The Valley of Ten Crescents Series (Box Set: Books 1-3)

by Tristan J. Tarwater

  Lights was south, she knew that. He stuck to Mielkin and Sedrakin baronies. If she found him, they’d sort out something. Maybe things were just flipped over in the northern baronies.

  But Tender. Tavera sighed and opened her pack, looking through it for a clean tunic. She shook her head as she thought about their conversation, what he had said. She recognized the expression in his eyes when he looked at her. But there was something else. The way he looked at everything. People were naturally good, Tender thought. While she didn’t think this was true in any way, she didn’t want to tear his strange worldview apart. There was something comforting in his face, a nobleness she didn’t want to see scarred. At the same time, Tavera couldn’t believe people were naturally good. In her experience, people naturally looked out for themselves and if they were lucky or unlucky, they did so for some loved ones as well.

  Tavera pulled britches and a pair of socks out of her bag and folded them carefully. The sound of rain starting to fall outside made her feel even wearier but the idea of a soak in the hot water got her off the bed and out the door. She locked it behind her before she listened at the top of the stairs. Apparently enough time had passed; the sound of patrons talking and glasses clinking together could be made out from the upper level. Quietly she walked down the stairs, knowing she’d have to walk across the bar and Tender’s line of sight to get out. Oh well. Nothing to be done about it.

  Tavera walked down the landing and into the bar, making for the door with a nonchalant kind of urgency, measured and slow and obviously not caring about anything else happening in the bar. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Tender look up and before he could say anything, she shot him a glance and a smirk, acknowledging him. He just smiled. She noticed he had cleaned up.

  Tavera pushed upon the door and sucked in the cool spring air, the rain not coming down hard enough to bother walking quickly. It felt nice and would only make the hot bath even better. She noted the spots in the mud where Halls and his men had been thrown, chunks of grass ripped up from the earth and the men nowhere to be seen. Probably headed deeper into the Freewild to cause real mischief. She sniffled and made her way to the house Tender had said was the bathhouse, taking long strides in the springtime rain.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Trades and Acquaintances

  Tavera threw the knife. Quicker than she could blink it whizzed through the air and sunk into the tree trunk. She sniffed in disappointment; the blade was outside the ring she had drawn on the trunk in charcoal. Tavera pushed back her failure and pressed on, weighing the next dagger in her hand. She wrapped her fingers around the tip of the blade, feeling the sharp metal which would eat into the wood. Don’t flick your wrist, she told herself, licking her lips.

  A spring breeze rustled the branches of the tree she was aiming for. Lunch and cards had been fun. Tavera had won a meal and a bit of laughter from some locals of Whitend. Now she was trying to grab some time to herself and practice throwing knives. Growing up, she’d heard of people being able to shoot daggers from their hands. People who could throw knives occasionally showed up in Derk’s more unbelievable stories. But Tavera had actually seen a man throw knives in a little town on the west side of the Valley, before she headed east. He used special daggers, smaller than normal, their hilts just a smooth, weighted extension of the blade. Tavera had lifted her first throwing dagger out of the body the man had left behind and traded for another two. Tavera let the second dagger fly, trying to keep her wrist straight.

  The dagger emitted a low thud as it sank into the wood. Tavera smiled with pleasure but didn’t waste time, switching the remaining dagger to her right hand. She weighed it, feeling the grooves in the metal. She wanted to be able to throw all three in quick succession and have them hit the target, or at least close. Just as Tavera was about to let the dagger fly, the sound of footsteps made her ear perk up. She stepped sideways, a bit more off the road as she saw a figure approach out of the corner of her eye.

  Judging the stranger to be a ways off yet, Tavera readied the dagger once more, eyes on the target. Tavera let the third dagger loose, this one bouncing off the last one she had thrown with a clang.

  “Hems,” Tavera cursed, pursing her lips and walking toward the tree to retrieve her blades. She turned her head to see who was coming out of the woods and waved a quick hello. He seemed about her height, with the kind of skin which shouldn’t be out in the sun too much but evidently had been. Hair the color of straw stuck up on his head in different directions and his bare arms looked like ropes. Tavera squinted and saw the backs of his arms were covered in freckles. What pulled the smile from her eyes was the sword at his hip and the bow slung across his back. Most likely he used them on things like rabbits; a pair of them hung from his belt. She wrapped her fingers around her dagger, eyes still on him and she yanked, jerking it out of the tree.

  He couldn’t be much older than her, Tavera judged. Something around the eyes looked familiar to her. He nodded to her in greeting, looking over at the tree. He furrowed his brows and wrinkled his nose at Tavera, an unflattering expression on his face. “You shouldn’t be throwing them daggers at the trees.”

  Tavera raised an eyebrow at him and flipped one of the daggers in her hand as he looked her over. Evidently he was trying to figure out who she was. “Why not?” she asked. “I’m trying to better myself, pick up a new trade. The Traveling Caravan of the Three Sisters needs a new knife thrower and I’m hoping to get picked up by them. If I don’t practice, how will I ever get in? Unless you need a knife thrower here in Whitend,” she offered, cocking her head. “Of course, if you don’t want me practicing on this tree,” Tavera turned on her heels and held the knife out toward the tree and then turned slowly toward the man, the tip of her tongue slipping past her lips as she pointed the blade toward the man. “You’re…about…as wide as the tree. We could make this work.”

  “Moths for brains,” the man muttered, pulling away from her and averting his eyes. He spit to the side and walked off toward the town proper, looking over his shoulder once as she watched him go.

  “You’re no fun! You’ve got no ambition!” she called after him with a laugh. Tavera slid the blade into her hands and hurled it at the tree, listening as it sank into the wood. A satisfied smile crept across her mouth. She retrieved the knife and tucked the small blades back into her boots and the other into her sleeve.

  It was nice to have the weapons close to her body, easily hidden and always on her. Her shortsword was tucked away most of the time. It wasn’t needed for every job. Useful but a specialized tool. Walking around with a sword made one a target. It was something to be checked in at some gates, not allowed in some establishments. Daggers on the other hand were easily hidden. Useful for cutting off the leg of a rabbit or threatening someone. Daggers were better at creeping along where skin rested over veins, she thought. No flourish, no brandishing. To the point.

  Tavera couldn’t help but pull out the dagger and flip it over in her hands. Maybe she could learn how to juggle knives. People always paid to see things like that. She had worked at a tea and spice shop when she was younger and knew a bit about tinctures and brews. But she wasn’t sure how much a traveling tea merchant and spicer could make. The old shop used to get shipments in from all over the Valley and had a garden outside the wall providing it with common items. Tavera wasn’t planning on disturbing any earth any time soon unless it was with her own two feet on her way out. Staying put and sowing didn’t suit her. Besides. Throwing knives was fun.

  The blade fell into her hand, flat, easy. She passed by houses, fields and gardens as she walked, waving to people working outside. Tavera saw an old man smoking a pipe on his porch while a few children played at his feet. Evening meal aromas wafted through the air, stews and soups and even a roast permeating the spring breeze. She would get something to eat at the bar after the service. Barley and lentils and spring greens mixed together with a mug of beer, the thickest Tender had.

  Tender. Tavera smirked
to herself. He was a decent cook and an exceptional brewer. He kept a clean set of rooms and was generally helpful to the denizens of Whitend. She turned a corner and stopped short, almost surprised to see the blond man with the rabbits and Tender talking outside the bar. Tender frowned, his mouth thin under his bushy mustache. Tavera noted the similarity around the eyes between the two, and even in the nose. The ears were different though. It wasn’t just the piercings the rabbit man had. His ears were bigger. They probably turned red when he was embarrassed.

  The rabbit man held the carcasses out toward Tender and Tender backed away, pointing toward the back door of the bar. The rabbit man lowered his head and shook it, glancing at the forest. It seemed Tender was trying to get him to go into the bar but something was keeping the other man from doing so. They talked back and forth for a few more breaths, the rabbits swinging from the man’s hands.

  Tender finally threw his hands in the air and took the rabbits, holding them away from him as if not to ruin his clothes. The rabbit man pulled away, walking back toward the forest or at least away from the bar. “Love you, Little,” Tender called after him. Little called something back that Tavera couldn’t make out and continued down the road. She saw Tender’s shoulders drop as he watched the man leave before slowly entering the bar.

  Tavera turned to leave as well and jumped, finding herself face to face with Priestess Kella. The priestess reeled back, eyes wide. Tavera laughed nervously, her face growing hot. “Afternoon, Sister,” she purred, hands behind her back. “You headed to the bar to get ready for services?”

  The priestess frowned. Her long, dark hair was pulled back in a messy bun, her robes slightly wrinkled. The odor of alcohol wafted from the holy person, incense and booze telling Tavera she had probably been praying and drinking. Sister Kella looked close to being past her child-bearing years but creases on her face and years at the bottle made her look older. Something had happened to her when she was younger, Tavera was sure of it. Sister Kella seemed too sad and at her age the priestess should have been serving in a temple further into the territory, or at least with a few priestesses under her. Instead she was in Whitend, with position and no power. Just a helpful, perhaps overzealous barkeep who provided her with a steady hand and a steady supply of alcohol.

  “No,” Sister Kella snorted. “I’m watching you.”

  Tavera cocked a brow. “Are you, now? Why might that be?”

  “Boredom,” Kella coughed. “I’ve seen Mam Karya churn her butter so many times, it’s lost its excitement.” Kella started walking past the trees, down the road, Tavera trailing beside her. “I’ve seen everything here, over and over. Garwin killing his chickens. Herika making her brew. Little bringing in his catch. Tender, with his arms crossed, watching over it all.” Kella reached within her robes and pulled out a flask, unscrewing the top. “You’re the most exciting thing to pull through here since we were booted from Ayilkin.”

  Tavera nodded, hearing the mention of Little. After two days in the small town, it was the first time she had seen him or heard mention of him. Curious as she was, she wasn’t about to ask outright. “Most people like a predictable life, Sister,” Tavera offered. She found the knife she had slipped into her jacket and turned it over in her hand. “Hasn’t the Goddess set things in motion, routines, that we might learn from patterns?”

  “Eh, patterns are for sewing dresses,” Sister Kella drawled. “I could use a change of work and garment. I’ll give you the robes and you give me the knife and hood.”

  “Sister, I would not give you a knife,” Tavera chuckled. “Just as you would not trust me with your robes.”

  “So you don’t trust me?” Sister Kella said. She took another swig from her flask.

  “I don’t know you,” Tavera said, turning the knife over again. “I mean, you’re a priestess. You know how to pray and light incense. What would you do with a knife?”

  “What if I needed it for protection? Ever think of that?” Sister Kella humphed, closing her flask and putting it back in her robes. Her eyes were watery and bloodshot.

  “Tell you what. If you need protecting, you tell me or Tender. We’ll sort it all out, Sister,” Tavera smiled. Something about the priestess’ face puzzled Tavera. It worried her. The smile dropped from her mouth.

  “You’ll leave. They always leave,” Kella muttered. “Except when you don’t want them to, then they stick, don’t they?”

  Tavera narrowed her eyes at the priestess, the woman’s cynical words sounding like something Tavera would have heard on the streets, not from a robed holy woman. Her thoughts turned to Derk and how he had been taken from her, and her promise to him, which she regretted now. Tavera remembered his face when he had asked her in the temple those years back. He made her promise if he was ever caught, she would not try to rescue him, but run away and live her life. She had said yes without thinking too much about it. It had been a holiday after all and there were boys to dance with and drinks to imbibe and purses to steal. Her heart still ached when she thought of Derk. If Tavera had her way, Derk would be with her still. But he wasn’t, was he?

  Tavera flipped the knife over in her hand again, trying to focus on the blade and not the feeling in her chest. “Who’s sticking to you, Priestess?” she asked. “Who do you want to shake off?”

  Sister Kella stopped in her tracks. Her worn and weary face told Tavera she wanted to answer. Her tears told even more. Tavera pressed her lips together and held the knife in her hand. She held it toward her, hilt first, offering it to the older woman.

  The priestess stared at the blade. For a breath, Tavera considered pulling it back before the priestess could take it. Sister Kella looked from the knife to Tavera and back to the knife again. Finally Sister Kella shook her head and she backed away a few steps, shame in her gaze. “I really can’t,” the priestess murmured. “I shouldn’t ask for your knife.” The priestess blushed as she took yet another step back. “I should go. Prayers are soon, I must get ready.”

  “Right,” Tavera said, still eyeing the priestess. She blinked and then tucked the dagger away, noting the priestess’ eyes following the blade the whole way. “I’m off to Tender’s to try and get a drink before the bar is turned into a temple.”

  “Gotta spend your gambling money somewhere, eh?” the priestess asked. Her eyes sparkled a bit, her mood seemingly lifted.

  “Better I spend it here than in the Valley proper,” Tavera grinned. “Besides, I gotta make money somehow. I’ve no trade or skill.”

  “Except gambling,” the priestess snorted. “And lying. I’m sure you’ve something else up your sleeve. A real name, perhaps?”

  “Just knives, sister,” Tavera replied, bowing her head at the priestess’ accusation. “One and the same, am I right?”

  “I’m sure you often are.” The priestess chortled and bowed her head in farewell, heading off in the direction of the little house where she stayed. Tavera watched her, wondering why the priestess hadn’t taken the knife.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Personal Qualms

  Inside the tables were pushed aside to the sides of the room, stacks of chairs scattered through the room. Tender and one of the young women carried a table to the side to clear the floor to make room for worshipers. A few patrons straggled at the moved tables or bellied up at the counter, nursing their drinks and wrapping up games. Tavera raised a brow as Tender’s eyes fell upon her, following her as she crossed the room and made her way behind the bar. Tavera smiled as demurely as possible at Tender, his face pinched with annoyance. “I’ll be right back,” he said to the woman, setting down his side of the table before he headed toward Tavera.

  “What’ll it be?” she asked, picking up a glass and setting it on the counter. “You look thirsty, Tender, you do, so let Point get you a drink.”

  “Please get out from behind my bar,” he said. The barkeep sounded irritated. “Please.”

  “Well--”

  “Please.”

  Tavera stifled a nervous lau
gh and raised her hands up in surrender. Tender strode past her, switching places. Once behind the counter the barkeep seemed more relaxed. He picked up the cup Tavera had set down. “Now,” he said, the typical joviality returning to his face. He smiled at Tavera. “What can I get you?”

  “I didn’t want to bother you, is all,” Tavera offered, hopping up on a stool. “I know you’se getting ready for prayers. Don’t want the supplicants to start late on account of my being thirsty.”

  “Getting the drinks is my job,” Tender reminded her.

  “And this is your establishment, after all,” Tavera reasoned, drumming her fingers. The thought that she had no place to call her own bothered her but there wasn’t time to dwell on the fact. “Well, since I’ve got you here,” she sighed, looking over the bottles on the back wall, avoiding Tender’s focused gaze, “just a bottle of your dark,” she decided.

  “Dark drink for a dark lady,” Tender joked, turning to get the bottle.

  Tavera considered snapping back at him but couldn’t think of anything to say. She folded her arms and watched as Tender uncorked the bottle and set it in front of her. Tavera shot him a look of disapproval as she brought the bottle to her lips, taking a swig. It was thick and malty, with fine bubbles that made it creamy. “It’s a good beer,” she said. “Your recipe?”

  “My mam’s,” Tender said quietly. For a breath he just stood there, staring at the ground. Tavera took another gulp. “Oh, that’ll be two blueies.”

  “Just add it to my room tab,” Tavera said.

  The corners of Tender’s smile dropped and he put his hands on the counter top. “Your room…Miss Point--”

  “Something added to nothing is still something, Tender,” Tavera said, taking a step away from the bar, holding the beer bottle in both hands. “It’s simple figures. Most people can sort it.”

  “So you’re giving me permission to charge you for the drinks?” Tender asked.