The ring of metal sliding against metal was the only sound in the tavern as Gastious removed the sword from the scabbard on his back. Liam felt the cold steel on his chin. Gastious tilted Liam’s head back, so that they stood eye to eye.
“Liam Foster,” he said, twisting his sword gently back and forth.
Liam could feel the blade lightly digging into his flesh, barely painful, but sending a strong message. “Yes, sir,” Liam answered.
“You were once a warrior, were you not?” Gastious asked. His voice sounded impossibly deep, and full of saliva. Liam recoiled at the smell of his breath.
“Yes, sir. Many years ago,” he answered.
“You were Sha’grath,” asserted Gastious, then withdrew his sword.
“You flatter me, sir,” answered Liam. “But who could believe a man such as I could have held such a distinction?”
Gastious grunted and turned his back to Liam, as if Liam had made a good point.
He spoke so that all could hear him. “The King has uncovered a plot against him. One of his generals has been suffering from the delusion that he could become King. He plots with others, including a group of young men in this area who call themselves the Talons of Freedom. Is there anyone here with any knowledge of this group?” he asked, cleaning his thick fingernails with the tip of his sword.
Liam grew more fearful as Gastious slowly walked around the room, closer to Brandi. He looked to the stage. Lyra was not there. Perhaps at least she was safe.
Wiersch interjected nervously, “We know the Talons of Freedom to be a very secretive lot, but if you know anything, you must come forward. You will be rewarded for your service to the King.”
“And if we find you know something but do not come forward,” Gastious said menacingly, “you will be punished.” He suddenly stopped picking his nails and thrust his sword towards Brandi, stopping a finger’s breadth from her throat.
Brandi’s brave face broke into fear for a moment, but she regained her composure quickly. Liam looked to his bartender, Durk, who nodded. There were two swords behind the bar, and although Liam had not used one in many years, he would if necessary.
“Foster,” bellowed Gastious. “This is your daughter, is she not?”
“Yes, she is,” Liam answered. He felt Rhoie stirring. He stood in front of him and grabbed his wrist. He squeezed it hard, signalling him to do nothing.
“What do you know of the Talons of Freedom?” Gastious asked.
“I know only that they are a group of young men who are said to keep camp in this area,” answered Liam. “They were once notorious hijackers on the road from the capital. Now they seem to fancy themselves as freedom fighters. As far as I am aware, the Talons reside deep in the forest. I have never set eyes on one, and I have only heard word of their deeds from passing travellers.”
“We’ve been informed that one of the Talons may be among you,” Gastious insisted. “Do you have any idea who it might be?”
Gastious watched Liam closely and moved his sword near Brandi’s neck in the same stroke he might use to cut her throat. He slid behind her and grabbed her hair with his other hand. Brandi winced at the pain.
A hot hatred flashed through Liam’s body. “Please, sir. I swear to you, I know nothing more.”
“Okay, Foster,” Gastious said. “Why should I believe you?”
“I wish to help you, sir. But they keep themselves well-hidden,” answered Liam. “Surely you can see for yourself there are no Talons among us? The Talons of Freedom wear tattoos on their faces. You can clearly see there are no such markings on any of our guests. Indeed I would never allow anyone entry to my tavern who wore such markings, sir. Please, believe me.”
Gastious grunted and released Brandi, thrusting her towards Liam. Liam caught her and held her close.
“All right, Foster. I believe you, for now,” Gastious said.
Wiersch interjected, “I have heard the young members do not yet have tattoos on their faces, sir.”
“Is that so?” Gastious asked.
“Yes, yes,” Wiersch said excitedly. “Some do not have tattoos at all, others start with them on their backs or their necks.”
Liam looked back to Rhoie. Could it be? He remembered the strange way Rhoie had abruptly interrupted Brandi as she cleaned his neck earlier. Brandi’s hand tightened around his.
“All right, men,” Gastious ordered. “Gather all the men between fifteen and thirty-five on the stage.”
The King’s soldiers started pushing through the crowd and pulling the young men aside, including Rhoie.
When they were finished, there were nine men crushed together on the small stage.
“Well, Foster, you say there are none of these men in your tavern. Let us see if you are a man of your word,” he said as he ripped the shirt from the first man on the stage. His skin was free of tattoos. Gastious pushed him back in the crowd. The man stumbled and tried to pull on what was left of his shirt.
“Oh, Rhoie,” Brandi whimpered, and then Liam knew that Rhoie was marked.
“Remain calm,” said a voice behind Liam. “Don’t turn around.”
Liam nodded once. He recognised the voice as Lyra’s.
“I can help Rhoie escape. I leave Brandi to you. You must act quickly when the time comes.”
Liam nodded, confused but hopeful. Gastious continued inspecting the flesh of the men on the stage. Rhoie was near the end of the line. Liam looked back towards Durk, who appeared ready to act. He surveyed the room. Soldiers blocked every exit, including the windows.
Gastious ripped the shirt from the man standing next to Rhoie, checked him for tattoos and then pushed him off the stage. Gastious moved towards Rhoie.
“Foster,” Gastious called. “Wiersch tells me you know this one. Is this true?”
Wiersch stood at the base of the stage. He looked pleased. Liam now knew that they had planned this all along.
“It is true, sir,” Foster answered.
“And you vouch for this young man?”
Liam understood. To vouch for Rhoie would be to stake his reputation along with his. If Rhoie was found to be a part of a conspiracy against the King, and Liam was harbouring him, then his land and tavern would be confiscated. It would be returned to the state, and managed by the King’s highest authority in Snake’s Mouth. Wiersch could take everything.
“I vouch for his character,” Liam stated clearly.
Brandi spat in the direction of Wiersch. Liam squeezed her shoulders in silent reprimand.
Gastious laughed “Careful girl. Wiersch is a fool and a weakling, so I will forgive your insolence once.”
“Sir, Gastious, in the King’s name I must protest,” Wiersch began, but Gastious interrupted him.
“But do not forget that this man represents the King,” said Gastious. “And an insult to the King’s emissary is an insult to the King. One more outburst and I will throw you to my men. It has been weeks since they have been in the company of a woman.”
Gastious turned back to the stage.
Liam held her tightly and whispered, “Please, Brandi. We will have a hard enough time surviving this.”
“I know father, I’m sorry,” she whispered through tears.
“Well, young man,” Gastious said to Rhoie. “Let us see what you have under your shirt.”
Gastious ripped Rhoie’s shirt from his body in one swift move. Rhoie’s thin, sinewy torso was clear on his chest and stomach, and for a moment Liam was relieved. Then Gastious spun him around, and Liam could not believe what he saw. Swirling tattoos covered his upper back, forming an intricate design that tapered down to a point at the base of his spine. The design spread up to his shoulders and formed a low collar around the back of his neck.
“Well, Foster,” Gastious said in his wet, guttural voice. “It seems your young protégé has been foraying in the woods without your knowledge. What say you to that?”
“Sir, I stand by this young man. He is a good citizen of Jeandania,” said Liam.
“He keeps company with traitors. He is in league with General Santaque, who means to depose the King.”
“Arconus is not worthy to be King,” spat Rhoie.
Gastious held his sword to Rhoie’s throat. “I would kill you right now, boy, but my pets are hungry, and I am so very interested to hear what you have to say about your painted friends.”
Liam shuddered. He knew Gastious was referring to the wasp pits.
“And you,” Gastious said, pointing his sword in the direction of Liam. “You have been harbouring a traitor. For that your property is forfeit and your life belongs to the King.”
“Burn it down!” Gastious ordered.
Soldiers complied and started pulling torches from their backpacks.
Wiersch’s expression suddenly changed. “No, Gastious!” he blurted.
Soldiers were holding Liam and Brandi.
Gastious ignored Wiersch as he pleaded. “Please, sir. I’m sure the King would wish to leave this place intact. It has some historical value, and ...”
Gastious thrust his sword towards Wiersch’s lips, silencing him. He turned to the men holding Liam and Brandi and ordered, “Tie them to the bar.”
Liam looked to Durk, and motioned for his sword. Durk threw it, and took the other for himself. Liam broke the soldiers hold, caught the sword and in one motion hacked at the helm of the man who held Brandi. He ducked, anticipating the soldier behind him and sliced through both of his knees.
“Rhoie!” Brandi called.
Liam looked back to the stage. He saw Rhoie kick Gastious hard in the knee and break free of his hold. Liam ducked through the door to the kitchen with Brandi, barring the door behind them.
Several soldiers were in the kitchen. Liam had no choice but to charge. Brandi tried to break through two soldiers to get to the back door, but they stopped her. Liam could smell the smoke coming from the bar already.
One of the soldiers restraining Brandi was laughing as he wrestled with her. Brandi kicked him in the crotch. He doubled over, and Brandi managed to snatch a knife from his waist. She turned and drove the knife into the throat of the man behind her, then took a strike with the knife at the man still holding his crotch. The soldier easily blocked the blow, stood upright and punched her in the face, knocking her to the ground.
Liam turned to Brandi’s assailant, but too late. The soldier drove his sword through Brandi’s chest.
The old rage rose within Liam. He slammed the hilt of his sword in the soldier’s face, crushing his nose and knocking him down, then running him through. He did not bother to remove his sword from the young man’s chest as he sat down to hold his daughter.
“Oh, dear Brandi,” he said. He did not know what to say, he could only think to hold her tighter. “Dear Brandi, dear Brandi,” he whispered over and over. Her dying eyes seemed to want to say something, but Liam knew her heart had been pierced, and not enough strength was left in her for words. Her eyes lost focus. She was gone.
He held her a moment longer, then laid her down and crossed her arms. “She loved this place,” he said, realising that she would be cremated here as the tavern burned. Then he recovered his sword and charged through the back door.
~Æ~
Lyra was exhausted. It had been two hours since the attack. She had saved Rhoie and, against the wishes of the Sisterhood, had gone back to help Liam and Brandi. Liam was an incredible warrior. The brief moment she witnessed had revealed fighting skills beyond anything she had ever seen, but he was outnumbered twenty to one. She cast a spell to obfuscate the King’s men, and hoped it would be enough to enable Liam’s escape.
It was not difficult for an Æhlman sister to extricate a person in the confusion of such a melee, but Brandi’s heart had been pierced. There had been no chance of healing her in the burning bar, and manoeuvring her full weight through the mass of fighting soldiers was difficult, even with the help of her strengthening spell, which pulled energy from the fighting men around her to bolster her own muscle.
After Lyra had made her way a safe distance from the battle, she set to work on repairing the wound. This was far out of her field of expertise, but she had sealed the wound and felt that blood was now flowing through Brandi’s body. She knew she had not done a tidy job, and that superior sisters would have to add their skills to aid Brandi if there was any chance of reviving her. Lyra was confident at least that Brandi would survive the journey to the mountains, where the Sisterhood would do the rest. At that moment she felt that she had done everything in her power to help Liam, Rhoie and Brandi. But there was no way for her to know the consequences of her actions. She did not understand that Brandi had already crossed into the deathworld, and that by bringing her back to this one, she had created a Death Walker.
IV
In studying the language of the ancient texts, context often suggests that the word ‘prophesy’ refers not only to a concept, but also to an actual physical item. This anomaly had been noticed by a few, but was largely ignored by scholars until recently. Since the discovery of Fedora’s ‘Tales of My Homeland’, historians of Jeandania and ancient language experts have been working together, and forming a picture of a prophecy that was physically carried around in a pocket, or a bag or a box.
– Journal of Modern Archaeology
Travis Milarae tried to keep his hands from shaking. The thick veil of smoke, sweat and gentleman’s cologne in this congested little room threatened to suffocate him. He stared at his pile of chips, the bulk of which he had collected after the last hand. For the other men at the table, this game was hardly high stakes, but the value of the coins that lay in front of Travis nearly doubled his entire life savings. In just a few hours, his lifelong dream of buying back his family vineyard had gone from a period of decades to a period of years. Now that he had felt the power of the coin and the intoxication of winning, he wondered if he could bring the horizon line a little closer still.
“So did you hear about that tavern keeper in Snake’s Mouth?” asked Rupert, the professional card player, laying down his bet as he scratched his hairy chest beneath his half-buttoned shirt.
Webb, the reed-thin grain miller, smiled broadly as he threw some coins on the table. “That was something, wasn’t it?” he said, shaking his head slowly, as if in reverie.
“What was this tavern keeper’s name? Forrester?” asked Redback; the wealthy, single, impeccably groomed pig farmer. He pushed three neatly stacked piles of coins to the centre of the table, matching the bet.
“Foster. Liam Foster,” Webb chirped. “He really took it to those bastards. He made the King look a fool.”
“Pity they killed him,” observed Redback. “It would have been quite interesting to see a second act to this play. I hear General Santaque is in that area now, staging some sort of offensive. Imagine if they had joined forces. This Foster could have been a powerful enemy if he had lived. People are already writing songs about him.”
“Would they be writing songs about him if he had lived?” asked Rupert, using his thick fingers to twirl a slightly thicker cigar around in his mouth as he spoke. “People only make heroes out of dead guys. If he had lived, they’d all be calling him a traitor.”
“Maybe, but this guy took out a dozen soldiers on his own before they got to him,” replied Webb.
“I heard it was two dozen,” Redback remarked casually, as he picked invisible bits of lint from his perfectly pressed jacket.
“And I heard that he killed the soldiers with a magical blue flame that he shot from his arse!” Rupert interjected and then burst into a loud, wheezy laughter, patting Redback on the shoulder.
“Wasn’t he some sort of soldier at one time?” Redback asked, trying to mask his disgust at being touched by the burly old card player.
“I heard he was Sha’grath,” Webb said, eyebrows raised, obviously trying to impress his competitors.
“That’s another myth,” scoffed Rupert, his good humour suddenly gone.
“I also heard somethin
g else,” Webb taunted, then paused, waiting for someone to prompt him.
Redback finally offered. “Yes, Mr Webb, please tell us,” he said with the enthusiasm of a man quoting a recipe. “The suspense is unbearable.”
Webb ignored Redback’s sarcasm and leaned forward dramatically. “I heard Liam Foster is still alive.”
“Now, now,” interrupted Maclamar, their host, as he too threw some coins on the table. “Are we here to play cards or to spread rumours?”
Travis placed his bet without saying a word. He was thankful that his old friend had changed the topic. Normally he would have been quite compelled by the story of Liam Foster, but at the moment, Travis had a lot more on his mind.
“The bet is to you, Mr Milarae,” prompted Redback.
“Please call me Travis,” he answered as he evaluated his hand. It wasn’t a bad hand, but he needed to rest his mind for a moment and calm his nerves after his big win. “I think I’ll sit this one out, gentlemen. I’ll fold.”
Maclamar winked at him. He probably knew why his friend folded but, as always, his expression was unreadable.
Almost unconsciously, Travis pulled a slip of paper out of his breast pocket and began folding it. It was a hobby he had picked up many years ago that had become a habit. Maclamar looked over and smiled when he saw what Travis was doing. A moment later Travis placed the paper on the table, which had been torn, folded and rolled until the flat parchment had become a free standing figure of a man playing the flute. It was a tribute to Maclamar, the World’s Greatest Smuggler.
Maclamar was an important and feared man in Jeandania, but Travis knew him quite differently. Maclamar and his family had been servants on the Milarae vineyard. It was hard to believe this rich powerful man had once worked for his family, but at the time they were just children and had little concept of such things. Maclamar was also two years older than Travis, which is a big difference for young children, so Travis always had a sense of Maclamar being the leader. Maclamar’s real name was Biff Stanson. Travis was one of only two people who ever called him by his given name, and Travis only ever used it in private. Biff had taken the name Maclamar from an old story about a brilliant and slightly corrupt young man, who could charm snakes with a flute. Biff told Travis, when he was twelve-years-old, that one day he would be like Maclamar. One day he would control all of the snakes in Jeandania, and now, at age thirty-three, he did.
With Footfalls of Shadow Page 4