Needle Ash Book 1: Knives of Darkness

by David V. Stewart

  “You don’t have to worry about that, your highness.”

  “Better safe than sorry.”

  “I mean don’t worry, I’ll protect you.”

  “I need no protection.”

  “Then why have the crossbow and the sword?”

  Michael laughed.

  They saw across the road a broken wagon, and Michael put out a hand to still Sharona.

  “Aha!” he whispered. “It is a bandit.”

  “It looks like a broken wagon,” Sharona said at full volume.

  Michael shushed her. “It’s an old scam. You pause and get off your horse to help the poor merchant with his broken wagon, and they jump on your horse and rob you.”

  “Oh,” Sharona said, raising an eyebrow. “Wonder why they don’t just shoot us with arrows.”

  “Because bandits are usually rubbish when it comes to actual fighting. I thought you said you’d traveled.”

  Sharona shrugged.

  Michael took out his crossbow and led them up the road. He paused when an old, dirty man stepped out into the road from the wagon, waving. Michael shouldered his crossbow and took aim, not at the old man, but at a shadow in the trees above him.

  With a snap, the bolt flew and struck something. A man screamed and fell from the tree down into the road. He rolled over and pushed himself away from the road, a broken bolt lodged in his ribcage.

  “Flee now, and I will count the execution of one of you as sufficient,” Michael called. He put the crank back on his crossbow and began spanning it. The old man was frozen in the road with fright. The other men hidden in the bushes were not, and they leapt out, well away from where they had set their trap.

  A few bolts flew past them as the men from the bushes rushed forward with swords and clubs. Michael calmly loaded his crossbow as they ran. Before he could pop a bolt in, he looked up at a terrible noise.

  The bandits were rolling on the ground crying in pain. Michael looked at Sharona, who was glassy-eyed and mumbling incoherently. Her horse was moving anxiously. The old man in front of the wagon went running into the brush.

  “Let’s go!” Michael said.

  Sharona shook her head, looked at Michael with bright eyes, then followed him down the path as he galloped among and over the bandits, who were crying and writhing on the ground.

  A half mile or so up the road, they slowed.

  “I told you I would protect you,” Sharona said.

  “I have to say, that was impressive, whatever you did.”

  “I made them feel like swarms of bees were stinging them. It’s very painful, but they were trying to rob us, yes?”

  “Yes, they clearly were. And probably would have slit our throats if they’d had the chance. I’ll notify the sheriff in Landera so he can clear them out.”

  “What about the one you shot?”

  “He’s a criminal.”

  “So am I, you said.”

  Michael chuckled softly. “Not the best comparison. You’re a lady. Well… a woman.”

  “Small wonder you aren’t married with a tongue like that.”

  Michael looked at her, confused. Sharona was looking away, a half-smile on her placid face.

  *

  Calasora was a massive city, spanning two sides of the great river Tallaros some miles before it bubbled into a wide delta and emptied into the South Sea. The two halves of the city, West and East Calasora, were joined by great stone bridges held above the slow-moving river by columns of black basalt. From the river canals and waterways went into the city, supplying fresh water for the many public fountains that served both rich and poor. At the center of the city, standing from the Western shore to an island in the river, stood the great Citadel of Artifia, which served as palace, cathedral to the goddess Artifia, and fortress to the royal family of Harthino, along with the rich denizens that inhabited the mansions that surrounded it.

  The west bank of the city had also over the years come to be called the “City of Walls,” or more affectionately, “the Onion City,” on account of its long succession of defensive walls. Each of these walls was built during a different period in the city, and reflected different tastes and defensive designs. As the city grew out past a wall, a new one was built to contain it. At five walls the attempts had stopped, and the city just went sprawling over the rocky countryside and to the other side of the river, which had its own (smaller) fortress and wall that was usually entitled to whatever family was most politically connected at the time to the royal line.

  The gates of the walls were offset from each other, but a wide avenue wound between them. It was on this avenue, and approaching the first gate, that Michael finally decided he could part ways with Sharona without feeling a loss of his honor.

  “So, where are you headed?” Michael said.

  “Calasora.”

  “We are here.”

  “Alright then.”

  Michael grumbled. “Where in the city do you need to be?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Why don’t you know? Do you just not know where to go? I know the city well. Tell me what you seek and I shall tell you where to go.”

  “I don’t seek anything in particular.”

  “Then why did you come here?”

  “Because you were coming here.”

  Michael slapped his own face. “So you had no reason to be here?”

  “I had an excellent reason to be here. I’m here because you are here. Because you need my protection.”

  “I don’t need your protection.”

  Sharona laughed. “Of course you do. Why else would I be here?”

  “You’re not making any sense!”

  “Of course not. You don’t make sense, you have sense.”

  “Artifia, grant me patience!” Michael sighed and turned to Sharona. She wore a half-smile, as if she was getting something over on him. “What makes you think I need protection from you?”

  “Because I wouldn’t be here if you didn’t need me. Didn’t I just say that?”

  “What…” Calot twisted as Michael tensed in frustration. “What made you think you ought to come here, and that I needed you?”

  “Didn’t you answer your own question?”

  “Grim’s bones. I have some kind of luck. Why did I have to run into you under that tree?"

  “There’s no such thing as luck, Michael, just as there is no such thing as coincidence. I ran into you under that tree for a reason.”

  “That reason being I require protection.”

  “It’s my assumption, just as I was placed by you in the battle for your protection. It could be something else, but that will become obvious when it arrives. I just know that I was placed by that tree as surely as the farmer was placed in Garamesh’s cave.”

  Michael urged his horse forward, and Sharona kept pace. “I know of an inn up the way here that’s rather quiet and safe. I’ll pay to put you up for a few nights, and you can decide what it is you need to do from there.”

  “Alright, but I’ll pay. I’m no pauper. I can make money fairly easily too, if needed.”

  "Suit yourself."

  “Of course I suit myself. What would I do if I didn’t?”

  Michael shook his head and grumbled. As they ambled between the houses, he drew out the sealed scroll addressed to Julia, stamped with Johan’s personal signet of a scorpion.

  “What’s that?” Sharona asked.

  “A letter from my brother to his betrothed.” Michael looked at the rolled paper and chewed his lip.

  “Curious what it says?”

  “Yes, of course. Who isn’t curious what’s in a sealed letter?”

  “Me.”

  “You say that,” Michael said, looking to Sharona and her calm, generous smirk. “Actually, I might believe that you alone aren’t held by the curiosity of secrets, if you were to say such a thing.”

  “Oh, but I don’t say that. I said I wasn’t curious about sealed letters. When is the last time a secret was put to letter?”


  Michael chuckled. “You aren’t noble.”

  “I know. I’m virtuous. There’s a difference, you know.” Sharona paused and tapped her lips. "I think I could reseal the letter if you are indeed so curious. I know a little spell for moving things backward a few minutes."

  “Handy, but no,” Michael said. “If there is something worth knowing in this letter, aside from private salutations, Julia will tell me. We spent our childhoods together and are friends, of a sort.”

  “Why aren’t you betrothed to her?”

  Michael paused and gazed at Sharona. “I don’t think I understand.”

  Sharona raised her eyebrows, giving her calm face a frightened expression. “Your friends, grew up together you say, and you clearly share confidence. You hadn’t thought of courting her?”

  “It doesn’t work like that in Artalland,” Michael said. “Except maybe with peasants.”

  “Well, who are you engaged to?”

  “Nobody. Yet. Though I’ve had several offers, I think I shall find most of those maidens suddenly unavailable.”

  “You’d think the prospect of marrying a prince would make them available.”

  “That depends on which prince. A second son who has had his titles and pensions stripped? Not much value there, even in terms of prestige.”

  They were silent for a minute or two, Michael refusing to look over at the mage.

  “You never asked me if I was engaged,” Sharona said. “Isn’t it good manners here to return conversation questions as such?”

  “Among equals,” Michael said. He grumbled to himself, then said, “Who are you engaged to?”

  “Nobody,” Sharona said.

  “Then why did you make me ask?”

  “I didn’t make you do anything.” She sighed. “I’m afraid my father will not be pleased. He thought my standards were already too high, and now I am talking to a prince.”

  Michael shook his head and sighed.

  The castle, as grand as it was and as filled as it was with servants and ministers, felt cold and lonely to Michael without his father, brother, and friends in arms hanging about. Not for the first time he missed his mother, if for no other reason than he knew she was somebody who would speak to him with love, regardless of what had happened following the last battle with the Ferrallese forces.

  He made up his mind early in the morning to go hunting, favoring the warm spring weather and wishing to leave the ancient walls of Artifia’s citadel. When he exited the courtyard for the stables, his great hunting crossbow on his shoulder, he found Sharona standing idly by, playing a card game by herself on an upturned crate.

  “Sharona,” Michael said. “I expected you would be on your way by now.”

  “To where, exactly?” Sharona said, puzzling over the face-up cards in her solitaire game.

  “To your home.”

  “When did I say that I would be heading home?”

  “Yesterday,” Michael said, gritting his teeth.

  “I said nothing of the sort. Your memory ought to be better than that.”

  Michael took a slow breath, trying to calm himself. “Why are you here now?”

  “I decided that you still need me.”

  “I do not.”

  “I don’t believe you are in the best position to judge. Hence I will continue to protect you until such time as I feel that you do not need me, or…” She considered a card move, wrinkling her brow. “Or circumstances change”

  “I am in the best position to judge.”

  “Then you have discovered who the traitor is. Are we off to rouse him?” Sharona stood up and adjusted an old sword that was belted around her simple dress.

  “What? No. I was going to go hunting. Now go home.” Michael turned to walk to the stables, but stopped as Sharona followed him.

  “Do I have to make the castle guard lock you up?”

  “Are you actually going to have the guard lock me up?”

  Michael groaned in frustration and began walking to the stables. Outside of them, he ran into Guissali, a knight and one of the house retainers, who smiled broadly as he approached.

  "Your Highness! It is good to see you home and in one piece!"

  Michael smiled back. “I wish it were in better circumstances.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Nothing,” Michael said. “Will you be riding with us today?”

  “With your permission.”

  “Granted. It will be good to have a friendly face about.”

  Guissali nudged Michael in the ribs. “Speaking of friendly faces, there was a young lady looking for you. I sent her to find you.”

  “Sharona?”

  “That’s the one. She seemed rather keen on you, sire.”

  Michael cleared his throat. “Yes… well, work on improving your vetting, Gui.”

  “Did I do something wrong?” Guissali said.

  Michael sighed. “No, friend. Don’t consider it further.”

  Guissali laughed. “I understand. Don’t worry. You’re the prince. She’ll forgive a slip of the tongue.” Guissali’s large hand patted Michael on the back as they walked into the stables.

  Michael picked out his favorite hunting horse, a roan he named Tutt, and with the help of a servant began saddling him and setting up his gear.

  He and Guissali rode to the front gate, where the huntmaster, an old war hero with one eye named Sotoro, waited with his hounds. Sharona was already there, a few paces away and watching the hounds nervously.

  “Who’s the wench, my magnanimous lord?” Sotoro said, his high voice creaking like old leather.

  “A mage. Call her my bodyguard, I suppose,” Michael said.

  “Ha!” Guissali said. “This is a change for her to see your prowess, my prince.”

  “She saw my prowess in battle,” Michael said.

  “Then this is merely a social opportunity. Whose daughter is she?”

  Michael shook his head silently.

  Sotoro smiled. “You have good tastes, your beneficent grace. Your servant Sotoro, loyal to the last, approves.”

  “It’s not like that, huntmaster.”

  “Of course it isn’t, your high gracefulness. I wasn’t insinuating anything improprietous, my great and powerful prince.”

  “Enough with the groveling, Sot. Have you a good line on the game today?”

  “Most good, High Lord. Good deer, good foxes. Good boar too, mighty one.”

  “Well… good, then. Lead on.”

  They followed Sotoro out of the castle and down to the river, where they took a path that wound north, past rows of houses that grew steadily newer and of lesser construction skill, and then passed alongside a stone wall meant to defend an assault from the river. Eventually, they came to a sparse wood, well maintained, and met another retinue of the huntmaster’s helpers, as well as a few soldiers. They were sitting in the back of a wagon, and this Michael followed further into the trees.

  “Did you deliver your letter yet?” Sharona said.

  “No,” Michael said.

  “Why is that?”

  “I haven’t had the time.”

  “Which explains why we are hunting, yes? We are in desperate need of food!”

  “Very funny,” Michael said.

  “Is it because you don’t want to tell her you got sacked?”

  “Of course not. That will be news eventually anyway. Probably already is, the way my father runs the pigeons.”

  “Ah,” Sharona said. “I think I understand.”

  “Do you?”

  “Yes. It is like a child that stays away from home when he knows he’s done something wrong. The punishment is coming no matter what, but it feels better in the moment to avoid it than to take it on.”

  “It’s nothing like that.”

  “Then let’s go deliver the letter.”

  “You wouldn’t be coming with me if I did,” Michael said.

  At last, they reached the royal hunting grounds, a wide stretch of mead
ows and woods near the great river. After watering the dogs, Sotoro unleashed them. He kicked his horse into a gallop, following them a dozen or so yards to their right. Michael rode straight on, dashing ahead of them to intercept the prey they scared up.

  The assistants to the huntmaster had already stationed themselves further up and caught a few quail as the dogs snarled and snapped at a covey that flew up from some bushes. For the better part of half an hour, they followed the two hounds around in a wide circle, but no larger game presented themselves. Michael decided to go further upland, in hope of finding a velvet stag, but after an hour of riding, he acquiesced to watering Tutt at a creek and resting, finding his himself too inwardly distracted to search for the signs of deer.

  The day wore on, at last they set out on the trek back to the citadel, no big game in tow.

  “No food today, then,” Sharona said as they ambled beside the river.

  “Well, we got some quail. Good eating for the huntsmen.” Michael took a long drink of water and looked up at an overhanging pine tree, leaning precariously to one side.

  “You’ve been quiet and far too polite. You seem distracted,” Sharona said.

  “I am. Something you said, maybe. About a traitor. I keep thinking about it. In truth, I considered it during the battle but put it out of my mind once the fighting got on.”

  “Oh yes, Go on, who do you think it is?”

  “I don’t know yet, but as my mind replays the events of the battle, I can’t help but think it likely. There’s no way Ballaco would have committed an entire battalion to a sortie down that northern ravine, unless he knew the resistance would be mild and the prize ripe. I doubt he even knew of the ravine, and certainly I find it unlikely he knew of the position of our forward camp. I think our camp placement, even, was a weakness. So somebody had to tell him what we were doing.”

  Michael paused and looked to the sun in the west. “He was using our plan against us. He had to know of it ahead of time. What makes you suspect a traitor?”

  “I just figured you wouldn’t have been sacked unless you knew something you weren’t supposed to know.”

  “Good point, though why not Angelico? He kept his commission.” Michael shook his head. “I can’t see who would have betrayed us.”

  “I’m sure you can. Unless he is invisible,” Sharona giggled. “The army is a big group, though.”