Harbinger

by Shae Ford

  “But Sir Duke, what would the others think of us?”

  He tightened his grip around her waist, pulled her closer. “My dear, what could they think? I’m their ruler — their very lives depend upon me. Anyone who speaks ill of me has his tongue cut out … and anyone I favor will have power unimaginable.” He dropped his voice to a growl. “Come with me, Margaret.”

  She was teetering on the edge, he could see the struggle behind her clear blue eyes. But he already knew what her answer would be. In just a few moments, she would be his.

  BANG!

  The ballroom doors burst open and the music screeched to a halt. Reginald spun around. If it was some guard coming in to complain about the fog, he’d have his head lopped off. But as the crowds parted, murmuring to one another, he saw something he’d never expected.

  A young man strode across the floor like he owned it. He wore rough spun peasant’s clothes and a bow across his back. The candlelight from the gold branches of the chandelier touched his hair, revealing deep red hidden within his curls. His face was smooth, thin, and not particularly handsome. He tugged roughly on the chains gripped in his hand, and his prisoner stumbled out of the crowd behind him.

  Reginald may not have recognized the man, but he certainly recognized the prisoner. He saw her eyes, his blood turned to ice. He shoved Margaret aside and she toppled into the crowd with a squeal. “Bartimus!”

  “Hold on a minute, Sir Duke!” the young man called after him. “She’s no harm to anyone: I’ve got her in enchanted bindings.”

  “Do not be deceived,” Bartimus countered. He stood by the throne with one leg already through his magic door. He held out his hand and glared at the young man from over Reginald’s shoulder. “The boy could be her agent — sent here to trap and kill you.”

  The young man snorted. “Her agent? She’s a barbarian, mage. She thinks of nothing but red meat.”

  “And who are you?” Reginald said, half-turning.

  “A hunter, Sir Duke,” the young man bowed, “from the Unforgivable Mountains.”

  The room lit up with the frenzied buzz of voices. Men and women whispered over their shoulders, leaned across their circles. Barbarian? Surely not. The Unforgivable Mountains? Impossible!

  But Reginald ignored them. His eyes were on the irons clamped to the Dragongirl’s wrists. He squinted and thought he saw the symbol of Midlan etched into them. “Where did you come across those shackles, boy?”

  The room fell silent.

  “I picked them up out of a shipwreck,” the young man replied with a shrug, his thin face untroubled. “Surely you wouldn’t begrudge a man the right to reclaim lost goods?”

  A hundred heads swiveled to Reginald for an answer.

  “No, of course not,” he said through pursed lips.

  Behind him, Bartimus grunted. “Be quick, Sire. My strength fades fast. I’m not sure how long I can keep the door open.”

  “Close it,” Reginald said, his mind made up.

  “But Sir Duke —”

  “Just do it.”

  Bartimus gave him a hard look, then reluctantly stepped out of the portal as Reginald took a step towards the young man. “Do you have some proof that she is truly bound?”

  He smiled wryly. “I think if she weren’t, I’d already be dead.”

  There were a few patches of nervous laughter, but Reginald silenced them with an upraised hand. The longer the Dragongirl snarled at him, the more confident he became. Surely, if she were free to do as she wished, the curtains would already be ablaze. He decided to have a little fun.

  “Ladies and managers, this young woman who stands before you is not what she seems,” he said, thrusting a finger at her. “She’s a monster of the woods — a shapechanging barbarian!”

  Gasps rang out. People stood on their tiptoes, craning around each other’s wigs for a better look.

  “But she is more than that — in fact, you may know her as the Dragongirl.”

  This news gave him the reaction he was looking for. The tittering grew to a rumble and every eye in the room went wide. Several people took backwards steps towards the door, but most surged forward for a better look.

  Oh yes, he had them precisely where he wanted them. The news of his victory would reach Midlan by tomorrow morning, and Crevan would have no choice but to set him up above all the other rulers. He might even strip the mountains from that dog, Titus, and hand them over as a gift.

  But Reginald wasn’t finished. News was good, but spectacle would be even better. A little intrigue might keep the tale fresh for months. “So, hunter,” he turned back to the young man, “if what you say is true and the Dragongirl really is under your control, you’ll have no problem proving it.”

  Amid the next wave of whispers, the young man raised his brows. “Prove it how, Sir Duke?”

  “Strike her.”

  Women gasped, men murmured — but the young man didn’t seem at all concerned. “Considering all the trouble she caused, don’t you think the King would rather do the bruising himself?”

  The crowd laughed. That mountain boy had a good point.

  Reginald forced himself to smile and thought quickly. “I see … well if you won’t hit her, I suppose there is another way you might win us over. I think the good people of the seas want some proof.” They cheered, and Reginald raised a fist to quiet them. “So if you won’t strike her … then I suppose you’ll have to kiss her.”

  *******

  The word echoed in Kael’s ear. Heat singed his face as the ladies in the crowd started to giggle. He could feel their eyes on him, feel them craning and leaning forward for a better look. He could hear the clink of armor as the guards on the second floor shifted their weight. He could feel their eyes boring into the top of his skull.

  “Go on, give her a kiss!” someone — a very drunk someone, by the sound of it — shouted. Nevertheless, his cry brought on a murmur of agreement from the rest of the crowd. They wanted to see some proof.

  But Kael’s limbs seized up under the pressure. All he could feel were the tips of his fingers, and they flexed involuntarily for the knives at his arm. He could do it, he knew he could. The Duke was pacing right in front of him, grinning as he egged the crowd on. If he wanted to, he could throw the knife and end it all right now.

  They’d probably even make it out alive.

  Then a movement caught the corner of his eye. A short, pale-faced servant squeezed his way to the front of the crowd. The people he pushed through looked annoyed at first, but soon seemed to forget he was even there. Geist had a tray balanced on his palm and one hand clamped smartly behind his back. He met Kael’s eyes, and his face was about as encouraging as stone.

  Yet, he was a firm reminder of all the people who were depending on him. If he killed the Duke, war would ensue. There would be a mad dash for his empty throne and oceans of innocent blood would be shed. Nothing would stop the army of Midlan from marching through the seas, burning and killing to punish in the name of the King.

  And though he knew it would ruin him, Kael could not trade his feelings for lives. He would do what must be done.

  “All right,” he declared, and the room broke out in cheers. He turned to Kyleigh, careful to avoid her eyes. “Come here, girl.” He tugged sharply on her chains and she stumbled forward. He caught her with an arm around her waist and quickly stuck his lips to hers.

  His whole body ignited. Fire raced through his veins and filled his ears. He wrestled with it, tried to pull himself out of the flames … but in the end, it consumed him.

  He was helpless, like a child caught in the flow of a savage river. Heat washed over him and dragged him down into a place where he thought he couldn’t breathe. There was no air, no beating of his heart — there was only the feel of her lips on his. She was holding him by a thread. He was completely at her mercy. And when she pushed back against him, he very nearly drowned.

  At long last, she set him free. He was relieved — and then the second she pulled away, pain
ripped at his chest. There was nothing but a bloody hole left: a raw gap of torn muscles and shattered bone. He could feel the agony stabbing in his teeth. It made him want to scream. He grabbed his chest, expecting his hand to slip through and touch his spine … but it didn’t. He met the rough threads of his shirt and gripped them in disbelief.

  Remarkably, he was whole.

  “Bravo!”

  Duke Reginald led the round of applause that snuffed the last smoldering embers in his blood. He took a very shaky bow and while his head was bent, he wiped the cold beads of sweat off his face with the back of his sleeve.

  “Excellent work, hunter. I’m thoroughly convinced.” Reginald clapped his hands together sharply and a steward pushed his way out of the crowd. He handed Reginald a large sack, which he proceeded to toss at Kael’s feet. “There’s your reward. Now leave.”

  Kael bowed and stepped to the side as Reginald snatched the chains out of his hand.

  “Ladies and managers, I give you the Dragongirl,” he said, jerking Kyleigh forward. “What a grand victory for the High Seas! Where all the other regions failed, we have triumphed.”

  The people cheered and raised their goblets to the Duke: as if he was the one who’d singlehandedly captured the King’s most hated enemy. And more than likely, that’s how the story would have been told. But Kael’s plan told it a little differently.

  He looked at Kyleigh, and she nodded slightly. Her face was calm — no remnant of his kiss lingered behind her eyes. And why would it have? he reminded himself. To her, it had all been an act.

  The shriek of metal froze Reginald mid-celebration. Kyleigh wrenched her shackles apart, and he must have read the open-mouthed shock on his guests’ faces because he tried to run. But Kyleigh had him pinned to the ground, her knee driven into his back, before he could even finish screaming:

  “Bartimus!”

  A burst of red lightning erupted from Bartimus’s outstretched hand, aimed right for Kyleigh. It would have struck her and likely killed her, had Kael not been in the way. In the midst of their triumph, everyone seemed to have forgotten about the boy from the mountains. And while they’d been occupied, he put himself between the Duke and his mage.

  Now it was his chest the lightning struck. The magic washed over him and tickled horribly, but could not hurt him. He saw the realization dawn on Bartimus’s face just as the knife left his hand.

  “Whis — gah!” He toppled over, his robes flailing out beside him. He wriggled for a few moments as he tried to wrench the knife from his chest. Then he lay still.

  “Guards!” Reginald squealed.

  Kyleigh put her elbow on his throat.

  Screams rang out across the ballroom, and several ladies fainted, when they saw the rogues that encircled the banister in place of the Duke’s guards. The pirates had done well: not a soldier was left alive. They slumped over at their posts, their heads lolling in pools of their own blood. Every cutlass was stained red.

  “People of the High Seas, do not be alarmed!” Chaucer stepped out of the crowd, followed by a handful of stony-faced managers, and held up a sealed roll of parchment. “In my hand is a contract — a writ of resignation. Tonight, I will ask the Duke to sign his title and his land back over to the people. We have lived under this tyrant for far too long, and it’s high time that we start making the gold for ourselves. By morning, we’ll be managers no more — but free merchants once again!”

  Applause started slowly, nervously, but soon grew to a roar. Managers ripped off their wigs and stomped on them. Servants dragged their arms over their faces and let the silver trays fall out of their hands. A few people tucked the gold cutlery into their pockets and slipped out the door. Lace and frilly coats went flying, goblets smashed on the floor. All across the room, people shook hands and grinned to either ear.

  It made Kael sick. Not a moment before, these people had been congratulating the Duke on his victory. And now they seemed to have completely changed their minds.

  A familiar, high-pitched screech drew Kael’s glare from the revelers and to the musicians’ stage — where Jonathan had somehow managed to weasel his way in. Fiddle in hand, his bloodied sword hung forgotten at his hip. “I call this The Duke’s Dirty Underpants!” he declared.

  The other musicians hurried to keep up, thrumming their gold-crusted instruments in time with Jonathan’s fiddle. The guests clapped to the tune and then began a jig. Several people kicked Reginald in the rump as they skipped by.

  Lysander tore down the stairs right after Jonathan, his hair a wild, gooey mess. He shoved his way through the crowd and seemed to see no one but Aerilyn. “Are you well?” he said as he reached her. “He didn’t hurt you, did he? Because by tempest if he did, I swear I’ll —”

  “What?” she said, hands propped on her hips. “Roast him alive? Hang him from the mast?”

  “I was thinking more along the lines of using him as a figurehead, but I’m certainly open to suggestions.”

  “Oh? Well in that case, I suggest you kiss me.”

  The fury on his face vanished, replaced very suddenly by shock. “Wait — does this mean you want to become a pirate?”

  She rolled her eyes, a smile pulling at her lips. “That was the deal, wasn’t it?”

  “Well it was, yes. But I certainly don’t want to force you into anything. I’d still love you no matter what. I’m sure Uncle Martin would come around to the idea —”

  She slapped him straight across the face. Then she grabbed two fistfuls of his tunic and pulled him forward. “Shut your mouth and kiss me, you impossible pirate.”

  And he did. And soon the kissing grew so robust that people began to cheer and Kael had to look away. As he retrieved his knife from Bartimus’s corpse, he noticed a pool of gold under his hand. Apparently, his impetus melted off when he died. Kael picked it up and found that it had already hardened into a disk. He tucked it into his pocket.

  “You made a good decision — nothing breeds war quite like an assassination.”

  The statement came from Geist, who’d somehow materialized at his side. He was the only servant in the room with his wig still intact.

  “Thanks,” Kael said, and shook the hand he offered.

  “What will you do now?”

  He was growing tired of hearing that question. “Lysander and his men have promised to help me. I’ve got some … unfinished business, in the mountains.”

  Geist’s face was inscrutable. “Interesting. I actually have a friend who’s headed for the mountains.”

  “Really? Who is he?”

  “That isn’t important. I only mention it because he seemed rather intent on hiking to the top of it — where he hoped to meet an enemy who’d stolen something very dear to him. And I told him it was folly.”

  Kael thought he knew who Geist’s friend was. What he didn’t know was how on earth he could’ve possibly found out. “Oh? And why is it folly? He’s got an army at his back.”

  Geist inclined his head. “True, though not one nearly large enough. And when I told him as much, he asked for my advice. Do you know what I said?”

  “No. What?”

  “I said that what he was looking for could be found in the Endless Plains,” Geist finished with a smirk.

  Kael was about to ask for details when Chaucer cut over the top of him. “Come on, boy!” he barked from halfway up the stairs. He was following Kyleigh as she shoved Reginald along — with one arm twisted painfully behind his back.

  Kael didn’t even bother bidding Geist farewell. He knew without looking that the man was already gone.

  Chapter 38

  New Sails

  “You’re a fool, Chaucer. A bloody, pig-brained fool!” Reginald spat. They had him tied to one of the guest room chairs, pulled up close to a small desk. The only limb he was free to move was his right arm.

  Chaucer spread the contract out on the desk and dipped a quill in a fresh well of ink. “I’m fairly certain anyone who walked in might be inclined to think that t
he man strapped to the chair was the fool among us. But what do I know?”

  “Nothing,” Reginald said vehemently, his goatee trembling. “The King is going to destroy you — all of you! His army will impale your bodies down the coast, he’ll feed your flesh to his dogs —”

  “How?” Chaucer interrupted. He seemed to be fighting back a smile. “Every man with any ounce of power saw you sacked tonight. Your resignation will not be sealed in blood,” he held up the quill, “but in ink. Our business will continue just as it did before the Five, just as it has for centuries. The King may send his armies but unless he drains the ocean dry, there’s no way he can catch us without a ship.”

  The blood drained from Reginald’s face, he licked his lips as his eyes flicked nervously about the room. They roamed from where Chaucer and his fellow merchants stood, to Kyleigh and Kael. “What will happen to me if I sign your contract?” he said, not taking his eyes off them. “How do I know you won’t feed me to the whisperer and his pet once you have my signature? Yes, I know what you are.”

  Kael flinched involuntarily when Reginald spoke. It was stupid: he knew anyone who wasn’t blind saw the spell strike him and do no harm. Anyone who wasn’t deaf would’ve heard what Bartimus said with his dying gasp. Even now, he could feel the merchants shifting their weight, moving from boot to boot as a long moment passed and he said nothing to deny it.

  His secret was out.

  “You’ll be allowed to live the remainder of your days in peace,” Chaucer said. He pointed to the neat words a few lines above the space for a signature. “The details are all right here. No one is going to be eaten. We’re businessmen after all, not barbarians.”

  Kael gave Chaucer a glare that he hoped might melt the man’s face off, but he only smirked.

  “Fine.” Reginald snatched the quill and scribbled on the line. “There. Now what?”