King's Exile: Chronicles of the Dragon-Bound: Book 1

by William Culbertson

  “Brother Donn,” the priestess said to the man standing nearby, “would you please continue the blessings? I have found a troubled soul who needs comfort.” Dax heard truth in everything she had said. He would not run—yet.

  “Yes, ma’am,” the brother replied and took her place.

  The brown-robed man started giving blessings, and the woman put her arm protectively around Dax’s shoulders. “Come. There is no peril from us.”

  She was telling the truth. Dax relaxed a little and allowed her to guide him outside. The temple towered over the buildings in the city, but they entered the magnificent structure through a small side door. Dax had been in the main sanctuary many times, but they were in the back areas where he had never visited. She led him down a hallway lined with doors until they reached a solitary door at the end. A matronly woman in the robes of a priestess sat outside the door.

  “Sister Kitt,” Hennet said, “I have found him. The one the Great Mother said would come.” Dax was puzzled. She did not call him king, so maybe she had not recognized him. But how would the Great Mother know he was coming?

  Rising from her seat, Sister Kitt nodded. “She hardly sleeps anymore. Let me check.” She opened the door and looked in. Dax heard her murmur a few words. A moment later she turned back to Sister Hennet. “She will see him now. Let me prepare her.” Sister Kitt went inside and closed the door. When she opened the door again, she held out her hand to Dax. “Come with me.”

  Dax hesitated, but Sister Hennet gave him a little nudge from behind. “Don’t be afraid. The Great Mother has something important to say to you.”

  Sister Hennet followed him into the room, and Sister Kitt closed the door behind them. The room had a sickly sweet smell that reminded Dax of his father’s room as he lay dying. Single candles on either side of a narrow bed illuminated an old woman, who lay propped up by pillows. With one hand the woman in the bed beckoned to Dax. “Come closer,” she said in a voice with scarcely the power of a whisper.

  He approached her bed cautiously. Dax had seen old people before, but the woman who lay there was beyond old. Her skin was parchment white, crinkled with innumerable tiny wrinkles, and her darker veins were easily visible through the transparent surface. Her thin white hair framed her deeply lined face. In spite of her obvious age, the Great Mother’s bright and lively eyes avidly scanned Dax from head to toe.

  “Welcome,” she whispered and reached for his hand. Dax took her small hand and held it gently. Her skin was cool, and her fingers trembled like a frightened animal. Dax brought up his other hand and cradled the Great Mother’s hand in his. He bowed his head and kissed the ring on her hand reverently.

  She smiled. “I have waited so long to see you.” She nodded with satisfaction. “The Goddess promised me I would live to see you.”

  “The Goddess?” Dax had never heard of anyone who had spoken to the Goddess.

  The Great Mother nodded solemnly. “The Goddess in her Divinatory Aspect will speak with those of us with the foresight.” Dax was confused. He knew the Goddess had a multitude of aspects that related to the way people lived their lives, but he had never heard of her Divinatory Aspect. “Confused, aren’t you?” she said. “We never speak of this aspect outside the temple, but it is how we know her plan for the world.” She smiled at him again. “It is how we know her plan for you.”

  Him? The Goddess had a plan for him? Dax did not understand. He started to ask her for an explanation, but the Great Mother tugged his hands to silence him. “The Goddess sees a time of great troubles coming for the land.” She patted his hands with her other hand. “You. You are on a road,” she hesitated, “on a path that leads to . . . hope.”

  The Great Mother laid her head back against the pillow and smiled. She sighed, and her eyes closed. Dax thought she might have gone to sleep. He gently put her hand back on the bed. Sister Hennet tapped him on the shoulder and motioned him back. “Please,” she said quietly. “She will be at peace now in the wisdom of the Goddess. Let us go.”

  Outside in the hallway, Dax asked, “Is she . . .”

  Sister Hennet nodded. “Yes. She has passed on, happy to have seen you with her own eyes.”

  “But she said I was on a path,” Dax protested. “I have no path. I don’t know where I am going.” He was confused and frightened.

  “Be at ease.” Sister Hennet’s words were gentle, and with her hands she turned his face up to look at her. “The Great Mother is gone, but the Great Mother remains. I have the sight. I see the vision.”

  Dax knew he should be afraid, but instead, he felt great calm. “I don’t know what to do,” he said as he looked up into her eyes.

  She smiled. “You have but to set your feet upon the path. The bootblacks outside the north gate.” She released him and stepped back. “Your path begins there.”

  #

  The next day Dax stood in a shadowed gap between two buildings on one side of the roadway that lay outside the city’s main wall. The wall had been started by the first Ambergriff king and finished during the reign of his son. Old and solid, the large, rough stones had been set with mortar and stood more than three times the height of a man and almost as thick. In these days of West Landly’s strength and prosperity, the three city gates stood open and welcoming all the time except for the New Year’s Day ceremony, which marked the closing of one year and the opening of the next.

  Confused and uncertain after last night’s events, he watched the bootblacks at the north gate to Old Town. Eight boys worked the stools where patrons sat while their boots were cleaned. While the streets of Old Town inside the walls were paved in cobbles, the streets outside were dirt. The only paving outside the walls was horse apples, but there were plenty of those. The bootblacks catered to people with business in Old Town who wanted to have their boots cleaned before going through the gate. Although two guardsmen stood duty just inside the gate, they ignored the bootblack boys outside. They had ignored them all day. Intriguing.

  An older boy was in charge of the bootblacks. Stocky and maybe two or three years older than Dax, he had long, unkempt hair. He took the customers’ money and showed them to one of the elevated stools. The boys themselves worked steadily through the day, bent over their patrons’ boots while they sat on boxes in front of them. Dax got a chance to talk with one of the bootblacks when the boy took a break to get a drink. Dax approached him as the boy drank from the ladle at a nearby fountain.

  “Hard work?” Dax asked.

  “Yeah, but better than some.”

  “How do you get a job?”

  The boy smiled and looked appraisingly at him. “You got to fight for it.” He brushed his long brown hair out of his eyes and raised his fists. “Want to have a go at me?”

  The boy was telling the truth, and his two missing front teeth gave weight to the information. Dax laughed out loud. “Now why would I want to take a chance with a tough guy like you?”

  “Yeah, you bet you don’t.” The boy relaxed and wiped his nose on the back of his hand. “Besides, you’d best talk to Hammer over there. You want a job, he’ll point you to the most likely of us—probably Weepy. Promotions and arguments all get settled after work at sundown.”

  “Hammer . . . the older guy who takes the money?”

  “Yep. Tough bastard too. Someday he may take over for old Weasel.”

  “Weasel?”

  “One of Holder’s men. Holder runs all the business round here.” The boy looked around furtively. “Nobody messes with Holder, and Weasel’s his man. Old Weasel comes by to collect the money and make sure things are running well.” He stopped for a moment. “Watch out for that one too.” The boy leaned closer and lowered his voice. “Weasel’s a molly boy, if you know what I mean. We all try to be real busy when he stops by.”

  Dax did not know what he meant, but he was unable to ask, because the boy put down the ladle and turned to go. “Come by about sundown,” he said to Dax over his shoulder. “We ain’t had a good fight for a couple weeks now.
You look like someone who could take one of us,” he said with a smile. “Just not me.”

  “I wouldn’t think of it,” Dax said shaking his head. No, not that boy. He had a plan.

  After the boy left, Dax retreated to the other side of the street and continued to casually watch their operation. Although scruffy and ill-kempt, the boys appeared well fed, and he knew they all stayed together in a weathered building behind a nearby inn. Compared to life on the streets, theirs appeared to be predictable . . . and safe. Even though they were a group of boys of about the right age to merit attention from the guard, they operated with minimal notice directly in the shadow of Old Town. If he could get a job with the bootblacks, he could eliminate many of his time-consuming, day-to-day worries. A job with the bootblacks would also put him in a position to hear gossip about what was going on in the castle from people who actually had business there.

  #

  That evening, Dax loitered by the bootblack stand while Hammer collected the boys’ jars of paste and shine rags as he doled out coins to them. Once he had locked all the paste and rags in a storage chest, Hammer said, “Okay, that’s it for the day. Back to the bunkie for supper.”

  Dax was unsure of the exact protocol, so he just stepped up to Hammer and said, “I want a job.”

  The older boy looked him up and down and smiled. “Hold up, boys. We’ve got a little entertainment tonight. This little fella wants to join up. Probably run off from his mummy, I’ll bet.”

  Dax flushed at the taunt but said nothing.

  “Okay, little flea, who you gonna take on? You gotta prove you’re tougher than one of us to get a job.” Hammer stepped back while the boys crowded around. They flexed their muscles and clenched their fists. Some growled. Each sought to look more fearsome than the next. Dax ignored their posturing. He knew his strategy would be painful, but he also knew he needed a safe haven.

  Dax turned back to the older boy. “You.” He pointed at Hammer. “I challenge you.”

  Hammer rolled his eyes at the rest of the boys, who hooted and howled with amusement. “You’re daft, little worm. Pick a boy you might have a chance of beating.”

  “Nope. You’re the one.” Dax smiled. “What’s the matter, don’t think you can take me? Maybe you’ve had that cushy job too long,” he said with all the bravado he could muster.

  The boys now started taunting Hammer, pushing and prodding him to take the challenge. Hammer was bigger than the other boys, but the younger ones were all lean and wiry. From Hammer’s thicker waistline, Dax guessed he had not had to work hard lately. Other than a cuff or two to keep the youngsters in line, he had probably not fought much since he started running the operation. But he was big. Dax could not let the boy get on top of him. Finally Hammer sighed, looked at Dax with what might have been sympathy, and set down the sack with the bootblacks’ tools and coin. He took off the worn, stained vest that covered his shirt, which was not in any better condition. He turned to Dax and bent slightly at the waist. He spread his arms and flexed his hands. “All right, little boy, come and take me.”

  Dax feinted in toward Hammer’s left side, but as the bigger boy lunged for him, he ducked outside his reach to the right and darted around behind Hammer’s back. He grabbed the boy’s right arm and pulled it around with him behind his back. Hammer tried to pivot into the hold, but Dax turned the boy’s motion across his leg and forced Hammer to the ground.

  The boys’ cheering stopped abruptly when their leader went face-first into the dirt. Dax fell on top of Hammer. Dax held on to the boy’s arm, twisting it up between them. Hammer tried to push him off, but he gasped in pain when Dax twisted his arm farther upward. Dax leaned forward until he could mutter unnoticed into Hammer’s ear. “Move, and your elbow will break. Tell me you understand.” After an answering grunt, Dax continued. “Good. I need a friend, not your job. I want to work for you. That’s why I’m going to let go of your arm the next time you twist away. Push me down. Hit me. Make it look good, but afterward, give me a job. Agreed?”

  The bigger boy paused before he replied, but Hammer’s reluctant, “Okay,” was truthful.

  “Ready to make it look like one more big effort?” Dax whispered. After Hammer grunted assent, Dax relaxed his grip. With a roar, Hammer twisted away and scrambled to his feet. Dax fell on his side, and Hammer delivered a short kick to his belly. Dax doubled in pain.

  Hammer grabbed his shirt front and lifted him to his feet. “You bastard. Your tricky little move just made me mad. I oughta wring your skinny little neck.” Hammer drew back his fist and swung a roundhouse punch at Dax’s head. However, he delivered the blow with the flat of his hand. The slap made Dax’s head ring. He saw a few stars, and his cheek blazed with pain . . . but his head stayed in place at the end of his neck. Hammer shoved Dax away into the crowd of boys. “But you got guts, you do.” He smiled at Dax. “Just to teach you a lesson, I’m going to let you go to work for us.”

  The bootblack boys helped Dax to his feet, and Hammer slapped a hand on his shoulder. “Boys,” he announced, “meet Bug. We’re a couple of hands short since Bolly and Pud run off two weeks ago.” Hammer flexed the arm Dax twisted. “We’re going to teach little Bug here a trade. Keep him off the streets where somebody sure enough would do him harm.”

  The other boys clapped Dax on the back, and on the way to their bunkie, they introduced themselves. The boy Dax had spoken to first was called Pigeon. Dax’s father and Dax’s tutor, Evnissyen, had emphasized how learning people’s names was a powerful tool to gaining their trust and respect, so Dax listened carefully. Spike, Bubbles, Dog, Stinky . . . they were all street names, but they were names nonetheless. Some of the names fit. Others did not. Appropriate or not, Dax memorized them all.

  #

  Their bunkie was a ramshackle structure behind an inn. Although none too pretty, the building appeared sound—and it was dry inside. It had been a carriage barn at one time, and it still smelled a bit like horses. However, the main odor was that of unwashed boys. There were just enough cots for each boy to have one, but Hammer sent Pickle to the loft to retrieve an extra for Dax. The boys all gathered at a rough table at one end of the room where they each took a bowl from a cabinet. Pigeon found an extra one for Dax.

  No sooner had they taken a seat than a man with a greasy apron hauled in a large stew kettle and deposited it in the middle of the table with a thud. “Eat up, ya hellions,” he announced. “People are payin’ good money for this next door.”

  “More ’an like, it’s slop the hogs wouldn’t eat,” Stinky called out. The remark was echoed by other hoots and jeers, but each boy scooped out a big portion with their bowls. They went in turns.

  Dax was unsure how he fit into the food line, but Weepy settled that quickly. “You’re last guy now. Behind me!” he said with a note of triumph.

  When it was Dax’s turn, the nearly empty pot made it clear why order was important. Dax managed to scrape up a reasonable portion from the bottom and sides, where a residue had cooked onto the pot. Still, it was food and it was warm—better than he had eaten many nights.

  There was not much to do after supper, but then again, there was not much time to do it. Once the plates were cleaned and returned to the cabinet, several of the older boys sat down with Dax at the table. They told him a little about the work and some of their customers. Bubbles, first in line at the supper pot, told him that before the old king had died, he had shined his boots. “Liked it so much,” he said, “that he had me do his little nipper’s boots too. Maybe the boy king will call me to be his bootblack once he takes the crown.” The others hooted him down, obviously having heard the story before.

  Dax was puzzled. He had never had his boots shined outside the castle, yet as the boy told the story, Dax sensed truth in his words. Could Bubbles have told the tale so often that he actually believed it himself?

  A short time later Hammer ordered all of them off to bed. Hammer’s cot was in one of the former stalls separated from the common area,
but his snores carried throughout the bunkie. Dax lay in the dark and thought about the day. This was the Goddess’s path? He had won a place with a group of street rogues. Now he had to survive among them. The bootblacks were an obvious and easy place for the guard to check, but all the while he had watched the bootblacks, the guardsmen had ignored them. How safe would he be here, and how long could he stay?

  #

  The next day Hammer rousted them out early. There was no breakfast. Spike explained that they could buy apples at Margat’s just before they got to the bootblack stand. Then at midday, they got a break, and they could go to the market stalls just down the street from the gate. They could use whatever they wanted of their coins to buy something to eat.

  All that was fine, but Dax did not have any coppers in his pocket to spend. “So how do I get a coin to spend?” he asked.

  Spike smiled. “Well, now, I’d be happy to lend you a ha’copper until the end of the day when we get paid, but then you’d have to pay me back a copper.” His smile broadened into a grin. “Assumin’ you make somethin’ today.”

  “How much do we get paid?”

  “Copper a day if you carry your weight, plus two more if you work all five days in a row.”

  Dax frowned. “Doesn’t leave much to spare, does it?”

  “Depends how much you like a full belly.” He slapped his own concave stomach. “Just you understand, the worst thing you can do is steal from one of us boys. We find that out, and we all beat the shit out of ya, and you’re gone.” Spike glared fiercely, and Dax had no reason to doubt him. “Sometimes,” Spike went on in a milder tone, “a true gentleman will give a tip to one of us. That’s all well and good, but remember, it goes into the pot to be shared out as extra when there’s enough. You bein’ a new boy means it will take longer to get a share, and you won’t get as much. But now and again, some of us leave, and you move up.” He shrugged. “It works out.”