The Return of Cathos (Tales of the Silver Sword Inn, Complete Collection One)

by Wilson Harp

  Mirari had changed into a white silk dress and added pearl and amethyst studded jewelry that morning when they broke camp. The plan was for her to act the part of a young noblewoman with Donal as her manservant. Horas and Lendin were to act as Donal’s assistants. Horas felt silly bowing and deferring to her, but she seemed as annoyed as he was by the act.

  “Are you sure he will be here?” Mirari asked Donal.

  “Yes, I left a message for him and he is in the city. He will be here,” said Donal.

  “Someone is coming,” said Lendin nodding to a man in a bright blue vest heading right at their table.

  “My Lady,” the man said as he approached the table. “May I suggest the golden wine today?”

  Mirari jumped as if he had pinched her. “Oh. Wine? Yes, that will be good. And beer for my men.”

  “Of course,” said the man as he turned and walked away.

  “A serving man?” asked Lendin in a whisper. “I would never have expected.”

  Horas looked around and saw that there were several men in bright blue vests and twice as many women in bright blue aprons. They were all either carrying drinks or talking to people at their tables.

  “I think there are serving girls, too,” said Horas, pointing to a nearby girl in a bright blue apron. “I guess when a place is as big as this you take whatever help you can get.”

  Donal chuckled. “The men and women who work here probably make more than most craftsmen in Black Oak. A place like this only hires the most experienced and discreet servers.”

  “Why would a server need to be discreet?” asked Lendin.

  “Often people do business in a place like this,” said Mirari. “Or they meet with lovers, or political allies. A server needs to guard his tongue. If gossip let secrets out, then those with wealth and power would stop frequenting the tavern.”

  “As big of a city as this is, I’m sure everyone can find plenty of work,” said Lendin. “I thought Gen was as big a place as there could be. It would probably take two whole days to walk across Loramund.”

  “Almost three, actually,” said Donal. “The canals or a good horse can get you through the city in a single day, but there are many who have been born, lived a good long life, and died here without seeing the walls of their own city. And there are a lot of poor here. Not everyone can find work to put a roof over their head or food in their bellies. A lot of wealth’s on display in Loramund, like this place, but a lot of poverty as well. I never liked cities too much, but I think it is a good thing to visit a place like Loramund a few times. It lets you see how different life can be.”

  The server returned with their drinks and set them down on the table. Donal reached in his belt pouch and pulled out two gold pennies and handed them to the server.

  “Thank you, we will be expecting a friend and no one else,” Donal told the man. The server bowed as he tucked the coins into a pocket in his vest and walked away.

  “Two gold pennies for three beers and a glass of wine,” said Horas as he shook his head.

  “One gold penny for the drinks and a gold penny to make sure we aren’t disturbed,” said Mirari. “You seem to understand how these places work, Donal. It surprises me.”

  “Even a simple woodsman picks up a few social graces here and there,” he said as he took a drink of his beer. “When you get older, you might start seeing beyond the simple appearance of people. Maybe.”

  Lendin and Horas smiled at each other as Donal set her in her place. Neither of them particularly cared for the young woman. She always reminded them of how unsophisticated they were, and she had once tossed Horas onto his back when he had touched her shoulder in a friendly way. She said it was too friendly. Horas was embarrassed to have been so easily tossed around by a girl half his size and had taken a considerable dislike to her.

  Mirari sipped her wine and for the most part pretended that the others did not exist. She did glance at Donal from time to time, Horas noticed. He would have thought she would have a look of disgust on her face after he had casually brushed off her insult and had spoken to her like she was a child. Instead she seemed almost to admire him. Horas shook his head at the thought. Most likely she was planning on stabbing Donal in the near future.

  The four sat quietly as they looked around the common room. Horas was trying to spot a young blonde server who had caught his eye as she had weaved her way past their table once, when Donal rose from his seat. He waved at someone and a few seconds later the elven bard Calaran came lightly stepping up to their table.

  “Good, you are here,” said the elf as he grabbed a chair from a nearby table and slid it between Horas and Lendin. He sat down on it and looked for a drink that wasn’t there.

  “I didn’t know what you wanted,” said Donal.

  “Permagon. If I’m at The High Horse, I drink Permagon.” Calaran stood and waved at one of the servers in a blue vest.

  “I would have figured you for a wine drinker,” said Mirari as the elf sat back down.

  “Normally, yes. But Permagon Ale is on a whole different level than your typical beer,” said Calaran as the server approached their table.”

  “We will have five glasses of Permagon,” said the bard as he handed a gold mark to the server.

  Lendin gasped and Horas almost choked as the server turned and walked away.

  “My armor cost a whole gold mark,” said Horas.

  “I can tell,” said Calaran. He turned to Donal. “I assume that there was trouble while I was gone?”

  Horas blanched at Calaran’s insult of his armor but had no time to respond as Donal told what had happened at the Silver Sword Inn the night before. Calaran nodded at different points in Donal’s tale but remained silent until the end.

  “Orias said that he memorized the journals?” Calaran asked.

  “Yes,” said Donal.

  “Good, that will make it easier for us. Did he say if the cult leader, this Delacour, would have any extra difficulties?”

  “He said that he only needed one person of living blood to counter the spell.”

  “Yes, or maybe he even needs to kill one of the last three who were there. With all of the Ravens dead, it makes it easier for him,” the bard said. “If you, King Patrus, and I stay alive and we can keep him from grabbing Lendin, Filvan Hawk, or one of the king’s close relatives, then he will need something else. I’m sure that he has thought of that. I spoke with High Wizard Sonlis in Kol Lyter about this, and he said that the next new moon would be the most opportune time in the next hundred years for a ceremony to break the spell. That means he will try in twelve days. I also discovered that the chamber of Kerin Kor is in the ruins of the ancient elven city of Kol Edroth. It so happens that the city of Balcchor was built on those ruins. The chamber was used to communicate with the dead. That seems the likely place for the ceremony.”

  Donal nodded. “We have a time and we have a place. I think we need to prepare for a fight ahead.”

  “We do. First, though, I want to speak with Bertram. If Delacour was a regular patron here, then others in the cult might be here as well. If they are, then they marked me as soon as I came in,” said Calaran.

  “Are we in danger?” asked Lendin as he looked around.

  “Not in the open,” said Mirari. “They will try to follow us and take us where there are not as many eyes.”

  “Correct, we can just sit back for a few minutes and enjoy this ale,” said Calaran. “That is one of the secrets of life. Enjoy the moment when you can.”

  “This is good ale,” said Donal. “The best I have ever had.”

  Horas nodded although he couldn’t focus on the taste of the ale. The idea that members of the cult of Cathos were actively planning his demise unnerved him. He looked across the table and saw that Lendin had grown pale.

  The small party sat for a few minutes in silence. Horas and Lendin kept looking at everyone with suspicion while Mirari, Donal and Calaran all seemed to focus on their cups.

  “There is one thin
g that may tip the scale in our favor,” said Calaran. “The scepter of Alamalis reportedly rests in the ruins of Kol Edroth, known by men as Celedridum. It was wielded by Ratarah, the elven high priestess of the city. She could use it to call forth the dead ancestors. However, it can only be wielded by one of her descendants.”

  “Do we know any of her descendants?” asked Lendin.

  “Of course we do, I’m one of her descendants,” said the bard with a smile. “She was my great-grandmother.”

  “Then we should try to find the scepter,” said Donal. “It looks like Bertram has come to speak to you.” Donal nodded to the finely dressed man headed toward the table.

  “Calaran, my friend, have you come to entertain us this evening?” the man said as he approached the group.

  “Bertram, greetings! Unfortunately I am on urgent business, but perhaps we can schedule a day when I can come by and entertain your guests.”

  “Of course, of course. I’ll leave you to your friends then.”

  The owner of the High Horse turned to go.

  “Bertram,” called the elf. “I may not be able to entertain tonight, but I would like to speak with you. Why don’t we go to your office. My friend has some business with you and had hoped I could make introductions.”

  Bertram looked at Mirari and squinted. He obviously didn’t see the rough dressed men as friends of the bard. “She looks a little young to be your friend, Calaran. But if she has some business with me, that will be fine. Come back to my office and we can talk.”

  “We’ll be there as soon as we finish our ale,” said Calaran.

  Bertram bowed and left the table.

  “Will he be alone in his office?” asked Donal.

  “He should be; there are a few men posted outside his door,” said Calaran.

  “Horas, you and Lendin stay back near the door when we go in. If there is a problem, you need to keep the door closed. Mirari, you move forward with Calaran, and I’ll stay right behind you,” said Donal

  “Do you think he will cause us any trouble?” asked Mirari.

  “I don’t think so, but Donal is right. If there is any trouble, we don’t want to be caught unaware. It might take some money to loosen his tongue as well. Do you have any coin on you?” asked Calaran.

  “Not much. Not in the amount you need,” said Donal.

  Calaran looked at the pearls that Mirari was wearing. “Does your jewelry hold sentimental value for you?”

  “Not particularly. Just my locket,” she said. Her hand rose as if to touch the item hanging on its golden chain.

  “I meant the pearls, although the locket is interesting. It’s enchanted somehow, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, but I’m not entirely sure of how it is enchanted,” said Mirari.

  “Interesting,” said Calaran. “But we don’t have time right now to look into it. Would you be willing to trade your pearls for information? I can reimburse you later.”

  “If they will help bring my father’s killer to justice, I would gladly give up the pearls,” said Mirari.

  “Let’s go talk with Bertram. Keep your eyes open, but don’t do anything that I can’t smooth over,” said the bard as he stood.

  Calaran extended his arm to Mirari. She smiled and took it as he escorted her from their table to the back of the tavern. Horas looked over at Lendin and rolled his eyes. The girl already had her nose in the air whenever she had to speak with either of the young men. He was afraid it would only get worse now that Calaran was treating her like a noblewoman.

  The door near the back was flanked by two well-muscled men. They had short, iron-studded clubs hanging from their belts. They stood upright and alert as the party came closer.

  “Hello Hamish, hello Bront,” said the elf. “Calaran the bard to see Bertram.”

  One of the men nodded and smiled.

  “Will we see you performing tonight?” he asked.

  “That is one of the things I will be discussing with the boss.”

  “What about her?” the other guard asked. “Will she be performing tonight as well?”

  Mirari’s right hand flashed up at the guard’s face as her left hand grabbed his hand and twisted it backwards. A long steel blade had somehow appeared in her hand, and she forced the guard back to the wall.

  “Keep a civil tongue or I’ll remove it for you,” she said.

  Horas knew she moved fast; she had thrown him to the ground easily enough. But he was stunned at how purposeful and crisp her movements were. Her voice betrayed no emotion, and he had no doubt that she would cut the man’s tongue out.

  The guard had no doubt either. His eyes were wide and he didn’t even try to struggle against her.

  Donal reached over and plucked the knife out of her hand.

  “Let him go, Lady Mirari,” he said.

  She released the guard’s wrist and turned back to Donal. Horas saw the guard slink away to a nearby corner rubbing his wrist and glaring at the young woman.

  “Give it back,” she said to Donal.

  “Maybe tonight if you behave yourself,” he said as he slipped it into his belt at his back.

  Horas expected an explosion from her, but instead she blushed and turned back to the doorway.

  “I believe we are ready to speak with Bertram,” said Calaran.

  The guard nodded quickly and opened the door for the group from Black Oak. When Mirari looked at him, he turned his head and examined the common room. Horas saw a small smile appear on her face before she affected the look of a noblewoman again.

  “Calaran. Please sit and let us talk,” said Bertram. He was sitting in a high-backed chair, plush with cushions.

  “Thank you, Bertram,” said the bard as he led Mirari to a couple of fine leather worked chairs in front of the tavern owner. Donal motioned Horas and Lendin to stay near the door and then followed the elf and the girl, staying just a pace or two behind. Calaran and Mirari settled into their seats as Donal stood behind the girl’s chair as if he were her footman.

  “What can I do for you today, Calaran?” Bertram smiled broadly as he took in the expensive jewelry that Mirari wore.

  “Who were they, Bertram?” asked Donal.

  The tavern owner looked puzzled at being addressed by a servant.

  “I don’t know who you mean,” said Bertram.

  “Two men, both with the look of wealthy merchants, took note of Calaran as he entered The High Horse. One motioned to the other and they stood up and left the tavern. That caught my eye, but you watching them leave caught my eye as well.”

  Horas jumped as the sound of wood sliding was matched by Calaran jumping from his seat and flourishing his cloak beside Bertram’s chair. He barely had time to comprehend that a bolt from a crossbow had struck the moving cloak and had imbedded itself against the far wall instead of in the tavern owner when the door behind him burst open. Two huge men came tumbling in behind the shattered wood.

  Lendin was knocked sprawling on the ground, but Horas had managed to keep his feet. The jagged axe blades that both men carried did not frighten him nearly as much as the woven bracelets that encircled their thick wrists. Horas threw himself at the legs of one of the men, hoping that he could knock him into the other, but it was as useless as trying to knock down a brick wall. When he hit the ground at the man’s feet, he twisted and rolled away expecting to feel the bite of the wicked axe in his side. A splash of blood hit his face as he looked up. A small knife’s hilt was protruding from the thug’s throat. Blood sprayed freely as the thug dropped his axe and pawed helplessly at the blade.

  Horas grabbed the jagged axe as he scrambled to his feet. The thug in front of him fell to one knee, and Horas swung the axe at the man’s back. The blow was solid and cut deep. The brute lay still.

  The sound of combat from behind him caused Horas to look. Donal had engaged the second monstrous man while Lendin was pushing himself up along the side of the far wall. Mirari and Calaran both had a blade in each hand and were busy with four or five men
who had entered from a sliding panel along the room’s wall. A man with a crossbow lay dead just inside the room, a dagger in his throat.

  Mirari fought in a spinning style. Her loose white silk dress flowed as she deftly avoided any blow of weapon or hand. Her knives gleamed with red blood, finding flesh with each thrust. Calaran fought a more beautiful dance of death. He made it seem effortless.

  “Horas!” shouted Donal. He looked to see the woodsman still fighting the second brute that had burst through the office door. Donal motioned toward the door, and Horas saw two more cultists run toward him with swords in their hands.

  Horas yelled like a madman and met their charge with one of his own. The first man raised his sword to swing at Horas, but the young warrior stepped into the swing and chopped upward with his axe. He knew it was a good swing and expected to feel the wide, jagged blade hit the man’s arm, but he didn’t expect that the blade would slice clean through.

  The arm holding the sword flipped over the second man as he ran forward. His eyes widened at the savage blow that had felled his friend, and Horas used that delay to spin wide and swing the axe with both hands at the second man’s chest. The axe not only crushed the man’s chest in but sent him sailing across the room and into the back of another man who was fighting.

  In fact, the whole room was in a major battle. Rough dressed men, weapons dripping with blood, formed a barrier against the bouncers and guards hired by Bertram. Merchants and hired muscle pushed and shoved their way out of the tavern’s doors and, in some cases, windows.

  Horas yelled and charged into the back of the cultists. His wild swings felled three men in short order. The rest of the cultists were surprised by the assault from behind them and were quickly swarmed over by the guards and bouncers. Several guards eyed him warily until he lowered his axe and looked back at Bertram’s office.

  Donal stepped out of the door, wiping blood from his sword. He nodded for Horas to come back into the office. The two guards who had been there when the small party had entered just minutes before lay dead on either side of the door. The bodies of several men lay in the doorway, and Horas had to step over them to make it inside. Several of the bouncers followed him in and went towards their boss to make sure he was not injured.