Joined at The Hilt: Union
by
Caleb Wachter
Copyright © 2014 by Caleb Wachter
All rights reserved.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. All resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental. Respect my electronic rights because the money you save today will be the book I can't afford to write for you tomorrow.
Other books by Caleb Wachter
SPINEWARD SECTORS NOVELLAS
Admiral's Lady: Eyes of Ice, Heart of Fire
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Author: Luke Sky Wachter
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Admiral Who?
Admiral's Gambit
Admiral's Tribulation
Admiral's Trial
Admiral’s Revenge
RISE OF THE WITCH GUARD NOVEL SERIES
The Blooding
RISE OF THE WITCH GUARD NOVELLAS
The Boar Knife
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Table of Contents
Prologue: A Debt of Gratitude
The Turning of the Grey
Chapter I: Seeking Release
Chapter II: A Chance Meeting
Chapter III: Parting Words
Chapter IV: A New Home
Chapter V: Meal, Interrupted
Chapter VI: Drift Away
Chapter VII: Picking Up The Scent
Chapter VIII: New Beginnings
Chapter IX: One Small Mistake
Chapter X: Civilization? I’ll Stay Right Here…
Chapter XI: Coincidence? I Think Not
Chapter XII: On The Trail
Chapter XIII: First Sight…and First Blood
Chapter XIV: A Fabulous Rescue
Chapter XV: First Impressions
Chapter XVI: Jacob’s Plow
Chapter XVII: Riding High…
Chapter XVIII: Hearts to Hearts
Chapter XIX: First Lessons
Chapter XX: The Second Lesson
Chapter XXI: Drills, Drills and More Drills
Chapter XXII: First Light, and Illumination
Chapter XXIII: A Troubling Proposition…
Chapter XXIV: Didn’t See That Coming
Chapter XXV: So…About Last Night
Chapter XXVI: Parting Words
Chapter XXVII: On The Road Again
Chapter XXVIII: The Trail Gets Warmer
Chapter XXIX: A Hound at Play
Chapter XXX: Fight or Flight
Chapter XXXI: One Good Turn…
Chapter XXXII: A Cold Reception
Chapter XXXIII: Frontier Justice
Chapter XXXIV: Friends in High Places
Chapter XXXV: From One Cage to Another
Chapter XXXVI: Forging a Bond
Chapter XXXVII: …Deserves Another
Chapter XXXVIII: The Trail Ends
Chapter XXXIX: A Job Well Done
Chapter XL: The Showdown
Epilogue I: The Next Step
Epilogue II: The Mountain’s Restless Heart
Epilogue III: Sins for the Flesh
Sneak Peak
Chapter I: A Grey Storm
Prologue: A Debt of Gratitude
“That’s a quarter copper, but we’ve got a house minimum of one full penny per customer,” said the young man behind the bar.
“Of course,” Tavleros replied as he reached into his purse and produced a Federation Gold Union, which he placed on the countertop. The young bartender took it with a nod and placed the coin in a jar beneath the bar. Tavleros gave a hard look at the younger man’s nose, which had been ruined earlier in the day by one of the Senatorial Guards—men who represented all the worst of the Federation.
He knew it was his fault the young man had been accosted by the abusive guards, but there was no way he could tell him that. Tavleros had little time left to him and wasting it selfishly apologizing would be foolish, not to mention dangerous, for all involved. Many weeks earlier he had decided to depart the world in a manner of his own choosing, and there was no turning back now that the end was upon him.
So he took a long draw from the tankard, and the young bartender resumed his task of wiping down the countertop. “That is quite good,” said Tavleros as he inhaled deeply of the drink’s aroma. It was astounding to him that such a marvelous concoction could be found in this, of all places: a seedy, run-down bar in the Native District of one of the regions poorest cities; a city called Three Rivers. “Mmm…do I detect summer capers mixed with…” he mused as he sloshed the liquid gently in the tankard, smelling its contents once again, “a dash of not-quite-ripe, southern blue fruit zest?”
“Let me guess,” the bartender quipped acidly, “you spent your summers at Uncle Whatever-his-name-is’ grain farm, sampling various recipes during your yearly sabbaticals where you went to live like the rest of us for a change. Am I supposed to be impressed?”
“Ooh,” Tavleros said, feigning surprise. He had known the young man was sharp, but he had not expected such an overtly angry response so quickly in the conversation. “Do I detect a hint of spite in your voice…or is that,” he cocked his head in mock concentration, “envy?”
“Me, envious of you?” the bartender asked sarcastically after a derisive laugh. “Now why would you think that?”
Tavleros felt a flash of anger as he locked eyes with the younger man, and the two engaged in a silent battle of wills for several long moments before he finally broke eye contact and cracked a smug grin as he downed the rest of his tankard’s contents. “Refill, if you please, boy,” Tavleros said in an overly polite tone as he slid the tankard across the bar. He knew all-too-well the connotations of calling one of Ghaevlian descent ‘boy,’ and he carefully watched as the younger man refilled the tankard before wordlessly sliding it back to him.
As Tavleros took a long draw from the re-filled mug, he saw the younger man appraising his clothing. Good, he thought to himself, quick to anger, but capable of holding his tongue while he considers his opponent.
“Yes, I do believe it was made with summer capers,” Tavleros said with a note of triumph in his voice after he had finished swallowing the first half of the tankard, “and more blue fruit than I initially suspected, as well.”
The bartender’s features were surprisingly neutral as he continued to wipe the countertop. Tavleros decided it was time to test the young man, so he closed his thoughts to outside distractions as he reached out with his mind, just as he had been taught by years earlier by his mentor—a woman whose actions had shaped Tavleros’ life in more ways than he cared to remember.
He found the younger man’s memories in little more than a second and they flew past Tavleros’ mind’s eye in a blur. After just a few more seconds, he felt his mind brush up against something hard and unyielding, causing him to withdraw more out of surprise than concern. Interesting, Tavleros mused silently as the young man paused his wiping of the countertop mid-motion, it would seem that you, too, are more than you appear.
“Something wrong?” Tavleros asked blithely, and the bartender narrowed his eyes for several moments until setting down the cloth and taking another hard look at Tavleros.
“Who are you?” the younger man asked, and Tavleros was unable to stop a smile from spreading across his features.
“Just a traveler, I assure you,” Tavleros replied with a self-assured smile.
“A traveler?” the boy repeated sk
eptically. “We get plenty of those in here, but never one in such finely preserved, yet clearly old—some might say ‘outdated’—clothing,” he gestured to Tavleros’ jerkin. “Nor do we get many mead-brewers to set their bellies to this bar, save competitors seeking our recipes—and I know each of them and their spies like the back of my own hand.”
Tavleros chuckled, as he now knew that he could not have asked for a better way to repay the debt which he now carried than that presented in the person of the young man before him. “I assure you my dear boy that you have the wrong of me,” he said with a subtle shake of his head, deciding he needed to test the young man’s self-control even further with another jab at his heritage. “But you are quite observant to notice the condition of my clothing—observant for a half-elf, that is.”
“Observant enough to know that it’s impossible to smell the summer capers or the blue fruit in that mead,” the bartender said evenly. “Impossible for a human, that is,” he added with smug satisfaction.
Tavleros chuckled and reached into his pouch. This was as close as anyone had ever come to sniffing out his true nature beneath his elaborate disguise, but he reminded himself that this young man represented his best hope of repaying the last debt he carried. For the first time in years, discovery was the least of Tavleros’ concerns.
“I slept with a former waitress,” Tavleros faux confessed with a dismissive wave of his free hand. The truth was that he had just gleaned the recipe from the young bartender’s mind—including his name, Randall—but the most convincing lies were often the most mundane.
“Tall, red hair,” Randall said with a wry grin after a moment’s pause, “legs that seemed to go to the ground and then some?”
Tavleros laughed lightly. “That’d be the one,” he agreed as he produced a gold coin from his purse. “Works at the Velvet Purse now,” he added with a wink as he continued to lie through his false, knowing expression. The truth was he had never met anyone matching that description but like with all successful deceptions, improvisation was key. The Velvet Purse was one of the most exclusive brothels in Three Rivers, so it was almost second nature for Tavleros to include it in his deception.
“I bet she does,” Randall spat before he, too, began to chuckle.
“I paid her a silver for the secret,” Tavleros lied. “I’ve never tasted this stuff’s equal and wanted to know what was in it…before the opportunity was lost.”
“A whole silver for just the recipe when a full pitcher only costs a copper?” Randall said with a disapproving shake of his head. “Some might say you’ve got more money than sense.”
Tavleros shrugged before downing the last of his second tankard. When he was finished, the bartender went to re-fill the container but Tavleros covered the tankard with his hand. “I think that’ll do for now,” he said as he casually rolled the gold coin back and forth over his knuckles as his mind wandered to recent events…foremost among them those which had brought him to this place.
Realizing his thoughts had drifted, he snapped back into focus as he asked, “I don’t suppose you’d be interested in earning a tidy tip for your own self?”
“Not to be too blunt, but no matter what you may have heard,” the bartender said evenly, “I don’t do men. Not all half-elves are so picky, but I think it’s important to draw the line somewhere; I’m sure you can find someone to your liking elsewhere, though.”
Tavleros chuckled at the notion that he wanted to pay for some sort of ‘private engagement’ with the bartender and he shook his head. “What you suggest is the furthest thing from my mind,” he assured Randall. “No, boy, I simply wish to know if you’d like to earn this,” he gestured to the coin with his free hand, “for, quite literally, nothing—which I will actually assist you in doing…or ‘not doing,’ as the case may be.”
“That’s a lot of value for nothing in return,” Randall said with open suspicion. “Generally such requests are illegal…and I’d be wise reporting it to the city watch.”
“You are well-served by your skepticism,” Tavleros replied with an approving nod, “but you see…I have a debt to an old friend which I must repay, and I see no better way of accomplishing that than by involving you at this particular juncture. All you need is to agree to my proposal—which is to do nothing, of course—in return for which you shall receive this gold Union to do with as you please.”
Randall chewed his cheek as he was visibly torn by the proposal. “Ok, you’ve got me,” he said with a sigh. “What do you want?”
Tavleros felt a nagging sensation at the edge of his consciousness and while he very much wanted to respond to it, he kept his mind closed. This way is best, he reminded himself as he felt a sharp pang of sorrow deep within his being, there can be no atonement for my betrayal; there can be only release from that betrayal’s cost.
He tapped into the immense reservoir of latent power his blood carried and felt his eyes flash as he summoned the necessary energy for a manifestation of ancient, primal power which would help to set free the only true friend he had ever known. “As I said,” Tavleros assured him, feeling a pained look come over his face as he picked up his hat and placed it on his head, “absolutely nothing.”
Tavleros flicked the gold Union in the air and as the bartender’s eyes locked onto the spinning coin, the hypnotic effect which Tavleros had prepared in his mind was unleashed, and the younger man froze in place as the coin fell to the counter with a clatter.
“Now listen very carefully,” Tavleros said as he felt more resistance than he had expected from the young man’s mind. “I am entrusting you with something now, but to protect both you and…it,” he said with a pained look toward the bundle he had placed on the countertop earlier, “I will fortify your mind against attempts to extract the information which those who follow me seek.”
Randall nodded dumbly as he stared ahead with glassy eyes. Tavleros felt sympathy for the younger man as he opened the bundle on the countertop. Inside it was everything he had brought with him during the past few years of traveling—as well as the only true friend he had ever known.
Careful to avoid looking at the central piece of the bundle, he withdrew a pen and paper which he used to scrawl a hasty note to the younger man. When he was completed he signed the paper and tucked it inside the bundle, which he then cinched tightly shut and pushed gently across the bar.
“Take this somewhere safe—somewhere even you would not think to look if pressed to do so—and then return here,” he instructed, and Randall complied as he tucked the bundle under his arm before heading toward one of the back doors of the inn’s common room.
Watching the young man carry the bundle away was heartbreaking for Tavleros, but he knew that it was the only way that either of them would survive what was to come. The world is changing, and I refuse to change with it, he reminded himself. There is little choice in the matter but to sever ties with those I might drag down into the abyss with me as I depart on my own terms.
He waited until Randall returned a few moments later to once again stand behind the counter. The young man stared blankly ahead, and Tavleros prepared the second manifestation of his blood’s ancient power—one which would ward the young man’s mind against magical intrusions. After a few moments of quiet concentration, Tavleros felt his own blood begin to warm. He had not expected such strong resistance from the young man, but it was nothing Tavleros could not overcome. Before long, his task was completed.
His ears pricked up at the sound of approaching, metal-shod boots, and he took a deep breath as he knew that his time was finally up. “Good, Randall,” Tavleros said as he adjusted his hat. “Now pick up the coin and count to…three hundred,” he said after performing a quick mental calculation. “When you have finished your count, flick the coin into the air. When you catch it, your senses will return to normal and you will have forgotten everything that happened after agreeing to my proposal.”
“One, two, three…” Randall began to count in a monotonous voice, an
d with that Tavleros turned and strode purposefully out of the bar. He had barely taken two steps onto the dirty road when he sighted his would-be hunters. His disguise—composed of dyes, pigments and well-made attire—had served him well, but he knew that he could no longer deceive these men.
He also knew he no longer wished to do so.
Walking toward them with his shoulders squared, Tavleros saw the three Senatorial Guards who had hunted him for weeks slow in their jog as they clearly sighted him. They were armored in white steel and their faces were covered by their impenetrable helmets, but to Tavleros’ keen eye the differences between them were as clear as day.
The one in the center was the leader, while the one on Tavleros’ right was the first guardsman he had encountered nearly a month earlier. He had no quarrel with either of them…but he had a score to settle with the one on the left, which he considered a parting gift both to Randall and to the one he had entrusted to the young bartender’s care. Less than an hour earlier, the leftward guardsman had abused Randall while pursuing Tavleros, and Tavleros would see the young man’s dignity avenged.
Summoning the power which had coursed through the blood of his ancestors for eons, Tavleros felt his blood warm—both from the buildup of energy, and from the anticipation of battle.
“You!” the central figure called from nearly thirty paces away, but his voice was so heavily amplified and distorted that people all along the street covered their ears unthinkingly in self-defense. “Surrender immediately or face summary judgment for your crimes against the Federation!”
“And what crimes might those be?” Tavleros challenged as he considered which manifestations of his psychic powers would prove most effective.
The flanking guardsmen drew their deceptively simple-looking daggers while the central figure stalked slowly toward him. “Your kind’s very existence is a crime,” the guardsman spat, “surrender and you might live long enough to see a trial.”
Joined at the Hilt: Union (Sphereworld: Joined at the Hilt Book 1) Page 1