Transcendent (Ascendant Book 2)

by Craig Alanson

  Only, when night was falling, his guards were surprised to find that Kyre did not stop at the village they were passing through. Looking back in dismay to see the inviting lights of the village fading behind them, his guard Terry Carter cleared his throat politely. “Your Grace, we will not be stopping for the night?” Carter was more concerned about his horse than himself. While riding throughout the night was not all that unusual in service to the demanding Falco family, he would have appreciated knowing that is what they would be doing. His supply of dried meat and fruit was inconveniently at the bottom of a saddlebag, and his stomach was beginning to growl with hunger.

  “No, Carter, not yet. It is a fine night for a ride, eh?” He pointed to the clear summer night sky, where stars were beginning to twinkle. “We can get to Longbarrow, I think, before we stop. I like the food at the Black Bear.”

  “Yes, Your Grace,” agreed the other guard, Gerry Falzon. The two guards exchanged a glance, and Falzon put a hand around his throat in a choking motion, almost making Carter laugh out loud. No one liked the food at the Black Bear tavern, travelers only stopped there when they couldn’t reach the villages to the north or south. “It certainly is a fine night for a ride.” The summer air was warm on his skin, and the moon was beginning to rise. This stretch of road was considered safe by most travelers, being regularly patrolled by the Royal Army, with neatly tended farms everywhere. As they rode, Falzon breathed in the scent of newly-mown hay, wildflowers growing in the ditches beside the road, and fruit ripening in the orchards.

  Where the road crossed a stream, they let the horses drink their fill of water, and snack on wild grasses. “The Black Bear?” Falzon whispered. “He seeks food poisoning?”

  Carter made sure they were out of Kyre’s hearing. “I think His Grace wants to get away from his father as quickly as possible. If we ride to the Black Bear, we might be ahead of anyone his father sends in pursuit.”

  “Ah,” Falzon grimaced. If Kyre were acting against his father, even if merely snubbing his nose at the duke, the two guards could incur the wrath of Duke Falco. Such was their lot in life, and they were used to it. “In that case, I hope the Black Bear has something better than that awful chicken pie we ate the last time we were there. That stringy chicken was older than I am.”

  “You are in luck, Falzon,” Carter said with a hearty laugh. “I hear tell that because no one else ate that particular chicken pie, they still have a slice of it waiting for you.”

  “Kyre! That damned stubborn brat!” Regin slammed his fist on the table, after reading the note Kyre had left behind. When his eldest son had not come to dinner, Regin sent servants to look for him, and a maid found a letter on the bed in Kyre’s apartment. The guards also reported that Kyre had ridden out of the estate’s grounds earlier that day, and he had not returned. Duke Falco crumpled his son’s letter and tossed it to Niles Forne.

  Forne quickly scanned the letter. Kyre had stated simply that, as he was ordered away from Linden, he was leaving immediately, to best comply with the wishes of his father. It was an unsubtle way of defying his father, while obeying him. “I would say determined rather than stubborn, Sire,” Forne said with a straight face. “A trait that may serve him well someday.”

  Regin sighed heavily. “He is my son, isn’t he? My father said I was far too stubborn and headstrong when I was Kyre’s age. What think you, Forne,” the duke held his wine glass up to the light, and took a sip. “Should I teach him a lesson, recall him to Linden before he gets the idea he can defy me like this?”

  Forne pursed his lips and answered carefully. “If Kyre were your second son, that may indeed be the proper course of action, Sire. As Kyre is your eldest, and your prospective,” he raised his eyebrows, “heir, I would advise it best for you to wait and let the young man demonstrate his capabilities. If Kyre is going to grow into being worthy of your trust, this may be an excellent opportunity to test his character. Some semblance of free rein for him, surrounded as he is by your own army, will allow him to either prove himself-”

  “Or hang himself,” the duke said as he gulped the glass of wine. “Very well, Forne, Kyre believes he has slipped the leash for now. I will be patient,” he held up a finger, “for now. For now, only.”

  “Yes, Your Grace. A note from you, to Kyre, outlining your orders for the battalion he will command, and your expectations of him, would be useful.”

  Whether or not the Black Bear had saved a slice of very old chicken pie for him, Falzon had the great fortune of never knowing, for when the innkeeper learned that his very late-arriving guests included the heir to Burwyck, he roused his grumpy cook and laid out a feast. Grilled steaks that were thick and juicy and perfectly charred on an applewood fire, roasted potatoes, onions and carrots, and slabs of dark bread slathered with butter. “Your Grace, I apologize,” the innkeeper stuttered, “the bread was baked this morning. We do not have anything more fresh, as we did not know you would honor us with your presence.”

  “No need to apologize,” Kyre mumbled through a mouthful of the delicious and chewy bread. “It is good honest food, and no one should think less of it. My compliments to your inn, and to the cook.”

  “Thank you, Your Grace,” the innkeeper bowed so low his head almost scraped the table, and both Carter and Falzon had to suppress laughter. “Will you be staying with us tonight?”

  Kyre wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve, something he would not have been able to do in Linden. He had been thinking of pressing on along the road after dinner, the horses having had time to rest and eat a bag of grain, but the food in his belly was making him sleepy. “Why, yes, that sounds like an excellent idea.”

  The innkeeper got a terribly pained look on his face. “All of our rooms are full at the moment, Your Grace. I will roust the customers from my two best rooms-”

  Kyre frowned at that. “Nonsense. No, let your guests sleep.”

  “Then you may have my very own bed, Sire, my wife and I-”

  “Your wife should get her rest. We have tents and bedrolls with us; if you could bring us fresh straw from your stable, we will make do with that.”

  The innkeeper’s face reflected his great shock and shame, at the idea of a future duke sleeping on straw in his yard, but Kyre sent him away with a dismissive wave of a hand.

  “It is a good idea to sleep on straw in our tents, rather than in one of this inn’s beds,” Carter said with a grin, his teeth gleaming in the firelight. “Less fleas.”

  Kyre exploded in genuine laughter, pounding on the table. “Yes, Carter, I suppose that is true. Ah, one more bite, then I’m for bed. We should rise early and ride. It is a long way to Teregen, and I wish to arrive there before Captain Jaques.”

  Koren had been anxious that the caravan’s route through Winterthur might take him near his hometown where people might recognize him, but the map Bjorn showed him indicated they were comfortably to the north of Crebbs Ford already. The two-wagon caravan was headed toward the western border of Tarador, bringing supplies to the Royal Army garrison there. After he formally signed on as a guard, Koren escorted the pair of wagons for two days, then they joined a caravan of eight wagons, all going roughly northwest. While the western border was not where Koren wanted to go, their route would intersect several roads to the north. He would decide later when to leave the caravan and go north.

  The caravan of ten wagons halted for the day at a substantial town, close to the border between Farlane and Winterthur. They would be crossing into Koren’s home province the next day, and he realized that he felt no pang of homesickness at the prospect of coming back to the province where he had been born. Before the baron of Crickwell County had banished his family, Koren had never been more than fifteen miles from his home, and had never set foot outside of Crickwell. He and his family had no reason to travel farther, and there was always so much to be done around the farm.

  Everyone in the caravan appreciated stopping in the town. Some of the wagons needed repairs that required a blacks
mith. All of the horses, including Thunderbolt, needed proper grooming. Koren had bought a bridle and a beat-up old saddle in the first village they had come to; now he was able to sell the ill-fitting saddle and buy a new one. And he paid a few coins to the stable hands for Thunderbolt to eat his fill of corn and grain. Already, the horse was looking much better; being able to eat properly and have his coat brushed until it shone again made Thunderbolt look properly like a horse who belonged in the royal stables, even if Koren could not tell anyone where his horse had come from.

  While the horses were attended to, and wagons and other gear repaired, the merchants bargained for supplies. And the guards and wagon drivers split up to sample the inns and taverns in the center of town. “What about here?” Koren asked in front of rough-looking tavern. Several of the front windows were cracked, all were dirty, and the partly broken sign which hung at an angle was so old and faded that Koren could not read it. The tavern was just down the road from a bridge, so he guessed what the sign read. “Des Bridge?”

  “Haha,” the leader of their original band of guards chuckled. “Del Ray. It used to say ‘Del Ray’, not that anyone can read that sign now. You don’t want to go in there, Kedrun; there are better places around the corner.”

  For some reason, the dilapidated tavern called out to Koren. That, or the scent of chops sizzling on the grill called out to his growling belly. He looked at Bjorn for guidance. “I want to try this place.”

  Their leader, a man named Robern, stopped to peer in the dirty windows. “Their beer is watered down, but they do serve good, thick chops.” The scent was enticing him also.

  “What place around here doesn’t water down their beer?” Bjorn asked. The town was a crossroads that existed largely on caravans traveling through. Watering the beer down meant more beer could be sold, and the caravan leaders did not like their hired men to be drunk. “let’s go,” he clapped Kedrun on the shoulder, and they walked into the open front door.

  Lunch was good; the chops were indeed thick and juicy and perfectly cooked on the outdoor grill. Koren sipped greedily at his goblet of water and looked around the smoky room. In the late summer heat, the tavern was too warm, even with the windows and doors open. Smoke drifted in the back door from the grill, and several men were smoking pipes as they relaxed with tankards of beer. Koren scraped up the last of the roasted potatoes from his plate, and relaxed as he listened to other guards telling stories. Despite the reputation of the tavern, there were few chairs empty at the noonday hour and-

  Koren received a paralyzing shock.

  The guards at his table had called for another round of beer, with Koren and Bjorn waving that they didn’t want any. When the serving girl brought the platter of beer tankards, she set the platter down in front of Koren, and the pendant she wore on a necklace around her neck caught his eye. The pendant swung in front of his eyes, shining dully in the smoky air. “Where did you get that?” He shouted, lunging across the table to grasp the pendant and knocking over his chair in the process. His feet became entangled with Bjorn’s, and he sprawled on the table, missing the pendant.

  The girl darted away, annoyed but not alarmed; she was used to drunken customers pawing at her and she knew how to deal with them. Koren’s chair was against the wall, and he would have to squeeze by five or six people on either side of him along the long communal table. Instead, he jumped onto the table, scattering crockery and tankards. The tavern was in an uproar as people grasped at his legs, laughing for most assumed he had drunk too much beer. The laughter halted when he broke his legs loose, hopped to the floor and put a hand to the hilt of his sword.

  “Whoa! Whoa now, Kedrun!” Robern shouted across the table. “No reason to-”

  Next to the serving girl who was now backing away in fear, a very large man stood up, grasping the hilt of his own sword. “Go back to your chair, young fool,” the man growled. To the serving girl, he said “Mathilda, get behind me.”

  Koren did not back down. “I know that pendant. Where did you get it?” He demanded through gritted teeth, and drew his sword partly from its scabbard. Bjorn was coming around the table to back up Koren, his hand poised near his own sword.

  The man next to Mathilda was more than a head taller than Koren and much heavier; he matched Koren’s action, and people dove out of the way. “Wait! Hold!” Robern ordered. He addressed the man facing Koren. “You know me, Tom Resnick. We’ve traveled many a mile together. Don’t you do this. This one,” he pointed to Koren, “is a berserker. I don’t know who he is, but I wouldn’t pit my whole team against him.”

  Tom was not persuaded. “You are trying to frighten me, Robern?” Tom’s friends moved their chairs aside, ready to back up their friend.

  “I am trying to save your life, you stubborn fool,” Robern growled. “Miss,” he said to the serving girl, “it is a reasonable question. Where did you get that pendant?”

  Tom Resnick looked from Robern who he knew, and Koren how he did not. The look in Koren’s eye was more powerful than Robern’s warning. “Mathilda,” Tom said gently as he took his hand away from his sword, “perhaps you had best answer the question.”

  Still standing behind her protector, Mathilda protested weakly, looking around the tavern for support. “It’s mine! It was given to me, and it’s mine.”

  Koren took a deep breath. Beside him, Bjorn whispered “I’ll support anything you do, Kedrun, but be sure it’s worth the price.”

  “On the left side is a dent that continues on to the back. And an inscription on the back, it reads ‘BB and AB’ inside a heart,” Koren tried to contain his anger.

  No one needed to watch the serving girl turn the pendant, they could all see that she knew exactly what was on the back of the pendant. “How did you know?” She asked.

  Koren slid his sword back in the scabbard. “Because it belonged to my mother.”

  “It belonged to your mother?” The girl asked contritely.

  “It was a wedding gift from my father. My mother would not have sold it or given it away, so how did you get it?”

  “It was given to me. It was! It was given to me, by a man,” Mathilda’s voice had an undertone of defeat. “I don’t know where he got it.”

  “Who?” Koren demanded. “What man?”

  “Lekerk. Simon Lekerk.”

  A loud mutter arose around the tavern. Even Bjorn cursed beside Koren. “Lekerk,” he said the name like a swear word.

  “Who is Lekerk?” Koren asked.

  “A bandit,” Mathilda replied in disgust. She pulled the necklace over her head and held it out to Koren, who took it with a shaking hand. Then Koren’s knees would not support him, and Bjorn guided him to a chair.

  “A bandit?” Koren whispered, holding the pendant in both hands.

  “Aye,” Bjorn patted Koren’s back. “He’s a bad one.”

  From Bjorn, Robern and others, Koren learned that Gene Lekerk had been a soldier in service to Duke Romero of Winterthur, until the man decided he preferred the easier life and better pay of a caravan guard. Only after a while, he was not content with a guard’s pay, and he began selling information about valuable caravans to bandits. Not content with that, Lekerk recruited a team of bandits to pose with him as guards, and they stole everything of value from the three wagons of a caravan they had been hired to guard. Since then, Lekerk and his gang had been plaguing Winterthur and Farlane provinces as bandits. It was known that Lekerk had a scar across the left side of his face, so he himself could not infiltrate caravans as a guard, but members of his bandit gang were thought to be working as guards, sending information back to their leader. The bandits were known to attack anyone they thought might have something of value; even single travelers had fallen victim to the gang.

  Koren was sitting under a tree outside the tavern, where Bjorn had brought him. Bjorn had brought a large tankard of water and made Koren drink it. “Where is this Lekerk now?” Koren stared at the ground.

  “You think he stole that pendant from your m
other?” Bjorn asked. He did not mention the more awful possibility.

  “My mother would never give up this pendant,” Koren insisted, “nor sell it. Never.”

  “Your family, where are they now?”

  “I don’t know. I, I ran away. And then they moved away, I don’t know where.”

  “All right,” Bjorn did not know what do to next. “Do you want to go find your family?”

  “I wouldn’t know where to start,” Koren admitted. And the last person his parents wanted to see was their cursed son. “Where is this Lekerk now?”

  “Kedrun, if you are thinking of-”

  “Where is he?” Koren drained the last of the water and stood up.

  Bjorn followed, brushing dust off his pants. “Rumor has it, he has been operating in northern Farlane. North of here,” Bjorn pointed to the crossroads in the center of the town. “Kedrun, if you’re going after Lekerk, I am coming with you.”

  “I can’t ask-”

  “You can’t stop me, either. I owe my life to you,” Bjorn pushed to the back of his mind the goal of seeing his children again. He wanted his children to see an honorable man. He needed to help Kedrun to keep his honor. “You’ll need help to do this.”

  Koren offered a hand and they shook. “Thank you.”

  “Thank me after we’ve found Lekerk. Now, to the stables. I’ll need a horse.”

  “Kedrun, you need to tell me why you want to find Lekerk,” Bjorn said as their horses trotted easily along the road. Thunderbolt had gotten over teasing Bjorn’s horse; at first Koren kept having to rein in his powerful royal horse, who needed to demonstrate how much faster he was. Bjorn’s horse had taken the wise course of ignoring Thunderbolt, except when Thunderbolt nipped at him, then Bjorn’s horse nipped back hard enough to leave a mark. That had seemed to end the silent contest, and the horses got along well after that. Koren’s purse was lighter after purchasing the horse for Bjorn; he counted that a good bargain, if Bjorn could help him find the bandit Lekerk.