“Then, abruptly, I was brought home. The Steward told me it looked like he’d found a favorable betrothed for me. A match with House Avlor. A niece of the Duke. Her name was Anne. I met her formally once with the Duke, her father, and mine. She was pretty, shy. We were set to be married at the end of the summer. I didn’t really…I mean, I wasn’t really smart enough to look into the arrangement more than at the surface. I sort of expected she was happy with it or at least okay with it. That her family was too. But there was more going on, some of which I understood better later, some of which I still don’t care about.”
Cal fingered a faded white scar on the middle knuckle of his left hand. “It was summer and all the action in Castalan is on the boats, on the water. No one stays on land during the long days. It’s all about whose boat you’re on. So I joined the Avlors on a boat party a few days after first meeting Anne. It was Mathos and Edmund’s boat, their party. A small caravel. Anne and one other girlfriend. Mathos, Edmund, a couple other cousins, one or two of their men. A young, boisterous crowd. A lot of wine flowing as we left Lenn’s Harbor, headed out into the Bay. We crossed the Bay to the shallows of Grey Bear Island.
“Edmund and Mathos were cool. They were funny, sarcastic, strong, rich. They were royalty in Castalan, the highest of the younger generation of nobility. I didn’t realize they looked at the Steward as little more than working class. They viewed the match with Anne as an insult. They hated me. But I was oblivious. They kept feeding me wine, asking me to tell stories of my boarding school exploits. I obliged. The boat was all laughter, egging me on. I didn’t realize the joke was on me. Anne kept quiet through it all. She kept quiet through the whole day. I could tell she was being a little cold to me, but I was getting so much attention from the rest I thought I was doing great.”
As Cal spoke, the splendor of his surroundings faded. He felt again young and awkward, a boastful little boy who’d made due without any real friends for long years.
“So we were anchored just off Grey Bear. We were looking back at Lenn’s Harbor and we started talking about different people who’d swam the Bay. Typically two or three people would do it a year. Some of Castalan’s best swimmers. It measures about eight miles of choppy water. Conditions have to be perfect. People used to die all the time trying to do it. But I was so high on myself, such a fool. I was a strong swimmer, most Castalanians are, and I said I thought I could do it. Mathos said something like are you sure about that. I said sure. He and Edmund shared a look, the first time I got the inkling that something was going on that I should have been paying attention to long before. Then Mathos steps forward and shoves me into the water. Not a playful shove, a hard shove that sent me flying backwards, cracking my legs against the railings and toppling into the cold water. By the time I surfaced, the boat was rocking in laughter. I finally heard the note of cruelty that had been there all day. I let them laugh then tried to get back in. They refused. I argued with them to let me back in, a joke was a joke, but the water was cold, I was more than a little drunk. At some point I’m sure I apologized and admitted there was no way I could swim the Bay. They wouldn’t let me in, kept urging me to get started. I looked to Anne but she refused to meet my eyes.
“I decided, fine, they’re testing me. They want to see what I’m made of. So I started swimming back towards Lenn’s Harbor. There was a lot of mock cheering. It was only after a mile or so, when I started getting really tired, that I realized I’d played exactly into their hands by leaving the shallows of Grey Bear, where I might have found safety. Where I would have at least been forcing them to kill me themselves rather than letting the Bay do it. Out in the open water they could make me beg. Make me promise. Or let me die.
“After maybe two miles I started fading badly. I could barely breathe. My shoulders were aching. The water was so cold. I felt like my body was being slowly squeezed to death. The ship had been pacing me, party carrying on with even greater vigor than before. I told them I gave up. They said to keep going. I realized they meant for me to die when I tried to board the ship again. They stubbornly kept pushing me away. At this point I started begging to be let aboard. I called out Anne by name. She continued ignoring me. I told them they couldn’t do this, mustering all the dignity and power a wet, tired, hurt, boastful child can when he’s fighting for his breath. They laughed.
“I swam away from the group that was pushing me back in and put a hand up on the boat. Mathos was waiting for me. He brought an oar down on my hand. Split my knuckle open. Gave me this scar. I tried to hide my shock. They made a joke about how I should get moving if I was going to swim the Bay. The blood would attract all sorts of predators.”
Cal held up his left hand, showing Bray the faded scar. He took a moment before continuing. He’d only told this story once before, to Aaron. It was hard for Cal to explain the important part here. He wouldn’t even try with Bray. He’d already gotten too wrapped up in the story. But Aaron had understood it. How, in that moment when Mathos’ oar crashed into his hand, Cal had changed. Grown. He’d learned in an instant, what it meant for others to want you dead. Not quieted, not marginalized, but dead. To be alone, unprotected, at the mercy of another. To be both an adult and a human, a fragile flicker of light with only one chance at this world. A chance others would happily entrap, enslave, or destroy if given the opportunity. With Aaron it was having a dark pixie take a chunk out of his cheek, inches from taking an eye. With Cal it was feeling a rude oar smash into his left hand, sending him back into the cold and miserable water to let his own words seal him to his fate. To swim an impossible distance, through unbearable pain, or to die.
“At this point I was too far to return and there were no other shallows nearby. The Avlors intended for me to die that day. I don’t know if they had planned it or if I had just given them a golden opportunity. But I saw Mathos’ eyes. He had calculated the risks and had no problem letting me fall beneath the waves. They would express great regret, tell everyone I had insisted in trying to swim the Bay, then had just gone under at some point. They did everything they could and were devastated. My reputation as a little asshole would only help them cover it up.”
Cal’s fists were tightly clenched. He looked up at Bray for a moment. The large man watched him closely, as if studying the anger which radiated from Cal. Bray picked up the whiskey bottle and poured Cal a measure.
Cal nodded and continued. “I got back to the Bay, the cold waves. The next four miles or so was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. My shoulders felt like bricks. My stomach slowly filled with saltwater as the waves kept washing over my face. My neck was in agony. I could barely keep my bearings by using one of the high ridges over Lenn’s Harbor as a landmark.
“I kept feeling things falling off of me, drowning in the hungry water. A leg would go numb and I’d be convinced it had fallen off and I was flailing away with only one left. Then an arm would go. They would come back, tingling, somehow still stroking forward. Other pieces of me went numb from the cold, fell beneath the waves. My pride. My childhood. The memories of my mother, the only kindness I’d ever received from her hands. I kept going, lungs on fire. I started seeing visions, each wave I had to climb changing colors. At some point the laughter from the boat faded. Lenn’s Harbor grew closer.
“With maybe two miles to go, I suddenly found a sort of groove. My entire body went numb, but kept working, kept toppling the water, making it mine. The pain became my friend. The hunger of the water became my ally. I began to feel sorry for those stuck on a boat rather than tasting the salty waters up close. I rode that groove all the way to a small cove southeast of the Breach Estates. As I neared the beach, I came out of my stupor. I realized in a panic that I’d forgotten all about the Avlors. They’d surely kill me now. I turned frantically, but the boat was nowhere in sight. At some point they’d left their sport. I’m not sure if they grew worried when the Bay didn’t do the job for them or if they had tired of the sport. I’m not sure which I prefer.
“My stre
ngth went all at once and I barely made it the remaining hundred yards or so. I swam as far up onto the beach as I could before putting my feet down. I remember being afraid I would find out my legs no longer worked on land. When I finally surfaced, I put down my feet and rose.”
Cal remembered the feel of the solid ground below his heels. The steel of his leg muscles as they straightened, creaking with the effort. Ever since then, when his life was its darkest, he would remember that he’d found his feet before. He could do it again.
“I was, and am, the youngest to ever swim the Bay of Castalan. It’s not in any record books because I never told anyone. I thought about the Avlors, how they wanted me dead. I thought about myself, how badly I’d carried myself in the past, how worthless my life had been to that point. My sad little place in the Castalan nobility. A barely wanted son of a supreme executive who couldn’t be bothered with my education and care. So I left Castalan. I told no one where I was going. I stopped at a house on the outskirts of Breach and stole a shirt and some food. I slept in an abandoned cabin that night. The next day I found a military outpost and used my name to get a horse, a sword, and a few gold. I rode east to Porcenne and didn’t return to Castalan for nearly five years.”
“And when you returned, you brought the dragons?” Bray asked.
“I was back before then for a couple brief stretches. To visit my sister and bury one of my brothers. But I barely unpacked for those visits. I didn’t spend any real time in Castalan again until I brought the dragons back.”
“And the Avlors?”
“Because I never told anyone what had happened, things just continued as before. They were, are, still one of the strongest families in Castalan. My father is still Steward.”
Cal watched the sun slide lower on the glass ceiling. A few dragons took flight, heading to hunting grounds north and west of Ellis.
“And the Duke?” Bray prompted.
“Breaking the Castalanian smuggling rings went well. I was due for formal honors. I’d earned the pride of my father. I finally felt like I could stand in Castalan again. Then, at a small gathering of nobility a few nights before the ceremony, the Duke approached. Mathos and Edmund had been smart enough to keep out of sight. Or, who knows, maybe they didn’t even care either way. But the Duke approached me. He asked whether I intended to ever honor my betrothal to House Avlor.
“I occasionally struggle to keep my emotions in check. I was a little agitated and in that state, it seemed like the best thing to do was to kill him. It took four men to pull me off of him. I’m told I was spitting on his bloody face when they finally subdued me. Not my finest moment. Especially considering he may well have known nothing of his sons’ actions. I spoke with my father only once before I left. A banishment of two years was the punishment. No honors. My father worried he’d lose his position. He called me reckless and self-destructive. He still has no idea why I did it. I know I should tell him, but something about the image of me bobbing helpless in the water holds me back. That and the fact that a part of me hates him as much as the Avlors.”
Cal stood up suddenly and threw his glass as high as he could, hoping to hit the ceiling, just needing to break something. The glass arched in the distance but did nothing more than shatter upon hitting the ground. A nearby dragon started, shooting Cal a reproachful look. Bray said nothing, but raised a hand. A servant approached with another glass and poured a fresh drink for Cal. Bray waited in silence.
Cal leaned over and took another cigarette from the case. Finally, Bray spoke. “A good story,” he said. “And now it is my turn.”
Bray began talking. Cal tried to ignore the blood pooling out of the Avlor assassin’s body and slowly creeping closer to Bray’s bare feet, resting on the white porcelain floor.
Chapter 21. The Prisoner’s Escape
“Many years ago, I rose to prominence among the Vylass. I did so in violation of old and outdated rules. Rules that were supposedly designed to bind us as a tribe. They were really adopted to protect the old and weak leadership from the challenges of the young. I was given free rein to put the sword to Chalk and Corvale, but was expected to take a knee to unworthy men so long as they called themselves Vylass. I did not have blood ties with these men, they were not family, not brothers. They merely came from the same village, followed the same customs. I stopped following the rules. I ended the customs.”
Bray gestured along the length of his left arm, covered with bronze markings. “These are the men I killed, my tribesmen. I am as proud of them as any other kills. I had many followers who agreed. Some still ride with me today. But our growing strength was still too young, too fresh to survive against the combined forces of the old Vylass establishment and a partnership with the Corvale. I was taken late one night when my camp’s location was betrayed. Most of my inner circle was killed.
“I endured imprisonment at the hands of the Vylass, then the Corvale. For a year I was marched around the plains, a carnival sideshow, a warning to other…entrepreneurs. Revolutionaries. Then the Corvale conspired to hand me to the Chalk. Communications with the Chalk are rare and difficult, but there were more mechanisms in place decades ago. Nothing resembling peace with the vile creatures, we were not so lost as that, but still a far cry from the perpetual war that holds the far east now. The Corvale offered me to the Chalk and were led to believe the Chalk would accept. A meeting place was agreed upon.
“I was escorted east by a group of ten Corvale to make the exchange. The night before the exchange was to happen we sat around the campfire. I was in chains. The horses were skittish, the Corvale unable to relax so close to the borders of the Ashlands. No one slept that night, but they were still unprepared. A group of my supporters arrived to free me. A few desperate attempts were made to kill me before I could be freed. They decorate this arm.” Bray again swept his hand over the bronze marks. “All the Corvale were killed.”
“I welcomed my men. The year had been long for them. They’d been hunted many long months as far south as the minotaur lands. But they endured and when news of my location came to them, they didn’t hesitate to cross dangerous lands to the threshold of the Ashlands. Twelve warriors led by Yeld Coren.”
Bray paused, looked off towards the setting sun. He raised his glass. “To our fallen comrades. Be they yours or mine, no one will ever mistake them for cowards.” Bray looked into Cal’s eyes. Cal raised his glass in turn. They drank. “Would that he could see this place.”
“Twelve warriors and a former servant of mine. His name was Neil Rast. He was a man of great loyalty. He’d survived the year by riding hard with the twelve, serving them as he had me. He was the one who’d kept his ears open, worked every possible source of information to locate me. It was at his urging, his urging and Yeld’s will that they were there to free me.
“Freedom carried a price, however. If we turned and rode away, the entirety of the Corvale and Vylass tribes would hunt for us. We would all end up prisoners. We needed word to get back to the Corvale that the Chalk held their prisoner. Even when my escort turned up dead, the Corvale would believe I was in the hands of the Chalk.
“So we met with the Chalk. And we gave them Neil. His loyalty held and he made the ultimate sacrifice. He took on my unjust sentence. He went over to the Chalk. And he was held by them for nearly three years.” Bray looked at Cal. “Why did you search for the Prisoner so many years ago?” Bray asked.
“We heard rumors of an escape. And there was a huge contract out on you.”
“But you didn’t believe the rumors, did you? You and Aaron Lorne traveled deep into the Ashlands looking for me.” When Cal nodded slowly, Bray asked, “Why didn’t you believe?”
“No one’s ever escaped the Chalk alive. And we’ve seen how they treat prisoners with marks of Chalk kills. We figured you were lying drooling in some dark cell, mind destroyed by the effects of the chalk they’d painted you with.”
“One person has escaped the Chalk. But it wasn’t me. After I had tamed my first dra
gon I returned to free Neil. He was severely damaged. He died during our travels back west.” Bray leaned back again in his chair, took a drink. “And that is that. I’ve grown my dragon army in the Euris Mountains. I wasn’t as lucky as Aaron Lorne to be carried to the heart of a great nest. I had to build my own piece by piece.
“The man you searched for was two people. One who rose up among the Vylass, earned a sentence worth than death. The other who paid it. The Prisoner. I am not the Prisoner you sought. I don’t know if you came here seeking him or seeking me. It doesn’t matter. Hideon Bray is who the world is left to deal with. I have made my peace with Neil Rast. I intend to honor his memory and his sacrifice by bringing our common enemies to justice. By killing the remnants of the Vylass old guard and by killing all the Corvale.
“And now, we come to the offer.” As he spoke, the blood from the bounty hunter’s body reached his bare feet. It began pooling around them.
“Since the death of Yeld Coren, I have never named a second. I’ve never found one worthy.” There was a long pause. “Your boss must and will die. He is a puppet on a string held by Conners Toren. Conners Toren is a slave to the traditions of the Corvale. They have no place in this new world. Borders are being redrawn in every land, on every culture. Lorne and Toren are as dead as the body Lorne brought to Ellis, they just don’t know it yet.
“If you stand with the Corvale, what will you gain? Will Lorne allow you the freedom to seek your revenge on the Avlors? Would your father? Ride with me, Cal Mast, and you can do whatever you want. Kill every Avlor. Hell, kill all of Castalan if you want. Rape your betrothed while her brothers and cousins watch. Make your father beg for your mercy. Or don’t. Save them all. Save every single person you want who is not an enemy of mine. Tell me their names and I’ll reward them. Places of honor for your men. Erik. Ambassador Stone. Jon Harpish. But none above you, save for me.
Rise of the Falsemarked (Spies of Dragon and Chalk Book 2) Page 16