The man nodded. “I know Veralyn and her husband, Your Highness.” At Stavin’s raised eyebrows, the man bowed. “Perhaps I should introduce myself. I am Master Trader Cevin Zel’Winterhaven, owner of the Zel’Winterhaven Trading House and leader of the Henley Trader’s Council.”
Stavin nodded. “I am pleased to meet you, Lord Zel’Winterhaven. We’re going to have four caravans, with five wagons each. But as I said, it will be up to Rhovan if we expand beyond that.”
The trader bowed and backed away, and the mayor joined him. One by one the other men bowed and followed their leader out of the inn.
Stavin looked at Karvik and shrugged. “I guess I answered their questions.”
“No,” Karvik said as he looked out the door, “you stomped on the mayor so hard they were afraid to push for more information. That plus having all of us armed behind you.”
Stavin glanced behind them to find all of his guards behind them with bared steel in their hands. A wry grin twisted his lips as he admitted, “Could be.”
Karvik said, “Sheath your swords, men, and well done.” The guardsmen complied and the atmosphere in the inn became much more relaxed.
Stavin saw the innkeeper over to the side and waved him over. The man hurried over and went to his knees. “What do you desire, Blessed One?”
“Something to eat and drink,” Stavin replied. “What do you have?”
The innkeeper glanced up and then focused his eyes on the floor again. “We have nothing fit to serve you, Blessed One. I am ashamed to say we only have flame roasted goat spears. If you will tell me your preference, Blessed One, I will do my humble best to prepare what you wish.”
Stavin glanced at Karvik and received a shrug in answer to his unasked question. Looking at the innkeeper he said, “I have never heard of goat spears, Goodman. What are they?”
The innkeeper said, “Metal rods, about a cubit long, with meat, tubers, onions, and peppers on them, then they are cooked over the fire, Blessed One.” His eyes never left the floor, but his hands had moved to demonstrate what he was describing.
“Sounds interesting. A nice strong ale would go good with that.”
Karvik nodded and said, “For me as well.” He and Stavin went to a table as the innkeeper scrambled to his feet and went to the kitchen.
The ale arrived almost immediately, and Karvik tried it first, as always. “Stout stuff,” he said as he set the mug down. The innkeeper was hovering by the table, glancing between Stavin and his still-untouched mug.
Stavin grinned at him. “My father’s orders. He tastes everything first to make sure I don’t get poisoned.”
The innkeeper’s expression was vacillating between indignation and terror as he said, “Blessed One, I would never--”
“It’s all right,” Stavin said as he raised his hand to stop the man. “We have no reason to suspect you, it’s just my father being overprotective. In Twin Bridges poison is a favorite way to get rid of unwanted rivals--like me and my family. We always take the precaution, so there’s never a chance mistake.”
Karvik had been waiting and nodded when Stavin stopped talking. “Go ahead, Stave.”
Stavin took Karvik’s mug and sipped. “Oh, wow, that’s strong. Dahvin would love it.”
The innkeeper bowed and backed away, keeping his eyes on Stavin until he reached the bar. Then he turned and went into the kitchen.
Stavin was looking around again and finally saw something odd. There was a shrine set up near the hearth, but it was covered. “I wonder what that is?” he murmured, and Karvik followed his gaze.
“Let’s find out,” Karvik replied softly. He stood and walked over and removed the cover. He instantly bellowed, “Guards!” as he turned and drew his sword.
Stavin sprang to his feet with his big knife in his hand. “What is it, Kar?” he demanded as he scanned the room.
Karvik threw the cover to the ground and pointed. “Wheel and Shears.”
Stavin fought down the rage that was boiling his blood. “Pack up!” he snapped as he looked around.
The innkeeper came out of the kitchen and stopped in stunned disbelief. “You found it?” he asked as he fell to his knees.
“Yes, we found it,” Stavin replied. “It explains why you’ve been so nervous around me. I will not stay under the roof of a follower of the Cutter.”
“But-But Blessed One, Arandar the Bright has no conflict with Lebawan.”
Stavin looked at him and shook his head as he replied, “Arandar might not, but it’s well known that I do. Royal Guards, we’re leaving.” All the guardsmen started assembling their gear, and Stavin and Karvik went up-stairs to collect their personal gear.
Karvik said, “Somehow, I’m not surprised that we’ve run into more of the Cutter’s followers here. The east was supposed to be His stronghold in imperial times.”
Stavin grunted his agreement. “And now as well. We’ll buy supplies and eat in the saddle. I don’t trust our safety close to this city now.” He turned and looked at Karvik. “Remind me to ask who they worship at the next city before we unpack.” Karvik laughed as he nodded his agreement.
When they returned to the common room, Stavin wasn’t surprised to see the mayor again. “Blessed One, please reconsider. While the worship of Lebawan is wide spread in Henley, He is by no means the only god worshipped here.”
Stavin looked at him and shook his head. “No. It’s not worth the risk to my people,” he said as he looked at the mayor. “Lebawan’s followers have been after me for years. They’ve come close a time or three, but we’ve always managed to defeat them. But my people have paid in blood for those victories.”
“Blessed One, what can I do to change your mind?” the mayor begged.
“Nothing. I will not stay where Lebawan’s followers flourish.”
Stavin turned away and headed toward the door. The innkeeper was standing by the door and Stavin flipped him a gold crown as he passed. “For what we received beneath your roof we are grateful.” The innkeeper bowed but remained silent as the royal party filed by.
Chapter 12
THE RIDE OUT OF TOWN WAS quiet. They received a few confused looks, but no one even asked where they were going. Once they were outside the gates Stavin waved Feralan Zel’Aniston over to his side.
“Take all of the traders and trade guards to the caravansary and purchase some supplies. Here,” he handed over his pouch, “buy enough for ten days. We’re going up the road a bit.”
Feralan bowed and turned away with the traders following single file behind her. Stavin turned toward Karvik and jerked his head to the side.
“Let’s put some dragons between us and this town.”
They rode for a span, just far enough that the town was out of sight. It wasn’t long before the sound of horses following them at a canter came up the road.
Feralan rode straight to Stavin’s side and handed over his pouch. “Three silver and four sparks, Prince Stavin. They were very upset with the lord mayor and his innkeeper.”
“The lord mayor’s innkeeper?” Karvik asked in a suspicious tone.
Feralan nodded. “It seems that Lord Mayor Zel’Borland owns the Hornet’s Nest. The master traders in charge of the caravansary said that’s why we were sent there. The guards at the gate have standing orders to send wealthy or important visitors to that inn to boost the lord mayor’s prestige and profit.”
Stavin shook his head slowly. “I should be surprised, but somehow I’m not. Distribute the supplies and we’ll be on our way. I’d like to put a bit more distance between us and Henley before we stop for the night.” Everyone stuffed cheese and dried sausage into their saddlebags, then they headed up the road toward Rey on the Glimmer.
They continued for just three spans after sundown, but on the eastern side of the mountains that left them in nearly total darkness.
“Time to stop,” Karvik murmured. “We’re going to have to tend the horses in the dark.”
Stavin looked at his glowing armor and
grinned as he said, “Not all of us.”
They made a cold camp, and Stavin covered his armor with a cloak. Not long after they had stopped, the sound of running horses passed on the road.
“Someone is after someone,” Stavin muttered in a sing-song tone.
It was near the middle of the next day that they found the trouble Karvik was worried about: the sound of a scream rang down the road.
Karvik turned in the saddle and said, “Stave--”
“I know, I know. I’ll be good. Now go. I’ll keep the traders with me.”
Karvik nodded and led off at a gallop with all the royal guards and trade guards behind him. The traders gathered around Stavin as he pulled his Dragon’s Tongue from its sheath.
“Arm yourselves,” he commanded. When everyone had a sword, knife, or ax in their hands, he led them forward at a walk.
It took a full span to reach the scene of the attack. The action was all over except for digging the graves. “Kar?” Stavin shouted, and Karvik walked across the road to him.
“It’s nasty, Stave. There are no survivors. Twenty men attacked and killed the men last night, then took their time with the women this morning. The scream we heard was from the last of them, a young girl. They killed her when they saw us riding up.”
Stavin shook his head slowly. “Any survivors from the attackers?” Karvik answered with a look. “Right. Where’s Var?”
Varik stalked out from behind a wagon with his bloodied sword still in his hand. “I’ve heard the stories,” he said as he looked at Stavin, “but I never thought it would be so bad.”
Stavin patted his shoulder. “I know. Stories can’t prepare you for the real thing. How many did you get?”
“One. And I was lucky to get him. We outnumbered them two-to-one.”
Stavin nodded and said, “That’s eleven, Var, and your second red stripe.” He slapped Varik’s shoulder, then went to where Feralan was standing. When she looked at him he asked, “Do you recognize any of the traders?”
“No, Prince Stavin, not anyone in particular, but the caravan belonged to the Lake Arrowhead Syndicate.” She pointed to the crest on the side of the master’s wagon.
“The what?”
“It’s a trading house that is made up of a bunch of independent Masters who all use the House name, but otherwise go their own way. Lake Arrowhead is a long way northwest of Orvalavad, up in the mountains, and used to be a bandits’ haven until the Traders Guild hired a bunch of mercenaries to clean them out. Since then it’s turned into a traders’ town.”
Stavin nodded. “Like Skykon. We’ll dig graves for the traders and drag the trash into the forest. Organize the traders and your guards and start reloading the wagons.”
Feralan bowed, then started assigning people to wagons. There were ten wagons, and the raiders had thoroughly looted all of them, carelessly throwing a large variety of items out onto the ground.
The traders were buried and the raiders disposed of in just eleven spans. Stavin’s traders had the wagons loaded, the teams harnessed and ready to go long before then.
Stavin walked Tru to the lead wagon and tied her reins to the back, then climbed aboard. “Prince Stavin?” Feralan asked in confusion.
“I’m the only one here with a Master’s vest,” he answered with a slight grin. “Besides, if we meet anyone I’d prefer to have my armor covered until we see what they want.”
Feralan nodded and flicked her reins, setting the oxen into motion. Stavin looked at Karvik and waved him over. “I’d like Var up here. He’s still pretty shaken by what he saw back there.”
Karvik just nodded, then turned and bellowed, “Lieutenant Kel’Horval, front and center.”
Varik rode to the front and bowed in the saddle to Karvik. “Yes, Major Kel’Carin?”
“Ride with the lead wagon. I want someone who isn’t afraid of him to keep him out of trouble.”
Varik looked at Stavin and grinned. “Yes, Sir. I’ll try to make him behave like a prince.”
“Watch it, Var,” Stavin said softly. “I’ll tell the twins you’re hiding presents from them. Zahri will never get your room straight again.”
Varik looked at him and muttered, “That’s mean.”
The wagons slowed them down considerably. Oxen are strong, not fast. It took ten days to reach the city of Orvalavad, on the banks of the Greenleaf River. Stavin had kept them moving past several small towns along the way. He didn’t want to answer the inevitable questions concerning the wagons.
Orvalavad was a large city, and nearly sixty thousand souls called it home. Stavin and Feralan led them to the caravansary and reported the incident.
The caravansary manager listened to Feralan’s story in silence, then nodded. “I don’t suppose you found any identification on the bandits, did you?”
Stavin signaled Karvik over and said, “Show this goodman what you found on the bandits, Kar.”
Karvik pulled an amulet from his pouch. “The leader, or at least the bastard that seemed to be the leader, had this on his coat.”
The caravansary manager hissed between his teeth. “The mark of Bel’Corad.”
Stavin glanced at Feralan, but she didn’t seem to recognize the name. “Who is that?” he asked.
The manager shook his head. “The worst bandit in the area. He’s not satisfied just robbing people. Oh, no, he has to kill everyone so there are no witnesses to testify against him.”
Stavin nodded. “That fits with what we saw. He may not be a problem anymore.”
The manager shook his head. “It would have taken quite a force to take out Bel’Corad and his band.” He looked at the traders behind them and shook his head. “You don’t have nearly enough men,” he looked Karvik up and down, “no matter how prettily they’re dressed.”
Stavin grinned and said, “Major Kel’Carin, assemble the guard.”
Karvik bowed, then pulled a horn from his belt and blew three long tones. In moments, the Evandian Royal Guards had formed up facing their prince.
“The guard is assembled, Your Highness.”
The caravansary manager looked terrified, and seemed to be on the verge of running away. “Who are you?” he asked in a quavering whisper.
Karvik bowed to Stavin and replied, “This is His Royal Highness, Dragon Blessed Senior Warmaster Prince Stavin Markan Karvan Do’Kalin Ne’Aniston Zel’Andral, Blessed of Arandar the Bright.”
The poor man fainted.
Stavin looked at Karvik and said, “Well, that was dramatic.”
The sound of running feet heralded the arrival of a hand of Traders’ Guild Guards. “Drop your weapons!” one of them shouted. Another was blowing a shrill whistle, summoning more aid.
Stavin finally decided to remove the cloak that hid his armor and face the guards before something unfortunate happened.
“Gentlemen, sheath your swords. He’s all right. He just fainted.”
The lead guard started to say something, but two of his men dropped to their knees beside him and put their foreheads to the ground. One of them shouted, “Bow, you fool! He’s the Blessed of Arandar!” The leader looked closely at Stavin, then dropped his sword as he fell to his knees, begging forgiveness.
The manager was regaining his senses. “Blessed One,” he said as he climbed to his knees and placed his forehead to the dirt of the caravansary, “please forgive my presumption.”
“Stand, Goodman,” Stavin commanded and waited until the man was on his feet again before continuing. “Among my other titles is Master Trader and owner of the Kel’Aniston Trading House. My royal guards killed twenty bandits who had taken this caravan. As such, we claim salvage on it and offer it for auction.”
“As you wish, Blessed One.”
Stavin nodded toward the wagons. “I’m leaving eight traders and guards under Trader Feralan Zel’Aniston to take care of them while I go find your lord mayor.”
The manager bowed deeply, then pointed to the left. “If you leave by that gate and follow the road,
it will lead you straight to the city center and City Hall, Blessed One.”
Stavin smiled and said, “Thank you,” then turned away. He collected Tru and led the way out of the caravansary. Karvik matched pace with him.
“Time for another parade?”
Stavin laughed, “I suppose so, Kar.”
Karvik’s team took the right side in a single file while Varik and his team took the left. The sight of so many armed men in the city was more than enough to draw the curious, and the sight of Stavin’s golden armor triggered a torrent of excited shouts speeding through the city.
A wave of sound rolled over the city and back to Stavin like ripples in a pond. Thousands of people lined the streets, shouting questions at one another until Stavin’s party came into view. Once Stavin was seen, the noise subsided as people went to their knees and bowed deeply to the Blessed of Arandar.
Karvik still had to shout as he said, “You’re still the best traveling show on the continent!”
Stavin shouted back, “Shut up, Kar,” as he laughed.
It took five spans to reach the center of the city. The square was more than two dragons across, and boasted an intricate fountain in the center. Every building around the square was built of marble, and gleamed in Arandar’s light.
Stavin pointed to the right. “I think that’s the city hall.”
Karvik nodded but didn’t try to answer. The noise from the crowd was tremendous. Stavin led his people to the steps of the city hall and stopped.
A group of elegantly dressed men and women were assembled at the top of the steps and one man walked forward with his arms raised.
“Quietly, please,” he said and his voice boomed across the square. “Let us properly welcome the Blessed of Arandar.” The crowd quieted and he continued. “Prince Stavin, Blessed of Arandar the Bright, we welcome you to Orvalavad. I am Lord Mayor Rahndal Zel’Gestan, and arrayed behind me are the members of the City Council, our Guild Masters, and the Master of the King’s Academy.”
Stavin bowed slightly, then spoke loudly in reply, “Lord Mayor,” he began and was shocked into silence as his voice echoed off the buildings. He began again in a more restrained tone. “Lord Mayor Zel’Gestan, I am honored by your welcome and that of your people. Let the Light of Arandar the Bright shield you from evil, and let the love of the Gods Above fill your souls.”
Gods Above and Below (Stavin DragonBlessed Book 6) Page 12