by N M Zoltack
No. Not anymore. Pa's thievery had earned him a sword through his belly.
A large part of Rase thought he shouldn't leave the shack, that he should stay with his grieving family and try to make them feel better, but no. Rase couldn't afford to give in to his own grief. He was the man of the house now, even if the house was only a shack. Ma, Leanne, and Maxine were all counting on Rase and Rase alone to bring them food, and he would not disappoint them.
Now, Rase was going to go from tavern to tavern, staying away from the Jolly Snapdragon of course. Most of the owners wouldn't even give Rase a chance to explain that he was looking for a job serving the customers. None were willing to give him a position.
Honestly, Rase wasn't surprised. He looked too young for one thing, and he had no real experience. A few nights hardly counted. Still, asking around to be taken on as an apprentice hadn't gotten him anywhere either.
The sixth bar Rase entered, one called the Fiery Dragon Tavern, was no different from any other. Smoky, crowded, filled with people eating and drinking. Rase did his best to stay away from anyone gambling, whether playing cards or rolling dice. That was a crowd he wanted to avoid.
But the crowd that had plenty of ale and spiced wine coming, that was where Rase lingered, just on the outskirts, where no one was paying him any attention.
He watched as the men reached into their coin pouches and paid for their drinks. They were drinking far too often, dipping their hands every half of the hour or so. If he were to take one of their coin pouches, he would have to scram out of there or else risk being caught. They would notice the thievery rather quickly. Besides, at the rate they were drinking, they had to have slim funds by now. The longer the night would go on, the poorer they would become.
So he shifted his attention to the women. They drank, too, but at a much slower pace, and the men paid for them.
But some of the women carried coin pouches as well, and he observed them all critically.
When one stood and headed toward the bathroom, Rase followed and bumped into her, snatching her coin pouch at the same time. She sent a nasty look at the man behind her, as Rase had already moved away.
That had been easy enough, and Rase thought about leaving. The coin pouch was rather slim, though, and Rase didn't bother to count how much he had stolen. Instead, he moved onto another crowd. It didn't take him long to snatch another coin pouch, this time by crawling near the bench where his targets were sitting.
A couple left, and Rase hurried after them. The night air was chilly, and he shivered as he picked up the pace. If they had ridden horses here, he would never be able to catch them, but they ambled away, arms around each other, laughing.
They were too close together. He wouldn't have a chance to steal from them.
No matter. There was one other tavern nearby that he could check out tonight, the Ancient Helm.
This tavern actually had a little bit of ambiance. The name came from the helms lining the walls, used as sconces to hold the lit torches to illuminate the place. A bard wearing a rusted helm sang and danced on the stage in the back of the tavern. A crowd of people stood in front of the dais, cheering and sending a few coins his way.
Seeing that reminded Rase of his former friend, Darwin. Rase couldn't sing, couldn't play, but Darwin could. Darwin and his family were a lot better off than the Ainsleys but not well enough to help.
A wave of guilt washed over Rase. He shouldn't have asked Darwin for help, or any of the other peasants. They had next to nothing themselves. Most were also struggling to get by, and none lived in comfort.
The nobles, though, and even the merchants, they might be able to make a difference, but none were willing to. If Rase ever came out of this on top, he would help those who needed it. He swore he would. These people here, out and about, drinking and carousing, they had the coins to splurge, so why shouldn't he redistribute some to the poor, namely his family?
The queen, the younger one, Rosalynne Rivera, allowed anyone and everyone to come and address her with concerns. Rase had thought about coming and asking her for help, for a job for either him or his pa, but he had opted not to, and now, he couldn't any longer. Those audiences had ended after a man from Vincana had died. Murdered or so Rase had heard.
So much violence but Rase didn't feel any fear as he scanned the crowd. He located a woman he wished to steal from, but he couldn't get close enough to her. Instead, he opted for her friend, but when he reached for the coin pouch, he felt as if there were eyes on him, so he moved on.
Perhaps the third time would be the charm, but he had no such luck either. The moment his hand clutched the coin purse, he realized it was tied too tightly to her belt. The others had been merely tucked into belts or sashes, not tied.
The woman whirled around, and Rase fell to the floor, clutching his throat, coughing violently.
"Please…" he tried to say through the coughs. "Water…"
"What's wrong with him?" the man with the woman asked.
The woman eyed Rase suspiciously. "I think he—"
Rase rolled over onto all fours and forced himself to gag. He upchucked the squirrel he had caught and eaten earlier that day.
The woman shrieked and stepped back. "Get him some water, and get him out of here!"
Rase enjoyed the cool water and then was escorted out of the tavern. He hadn't gained any more coin pouches, and he would have to be more careful in the future. For now, he would just have to wait for the sun to rise to head to the market.
The boy was so excited and anxious that he hardly slept once he returned home. Once the new day dawned, he rushed to the market, bought some meat, vegetables, even rolls, and a few spices. The coin pouches empty, his arms full, Rase raced back to his house. It was more a shack than a home, but it protected against most of the elements. During the winter, snow drifted inside, and when it rained, water would drip through the roof. Still, it was better than being homeless.
Rase had left so early that his family had been sleeping, and he managed to return before any of them woke. His ma was dressed and ready, though, and her eyes widened as she took in Rase's haul.
"We need a fire going," Rase said.
Leanne, his sister, stirred, as did her friend Maxene. Rase felt terrible for Maxene Byron. A son of a lord had taken advantage of her and gotten her pregnant before sending her packing. Now, Rase and his family were taking care of her, even though they didn’t have much to give.
Yes, this was why Rase could forgive his pa for stealing even though it had cost him his life, why Rase himself could turn into a thief. It was only temporary. One day, he would discover another way to change their fate.
Within an hour, they were all eating. Leanne hugged Rase, Maxene smiled warmly, rubbing her stomach, and Ma nearly cried. She was beaming with pride, and Rase? He felt as if he were a knight, a warrior, a hero. He had helped his family, and he would continue to do so, no matter what he had to do.
10
Garsea
The bald man sat cross-legged, eyes closed, lost in his thoughts. Mediation had a way of opening one's mind to the possibilities within the universe. The flow of time opened up, and if one trained properly, they could join that rushing stream and be aware of the past, the present, and the future. Those who had been chosen to be Keepers of the Flames must first perfect this skill many did not even know existed and had nearly been lost to all of mankind.
If we do not breed offspring, it will be lost after all.
His thoughts were drifting too much. As of late, that had oft been the case, and Garsea was growing rather frustrated with himself. The future had never been so hazy before. Previously, before all of the deaths in Atlan, and by that, he meant the deaths of the Lis and not just the Riveras, he could see the way to the future. That was when he first started to send out the others to locate the dragon bones. After the third and final dragon had been viciously murdered by the terrible Lord of Light and Darkness, a massive windstorm had swept over all of the lands and seas. The
bones and claws and teeth had been scattered all over the place. It was conceivable that some of the bones could be lost to the see.
But Garsea refused to give up hope. He had seen that the dragons would return one day. Reuniting all of the bones would be the first step in their triumphant return. The eldest Keeper truly believed that securing the bones of any of the singular dragons would be sufficient. That must be the case. The other two dragon skeletons were missing so many pieces that the hope of finding the rest would drive any sane man to insanity.
Although this was blasphemy, Garsea was almost more concerned with the future of the Keeper of the Flames than the return of the dragons. He was in his sixties, and the crush and imprisonment of his fleshly coil weighed down on him more and more each day. One morning, he would not wake.
Until then, he must keep going. The work of their order could not wait.
If only he could begin to train a young child or several children to become the next generation of Keepers! Alas, since the dragons themselves hand-selected the members of the Keepers of the Flames, Garsea did not feel worthy enough to choose others to join their ranks. The founders and their children and their children's children had forged the lifeblood of the order. Several, however, had been hunted down and slaughtered alongside the dragons they adored. A few, the terrible cowards, had forsaken their vow and abandoned their post. Now, only the three of them remained.
No. He must focus and soon, or else he would be lost to the flow of time and die right here and now.
Garsea rejuvenated his focus and opened his mind's eye. The rest of his worries and fears, his doubts and anxieties all fled. All he could feel was the world, its power, its vastness.
There, ahead of him was the land. He could not recognize the rolling hills, so he wondered if he had stumbled upon the past. Above him, a shadow cast down, and he looked up to see a wondrous, majestic dragon soaring high in the sky. Ah, yes, the past then, unless this was the future?
Once more, Garsea appraised the landscape. Slowly, the field where the dragon flew over gradually aged. The clouds in the sky, the sun, and the moon, time passed, so quickly that the expanse of a vast forest covered the entire field, towering black sentinels that watched the demise of the dragons three.
The fielded forest.
The black forest.
Cilla.
Thank you, Oh Winged Majesty.
Garsea opened his eyes. "Cilla," he murmured to himself, still not quite seeing the room around him with its dusty tomes of scrolls and books far older than his own years. "Cilla might have the last of the bones we need for our dragon skeleton."
11
Prince Marcellus Gallus
The lack of progress concerning the identity of Rufus's murderer frustrated Marcellus so much that his teeth hurt from clenching so tightly. So many people had tried to be helpful and come forward with what they remembered of the ball, but none of their stories matched the others. Marcellus did not think them capable of massive deceit. Rather, he thought they merely misremembered the event. It had been a fun, exciting occasion until the murder marred it. How could Marcellus blame the lords and ladies for not witnessing the travesty when he himself had also not observed it?
When Marcellus was deep in thought, he tended to pace, and he had been pacing in his room for two hours straight now. The thresh beneath his feet had all been stomped down to a thin layer.
Just then, a knock sounded at his door. Marcellus drew short, scowled, and then crossed over to the door with three forceful steps. He threw the door open to see one of his guards standing there with a messenger.
Marcellus flared his nostrils at the guard. The Vincanan knew he should not blame the guard or the other one he had brought along for not preventing the death, for not halting the assassination attempt. The queen's guards, both queens', had not stopped the attack either. The ball had been so chaotic, even if organized. Far too many people had been crowding about.
Could it be that one of the queens or them working jointly had secured Rufus's death? But why? If they wished for war, they would surely have it. By now, the host of birds he had sent to his father should have arrived. In case the birds would be hunted down so that the messages would never reach Vincana, Marcellus had smuggled the birds out of the city proper to send them on their way. Paranoid? Without a doubt and given the murder of his friend, how could he not be?
The guard and the messenger were awkwardly standing there, and Marcellus cleared his throat.
"Well?" he demanded.
The guard nodded to the messenger, who handed Marcellus a missive. It was sealed at least, and he scrutinized the wax with a critical eye. Yes, it had not been tampered with in any fashion. Still, he would have rather he had personally been the only one to handle the scroll.
The Gallus family crest stood out, embedded into the melted white wax. The design had been painted red, that of a red helmet with spear and arrows crossed in front.
Marcellus waved the messenger away before motioning for the guard to enter his chambers. The guard shut the door behind him and stood there with his hands behind his back, feet shoulder-width apart, waiting for his next assignment.
With a dagger, Marcellus broke the seal and unrolled the scroll. He read it once, twice, a third time and then dipped a corner into the nearest candle. The flames slowly devoured the scroll, and he waited until it was wholly ashes before speaking.
"Arrange for us to leave. Inform everyone. As soon as we are ready, we shall depart, no matter the hour."
The guard nodded, bowed, and departed.
Marcellus crossed over to his bed and sank heavily upon it. His father demanded that Marcellus return immediately so the final war preparations could be concluded.
If either of you wished for war, Queens, war will be here before you realize it, before you can organize and mobilize your defenses. You both are weak. You both stay here, in your castle, pretending you have power and authority. Neither of you has any true power, and it is far past time that someone deserving wears the crown and sits on the throne. Someone like my father.
And someday, someone like me.
12
Queen Sabine Grantham
The news that the Vincanans were clearly packing reached Sabine, and the queen's fury rose like a tempest within her. Hand clenched, she marched through the castle until she reached Marcellus's room. She raised her hand to knock, hesitated, and then glanced at her guard. It was about time he made himself useful.
The young guard rapped his knuckles against the door.
The Vincanan did not bid her open the door. Instead, he opened it himself. His lips pursed slightly when he saw her, and a flash of anger crossed his features before his face assumed a blank expression.
"Yes, My Queen?" he asked. "What is it you wish?"
She pushed the door open much wider and glided around him, their bodies slightly touching as he had not given her hardly any room.
"I have heard that you and your people seem to be busy," she said.
"If you are asking if we are leaving, the answer is yes."
Sabine took a step forward and turned her back to him. He remained by the door. Her lips twisted into a frown, but she forced a smile as she slowly pivoted about to face him.
"Why would you leave? We have pushed back the joust so that we can allow time for funeral preparations for--"
"Rufus will not be laid to rest here." Marcellus's nose wrinkled with faint disdain. "He is a Vincanan. He will be brought home."
"Of course, but--"
"I am sorry," he said firmly. "I thank you for your… kindness in these dark times, but I must go."
Sabine crossed over to the door and shut it in her guard's face. Then, she crossed over to Marcellus and straightened his collar.
"Is there no way I can convince you to stay a little longer?" she murmured, looking up into his dark eyes.
He gripped her hands, and her smile widened, but then he lowered their hands to their sides and released her.
"I'm afraid there is not," he said.
"Very well." She straightened. Sabine had assumed the man had no interest in her body, but that did not mean she would not have used it if he could have been persuaded. Sometimes, the flesh could be weak, and that could lead to one being controlled or manipulated.
Of course, in the instance of one Aldus Perez, Sabine was no longer certain who was controlling whom, and so, to gain the upper hand, he would not be enjoying her.
She nodded to the Vincanan. He did not seem a bad sort, she had to admit. The man was certainly pleasing to the eye, and he commanded attention when he entered a room. More so than that, she felt for him. He was going through a tough time, and while he could have been downright rude to her, he wasn't. Most likely because she was queen. Anyone else he would have sent away with a tongue lashing, she was certain. But still, his unhappiness and desire to bring his friend home was completely understandable.
Even if it did not serve her purposes at all.
"Perhaps," she said slowly, her mind racing as she spoke, "yes. I would like to offer you a ship for the body."
"No." Marcellus lifted a hand and shook his head. "I appreciate the gesture of generosity, but Rufus departed in our vessel, and so he shall return in our vessel."
"As you wish. When will you depart?"
"Within an hour."
"Come. Eat with me. You must fill your stomach before you depart."
He hesitated but agreed. She had no issues at all that he wished for his guards and crew to join them. However, it annoyed her greatly that he suggested Rosalynne come as well.
The conversation was practically nonexistent. Rosalynne looked a miserable thing, and Sabine knew she must appear the vastly superior option of the two. The crew kept to themselves, and the guards and Marcellus said hardly a word.