by R J Murray
“The Laughing Knight,” the shopkeeper said. “Two streets to the north of here. It’s clean and not too expensive. You won’t do better.”
“My thanks.”
He waved as they left the shop, laden down with their purchases and Mia couldn’t help but smile. She still had some concerns over their reasons for having her join them, she wasn’t a fool after all, but she couldn’t quite rid herself of the rising excitement at the thought of having an adventure.
She knew, that if nothing else, it was a chance to escape a life of drudgery and abuse in a village full of small-minded people. That, if nothing else, was reason enough not to look too closely at why they had brought her along.
Chapter 10
Jochum handed over the cargo manifest to the sneering man in the rich, velvet coat and pants. His black leather shoes had large silver buckles on them and he wore a ring of gold on each finger of his hand. A risky thing to do as the average worker would look to make a gold coin in a month if he was lucky.
Of course, that was likely at least part of the reason the merchant travelled everywhere with two large men in chain mail with sword and dagger on their hips.
“This says it was due to be delivered to a merchant in Rial.”
“And you ignoring that is why you are getting such a good price.”
The merchant chewed on the end of his long mustachio and clicked his fingers irritably for the servant with the parasol to move a little closer to keep the rain off of the merchant’s clothing or his soft, velvet cap with the jaunty feather.
Jochum struggled to keep the disgust from his face and voice as he dealt with the foppish merchant. A man who clearly flaunted his wealth and judging by the way in which he liked to haggle over price, he intended to keep as much of his wealth to himself.
“Now, word has it,” Jochum said. “That you have warehouses of goods that could be of use to me. If you can deliver these supplies,” he handed over another sheet of paper to the merchant. “I’ll knock another ten per cent off of the price.”
“Eighteen.”
“That’s outrageous! I have to be able to make some coin on this venture. The old ship doesn’t fly itself.”
“And I need to find a means of providing proof for the lord’s taxman that these goods were purchased legally. That cost’s time and money, my friend. I’ll take seventeen.”
“It will barely cover the cost of Ethereum but, okay, eleven.”
“I know exactly the price of Ethereum and I will provide you with two barrels and the supplies for nineteen.”
“Now I know you jest, sir. With the barrels, I can go no higher than fourteen.”
“If I were to go lower than say, seventeen, I would be tempted to call on the town watch for you will have robbed me.”
“Fifteen per cent and with that you might as well take the shirt off my back for you will have taken all else.”
“Sixteen and I will forget the name of your ship should anyone come looking for their missing cargo.”
Jochum allowed a small smile, it was better than he’d expected. “Deal.” He clasped hands with the merchant who returned the handshake with little interest and a limp grip.
“Prior, be a dear and bring the strongbox from the coach.”
“Aye.”
One of the large guards lumbered away and the merchant snapped his fingers once more. A second servant stepped forward, this one in a clean white shirt and waistcoat beneath the woollen coat he wore.
“Master merchant, your bidding?”
“Have these goods delivered to the warehouse and bring the good captain the items he has requested.
He handed over the sheet of paper to the servant who glanced at it impassively and left without another word. The merchant didn’t seem to mind as he studied the warrior.
“I have maps of the wilds, that is where you are going is it not?”
“What makes you say that?”
“Few come here unless they are headed out into that dangerous land. Fewer still dump their cargo. The pirate havens would have fetched a greater price, but they are out east, towards the sea. That would imply you have some pressing need to be here and that can only be the wilds.”
“Mayhap you are right. Of what concern is it to you?”
“Oh, splendid!” He clapped his hands together and began to chew one more on his mustachio. “Tell me, do you plan to raid some temples to lost gods or scour the ruins of an ancient city?”
Jochum merely crossed his arms and stared down his nose at the shorter man, not saying a word as he was unwilling to give anyone an idea of their goal.
“Worry not my large friend. I merely ask because I would like you to consider me a friend and upon your return, should you have any trinkets or, better yet, usable maps of your travels, I would be most pleased to pay you well for them.”
The bodyguard returned, bulging muscles straining under the weight of the iron-bound chest he carried. The merchant waved his fingers towards the ground beside him and the bodyguard placed the chest down and took a step back.
“Your coin,” the merchant said as he opened the chest and pulled out a number of small leather pouches. You will find it is all there.”
Jochum didn’t doubt him. The man might be a crook but for all that, he was a fairly honest one by all accounts. Even so, he emptied out each of the pouches, in turn, counting the coins and nodding slowly.
“We’re done then.”
“Until your return.” The merchant paused and smiled coyly. “If you return at least. Few do.”
With a delicate titter, he gestured for his people to gather up the heavy chest and then led the way across the rain-slick grass, back towards his luxurious carriage that waited on the roadside.
Jochum watched him go and raised one open hand into the air. Behind him, a small figure nestled in the rigging of the airship lowered the loaded musket and muttering, headed to the hatch that led back into the ship and the warmth.
He rested his hand on the hilt of his sword and shaded his eyes with the other. The rain, while not heavy, didn’t allow for much in the way of visibility. Far down the road, a horse and carriage were headed his way.
There was but one other airship at rest in the field and that was far on the other side near a second road that led into town. Which probably meant the carriage contained at least part of his missing company.
It pulled up, passing the merchants as he left, and the two women climbed out. Elva first, and then Mia, wearing a soft leather jerkin over a warm white shirt and leather trousers that were tucked into boots that reached to just below her knee. She had an oiled cloak of grey around her shoulders and carried a heavy looking knapsack in one hand.
With her hair up in a high ponytail and a smile on her face, she was undeniably pretty and he could see why she’d had so much bother from the villagers when she worked in the inn.
“Did you get all you needed?”
“Aye, big man, that we did.”
There was a quietness to Elva’s tone that he recognised, and he grinned. “Really, old friend. Another night of carousing!”
“Only a fool heads towards the wilds without some ale to steady her nerves.”
His laughter rang out over the field and he nodded jovially. “Aye, lass, true enough. Where’s, Syn?”
“We thought he’d be back here?” Elva said, face twisting in alarm. “He never met with us last night.”
“I am back here,” Syn called from where he leant, just inside the ship. He grinned down at the surprised trio. “Been here an hour.”
“How in the nine hells did you… No, I don’t want to know.” Jochum chewed on his lip before asking, “anything we should know?”
“Nay. A quiet night, if a little fun. But no angry wives chasing me this day.”
“Makes a change,” Jochum muttered. “Fine then all aboard and when Wynn returns and the merchant’s goods I ordered, we’ll be off.”
“Wynn? I thought he stayed with you?” Elva asked.
“Said he had business to attend and left an hour after you did.”
“What business would he have here of all places?”
“I suspect we will find out soon enough,” Syn called. “A carriage approaches.”
Sure enough, another carriage was on its way and the companions waited in silence for its arrival. Jochum kept his hand on the hilt of his sword and smiled as Mia did the same with her dagger hilt.
The carriage rolled to a stop and the door was thrust open to allow the bulk of the mage to pass through it, grumbling all the while. He straightened his robes and reached inside the carriage for a heavy sack before sending the driver on his way.
He sauntered over to the others and thrust the sack at Mia.
“What’s this?”
“The best I could find in this town. Which, considering, wasn’t that bad.”
“I don’t understand,” she said, opening the sack and peering inside, brows drawing down in confusion at what she saw.
“There’s this too.” He reached into a pocket and pulled out a silver chain from which dangled a dull grey stone much like the one he wore. “With this and the items in the sack, we have the beginning of making a mage of you.”
She stared at the stone as though it were a viper, shaking her head from side to side as she mumbled, “no, no, no.”
“It’s okay,” Elva said, shooting a glare at the mage. “Remember what I told you. Your gift is not evil, it is how you use it that decides that.”
Mia blinked rapidly and sucked in a deep breath. There was sense in the woman’s words, but even so, she had spent her life fearing magic and those who wielded it. She couldn’t deny though, that she owed much to her new companions and if that meant she needed to at least try, then she could do that much.
She reached out a trembling hand and took the necklace from Wyn. As soon as her fingers touched the stone, it began to glow with a pale silvery light and the fat mage’s lips twisted into a smile.
“As I said, she has the gift,” he gloated. “Those without would need months of training to get such a reaction. She is a natural.”
“What does it mean?” Mia asked, voice trembling as much as her hand.
“It means you and I will be busy for the next few days as we travel, girl! I’m going to teach you to use that gift.”
Chapter 11
A watchman’s funeral is always a quiet, somewhat isolated affair. The citizens usually only come into contact with them when they need help or have committed a crime, while the lords and upper classes see them as just another tool to use in keeping the populace under control. It meant, then, that usually the only ones to attend were the family and fellow members of the watch.
In the grounds of the beautiful temple of Ysnir, Goddess of Duty, Justice and Loyalty, a favoured deity of those who served in the watch, the family and few acquaintances gathered for the first of many funerals that day.
Surrounded by a high wall for privacy, the grass-covered grounds were full of life. Everything from the flowers to the bushes and even the trees wore bright colours or fruits. Each of them chosen purposefully to remind those that had lost loved ones that there was still beauty and joy in the world.
The gathered people, wearing their uniforms or best clothing, stood around the dais where the first of the bodies lay, wrapped in a muslin cloth. There were few eyes without tears and on the faces of those serving men and women, was a burning anger.
They wanted answers for what had happened, and they wanted the creature that had killed so many of their own.
Vala, sniffed into her pristine white handkerchief, tears running freely down her face. She wore the crimson robes that signified her rank, with runes and sigils of warding sewn into the hem with copper thread. Despite her grief, she couldn’t quite take her mind from the glass vial that sat in her private workspace.
Three priests slowly walked from the temple, it’s white stone walls gleaming softly in the early morning light. Two initiates in robes of grey flanked the one who would perform the ceremony, who, much to the surprise of those gathered, wore the white robes of a novice.
“You would think they would send more than a novice to attend us,” Vala said softly.
“Watchmen are not worth much in the eyes of the temples it would seem,” Kristdor replied tersely.
Despite the healing he had received his body still ached from the wounds he had taken at the hands of the Nightstalker. The name his watchmen had given to the creature that had killed so many of their brethren and very nearly Kristdor himself.
If not for the arrival of more of his men as the creature sank its claws into his flesh, mandibles extended, he would have surely been dead. The way it had reacted though had given him pause. The watchmen that had arrived would have been just as little a threat as all those it had already killed. Something had been different.
“Feeding,” he muttered, and his sister’s eyes darted towards him.
“What”
“It’s vulnerable when feeding,” he whispered back. “That’s why it fled. That’s why I managed to hurt it.”
“Perhaps,” she said with a sniff. “Now hush. The novice is about to speak.”
The novice in question, stopped before the dais, the two initiates in grey flanking her. She raised slim hands up to delicately take a hold of the edge of her hood before pulling it back, revealing her face to a series of gasps and more than one of the assembled mourners going to their knees.
Her hair blazed ruby red in the morning light and eyes of grey looked out over the crowd. There was no one thing about her features that stood out as exceptional or unique, but all together they formed a face that was utterly beautiful. It was a face that artists would dream of using in their sculpting.
She didn’t smile, nor do much more than look at the crowd of people for several long seconds before she raised her hands, gesturing for those kneeling to rise.
“Today,” the high priestess of the temple of Ysnir, said in a musical voice that was clear and true. “We mourn the loss of those who gave their lives in the service of their city and their people.”
Kristdor couldn’t believe it himself, his knees trembled as her eyes landed on him for just an instant and he felt the urge to kneel and offer thanks. For one of her station to perform the ceremony was an honour that none there would ever forget.
“Demus Thomasson was a fine man, a devoted father of two children and a loyal husband to his wife, Ethal. He did his duty with honour and when the people of his city were threatened, their lives being cruelly taken, he was there, to defend them.”
The high priestess seemed to hesitate, a catch in her throat gave her pause but she quickly recovered.
“We, all of us, have lost loved ones and for those who give their worship to Ysnir, they are asked of little in return for her bounty. This man, he served her well. He was loyal to his brothers and sisters in the watch, and to his wife and family.”
“He stood firm in the face of powerful evil and did his duty as a true man should. And finally, he sought justice for those who had none. The three core tenets of Ysnir and a sure sign that while we will miss his presence here, he will be favoured in her halls for ever more.”
“For ever more.”
The voices of the mourners echoed off of the high temple walls and the priestess raised her hands, laying them gently on the wrapped body of the watchman. Her lips moved as she said a silent, private prayer for the man.
It was an act that was not lost on those watching and his widow, with tears in her eyes, fell to her knees, weeping, at the honour that was bestowed upon her fallen husband.
When she was done, the priestess stepped back and the two initiates moved forward to lift the body carefully between them, placing it on a wicker carrying board that had been set aside earlier for just that purpose.
They carried him away, into the temple proper and then down into the extensive crypts that were carved into the limestone beneath the city. He would rest there with
all of the other faithful until such a time as the goddess summoned their earthly remains.
It was a powerful and moving experience, watching the highest-ranking devotee of Ysnir perform a service for a watchman. They usually reserved their time and energies for the powerful lords only.
But it wasn’t just one service, Kristdor realised, shock running through his body as he shared a wide-eyed glance with his sister. Two more initiates brought out the second body and it appeared to those watching as though the high priestess was going to perform that ceremony too.
And so it went, as the day wore on, the high priestess performed each and every ceremony for the fallen watchmen. If any had been able to hold back their tears before the day started, that was not the case by the end.
After the last of the bodies were taken away, the mourners moved forward, giving their thanks singly or in groups, to the woman they would have only ever seen on special days, her duties not allowing her the time to perform services or ceremonies.
She spoke with each of them, a few words perhaps, but meaning a great deal to each of those who heard them. Kristdor and Vala joined the line that had formed and patiently awaited their turn, allowing everyone else to go before them.
When they finally reached her, she gave them a wan smile and reached out her hands for Kristdor to take. Her eyes met his and her lips turned up in a smile that was so filled with sadness that his heart ached.
“Your injuries pain you still.” It was a statement not a question and he nodded abruptly. “Then let the blessing of Ysnir move through you, cleansing you of your pain and healing you.”
Golden light flared around her hands and seemed to move into his. Warmth filled him, spreading through his body and banishing those last few aches the prior healing hadn’t quite removed.
“Thank you, holy one.”
“Please,” she said, her voice soft. “I am sorry for your losses.”