by N M Zoltack
Sir Edmund Hill
Edmund entered the mess hall. The long hours of training combined with the few hours spent asleep meant Edmund was hungrier than he had ever been before. The waters were as still as ever, but Edmund didn’t have to be able to read the stars to know that there were ships on those waters. The Vincanans would reach their shores soon enough.
“It’s amazing,” Jurian was saying as Edmund moved to stand in line behind the guard.
“What is?” Edmund asked. He sniffed. “Stewed rabbit? Do I smell bacon?”
“You do indeed, but I’m not talking about the food,” Jurian said.
Harlow Reids, the guard in front of Jurian and the one the guard had been speaking to, nodded. “It’s like nothing else. You don’t need a lens, not even at night. You can see like an eagle. Have you tried it yet, Edmund? Those accursed Vincanans won’t come close to our shores. We’ll be ready for them with flaming arrows and sink every last one of their blasted ships before they can even reach our shore.”
“Tried what?” Edmund asked.
“Flask of Eagle Sight. It tastes like you have to swallow an eagle’s eye, if I’m being honest,” Jurian said.
“It really does. Not a liquid. More solid, but then, your eyes change. Your vision is enhanced, and it’s perfect. Just what we need.”
“That sounds like something an alchemist would brew,” Edmund said slowly, eyeing Jurian.
The guard stiffened defensively. “This is for the sake of Tenoch Proper and the crown. We are merely doing our duty.”
“Are there any male alchemists practicing?” Edmund asked.
Harlow laughed. “Aren’t you the brother to the alchemist?”
“He is,” Jurian confirmed.
“I would have thought you would’ve been first to try it,” Harlow said.
Edmund muttered something and was most glad to make it through the line. He ate his fill, listening to the other guards all speak about this potion and that they were trying to better themselves and prepare for the coming war. Edmund just shook his head. He would rather train and prove himself without the need for enchantments. It had nothing at all to do with his brother or his wife. Nothing at all.
That night, Edmund trained until the sun rose. He would not have the chance to sleep until that night, but he did not mind. He had a duty to fulfill, and he would do all that was required of him and more.
But hours later, as the sun beat down on him, squinting through the lens to see beyond what an eye alone could, Edmund could not help being distracted, and the source of the interference was none other than thoughts of his brother and his wife.
The more Edmund reflected on what precisely he was jealous of, the more certain he became that he wanted a wife, not Dudley's. Who knew if the Fates would allow Edmund to have both a shield and a wife, though? What with the coming war, many guards and knights would lose their lives. Tomorrow was not guaranteed. All Edmund could do was live for today, for this very moment, and hope that it would not be his last.
34
Rase Ainsley
As much as Rase had thought about going to Baron Godric Ackles to explain about the land Berard Duerrg planned on using for his mill, Rase didn’t. The baron had refused to help Rase and his family, so why should Rase help him? Besides, it might prove wiser to exploit another secret, one that belonged to someone who did not know Rase personally.
Which meant the other baron, Dolaidh McInness, the one kissing a woman behind his wife’s back.
Rase spent more and more time at the Mean Bear. After what had happened with both gamblers—Linton and Bucca Rei—Rase wasn’t about to confront the baron here in the tavern. No, he needed to locate the baron’s house and maybe either talk to the baron… or the baroness. Who might be more willing to pay him? Most likely the baron. The baroness might be too upset to reward Rase for his testimony.
Several times, Rase caught the baron and the peasant woman together, but they never sat at a table together, never drank together. They were trying to keep quiet about their affection.
Was that was love was? Was this affection, or was it something else? Rase didn't know, and he wasn't sure he wished to. Marriage was supposed to everything. It was when a man and a woman joined before the Fates, to enjoy Peace and Life together, suffer through Chaos together, and separate only when Death decreed it. At least, that was how it would be once Rase married. He would do anything for his future wife and family, just as Pa had tried to do for theirs. Yes, so far, life had been more chaotic than peaceful, but they were managing the best they could.
In between spying on the couple, Rase had to resort to thievery. He had no choice. Until he secured a large number of coins, he still needed to provide his family with food. At least the merchants in the marketplace now smiled at him. They knew he wasn't going to steal from them, and his coin was as good as any others… at least as far as they knew.
One night, he arrived before either the baron or the peasant woman. Thus far, Rase hadn’t been able to learn the location of the baron’s house. He could ask around, but Rase did not want any whispers to reach the baron’s ears, and the baron always arrived and left via a horse, so Rase couldn’t possibly follow.
He sat down at a table. The serving girl smiled at him. Her belly looked bigger by the day, but she seemed happy enough, and Rase supposed that was all that mattered. She gave him a tankard and then took the order from the two men sitting a few seats away.
“Are you sure it won’t hurt any?” the younger man asked.
“Hurt any? Nah. The blades are just as sharp. Yes, they might blunt faster, and the tip might come off sooner, but then they’ll just have to buy another.”
The two laughed, and Rase wondered about their words until he realized the older man was a blacksmith, the younger his apprentice. The blacksmith was using cheaper quality metal to forge his weapons. How could he when he knew a war was coming? The crown had to be paying him good coin for any and all weapons he could produce, and maybe that was the issue. Maybe he could provide a great number of weapons this way.
Rase turned aside from the men after noticing that the blacksmith had a slight scar near the corner of his mouth. The peasant woman entered the tavern and glanced all around before sliding into a seat near the door. The serving girl rushed over.
Interesting. Normally, she and the baron never bothered much for food or drink.
Trying not to draw attention to himself, Rase moved over to the woman’s table and then slid down to sit across from her.
She eyed him and then looked away.
“Waiting for the baron?” he whispered, leaning forward.
Her eyes widened, and her pale complexion blanched.
“He might be a little late tonight, that’s all.”
Her cheeks burned red. “He… I wasn’t expecting him tonight at all.”
“It’s only possible he might,” Rase hedged.
“I understand. I just wish… He said he might be sending his wife to stay with her family for a bit. I would love to see his manor.”
“Haven’t you been to it yet?”
She shook her head and sighed dreamily. “It’s northward, not far from the castle. He’s told me all about it, how it has four towers and even a drawbridge. Wouldn’t that be a sight to see? A tiny castle.” The woman giggled.
Rase grinned. That was a good enough description for him. He stayed and talked to the woman a little longer so she wouldn’t become suspicious, but as soon as he swallowed the last of his ale, he bid farewell.
Outside the tavern, Rase noticed a stray horse. Giving it was saddled, the horse had most likely broken free from wherever it had been tethered to, but Rase scrambled onto its back. He hadn’t ridden many horses before, but he figured he knew enough to reach the baron’s manor. He kicked in his heels, and the horse stomped and neighed before bolting forward. Rase held on tightly, and he soon realized the horse did better when he applied pressure with one heel or the other versus yanking on the reins. Maybe he di
dn’t know how to use the reins properly, but he managed as best he could.
The sun was just beginning to rise by the time Rase approached a manor with only two towers. The drawbridge wasn’t truly a drawbridge, just doors constructed to look as such. Rase shook his head as he dismounted and tethered the horse tightly to a nearby tree. Lying was terrible, but then, that wasn’t the only sin the baron had committed.
Rase marched up to the drawbridge doors and knocked. A butler answered without a word and only a stern scowl.
“I am here to talk to the baron,” Rase said.
“He is not to be disturbed at this early hour.”
“Oh, but I have a message for him, from Lark Everille.”
The butler’s eyebrows rose a little at the name.
“I know they want to be, ah…”
“Discreet,” the butler murmured.
“Yes.” Rase nodded.
“Very well. Stay here.”
The butler shut the door. A good bit later, the doors opened. Instead of the butler inviting him inside, the baron himself stood in the doorway and then stepped out to stand beside Rase.
“What is it?” the baron asked.
“A year and a half,” Rase said. “How long have you been married? Only a year, yes?”
The baron’s face turned as red as his hair and beard. “Who are you, and what are you suggesting?”
“You have been with Lark for a year and a half, but the baroness only a year. Lark told me so herself. She thought I was a messenger from you, but really, I’m just a messenger for myself. You see, I know how to talk, but I know how to be quiet, too.”
The baron said nothing, but his face was even redder than before. How was that possible?
“I’m suggesting that I need something to be kept quiet, and I don’t mean a sword to the belly,” Rase said darkly.
“You’re the son of that man Bjorn killed.”
“I am.”
“Turning to extortion, are you?”
“I need to feed my family. I would rather take on an apprenticeship, too.”
“I can’t help you there, but…” The baron held up his finger and threw open the door.
Rase waited even longer than before, and the butler returned with two large sacks. The clank of coins from each step had Rase’s eyes bulging.
"Begone and do not return," the baron said coldly from within the manor, hidden in shadows. "Or else you will receive that sword in the belly."
“I have no reason to return. I’m quieter than a snake.”
Rase beamed merely as he untethered the horse. He hid the coin pouches at his house but did not head to the marketplace. Instead, he had another errand to handle first.
It took him a few tries to locate the proper smithy with the scarred blacksmith, but when Rase spied him, he strolled up, whistling. The blacksmith ignored him, tending to other customers, and Rase was content enough until they were alone, save for the apprentice hovering near the blacksmith.
“I want a dagger,” Rase said.
“I want coins for it,” the blacksmith said.
“I want a decent dagger,” Rase corrected.
The blacksmith drew himself up. He had been hammering red-hot metal in between tending to customers. The man had just lifted the hammer to swing again, but instead, he slowly lowered his arm.
“What do you mean? All of my daggers are decent.”
“Then I don’t want one of them. I want one made from the best metal you have,” Rase said, “unless you want me to go to the queen and have her test the weapons she’s been buying from you. See if the tips come off before they’re supposed to.”
The blacksmith glowered at the apprentice.
“He was at the tavern last night,” the apprentice said. “I… I recognize him.”
The blacksmith muttered a curse and then eyed Rase. “It’ll cost more—”
“It will cost me nothing but my silence.”
The blacksmith grumbled and argued and yelled, but in the end, Rase got himself a fine dagger and sheath. The blacksmith even tested it and proved the tip wouldn’t break off.
“You won’t talk to anyone? Not the queens, not anyone?” the blacksmith asked, not yet handing over the blade.
“Talk to anyone about what?” Rase asked innocently, blinking a few times for good measure.
The blacksmith grunted and handed over the dagger, hilt first.
Whistling, Rase returned to his horse. He was exhausted. He’d sleep some and then return to the marketplace for food. Afterward… maybe some clothes. He might have enough to pay a master for an apprenticeship, but he might not. Either way, he was eager to learn more secrets that night.
35
Sir Edmund Hill
Sometimes, the other guards would join Edmund for his morning training sessions. Jurian was not one of the early risers, so Edmund hardly ever saw him then. On this day, however, Jurian not only showed up, but he brought along with him someone most unexpected.
Tatum Hill.
Edmund did his best not to scowl. Tatum at least stopped a bit away from those drilling, and he waited until Jurian approached to ask, “Why did you bring her here?”
“You need to relax,” Jurian said calmly. “Why are you so anxious? Are you nervous I’ll make you look like a fool in front of your sister?”
“Why is she here?” Edmund asked through gritted teeth.
“I asked her to come,” Jurian said. “We are about to go to war. We need every advantage we can have. Her potions will help to equalize ourselves and the Vincanans soldiers.”
“You do not honestly believe we are inferior to them,” Edmund protested.
“You do know that it is not merely stories that suggest they grow up with weapons. They start training much younger than we do, nearly a decade younger than you when you first started.”
Edmund ground his teeth. That was not the truth, and Jurian knew it.
The guard did not seem to notice Edmund’s discomfort. “Don’t you want to survive the war? To win the war? We need her, and you better be willing to take whatever potions she is willing to give us.”
“Give?” Edmund shook his head vehemently. “No. She will not be taken advantage of.”
“Of course not,” Jurian said smoothly. “I truly do not understand why you are so unhappy. She will be paid. Do not worry so much.”
Edmund gripped the hilt of his sword so tightly it dug into his palm. The other guards began to crowd around Tatum, and a pang squeezed Edmund’s heart when he spied the object in her hand.
The basket he had made for her.
No. He did not want war, and he did not want Tatum around.
But Jurian had a valid point. Everyone spoke so highly concerning the Vincanans. It was said that even their female warriors were as fierce as the males. Legends spoke of a fabled group of female warriors who fought for the dragons, and as far as Edmund knew, each one of those females had been Vincanan.
Yes, the warriors from the south would be at a disadvantage, having to travel the Ember Sea to venture to Tenoch for the battles, but the moment they reached the shore, Edmund worried that the tide would be in the enemies’ favor.
Who knew better than Edmund that Tatum’s potions were strong and potent? She was not only a female alchemist. She was a damn good one, and if they all purchased potions from her, she and Dudley would be able to purchase their inn that much sooner. Perhaps then they would start their family and be happy forevermore.
But only if Tenoch Proper did not fall.
Jurian gave Edmund a strange look before heading toward Tatum. Instead of joining the others, Edmund began to go through his movements. The sand shifted beneath his feet, but he never once lost his balance, each slice precise. Soon, Simba Pretorius shifted into position to take on Edmund. The two had sparred many times before and were rather evenly matched.
It only took the second time their blades collided for Edmund to realize something was wrong. Not only was Simba reacting so much faster tha
n normal, but his strength was unparalleled.
Simba snaked his sword through, knocking Edmund’s away with ease, the tip of his blade beneath Edmund’s chin. “You haven’t taken one of the potions.”
“No,” Edmund admitted, breathless.
“You should. With them, we will win. Without…”
“We will win if the Fates so decree,” Edmund said angrily. “With or without the potions.”
“You do not care for my potions?” a soft voice asked from behind him.
Edmund flushed. Simba had already lowered his arm, and Edmund retrieved his sword before turning to Tatum.
“It’s not that I don’t care for them,” he started.
“But you think it is wrong or immoral to use the potions,” she said.
“Against an army… Perhaps.”
“The Fates or maybe the dragons or… All I know is that I possess the knowledge and skill to create potions that can do incredible things, including to help end a war shortly after it begins. How can that possibly be terrible?”
Edmund had no response to that other than to say, “If the guards and knights continue to train with your potions, will you have enough ingredients to make more for when the war is actually here?”
“Do not worry. I am making potions day and night,” she said wearily, and it was only at that moment that he spied how fatigued she looked, still lovely but as if she were on the verge of collapsing.
Shame seized him, and he forced her to sit on the soft moss beneath a nearby tree. Here she was, doing her best to fight the war in her own way, and he was begrudging her efforts. No more. She could do as she wished, and so could the guards and knights.
After she handed out a few more potions to the other guards, Tatum waved Edmund back over to her. He had been sparring Jurian, and since he was losing, he was grateful for being called away.
“When the war is here, will you refuse to allow me to help strengthen you? To protect you?” she murmured.
Edmund hesitated. “If I find myself needing to, I will.”
“But what if you decide too late?”