“We’ll give three gold pieces to Ultan,” Donovan replied. Seth laughed, as he knew that at least a third of all spoils had to be kicked up to the Gaian State, but he said nothing. “Spread eight gold pieces among the men who survived, two for those who remained here under my command, two for me, and one for you.”
The captain figured Seth had already pocketed some of the silver but a bit more made no difference. Eight coins of gold was a good payment for the forty-eight men who had survived the battle, and the other forty who remained on Tartarus would be tied even closer to a leader giving them coin even when they did not participate. It was all about reputation, and Donovan thought he knew a way to get around ten pounds of gold in less than a month anyway. There was some business he had to tend to in Tellus. With his name becoming more and more recognized it was only a matter of time before some unwanted people might remember it themselves. That had to be prevented, and the best way to silence a fool was to get to them before they had a chance to speak.
“Business in Tellus?” Seth asked. He revealed his gold teeth in a smile when Donovan glared at his mind’s trespasser.
“I shall see to Tellus,” Donovan said. “I have matters that require you here.”
“Name it, Captain,” Seth replied wolfishly.
“The man is called Lucas, an antagonist for dear Tristan in Tellus,” the captain explained. “He has two friends loyal to him, so they might be around him often. It would be best if all three men met some tragic end.”
“It’s done,” Seth said and stood abruptly.
“It would be best if none knew I was gone,” Donovan added. “See to it that it appears as though I am here, whatever you have to do.”
Seth gave the captain a half-assed salute and stalked from the room.
Donovan swiftly prepared a traveling bag, filled with hard bread and oatcakes, and then replaced his grand cloak with a tattered brown one. He removed his rings, left them in a strongbox in his bedchamber, and departed without a farewell to his household staff. His horse, a chestnut palfrey he had not even bothered to name, whinnied nervously when the captain entered his minute stable. He ignored the beast’s protests and saddled it, giving a curt “ha!” as he galloped from his estate west into a setting sun.
*
A light drizzle began to fall. It steamed and sizzled as it landed on the burning wood of Donovan’s makeshift fire. He had chosen his campsite in an open plain of grass, about a mile north of a thick forest of pine. It was the fourth day of his journey, but he figured he had another four to go before he reached the ferry that would pole him across the river to Tellus’ isle.
Donovan cursed as he searched his traveling bag. In boredom he had eaten all the oatcakes in those first two days, and he was stuck with nothing but tack that he figured would only last a couple more days if he stretched it. He huddled under his cloak and kept his bag dry with his own body. The bread was hard enough as it was, mold would render it useless.
The sky was darkening as night settled in but he figured he could get a couple hours’ rest unless the rain began to drop harder. Stars were shrouded by the grey clouds and only the moon could be seen off to the east as a pale blur in the heavens. Donovan gave another stick to the hungered flames and imagined that fire as feeding his own hatred.
In a few days all will be well, he thought absently. But what if he did not have a few days? If the name Donovan, son of Egil, stretched to the ears of Tellus, Nicolette might hear. She would know he was not truly dead, and all would soon be aware that the initial blow to cause the war had been caused by him. How would Gaia react? Praise on one hand, certainly, disdain on the other? Either way he would be hanged within a month. Maybe I shouldn’t rest just yet, the captain thought bitterly. He was about to move to his feet to saddle the palfrey again when he saw that the horse had fallen into slumber. Useless, he thought and slumped back down to rest his eyes.
Footsteps and hoof beats woke Donovan with a start, and he unsheathed his steel shortsword in a flash. His fire was extinguished and it was dark all about him but the stars had come from behind the clouds to lend a bit more light to the plains. A lone figure was walking a horse in his direction but Donovan called no greeting.
“Hail, traveler!” the figure declared in a high voice as he approached. “Might I use your embers to start my own cooking fire? You’re welcome to a bite of bacon.”
“Sure,” Donovan replied. He sheathed his sword.
The lone man was young, really a boy more than a man, and Donovan placed him at about seventeen or eighteen. He was dressed in farmer’s rags, an unbleached tunic and brown trousers too long for his legs. His mind lingered on a woman from his village that worked for a cloth dyer.
“I am called Harold, son of Edith,” the boy said cheerily. He stopped his horse next to Donovan’s and pulled a pan and some food from one of the saddlebags.
“Egil,” Donovan lied. “You are the son of Edith? That’s a curious name for a man.”
The boy’s blush could even be seen in starlight. “That’s my mother’s name. I never knew my father.”
“Surely she did,” Donovan replied. He seated himself and began placing the drier sticks he could find among the glowing embers. The boy shrugged as if to say that she never did either and Donovan had to conceal his thoughts of disgust.
The flames began to lick up the wood and brightened the night about the two travelers. Donovan piled more on and the boy thanked him graciously, though could not bring himself to meet his temporary host’s eyes. He placed the skillet atop the fire and mingled some eggs in with the raw bacon, throwing a bit of potatoes and parsley into the mix as well.
Donovan’s stomach growled as the scent drifted to his nostrils and he grinned happily as the boy spooned him some of the omelet. Without revealing his intent he suddenly kicked the boy onto the cooking fire. He screamed and tried to extinguish the flames stretching up his breeches but Donovan unsheathed his sword and ran it through the youth’s stomach in an eye blink. The screams were replaced by nervous whinnying from the two horses at the scent of blood sizzling and snapping in the fire. When the boy stopped twitching Donovan casually wiped the blade clean and finished his meal in addition to the young farmer’s.
He took one look at the chocolate courser the boy owned and smiled. Its teeth were all white and they were short with only a couple missing. Donovan estimated the horse at less than ten years old, which was much better than he could say for his own. The old chestnut horse stamped the ground impatiently as its former master rode away with more food on a younger beast, leaving the old palfrey tethered to a tree next to a fire smothered by a boy.
* *
Donovan tied his newest asset to a post just outside of a manor flying a great flag of emerald green bordered in silver. He cringed at that, for he knew the old transport captain would not have flown the flag himself. Evidently Gaian soldiers had been there already, and probably meant to “secure” whatever funds they found until he returned home. The captain cursed to find the door locked. He had a set of tools with him to pick that lock but there was still a dying orange light in the sky that persuaded him to stay his hand.
It was the evening of his eighth day away from Tartarus, but overall Donovan was glad to have made such good time on his new mount. He would leave that night again, heading back to whence he came, but first some business had to be taken care of. He moved around the manor, through a set of overgrown bushes laden with thorns and dry leaves.
The windows in the back of the manor faced a large courtyard walled in stone. They were made of rich glass, though dirt and dust had settled on them in the past months to leave his distorted reflection blurry. Donovan was not sure whether anyone was in the house but when he reached out with his mind’s fingers he felt no other presence than his own. It took just one heavy brick to smash a window to shards and suddenly he was in.
Thomas’ manor was quaint on the inside for such a grand edifice without. It was made of mostly stone and mortar with onl
y a few places patched with wood to make due until better repairs could be made. The dining room had a simple table of chestnut, and four pine chairs that gave the room a fresh scent in spite of the aged rushes on the floor. Donovan searched there first, finding nothing to reveal loose floorboards where the wealthy captain could horde his gold.
The seating room just beyond was worse. The cushioned chairs and the couch were turned over and tossed aside. Not only had Gaia’s soldiers been here, but they made no pretense as to their business. Small boxes once filled with knickknacks and mementos were left open with their contents shuffled around. There was one pearl on the ground that had two tiny holes its sides, presumably for threading, that Donovan snatched up in an exasperated grunt.
The daughter’s bedchamber was much the same as the seating room, with her vanity tipped aside and the bronze mirror missing. Her desk had been ransacked and even her bed was flipped over to reveal nothing but dust bunnies and old floor rushes. Donovan took care to make sure none saw him through the window and checked the girl’s jewelry box out of habit. Nothing. What did you expect? He asked himself when he walked briskly to Thomas’ vast bedchamber. Did you really think you’d be the only one with this whole idea?
Thomas’ quarters were by far the worst, with every item in the humble rooms a tumult. Chairs were smashed on the ground and someone had even pissed on the mattress in savage display of discontent. Donovan crinkled his brow to see the vandalism. Thomas was a great man among the Gaians, respected and even revered in some circles. The military would not have done this bullshit unless… Donovan paused in thought. He grinned. Unless they didn’t find what they were looking for.
New hope surged into him and he stalked back to the daughter’s bedroom. If they could not find it in Thomas’ chambers then it must be where they would not have looked, right? He searched the room from top to bottom again, combing through the girl’s wardrobe and drawers to find nothing. He turned and looked at the mattress flipped over on the floor and suddenly Donovan smiled broadly.
Donovan unsheathed his shortsword and cut through the linen holding the feathers in place. He slid the steel all along the mattress and tore the linen apart spilling feathers and round discs of wool onto the floor. Stooping down, he retrieved one of the discs and cut into it to reveal a coin of gold hidden beneath the wool. Clever bastard, Donovan thought with a chuckle. The coins were all there, well almost, but over six pounds worth were in the mattress and wrapped to prevent them clinking around on each other. Thomas’ bed held only feathers, but it mattered little for Donovan was rich. Beyond rich, even. He had six and a half pounds of gold and that was more than many men made in a lifetime. There was only one more job to do to secure his future as being as golden as the money he stuffed in his traveling bag.
It was dark by the time he reached Nicolette’s house, but even still Donovan cantered up and down the city streets to pass time until midnight. He kept his eye on her manor when he passed, every so often noticing another candle or two had been extinguished. Only one guardsman stopped him, but it was merely to ask where a brothel lay. Donovan made up an obscurity that sent the soldier to the other side of town.
Tellus was one of the more well-run cities Donovan knew of, in spite of its size. It rested on a near-circular island seven to eight miles in diameter, and housed Gaia’s wealthiest citizens along with about a million others. The whole of the city was almost as populated as all of Thalassa, and boasted clean roads of cobblestone and designated sewage ditches that prevented the stink that most immense towns were notorious for. If he had not lived in Tartarus his whole life, Donovan thought he might enjoy living in the bustle of Gaia’s capital.
Working men and women all shared around the same hours, with none but the tavern and brothel workers staying up past midnight. For the most part everyone was home by sunset, candles and hearths extinguished a couple hours later, to wake at sunrise and begin their day again.
Tartarus was not like that. It was well-run from what he could tell, but it was also a lascivious town that boasted more midnight activities than most. It was a gambler’s haven, with brothels and taverns open all hours of the night. With a port that reeked of ale and shit from where people dumped their night soil, Tartarus always had a curious smell starting from when one got off the boat. All that and more, but it was home.
The moon hung high when Donovan tethered his horse in an alley beside a local tavern. He walked briskly across the street to Nicolette’s house and fumbled at the lock with his tools until he heard the successful clicks he desired. The first room was the seating room, exceedingly lavish in comparison to Thomas’, but he drifted through it towards the servants’ quarters where he felt the presence of two minds harboring lustful thoughts.
“Oh, yes, right there,” a woman whispered behind the door to the servants’ shared rooms.
“Oh my honeycomb,” a man grunted in reply.
Donovan sneered.
The former footpad eased the door open to reveal the whispers louder and struggled to keep his mind blank so neither servant would feel his presence. Their rutting ceased for a moment and Donovan stopped moving, his heart racing, but they continued anew with soft moans of pleasure.
He entered the bedroom and looked to where the coupling servants panted in lust and sweat. The woman’s face was covered from his view by her lover’s back, but she abruptly shifted and gazed beyond her man’s hairy shoulders to where a dark figure stood in the shadows. The woman paused in fear and opened her mouth to scream when Donovan swiftly moved to cover the manservant’s lips while shoving his shortsword into his lover’s open mouth.
The servant struggled against his lover’s murderer but could not get a shout out. He could only watch as blood surged up the steel and back down to muffle the screams of the young woman. Without a word Donovan pulled the blade from the choking woman’s throat and brought it across the jugular of the naked man he held firm. He let the corpse collapse on his dead lover and wiped the blade on the edge of the bed.
Nicolette’s manor was two stories. The first level housed their two servants, a seating and dining room, and a grand kitchen that must have cost a fortune to furnish. The pans and pots were of the finest bronze, but even still there was no need to clamor out of the manor with such. Even the servants had been well bestowed upon. The woman wore a silver necklace studded with garnets to compliment the rosy cheeks she once had. The man had a thong threaded with great cat’s teeth about his neck, not one of the pearly white bicuspids less than an inch long. Donovan threw the jewels in his bag and walked up the pine stairs to the second story; the master bedroom.
* * *
Nicolette’s husband lay in a puddle of scarlet that still leaked slowly from his open neck. His eyes had not even opened until after the blade did its work, and now their gaze remained fixed on the wall in a glaze of pink. Nicolette had only twitched mildly in her lover’s death, shifting positions in her sleep to find a better resting spot. Her head rested on a blanket of blonde curls and her soft lips were parted slightly.
Donovan covered her mouth with his free hand and Nicolette’s jade eyes flashed open. She tried to scream but he stifled the sound and she stared into his blue eyes with renewed terror. “You…”
“Aye, me,” Donovan replied mentally. He had her arms pinned under his knees and she thought about trying to kick him off but her legs were still tangled in the blankets.
“But you were dead,” Nicolette thought desperately. A tear began to form when she could not feel the presence of her husband’s mind.
“I was meant to appear dead,” Donovan replied, “for you, at least.”
“Let me live,” she pleaded. “Let me live and no one will find out.”
“You’re right,” Donovan answered with a smile. “No one will find out.”
Nicolette cringed when the shortsword shoved through her breast, piercing her heart to pin her to the bed. Blood began to fill her mouth and only then did Donovan take his hand away. She attempted onc
e more to scream but her life’s fluid gargled pitifully in her throat, spilling onto her chin in harsh flows for a few strained heartbeats.
Then it stopped.
Donovan moved to a box of tinder on Nicolette’s nightstand, first lighting the oil lamp next to her bed. He used the lamp to light a candle and dropped it nonchalantly on the wooden floor. The oil leaked out and was soon a puddle of flame, licking at the edge of Nicolette’s mattress. He hurried down the stairs and started another fire with the cooking oil in the kitchen. Before he left Donovan lit one more lamp with the candle. He threw it beneath the staircase where it exploded in a gout of flame that reached its hands high to touch the pine steps.
When he untied his courser, Nicolette’s windows showed a faint orange, but nothing suspicious. It only appeared as though the residents were still awake. Nevertheless he pushed the horse at a brisk trot through Tellus’ streets until coming upon the guards at the gate. As Tellus was naturally protected by a ring of water, it was rare that the gate was ever lowered to begin with. When the guardsmen moved to stop him he answered by throwing a handful of gold into the air. Both men scrambled to pick up the coins and did not even think to bar the traveler’s way any longer. Donovan grimaced but could just as easily have shrugged. Six ounces of gold was no great loss to escape the chaos that would envelope the citadel when they realized a diplomat’s house was aflame with her still inside.
Severance (The Sovereign Book 1) Page 27