The Beast of the North

by Alaric Longward

  ‘We will teach you,’ he said heavily. ‘I won’t, but we will,’ he added and looked at Shaduril. She shrugged.

  ‘I can think of a solution to it,’ she said, and I felt utterly left out of something that should be mine to decide. ‘Lith might know a suitable one. Perhaps we can hire a girl or—’

  ‘I’m sure I can manage this part on my own,’ I interrupted.

  Balan chuckled.

  Sand spat though not in my defense. He was seething with impatience, upset at being left out. ‘Lord. Would you share …’ he began, but Shaduril spun on him and shook her head furiously. He growled and went on. ‘Would you share the plan with us? Let’s say she dies, and even he. Let us assume it all goes well. What then? If we succeed, what shall we do next? Lord …’ Shaduril was groaning, and Sand stared sullenly at Balan.

  ‘Who will sit on the Rose Throne after we miraculously succeed in this plan?’ I asked him in support of Sand. ‘Is there such a plan?’

  ‘Yes,’ the lord said. ‘But I’ll share it with those I trust. Not with your friend. He should be happy there is a sanctuary like this for such as he.’ Balan slapped his hands as if to signal an end to the discussion, and Shaduril looked down. I shut my mouth, sensing it was time to do so. Shivers of fear ran up and down my back. The thin man was swallowing and shaking his head. He had a sort of feverish look on his face. ‘Rose Throne? I shall discuss that with you in a bit. As for the act of dealing with the queen, I cannot give you a sheet of instructions to memorize, no pointers what you need to do and how. You will use the skills we give you, your wits if they fail, and you will be as prepared as you can be. In addition to the ways of the nobles, you will have to figure out how to fight. You have to know how to fight very well, indeed.’

  ‘Why?’ I asked. ‘I’m to be a cake taster. Is this man grossly fat?’

  Balan smiled, I think, but it was a fleeting smile. ‘He does not gobble up the queen’s foods, boy. He tastes them. But he is fit and healthy and ready to fight for the Danegells as well as keep the queen safe from poisoning. And so will you. You will learn how to fight and how to kill. Not only will you take Falg’s face, but you will also take his savage reputation. He will attend a fight in the Dark Sands that fateful afternoon, and he will do well. He always does, though few know him, or his real name when he escapes to have this fun for a while. Lith, you, my men will deal with him. But you will need to know how to do even a portion of what he does, for you will take his sword and ax, and you cannot drop them with foolish incompetence. You must swagger as you walk, hold your hands over your weapons with cold familiarity. You have to play the part, as I said. And who knows; perhaps you have to fight while serving the queen. Briefly, but still.’

  ‘What if he dies in the Dark Sands?’ Sand asked him with incredulity. ‘What if Falg dies? No matter how well you think he does?’ There was a dangerous edge to Sand’s words, and Lord Balan did not even look his way. My friend went on. ‘Is it a death match? One versus one?’

  ‘No,’ Balan said drily. ‘It’s a special event. There will be some eighty men and women in there. Teams. And beasts. If he dies, we go ahead with the plan. Perhaps the news won’t travel fast enough to the queen. But it will mean we will have to kill another man in the streets. I’ll explain that later. We are all in, boy.’

  ‘Why would this Falg do this kind of a battle?’ I asked with curiosity. ‘That sort of a thing gets a man killed.’

  Shaduril shrugged. ‘He is from the Shadowed Rocks, far to the south of Verdant Lands. They all fight there, all the time and here, in the north? Despite the king’s madness, laws still rule the land. Falg is a silk covered beast and has few opportunities to enjoy a good fight. Dark Sands is his playground. A home far from home. He has a partner and a superb team so that he will be with the winners. But as Father says, it won’t matter. Understood?’ she asked and looked around. ‘Our weapons master will train you.’

  ‘And who is that?’ I asked. ‘This—’

  ‘A very, very good fighter,’ Balan said with some dry humor. ‘But you will keep your trap shut about our business. All aspects of it. And here comes the little monster,’ Balan laughed softly, eyeing a figure that was striding for us from what we thought was a stable. ‘Not one word.’

  ‘Greetings,’ said the young man who was lathered in sweat, and he bowed to us. The most memorable part of him was his grin and wide neck, which belied bullish strength, despite the fact he was short. His eyes were large and full of mirth though a cunning flash in them told us he was curious about us. His hair was curly and brown, and his eyebrows were strange and lively. He seemed the sort of a man who would smile when surrounded by enemies. ‘Taram. Taram Blacktower at your service.’ Balan turned to his son, and Shaduril looked away from him. Lith and Taram. At least she spoke with her father, I thought. Balan gazed at me, and I nodded. I would say nothing.

  ‘You are at their service,’ Balan chortled maliciously.

  The man looked startled though only for a second, but he rose up to the occasion. ‘In their service, eh? And what kind of a lord are you? I have not seen you two before. In disguise, are you not? You look and smell like peasants. Clever! From the north, perhaps?’ Sand was shuffling nervously. And I felt sorry for him.

  ‘I’m a nobody, Lord,’ I said though that was not true. I had been as noble as they were, and my family still was. I kept that to myself and noticed Balan was staring at my ring again, raising his eyebrow. ‘We are both peasants, and we thank you for your service.’

  He looked shocked and finally laughed though the laughter was forced. ‘Gods laugh! Peasants! And what shall I serve you with? Shall I make your beds?’

  ‘You will teach them to fight, Taram,’ Shaduril said softly. ‘To fight. You shall not maim nor kill them. You will teach them to defend themselves as a soldier. Nothing shady or shitty, just basic fighting skills.’

  Taram’s eyes took on Shaduril as he gauged her reactions. She stared back until he flinched. ‘What shall they fight with? Pitchforks?’

  Balan slapped his hands together, and Taram bowed. The lord took the man aside and had a long discussion with the young lord, whose face was an unreadable mask, with a hint of arrogance and contempt.

  ‘They are weird,’ Sand whispered, and I nodded. They were. ‘And thanks for lowering yourself to my level.’

  ‘I’m not a noble, Sand. No matter what Mother told me,’ I told him. ‘And they are no better than we are. Either one of us.’

  ‘They sure act very nobly about this Morag business,’ Sand whispered and went silent as the young Blacktower strode towards us.

  Taram saluted us. ‘So, my peasant friends. I am literally at your service, or my allowance is cut.’

  ‘Taram!’ Balan admonished him, and the man raised both hands to indicate his willingness to cooperate.

  He went on. ‘I will teach you how to fight as my dear father requested. I am not sure why I am to suffer this indignity, but I know it is an eminently good one. That will suffice. As long as my debts are getting paid, I have no saying in the matter,’ he grinned and clapped my broad back so hard dust flew. Sand scowled at him as he was about to do the same to him, and he raised his hands to show he would not. Taram nodded at the keep. ‘Every morning, from sunrise to noon, I shall teach you to fight with weapons suited for you.’

  ‘Staff and sword for Maskan,’ Balan said. ‘Show him how to use and carry the sword, but teach him how to fight with a staff.’ I stared at him. Did he know about Larkgrin? He saw my face and shrugged. ‘Staff. I know it is not the most famous weapon in the old stories of wars and heroes, but it is a very useful one. My father taught me so. Sometimes you have to improvise; sometimes you must fight well with a piece of wood. Spear, broken shaft?’

  ‘I’d love to learn two-handed sword,’ I said softly, feeling foolish as I remembered the martial weapon of the Red Brother.

  ‘Staff,’ Balan said sternly. ‘And you shall learn long sword on the side. First, you learn how to walk, then t
o run, boy.’

  ‘My esteemed father is right,’ Taram said with a hint of mockery, which he hid with a small bow. ‘You seem fast and big, so do not worry. Perhaps we have time to find what else you are proficient at. Speaking of which. How much time do we have anyway?’

  ‘Three months,’ Shaduril said coldly, and Taram’s eyes went to slits.

  ‘I’ll be finished before Yule,’ he said slowly, thinking, and Balan scowled. Taram was dangerous, I decided. In more ways than with weapons. ‘We will see what I manage,’ Taram added, brightening. ‘Your simple friend will learn sword and shield, perhaps spear. I’ll train him as well though I will concentrate on this man here.’ Sand said nothing, but held his tongue admirably, partly because Shaduril stared at him with a steely look. ‘See you in the morning, boys!’ He went off and was soon instructing a group of men carrying planks in torchlight.

  Balan smiled coldly at Taram’s back. ‘My boy is the rebel in the family. Did you notice he did not even greet his poor, old father or dutiful sister? He dug into the fresh meat and tried to gobble it up, he did. He is an arrogant liar, but he is a Blacktower no matter how different he is from most of us. He despised you two, but it is ironic, for he is a simple thing, really, and enjoys pleasure over morals and duty. Your face. Keep it that way. Secret. Your face, which I will see now in my office. Come and accompany me. Shaduril will see your … friend is settled in.’ He turned and disappeared through an enormous set of thick doors, both braced by steel and iron, and Shaduril followed him, chatting politely if not amicably with Sand, despite her obvious disdain for him.

  I sneaked after Lord Balan, who was taking a long stairway to the right, up for the second and third floors. The sconces were light with flaming torches; the keep was decorated with tasteful dark velvet drapes mixed with brazen reds and fragile, cozy furniture. There was art in the form of statues and even paintings, some enormous and enthralling. I gazed down the stairs and saw Sand seated alone at a table in a long hall. Beyond him, there was a busy official handing out orders while chatting with Shaduril. An old lady was seated near a window, where candles fluttered. She was a gray-haired old woman, bent over her desk, poring over texts, and she would write furiously now and then.

  Balan smiled. ‘The family owl. She hardly sleeps at all. Illastria. My aunt. Always reading, always delving deep in the old lore. She is likely the best scholar in Red Midgard. Though she doesn’t speak much.’

  ‘In what subject?’ I dared ask him.

  He snorted. ‘In myths. The past. I am the one looking at the future. One day Shaduril will take over both duties.’

  ‘I see, Lord. Your daughter,’ I began and saw his eyes gauging me. I stammered and cursed myself and went on. ‘She seems to be a capable one.’

  ‘She is a most dutiful girl. We owe her for so much,’ the thin lord said. ‘I could use her in the house, but she must keep Morag interested. So she is rarely here.’ He was climbing, his hands behind his back, and he gazed at me now and then. He nodded at my scrutiny of the art. ‘A good thief knows his art and his mark. Make sure not to sneak around the hall, my friend, and keep your hands off the old treasures. In any case, we shall keep an eye on you. And your friend should be careful as well.’ He said that with an emphasis, and I got the message. Playing face-changing games might get Sand in trouble as well. ‘And,’ he continued. ‘I will have to sell it all. We need mercenaries.’

  ‘Yes, my lord. I want what you want,’ I agreed with him meekly though I could not help but admire a golden edged vase of ancient making. ‘Won’t your Taram see soldiers preparing for battle?’

  He chortled as he witnessed this. ‘He will. Perhaps he thinks the Crown has asked for men. That is what I will tell him, anyway. What I want, boy, is to stand before the Rose Throne and see the Danegells gone. I wish to run my finger across the throne’s contours and sit on it. Once. I would like to be—’

  ‘King,’ I stated coldly.

  He shook his head. ‘No. I will not be a king of anything. I just wish to sit on the throne. Always did. I will gladly vacate it later. I cannot explain it to you, Maskan. Then I want justice for Red Midgard. A strong nation. Please make sure not to make a mess of things. You have been warned. We beheaded two thieves in one of my villages the other week, and not even your fine skill with faces can change the way things cut through flesh. But you are a unique thief and with some patience, we shall make you pass as a royal slave. What a great leap forward in life, eh?’

  ‘Getting beheaded is certainly better than getting hung, my lord. Were they starving, the thieves?’ I asked him sweetly.

  He laughed briefly. ‘They were thieves, boy. Makes no difference why they stole. Beheading is a kinder way to go, but make no mistake; you shall piss your pants in either case. Make sure your pants stay dry.’

  ‘Did they stand in a trial?’ I asked him. ‘Or did they go without one, as my family?’

  ‘I judged them, Maskan,’ Balan said tartly. ‘Do not accuse me of the same I just did our king.’

  ‘Of course, Lord,’ I said sweetly and disliked him. I was a noble; I reminded myself. A noble like him. ‘But a damned poor one,’ I whispered and chuckled. Balan did as well as if he knew what I had said.

  We climbed up to the third floor, passed servants and guards and splendor and came to a white door with a thick locking bar, which he pushed up, hung on the wall and nudged the door open. He stomped in and waded through a thick carpet of Southern make, colorful, red and yellow. It was surprisingly bright considering his dour demeanor. There were fine books, most expensively bound, a chandelier of gilded silver and pictures of times long forgotten; the art of the past by some fabulous artist. I turned to stare at them. They tugged at me, hung on the walls, and I could not tear myself away from them.

  He grunted as he sat down behind a long desk. ‘You are no peasant. A thief, yes, but you could have been something else. You are Tal’s son, no?’

  I whirled on him and looked at him with alarm. I groped for Larkgrin but did not call it forth. ‘I am a thief.’

  ‘Tal’s thieving son, no?’ he asked me. ‘The age fits. And you are arrogant as he was.’

  ‘How do you know this? I only learned—’

  ‘I know he was a bit strange, Maskan. Tal,’ he said dryly. ‘I collect information. Illastria delves on myths, and I use that information, and some of that information claimed Tal had strange skills. And we all know Morag never found your mother and you. I doubt he knew her name, and you had not been named yet. There were no records of either of you, really. Lax of the scribes. White Brother’s spells could not locate you. Morag likely thought you had fled the land and managed to hide yourself. But Tal had one unique thing everyone in the court knew about. And it’s that ring. Isn’t it? It’s in one of Illastria’s books. Risky to wear it. Perilous. But I suppose it is a sentimental thing.’

  I rubbed the thing briefly, trying to hide it. His eyes were feverish as he regarded it.

  ‘Perhaps I am of that house, yes,’ I agreed softly.

  He roused himself. ‘You see, I am not entirely foolish. Your face-changing trick is a great one, and it will serve us well. I thought I’d meet criminals. You would have been very well rewarded, indeed, even if you were like your Sand. A lowborn. But now I see you might be much more useful.’

  ‘In what way?’ I asked, fuming at his low opinion of my friend.

  He chuckled. ‘I did not tell you of what is supposed to take place after the murders. Not ten minutes ago, I needed a solution to your question. What after? What after, indeed? There are problems we are facing. While I have one powerful ally who listens to me, he doesn’t like my plans. But now he might. I need to find a way—’

  ‘How to get to the Tower to save Shaduril,’ I said.

  ‘Yes,’ he smiled. ‘And to kill the Brothers. I have a man who would take the throne, yes.’

  ‘You do?’ I asked, shocked. ‘This ally of yours?’

  ‘Yes. One man would take it. He has listened to my lame
ntations. He has answered them, and we still live, so he has not betrayed us. He hid the coins they found with Valkai. And the note from Valkai. But he is cautious. He would slay the tyrant, but he does not wish to risk his neck. He loves his life more than this land. And so you are more valuable than you think, Maskan Talin, a thief and a lord,’ he chuckled. ‘And in truth, despite our high airs, do not worry about being a thief. Did you not see what kind of business my girls run? Just like your mother did, only more profitable. Much more. The Affront is a great business and—’

  ‘But they are not in danger of being beheaded for thievery,’ I said and grinned. ‘The king would pardon Shaduril, no doubt, and Lith as well if he has Shaduril to warm his … bed.’

  He waved his hand tiredly. ‘Ah, that bothers you. It bothers me, even if I fight to hide it. Every day my girls suffer him. He might pardon them for thievery, for Shaduril is his lover,’ he allowed. ‘Of course, he will not if we get caught with the flans you stole and if we fail in killing both of the royals and if my ally betrays me. Then we will all die. We are all thieves, most everyone in the Ten Houses.’

  ‘Hypocrisy is the mark of the great houses,’ I whispered, but he heard me.

  He scowled. ‘I have a need of you, hypocrite or not. And perhaps, since you are Tal’s boy, I shall learn to tolerate your arrogance. Mind you, our Tenth and your Seventh House were in good enough relationship before Tal died. Had been for ages. Gal, your uncle, is the Merchant Lord now, Master of the Harbor and we occasionally do business together.’

  ‘Gal, I don’t know him,’ I told him.

  ‘But gods love us, for Gal is perfect and will make everything right. I always thought we needed Gal in this but never had a way to get to him. If he joins this conspiracy, we have a way to kill the Danegells and to take the Tower. You see, that is the issue. There is no need for us to smuggle an army all the way up to the Tower of the Temple. No need to fight through the wall and then to dismantle the gate, for that gate is too hard to break with … conventional methods. Gal is the answer. Do you know why?’