by D. A. Stone
The sign swinging above the door was adorned with antlers and hand-painted letters that read: Crimson Stag. They stopped near the entrance.
“Have you been here before?” Tenlon asked.
“I don’t think so.” Desik grabbed his arm again and led him down a narrow alley running alongside the inn. He was looking up at the side of the building.
It was dark and Tenlon smelled odors he didn’t want to smell and was stepping in wet things he certainly didn’t want to walk through.
“What are we looking for?”
After reaching the end of the alley, Desik looked at the back of the building. Satisfied, he pulled Tenlon back the way they had come.
“Come, little mage. Almost finished.”
They entered the inn. There was a large dining area with a bar set against the back wall. It was crowded, but not uncomfortably so. The ceiling was low and held a smoky haze above a dozen round tables and high stools. A few women could be spied about, but it was mostly men who filled the seats—large men, men with enough weapons and armor to fight a war. Or die in one.
This was a city of mercenaries and brigands, Tenlon reminded himself. Thugs for hire who killed for coin, these men would be shipped off to ports paying the highest; nations who feared their own army could be no match against the black forces who’d wreaked so much carnage against the great Amoria. Tenlon almost felt sorry for them. They had no idea what was coming.
“Whad’ya need?” an elderly tavern server asked as they approach the bar.
“A room,” Desik answered. “Second floor, facing west. With a window.”
The man grimaced. “Why so specific?”
Desik leaned in. “Second floor,” he said frigidly, placing a gold coin on the polished bar. “Facing west, with a window.”
The gold changed the man’s attitude immediately. “Specific!” he pointed his finger at them as he slid the coin into his pocket. “I like that! Follow me.”
The server unhooked a key from the wall and slowly ducked underneath the bar, leading them up a nearby flight of stairs. Candles were lit along the walls in the hallway and they were taken to their room, third door on the left.
“Second floor,” he said, sliding the key into the door and opening it. “Facing west. Anything else?”
“What have you to eat?” Tenlon asked.
Desik pushed him into the room. “No, nothing else,” he said, taking the key from the man and placing a few silver pieces in his hand. “We do not wish to be disturbed. No food, no water, no linens, no firewood. Understand?”
“Of course, but if you need anything--”
Desik closed the door before the man even finished speaking, sliding the lock bar into place. The room was sparse, with nothing more than two ugly beds and a wide window. The warrior moved to a pail of kindling next to the empty fireplace and started to dig through it. Tenlon was confused.
“Aren’t you hungry? I thought we were going to order some food. If I don’t eat soon, I think I might collapse.”
Desik stood up, holding a tiny twig. “You’ll get to eat,” he said, working the thin branch into the door jam, just below the locking bar, “when we get to our room.” He moved towards the beds.
“Our room? But I thought this was…”
Desik swung the window open and leaned out, looking to the alley below.
Tenlon’s gaze returned to the twig stuck in the door. If anyone entered from the hallway, it would fall to the floor. Desik was still trying to discover if they were being pursued.
Tenlon sighed. Better careful than dead, he thought.
“We’re not staying here, are we?”
The warrior was sitting on the edge of the open window now. He stared out into the darkness at the ground below before answering.
“Do you want to catch me,” he grinned, “or should I catch you?”
Chapter 11
Natalia awoke alone on her side of the bed, buried beneath a mountain of Karin’s hand-woven quilts. It was early evening in Corda and strange sounds drifted through the wide windows of her bedroom. A knot of tension throbbed in the base of her stomach and her throat burned with thirst. Weak and dizzy, Natalia lifted the covers to see that she was dressed in a light gown of cotton she couldn’t recall putting on. Sitting up, she remembered that she should be terribly upset about something, but for the briefest of moments couldn’t remember what or why.
Then it washed over her again like an icy tide drowning her soul.
Goridai, the army, the dragons…Kreiden’s note.
Her husband wouldn’t be coming back.
His arms would never again hold her, giving her strength and happiness. There would be no children and no days without war or violence for the golden-haired champion. He will have lived and died by the sword. If the army was lost, then so was he. Kreiden would, as he’d written, stay to the end, until the death of his enemies or himself, he would fight beside his brothers to the last.
A champion first, a husband second.
She closed her eyes, squeezing them shut with every muscle of her face until the lights began to dance before her in the darkness. When you wed the warrior, you assumed the risk. Some men die while others live, and that’s all it was. There’s no cosmic plan to the world, no great map of interwoven destiny. They were just a boy and a girl who fell in love, and now that boy was gone.
A moan rose up in her throat as warm tears welled behind her eyes. Biting her lower lip, she forced the sadness deep inside, attempting to lock it away in the dim corners of her heart. Tears would not bring him back. Nothing would. Her man was lost to her.
She sat up and the dizziness was almost overwhelming, turning her blind for several frightening heartbeats before bringing her back to the world.
Why did she feel so dreadful? Her head pounded with a monstrous headache and her body felt sore and filthy. What was going on?
Then she saw the empty vial of Garik extract on a small table next to the bed, and the memory came rushing back.
“Oh no,” Talia whispered with dread, remembering what she’d done.
She fell back onto the mattress and pulled a sheet over her head. How could she have been so stupid? Taking so much of the medicine could have lowered her heartbeat enough to kill her!
“You’re awake,” Karin spoke harshly from the doorway. Natalia peeked out from beneath the sheet. Her handmaiden was dressed to ride in worn boots, mannish leather trousers and a heavy tunic covered by a fur-lined jerkin. The woman was not smiling. “How do you feel?”
“To be honest? A pinch on the queasy side.”
“You’ve been asleep for four days. You should feel dead.”
“Karin, I know what you’re thinking, but I didn’t…”
“Stop!” Karin waved her to silence, tone sharp as a blade. “Just stop. It’s not important now. You are awake and alive. I’ve been praying night and day for you to return to us, but you are here now and there are other matters we must attend to.”
Talia struggled to explain: “It was a mistake. Nothing more. I shouldn’t have drunk so much of it. I wasn’t…I wasn’t trying to…hurt myself. I just needed to rest. I didn’t want to dream, that’s all. Nothing more than that.”
“Nothing more than that? The surgeon was with you nearly all of the first night, and I spent that time considering where to bury your body.” Karin began to choke up. “Do you understand what I’m saying, Natalia? You are my only family, and I spent an entire night thinking about where in the garden to bury you!”
Natalia rose from the bed and moved to her handmaiden. Her footing was shaky but she managed to make it to the doorway. Karin tried to distance herself, still too upset from the last few days, but Talia finally wrapped arms around her and they both began to cry.
“I wasn’t thinking,” she whispered. “It was stupid. I know.”
“You must always be thinking,” Karin bit back. “You are strong, Natalia. You are smart and brave and wondrously kind. Whatever it was you were doing,
however you were trying to cope, to find peace, that is not the way. What would Kreiden think if he knew? How would he feel?”
The thought made her cry even harder. “He’d never let me hear the end of it,” she blurted out with a tearful laugh.
“Right. And you’d never do something so foolish again, would you? You would never even think of it.”
“No,” Natalia promised, breaking the embrace. “I am so sorry Karin. Honestly. Never again.”
“Good.” Karin wiped her face clean with a sleeve, and the near-constant smile returned to her face. “No matter how bad things get, we will find a way through it. The both of us.”
“Yes,” Talia agreed. “The both of us.”
Karin stepped back and smoothed out her jerkin. She pointed to a bowl of water and a small stack of towels. “Clean yourself and come downstairs when you’re ready. The surgeon said we couldn’t move you until you awoke. Something about your heart rate dropping too quickly. He said you would be sore and ravenous when you came to.”
“We?” Natalia asked.
“Argos is downstairs, Natalia. He’s going to help us escape from the city. He says when you’ve awoken we are to leave at once.”
“Escape? What do you mean? What’s happened?”
Suddenly she heard a faint scream from outside and both women moved towards the nearest window. She leaned out and saw countless plumes of smoke rising into the sky. Numerous buildings were ablaze across the cityscape and she could sporadically hear the sounds of angry shouts and yells.
“What is happening?” she whispered.
“Goridai,” Karin shrugged her shoulders, saying the word as if it were the only explanation needed. “The news is ripping the capital apart. You were asleep for a long time and now the city is in turmoil. Riots, looting, arson. The populace has gone mad. People are being beaten to death, stabbed even. We’re lucky the house is in a less populated district. No one has climbed our walls or breached the gates yet, but the sounds I heard earlier were awful. I just sent the last of our servants home to their families. Save for Argos, we are alone now. So get packed. We are leaving as soon as you’re ready.”
“But why are they doing this? I wouldn’t have thought Amorians would ever act in such a manner. This is terrible.”
Her handmaiden could hardly answer. “The Stonewall garrison hasn’t been in contact with the city guards for days. We’re cut off from any help. Word has spread that the Volrathi are on their way here and what they bring with them is anyone’s guess. Argos feels strongly that we should be gone when they arrive, and I agree with him, so get moving.”
“Yes,” Natalia said, still watching the black plumes scrape the sky. “We must leave at once.”
Karin left her to prepare, heading downstairs to check on Argos.
Talia quickly stripped and cleaned herself with a damp towel. After patting herself dry, she rubbed scented oil into her tanned skin before moving to the wardrobe.
Her hands moved through the clothes with urgency, removing riding leggings of soft cotton, a thin belt, a heavy tunic of gray with drawstrings at the neck, and a hooded cloak of dark blue. She donned the garments and a pair of knee-high riding boots. Twirling the cloak around her, she attached it with an ornate brass brooch. Exiting the master bedroom, her boots stomped echoes through the long hallway as she moved into Kreiden’s armory.
Entering the room, she quickly surveyed the weapons within. The walls were lined with various racks of swords, spears, shields, and armor. She moved past a stone fireplace to a rack of unstrung bows. Picking up her bow, she grabbed an empty quiver and filled it with a bundle of twenty arrows and two extra bowstrings. While a far cry from a warrior princess, she was more than comfortable on the bow of lewth and could send accurate shots down range at more than fifty paces. Kreiden had even taken her to the private grounds the king’s scout archers trained on, where she was forced to practice her aim on disks of wood pulled across a line. Her husband said she had taken to it naturally, and weeks later she was able to land hits on birds in flight.
And that was where her list of targets ended, birds and wooden disks. She hoped things stayed that way.
Staring at a section of wall lined with knives, she slid a razor-sharp, curved dagger into her belt and hid a smaller knife in the back of her right boot.
Returning to the master bedroom, Natalia once more saw the frame of the shattered mirror. There was an urge to remove it, to not be reminded of the sorrow that had enveloped her life just days earlier, but there was no time. The smell of burnt timber drifted in from her open window and she moved towards it, placing her hands on the cool, familiar wooden frame. The house was built with a sweeping view of Corda in mind, and this was the first time she ever wished the upper levels didn’t survey so much of her city.
Great columns of black smoke spiraled into the late afternoon sky, closer than before. Everything felt ugly and out of place. The occasional sounds of panic and chaos had grown nearer as well.
The capital had been her home for almost ten years. Her father was the ruler of Den Prazi, a small nation of clustered islands to the far west of Amoria’s boarder. As the only daughter in a family of sons, she was sent to Amoria to benefit from their renowned academies and to learn the way of their people.
She met Kreiden when she was sixteen and had instantly fallen in love with the nineteen-year-old. They were wed two years later.
Now the greatest city in the realm, a city of freedom and prosperity, was tearing itself apart from within. If Amoria was a shining beacon of hope, then Corda was the source of the light. The capital’s libraries, universities, and hospitals were an example that all free nations struggled to achieve. And now it burned. It was as if the populace had forgotten who they were.
She heard a yell nearby and leaned out the window, looking to the western entrance. The high walls of the compound obscured most of what could be seen on the street, but she spied several individuals beating a man to the ground with clubs through the chained gate. The victim ceased struggling, but to her horror the blows continued to rain down upon him. She watched as one of the men stepped away from the motionless body to examine their gate.
He shook it.
Before disappearing into her room, Natalia saw the man point up at her. Not in her direction, but at her.
The champion’s wife was unaccustomed to the tickle of fear that spread through her body. Moving to a heavy oak dresser, she pulled out two pouches laden with gold and silver coin. Swiftly tying them to the back of her belt, she gathered her bow and left the room.
***
Natalia walked down two flights of curving stairs to the spacious main entrance. There was a large marble bust of Kreiden’s father, General Vardan Baelik, in the center of the foyer, as well as an ornate rug set before giant double doors. Karin and another awaited her.
The handmaiden had a sword belted to her side and spoke softly to a handsome, young man hardly past the age of twenty-five. He was wearing black leggings, loosely strung boots, and a fitted green tunic. His long dark hair was held in place by a leather headband and he cast a quick glance her way as she approached.
So much like Kreiden, Argos held the exemplary frame of an Amorian soldier: tall and slim of hip, with sculpted arms, broad shoulders, and the air of confidence carried by men who’ve had the training or lived the life. But beyond the man’s build, it was his gaze that reminded Natalia of her husband, his eyes. Icy blue, intelligent, and focused, they darted toward her cold and quick as winter’s frost. They were the eyes of a soldier, a warrior, a killer of men. Kreiden rode with many who had it in their gaze and often you could feel it staring back when you looked, like a sinister shadow watching you through the mirror. Calm and gentle one instant, but when the chains came off and swords were drawn, you had better be somewhere else. Kreiden had those eyes, and so did Argos.
His right hand held a mean-looking wooden club edged with iron, and his left was completely severed at the wrist, leaving only a narrow
stump wrapped in leather. She remembered Kreiden telling her Argos had lost it when his escort detail was ambushed three years earlier near Galla’s boarder on the western edge of Killian Forest.
In the past the young warrior had spent a great deal of time with her husband but stopped coming around after the loss of his hand. Kreiden said the injury left him despondent and withdrawn, and that free of the army he’d slipped into the underground blood-wrestling and fist-fighting circles of Corda’s more perilous districts. Natalia couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen him.
Upon her entrance, he ceased his conversation and dipped his head.
“Lady Natalia, you look stunning as ever,” he said with a striking smile.
“Thank you, Argos, but I’m afraid I look frightful.”
She suddenly wondered how much the man knew about Kreiden or the mishap with the sleeping opiate. Her foolish behavior was embarrassing enough, but to share it with someone who’d once been so close to her husband was far worse. Her stomach cramped at the thought.
She searched Argos’s eyes for any hint, but he was either a skilled liar or oblivious to the incident. Looking to Karin, her handmaiden read the silent question instantly and shook her head as if to say, do not concern yourself.
“I have seen you many times and never once have you looked frightful,” Argos told her, face stern and honest. “I refuse to believe it even possible.” She felt herself blush slightly.
“I must admit, I was surprised that you were here. I thought you would be at Goridai…”
The man raised his severed wrist and she felt herself wince. Of course he wouldn’t be with the army; he was, after all, missing a hand.
“Not much I can do without a shield and I was never any good with numbers. I was actually hoping you girls would allow me to tag along as you leave the capital. Three is always better than two, or so my drinking associates always claimed.”
“I’m sorry, Argos. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“Think nothing of it, my lady.”