The Innkeeper's Son

by Jeremy Brooks

  “Come now, what’s the rush?” he prodded. “Why don’t you ladies join me and my friends for a drink?”

  “No, thank you,” Enaya answered with thick tones of annoyance as she continued walking.

  The persistent soldier wasn’t taking no for an answer. He and the rest of the group fanned out in a ring around them and forced them to stop. Enaya put her hands on her hips and glared at the leader, a young man with a cocky grin.

  “We aren’t interested. What part of that are you having trouble with?” Enaya admonished the man.

  He continued to smile like a fool, clearly trying his best to impress his friends, and reached to his belt for his coin purse.

  “Come on now, pretty lady,” he said, jangling his coins. “We’ve got money.”

  Enaya’s blue eyes nearly popped from her head, and after a stunned moment of disbelief, she leveled a hard slap across the young man’s face.

  “How dare you!” she shouted at the young man, who rubbed his red cheek with an injured expression. The other men in the group broke out in laughter, some doubling over in hysterics. Enaya glared around at them incredulously. “Is this how the Imperial army trains its men to treat women?”

  “Just the whores,” the man who had been slapped answered sharply. He looked around at his comrades and snickered.

  One of the men reached out suddenly and pinched Enaya on her backside, causing her to jump nearly two feet in the air.

  Nehrea saw a flash of silver, then a long spray of dark, crimson blood as Givara severed the man’s hand with a move that happened faster than a blinking eye. The injured man’s scream of pain cut the air, bringing all the laughter and jesting to a halt. For an instant no-one moved. Everyone was far too shocked. Nehrea saw Enaya look at her guardian completely stunned. Givara simply shrugged, then slid into a defensive posture, her eyes darting around to the five men who had come to their senses. One by one they pulled out their swords, preparing to retaliate.

  Nehrea looked down the street to the alley. Sim and Farrus were approaching them at a sprint with their swords drawn. Quinn Gracin kept pace only a few steps behind. Each man had murder in his eyes.

  Nehrea and Enaya huddled close together as swords swirled and danced around them. The Imperial soldiers were capable fighters, but they were no match for the combined skill of Sim, Farrus and Givara. Nehrea couldn’t help but watch Sim with fascination. He moved with an astounding combination of speed, grace, and strength. Two men engaged him, but he deftly fought them off, using two swords as easily as if they were extensions of his own body. Every movement he made was fluid and natural. His eyes were set with a grim determination that made her swoon. One man fell with a blade through his chest, gazing up at Sim in disbelief, as he slid to the ground, never to fight again. With only one man to worry about, Sim aggressively attacked until the man could withstand the barrage no longer, failing to block a strike at his abdomen in time. He dropped to his knees as Sim removed the sword from his stomach.

  Five dead men lay on the ground at their feet. The man with the severed hand had curled into the fetal position, clutching his bloody stump as he cursed and moaned. Givara took a step toward him, then looked to Enaya. Nehrea saw her nod reluctantly, closing her eyes and looking away in disgust. With her liege’s consent, Givara drove her thin curved blade through the man’s chest, ending his pain with an act of gruesome mercy.

  A crowd had gathered around to watch the fighting. People stood in doorways, paused on sidewalks, and watched from windows, silently observing the bloody battle. Enaya looked around unsurely, but Nehrea gave her words of reassurance.

  “Do not fear, my Lady,” she told her. “Violence in these parts of the city is merely a part of the scenery. People will watch but move on when the blood has finished spilling. No-one wants to be around when the authorities arrive to ask questions.”

  As though Nehrea’s words were a cue, the crowds slowly began to disperse. Whispers filled the air as doors closed, and the onlookers went back about their business. Soon, they were alone on the street.

  “Did you have to take the man’s hand, Givara?” Enaya admonished the stoic guardswoman.

  “He touched you,” Givara replied, stone faced.

  “I was in control of the situation,” Enaya argued. She pointed to the bodies on the ground. “This isn’t helping. It won’t be long before every last guard in the city is combing these streets looking for us.”

  “I am bound, Lady Relador. No-one may touch you in a threatening manner. To have stood by idly would be a contradiction of my purpose.”

  Enaya pursed her lips and huffed. Nehrea wondered about the cryptic meaning of Givara’s words, but Enaya had moved on from her scoldings.

  “Lead the way, Master Gracin,” she commanded the old man, “and hurry.”

  Quinn had been staring at Givara with a faraway look, but snapped to attention at Enaya’s command. He absently stepped over a dead body at his feet and led them down the street.

  After moving south for several blocks, Nehrea realized with the sudden familiarity of a long forgotten dream that they had entered an area of the city known as the Barrio. The Barrio was the poorest section within the city walls of Nal’Dahara, only one step away from being as unsightly as the Cortella. The buildings were ramshackle, the streets filthy, the air spiked with the lingering stench of urine and refuse. People in the Barrio lived in one room tenements and struggled every day to earn enough to avoid relocating to the Cortella.

  Nehrea had lived in the Barrio for a year, long ago, after her father was taken away. It had been one of the scariest and most unpleasant times in her life. Until now she had largely forgotten about it, but being back, walking along the grimy streets, seeing the decaying structures that housed desperate people trying to walk the line between honest work and crimes of need, the memories of that year in her life came flooding through her mind like a dam broken by a raging current.

  Quinn turned down a street that Nehrea recognized at once. She remained quiet, not wanting the others to sense her unrest, but passing the building she had briefly lived in made her repressed feelings of anxiety and guilt pulse. Two little girls, no older than ten, sat on the steps of the building. Their dresses were nothing more than tattered gray rags, and their eyes appeared sullen and bored. Neither looked washed, nor fed. They watched the passing party with the broken disinterest of children whose innocence had vanished with their first steps, claimed by a city, a life that offered them no hope of clemency. They would live and die in those rags, Nehrea thought bitterly.

  “This is it,” Quinn announced.

  They stood in front of an abandoned store that might have once held a butcher’s shop. The windows were broken, the foundation rotted, and the roof looked ready to cave in.

  “Someone lives in there?” Sim asked, articulating Nehrea’s own skeptical feeling.

  “Not very pretty from the outside,” Quinn admitted.

  Sim stepped forward and peered through one of the broken windows. “Doesn’t look much better inside.”

  “Come on around the back,” Quinn said, leading them to an alley along the side of the building.

  The alley was littered with trash and excrement. Nehrea stepped cautiously along, doing her best to avoid placing her foot in something unseemly.

  “This is his door,” Quinn said, standing in front of a door at the building's far corner. He seemed to hesitate, unsurely. “This man Beck is dangerous, my Lady. Are you certain this is the course you wish to follow?”

  Enaya looked like a woman without answers. “Thanks to the episode back there on the street, I’m afraid we are out of choices. Guards will be searching this area in force. If we don’t get out now, we will almost certainly be caught.”

  Quinn sighed with resignation. “As you wish, my Lady.”

  He knocked on the door loudly three times. Then he counted to five and knocked once more. After several moments a voice spoke from the other side.

  “Who is it?”
r />   “Gracin,” Quinn answered.

  “Go away, Quaker.”

  “I have a proposition for you,” Quinn said forcefully.

  There was a silent pause, then the door creaked open. Quinn looked around at everyone in the group then walked through the door. Farrus and Givara went next, then Sim and Enaya. Nehrea walked in last, practically stepping on Enaya’s heels. She was nervous. The rumors of this man Beck’s crimes were well known to her, but she wanted to be away from this city, from Governor Cantor, and for that she would do anything.

  The space they entered looked nothing like the exterior of the building. The floor was carpeted with a Hiterion rug, very rare and expensive. All of the furniture was mahogany, and gold and jewels marked vases and wall hangings, and other adornments. It was as if they had stepped into a room from the Governor's palace.

  Nehrea stared in wonder at all of the opulence until her eyes came to rest on a fat young man seated on a cushioned throne, sipping wine as he watched them enter. His dark hair was long and smooth, his face cleanly shaven, but his dark brown eyes held malice. He lounged back in his chair, unthreatened by his visitors, shirtless, and casually scratching at his round hairy belly. He took a moment to study the faces of each of them, but when his eyes fell on her they lingered. Nehrea suddenly felt like a side of beef, hanging in a butcher’s window.

  “Why have you come here, Quaker?” he asked, unpleasantly, keeping his eyes trained steadily on Nehrea.

  “You and I have worked together in the past, Beck. I’ve come seeking your help,” Quinn said.

  “I don’t help people, Quaker, you know that. I only help myself.”

  “Please, Master Beck,” Enaya stepped forward and pleaded with him. “Our situation is extreme. We need to leave the city immediately.”

  Beck’s eyes left Nehrea and looked darkly upon the blond noblewoman. “If you need to leave, then go. I can’t help you.”

  “We were told you have a particular talent that could help us,” Enaya spoke with deference. She clearly was treading cautiously with the man, trying to avoid saying anything that might offend him.

  Beck shot a murderous glare at Quinn and stood up. “You told them about me!” he shouted, stepping forward.

  Quinn swallowed hard as Beck planted himself squarely in his face. “I had to. We need a traveler to get out of the city.”

  “Why?”

  “Haven’t you heard? They’ve shut down the city. Every gate. The port. There’s no way out,” Quinn told him.

  Beck stepped back and rubbed his smooth chin with a smile. “Run afoul of the law, have you, Quaker,” he laughed richly. “And now you need my help.” He looked around at Sim, Farrus and Givara. “Tell me what you’ve done.”

  “That’s not necessary,” Enaya answered sharply.

  “I’ll decide what’s necessary if you want my help,” he barked at her.

  Quinn looked uncomfortably at Enaya, unsure of whether to answer. Enaya gave him a reluctant nod of approval. He pointed at Sim, Farrus and Givara.

  “These three escaped from the dungeon this morning. They are accused of killing several members of the Governor’s guard during an altercation at a tavern the other night. Cantor’s got every soldier in the city looking for them.”

  Beck moved over to stand in front of Sim and looked him up and down. “So you’re a killer then, are you? Tell me what happened?”

  Sim looked the fat, shirtless man square in the eye. “We had a disagreement over a game of cards.”

  Beck held Sim’s challenging stare for a moment longer then laughed and walked back to his cushioned seat. Once again his eyes sought out Nehrea, staring at her as he continued to speak.

  “I’ll help you for a price,” he said, licking his lips.

  “We have gold,” Enaya held up her coin purse and gave it a shake.

  Beck ignored her. His eyes drank in Nehrea who suddenly felt self-conscious in her flimsy satin shirt and tight-fitting satin pants.

  “Your name is Nehrea, isn’t it?” he said to her. How did he know her name? “You don’t remember me, do you?” She shook her head sheepishly. The creepy way his eyes drifted around from her face to her breasts, then to her feet and back again to her eyes, made her skin crawl.

  Sim also seemed to notice. His hand had found its way to his sword, fingering the hilt as he waited for Beck to cross the line.

  “Have we met before?” she asked.

  His mouth crested into a sinister smile. “You used to live on this street, didn’t you?”

  Nehrea looked around nervously. For some reason, she didn’t want the others to know that she had spent some of her youth on this street.

  “What are you playing at, Beck?” Sim challenged the man. His voice was harsh and lacking in patience.

  Beck didn’t even bother to answer. He didn’t even look at Sim. “I grew up on this street, Nehrea. I remember you. It was only for a year that you lived next to me, but I remember you. Just you and your mother.” He stood up and his words became bitter. “Thought you were better than the rest of us, didn’t you. Thought you were too good to come and play. You wouldn’t even talk to me. Well look at you now. One of Cantor’s whores.” Sim’s sword came free, but Beck didn’t pay any attention to him. “What’s it like to be his whore, Nehrea? Do you enjoy it?”

  “That’s enough!” Sim shouted angrily. He pointed his sword at the fat man. “Say another word about her, and I’ll cut out your stomach.”

  Beck turned to Sim and spat, baring his teeth. “I’ve no use for gold,” he said, waving his arms around at the luxury of his lair. “I want the girl. I’ve named my price.”

  “You can’t have her,” Sim bellowed.

  It happened so suddenly, no-one had time to react. Beck was there one moment, then he disappeared. Nehrea turned to look around the room and gasped. Beck had reappeared behind Sim, grabbing him by the hair, pulling his head back and pressing a small dagger against his neck. Sim made a move to break free, but Beck pushed the blade harder, drawing a thin trickle of blood that forced Sim to give up.

  Farrus and Givara each drew their swords, taking ready stances on both sides of Beck.

  “I’ve named my price,” Beck hissed into Sim’s ear.

  “You can’t have her,” Sim answered stubbornly.

  “You can’t possibly expect us to let you have her?” Enaya asked in a level tone. She truly expected that she could diffuse the situation.

  Nehrea knew she couldn’t. Beck’s eyes stayed on her. They were wild and riddled with madness. She had heard stories of his horrors. Some said he abducted pretty young girls, right off of the streets as they walked, then raped and murdered them, leaving their dead bodies on the docks to be found and mourned later.

  “Enough of this Beck,” Quinn barked angrily. “You can’t have the girl.”

  Beck glared at him. “I could kill you right now, Quaker. I could end it.”

  The room suddenly shook and the floor around Beck’s feet erupted as a great hand made of dirt and stone stretched up through the carpet and reached for the fat man’s leg. Before the hand could take hold of his leg, Beck disappeared. Nehrea barely had time to blink, when she felt his hot breath on her cheek, and his blade pressed against her neck.

  “You caught me once, Quaker. I won’t make that mistake again” he snarled at Quinn.

  Quinn sent another fist of earth through the floor to Beck’s foot, but the man dodged the attack again. This time he traveled back to his chair, bringing Nehrea with him.

  She had never traveled before, and the suddenness of the experience brought on a forceful wave of nausea that caused his blade to cut into her throat as she reflexively dry heaved.

  “Enough!” she cried out, fighting back the urge to vomit.

  There was only one way out of this situation. She knew it. Walking into Beck’s lair, she had told herself that she was willing to do anything to get out of the city and safely away from the Governor. Nothing had changed that opinion. Five years in
the Governor’s care had frozen her inhibitions. Her flesh had become a tool.

  “One hour. One hour is all you will get. Then you will take us away from this city, all of us, wherever the Lady tells you to take us.” She knew they would object to the breadth of her sacrifice, but Beck was a madman, and playing these games with him would only increase their delay and ensure their eventual capture.

  “No Nehrea,” Sim gasped. He stared at her in disbelief. “You can’t.”

  “I won’t allow it,” Enaya demanded.

  “I accept,” Beck grinned triumphantly. He fixed Sim with a gluttonous look. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep her warm for you.”

  With that Beck winked and threw back his head, laughing uproariously. Sim dropped his sword and charged, attempting to tackle them and drag Nehrea away, but stumbled awkwardly and pitched head first into Beck’s opulent throne as the pair vanished.

  Nehrea found herself in a bedroom, unable to decide if they were in another room of his lair or if he had taken her to another place altogether. As she fought back the onslaught of nausea, the side effect of traveling, Beck pushed her roughly, and she fell onto a soft bed. He stood there for a moment admiring her with hungry, sadistic eyes.

  “I’ve dreamt about this for a long time, Nehrea,” he said darkly, beginning to remove his trousers. “You have grown to become a beautiful woman, but I still see you as that piggish little girl who wouldn’t talk to anyone. Did you come to enjoy the Governor’s touch, or was it always against your will?”

  “Just do what you’ve brought me here for and be done with it,” she answered him vacantly.

  The one thing she had learned from her time in the Governor’s bed was how to detach herself emotionally. Beck would have his way with her, but in her mind she would be somewhere else. Somewhere peaceful. Somewhere safe. A place where the world couldn’t force her to make choices against her will. A place where she would always feel free.

  When she was little, her father used to tell her a tale at bedtime of the Dahara, the legendary horses that once roamed the plains of Perth. It was her favorite story. She had grown up dreaming of riding on the backs of the giant horses, feeling the rush of air as they sped across the endless green pastures.