Elias sighed deeply and shook his head, affecting exasperation, but the preposterous sight of their two faces crowded in the carriage window made him smile despite himself. “With you two bards in tow,” he said, “a guy hardly knows what to do with himself!”
“I suggest you laugh,” Danica said, her trademark half smile replaced with an eye-crinkling grin. Then, without waiting for Elias to park and tie the carriage, she opened the door and hopped out in a single motion. Dragging Lar by the arm she strode into the fair grounds, leaving a bemused Elias in her wake.
Elias shared a look with Asa who merely shrugged. Then, they both burst out laughing. Elias took her hand. She gazed up at him, her eyes glittering in the lantern light. Moved by her demure manner, he kissed her.
Danica and Lar headed toward the gazebo where the band played, for it was there that the greatest number of people congregated on the open green to visit and greet each other. Elias, however, after seeing to the carriage, pulled Asa in another direction, deciding that he would buy her a candied apple and a couple mugs of ale for himself and Lar.
After braving the vendor lines, the betrothed snaked through the crowded green to find Lar and Danica. Elias spotted the two sitting at a cedar plank table, surrounded by half a score of avid listeners as Danica gestured animatedly, presumably regaling her audience with tales of her adventures at the Academy.
As Elias made his way toward them, a man stumbled into him, which sent his ale sloshing. Elias recovered without spilling much of the heady brew, but the same could not be said for the other fellow, who emptied the entire contents of his glass onto Elias.
The bleary-eyed man immediately produced a handkerchief and began dabbing it at Elias’s shirt. “I beg your pardon, sh-ir,” the man slurred.
“Worry not, friend,” Elias said. “It was an honest accident.” Elias looked down at the tipsy stranger fumbling with his shirt. The man’s dress and coloring marked him as an outsider. He had the olive skin of a Kveshian or Erastean and almond-shaped eyes that glimmered like black oil. He wore a cerulean silk shirt and a black cape with matching leather gloves, and like everything else about the man they gleamed, but it struck Elias as odd that he wore them given the heat. The distiller supposed some would go to any lengths to appear fashionable.
“That’s quite fine, thank-you,” said Elias, embarrassed by the stranger’s attention.
“Oh, your pardon, sir,” the man said, pulling his handkerchief back sharply, “I have been overly familiar.”
“No, no. Think nothing of it.” The two men regarded each other, each at a loss, and an awkward silence fell between them, which was abruptly interrupted by Asa who couldn’t resist giggling. Her good humor proved infectious, and the two men laughed as well.
The man cleared his throat. “Again, my apologies. I must confess that I have enjoyed excessively the delicious libations this town has to offer—what is it you call this ambrosial liquor?”
Elias sniffed at his shirt, eliciting another guffaw from the outsider. “Smells like knoll, named after this very county, where this kind of whiskey was first distilled. It first gained a reputation in surrounding counties as that Knoll Creek whiskey, but eventually folk just started calling it knoll.”
“Well, I daresay,” said the man, “you are well versed on the history of this knoll. You must be an aficionado yourself, eh?”
“Actually, my father and I are distillers. We make the Duana knoll.”
“By the queens tit—oh, sorry milady—that’s the very same I am—er, was—drinking right now! And I daresay, without reservation, that it is the best I have sampled. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Slade Kezia, merchant extraordinaire, recently come from exotic Kvesh, and now bound for Peidra to sell my wares!” Slade clapped Elias vigorously on the shoulder, beaming with excitement.
Elias introduced himself and Asa as his recently betrothed, which made Slade’s smile, if possible, broaden further yet.
“Listen, Elias,” Slade said in a conspiratorial whisper as he leaned in, “I think that your Knoll would be quite the hit in Peidra. What do you think about selling to me, say, four barrels, two of the normal stuff and two of the top-shelf, if you have any.”
Elias’s mind reeled. At 740 bottles per barrel, that was almost three thousand bottles, which meant a lot of coin for the distillery. He focused on keeping his expression neutral, so as not to give away his elation. “Yes,” he said, “we do have a special reserve that is aged for twelve years.”
“Excellent! Tell me, Elias, where in town is your distillery?”
“We aren’t located in the town proper, but out on the prairie, past the Lurkwood.” Elias gave Slade directions, careful to mention the names of roads as well as landmarks. The tipsy merchant listened, but his crinkled brow indicated that he was quite baffled. After Elias finished detailing the route, Slade shrugged sheepishly. Elias, at a loss, looked to Asa for help.
“Well,” said Asa, stretching the word out as she thought, “considering the size of your order, I think the least we can do is dust off the supply wagon and deliver the barrels to you.” She looked up at Elias and arched a delicate eyebrow.
“Yes,” Elias said. “Yes, of course. Slade, where are you staying?”
Slade smiled in relief. “I have made my camp behind an abandoned house up in the hills—a big old white thing, rather square looking, with columns in the front and a wrap-around porch. It looks like no one has lived there for quite some time.”
“That sounds like the Mayfair manor,” said Asa. “Old man Mayfair’s been dead for a decade, and his son has moved to Ralston, but never had the heart to sell the place. But why stay all the way up there? Our modest town may not be as bustling as what you’re used to, but we have our share of reputable Inns.”
“And no doubt they are quite hospitable, Miss,” Slade said, “but I have invested a significant portion of my bankroll in my recent venture to Kvesh, and what with having recently lost a guard to a better offer from a brothel in Sanders, I am reticent to leave my cargo out in the open. I’m sure that Knoll Creek is quite safe, but one cannot be too careful these days.”
“Indeed,” said Elias, “and it is just as well. Old Mayfair is actually closer to us than town. Your camp at noon, then?”
“Perfect,” Slade said and offered Elias his hand. “I’m sure that we will both profit quite well from this venture, and with luck this will be the beginning of a continuing business relationship.”
Elias and Asa thanked Slade and bid him farewell. As they walked away Elias all but glowed with his good fortune. He took a long pull from his mug of ale and winked at Asa who grinned and nuzzled closer to him.
The gregarious Danica had attracted an even larger crowd. She related an anecdote about an elderly man who had come to the Academy seeking a remedy for a personal problem. “It turns out,” Danica said, “that his plums were sore because he was quite constipated, having subsisted on a diet of cheese and mutton for the last fifty years!” She had her audience, many of whom were pliant from liberal indulgence of whiskey and ale, in stitches.
Elias sat down for the show, twining his fingers absent mindedly in Asa’s flaxen curls. His mind wandered as he finished his mug, a lazy smile lighting his face. It had been a good day, despite Macallister’s intrusion. He had managed an impromptu sale—with hardly any effort on his part—that would give the Duana coffers a boost for months to come. Mostly, however, he found his spirits lifted by Danica’s unexpected visit.
Elias had missed his sister fiercely since she had gone away to the Academy. The two had been inseparable as children, lacking many alternative playmates as far removed from town as they were out on the prairie, and their relationship only became closer when their mother died. He was twelve when the strange fever claimed the vibrant Edora Duana and Danica ten. Even now, more than a decade later, Elias did not like being without his sister for long.
Elias did not remember many of the details of his Mother’s death. He recalled her w
hite nightgown and chestnut tresses spilling over her pale face, the bright burn of her jade eyes as she held him, whispering in his ear, comforting him, when it had been he who was trying to comfort her. As he grew, though, time betrayed him. In the months and seasons following her death he could summon her face in his mind’s-eye as easily as drawing breath, but as the years passed they erased the details of her countenance. Now, when he summoned her image, it was like seeing her from the corner of his eye, and when he turned she was gone.
His father did not talk about his mother much, or her sudden and withering illness. He would sometimes say that she had been an extraordinary woman, and a cryptic look would creep over his features. Of her past he would only say that they had met in Peidra, before he began his last mission for the crown.
Asa nudged Elias, breaking the spell of his reverie. She nodded her head, pointing over his shoulder with her chin. He turned, following her gaze, and exhaled a nigh inaudible groan. Cormik Macallister approached, sauntering toward them with a long, slow gait, his eyes fixed on Elias.
Cormik was a striking man in his mid twenties, blue-eyed and graceful and slender as the rapier buckled to his waist. He wore black suede boots, black cotton pants, a black moleskin belt, and a white shirt with laces at the throat and the over-sized sleeves that were the fashion in Peidra. His cloak was his crowning glory and offered a splash of color—scarlet velvet, silk lined and glossy, the reflection of lantern light danced across its surface.
Danica had no intention of interrupting her story to acknowledge Cormik and favored him only with a cursory glance and a slight narrowing of her eyes. Cormik’s lips curled upward in a cold parody of a smile as he turned his attention to Elias. He placed a hand casually on his rapier.
“Well met, Elias. My father tells me you are entering the fencing competition.”
“No, Cormik. I’m afraid you were misinformed.”
“That’s a shame. Considering your father’s reputation with a blade, I figured you would be the only one to offer a decent challenge.”
“Sorry to disappoint.”
“No matter. With this,” Cormik said as he drew his rapier, “I’d have an edge over even the great Padraic Duana himself. Forged of Kveshian steel it is one of a kind, the work of a master.”
“You can’t use an edged blade in the fencing contest,” said an incredulous Asa.
“Of course not,” said Cormik, with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. “I have a thin leather fencing sheaf which fits over the blade, rendering it as harmless as a practice foil. It is designed so that one can train with a blade of quality. I have already cleared it with the referee, your father as it were.”
“Yes,” Asa said, clenching her jaw, “I am aware.”
“I asked the good mayor,” Cormik said coyly, “if as a prize he would reward the victor with a kiss from comely Asa, but sadly he declined.”
Elias felt Asa stiffen at his side, but, remembering his father’s admonishment, he refused to rise to Cormik’s bait. “Well, Cormik, I wish you the best of luck.” He turned away, hoping that Cormik would leave them in peace.
“That’s mighty neighborly of you. Speaking of which, my old man told me that your father’s giving some thought to selling us the distillery. Likely it’s best for all. Your pa can retire and with your share of the coin in addition with the no doubt substantial dowry you will receive from marrying Asa you would be able to buy yourself a nice house, or small farm of your own.”
Cormik knew as well as his father, that the Duanas would never sell, and while his attempt to get a rise out of Elias was transparent, it irked him nonetheless. “Dowries are an outdated tradition, and I will have no part in it,” Elias said as mildly as he could, choosing to skirt the larger issue. He felt silence drop over the crowd as Danica abruptly stopped her story.
“Be that as it may—” Cormik said.
“We will never—and I mean never—sell to your greedy, fat, poor-excuse-of-a-man, father,” Danica said, her words spoken forcefully and slow and laced with venom. “And my brother could humiliate you in the fencing circle.”
Cormik stiffened and his nostrils flared as he inhaled a sharp breath. “You hear that folks,” he said, raising his voice so as to be heard by the score of bystanders, “Elias has challenged me to a duel. I’ll see you in a quarter of an hour, Duana, providing you don’t follow in your father’s footsteps and give up the sword so that it may be taken up by better men.” Cormik turned on his heels, flourished his cloak, and strode away.
Elias seethed. His anger distributed itself equally between Cormik and his sister. He fastened his black eyes on Danica. “I was trying to ignore his taunts and be the better man, but now you have forced my hand.”
Cowed, she bowed her head. “Elias, I’m sorry...I just can’t bite my tongue around that pompous fool.”
Elias sighed and said, not unkindly, “Since when could you bite your tongue around anyone?”
Danica smiled ruefully and Elias found himself returning the gesture—he could never stay mad at Danica for long. “Besides,” she said, “you don’t have to fight him. No one will think less of you if you don’t enter the contest.”
“Hell, Elias, you can best him, Kveshian steel or not,” Lar said. “And, there isn’t a person at the fair that wouldn’t like to see that whelp eat his words.”
“Shut it you big oaf!” Asa cried. She turned to Elias and took his hand. “Don’t fight him! The Macallisters never play fair. That fancy sword with its practice sheaf will end up accidently running you through, and quite a convenience it would be for the Macallisters considering your father can’t run the distillery without you.”
“Cormik may be a horse’s ass, but he’s no killer,” Elias replied. “Not that it matters now. He’s announced that I challenged him and I’ll look a coward if I don’t show. I’m backed into a corner, and my name is on the line. Losing would be better than not fighting him at this point.”
“With that blade, doubtlessly perfectly balanced and easier a hand longer than a practice foil, he will have the advantage over you,” Danica said. “Elias, you will have to outthink him.” Asa glared at her, eyes sharp as daggers. “What? It’s true.”
“This is your fault Danica,” Asa said, her voice brittle with emotion. “You just can’t keep your mouth shut, can you?”
By now Elias’s temper had cooled. He figured since he couldn’t change the situation there was little sense in belaboring it further. “Listen, you two, calm down. It can’t be helped now so there’s no point in placing blame. Let’s not give the Macallisters the satisfaction of seeing us ruffled.”
Asa nodded, but her posture remained stiff. Lar clapped Elias on the shoulder and put an arm around Danica, who favored him with a raised eyebrow, but her jade eyes danced with mirth again.
Elias closed his eyes and cleared his mind as his father had taught him, an exercise he called entering the void. He relaxed tense muscles and willed his heart to slow. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous, but he didn’t want anyone else to know it. Elias stood to his full height, held his head high, and tried to affect the whimsical half smile that Danica always wore, as if she laughed at some private joke, and strode toward the fencing circle.
Chapter 3
The Woman in the Red Dress
“The match,” said Mayor Bromstead, “consists of up to five rounds.”
Elias swallowed the lump in his throat, which felt at once like it was closing in. A bead of sweat wound down his back, tracking along his spine. He eased his grip on his fencing foil and tried to redirect his attention to the Mayor. Elias let slip a nervous laugh despite himself. He was engaged to Ulric Bromstead’s daughter, but he still thought of him as The Mayor.
Bromstead arched an eyebrow at Elias. “Points are earned from a strike on any part of the body, or by driving the other fencer out of the circle, at which point the round ends. The first to three points wins. No late blows, kicks, punches, or conduct unbecoming a gentlemen will be tol
erated. Is this clear?” Ulric Bromstead fastened his slate-gray eyes on each of them in turn, waiting for each man to indicate his assent with a nod. “Very well then.”
Ulric walked out of the center of the circular dais. As he passed Elias he smiled, but the gesture did not touch his eyes, which were troubled and hooded by drawn brows. The mayor raised his arm above his head and, after a dramatic pause, dropped it in a single, fluid motion. “Begin!”
For a pregnant moment the duelists stood still on opposite sides of the dais, each taking the measure of the other. Elias kept his face an emotionless blank mask. His stance remained loose, and he gripped his foil lightly. Cormik rested the point of his blade on the granite dais and wore a toothy smile.
The sight of the long and wide-bladed rapier, though tightly contained within the leather sheaf, gave Elias pause. Cormik’s weapon boasted a gleaming swept-hilt, ornate as well as functional, and an oblate pommel that suggested perfect balance. Elias’s own, standard foil seemed paltry in comparison.
Elias knew that Cormik sought to goad him into attacking by keeping his guard down and resting his sword point on the dais, a grave and purposeful insult to any fencer, but Elias refused to rise to the bait. Rather, he took a step back as if cowed.
As Elias moved Cormik exploded toward him like a thoroughbred off the starting line. Cormik kept his blade close to his body, coiled to strike as he charged. The rancher launched a high, overextended thrust, but Elias, anticipating him, stepped to the side and forward at the last possible moment and dropped his right shoulder to skirt the attack.
Elias followed with a backhanded blow, driving the pommel of his foil into the dimple between Cormik’s shoulder blades. Cormik, already off balance, stumbled onward and out of the circle.
Danica, Asa, and Lar erupted in applause, and the crowd cheered with them. House Macallister’s reputation ensured respect the same way that a grizzled old guard dog did—out of a sense of fear rather than affection, and many folk took satisfaction in seeing one brought to heel. That it happened in public made it all the sweeter, and would be the talk of the town for weeks if not months to come.
Reckoning (The Empyrean Chronicle) Page 3