Jalia Prevails (Book 5)

by John Booth

  “That was pretty much my own reasoning last night. But I must admit to being slightly apprehensive about it this morning.”

  “With me at your side; what could possibly go wrong?” Jalia asked.

  “Yes, that was the very thing worrying me.”

  Gally Sorn left the Steam Dragon after breakfast. She rode her horse down the gangway and onto the dock before galloping off towards the center of Bratin. The only passenger to see her go was Jak Venjer. He frowned as she rode out of sight. Gally Sorn on a mission could only mean trouble for someone. Jak wondered who it was who was going to suffer this time.

  Gally rode to the Hanging Man Inn, which was situated in the seediest part of the town. The inn was an old and warped wood-framed structure with whitewashed wattle and daub walls. It had a small courtyard with an associated stable. Gally rode into the courtyard and jumped down from her horse, kicking the stable lad who lay sleeping on a pile of straw. Kip woke with a jump and uttered a foul word. Then he saw who had kicked him and bowed his head out of respect and not a little fear.

  “Begging your pardon, Mistress Sorn. I didn’t know it was you that kicked me. I didn’t mean to swear at you,” Kip said in as lowly a voice as he could manage.

  “Look after my horse and I won’t ask Blane to have you whipped… again,” Gally replied, giving the boy the kind of smile that foxes give chickens. Kip grabbed the reins of her horse and led it deeper into the stable, bowing at Gally every three steps along the way.

  Gally strode into the common room as though she owned the place, though as a matter of fact, it was her father who was the owner. The innkeeper, Gef Blane, was nowhere to be seen. There was a clatter coming from the kitchen and Gally followed the sound to find a mousey haired woman and two teenage girls in the process of preparing food.

  Tala Blane looked around angrily, about to scold whoever had dared to invade the sanctity of her kitchen. Then she saw who stood in front of her and her face changed to one of the utmost servility.

  “Mistress Gally, how good to see you again. It has been many months since you last graced us with your presence. Can I prepare you some tea?”

  Gally Sorn sneered at the innkeeper’s wife. “Get that lazy pig of a husband out of bed and get him to round up the men. I want them down in the common room in the next half hour or there will be trouble. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes, Mistress Gally, I will see to it at once,” Tala said, tugging at the hair on her forehead and bowing low.

  “Rena, Sela, prepare Mistress Sorn a pot of fresh tea and see to her every need,” she snapped at her two daughters, who were standing like frightened rabbits. “Unless you want to feel your father’s belt, that is.”

  The girls sprang into action as if they had just felt his belt strike across their backsides. Rena ran to Gally’s side and escorted her to the common room while Sela strode to the kettle to prepare the tea.

  Less than half an hour later, eleven hard looking men assembled in the common room. Most of them looked irritated at being dragged from their beds. These were not the kind of men anyone would invite to a garden party. In fact, these were not the sort of men you would want guarding your door, unless you were expecting trouble of the very worst kind.

  All of them wore swords and carried knives. Most carried scars on their flesh from old fights. They wore clothes that had not been washed for months, if ever. Their clothes matched their bodies, it was difficult to see where one ended and the other began in places.

  The men’s leader had a large scar across his face, matched in its ugliness only by the look of contempt he wore. He spat into the fire and turned to Gally.

  “We are all of us here, my lady,” he said in a barely civil manner. “Perhaps you could explain why you saw fit to drag us from our beds?”

  “Do you not take the Sorn coin, Relf Upkiss? It comes with an obligation to follow the family’s orders, or had you forgotten?”

  “I serve your father, not you.”

  “You serve his family, and you serve me without question,” Gally stated coldly. “If you wish to terminate your contract by disobeying me, I’m sure that father will not hesitate to agree to your demise.”

  “Tell us what you want then,” Relf said, in a surly tone, but with a touch of respect mingled in it.

  “I wish you to kill two people who are traveling on the Steam Dragon. They will be visiting the landmarks of Bratin today. I want you to find them, get into a fight with them and kill them.”

  “Fair enough,” Relf snarled. “But there was no need to get us all here over such a simple matter.”

  “The two people in question are Jalia al’Dare and Daniel al’Degar,” Gally said coldly. Relf looked at Gally in astonishment and then began to laugh. All the other men joined in after a moment’s thought. “These are the real ones and if you take them on in a fair fight they will slaughter you,” Gally continued. The laughter slowly died as the men realized she was deadly serious.

  “They will probably be wandering around the town with two of Brila Marin’s brats, Cara and Don. Those two are capable fighters. If you can, you will keep them out of it. If you can’t keep them out, then you will have to kill them too.”

  “Are there many more in this army you are sending us against?” Relf asked sarcastically. He was beginning to feel worried, as ten to four were closer odds than he cared for, especially if the four in question were skilled fighters.

  “There may also be a young girl and a boy. The girl carries a knife. Will you need more men to deal with them as well?” Gally asked, equally sarcastically.

  Gally looked at one of the nastier looking men. He was only small, but the way he cleaned his fingernails with the point of his knife suggested that he might just kill you for looking at him.

  “As I remember, Talid here is good at pretending to be a member of the crowd before he sticks a knife in someone’s back. I’m sure you have a couple of men with similar skills. Just make sure they take out Dare and Degar at the same time. Once they are dead, you may scatter back to your rat holes.”

  Relf stood and walked over to Gally. They were much the same height and he looked her straight in the eye.

  “You want us to pick a fight with a couple of heroes. Then, before they kill us, our men, hiding in the crowd, stab them in the back and we scarper?”

  “That about sums it up,” Gally admitted.

  “Fair enough.” Relf spat on his hand and offered it to Gally. She shook it without hesitation or sign of distaste. “Would you mind telling us why you want them dead?”

  “It’s none of your business, but I don’t see why not. My sister, Jalka suggested a possibility that they might be working for someone I oppose. One of my allies onboard the Dragon is getting skittish, so I can’t take the risk that they might cause trouble. Better they are dead here and now, rather than take the risk they might prove to be a nuisance later.”

  “We will lay a trap at the entrance to the Greenhouse,” Relf said as he rubbed his hand over the three days of beard growth. “I will use all our men, except the Innkeeper.” Gef Blane, standing in the corner, looked relieved at hearing those words. “Gef is not much good for anything much, except seeing to his wife once a month,” Relf said, to much laughter.

  “Do not underestimate those two,” Gally warned.

  “We won’t. Now if you will give us a full description of them, we will be about our business and leave you to get on with yours.”

  The town of Bratin was small compared with Boathaven or Wegnar, and as far as Jalia could tell, all it did to earn its keep was keep the Greenhouse in full working order. The Greenhouse was situated in the east and dominated the skyline with its massive dome. It was much bigger than the town. However, if you ignored the Greenhouse, Bratin was laid out in a manner typical of northern towns.

  There was a square with a market place surrounded by a number of impressive civic buildings. The south of the town was where the rich lived in their large detached houses. The east of the tow
n was where the workers for the Greenhouse lived while the west of the town was where drinking establishments and brothels prospered. The west was the place you could find those who made a living in ways other than by working. The north of town housed the docks and was bounded by the river Jalon.

  The Governor’s Mansion was situated a little way south of the market place and marked the boundary with the wealthy part of town. While being in no way as impressive as the Palaces at Wegnar and Boathaven, the Mansion was still an impressive building in its own right.

  Wrought iron railings sat atop a small brick wall that ran right around the house, protecting it and its grounds. Sharp spikes on the top of the fence provided a more than adequate defense against the town’s lawless elements. Through the railings, Jalia’s party admired the elegant multicolored brickwork of the mansion. The different colored bricks formed patterns that complimented the shape of the building and its windows. All the windows of the Mansion were glazed with small blown-glass window panes, which showed that someone had been prepared to go to considerable expense to enhance the Governor’s status.

  The only way into the grounds was via a pair of wrought iron gates to the west of the building. As they made their way towards the gates, they noticed that they were closed and locked and that a couple of uniformed guards were stationed there to prevent unauthorized entry.

  “I thought we could just go in and have a look at the clock,” Jalia complained.

  “The last time I came here, you could do just that. The gates were open,” Nin replied defensively.

  “Let’s ask if we can go in,” Daniel suggested.

  Sergeant at Arms Lon Pierce was wishing the day already over even though it had barely begun. He had drawn gate duty at the Mansion, which was by far and away the most boring task you could get lumbered with in the Governor’s Guard.

  Patrolling Westtown was the best duty, as the drinking establishments would ply you with drinks to keep you sweet while the girls in the brothels would often offer their bodies for similar considerations. Lon had been indulging in a pleasant daydream involving a girl called Greta when he saw the group approaching.

  Lon groaned at the interruption. He had not thought the day could get any worse and here was more inconvenience heading his way.

  “Go away, we’re closed,” he shouted in the hope it would drive them away, but they kept on coming. Worse yet, young Tel Pran was looking at him in a puzzled way. Tel was a new boy and had yet to learn the ropes. To him, guarding the gates of the Mansion was fun.

  “We were hoping to get in to see the clock,” Jalia told the guards. Before Lon had a chance to explain that the mansion was closed, Tel butted in with a more accurate answer.

  “The Governor welcomes all visitors to the town. Because of the recent troubles in Slarn, the Governor has ordered the gates Mansion closed as a precaution, but visitors are most welcome to come in and look around. I’m afraid you will have to leave your weapons at the gatehouse though.”

  “That sounds fair,” Daniel chipped in and drew his sword, offering it hilt first to the young guard. Tel took Daniel’s sword and then Don and Cara’s. By this time, he was at considerable risk of dropping them and hastily passed them over to Lon, who glared at him in response.

  Hala offered Tel her knife through the railings while Nin grinned and put up his hands and turned around slowly to show that he was carrying nothing that might be considered a weapon. Lon and Tel piled the weapons up in the little hut the two men used to shelter them from the rain. Tel looked enquiringly at Jalia.

  Jalia sighed and slipped her sword free of its scabbard. She tossed her sword in the air and caught it near its point, miraculously avoiding cutting herself on its razor sharp edges. Tel and Lon’s eyes widened at this casual display of foolhardy skill.

  Jalia took out the throwing knife on her belt and the one in her boot. She twirled the blades so fast that their surfaces blurred before she ending up holding them out to Tel hilt first. He took them from her gingerly, scared that he might cut her.

  “Perhaps we need to strip search this one; just to be sure she isn’t carrying any concealed weapons?” Lon suggested with a lecherous grin on his face. Jalia looked like a tasty bit of strumpet to him and he longed for a chance to touch her.

  “Best not, boys,” Daniel cautioned. “Jalia’s hands become lethal weapons when she thinks someone is taking liberties.”

  Tel looked to Lon for advice and Lon shook his head to tell him they were not going to bother searching Jalia after all. No one who admitted to carrying that many weapons was going to conceal any more, he told himself. Besides which, he had no desire to find out what this girl did to men who were too free with their hands.

  Having taken their weapons, Tel unlocked the gates and invited them through. It amused Daniel that neither guard had drawn their weapons at any point and they could have been easily overcome by any two of the adults in the party.

  Tel led them around the back of the Mansion and through an archway to the walled courtyard

  “There it is, the famous and unique Clock of Bratin,” he said proudly.

  The courtyard was about forty feet square and was cobbled with small dark grey round faced stones that were uncomfortable to walk on. At its center was the clock. As Nin had stated the previous day, the clock was contained within a solid cylinder of glass three feet in diameter and rising to a height of ten feet. Its top was curved into a perfect hemisphere.

  Through the glass, a clock face two feet in diameter and apparently made of solid gold was suspended at head height in a perfectly horizontal position. The clock face was so thin that if you viewed it from the side it was almost invisible. The clock was two sided, showing a traditional face on both its sides

  There were no moving parts to the clock that anyone could see. The clock face set out the usual hours of the day. Marked across it showing an incorrect time of quarter past three were two wide red lines representing the hour and minute hands. These hands appeared to have been etched into the face of the clock. Below the face was a single sheet of wafer thin gold suspended in the glass at thirty degrees from vertical. Apart from the clock face and the plate, the cylinder was empty.

  “I don’t see how this clock could ever have worked,” Cara complained, “There are no moving parts, and the whole thing is solid glass.”

  “Magic doesn’t need moving parts,” Nin replied. “Those red marks used to move across the face to show the hours and minutes for everybody to see.”

  “What was that gold plate for?” Daniel asked.

  “I’ve no idea,” Nin admitted as he squinted at the unmarked surface of the plate.

  After staring at the clock for five or so minutes, everybody but Daniel became bored with it and began to wander around the courtyard. There were finely carved statues of ancient kings and queens in alcoves embedded into the walls. Daniel however, was fascinated by the gold plate, as he was certain it had a purpose.

  Black words began to form on the sheet. At first, they were written in an incomprehensible language, but then they changed into words Daniel could read. It was as if the clock had realized its mistake and corrected it.

  “Welcome, heir to the Magician Kings and the future High King of Jalon,” the words on the plate spelt out.

  Daniel waved his hand in a silly attempt to try to tell the clock to make the words go away before somebody saw them. He looked around anxiously to see if any of the others had noticed. They were all engrossed in commenting on the statues to each other and not one of them was looking in his direction.

  “Is it time for me to start again?” new words on the plate asked. “I was asked to stop by the first Heir as the Fairie knew that if I was still working, a High King still lived.”

  “How would they know that?” Daniel whispered.

  “You do not need to speak. Think the words and I will read them from your mind. I am much more than a clock. I am one of the four Cornerstones of Jalon. Human magic constructed magic objects far beyond
the capability of the Fairie, they are copier creatures and the human mind has greater imagination.”

  “The Fairie coveted human magic and so the Magicians protected their creations behind shields that killed the Fairie and dampened all magic so no human could enter their treasure rooms and use the magic objects to leave. The four Cornerstones need no such protection as we are all far too powerful for the Fairie to touch us.”

  ‘What is your true purpose then?’ Daniel thought while trying to block the writing on the sheet of gold from the sight of his companions with his body.

  “I can only tell the High King that, and you are not yet crowned. Come back when you are and we will talk further on it.”

  ‘You didn’t do the Magician Kings much good when they were attacked by the Fairie’ Daniel pointed out.

  “No High King has spoken to me in hundreds of years. I believe that my power has been forgotten.”

  ‘Well, please don’t start working now,’ Daniel thought desperately. ‘I am about as likely to be crowned High King as to grow wings and all you would achieve is condemn me to death.’

  “I think not,” appeared on the plate in large letters. “However, I will give you time to leave Bratin before I restart.”

  ‘Thank you’ Daniel thought at the clock, relief etched on his face.

  “You must beware the trap that has been set for you at the Greenhouse,” the clock wrote.

  ‘What trap?’

  “Beware!” appeared in big letters.

  “What are you finding so interesting?” Don asked from behind Daniel. Despite the fact he was looking at the gold plate he didn’t mention the writing.

  “My words can only be seen by Magicians,” the clock wrote smugly. Daniel had not believed that the way words as written could convey such an emotion until he saw it happen before his eyes,