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

by William Culbertson

  Chapter 9

  Dax found the Slippery Fish Tavern easily enough, and it was quietly busy inside. However, the number of chairs and benches packed into the common room suggested that by evening it would be crowded with fishermen. He scanned the room but did not see Herne. He approached the bar where a young serving girl was cleaning and stacking mugs. “Excuse me. I’m looking for Tulee. Is he here?”

  “Hi.” She smiled. “You must be his nephew. He’s over there.” She nodded toward the back of the tavern.

  Dax thanked her and headed in the direction the girl had indicated, but he saw only an older couple seated at a table. As he approached, the man looked up at him and winked. Dax looked twice before he realized the man was Herne. No wonder he had not recognized him. Herne had receding gray hair, which he kept cropped short. “Keeps the hair out of your eyes in battle and makes your helmet fit better,” he had once told Dax. This man, Tulee, had straggly brown locks hanging out below a workman’s cap tied on his head. The most astounding thing to Dax was that Tulee held a mug of ale in one hand while his other arm draped familiarly over the back of a chair where a woman sat. Just a little less than plump, she appeared several years younger than Herne and had a bright, welcoming smile.

  “Ah, nephew! Join us.” Herne’s voice was not particularly loud, but with his normal parade-ground tenor, it carried out into the room. “We were about to have an early supper before the place gets too crowded. I want you to meet my wife.” Herne turned to the woman and said, “This is the nephew I told you about.”

  Puzzled, Dax slid into the seat the man had pointed to. Herne lowered his voice to a near whisper. “Leith, meet Moryn, love of my life. By the way, in here they know her as my wife, Wryn. I’d appreciate it if you would call her that while we dine.” He looked at Moryn. “And remember, my ‘nephew’ is going by the name Leith tonight.” She nodded, and Herne looked back at Dax. He nodded and murmured, “Too many people are looking for Kort.”

  There were at least a half-dozen things Dax did not understand, but he said nothing and let Herne take the lead. Since Moryn had nodded in understanding when Herne had used the name Leith, the general had told her who he was. Leith was a safer name. Although Herne would call him Dax in quiet, personal conversations, the general always used Dax’s given name in public—one of his names anyway.

  Herne led the conversation through a series of fatuous topics, and Dax replied just as innocuously. Herne ordered for everyone, and in a short time, their meal arrived. The platter the serving girl set in front of Dax had a large portion of fish, and once he caught the aroma, he could not resist the juicy browned meat. While the bootblacks had eaten well enough, this was the finest meal he had seen since he had left the castle. Dax wolfed his food. Herne and Moryn dined at a more leisurely pace and watched with amusement. They made casual conversation during their meal and tried to include Dax. However, he mumbled only monosyllables between bites.

  One mystery quickly became clear. Herne’s second arm was not real. When it was time to eat, he used his good arm to lift the artificial limb from the back of Moryn’s chair and repositioned it to lie more naturally on the table. Dax stole occasional looks at the hand that stuck out from the sleeve. It had been carved from wood and painted to resemble a normal hand. The arm itself must have been strapped to Herne’s body and positioned at the end of his stump. Herne moved it in occasional stiff-armed gestures, and the overall appearance was good enough to appear real to a casual glance.

  With his second helping of fish, Dax slowed down enough to savor the taste. After a third, he was full. Herne and Moryn had finished their own meals, and they sat and watched him eat. When Dax finally laid down his knife, Herne smiled and said, “Well, dinner for five and conversation for two—an evening well spent.”

  Dax looked up sheepishly. “I guess I didn’t realize how hungry I was.”

  Moryn nodded seriously. “You look as if you could use the food. Better to have it here in the tavern. I’m afraid if I fed you my cooking, you’d end up skin and bones like Tulee.”

  Herne nudged her playfully. “Don’t you believe her, Nephew. She does just fine. Now what say we go back to our place. It’s just up the street.” He winked. “I need to hear all about the family. Shall we?”

  While Herne settled up with the barkeeper, Moryn placed a comforting arm on Dax’s shoulder. “Orin has told me who you are.” Her voice was quiet so only Dax could hear. “I am glad to know you are well. He hasn’t told me the whole story, but whatever your problems, we will help as much as we can. Orin will take good care of you.”

  Dax nodded. The warm comfort of her gesture moved him deeply, and he was too choked up to reply. He was not sure how much Herne had or had not told her. At this point, he decided to keep his mouth shut and let the older man fill in the details.

  #

  Herne and Moryn had a small apartment above a baker’s shop. Although the shop was closed for the night, odors from the baker’s work lingered. Surprisingly, Dax’s stomach gave a hungry rumble in response to the wonderful smells. When Herne closed the apartment door behind them, he swept Dax into a one-armed hug that raised Dax’s feet from the floor and made his ribs creak. “You don’t know how glad I am to have you safe and off the streets, Your Majesty!”

  Once Dax stood on the floor again, he looked at Herne and was surprised to see moisture glistening in the older man’s eyes. Herne blinked and turned away, sweeping off the cap and the false hair underneath. He shrugged out of his cloak, and Moryn helped him undo the straps from the false arm. Dax smiled. Now it was Orin Herne who stood before him.

  Moryn poked up a small fire and lit a candle to bring a little more light into the room. They settled themselves on a trio of low, comfortable chairs pulled close together. Herne’s hushed tones scarcely carried outside their circle. “So, where do we begin? I need to know what has happened to you, and you need to know what has happened in the castle. Afterward we can make decisions about what to do.”

  “The first thing I’d like to know is who is Tulee?”

  “Ah.” Herne smiled. “He’s a convenient role I use to be with Moryn. He’s been particularly useful for the last few years since I began to suspect all was not well in the castle. Tulee goes places and hears talk that General Herne never would or could.”

  He looked at the woman next to him. “You know I’ve never married, but Moryn has been my partner for many years. She was a serving girl when I met her and fell in love. Serving girls, of course, don’t make fit wives for a leader in the guard. Then again, I couldn’t just let her go, now could I?” He patted Moryn’s hand, and she smiled in return. He shrugged. “After I left the guard, I guess I just liked things the way they were.” He paused and looked at Dax. “Your father liked Moryn. He wanted to give her land and a title, but she would have none of it.”

  “Fancy people. Fancy airs,” Moryn chimed in. “I just couldn’t do that. I like my simple life in the city. Besides, if Orin was my real husband, I probably wouldn’t see as much of him.” She smiled and ruffled his short, gray hair. She laughed. “That thing still make your head itch?”

  Herne smiled back at her, then turned back to Dax. “Now how about some details? I need to know why you left, what happened, and how you came to be cleaning boots at the city’s doorway. I want to hear the whole story.”

  Dax was not certain he should tell Herne about the secret passages, but when he mentioned overhearing Mathilde and Keir in the library, Herne interrupted. “You were in the passageways?” Relieved, Dax admitted his habit of exploring while Herne nodded. “Yes, Conal said he was going to show you the secrets of the castle so you could learn them early and well. I’m glad he was able to do that before he died.”

  “He didn’t just die.” Dax looked grimly at Herne. “Mathilde killed him.”

  Herne and Moryn looked at each other. When he looked back at Dax, Herne’s eyes were flinty and hard. “I think I need to hear more about this.” His tone was every bit as dark as Dax�
��s.

  After Dax related what he had overheard that day in the library, he told them of the milk Mathilde had given him. The tale went on and on until he reached the point where Herne had suddenly appeared at his bootblack stool two days ago. By the time Dax had finished, the candle had burned to a short stub. His throat was rough from all the talking, and his eyes were heavy. After a long day of work, a large dinner, and the release of finally telling someone about Mathilde’s treachery, he was so sleepy he could hardly keep his head up. At this point Moryn put a stop to the evening’s tales. She made up a small but comfortable bed near the fire, and Dax scarcely remembered lying down.

  #

  The sun streamed through a window when he awoke. Dax lay still for a moment, trying to remember where he was, until he heard Moryn humming to herself as she worked in the kitchen. She smiled at him when he entered the room. He shuffled to the table, dropped onto a hardback chair, and pulled a stray lock of hair back behind his ear. “General Herne isn’t here?” He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hands. “I guess I overslept.”

  “True enough. Half the morning is gone, but were you going to go somewhere?” She smiled and turned back to the counter. “Let me get you some breakfast.”

  Dax did not answer. He reveled in the safety of Herne and Moryn’s apartment. It would be easy to hide here. But his next thought was Would it be the smart thing? Moryn bustled about, putting a spoon and a cup of hot tea on the table. Dax knew he should not be hungry after what he had eaten last night, but his stomach announced with a growl that he was. Moryn set a bowl of warm porridge in front of him. While he watched, she sliced pieces of red fruit on top of it, and Dax’s mouth watered when caught a whiff of the fragrance.

  “Orin said to tell you he had a guard meeting at the castle this morning. He should be back by midafternoon.” She put a stack of dishes into a cabinet, then turned back to Dax. “You do know the uniform was not his idea, don’t you?”

  Dax nodded, and between bites managed to say, “Yes, he mentioned that.”

  “They recalled him to service on orders from the king—you.” She paused and smiled at him. It was a comfortable smile.

  “I heard that.” He smiled slightly. “But I find it difficult to believe.”

  She smiled at his jest. “Why, yes. They were your orders—through Regent Mathilde.”

  “Of course.” Dax rolled his eyes in exasperation. He paused to think. “They’re afraid of him. They want to keep him where they can see him. Control him.”

  She nodded. “He has his old rank but no command. He has been assigned to Castellan Keir as an advisor.”

  “Put the Old Bear in a cage where everyone can see him, but where he can’t cause any harm.”

  She looked at him archly. “I haven’t heard that nickname in a long time.”

  “Father used to call him that.” He shook his head. “He must be going crazy.”

  Moryn cut two large slices of bread, spread them with honey berry preserves, and set them in front of Dax. She also poured him a mug of tea from the pot brewing on the stove.

  “He was, but since he’s found you, he’s a man possessed.” She smiled again. “If for no other reason, you are welcome here. You’ve given him back a reason to get out of bed in the morning.”

  As Dax ate, he continued to think, and suddenly he realized he had a way to strike back at Mathilde . . . perhaps. He continued to eat automatically while ideas churned in his head. Safety or retribution? He felt a touch of anger, and he knew what he would do. “I’ve got to go back,” he announced.

  “Back?” Moryn looked puzzled.

  “Back to the bootblacks.” Dax met her concerned gaze. “For a while anyway. I know how to hurt Mathilde, but I need to stay in contact with Holder’s organization.”

  Moryn looked at him and seemed to understand his need. “Must you leave right now?”

  “Now, yes, but I’ll be back . . . tonight even. I need to plan this with General Herne, but I need to stay with the bootblacks . . . For now.”

  #

  The bootblacks were well into their morning’s work when he arrived. They greeted him with a few smart remarks, but Dax shrugged them off and went to Hammer. The older boy gave him a questioning look. “So . . . ?”

  Dax gave him what he hoped was a sheepish smile. “Yeah, he fed me a righteous amount, and I overslept. But now I’ve got an idea that Holder’s organization might be interested in. Who can I get in touch with?”

  Hammer scratched his head. “Well, you don’t exactly find them—they find you. However, this is the regular night for our collector to stop by the bunkie. I can send word with him.”

  Nodding, Dax said, “That will do. I’m going back to see my father’s friend again tonight, but I think I can get information that Holder’s people might be able to use—information direct from the higher-ups in the castle.”

  Now Hammer was clearly interested. “So who is this guy anyway?”

  Dax shook his head. “No, I don’t want to say, but if I get in with him, we might have a direct line to what the guard is planning.”

  Hammer arched his eyebrows skeptically. “Yeah, that would be interesting . . . if you can pull it off.”

  Taking polish and a couple of rags from the supply box, Dax nodded. “Put the word out. I’ll go back to shining boots. It might not work out, but it might be a chance for me to accomplish something.” Something quite different than what Hammer might be thinking, but he would need to plan more with Herne. Meanwhile, he had to play the part of an ambitious bootblack.

  Dax sat down at a vacant stool, and his first customer sat down. He smiled and greeted the man pleasantly. The work was automatic, and he thought about his plan. Now he had purpose, and the day passed quickly.

  #

  That evening he trekked through the city to Moryn’s apartment. He had supper and spent the evening talking with Herne by the fireplace. “Well, it could work,” the man finally admitted. “A serious incident could keep them off balance and undermine Keir’s credibility.”

  “I don’t want Holder to be able to do too much damage to the kingdom.”

  “No,” Herne said scratching his chin, “and that will be the tricky part. A robbery of payroll or tax revenues would hurt too many people besides Mathilde and Keir.”

  “What about Duke Maklyn of Silverdale?” Moryn asked. She sat by the fire quietly doing needlework, but she had obviously been listening closely. “He’s been a strong supporter of Mathilde’s”—she gave Herne a knowing look—“in more ways than one, from what I hear. Didn’t you say he was coming to pay another call before too long?”

  Herne smiled at her and looked at Dax. “Lad, it’s a good thing I never had to fight against this woman. Tactically, she is as devious as she is good-looking.” That got him a smile from Moryn. “She’s right. Maklyn’s been on Mathilde’s side for some time.” Herne held up one finger. “He almost always travels with one or more of the members of the Brewer’s Guild.” He held up another finger. “That bunch has money falling out of their socks.”

  Herne held up a third finger, and Dax thought he saw the outline of Herne’s idea. Before Herne could announce his third point, Dax broke in. “So if the duke’s party was set upon by outlaws, it would not reflect well on the guard and by implication Keir or Mathilde.”

  Nodding, Herne said. “Exactly. And now here’s a tough question for you. If we pass this information along to Holder’s group and they act on it, people will probably die. Are you willing to take that responsibility?”

  “Me?” Dax blinked. Herne and Moryn looked at him but said nothing. He sat and thought for a while. He wanted to hurt Mathilde. He wanted her dead. He wanted to take his rightful place on the throne. But his decision could mean the end of life for someone else. Or several other people. People he did not know and who might be perfectly innocent.

  Herne interrupted his thoughts. “Decisions have consequences.” He looked at Dax knowingly.

  Dax knew he was being tes
ted. “Exactly what can we gain?”

  Herne nodded. “What we may gain is time.” He leaned back in his chair. “Once Keir takes the throne, the whole system turns to supporting him and his rule. Turmoil and uncertainty now may slow the process of making him king.”

  “But it won’t stop it.”

  Herne shrugged. “You already know that.”

  Dax thought a moment. “The harder we make it for Mathilde now, the harder it will be for her to put her man on the throne.” His smoldering anger flickered to life. His determination was as strong as it had ever been.

  Herne nodded. “I should be able to get what we need this week. We already have notice of a coming visit within the month, so they should brief it at the Command Council on First Day.”

  A thought struck Dax. “Will you be in any danger if you give me the information?”

  “Another good question.” His mentor smiled. “The answer is no. I attend the meetings as part of my duties, and fifteen to twenty of us will hear the information. As long as we don’t do this too often, that should be enough cover.”

  The fire had burned low. Herne put two logs, one at a time, on the fire and moved the embers around with the poker. “The specific unit involved in protecting the duke’s party will not get the information until just before they move out. From what you’ve told me about Holder’s conduit to the guard, I would guess it’s somewhere on the midlevel of our command structure. That means that ordinarily they would not have the time to act on this type of intelligence. A tipoff in advance should be irresistible.”

  #

  Holder’s organization was definitely interested in any information Dax could get from the castle. For the time being, Dax had to keep one foot in both worlds. He worked and stayed most days with the bootblacks, but one or two days a week, he slept at the apartment with Herne and Moryn. No, he did not just sleep at their apartment. Even though he spent most of his time with the bootblacks, Dax now thought of the apartment as his home. He even retrieved his pack from its hiding place and stashed it in a closet there.