I am but newly arrived in Baylore, and I hoped to witness for myself the fine culture of this city.”

  “If this is a ploy to further intrigue me, I surrender,” Prince Donas said, his face still unduly serious. “My interest has been captured.”

  When he flashed me a brief, brilliant smile, I missed a step. I thanked the cloudy gods I had not trod upon his foot.

  Yet I did not falter in my bold response. Something about the evening had gotten into my blood; Hunter would have been amazed to see me like this. “To intrigue you further still, I must ask—have you heard of the wandering prophet?”

  “Of course.”

  “He’s my brother,” I said coyly. “And I can guarantee his midsummer spectacle will be a sight worth witnessing.”

  The song picked up tempo, and for a while I was too intent on copying Prince Donas’s footwork
to speak. He twirled me once, twice, and then drew me in close for the finish.

  “Will I see you there?” he asked huskily.

  I met his gaze. “Absolutely.”

  In the silence that followed the end of the song, while the musicians scraped their chairs back and stood to bow, I slipped off. I didn’t want to ruin the moment.

  “No more dancing,” I told Lieman when I reached his corner at last.

  “You look flustered.” He offered me his wineglass. “Was the prince rude?”

  I downed the wine in one gulp—I hadn’t realized how hot the room had become. “No, quite the contrary, though he was terribly intimidating.” I shook my head. “Actually, I rather think he liked me. Which is why we have to leave. Now.”

  Lieman gave me a knowing smile. If my affection for Hunter had not been clear before, it was now. “We cannot leave quite yet,” he said. “It’s another hour before Hunter asked to meet you.”

  “Then I must relieve myself,” I said, setting the wineglass on a corner of the refreshments table. “Pardon me.” I ducked beneath the arm of a waiter replenishing the platters of food, muttered an excuse to the young man from earlier who was hoping for a second dance, and hurried up the stairs to the quiet, cool relief of the stone passageway. I had no intention of finding a toilet, of course.

  The butler at the door escorted me to the grand entryway, where I escaped into the cool night air. In my hours of dancing, I had come up with a plan. If the professor was to be involved in Hunter’s grand scheme, I was almost certain whatever they were transporting would end up at the University. That meant I could simply hide somewhere outside the University gates and watch for Hunter’s arrival.

  Only after I had slipped through the palace gates, passing a dejected-looking man on the stairs, did I realize how late it was. The moon, nearly full, hung low above the tiled roofs, and most lights in the windows had gone out. It was a dangerous hour for a woman alone.

  Gathering my skirts in one hand, I slunk down the street, hugging the palace wall. If I could pass unnoticed in the shadows, no harm would come to me. Once I had reached the edge of the central square, I reasoned, I would be safe, since most miscreants would be intelligent enough to avoid the Gilded Quarter. Whether I imagined it or not, though, I saw dark shapes lurking about the edges of the square. Some could be slum-dwellers or travelers too poor to afford accommodation; the city guard would evict or arrest these loiterers at midnight, but for now they had an hour remaining to cause mischief.