by SL Figuhr
Aranthus bowed, turning to me. In a deliberate insult, I turned my back to the king as I strode down the stairs. The slave clattered down after me to lead me back out.
“I can only use my frustrations and sorrow for a poor excuse. I have lost all who are loyal to me just coming here, and I may yet lose the last of my faithful guards. Tell me, Lord Chamberlain, to whom should I turn? Who should I trust?” I spat out bitterly. He bought it.
We halted at a cross-intersection of halls. He put a finger under his lip in thought. “I shall try my best to see His Majesty does not forget your situation. I must ask where you are staying, you understand. It has been commanded of me.”
I made myself look down as if trying to control my anger before turning back to him, “I have not found a place. We are camped out in the open like a pair of beggars. If you know of an inn with an open room, I would be most grateful to hear of it.”
“Coin is all I have. He could not make it any farther, so we are just outside of town. Please, Lord Chamberlain, do you know of a place with rooms to let?” I put a hand on his arm, giving a pleading look.
He rubbed the top of his staff. “It would not do for you to live outdoors. His Majesty must know you will not depart. Only, it’s...forgive me, but most of the decent inns we have are spoken for by people coming for our Harvest Festival. There is one, but you may not wish to stay there if you have lost most of your wealth...” He delicately trailed off, also probing at the same time.
“Lord Chamberlain, at this point I would be most grateful for anything allowing me to sleep and consider my future.” I played my part well.
“In that case, may I suggest the Silver Thorn? It is small, but should be adequate until you hear more. I shall even send a royal page with you so the proprietor will know you are not some commoner or, or, uncouth warrior.” He dabbed delicately at his mouth and nose with a scented cloth, turning to snag a passing slave, barking orders which had the boy running off.
Aranthus turned back to me as footsteps, and hushed voices, came from a cross-hallway. I smelled the same elusive scent from the tavern, along with rotten eggs.
All my instincts screamed it would be bad if he finished what he was muttering. Aranthus gasped in panic, trying to drag me back toward the throne room. I shook him off as I eavesdropped.
“No, nothing is there. If there was, I would tell you.” The second voice deep, almost guttural, sent a frisson of panic down my spine for some reason, but his companion stopped whatever he had been saying.
His sneering tone traveled clearly to us. “Would you? I know you want freedom. I wouldn’t put it past you to forget to tell me, hoping to be rid of me. Maybe I should remind you who is Master here.”
For a moment, the air grew thick with menace, the kind only a supernatural being could produce. I didn’t recognize the signature, so there was no way of knowing if and how dangerous he would be to me.
“You forget yourself, little boy, and what you are dealing with.” The voice became deeper, clotted with things unmentionable. “One day your pride will be your downfall, and you will regret mistreating me.”
“I do not know yet. I shall tell you everything when I do.” “You’d better. I fed you well tonight.”
The voices got louder, while beside me, the chamberlain gulped, hissing frantically, “Quickly, bow! Keep your head down and don’t move or make a sound. It is Lord Nicky and his slave. You don’t want to meet him or let on we have overheard.”
I did as he said, as I could hear his heart pounding in fear. I peeked up from beneath my long, thick lashes as the men came into view, abruptly stopping their conversation as they caught sight of us. I saw a young man of perhaps nineteen or twenty. He had short red-blond hair, about five foot ten. I tried to read his mind but could not. I knew instinctively I could never break through without his knowing it. It disturbed me; I could not recall ever having met a person whose mind I couldn’t read. It made me think there might be only one other way, and I wasn’t sure going that route would be warranted. His companion was covered head to toe in an enveloping black cloak with a deep hood. I straightened from my half-bow.
The other found me to be the more interesting. I got the impression he knew exactly what I was. It was a first for me; he didn’t smell like kin. My instincts ratcheted up to fight mode. I forced myself to stay as I was, trying to use my power to figure out what he was. I felt amusement from the cloaked and hooded man as he easily rebuffed my attempt.
Cruel gray eyes swung my way, slowly traveling down my body and back up in a manner meant to be insulting. “I must say, you are better looking than most of the whores trying to win the king’s favor, even looking as you do.”
Aranthus sucked in a breath as Nicky’s face turned red. “How dare you speak to me thus! Do you not know who I am?” He took a menacing step forward.
A nasty laugh issued from under the hood, and the chamberlain moaned in fear, hurrying to defuse the situation. “Your lordship, this is . . .” he hesitated, “Her Grace, The Duchess Illyria Caladonea Maison du Corbeau.”
The young man stared at me speechless as the hooded figure made a strange humming noise. He turned to glare at the slave before turning back to me. I could see him fighting his rage down as he snarled, “You have proof of this?”
“You had better pray you speak the truth, or it will be my great pleasure to see you punished for your crime of lying.” Lord Nicky glanced at the chamberlain. “You can get her out of my sight now.”
He startled at my words. “Your Grace, Lord Nicky and his slave are not to be disturbed lightly. The man has a terrible temper and can be worse than the king in punishing those who displease him.” He shivered in fear, dropping his voice. “I’ve heard he sometimes lets his slave help.”
“Lord Nicky is also the royal advisor to His Majesty,” Aranthus explained as a page approached us. I had a feeling another visit to The Bloody Knuckles was in order, my instincts telling me it had a key role in this drama. I smiled gently at the chamberlain in reassurance. “Thank you, Aranthus, for being so helpful to one newly arrived. I shall not forget your generosity.”
He glowed in pride, giving the page his orders before taking his leave of me. We strode out to where Domiano waited with Windstorm. The relief on the boy’s face was plain as the stallion stomped, trumpeting and lashing out whenever anyone got too close. I saw the page pale with fright.
The boy bowed, taking the lead. Domiano gave me one long look before following on foot. It took less time than I thought. The inn sat at the bottom of the long, winding road leading up to the palace, before one crossed the bridge back into the town proper. The small stone building with stables only had ten rooms. One remained open, and even with the king’s request I remain nearby, the proprietor was unwilling to bump another guest so I would have a better room.
“Pardon me, Your Grace, but from where do you hail? I do not recognize your accent,” Nathan, the innkeeper, inquired as we climbed stairs.
“I travel much. My ancestors are from the old kingdom of Illthanthia, a name which will no doubt mean nothing to you as it no longer exists. Its exact location is lost although rumored to be near here. I was traveling, hoping to discover if those rumors were true and what, if anything, might remain when I was set upon by bandits.”
He wrinkled his brow in thought. “Surely you do not mean to stay here? I must advise you, His Majesty does not think highly of poor, expatriate nobles from any country showing up and wanting to settle here; his advisor, even less.”
“So I have been given to understand. I do not know how long I will need to stay, or if I wish to. It depends on how fast I can replace what was lost and send for more funds.”
We arrived at a small room, tucked under the eaves, as Nathan bowed nervously. “I know it is not large nor grand enough for a duchess, but it is all I have.”
He never flinched at my words. “Of course, Your Grace. As long as you wish, it is yours.” Damn Aranthus! I better receive payment from the royal t
reasury for hosting her.
“I keep odd hours, so I expect your staff to stay out of here. I will let you know when it can be cleaned. Furthermore, I have need of a guide who knows the town and all in it. I will pay well for the privilege of their knowledge as I will expect them to wait upon me, no matter the time of day or night.”
“Yes, it will.” I paused then said, “My horse. He is not to be touched by any but my groom, Domiano. He is a temperamental beast, liking to kick and bite those unfamiliar to him. Also, Domiano will need a place to rest, and meals.” I reached into the bag dangling from my waist, drawing out some gold coins.
He stared goggle-eyed at the wealth, then to me, his hand clenching over the coins, his manner now obsequious. “Your Grace, your every wish is my command. All will be as you say. I will have the guide here tomorrow. Your groom may stay over the stables, and eat with my wife and me. Thank you, thank you, Your Grace.” He bowed low, backing out of the room, still babbling as I shut the door.
Chapter Six
T he sun was painfully bright to Mica’s eyes when he woke up. A loud groan escaped as he tried to move. His head felt as if his brain had been bathed in acid. Suddenly he had to throw up, and rolled over just in time. Bile came up, the pressure and pain leaving. What was wrong with him? As an immortal, he shouldn’t have woken with aches. What the hell had happened last night? Mica shuddered, trying to remember, but couldn’t. That lapse, that vacancy, scared and panicked him. He had to get back to town and warn his brother! But of what? Mica cast around for his sword, and found it lying a short distance away. He snatched it up and hacked through the vegetation to where he had left the horse, hoping the animal was still there. It wasn’t. Whatever had happened last night must have been significant enough for the animal to sense, even at a distance.
Mica started the long walk back to the Bloody Knuckles. He staggered into the stable yard hours later, thirsty, hungry and bone-tired. Mica spotted his brother in the mud by the refuse pit. He yelled to him, not bothering with the incongruity. Mica staggered again, nearly falling, as Colin ran up, grabbed an arm, leading him to the tavern’s side door. They banged through, ignoring the few patrons gaping at them. Colin was trying to tug him over to an empty table. He let himself be pushed into a chair as Colin called for wine and food.
Didn’t they realize what danger they were all in?“Its face! My god! Its face, it . . . it . . .” He trailed off, staring around in puzzlement. Where had it come from? He only remembered seeing one face, hadn’t he? But what was the lingering feeling of masks?
“You will not remember me. You never saw me.”Colin wore a worried mien; this was the first time he had seen Mica in shock for over a dozen years. Mary Elana hesitantly approached their table with another tankard, cautiously slid it in front of Mica, then leapt out of his reach as she snatched up coin for the ale and scurried away.
Mica just stared at him. “Are you insane?!’’ His voice came out in a screech. “It’s not the time to be sitting around drinking, man! Therethere’s a horrible thing loose! An abomination to all mankind!” Or was there? Why couldn’t he remember?
“I saw them! I saw their foulness last night!” Mica paused, passing a hand over his brow, shuddering as another memory wanted to break free but couldn’t. “I think it was . . . strange. Taller, before growing shorter,” he muttered. “And something else . . .”
“I was looking in town; a man told me.” He furrowed his brow in concentration, trying to bring the now-hazy memories into clarity. “I heard his name mentioned and decided to follow him, around dusk I think it was. I . . . I borrowed someone’s horse and followed him out of town. I don’t know where I was; there . . . there was a clearing.”
Mica jumped as Mary Elana placed the tankard and food in front of him. Quick as lightening, his hand snaked out, wrapping around her wrist, forcing her to bend over him.
His voice rose on the last words as Mary Elana whimpered, fighting to get free. Colin gently pried his brother’s fingers free, smiling apologetically at the girl as he pressed some coins into her hand for her trouble.
She flung the coins in his face, scurrying off behind the bar where her father intercepted her, demanding to know what was going on. Colin saw and grimaced. That’s all they needed to cap off their day: another confrontation with the man. He hurriedly scooped up the flung coins before turning his efforts to calming Mica.
“Eyes. Red eyes. He—it—she—had red eyes. Why can’t I remember? I know there was something there. I know it!” His fists pounded rhythmically on the side of his head.
Mica picked up the full tankard in a trembling hand, gulping down half the contents before setting it back. He took several deep breaths, trying to calm himself.
“Good, keep breathing deeply. Now start at the very beginning. What did you find in town?” Colin prompted him, slowly taking his brother through the events. Mica began shaking with the effort.
“In the forest somewhere is a clearing with pens and a-a double altar. I followed a man there, you understand, from his house on the nobles’ street.”
Little by little, the story came out. Mica slumped back in his chair, sweating, dazed, shock starting to leave his system. He ran a shaky hand through his hair, making it stick up in spikes, before taking another deep breath and looking at the face of his brother. Colin seemed to be struggling to absorb everything he had been told.
“I know it seems strange, but I know I saw something else! It protects them all! I . . . I think . . .” Mica trailed off in miserable puzzlement.
The two sat for a while in silence, mulling things over. Looking up from his reverie, Colin signaled to the bartender. He had to shove Mary Elana over to their table. She stood a good five feet away from their table, looking ready to flee at any unwanted movements.
“Please, another round. Thank you.” Colin pressed the coins she’d flung down a moment ago back into her hand. “Please, take this as a token of our gratitude for putting up with us.”
“Can you not hide it?”
She shook her head in the negative. “Thank you, anyway.” The sandy-haired man sighed; at least he had tried.
Colin looked at him wordlessly. How to explain? “No, he . . . he came back to the tavern . . .” He hesitated again, not sure how to phrase it kindly.
“He . . . he left. He came and got his stuff and . . .”
Red crept into Mica’s face. “He what?”
“Eron thinks you’re obsessed and going to get killed.”
“Damn him! The ungrateful bastard!” Mica yelled, ignoring the looks the bar patrons gave him. He started on a low-voiced rant against the man until Colin interrupted.
“No, bro, I’m not. But the sheriff has it out for us. We need to wrap our quest up quickly. We were almost hanged last night. Most of what we had on us was taken.”
“We got those back, and whatever was on us at the time,’’ Colin said. “When we got here, Tom had our packs. A lot of stuff was already gone, which he claimed the patrons took before he intervened. I know he probably only grabbed them to steal our stuff himself.”
Colin cut him off. “No. Most of it is gone. Listen, brother: the brooch is the only thing we have to live on. We don’t have enough coin. What I have in my pocket will only cover our food and room for tonight. We have to quit; otherwise we’ll have to beg someone to hire us and start working.”
Colin tried to placate him, but his brother slapped his hands on the table top. “We’ll camp in the woods, trap our food, take passage on a ship as sailors after our mission is complete. It’ll be fine.”
Colin rubbed his hands across his face, unsure how to say what he wanted. “Bro, I don’t want to be a naysayer, but I’m beginning to think Eron is right. We’ve run into a lot of trouble since we got here. I think it will be for the better if we take his advice.”
“Don’t. We both know you haven’t much time left. The brooch doesn’t give us enough for food, lodgings, or horses. As things stand right now, we’ll be lucky to get the
soul gem back before your time is up, and The Guardian takes your life instead of Nicky's. Plus, Eron took his quarter of the trading rights. We can’t in good conscience make a deal with anyone under these circumstances.”
A sinking feeling overcame Colin at his brother’s uncharacteristic willingness to deliberately deceive, but he tried to put a brave face on it. “No.” When Mica began to interrupt, he continued, “I’m trying to look out for you the way you do for me. We still have no solid leads on where Nicky is, or even if he is here.”
His brother interrupted him right back. “It was a one-time bullshit deal! Face facts, Mica, everything depends on accuracy now more than ever. Did you hear him speak of the boy specifically? Did you see the boy at the ritual?”
“What?” The belligerent tone accompanied clenched fists. “Our situation is perilous. The sheriff hates us. How are we going to ask him for information now? Eron said, before he left, that he was attacked earlier in the day by some of the lawmen. They were looking for us. He said they mentioned us specifically. Why would they do that unless somehow the little boy knows we’re here? This is turning into— no, is—a total disaster.”
Colin could see the owner glaring at them as Mica continued to rant, his voice getting louder. “How the hell would the kid learn we’re here so fast? Huh? What about what I saw? How do you explain it? We can’t let those people get away with murder.”
Colin sucked in air with a gulp of ale. He had forgotten how irritating Mica could be at times. “We don’t have enough factual proof of who everyone involved is. It would take more time to find out than we have, and resources. If—no, I said if,” he held a hand up as Mica opened his mouth to object, “we find out who they are while looking for Nicky, then we’ll go to the king. Not before. You know how dangerous it is to make accusations without evidence to back it up.”
Mica’s face turned beet red and murderous. “Fuck you! A lack of support isn’t like you at all! I have less than a month left to get rid of him!”