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Dreams of Darkness Rising

Page 48

by Kitson, Ross M.


  The river trail took them into the south-western corner of Eviksburg along a road called Castle Lane. The two riders halted at the crossroads and Aldred shook Ekris’s black gloved hand.

  “I can recommend the Travellers Rest Inn, just thirty paces up Eviks Bar if you need somewhere to stay,” Aldred said, slipping off his riding cloak in the warmth of the sun.

  “My thanks, but I think I shall rejoin the carnival folk for a few nights before setting off south. I have...a little business to conclude.”

  Aldred nodded, thinking better than to ask the details.

  “And is it Artoria you head to next then, Ekris?”

  “There or Kokis, I am as yet uncertain what pilgrim’s trail I shall take in my quest for the highest art,” Ekris said with a flourish. “If you have need of my...talents once more I shall be found on the common for the next two nights. I bid you farewell, may your god be with you.”

  Ekris turned his dark horse and rode north up Eviks Bar, weaving through the bustle of carts and townsfolk on the main thoroughfare. Aldred waited, his thoughts on Ekris’s offer. What would the Azaguntan want in return if he asked him to help free Sir Unhert? He dashed the notion with irritation; he was slipping into a fantasy world with these crazy plans of escape.

  Aldred urged his horse through the throng into Eviksburg. He entered the Market Square and four young ladies gamboled past, huddled and giggling. One, a tall pretty brunette who Aldred thought perhaps was a seamstress, stepped out before his horse.

  “M’lord. Pardon my brashness but will you be coming to the dance tonight?”

  Aldred flushed a touch then smiled.

  “If Eviksburg’s maidens are half as beautiful as you then I shall be there before it even starts.”

  The girls fell apart laughing then one, a buxom lass with dancing green eyes, said, “Who said that Milenda is a maiden, m’lord?”

  Aldred laughed as Milenda began chasing her cackling friend down Eviks Bar. The remaining two looked shyly at the young lord, curtseyed then scampered off.

  Aldred dismounted then led his horse through the square and down a narrow street that squeezed between two tall townhouses. The black and white timber frontage and galleried first floor made them loom overhead as he passed through into a second smaller square. This square was a bustle of activity as dozens of townsfolk set about arranging the town hall for that night’s function.

  Livor Korianson stood talking with Guntir Hawkson. Hawkson was looking dour and was flanked by six of the town guards, who watched distractedly as the barrels of ale and cider were bounced past on the cobbles. Linkil Bailskin, a silversmith, loitered near the group.

  Aldred handed the reins of Greymane to a stocky manservant of Livor’s.

  “Father said you were planning a dance, Livor. Was the printing press not enough of a distraction?” Aldred asked.

  “The Goldorian was delayed. I understand he got into some bother with someone officious in Feldoni. They’re always a bit touchy about our pious neighbours up in the borderlands.”

  “Fight a war against them and you’ll see why, m’lord,” Guntir said. “Are you well, Lord Aldred? Talk is you ran into the beast up at the castle.”

  “Indeed, Guntir, a horror that I fear will stay with me many a night. All these guards of yours seem a bit of overkill for a maidens’ ball. Are you expecting Lord Poris to cause a ruckus?”

  “That would be more than welcome considering the alternative. Ask your friend, Lord Korianson, here.”

  Aldred raised an eyebrow at Livor, sensing the tension. Livor shrugged, as calm as ever.

  “We have the approval of Burghmaster Smithson for the plan.”

  “With respect, he is so deep in grief and anger that he’d approve a virginal sacrifice on the steps of the chapel,” Guntir said. “Silver quarrels or no, I’m still not happy.”

  He stormed off with his six men and the silversmith in tow. Livor frowned and led Aldred to a bench at the edge of the square, under the shade of a chestnut tree.

  “What is this plan Guntir is so angry about?”

  “It’s not a problem,” Livor said. “He forgets his place. Listen you tasked me with finding more about this creature whilst you went away to the barrowlands last week. Well I’ve done that and more. I spent a few days digging around the chapel library at St Kirchols.”

  He reached into his pocket and brought forth a small book, made from bound browned paper.

  “I’ve made notes in here about all the things I’ve discovered. I’m almost definite that the creature is a vampyr.

  “They adopt the form of a giant wolf when they hunt at night and while they are in that guise they can only be hurt by magic or by silver,” Livor said, showing Aldred his messy scrawl in the note book.

  “So we hire a mage, Livor. This isn’t a creature to fool with, trust me.”

  “Don’t be like that. We have sent for a mage from Thetoria City. But he won’t be here for a fortnight as he’s going to Birin first to pick up some warrior who’s an authority on vampyrs.”

  “An Air-mage? An Eerian? Now that’ll be bad news when they find out father’s got a Knight of the Air tucked away in our dungeons.”

  “Not all Air-mages are Eerian, though most are. Its probably one of those fools with a low sash that loiter for scraps at Prince Altred’s table, pretending to be fearsome battle mages when they’re actually quill scraping visalines. No, it’s too long a wait for the Burghmaster. When he found out I was nosing around into his daughter’s death he pushed me into setting a trap.”

  “A trap? You mean this ball is a trap? Livor, are you certain about this? Does my father know?”

  “The baron? Of course. Smithson went to him whilst you were away, when he’d recovered from his illness,” Livor replied, slipping the book back into his trousers.

  Aldred was feeling light headed in the evolving heat. Everything seemed to be charging ahead from him. Two weeks ago he would have embraced the thrill and spontaneity like a true Thetorian. Now it just seemed reckless.

  “We’ll have concealed guards all over the place,” Livor said with confidence. “They’re armed with crossbows. Linkil has cast some silver quarrel tips for the men. If the vampyr comes buzzing around the honey pot then we’ll slay the vile beast.”

  “And what part would you like me to play in your grandiose scheme, Livor?”

  “I’ll need your sword. When the beast is downed by the quarrels we shall have to strike off its head with a silver blade. Your sword is magnate is it not? God-silver as they used to call it.”

  “My sword? Well, of course, Livor. And do you need me to...?”

  “No, no. It would create suspicion if you weren’t at the celebration. Just act your usual self, my friend—the life and soul of the party. Now, I’ve got to get on. It starts at seven, at sundown.”

  “Really? I’ll need to sort out an outfit sharpish then. Perhaps my best chainmail?”

  “Very amusing. Oh, I’d almost forgotten. I was chatting to some of the carnival folk who are helping with the entertainment and a pair told me about something very curious that happened near Silverton, with some Eerians and a Thetorian—called Hunor.”

  Aldred jumped to his feet and grasped Livor’s arm.

  “Where are they? I must talk to them!”

  “I knew that’d perk you up. This mystery is the most fun I’ve had since Thetoria City. They’re camped up on the common. Ask for Agnes the bearded lady or Kulkan the dwarf. Watch the dwarf though, he’s a touch odd.”

  Aldred nodded and, leaving Greymane secured by the side of the Town Hall, he hastened off towards the common. It would appear he was to see Ekris sooner than he had thought.

  ***

  The carnival folk had spread chaotically across the common, their tents and wagons interspersed like gaudy blooms amongst the trees. Eviks Common sat on the eastern end of the town and ran to the banks of the River Eviks, close to where the bridge took the Feldoni Road over to the south side of the river.
r />   The summer air was sonorous with the music of a dozen instruments; drums and lutes mingled with pipes and whistles. The staccato patter of chatter and laughter had its own melody and even Aldred’s mood was elevated by the vibrancy of the camp.

  Aldred strode with a crowd of townsfolk, drawn in like moths to a flame by the energy and bizarreness of the scene. A small troupe of actors were practicing a play based on the Fall of Kevor and with a shudder Aldred saw the grotesque masques being varnished by a scruffy child.

  The sun was hot and many of the carnival folk had migrated towards the river and were splashing in the shallows. Aldred looked about for Ekris amongst the throng but he could not see him.

  A cloud of midges danced in the shade of the willows at the riverbank. A score of folk were in and around the water and perhaps a half-dozen under the trees. Aldred approached a couple who stood under the eaves of a huge oak. The woman was slender and dressed in a beaded outfit that highlighted her ample chest. With a start he saw she had a green snake wrapped around her arms, which she stroked as if it were a pet cat. Her companion was a black skinned Incandian, who stood smoking a foul smelling pipe.

  “Can you point me towards Agnes or Kulkan?”

  The pair glanced at him and then returned to their conversation.

  Aldred slipped two silver sovereigns out of his purse, feeling a touch foolish. The Incandian immediately turned to him.

  “Sorry, pal, didn’t quite make that out. Who was it you wished to see?” he said in a voice as deep as the ocean.

  “Agnes. Or Kulkan.”

  To his relief the Incandian took the coins in his ebony hand. The Thetorian could feel the heat coming from his grasp.

  “They’re down here, I’ll take you over.”

  He heard the dwarf before he saw him. The midget was covered from head to toe in tattoos and was busy threatening a Thetorian fire-eater. He looked up as the Incandian approached.

  “You the one that Livor sent? Did—did you just say I was tiny?”

  “I—I, no I didn’t,” Aldred said in confusion.

  A corpulent woman with a massive bushy beard stepped out from the shade of a willow. Her shoulders were glowing red from the sun and she was sweating like a horse.

  “Kulkan, give it a rest. Lord Livor said you might come see us, my sweet. Thought you’d be interested in some of our tales.”

  “Aye. What we saw in Silverton. Because if you called me a pee-wee I’d slap you so hard you’d be crapping teeth,” Kulkan said.

  Aldred ignored the dwarf and said to Agnes, “He told me you’d seen some Knights of the Air near Silverton. When was that?”

  Agnes scratched her beard and Aldred, taking his cue, slipped some silver from his purse again.

  “We was camping near Silverton a few weeks ago, mid Blossomstide. Exiki has his annual fayre then and though he only likes the pretty boys from Kokis the townsfolk like a more traditional show.

  “Anyhow the mists were down from the Silver Hills and we was having a cheeky pot o’ mead or two when this lad walks into the camp. Real looker. Local I’d say; had his hair like yours, tied back. He had a real roguish grin. I’d a taught him a trick or two.”

  Aldred shuddered at the thought and nodded for her to continue.

  “So no sooner than he’s in the camp than a bloody griffon drops from the sky with this posh tart on top o’ it. She offers a stack o’ coin for the handsome lad but, well no disrespect, but we don’t like the gold o’ that sort.

  “So the lad’s off into the crowd like mercury. Anyhow out o’ the mist pops this bald guy. More tattoos on his head than Kulkan. Reckons he’s a sorcerer as soon as I sees ‘im.”

  “I’d a taken him. Punch to th’ kidneys then a good stomp on the baldy head. I would of. Killed him. No mistake,” Kulkan said.

  “He’d a lit you up like a funeral pyre, you fool,” Agnes said. “He grabs the Thetorian lad and shocks him real good. Thought the poor boy were dead the way he did him, but the posh knight stops him.”

  “Did you catch any names?” Aldred said, his guts churning with excitement.

  “She were called Lady Orla by the wizard and he were called Ekra something I think. The Thetorian lad, they says he was a thief and a prisoner. Called ‘im Hunor,” Agnes said.

  Hunor Markson, it had to be—with Eerian knights and a mage, before coming to the castle and the massacre. He had been a prisoner of the knights. They had come for the crystal that Unhert alleged was stolen by his father and that Quigor and his master coveted for some reason. If Hunor was a thief, which would tally with what Agnes just said and the inferences from Hela Markson, then he may have been involved in taking this crystal from perhaps Eeria. Yet what had this to do with vampyrs and black magic. He was missing a vital key in this whole mystery. What was his father’s role in all this?

  The simple conclusion was that he needed Sir Unhert freed from the dungeons.

  Aldred thanked Agnes and was about to leave when he asked on a whim, “Is Ekris to be found nearby?”

  It was as if he had thrown ice cold water over the trio before him. Agnes looked stunned, the dwarf uneasy and it befell the Incandian to speak.

  “He’s back in the camp this morning. How come you by his name?”

  “I have had use of his talents of late. I met him on the road south of the river almost a week ago. Why?”

  The Incandian looked around shiftily and said, “Take care, young lord. There’s darkness around him. He’s the pause before the storm.”

  Aldred was about to ask more when he spotted Ekris striding towards the four of them. The thespian had changed into bright red and yellow robes, clearly to play the part in some drama. His dark expression lifted as he spotted Aldred.

  “Lord Aldred! It would seem our paths are intertwined like the ivy that crawls up a wall. I overheard the snake girl talking of a young noble honouring our camp. What has brought you here?”

  “Oh, I thought I’d come nose around the carnival prior to this evening.”

  Ekris smiled thinly and his eyes flitted over the three that stood with Aldred.

  “Indeed? And what witty anecdotes have you being sharing, Agnes? Or is it prospective pugilism with the painted midget?”

  The dwarf looked at his feet, shaking.

  “N-nothing of note, Ekris. The lord was most polite to humour us.”

  “Well I’ll spare you more inane prattle, my lord,” Ekris said. “If you have the time I’ll introduce you to the players as we practice for Holden’s (abridged) Fall of Kevor.”

  Aldred nodded politely and strolled from the riverbank with Ekris.

  “I thought, perhaps erroneously, that you’d come in need of my—talents again,” Ekris said.

  Aldred shook his head but in his mind, as he considered Sir Unhert in the dungeons, he thought it may well come to that, Mortis save me. It may well come to that.

  ***

  In the end Aldred had sent one of Poris’s men as a courier to return to Blackstone Castle for his evening attire and had changed in Livor’s room at the Traveller’s Rest. He donned his best leather trousers, red doublet and silk shirt.

  His eyes settled upon the small note book on the table by the window. He eased the cover open and glanced at the pages of Livor’s scribbles. His friend had certainly researched the creature well, yet Aldred could not help feeling a degree of uncertainty about the merits of Livor’s plan.

  The book was gone when he returned from the bar an hour later and Livor was sat in the room with his pipe. Aldred had indulged in a goblet of Feldorian merlot; he had acquired a taste for it whilst a guest at Lady Hela’s house.

  “Are you certain you have enough men for your trap, Livor?”

  “For the last time, we are well prepared,” he said. “I was thinking how odd it is that our lives, so uneventful to this stage, are now a flurry of activity and intrigue. How is that you can meander for so many years searching for purpose, for stimulation beyond the dullness of life as a noble, then adventure co
mes to your doorstep?”

  “You seem to imply some purpose in this horror that has befallen the town. Are you saying this is, somehow, destiny?”

  Livor dragged on his pipe, smiling.

  “We’ve all got a part to play in this world. For some of us greatness does not wait. It thrusts itself upon us, kicking and screaming. This is our time, Aldred. There is a bigger scheme afoot here. Work of the gods or not, our little corner of the world is being pushed forward onto a much bigger stage.”

  “I could do without the limelight, Livor. I’d never asked for this.”

  “Could you do without it? You, my most impulsive friend? A Thetorian to the core? No, you may not have asked for it, but deep down we’ve both wanted this. We may be tiny cogs in this machine of life or we may be the giant wheel—only time will tell. But I sense there are great deeds ahead for one or both of us.”

  “Perhaps. The machinations of the gods are always confusing,” Aldred said. A sense of dread washed over him.

  “Whatever happens to us though, Livor, you are my sense, my direction. Stay my friend, as I shall always be yours, wherever this journey in life takes us.”

  Livor stood and hugged his friend with an intensity that brought a lump to Aldred’s throat. The two young men clung to each other silently, like sailors on a sinking ship.

  In time Livor pulled away and donning his cloak, sword and small crossbow he extinguished his pipe. Aldred fastened his black and silver half cloak and the two descended the stairs and went through the common room of the inn.

  ***

  The pair remained silent as they strode up Eviks Bar towards the town square. The clock tower struck seven as they turned down the narrower street that ran to the courtyard in front of the town hall.

  The music was resonating around the houses and alleys that bordered the courtyard and the far end was thick with townsfolk jostling to get into the hall. Two grandly dressed footmen were greeting the guests as they entered. The excitement was tangible and moreso as a gaggle of girls saw Aldred arrive.

  He reached the crowd and deflected enquiries about his health with a smile. Livor patted him on the shoulder then slipped off to meet Guntir.

 

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