by J Battle
With the sword safely sheathed, he set off along the river, towards the north; towards the first strangers to have found their way into the valley in who knew how many years.
Chapter 12 Meldon
He was in a tavern and he was getting strange looks for his fine clothes, but his sour expression was stopping anyone from approaching him.
‘Another tankard of ale, and a double dram of Rumm,‘ he ordered, without a suggestion of a ‘please,’ or the possibility of a ‘thank you.’
The land-lord took his own good time in serving him, but he said nothing. The customer had the look of a man planning a long session, and he’d take his money all day and all night.
‘There you go, sir, and enjoy your drink.’
Meldon looked up and held his eye for a moment, before the land-lord found that he had better things to do elsewhere.
‘Enjoy?’ said Meldon, to his brace of drinks. ‘Enjoy? I should be able to enjoy. I’m the Regent, the most powerful man on the island, and I’m sitting in this foul tavern, drinking its cheap ale.’
He knocked back the Rumm in one go, and gasped as it burned his throat. He threw a mouthful of ale down after it, to cool things down.
He could have been drinking fine wines in the palace, if he’d wished, but the wine tasted like vinegar to him, and Fleur might pester him, and he couldn’t look at her without thinking of that revolting growth in her belly. A growth that was distorting her beautiful body, in the same way it was twisting their beautiful life.
So here he was, in a tavern off Main Street in the town, with his purse, and his Beggar Staff, and his hunger.
He looked along the bar, and she met his eyes with a little smile, and a knowing look.
She was fair enough, he reckoned, though none too clean. She wore a long brown skirt, and a blouse that was rather too tight, and not fastened up the way it was meant to be. The exposed pale slopes of her breasts seemed to glow in the dim light.
‘Would sir like to buy a lady a drink?’ she said, softly; her voice a seductive purr.
He tapped the bar beside him, and she was beside him with one hand on his arm before he could take a breath.
‘That’s very kind of the gentleman, that is. And I respond well to acts of kindness, I do.’
‘And even more so to acts of generosity, I should say.’
‘Now, sir, you know me too well, you do, and us just met. But, my, that’s a fair size purse you have there,’ she said, with a salacious laugh.
‘Be off with you, whore! Who do you think you are, coming up to a respectable man like that?’
He pushed her hand away and staggered away from the bar.
Close up, she’d appeared suddenly less appealing, and much older, and somewhat offensive to the nose.
On the street, he shook his head and then he spat in the gutter.
It was a year since he’d walked the streets of the town. A year in which the power he now had, and Fleur, had kept him away.
But now he was back, and his blood was up, and there were no possible consequences that could fall on him for his actions tonight. For he was the Regent of all Fairisle, and he should be happier than he was.
Then he saw her, and his heart seemed to skip. She was hovering on the corner of the street, and he knew that she’d seen him, though she might pretend otherwise. Her sort never miss a customer, he thought, as he began to cross the street.
There was a light from a nearby window that lit her up for show, and that was surely no accident. She was slim, and small, with long red hair that looked as if it had been washed recently. And she was young; so young. No more than 20 Falls of Leaves, he thought.
‘How do, sir?’ She smiled at his approach, and cocked her hips.
‘Do…do you have somewhere? Somewhere we can go?’ He felt like a hesitant young man as she looked him up and down.
‘I reckon I do, sir. I reckon I do. But it will cost a pretty penny, it will, and I’m not doing nothing for anything but gold, and that’s the truth, it is.’
She smiled then to soften her words, and, lost to all thoughts of common sense, he handed her his purse.
‘Ah now, sir. You’re never going to forget tonight, I can promise you that.’
She took his hand and led him away from the squalor of the street.
Chapter 13 Lydorth
Lydorth called for her perhaps an hour later; she wasn't sure, as she'd spent the time convincing Orther and Harld to remove the last of her bonds.
'Just leave it loose, Miss, around your wrists. He'll expect you to be bound, until he releases you himself, and we don't want him thinking we don't know our job, do we Harld?'
'No, for sure. We don't want him mad at us. I seen him mad, and it's not nice; not at all. He fair ripped his head off; old Hummer, you remember him, Orther?'
'Yes, I knew him, but I never seen what happened to him.'
'Well, he lost his head, so I seen; right off with his head and splattered against the wall, in a flash. And he ain't hardly done nothing wrong, far as I could see.'
'Now, Harld, your putting fear up the Miss, and she don't hardly need no more.'
Then the door creaked and he was there.
Esmere gasped and her hands went to her mouth. She hadn't expected him to be so big, or so ugly.
'Remember, lass, what I told you,' whispered Orther, as he stepped forward.
'Here she be, master, as pretty and as eager as you could want, and ready to please you, Lord.'
As he spoke, he bowed and did something complicated with his left hand. Harld matched him move for move.
'Leave,' said Lydorth, quietly, his voice soft and hoarse.
Alone with the monster, she wanted to curl up in a corner and hide from his red eyes. But Orther had warned her, so she held her head high, and stared deep into his eyes.
'What do you want with me?' she said, failing to prevent her voice from shaking.
'What would you think I'd want, alone with soft, female, human flesh?' He stepped closer.
She wanted to move back, but she held her ground.
'Who do you think you are? Stealing a lady such as I when I was taking a walk on a mild evening with a good friend, and for such nonsense as this?' She took a step closer, and pointed her finger at him.
'I will not put up with this; not at all.' She held his eyes for a moment, then she draped her view down his long body, a sneer on her face.
With a dismissive wave of her hand, she turned her back on him.
'I am…You cannot…. I am the last of the Trytor. I am your Lord and Master, and I will do with you what I may,' he snarled.
She spun around. 'Don't you dare take that tone with me, you big…thing! I'll not have it. I'll have respect, or I will not speak to you again.'
She turned and walked to the nearest corner. With her back to him, she held her hands before her, to prevent him seeing how badly they shook.
'Esmere, you should not risk offending me in this way.' His words were slow and sly, and he was close; she could feel the heat of his breath on her neck; she could almost taste the rancid meat on which he'd dined.
She closed her eyes and held herself absolutely still; sure that, any second, she would feel his great claws on her.
For what seemed like hours, nothing happened; just the sound of his deep, slow breaths behind her.
Then she heard him move away.
She remained still; certain that it was some ploy on his part.
At last she turned, and he was gone.
Hesitating still, she listened, lest he be waiting outside the door. She breathed in deeply, but he'd taken his stench with him.
Did she have the courage to move? Well, she'd had the courage to stand up to the Trytor, hadn't she?
When she left the room, she found herself in a long, wide, high hall. The Rulehall. Her father had described it often enough to her.
At the far end, she could see a large ornate, glistening throne. It was occupied.
Beside it was a smal
l chair; presently unoccupied.
Lydorth saw her and beckoned her to him, with a gesture towards the chair.
Esmere took a deep breath, and then another, because one was not enough, then she raised her head, and straightened her back. With a flick of her wrist, she cast her loose bonds to the ground, and she began to walk slowly, and with more than a touch of elegance, towards the most feared creature in the land.
She stopped before him and met his eyes for a moment; she held him, then he looked away. She smiled coolly and glanced at the hard chair.
'I'll have a cushion, if you'd be so kind,' she said, allowing a little warmth into her smile.
Chapter 14 Cavour
Cavour and BobbyJ had smoked their pipes and talked of this and that; some of what they said might have made part of a plan, but most did not.
‘Well, Boy, we’ve rested our weary bones for long enough,’ said Cavour, not moving an inch, ’it’s surely time to be up and about our business.’
BobbyJ stretched out his arms and yawned. ‘Do you think we’ll get a bed tonight?’ he said, as he rolled to his feet. ‘A nice bed would be nice, and someone warm and friendly to share it.’
‘Do you think on nothing else, Lad?’
‘I’m barely 17 summers old, Cavour; what else is there for me to think on?’
‘Come on then, and let me do any talking that’s needed, unless we happen upon a warm and friendly lass, with no regard for her reputation.’
They’d barely walked for five minutes when they found their way barred by a large man with a threatening aspect, and an enormous sword.
‘Stop thee there, strangers,’ he called, before they were within 20 yards of him. ‘And answer my questions, in truth and in honesty.’
‘May we be allowed to come a little closer, master, so as not to have to shout?’ asked Cavour, his back a little bent all of a sudden, and his voice croaky.
‘Nay; stay there; you shall come no further,’ called Frenk.
‘What did he say there, BobbyJ? Did you catch it, for it passed me by?’
‘I’ll come to you, then, if I must,’ said Frenk, and he was as good as his word.
‘That’s better, my fine fellow,’ said Cavour, smiling a wide full face smile, ‘and what a sword you’ve got there? So long and shiny, and sharp, I should think.’
He turned to BobbyJ. ‘Do you think it will be sharp, there?’
‘Oh ay, I reckon it will be mighty sharp. The big man wants to be sure not to cut himself with it.’ BobbyJ took a half step to his right as he spoke, away from Cavour.
‘Ay, you’ve no need to worry on my part; I’ll not be cutting meself with it, but that don’t mean someone won’t get cut, if I don’t get proper answers.’
‘Oh, there stranger; was that a threat? Do you reckon that was a threat, BobbyJ?’
‘I reckon it was, or as close as makes no difference to a blind horse with three legs and a terrible thirst.’
‘Who ye be, and why are you here in my land?’ Frenk took a double-handed grip on his sword.
‘There’s no need for that, friend,‘ said Cavour, moving a little closer. ’We’re just poor travelers who got themselves lost in that there mist, and we surely thought we were lost for good and doomed to die there, didn’t we lad?’
‘Ay, and that’s the truth,’ replied BobbyJ, now more beside Frenk than in front of him.
‘So, what is this fine place? And look at the colour of that there mist; I ain’t seen nothing like that at all.’
Frenk’s eyes followed Cavour’s hand as he pointed at the yellow mist beyond them.
With hardly a sound, BobbyJ was on him; knocking his sword away with his good left hand and ramming his bandaged elbow into the side of the larger man’s neck.
He tumbled like a tree ready for logging.
BobbyJ clambered over his supine body, a blade suddenly in his left hand.
‘Stay, Boy!’ yelled Cavour, his face alive with anger. ‘We’re not here to kill; not unless we have to. So put your blade back where it came from.’
‘What we going to do with him, then?’ grunted BobbyJ, as he moved away.
‘We’ve got his sword now, so we’ll be asking whatever questions need asking, but we’ll be nice and friendly, because there’s no need for anything else.’
‘If you say, but watch yourself; he’s a big strong man, and he won’t be best pleased when he wakes up.’
‘He’ll cause no trouble to us. He’s a good man, doing his best, but he’ll know that he’s beaten.’
Just then, Frenk groaned and lifted his head; squinting, he saw his sword in Cavour’s hand and groaned once more.
‘Sit yourself up, man; we mean you no harm. We had to take your sword from you, in case you meant us harm, but we’ll not be using it. Now, are you awake enough to hear me?’
Frenk nodded.
‘Good, then. Now my name is Cavour, and this young nuisance is BobbyJ, and he sure is sorry if he hurt you.’
Frenk shook his head and squinted from one to the other.
‘No, I’m alright, now, I think. My name is Frenk, and I’m the Ward of the North, and it is my duty…’
‘We know Frenk; we know. It is your duty to protect your land, and quite right too. But you have nothing to fear from us; we are just poor merchants, on the road these long years, selling our wares, if you like. I see you notice that we are without our wares, and that’s the truth. Because, young fellow here, he wandered into the mist and got himself lost, and I heard him calling and I thought, do I stay with our precious goods, or do I go after the boy.
‘Obviously I made the wrong choice, as I should have stayed safe and sound with the wares and not be threatened by a big man with a sword.’
‘I’m sorry about that, I was just doing my…’
‘Yes, just doing your duty, and that’s fine enough with no harm done, and we respect you for it, we do.’
‘I thought …’
‘Thee thought we was brigands, come to rape and pillage. Well, I’m a little old for the rape, and the boy can’t spell pillage, so you’re safe enough for all that. Now, friend, tell me how things be in this land; are there people with the purse to buy a few little luxuries?’
Frenk frowned in concentration for a moment.
‘Well, there’s the Lady; I reckon she’s got the purse to buy whatever she might want, if it’s nice enough. And then there’s the Mage, of course. I hear he likes unnecessary things. But, apart from them two, well, you’ll have to go down to Hesselton to find more customers.'
‘That is surely very kind of you, Frenk. Now, tell us about this here Mage. What sort of fellow is he, and where might we find him, for we have surely never heard of such a thing in these wild days, have we BobbyJ?’
BobbyJ smiled at Frenk. ‘No, indeed we have not, in all of our travels.’
**********
Even with his favourite scented handkerchief pressed to his delicate nose, Jerrold could hardly bear to walk down the street in the centre of town. So full of ragged people with unwashed bodies and ugly faces, with drab, dirty clothes. And the gutters! His stomach revolted at what he could see floating in the narrow channels.
But he had his instructions from Lady Fleur, and he would do his best. ‘Fleur,’ he said, softly, the word lost in the folds of his handkerchief.
He paused outside the tavern for a moment, to gather his courage and prepare himself for the coming ordeal.
He’d never before entered a tavern, and he was unsure of what to do, or what to say, or even what to drink.
He strode through the open doorway like a man stepping onto the gallows.
There was a bar to his left and that seemed the place to start.
With one hand, wrapped in his handkerchief, on the bar, he stood tall with his head held high and waited to be noticed.
The barman was at the other end of the bar, deep in conversation with a customer.
After a moment, Jerrold ventured a cough.
There was no
response from the barman, apart from a lusty laugh and some unseemly scratching in his pants.
‘There’s a fella here wants a drink, Dann,’ called a thin man with long greasy hair leaning against the bar a few yards from him.
The barman looked over and screwed up his face as if at a loss as to how to deal with such an unusual requirement, then he began to amble over like a man with all the time in the world, and not much he needed to do with it.
‘One for him, and one for me, if you please. Because you look a generous and polite sort of man, sir, if you don’t mind me saying so.’ The thin man sort of bowed in Jerrold’s direction.
‘Well, yes, of course, for your kind intervention,’ said Jerrold, and he then demonstrated the proper manner in which a bow should be performed.
‘You from the palace?’ said the thin man, when he’d taken the head and shoulders off his free ale. ‘You look like you’re from the palace, what with your fine clothes and fancy manner.’
‘Indeed, I am. Jerrold Perferfrer, at your service.’ Another excellent bow followed just to show that the first was not a fluke.
‘My, that’s a name. My name ain’t so fancy. Just call me Rekk.’ In place of a bow, he placed his empty tankard next to Jerrold’s untouched drink.
When there was no reaction other than an awkward half-smile, he nodded at his tankard.
‘An empty tankard is a sad thing for sure,’ he said, to back up his nod.
Jerrold would never have survived his years in the palace without a sharp eye for a subtle hint, so he called the barman over and had him replace the tankard with one more to Rekk’s liking.
‘Your sister would like you to visit her at the palace,’ said Jerrold, after waiting for a moment for Rekk to complete his devotions to the worshipful ale.
‘Ay,’ said Rekk. ‘I reckoned that’d be about right, what with you being here.’