Landmoor

by Jeff Wheeler

  The din in the tavern was washed lower when the owner raised his voice. “Flent!” the bar owner howled. “What are you wasting your time over there for? Fetch that grain bag from the stores like I told you to.”

  The Drugaen shrugged his shoulders and started tapping his boot on the leg of the chair. He gave Thealos a wizened look. “He’ll forget I’m here in a minute. Nice to meet you, Thealos.” He offered his big hand and gave Thealos a hearty shake. “My name’s Flent Shago. You know how to play Bones?”

  “I’ve never played,” Thealos replied, watching as the serving girl approached the bar owner and whispered something to him. Thealos then glanced back in the corner of the room at the knight. He was leaning back in his chair, watching Thealos intently. He sipped slowly from a large mug of ale. Thealos folded his hands on the table. “Why don’t you show me.”

  Flent started flipping the cards clumsily. It was a trick, Thealos recognized. The large fumbling hands, the ignorant pretense. Jaerod had already warned him. But Thealos kept back his own smile. He’d never played Bones himself. But he’d watched enough games played out in Dos-Aralon to know the rules.

  * * *

  Thealos lathered some butter on the rich slice of round bread. He took a few bites and set it down on the platter next to the stew. The Drugaen took a long sip from a mug of Spider Ale. He stared at the cards in his hands and then flipped over two, laying down a matching set.

  Thealos nodded approvingly and flicked over an Aralonian piece. “Two shells in a row. You’re pretty good at this.”

  The stocky Drugaen shrugged, finishing off the ale. “I play now and then. Mostly with sailors and Sheven-Ingen pirates.” He patted the axe at his belt and gave Thealos a shrewd wink. “Did you come in down-river from Avisahn?”

  Thealos nodded, taking another sip of Silvan wine. It came from the Radstill vineyards. A good name. Glancing over, he watched Ticastasy approach again with a fresh cup for Flent. Her jewelry tinkled softly as she sat down and joined them, sliding the mug over to her friend.

  “Roye says no more games unless you’re winning.” She gave Thealos a playful grin and brushed the long dark hair over one ear. “I don’t think your friends are planning to leave soon. It’s dark outside now. Maybe Flent can help you sneak out back, unless a Shaden can see in the dark like a Drugaen can.”

  “I saw you over there talking to them,” Thealos said cautiously, ignoring her suggestion.

  She nodded. “They’re definitely your race,” she said, “Though they’re trying to hide it. They have weapons. Like yours.”

  “Like mine?”

  “The blade you’re hiding in your cloak,” she said, her gaze level with his. Her eyebrows arched. “Is that why they are after you? Did you steal it?”

  Thealos shook his head slowly. “No, they want me, not my weapon.” He rubbed his thumb along the lip of the wine cup. “I’m waiting for…a friend,” he said delicately. “If you can get me out of here safely, I’ll make it worth the trouble.”

  Flent nodded and shrugged without concern. “There are only four. We can handle it.”

  Thealos chuckled under his breath. “You have no idea who they are. One of them could turn that knight on his ear.”

  “I doubt that,” the serving girl said, unimpressed. “He’s a Knight of the Blade.” Ticastasy looked at him probingly. “But if they’re as good as you’re boasting, Shaden, you must be pretty banned important. Who are you?”

  Thealos clenched his fist, looking over Flent’s shoulder at the Wolfsmen. “It would be better if you didn’t know. You mentioned there was a way out through the back. Where does it go?”

  She shook her head. “I have a better idea. It’s dark out there tonight. You could get lost very easily and that wouldn’t help your friend find you. Besides, what’s to stop them from hurrying out the back after you? It might stall them longer if… they didn’t believe you were leaving.” She gave him a knowing look. Her hand rested on his arm flirtingly and then teased the hair along his ear. “I don’t want you to get the wrong idea, Thealos. Any number of girls down in the Wash would sell themselves for a drink of ale. But not here, not on these docks. And certainly not me. But do your friends over there know that?” She gave him a scrutinizing look. “You said you would make it worth my trouble. Flent can get a message to your friend when he comes. And I know plenty of places to hide you.”

  A patron coughed roughly at the table next to them and dropped a few coins on the table before lurching towards the door. The noise in the common room would have made it difficult for anyone to overhear them.

  Thealos looked at her seriously. She was intelligent, for a human. He risked a look back at the Wolfsmen. If he made it away, what would they tell Nordain? That he’d been seduced by a serving girl in Sol? Nordain would believe it, and without any coaxing. But Thealos hadn’t broken any of the Rules of Forbiddance since he left Avisahn. Without proof, what could Nordain really do? He looked into the serving girl’s cinnamon-brown eyes. She was pretty, in a dusky way. An expensive gold pendant dangled down her throat.

  “What will it cost me?” he hedged.

  “Why don’t you decide what it’s worth to you? If you were a Silvan prince, the ransom would be generous. I think I’m your best choice right now,” she pointed out. Her hand went lazily to his forehead, brushing his hair back. She gave him a flirting smile and then chewed on the corner of her mouth. “Come, my lord,” she teased. “Who is your friend? What’s his name?”

  Thealos thought about it a moment longer and then quickly nodded. “I’m waiting for a Sleepwalker.”

  Her eyes widened with surprise. “A Sleepwalker?”

  “Do you know how to recognize one?” Thealos asked.

  “Jaerod,” Flent said, staring at Thealos. “He plays Bones with me. Sweet Hate, if you’re with him, you must be a Silvan prince.” He looked at Ticastasy and gave her a solid nod. “Find him a nice hideout, ‘Stasy. I’ll pretend to fix the door, just in case they try and get out the front to follow you. Wait ‘til I’m there before you move.” The Drugaen pushed away from the table. He rubbed his stubby knees and started clomping across the tavern.

  “Flent!” the tavern keeper called over the ruckus. “Another keg of Spider Ale! The tap is running dry. Don’t scowl at me…get down to the cellar!”

  The Drugaen held up his pudgy hands and waved the tavern keeper away. He wandered towards the front door.

  Ticastasy took Thealos’ hand and started caressing it with her thumb. “Let me see. Where should I take you? I could hide you at the Thumber Inn down the wharf. Or there’s a tavern on the Wash called Riverwink.” Her smiles were dazzling and flirting, but the eyes were calm and serious. It was all show. She leaned forward and kissed the corner of his mouth. “Or you could stay in my room until Jaerod comes.” She leaned back, giving him an amused smile. She licked her finger and wiped the dab of rouge from his mouth.

  Thealos sat still, speechless for a moment. He’d never thought flirting could make him feel the effects of the wine so strongly. He was a little lightheaded and giddy. He decided to play along. Taking her hand in his, he kissed her knuckles deftly. “Do you offer that to all the Silvan princes you charm?” She smelled wonderful, like apples and mint.

  A tiny gleam flashed in her eyes and was gone. “Only to green-eyed princes,” she said, giving him a warm smile – a real one. “Not gray, not blue, not violet. Never trust a gray-eyed prince. But you’d do better to be away from here. This city can swallow you if you’re not wary. And I know it better than any lass around. Good, he’s almost there. Come with me.” Squeezing his hand, she started to tug him after her.

  Flent had just reached the door when it burst open, letting out an angry rush of wind. Thealos hoped it was Jaerod. Instead, a band of soldiers entered. Each had a crossbow slung over his shoulder, the wooden stock sloping and well-crafted. Their hair was long and swept back in the Inlander fashion. The uniforms were light riding gear, a mail shirt covered with a leather tuni
c and open at the sleeves.

  “Mother of Hate,” Ticastasy whispered, looking at the newcomers. “They’re Kiran Thall.”

  Thealos watched them enter, at least twenty strong. The mood in the Foxtale chilled. The leader was a tall, lanky soldier with a two-day growth on his cheeks. He had a hawk-nose and a long, hard face. He carried himself with arrogance, a self-possession making him seem younger. Swaggering in, he gave Flent a warning look to back off and marched over to the counter where the tavern keeper scowled.

  “What can I do for you, Secrist? You don’t stop by the wharves very often.”

  “My brother sent for me,” the leader of the Kiran Thall said. “Said to meet him here in a few days. You seen him this side of the Ravenstone? Been to port yet?” He grabbed another patron’s mug of Spider Ale and gulped it down. He slammed the cup and gave the tavern keeper a menacing look.

  “Let’s go,” Thealos murmured. They were causing enough of a distraction to escape.

  She shook her head, her eyes never leaving the leader. “They would see us. You don’t want them to notice you. Not a Shae this far from Avisahn. Trust me.”

  “Who are they?”

  “You’ve never heard of the Kiran Thall?”

  Thealos shrugged, angry at the delay. “They’re a bane in the western half of the valley. They don’t frequently stop in my kingdom. They look like Inlanders.”

  She nodded. “They’re the cavalry of the Bandit Rebellion. Part of the Shoreland Regiment. Arrogant mules, all of them. That one is a colonel. Secrist Phollen.” She looked at him with contempt. “Hate,” she muttered again softly, watching the tavernkeeper, trying to get his eyes.

  “Why doesn’t the garrison arrest them?” Thealos demanded in a whisper. “Doesn’t this city hold to Dos-Aralon?”

  “You’re in the Shoreland now. Sol is a port city. If the governor of Sol stopped trading with …”

  “Secrist, over there!” one of the Kiran Thall called derisively. Thealos froze, clenching the girl’s hand.

  But they were looking at the knight from Owen Draw who had slowly come to his feet. The look the knight gave them was so fierce that Thealos knew there would be violence. The leader of the Kiran Thall pushed away from the counter and started forward. An amused smirk crossed his bristled mouth. Several followed him, while others kept the door secure. The knight stood motionless, staring coldly at the soldiers approaching him. He unfolded his arms, setting a clove-pipe on his plate.

  “You’re a long, long ride from Owen Draw, you skulking rook,” Secrist sneered.

  “Are you so anxious to see a gallows, coward?” The knight looked at the twenty soldiers, sizing them up.

  A mirthless chuckle came as the reply. Secrist glanced up at the rafters. “Well, this looks like it could do for one well enough in a pinch. Hang you like I did those fool knights who tried to route us in Iniva. They call it Blackwater now.”

  “We’ve all heard of it, boy. I arrest you for high treason in the king’s name.” He unsheathed a two-handed blade from a battered scabbard. “I arrest you for rebellion against your true king.”

  “Trobbe, fetch me a rope from my saddle bags,” Secrist ordered, nonplussed by the knight’s words. “I feel like hanging another knight.”

  “Secrist,” the tavern keeper warned, “I…I can have some casks of ale ready for you right quick. Fetch ‘em, Flent. Quickly, lad, fetch ‘em! Won’t cost you a thing. Come on, there’s plenty. Don’t kill him. Not here. This will ruin me…”

  The knight stood unflinching. “You fetch that rope, little boy.” He shook his head slowly. “But I just may use it on you.”

  Thealos’ mouth went dry. He stared at the leader of the Kiran Thall, feeling nothing but distain for the man. He glanced around the room, counting them. The Kiran Thall had crossbows and light weapons. But there were at least twenty, and he didn’t know how many more outside. The other patrons of the tavern bowed their heads down, not daring to look up. They outnumbered the Bandit horsemen, but only in numbers, not courage.

  “I can’t believe this,” Ticastasy muttered. She let go of his hand. “I’m calling the garrison here.”

  “No,” Thealos warned, but it was too late.

  “You’re not going to hang anyone tonight, Secrist Phollen, so quit blustering,” the serving girl said, stepping away from Thealos’s table. “You gamble with Fate every time you come to Sol. This is my tavern as much as it is Roye’s. We’ve earned this place. But if you hang a Knight of the Blade, you’re a bigger fool than I ever thought. And I think you’re a banned big one.”

  Secrist turned and gave her an deprecating glare. His eyes went up her body, lingering at the soft curves. He wiped his mouth on a gloved hand and clucked his tongue. She stared at him defiantly, hands on her hips.

  “Sporting with Shaden now, ‘Stasy?” he jibed, giving a half-glance at Thealos. “I’m sure Tsyrke would love to hear that.”

  Thealos’ eyes burned with anger.

  “And you think he’d approve of what you’re doing? You could spend a month in the River Cellars for a bloody nose, and he would let you rot. But killing a knight in my tavern – that’ll earn you the gallows. And he’d hand over the rope. You’d better get out of here, Secrist. Before I call the garrison.”

  Secrist’s eyes glimmered with fire. “And how are you going to call them?” he challenged. He looked around the room. “You gonna send that pudgy Druge?” He stepped towards her, his finger stabbing the air. “Call them. But you know they won’t lift a finger. Not even if I hang that banned knight higher than cedar. When Ballinaire rules Sol, they’ll be wearing the black and gold. Now be a good lass and fetch me a drink.” She stood there, glaring at him. She didn’t move. “I said fetch me a drink!” he roared.

  Thealos reached down and rested his hand on the pommel of his Silvan blade. He watched her carefully, wondering how stubborn she was. If she would obey him.

  Ticastasy took Flent’s ale cup from Thealos’ table and walked up to the Kiran Thall slowly. She looked him right in the eye. And splashed it in his face.

  XV

  For a moment, Secrist stared at her in disbelief as ale dribbled down his chin. His anger was sharp and quick. “You little whore…” he snorted, backhanding Ticastasy. She crumpled to the floor. Anger shot through Thealos, fierce and hot. Some of the patrons made a dash for the windows. Flent Shago thundered a blistering oath as he yanked the knobbed club out of his belt. He swung wildly at a soldier near him, dropping him with a shattering blow across the knees. The Drugaen howled, his gray-green eyes blazing as he rushed towards Secrist.

  The knight didn’t waste a moment. He also charged Secrist with his double-handed sword. Fighting erupted through the room as the Kiran Thall rushed the knight and the Drugaen. Other patrons of the tavern yelped with fear, ducking beneath tables to try and get out of the way, but some were trampled as the Bandit soldiers attacked. Two against twenty.

  Thealos shoved his chair back, whipping his cloak out of the way as he grabbed the hilt of the Silvan blade. When he drew it, he felt the magic flare to life, sending a jolt of shock up his arm. The wash of magic rose through him as it had when he found the blade. It glowed a cool blue in the tavern hall.

  Flent went down in the rumble, pinned and hammered from behind by three soldiers. The knight faced off against three others who feinted and lunged to get a blow in at him. He held them off with tight sweeps of the blade, giving ground slowly. The Kiran Thall attackers smirked wickedly, teasing their prey. It was only a matter of time before they had him.

  “Fine weapon, Shaden,” a soldier challenged, motioning a second soldier to come with him. “Should have hid under the table like the others. I’ll take that blade and any gold you have on you. Now!”

  Thealos watched the two Kiran Thall approach his table, weapons drawn. There were too many. He closed his eyes and fed the weapon’s magic with his need. The feeling was there, a cool watery pleasure wrapping him in its arms. Silvan magic. The blade went from
cool blue to white hot. Yet it was like cupping frigid seawater in his hands. When he opened his eyes, he saw the soldiers hesitate. He knew they could see his eyes glowing.

  “If you think I’ll be as easy to knock down as a serving girl,” Thealos said acidly, “You’ve been riding those flea-bitten nags too long.”

  Thealos had to be quick. Standing off against trained soldiers was a fool’s mistake – he’d learned that with Tannon’s Band. He hadn’t the skill or training to last long against them. But he was quick and unpredictable and hoped that would be enough to throw them off.

  “Afraid of a lone Shaden?” Thealos taunted. “Maybe it’s the Kiran Thall who wear silk socks and dance in the woods. Does your lady friend Secrist there ever let you lead?”

  “Bloody rake, I get him first!”

  Thealos lunged forward, slashing the Silvan blade at the soldier on his left, catching him by surprise.

  The man saw the wicked glow of the blade and staggered back to avoid it. It gave Thealos just enough time to dart past them between another set of tables. He had to leap over a patron crawling away and duck around another table to where several Kiran Thall were kicking Flent. None of them saw him coming. The Silvan blade shrieked with magic, cutting through the tunic and mail and gashing a Bandit soldier’s back. Swinging again, he cut another man in the side, watching with sick pleasure as the leaf-blade split him open. He felt the soldiers coming in behind him and whirled to face them, holding his weapon defensively. Flent lumbered to his feet with a roar, bleeding from his nose and mouth. He hefted his Sheven-Ingen axe in both hands.

  “The magic,” one of the soldiers whispered. “It’s mine.” It was just like Tannon’s Band. They saw the blade and they craved it more than feared it.

  Thealos tried to get control of it, tried to tame the bursts of delight that danced inside him. He couldn’t. The blade was alive – a needing thing.