The Innkeeper's Son

by Jeremy Brooks

  This time he nodded as tears began to find their way out of the corners of his eyes.

  “That wasn’t so hard was it?” Prianhe asked mockingly. “Beck, there is still a chance that I will let you live, but you will need to answer some questions for me first. If I sense that you have lied, even one little half truth, I will see to it that your death is long and painful. Do you understand?” Beck nodded vigorously. He still seemed in a state of suspended shock as if he thought he had slipped into some terrible nightmare that he might still wake up from. “Some people came to see you today, three men and three women, where did you take them?”

  “South,” he whined like a coward, “as far south as I could take them. To a beach I knew from my childhood.”

  Prianhe studied his fat sweaty face intensely. “How long ago?”

  “A few hours.”

  “Did they say anything about where they were going and why?”

  Beck looked at Baneur and swallowed hard. Baneur could feel him testing the strength of his invisible restraints. The cords of solidified air that held him were nearly unbreakable. Only a trival of enormous strength could free himself from the binds.

  Baneur sneered maliciously, “Answer him.”

  “Quiet Turk!” Prianhe snapped at him.

  Baneur’s face flushed with anger, and his eyes locked with Prianhe’s. It was all he could do not to burn the man to a crisp with a well-placed ball of fire. Only fear of his master restrained his need to retaliate.

  “Watch yourself, Reikkan,” Baneur told him darkly. “Accidents can happen.”

  “Are you threatening me, Turk?” Prianhe barked.

  “Not a threat, dogman, simply a stated fact.”

  Prianhe stepped toward him and took a knee, meeting him eye to eye. With his fangs bared he practically spat in Baneur’s face. “You overstep yourself, Turk. I look forward to watching our master beat the insubordination out of you, once again.” Not bothering to look back at Beck, he asked again. “Did they say where they were going and why?”

  “They said something about needing to get to Jarine and something about the Water Woods.”

  “What do you know about Jarine, Baneur?” Prianhe asked.

  “It’s a fishing town, south of the Water Woods. It’s an outpost. People stop there on their way to Solocca. There’s nothing there.” Baneur’s unnaturally deep voice was thick with contempt. He longed to kill Prianhe. Only Nehrea’s willing hand would give him more satisfaction than watching the filthy cur suffer and die.

  Prianhe let his hate-filled gaze linger a moment longer then stood and faced Beck. He stepped up on the dais and grabbed the man by his flabby throat.

  “Is there anything else you need to tell us?” Beck shook his head vigorously. Prianhe called over his shoulder to Commander Corsia who stood silently in the hallway. “Commander, gather all of your men. The city guard can handle law enforcement for now. I want every Imperial soldier and every last trival ready to journey to Jarine as quickly as they can assemble. Put together a small group of your best trackers and scouts as well. Every second we waste, our fugitives increase their chances of escape.”

  “It will be done immediately, my Lord,” Corsia said, then turned and hurried off to enforce Prianhe’s directive.

  “Once Corsia is ready, you will begin taking them to Jarine. Is that understood, Turk?”

  “What if they don’t go to Jarine?” Baneur asked. “What if they told him that to throw us off the trail?”

  “That’s why we are putting together a team of scouts. Beck here, will show you the place that he took our fugitives. Then you will take the scout team there. They will track our quarry from behind, ensuring their movements toward Jarine.”

  “They’re on foot with only a small head start. Why not just give chase? Why bother assembling in Jarine?” Baneur asked.

  Prianhe sighed in frustration. “Isn’t it obvious, you loathsome weasel? They’re going to Jarine for a reason. I want to know what they’re up to.”

  Baneur made a sour face. It was obvious. As much as it galled him to admit it, Prianhe knew what he was doing.

  He stepped onto the dais and grabbed Beck’s arm. He removed the invisible binds that held the fat young man in place. “Take me where you took them.”

  Beck looked unsurely at Prianhe. “You said if I co-operate, you would let me live?”

  “Then do as the half-man commands and hope I’m a man of my word!” Prianhe shouted in his face.

  Trembling like a little girl, Beck mumbled several awkward apologies. Without warning, he pulled Baneur along through the traveling portal, appearing on a windswept beach beneath a gray sky. The sound of crashing waves greeted them like an ovation.

  “This is the spot,” Beck said, looking down at Baneur’s hand, tightly gripping his arm.

  “Don’t even think about escaping,” Baneur told him. “I’ve memorized your signature.”

  “But you’ve only seen me travel once,” Beck said in disbelief.

  “I only need to see a traveler move one time,” Baneur‘s deep voice was hard. He looked around at the dark jutting rocks that formed a line of division between the damp beach and the tall grass beyond. Nehrea had been here only a few hours ago. How far could they have gotten? “I was wondering something.” He looked up into Beck’s scared brown eyes. “Why did you take them?”

  “What do you mean?” Beck asked.

  “You’re a criminal. A thief. A man who thrives alone. Why them? How did they convince you to take them here? Was it against your will?”

  For some reason, Beck smiled at the questioning. The perpetual expression of horror that he had worn like a mask since he’d been caught, quickly disappeared. As if recalling the sick and twisted acts that defined his life of crime gave him pride, Beck suddenly regarded Baneur as a friend, or an equal. Or perhaps Baneur’s diminutive size gave Beck the impression that the threat had lessened.

  “They made me an offer I couldn’t refuse,” he gloated. Baneur raised a questioning eyebrow, inviting Beck to elaborate. “They had a girl with them, from the palace. She did things for me.”

  Baneur’s face darkened. His left hand began to clench and unclench furiously. “Was it Nehrea?”

  Beck’s deviant smile widened. “You know her?” Baneur shrugged dismissively. “I made that whore do whatever I wanted. Gave her what she deserved and I made sure it hurt.” He nudged Baneur with a friendly elbow. “I can still hear her screams ringing in my ears,” he whispered proudly, his eyes closed in a savoring remembrance.

  For several moments, Baneur took deep, measured breaths, as any tangible hold he had on rationality slipped away. Beck noticed that something was wrong from the vise-like hold that Baneur kept on his arm.

  “Are you alright?” Beck asked starting to understand that his situation had not improved.

  “I’ll be fine,” Baneur told him coldly.

  He released his grip on Beck’s arm. With a force of air he forced Beck down on his back, then buried his hands and feet into the sand, turning the dirt into rock that held him in place, terrified and screaming for mercy. Then he created an illusion.

  “Please! Don’t leave me here!” Beck cried out, as waves of crabs clambered out of the ocean, pincers held high, and made their way toward the fresh meat. “I don’t deserve this! Please! Help me!”

  Baneur stood for some time and watched. Though the crabs were an illusion, to Beck they seemed real enough, and because his mind believed what he was seeing, he would feel everything. The intensity of Beck’s screams might have swayed a lesser soul, but Baneur drank in the pain, delighting in the torture. He loved watching humans suffer, and this man especially had it coming. Nehrea belonged to him. He would stop at nothing to have her. No-one would stop him.

  When Beck’s body finally stopped thrashing about, and the screams had long since passed, Baneur let go of the illusion. He knelt down beside Beck, checking his pulse to be certain that he was dead. Then he leaned forward and whispered in hi
s ear. “You got what you deserved.”

  Chapter Twenty Three: The Ritual of Cerseay

  The mountains ahead grew taller and grander with each passing step. Though the tips of some, the taller ones, broke the dismal gray cloud cover, other smaller peaks were visible, capped in pure white snow.

  Sim had never seen snow. It was something he had heard about in tales told by his parents, or the occasional bard who had stayed at the Kelmor Inn over the years, but he had never truly been certain whether it actually existed. Ice falling from the sky, covering the ground in a pristine white blanket. For a man raised in the searing heat of a tropical island, the thought of such a thing seemed too impossible to believe.

  But if someone would have told him long ago that one day he would ride on the back of a horse that stood over ten feet tall, he most assuredly would not have believed that either. Yet here he was, trotting on the back of his mount, Firetail, aptly named by the bright orange and yellow hair that made up his mane and tail.

  Enaya, seated behind him, held on tightly, with both arms wrapped around his stomach. Farrus and Givara rode together beside them, a sight to behold with Farrus seated to the back, tightly holding the tall guardian. Quinn and Nehrea also rode together, trotting along out front.

  It had been nearly an hour since the Dahara had come to meet them on the road, and during their trip across the plain Sim had filled Enaya in on all of the details of his conversation with their new friends.

  She had hardly believed anything he told her. Sim could tell that she was infuriated. She desperately wanted to be able to hear the Dahara, as Sim and Nehrea could, but she would never admit it. Enaya tried so hard to put up a front of calmness and control. He wondered if she knew that her insecurities and flaws were ever present, and to him, her most endearing qualities. She wanted to be perfect, but in the end, like everyone else, Enaya was just a human -- complex, fragile and infinitely fallible.

  “They must have said something about where they are taking us, Siminus?” she continued to question him.

  He rolled his eyes. “I already told you three times. I don’t know. They said that Nehrea has to do something called the Ritual of Cerseay and that they would provide us with food and a place to sleep. That’s it.”

  Enaya wasn’t satisfied. “Haven’t they said anything since we started riding?”

  “They haven’t said a word since we started riding.”

  “She doesn’t stop talking, does she?” Firetail suddenly asked.

  Sim stroked his neck fondly. “I’m afraid not.”

  “What did he say?” Enaya asked.

  “Nothing important,” Sim told her.

  “I don’t like this at all,” Enaya said.

  “You don’t like it because you’re not in control,” Sim pointed out.

  “Excuse me?” Enaya asked, indignantly.

  “You heard me, Enaya. You can’t control everything. Sometimes you just have to let things happen on their own.”

  “So now you’re giving advice, Siminus?” she asked haughtily.

  “Not advice really. More like, pointing out the obvious. Even a foolish bumpkin like me can tell that you try way too hard to be the leader.” He patted the hands that tightly held his waist. “We all trust you, Enaya, and everyone looks to you to make the decisions, but sometimes it’s okay if you need help. We’re like a family now, and families take care of each other.”

  “I don’t need to be in control.” Her words sounded like a very forced concession. “I just like to know what’s going on, that’s all.”

  “Well, as long as we’re around the Dahara, you’re going to have to accept being in the dark. They said that I am the only one who may watch the ritual. I’ll tell you everything I can, but you’re just going to have to wait until it’s over to find out what’s happened. Think you can handle that?”

  He could feel her sighing heavily on his back. “I will do what I must.”

  As they continued their journey, crossing grassy plains broken only by the occasional thicket of short leafless trees, Enaya seemed to melt against Sim. Her head rested against his back. The soft, constant breeze, both cool and clean blew her golden hair, causing stray tresses to wave over his shoulder, caressing his neck and face, leaving behind seductive traces of her floral perfume. He found himself looking forward to those gentle brushings, agonizing in the wait until the next lock of hair would tease him and leave him wanting more.

  In the distance, the sight of a camp suddenly loomed ahead. With their journey on the back of Firetail coming to an end, Sim decided it was time to ask Enaya something that had been on his mind for some time now.

  “Is there something going on between us, Enaya,” he asked softly.

  The sudden tension he could feel in her arms told him that he had caught her off guard. She moved her hands back from around his waist, and left them on his hips instead.

  “Siminus…I don’t want to hurt you,” she said carefully.

  “You won’t.”

  His feelings toward Enaya were strong, both physically and emotionally. At times he found her infuriating and impossible, but in the end, her undeniable beauty and soft femininity always won out. There were moments when they held hands or walked arm in arm, and Sim wanted to take the intimacy further, but he was afraid she would rebuke his efforts. It was what he expected.

  “I just feel that we would be better off remaining friends,” she told him.

  “Are you saying that you don’t have any feelings toward me?”

  She took her time and chose her words carefully.

  “I care very deeply for you, Siminus. You must know that? But I just don’t think it’s a good time to begin a romance. Do you understand?”

  Sim stared quietly ahead, ashamed for having asked. Enaya was a noble, a woman of wealth and refinement. It had been foolish of him to think that she could see him as anything other than the son of a humble innkeeper.

  “I understand, Enaya,” he said, swallowing his pride. “It was foolish of me to ask. Don’t worry about it.”

  “Sim…” Enaya began to say, but no other words followed.

  The camp was minutes away now. With a clearer view, Sim could see dozens of rudimentary tents, most seemingly made of animal skins, erected in a circle around a large bonfire. People in the camp stopped as the Dahara approached, solemnly watching the strangers riding on the backs of the majestic horses.

  The villagers were strange to Sim. They were as short as young children, with pitch black skin and wild unkempt hair. They wore very plain brown clothing, both men and women in the same style of pant and pullover shirt, with bare feet covered to the ankle in thick natural hair.

  “Have you ever seen these people before?” Sim whispered over his shoulder to Enaya as Firetail led them into the center of the makeshift village.

  “No,” she answered with a shake of her head. “There are many primitive nomadic tribes all over the world. Some are hostile to outsiders.”

  “They are called the Showtokan,” Firetail said. “They worship our clan. Do not fear them.”

  Sim patted Firetail on his neck and hopped down. He helped Enaya down and thanked Firetail for the ride. Firetail bristled, then trotted off toward the mountain side of the tents, where Sim could see many other Dahara watching from the distance.

  After all of the others dismounted, the Uellade came to stand before them. Sim stepped up to stand beside Nehrea. To Sim and Nehrea, she spoke.

  “Your friends must stay here with the Showtokan. You will be with them again soon. If you will follow me, I will lead you to your tent. The Ritual of Cerseay can only be performed in the first hour past sunset. We must prepare.”

  The Uellade turned and began to walk in the same path that Firetail had taken. Sim turned to Enaya and the others.

  “Nehrea and I have to go with Uellade now. She says that the Showtokan will take care of you. We’ll be back in the morning.”

  “That’s it?” Enaya asked, nervously looking around at
the Showtokan. It seemed every member of the tribe had come out to meet them as the circle quickly filled with small, primitive people.

  “What else can I tell you, Enaya?” Sim said pointing at the Uellade. “We have to go. Just trust the Showtokan. I’ll tell you everything tomorrow.”

  Enaya’s face looked pained. Her sapphire eyes flashed around to the crowd of Showtokan surrounding them, then back to Sim.

  “It’ll be fine, Enaya. Don’t worry,” he reassured her and turned to go, following Nehrea.

  Enaya ran to him and grabbed his hand, pulling him around to face her. She seemed nervous and scared, unwilling to let him go.

  “What is it?” he asked, concerned. Nehrea stopped and impatiently tapped her foot, waiting for him to follow along.

  “I…” she struggled with her words. Her eyes held his. “Sim you…just be careful. Please.”

  Sim nodded silently and walked away. He looked over his shoulder one time and saw her watching him leave, the same pained look on her beautiful face. She had wanted to tell him something, he was certain of that, but had held back.

  He walked beside Nehrea through the rows of tents thinking about what she might have had to say. In his heart, he believed it had to do with the true nature of her feelings toward him. He hoped that had been what she was thinking.

  “This is madness,” Nehrea said as they passed beyond the boundaries of the village. The ground began to dip as the field led on a slow slope toward the base of the mountains. The Dahara stood at the bottom of the descent, waiting for them to arrive.

  “What?” he asked, absently. His mind was still thinking on the strange way Enaya had acted when they left.