Harbinger: Fate's Forsaken: Book One

by Shae Ford

  Kael reached into the pocket and pulled out what looked to be a small leather wallet. But when he opened it, it wasn’t coin he found: there were rows of knives lining either flap.

  They were small, only about the length of his palm and made out of single pieces of steel. He could tell by the many hairline scratches that covered their surface that they were well used. Yet the points still looked sharp enough to split stubble.

  “Those were from a friend of mine,” Morris said. He tugged gently on the wheel, steering them around a sharp clump of rocks. “It was right after the War ended. He gave these to me and said it was because a Seer told him to, said his warring days were over. Ha!” He shook his head, his smile etched in sorrow.

  “Morris, I couldn’t —”

  “Sure you can.” He waved his arm impatiently. “I think he’d be proud to know a Wright was using them. They’re perfectly balanced, see — won’t cost you hardly anything to throw them straight. And that wallet folds over, too. You can strap it to your arm and no one would even know you had it.”

  Kael worked the buckles around his upper left arm and showed it to Morris.

  “There you are, lad,” he said with a grin. “Now you look the part.”

  *******

  Surprisingly enough, Geist seemed pleased by his new weapons. When Kael went down to the brig to change into his disguise, he glanced at his arm and mumbled: “Those will be much more effective than a hunting dagger, I’m sure. Now — let’s get you into your belly.”

  It took an hour to apply all the paste, stuffing, paint and false hair to Kael’s body. When Geist was finished, he held up a small hand mirror for approval.

  A fat, sallow old merchant blinked back at him. Kael could hardly believe it. “Geist … it’s amazing.”

  “You approve?”

  He nodded, and grimaced when he saw how his chins wobbled with the motion. “I’m disgusting myself.”

  “Perfect. That should keep anyone from wanting to talk to you.”

  His work was astonishing, no doubt about it. But Kael did have one final concern: “What about the real Colderoy? How are you going to keep him from showing up?”

  “There is a particular inn he likes to dine at before he attends these parties,” Geist said, packing up his trunk with sloth-like grace as he spoke. “Apparently, he’s fond of the keeper’s mince pies. Tonight, however, he and Margaret will contract a rather disturbing stomach condition shortly after their meals — one that I suspect will keep them busy well into the following day. Colderoy will write to the Duke, explaining his absence. But unfortunately, his letter will never arrive.”

  “Because you’re going to lose it?”

  Geist shook his head. “Not me, dear boy. A rather bungle-headed courier with a b — bit of a st — stutter will be to blame.”

  *******

  It was sundown when Anchorgloam stopped at a certain bend in the shoreline — one with a large boulder shaped like an eagle’s crown sticking out from the water. Lysander arranged for a rowboat to be let down and accompanied them to shore.

  Aerilyn’s disguise was as beautiful as his was revolting. Geist had labored over her curls, twirling each one into a perfect golden-brown ring. He’d painted her lips and the tops of her eyes to give her smile near insurmountable allure — not that it was really necessary. The red dress she wore was more than inviting.

  Lysander seemed unable to keep his eyes off of her. They pulled onto the beach and he nearly tripped over his own boots in his rush to be the one to help her out of the boat.

  Since he was obviously so preoccupied, Kael let out a low whistle into the tree line, signaling for Chaucer and his men to come on.

  Three carriages rolled promptly out to meet them, pulled along by horses that looked to be the clean-cut, stern image of their master. “It’s about time,” Chaucer snapped as he burst from the door of the first cart. “You had me waiting out in this heat for a good half-hour. I was about to have to lead us around in circles just to get some air …” His lip curled at the sight of Kael. “Excellent work, Geist. I can hardly stand the look of him.” Then he settled his gaze on Aerilyn. “Very lovely. Lovely, indeed.”

  “Take those appraising eyes off of her,” Lysander growled, which drew a smirk from Chaucer.

  “Just make sure your toy boat is ready to do battle, Captain.” He straightened his already-straight coat hems and marched back towards his carriage. “Move, all of you!” he barked from his window. “We haven’t got time for weak knees — the hands are turning.”

  Lysander hurled a clump of wet sand at his carriage as he rolled away. It stuck to the back window with a thawp. “For all his talk of weak knees, you’d think he’d actually be doing something,” he muttered.

  Kael turned to bid Geist farewell, and saw that the third carriage was already rolling away. His traveler’s chest was secured to the back of it.

  “Promise me you’ll be safe,” Lysander begged as he helped Aerilyn in after Kael. “Don’t go anywhere alone with him —”

  “I’m not an idiot. I’m well aware of Reginald’s reputation,” she said haughtily.

  “Just promise, will you?”

  “Why?”

  He looked up at her from under the waves of his hair. “Because it would set my heart at ease.”

  Something strange passed between them — and it made Kael slightly uncomfortable.

  “Very well,” Aerilyn said after a moment. “I promise not to leave the ballroom.”

  “Thank you. Gravy guard your path, my friends. Fate willing, we’ll meet again.” He slammed the door shut — hard — and marched back to the rowboat without a backwards glance.

  The carriage ride was bumpy and insufferably hot. Geist had packed his clothes in with so many layers of stuffing that Kael thought he was in real danger of boiling alive. They kept the curtains drawn over their windows, just incase. It wouldn’t do for the same villagers who witnessed Colderoy arriving earlier that day to witness him again.

  At first, the dirt of the road muffled the movement of the wheels. Then they struck cobblestone, and the horses clattered smartly across it. When the road sounded hollow, broken every now and then by a rhythmic thump, Aerilyn began twisting her hands nervously.

  “We must be on the bridge,” she whispered.

  Which meant they had less than a mile left to go. “Don’t chew on your lip,” he said, and she stopped immediately.

  “You’re right — no one wants to dance with a girl who already has bite marks,” she said with a nervous laugh. Then quite suddenly, she reached across and grabbed both of his hands. “Tell me it’s going to be all right, Kael. Tell me it’s all going to work out.”

  He wasn’t a Seer: he couldn’t know for sure. Their bodies might adorn the castle walls by morning. But that was his burden, not hers. So he took her hands and squeezed them tightly. “Everything’s going to be fine, Aerilyn. I promise.”

  To see the relief on her face made his stomach sink down to his knees. Now the plan had to work, they had to succeed. So many people were depending on it. As the carriage stopped and the doors swung open, he steeled himself for what must be done.

  *******

  “Charmed, Jefferies,” Reginald said through his grin, thought it was no great secret to either of them that he wasn’t charmed — he was actually rather peeved. And he made that abundantly clear.

  “So — ah — good to see you,” Jefferies gasped, as Reginald crushed his fingers. “Always a delight.”

  “Isn’t it?” Reginald didn’t let go. In fact, he squeezed harder. “Though I think it might have been a great deal more delightful if my chairs weren’t in such dismal shape. If only that shipment from D’Mere had come through, you all might have had something a little nicer to plant your rumps in.”

  Sweat beaded up on Jefferies’ brow, his smile slipped ever closer to a grimace. “Yes, bloody pirates and all that. I’ll see to it that you have a new set in three — ah, two weeks!”

  “See to i
t that you do,” Reginald said. He turned his smile to the woman standing behind Jefferies and extended his hand. “Accidents happen everyday, I’m well aware of that.” He kissed the back of her silk glove and released her.

  Jefferies, thick as he was, was no fool. He caught Reginald’s threat and his face went white. “It will be done, Sir Duke. I’ll double the guard and I won’t lose another shipment this quarter, you’ll see.” Then he hurried off, dragging his wife behind him.

  Chaucer was next to step up. He bowed, made some drab remark about the décor and stomped inside. Reginald ignored his rudeness. He might host twice as many parties next year, simply for the pleasure of making Chaucer furious.

  At the sight of his next guest, Reginald’s grin fell away, replaced immediately by a snarl:

  Colderoy.

  That fat waste had no business at such a grand event. From his stubby legs to that hideous, food-stained mustache — he clashed horrifically with the golden grace of the ball. If he hadn’t had such a brilliant mind for numbers, Reginald would have sent him to the gallows long ago.

  Well that, and the fact that he had yet to find a rope thick enough to support a man of Colderoy’s girth.

  “Good to see you,” Reginald said halfheartedly as Colderoy bounced towards him. “I was beginning to wonder —”

  “Good ephening, Sir Duke,” Colderoy interrupted. He wore a bright yellow tunic that made him look more like a bread roll than a man. “Lophly night, is it not?”

  Reginald glanced up at the stars — anything to spare his eyes from the atrocity before him. “I suppose —”

  “You haphen’t met my daughter, haph you?”

  “No, I don’t think —”

  “May I present Miss Margaret Colderoy.”

  It was the strangest twist of fortune Reginald had ever seen, that Colderoy should have fathered such a flawless creature. He kissed Margaret’s hand, never once taking his eyes off her face. “My dear, I’m truly charmed. The sun pales in comparison.”

  She blushed, which he liked very much. “Please, Sir Duke, I’m unworthy of such a compliment.”

  “On the contrary — though words are hardly enough to celebrate it. I hope you’ll save me a dance.” He flashed a grin, and her blush deepened.

  “I’m sure she will,” Colderoy butted in. “Now mophe along, Margaret. The Duke is a busy man.”

  Reginald didn’t say anything to the next manager; he didn’t even look at him. He was far too busy admiring Margaret’s figure as she climbed the steps into the castle. Oh yes, tonight the dancing would be especially good.

  He rushed through the last few greetings and then ordered the guards to close the front gates, locking the managers and their carriages inside. No one left until the party ended — which would happen the minute he got bored.

  “There’s a fog creeping in from the west,” one of the guards called down.

  Reginald couldn’t see the ocean from where he stood, and he wasn’t interested in climbing all the way up the stairs to look. “Tell the patrol to weigh anchor until it clears. There’s no point in trying to hold their routes — they’re more likely to run into each other than catch any intruders.”

  The guard took a pair of torches off the wall and used them to relay the message. When he was finished, a chorus of bells rang out from across the sea. The patrol understood.

  Reginald closed the front doors himself, locking them tightly with his personal key. Then he strode purposefully towards the music that floated out from his ballroom.

  It didn’t take him long to find Margaret — even in an ocean of beauty, she would have stood out. He watched her first waltz, and her grace astounded him. Her dress swept along behind her as Colderoy guided her through the steps. He didn’t know which was more astonishing: Margaret, or the fact that her father could actually dance.

  “I’m ready when you are, Sir Duke.” Bartimus stepped in front of him, blocking his view.

  “Ah … very good. Stand by your post and wait for me,” Reginald said, craning his head over Bartimus’s shoulder.

  “But Sir Duke, your safety is —”

  “Almost assured. The guards are posted along the walls, through the hallways, and now there’s a fog rolling in — so I seriously doubt anyone’s going to risk attacking us. I assume the extra, ah, security is in place?”

  “Right where you wanted him.”

  “Excellent.” Reginald watched the first dance end and sneered as Chaucer took Margaret for the next one. “Enjoy the party, Bartimus. Kingdom knows I will.”

  And with that, he strode confidently towards the ballroom floor.

  *******

  The sweat pooling on Kael’s face was a collective effort: the heat, his nerves, and the sheer amount of pastry he stuffed down his gullet all contributed to it — not to mention the stress of dealing with talkative managers. For such an annoying man, Colderoy had a never-ending line of people eager to speak with him.

  In several cases, he’d had to turn to his last resort. He sprayed two gossipy ladies and half a dozen prodding gentlemen with bits of pie before they would leave him alone. One man walked up with his hand outstretched, and Kael staged a very convincing sneeze. The damage was so severe that a servant had to lead him away to find a fresh change of clothes.

  Other than the unwelcome visitors, everything else seemed to go according to plan. Chaucer stepped in after the first dance, and paraded Aerilyn in front of the Duke several times before he finally took the bait: shoving his middle-aged partner aside and cutting in without so much as asking Chaucer’s permission. Now Aerilyn had Reginald tied securely around her smallest finger, giggling and blushing her way into his good graces. They’d danced three times without stopping to breathe.

  A flash of movement caught his eye, and Kael watched over his biscuit as an old man dressed in robes took his place by the Duke’s throne. He realized it must be Bartimus — the mage Jake said could travel through air. Bartimus scratched at the top of his bald head and Kael thought he saw something gold glint on his finger.

  Unfortunately, Chaucer was right: the Duke was no fool. Wherever the dance took them, he kept close to the throne.

  The ballroom ceiling extended to the second floor, where a company of guards kept watch from the banisters. Their hands stayed on the hilts of their swords as they watched the revelers twirling beneath them. Kael swore they never blinked.

  “Wine, Mr. Colderoy?”

  “Yeah, phanks,” he said around a mouthful of tart. He took a goblet off the tray without even glancing at the man who served him.

  “Of course. I’d be happy to show you to the facilities, Mr. Colderoy.”

  Kael looked down and the pastry nearly fell out of his mouth. This servant looked just like all the others: his face was painted white, his lips painted red, he wore a ridiculous powder wig and balanced a silver tray on the pads of his white glove. And yet, he looked so decidedly bored that Kael recognized him at once.

  “Um, yes. Right then — lead the way,” he said, loudly enough for passersby to hear. Then he followed Geist up the stairs — knowing full well that he would return a villain.

  Chapter 36

  A Warrior’s Boon

  “You have fifteen minutes until the next watch shows up,” Geist said as he helped Kael out of his disguise. His other clothes were underneath. They were badly wrinkled and a little wet, but Geist said it would only add to his character. “No one commented on your shoes, I presume?”

  Kael shook his head. It was amazing that no one noticed Colderoy showing up in scuffed hunter’s boots. But he supposed Geist was right: people rarely glanced at anything below the knee.

  When he’d shed the rest of Colderoy, they stuffed him into a chest in a corner of the room. It was one of the guest rooms, and because the wardrobe was empty Geist presumed it wasn’t being used. But he’d picked the chest’s lock and replaced it with one of his own, just in case.

  “Fifteen minutes,” Geist repeated as he stepped out into the ha
ll. He glanced left and right, then gave a slight nod. He walked back towards the ballroom as Kael jogged in the opposite direction.

  Several tapestries lined the wall, and he counted them as he went. When he reached the third one, he ducked into the next alcove and found a small wooden door. One hand he placed on the knob and with the other, he touched the hinges. He quickly imagined that they were well-greased, and the door opened silently.

  He stepped onto a narrow landing and took a deep breath as he shut the door behind him. This was the part he was most dreading.

  The top of the stairs opened to the night sky. He was now on the castle’s western wall, the one facing the open sea. Carefully, he stuck his head around the corner to get his bearings — and nearly swore aloud.

  Apparently, the guards had decided that the thick fog settling over the ocean was going to do their jobs for them, and now they were taking a break. Three soldiers drank wine and played cards directly in front of him, where there was only supposed to be one.

  Blast. How was he going to do this? If he struck the first man, the other two would sound the alarm. The message would pass down the wall and into the ballroom, where the Duke would hear. He and Bartimus would vanish — leaving his formidable army to take care of the guests.

  Kael could almost hear the sand slipping through the glass and sweeping minutes away with it. There was no time to think, he had to act quickly. He drew two knives and raised a third slightly out of its pocket. He held them by their blades and waited for his targets.

  The middle soldier laid his hand down and the one on the left leaned forward to swear. That’s when Kael’s knife found his throat. It struck just as the right soldier tilted his head back to laugh. He fell backwards, gurgling in shock as the second knife cut him short. Before his companion’s body could hit the ground, the middle soldier looked up and his jaw dropped open in shock. The surprised O of his mouth made for a good target.