Blackwood Marauders

by K. S. Villoso

  Not that it was any better in town. As the first glances were thrown their way, Luc pulled his cloak—a new one, not the same, tattered thing he had left the farm with—higher up his chin. He caught Roena looking at him oddly. “The others say you come from around here,” she said.

  “Interested in my life all of a sudden?”

  She brushed up against his arm. “Don’t you want me to be?”

  He bristled, mostly because she now drew away to catch up to Tasha. She knew her effect on him and it was infuriating how much she enjoyed drawing it out of him. Luc didn’t know Duke Iorwin, but he figured he was probably right that this was all just a game to her. All well and good if that was how she wanted to spend her time—he just wished she wouldn’t treat him like one of the players. She continued to insist on sleeping beside him, for one thing. Not because she wanted a repeat of their first meeting together, but because he figured it kept her safe from the other men. And he would’ve accepted that—uncomfortable as it made him feel—if she had bothered to discuss it with him.

  But she didn’t. She assumed he could follow her train of thought and dropped her bedroll beside him inside his tent every night. Any and all modesty seemed to have been lost since they had found themselves in a tangle on the floor of her father’s office. She made herself comfortable against the heat of his body, one hand on his thigh sometimes, her back towards him on other times. No more than that. It made him want to scream.

  “Client will be meeting at Old Bokta’s,” Tasha said, breaking his thoughts.

  “Really?” Luc asked. “How apt. I guess the rest of you can go off by yourselves.”

  “Bokta’s,” Treda growled. “Never thought we’d find ourselves back here so soon. Is this safe, Tasha?”

  “I was under the impression that whole situation, including your escape, has been swept under the rug,” Luc replied. “Still, it’s probably best if you all keep out of trouble.”

  They didn’t need a second bidding, and scattered like a flock of birds. Roena remained. “Who is this client?” she asked. “You really need to keep yourself on top of things, Luc. If she’s handling all of your business for you, how are you going to run this group without her?”

  Tasha stared in disbelief. Luc did the same thing—he had expected her to bite Roena Blackwood’s head off. Grumble under her breath, at least. She didn’t. Wordlessly, she turned to lead them down the street, though she did scream at a stray dog along the way. Luc had to wonder if she was stopping herself from confronting Roena on purpose.

  Old Bokta met them at the tavern and took them around the back. He didn’t seem to recognize Luc, though that wasn’t too strange—it wasn’t as if they’d ever spoken before. They followed him up a set of stairs and towards a rooftop terrace that overlooked Crossfingers’ town square. Luc didn’t even know Bokta had one of these—it was nestled between two other buildings. Smoke from their chimneys melted the snow around the rooftops, which left long icecicles hanging from the eaves.

  There was a single table on the terrace. A woman was sitting there, cross-legged.

  Roena’s eyes widened. “Lady Isobel Dahrias.”

  The woman gave a cold smile. “Lady Roena Blackwood,” the woman replied. She didn’t look as surprised as Roena. “What have you done this time?”

  “I can’t see how that’s any of your business,” Roena hissed.

  “It should be, given that you were supposed to marry my step-brother a few days from now,” Lady Isobel said. She folded her hands over the table with a grin.

  “Did my father send you?”

  “Like I’d be caught dead working for Blackwood.” Isobel wrinkled her nose with distaste.

  Roena frowned. “Then why—”

  “Hard as this may be for you to understand, but your little family dramas don’t concern me,” Isobel said. “If I had the time, I’d even applaud you for walking out on Draigar like you did. I’d have loved to see the look on his face when you made it clear you’d rather freeze half to death stomping around the snow with low-lifes than get married to him, but I’m almost sure it didn’t happen the way I’m imagining it and I really don’t care.” Her eyes flicked towards Tasha before settling on Luc.

  “So,” she continued. “Are you here for the job or are you just her nursemaids?”

  “We’re here for the job,” Roena answered for him.

  Isobel looked amused. “Are you, now?”

  “I don’t see what’s so funny.”

  “I seem to recall you went through a phase where you decided you were going to join an acting troupe. Or was it a group of travelling bards? With such an atrocious voice like yours, no wonder they threw you—”

  Luc reached out to grab Roena’s wrist before she could draw her sword.

  “The job,” he said.

  Isobel smiled. “Looks like she got herself a new bodyguard. Or are you something else? Not that I blame you. With a face and body like that…she could run the damn nation if she cared for anything but herself.” She tapped a leather-bound scroll in front of her.

  Tasha shuffled close to pick it up.

  “That’s a map,” Isobel said before Tasha could open her mouth. “I wasn’t sure if you’d all remember everything I tell you, so I also have everything all scribbled on a note for your convenience.”

  “What the fuck is this?” Tasha growled as she flicked the latches open. She glanced at the note before she pulled the map out. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Do I look like I’m joking?” Isobel asked.

  Luc took the edge of the map from Tasha’s hand. He felt his heart begin to pound as he read the name on the edge of it. Windroost. The forgotten city to the north, the one they weren’t even supposed to speak of. “This place is forbidden,” Luc gasped. “There’s spells and traps and…creatures…”

  “All of which I’ve been assured you know how to handle.”

  “We dealt with one. This is different. There’s a reason no one goes up there anymore, for Agartes’ sake!”

  Isobel craned her head to one side. “What’s the matter? I’ve been told you would be compliant.”

  Luc turned to Tasha, who gave a deep breath. “We’ll do it.”

  “Tasha, you—” Luc began.

  Tasha ignored him. “You said here you want us to go inside this city to retrieve these…” She frowned.

  “Journals,” Isobel finished for her. “And various other texts. They’ll be in the library marked on the map there. That is—we’re pretty sure they’re there. You do know what a library is, don’t you? Big room, full of books…”

  “I know what a fucking library is,” Tasha growled.

  “That’s it?” Luc asked.

  Isobel turned to him with a smile. “That’s it. Actually retrieving said items may not be as simple as it sounds. Another party has already made their way up to the city and may be rummaging through that library as we speak. Now, don’t look so cross. It’s a good thing—we wanted them to get there first. Saves you the trouble of having to look for the texts yourself. So make your way in there, grab these without getting yourselves killed…”

  Luc took a deep breath. “This other party is dangerous.”

  “That goes without saying. That is why we wanted you. My men were ill-equipped for this sort of thing. You, on the other hand, are such strong, capable fighters…I’m sure you’ll have no problems. Oh and—time is of the essence here, as I’m sure you’ve realized by now. We don’t want the other group leaving with the prize before you get there.”

  “We’ll need money for supplies and horses,” Tasha said. “You can’t expect us to walk all the way.”

  Isobel clicked her tongue.

  A man emerged from the corner. Luc had been so intent on Lady Dahrias that he hadn’t noticed him. He handed out a coin purse to Luc with a bow.

  “Lady Roena afen Iorwin,” Isobel said, before they could leave.

  “What?” Roena bristled.

  “Or Lady Blackwood, if you prefer�
�which I think you do,” Isobel tittered. “If you do get yourself killed out there, rest assured that there will be a grand funeral feast. I’ll insist on it myself. We are family now, of sorts. Do you want dancers or jugglers?”

  “Fuck off,” Roena said evenly.

  ~~~

  The nerve of that bitch, Roena thought as they left the building. She must’ve been sent by her father somehow. She denied it, but it was too much of a coincidence otherwise. Lady Isobel’s mother had married Draigar’s father years ago, when Roena was still a child, and since then she had seemingly been a permanent fixture in court. She had been there, too, when the high priest had effectively ruined Roena’s life—stood there with a stupid grin on her face, as if she somehow had guessed exactly what it would mean in the grand scheme of things.

  Was that what she looked like to everyone else? A joke? If Luc hadn’t stopped her, she might have really struck Isobel down and showed her how serious she was. She’d regret it, of course, but there’d at least be one satisfying moment where she could watch Isobel’s blood drip from her body and onto the street below. It grated at her that her attempts at trying to find her own way in life proved to be nothing more than entertainment to the rest of them. That the only way she could make them leave her alone, the only way she could do anything of worth in their eyes, was if she did exactly what they wanted her to do.

  She would rather die first.

  She noticed that she was alone on the street with Luc. The mercenary, the one they called Tasha, had left them on their own. “You’re upset,” Luc said.

  She turned away. “Do I look pleased?”

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  Luc confused her. After he had betrayed her plans to Draigar, she had gone up to that inn with every intention to kill him. She had planned it in detail the whole walk through—she would lie to the mercenaries to get them to let her see him, and then she imagined tying him up first and then gutting him, maybe letting him beg her for his own death before she finished him off. Ridiculous fancies. He had barely stirred while she bound him up to the bedpost, and the way he continued to sleep peacefully, his long eyelashes only flickering now and again, almost reminded her of her little brother.

  And then he woke up and apologized to her, and the last of her resolve faded away. She really couldn’t have gone through with it, anyway. Leaving with the mercenaries didn’t seem like such a bad idea after all. Ylir’s taunts, his warnings about the violence she would encounter around these people, seemed to fade away whenever she saw Luc. He had been gentle with her. She had never really known that kind of touch before.

  He was giving her that same, soft gaze he had given her that afternoon when she all but forced herself on him. Roena felt herself resisting against the intrusion. The last thing she wanted was for anyone, let alone a man, to feel sorry for her. “There’s nothing to talk about,” she huffed. “She’s been a thorn in everybody’s side for the longest time. She’s made it a habit to anger nearly everyone in court. Her own step-brother hasn’t spoken to her in years.”

  “That’s Lord Draigar,” Luc said.

  She hated that he paid attention. “Yes. One less reason I want to marry him. I don’t want to call that family. After her mother died, she argued with Draigar and his father and returned to her father’s lands in a huff. Well. They’re not really her father’s lands—they’ve with the Beeching family for hundreds of years. But her father squatted in it for many years before his death, opening up inquest after inquest until the king grew tired of it and left him alone. She’s gone and followed his footsteps—she’s been dragging the Beechings to the king’s court these last few years. I don’t know the details, but you can see the kind of person we’re dealing with here.”

  “So she’s not really a lady.”

  “She is because of her mother’s marriage,” Roena said. “Hafed laws value marriage just as much as lineage. But with Draigar as the heir, she inherits nothing. And it’s not like her stepfather is all that fond of her—who would be? I don’t even know where she found the money to have men at her disposal. Those lands she’s sitting on don’t have income. It’s a hunk of dead rock near the shore—unless she’s taken to selling seashell necklaces, I don’t know what she’s doing hiring mercenaries for. She’s a pauper, as far as I’m concerned.”

  “She’s our client now,” Luc murmured. “Your client. Unless she’s right? That you intend to ride back to your father when you tire of this?” He gazed at out at the road. “Maybe you should do that now before we go up there. This could get dangerous.”

  “I’m not afraid of a little danger,” she snorted.

  “I’m sure you’re not. Still…”

  “Luc!” someone called from the other end of the street.

  Roena turned towards the shrill voice. A young woman was walking up to them in long strides. She had the sort of dirty, pale yellow hair that tried to billow in the wind but was too greasy to do anything more than bunch up along her neck. She stopped a few paces away from Luc, as if afraid to take another step. “What happened?” she asked. “Where have you been all this time?”

  Luc rubbed his head. “Ceri,” he said. He looked embarassed.

  The woman’s eyes were hard. “They said you ran off with some mercenaries. We couldn’t believe it. Your father didn’t believe it. We thought the worst—Feastday came and went with no word from you, and then weeks…we thought you were dead. And then suddenly Bokta comes running into the village saying you were with them, all armed with a sword and everything. I had to see for myself.” She turned to Roena, as if just realizing she was there.

  By reflex, Roena reached out to grab Luc’s arm. He remained motionless.

  “Who is this?” Ceri asked. There was a note of alarm in her voice.

  “I should ask you the same thing,” Roena said cheerfully. “One of your village girls, Luc?”

  “Please, my lady…” Luc began.

  Ceri’s cheeks were red. “My lady?”

  “That’s how we get on, you see,” Roena continued. “But you were saying something else.”

  “You didn’t even drop by the village,” Ceri continued, forcing her eyes away from Roena, as if ignoring her seemed like the hardest thing she’d ever had to do in her life. “What are you doing?”

  “We’re about to head north on the road—”

  “I mean with your life?” Her tone rose. “You think leaving would’ve solved your disagreement with Alun?”

  “I didn’t cause that, if you recall,” Luc said.

  “So you’re blaming me?”

  “I didn’t say that,” he breathed. He lowered his eyes to the ground. He had yet to pull away from her. Roena almost felt sorry for him. She was almost sure the argument would’ve continued if not for the sight of a second figure—an old woman, stooped and leaning on a cane.

  Now he did pull away, and Roena got the impression that he was ashamed of being seen with her there. She watched him stumble towards the old woman and take her hand, which he pressed against his forehead as he dropped to a low bow in front of her. The old woman reached out to force him up the snow and pulled him into her arms.

  The amusement left Roena. She found herself looking away, suddenly uncomfortable all over again. “Oh, Luc, my boy, my boy,” the old woman was saying. Her voice was a mix of accents—she caught a touch of Baidhan in it, but also something that didn’t quite belong there. “Why did you do that? Didn’t you think we would understand?”

  “There was a lot of things on my mind, Grandmother,” Luc replied. “I’m sorry if I made you worry.”

  “That you did, and we won’t let you forget it easily. But it’s done now. It’s over. Come home with us. There will be other things for you—other opportunities. Forget what they told you in Skellcilan. They don’t know. You’ve got better things in store for you. And for Alun…oh, you can patch things up with Alun, my boy. He misses you. He pines for you every day. Tell him, Ceri.”

  “Grandma,” Ceri sa
id, her voice growing cold. “I don’t think he wants to come home.”

  “That’s nonsense,” the old woman scoffed. “Why wouldn’t he? His family is waiting for him. My boy…”

  There was a moment of silence, broken only by the soft rustling of the wind. Roena looked up to see Luc staring at his feet, even as the old woman held both of his hands in hers. “I’m sorry,” Luc repeated. “But there’s things I have to do first.”

  Ceri jerked a finger towards Roena without even looking at her. “Does she have anything to do with it?”

  “She’s one of us,” Luc replied, seemingly oblivious to the venom in the other woman’s tone. Roena had seen jealousy before, but not as controlled as this one—she would’ve applauded her if she had been inclined to that sort of thing. “We’ve got a job. We’ve already made an agreement with the client and everything. I can’t back out now.”

  Roena could tell from the expression on the women’s faces that these were strange words to them. “Can’t they do this without you?” his grandmother finally asked.

  “They need me, Loma,” Luc murmured, using a word Roena wasn’t familiar with.

  “You’re needed at home, too.”

  “It’s not the same thing, Loma. Please understand.”

  “You’re abandoning your family, Luc,” Ceri hissed. “How long are you going to be running around with them for? Come spring, I have to leave for Tilarthan and Alun begins his studies.”

  “Agartes, Ceri, you know that I know these things.” Luc’s face darkened and he looked like he wanted to say something else. Instead, he held back, took his grandmother’s hands again, and pressed them up to his lips. Afterwards, he pulled out a purse and placed it on her palm, wrapping her fingers around it. “Forgive me, Loma. I will send word when I can.”

  Roena couldn’t resist, and took the opportunity to hook her arm through his. She saw Ceri glare at her before taking his grandmother away. Smiling, Roena took a turn around the alley. Numbly, Luc followed her.

  ~~~