by J. C. Staudt
“I think I’ll go see what’s for sale,” Alynor said.
“Very well, my lady. I’ll head to the Stars’ End and make our accommodations. As I mentioned earlier, you’ll be safe here. Eventide’s borders are quite secure. Though, don’t be long.”
“I shan’t.” She sensed Darion’s appraising look through the corner of her eye as she coaxed her gelding down the winding path toward the market. She did not wait for him to say more.
King’s Lane had the stench of trade about it, sweaty men in sweaty cloth peddling meat, pelts, iron, grain, fowl, and services, among other things. Alynor had hoped to find more vendors selling handcrafted items, but she took her time browsing nonetheless. She needed a little time to sort things out, and the open-air market was the perfect place to do it.
Regardless of how she was feeling toward Darion, she decided her secret was due for the telling. She did not think he would send her home now; they were well past the halfway point in their journey, and from what he had told her, Castle Maergath would remain a safe haven from the war, at least for the nonce.
She spent a long time wandering through the merchant stands, losing her sense of time beneath the dense canopy of branches. When Lana grew bored and began nosing around in an apple bin, Alynor dismounted and bought three of the ripe red fruits to feed her. From then on, she led the horse through the market by the reins.
An hour or two passed before the end of the lane came within sight. The tumult of the central market had fallen to a murmur as the trading day neared its end.
“Spare a copper, milady?” asked a beggar by the wayside.
Alynor dismounted and fished in her purse for a silver. As she was about to give it to the man, a city guard struck the beggar with the butt of his spear.
“No solicitations,” said the guard. “Get on with you, you old guttersnipe.”
Alynor could tell the old beggar was an exile from the Grey Teeth. He’d likely fled here with the other refugees, having nowhere else to go. Might be he doesn’t know it’s against the law to beg, she speculated. “Come with me,” she said. “I’ll help you.”
“Don’t you go getting yourself drawn in by the likes of him, milady,” said the guard. “He’s trouble, I can tell you.”
“You ought to give a man fair warning before you go hitting him that way,” Alynor said. “Perhaps he didn’t know he’d done wrong.”
“This is the third time in as many days I’ve had to run him off from here, smelling of piss and ale. He knows well and good what the rules are.”
“Please, milady,” said the beggar. “I’ve got nothing left. I was but a simple sheep herder, ‘til them bandits burned my hut and butchered my flock. I haven’t eaten a scrap in two days.”
“I’ll decide how I spend my own coin, thank you,” Alynor told the guard. “Now stand aside and let me help this man. Look there. You’ve broken the skin.”
The old beggar pressed a worn kerchief to the open welt on his forehead.
“I’m sorry, milady, but I cannot allow you to do that. Eventide has a standard to uphold. This kind of thing is on the rise, what with all manner of refuse coming in off the forest road. All are welcome in our fair city so long as they bring their coin and commerce. Beggars of his ilk are a burden to those of us contributing to the prestige of this society.”
“You’ve heard him, haven’t you?” Alynor asked. “He’s got nothing left. Thousands have been displaced from their homes. Meanwhile, Olyvard King sits at Castle Maergath without so much as a gesture of sympathy for the exiles or a stroke of vengeance toward those responsible. Why, this very avenue is named after Eventide’s wish to maintain its independence from the rule of kings. If the city will do nothing to help them, are you not the same as the king himself?”
The guard gave her a smug look and stood his ground. “I must enforce the laws as I’m commanded to, milady.”
“Then perhaps you wouldn’t mind standing guard while I help this poor man to his feet,” she said. “That is what guards are supposed to do, isn’t it? He’ll have no need to beg with a few coins in his pocket.”
She made to move past the guard, but he rotated his spear horizontal to block her way. “Look here, milady. I don’t care if you’re a beggar and he’s a noble. You do as I say, or I’ll have you locked away faster than you can spit.”
“I beg your pardon,” Alynor said. “This is absurd and unnecessary.”
A man selling furs stepped over to intervene. “Right then, what do you think you’re getting away with here? This lady is only trying to help an old drunk off the street. I, for one, support the effort.”
“You stay out of this,” said the guard.
Then a second guard was there, and a third. They were asking what the trouble was, and the first guard was trying to explain it to them over the noise. Next Alynor knew, someone threw a punch. The world erupted in a flurry of fists and elbows. Someone backed into her and pushed her toward the melee.
She lost hold of Lana’s reins and heard the gelding give a frightened whinny before it trotted off down the lane. An elbow came up to crack her on the mouth. She fell to her knees as the pain came rushing in. Someone kicked her, though she could hardly tell who was who from down here. She wrapped her arms around her belly in time to intercept a second kick from elsewhere.
At some point amid the scuffle, a big white bird came screeching down from nowhere, flapping its wings through the crowd of merchants and guards and bystanders. From her place within the forest of legs, Alynor saw the bird land on the ground a short distance off and give another loud squawk, as if to beckon her toward it.
She began to crawl. Then a pair of strong hands grabbed her wrists and dragged her away behind a market stall, squirming and struggling.
“There, there, my lady,” said a thin, scratchy voice.
“Let me go. Let me go,” she insisted, thrashing her arms to free herself from his grasp.
“Alright, alright. There. I’ve let you go. Now will you calm down? You’re going to be fine.”
Alynor whirled to face her abductor. He was not at all what she’d been expecting; short and brawny, with the cut and tone of youth in his muscles. His skin bore an olive cast, while his small pointed nose, wide-set eyes, and prominent canine teeth reminded her of a goblin. Yet there was something kinder and simpler in those eyes than any goblin she had ever seen. Perhaps the most arresting thing about him was the large, sharp-beaked bird which came fluttering to rest on his shoulder as she watched.
“Are you alright, my lady?” asked the man.
“I think so,” she said. “My apologies. I must thank you for pulling me from that scuffle.”
“Needn’t do a thing of the sort,” he said. “I’m Jeebo.”
“Lady Alynor Mirrowell,” she said with a curtsy. “And who might this be?”
Jeebo gave a proud smile. “This is my gyrfalcon, Ristocule. He is the wisest and most distinguished of all falcons.”
The bird had pure white breast feathers with gray speckles on its wings and flanks. Alynor didn’t know if a bird could be wise, but the creature was certainly beautiful. There was a sort of intelligence about the thing, too; a near-human quality shining within its deep black eyes. It cocked its head and blinked at her, then gave a flutter of its broad pointed wings to reseat itself upon Jeebo’s shoulder.
“Is he… tame?” she asked.
Jeebo shook his head. “Wild as any bird of the open skies, though he’s trained to my voice. Mind you don’t try and pet him. He’s been known to take fingers.”
“Oh my. I’ll refrain, in that case,” she said, lowering her hand.
“I jest,” Jeebo said with a laugh. “Though he does nip from time to time. Is there somewhere I can escort you, my lady?”
“I lost my horse,” she said. “And I should like to find that poor old man and get him a meal.”
“They both ran off when the fighting started, I’m afraid. Though if I happen to spot either of them along the way, I’ll be
glad to point them out to you. Keep in mind, one can feed a horse, but one mustn’t ride a beggar.”
Alynor chuckled despite herself. “I hadn’t planned to. The horse is fed, and the beggar is too frail to bear my weight.”
They didn’t find the old beggar along the way, but Lana hadn’t gone far. She’d snagged her reins on a tree branch, and an exile woman had come over to free her. Alynor thanked the woman and gave her the silver coin she’d reserved for the beggar. There were plenty more where that came from; though she couldn’t cure their ailments, there were other ways she could be of aid to the refugees while she was here.
When they arrived at the Stars’ End, Darion was sitting at a table in the common room with Triolyn and Kestrel. Alynor was surprised to see them all together again so soon.
“By all the gods, woman,” said Darion, shooting to his feet. “I leave you alone for one afternoon and you drag in another grimy brigand to accompany us on our travels?”
“This man saved me from an almost certain trampling, my dearest.”
“What happened? Who’s responsible?”
“It was nothing,” Alynor said. “One of the city guards was refusing to allow my donation to an elderly beggar. A fight broke out, and Jeebo pulled me to safety.”
Darion wrinkled his mouth. “Jeebo, is it? I do appreciate your looking out for my wife.”
“Well met, friend,” Kestrel said, rising to give Jeebo’s hand a hearty shake.
“Hello there,” Triolyn said with a tip of his imaginary hat. Then to Kestrel, he said, “He’s a strange sort of half-breed, isn’t he?”
“You do have a knack for the abrasive,” Alynor scolded him.
“It’s alright, my lady,” Jeebo said. “Half doesn’t begin to describe it. I’ve got elven and orcish blood on my father’s side; dwarven, human, and littlefolk on my mother’s. I’m as mixed as they come. A mutt, you might say.”
“I’ve known feral cats with purer blood than you, if that’s the truth,” said Triolyn.
“That’s the truth.”
“No shock there. The south has always been a breeding ground for filth.”
“Why are you two back so early?” Alynor asked, desperate to change the subject despite Jeebo’s lack of offense.
“I’d forgotten how little there is to do in this city,” Triolyn complained. “I came over thinking the rest of you wouldn’t be back for a while. Imagine my disappointment.”
“I ignored Sir Darion’s advice and received a stern talking-to for my trouble,” said Kestrel. “They do not enjoy magic here. Of any kind.”
“You’re the sort who never learns,” said Darion.
“On the contrary,” said Kestrel. “He who never tests his limits is the sort who never learns. I happen to learn regularly.”
“I suggest you stop. You’re far too smart already.”
Kestrel smiled warmly. “Why thank you, sir.”
“Don’t think he meant it that way,” said Triolyn.
Darion flicked his eyes at Jeebo. “And I suppose you’re the sort who might be looking for employ under some Dathiri lord. Or even the king, perhaps.”
“That was not my intent,” said Jeebo, “but if you think it possible I might find service in a castle, I would be honored to join you.”
“I wasn’t asking you to—” Darion broke off in a sigh. “Oh, I suppose you might as well.”
Chapter 12
“I will not be the last Warcaster to walk the realms… but I certainly am the best,” boasted young Sir Darion, when the fighting was done.
“You’re the mouthiest—that much is certain,” Sir Jalleth replied.
“And I’d wager all the silver in the mines of Argentum I’ve every means to prove it true.”
“You haven’t that much silver to wager,” said Sir Jalleth. “Besides, you don’t have to prove it. I know that mouth of yours too well already.” The old knight guffawed with laughter. He laughed so hard and so long that after a time Sir Darion could not help but join him.
“Come—help me toss this fat, stinking ogre into the river, will you?” said Sir Jalleth, dismounting.
Darion knelt beside the creature, rubbing a clean spot into its massive breastplate with the quilted sleeve of his gambeson. A ray of sunlight split the treeline on the west bank of the river, illuminating the dented steel to give him a blurry glimpse of his reflection. When he tried to wipe the blood spatter from his cheeks and forehead, his sleeve left red smears in their place.
The two men cut the creature free of its armor, then hoisted it up and swung it into the fast-moving river with a splash. The corpse bobbed in the water, and the current swept it away. They sat on the bank for a time, heavy in their armor and due for a rest. Sir Darion, ever young and impatient, soon lost his appetite for idleness. “You fought well today… for your age,” he said, clapping his master on the shoulder as he pushed himself to his feet.
“As did you, my lad. You’ve come a ways since the day I took you to squire. You’re not that boy anymore, it’s true.”
Sir Darion gave him a scrutinizing look. “You don’t agree with me.”
“About what?”
“That I’ve become the best Warcaster in the realms.”
“You’re more than adequate. Orynn King will be pleased to hear of your exploits; I’ve no doubt about that.”
“But you don’t think I’m ready…”
“Ready for what, pray tell?”
“Ready to strike out on my own.”
Sir Jalleth was taken aback. “I suppose you’d be free to do that whenever you’d like,” he said, wounded. “You aren’t bound to my service—not any longer than you wish to be.”
“Perhaps I will set off on my own, then,” Darion said thoughtfully.
“What’s this about, lad? Now you’re a knight, and a Warcaster to boot, and you have a mind to walk away from everything we’ve built together? I may be getting on in my years, but I’ve a few left in me yet.”
Darion laughed. “You’ve made me better than I ever dreamed, old friend, but it’s high time I tracked down my father’s killers.”
“Oh, come off it, lad. You needn’t exact your revenge to prove your purpose. What good will it do? Put it in the past, and let’s have a real future. Together. There’s plenty more I can teach you. Why, I remember when I found you, you were clumsy as an ox. Couldn’t stow a suit of armor without tripping over it ten different ways. Ha. You were growing like a weed in those days. You just needed to get your feet under you. Took to it in no time, and you’ve been impressing me with your brains and your prowess ever since. You’ve got a drive in you, lad. Always have. This here is just another test of your mettle; another season of growth. You’ll get your feet under you soon enough.”
Sir Darion shook his head. “Not this time, brother Jalleth. This time it’s different. I thank you for everything you done for me. With all my heart, I thank you. When the war is done, I’ll travel with you to Castle Maergath. We’ll kneel before Orynn King to pay him homage and collect our bounty. Then I shall bid you farewell.”
“If that truly is what you want, I’ll not stand in your way.” When Sir Jalleth extended his hand, Darion grasped it and pulled him to his feet. He could almost see the old knight’s heart breaking beneath his layers of plate and chainmail. Darion supposed he had always known this day would come. He just hadn’t expected himself to desire freedom from his master so soon. He’d spent a long time thinking it over, and he was sure of it now.
Darion gave Sir Jalleth Highbridge a long, studying look. Then he nodded and turned away into the shadows of the Sparleaf.
***
When Darion ended his story that night, he could not stop the forlorn feeling coming over him. Being in the Sparleaf again—even within the confines of a cramped bedchamber at the Stars’ End—had brought the memory-dreams flooding back. He had fought amongst these very trees to preserve the lifeblood of the realms—or what he’d thought was their lifeblood as a young man. He tried no
t to show his sorrow, but Lady Alynor spotted it right away.
She lifted the bedclothes and slid over beside him to drape her arm across his chest. “What’s bothering you, my dearest?”
Darion hesitated. There was more to the story. Much more. But those events had taken place later, and in the moment he wasn’t sure he could tell her the ending. “It’s nothing, my lady. Only memories. I’m looking forward to tomorrow night. It’ll be your turn again. I hope you’ve got a good tale planned for me.”
She scoffed. “Oh, all my stories are about dances and dinners and tourneys and visits from foreign lords. Nothing like the grand adventures you’ve been on.”
“I enjoy your stories,” Darion confessed. “And they aren’t all like that. There was the one about the time the ogres attacked the Greenkeep’s postern gate and nearly got inside.”
“Bloody, filthy ogres,” she sighed. She gave him a squeeze. “I’m glad you’re here to protect me from such.”
Darion grunted with derision. “I didn’t do that very well on the road past Fenria Town.”
She gave him a playful slap on the arm. “You’ve been brushing up on your spells since then. You’ve quite impressed me with them, if I hadn’t mentioned it.”
“You are kind to say it, my lady.”
She pushed herself up suddenly so she could look into his eyes. “No, Darion. I fear I haven’t been kind to you lately.”
“Nonsense,” he said, studying her face. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve been keeping something from you.”
Darion sat up against the headboard, curious and slightly alarmed. “What is it, Alynor?”
“You must understand, my love… I’ve been simply dying to tell you for such a long time. But I was afraid.”
Darion could hardly stand it any longer, but he kept his calm. “Whatever it is, you can tell me. You don’t have to be afraid.”
Alynor’s face was strained and tentative in the candlelight. She took his hand in hers and placed it on her belly. “Our child grows inside me.” She swallowed. “There. I’ve said it.”