Five Kingdoms: Books 01, 02 & 03

by Toby Neighbors

  “Help you?” said the man, who was working a piece of steel with tongs and a hammer.

  “I’m looking for weapons,” Quinn said. “Specifically throwing knives.”

  “I’ve got some,” said the man.

  He put his current project back into the coals of the forge and walked out from the work area. He had weapons hanging on the inside walls of his shop as well. There were swords, coats of armor, chainmail, daggers with hilts made from exotic woods and bone.

  “I’m Egan,” he said, sticking out a hand that was darkened and scarred from numerous small burns.

  “Quinn.”

  “My knives have good balance,” Egan said, pulling out a small box and retrieving three knives of different sizes. “They’re all double edged and sharpened.”

  Quinn took the larger knife, which was as long as his hand from palm to fingertips. He wasn’t interested in longer blade length, but he needed a decent handle size so that he could reach the weapon easily. The throwing knives had no embellishment on the handles, they were merely an extension of the blade that hadn’t been sharpened. There was no cross bar or finger guard, which was exactly what Quinn wanted. He tested the knife’s balance, weighing it between his thumb and forefinger, then flipping it up in the air. The weapon wasn’t as well made as the throwing knives he had from the Yelsian Royal Guard armory, but he hadn’t expected them to be.

  “This is good work,” Quinn said.

  “It’s strong metal, I guarantee that,” Egan said.

  “Okay, have you got two more this size?”

  “Sure do, they’re two silver marks each.”

  “I’ll give you five marks for the set,” Quinn haggled.

  Egan looked at him for a moment. He could tell that Quinn was a foreigner, but that was nothing new in a port city like Brimington Bay.

  “Alright, five marks,” Egan said.

  “How much for the coat of mail?”

  “I’ll only take gold for mail. It’s bloody hard to make and takes too much time.”

  “I’ll give you two crowns for it,” Quinn said.

  “Can’t take less than four,” Egan replied, knowing that Quinn would probably pay a little more

  “Three?”

  “Done.”

  Quinn left the armory with the coat of mail rolled up under his arm. He had no need for armor now, no one knew he was coming and an expensive item like mail would only attract unwanted attention. He stuffed the coat of mail into one of the saddlebags and climbed back up into the saddle. He put two of the new knives in the back of his belt where they could be easily reached by either hand.

  Quinn was an expert with the throwing knives, as were all of the Royal Guard in Yelsia. He had served in the guard for three years before leaving to start a family with his young wife. He rarely thought of Zollin’s mother anymore. She was a bittersweet memory now. He couldn’t remember what she looked like, but he remembered the way she made him feel and how excited she was when they got pregnant with Zollin. He often thought that Zollin got the worst of her death. It would have been better if he had died and she had lived. She would have done a better job raising Zollin than he had, but he loved his son fiercely. He was extremely proud of Zollin and the man he was becoming. But he couldn’t stand to think about what his son was doing. It frightened Quinn to think of fighting the dragon. The beast was terrible and even mounted knights were no match for it. The thought of Zollin fighting the fire breathing monster made Quinn so nervous he grew sick, so he pushed all of those thoughts from his mind.

  He found a small tailor who was also a hatter. The shopkeeper showed Quinn three different types of hats. One was made of animal skin, another was made of thick wool and had a floppy brim, and the final hat was made of straw. It was light, inexpensive, and, according to the tailor, allowed air to pass through the hat. Unfortunately, it was not as durable as the other two hats, but Quinn liked it the best. The hat had a thin band around the inside which allowed it to sit against his scalp comfortably. He paid the tailor for the hat and for some scraps of fabric which Quinn planned to use around the handles of his new throwing knives.

  He was finally supplied and ready to begin his journey toward the Grand City. He rode east with the sun at his back, hoping that the temperature would drop along with the sun. He rode late into the night. The land all around him was dark and shadowy, but the road was slightly brighter than the soil around it. The cobblestones sounded loud under his horse’s metal shoes, too, so he had no fear of losing his way. He ate the smoked fish for his dinner and slept for only a few hours before beginning his journey again at dawn. As he rode, he passed many merchant wagons laden with goods and driven by men who seemed wary of every stranger that passed. The terrain in Osla was completely different from what Quinn was used to in Yelsia. He saw rolling hills with small, crooked trees that gave very little shade. There were tall, skinny trees with smooth bark and no branches, except at the top where they sported large fronds and green fruit that was almost as big as Quinn’s head.

  He passed strange animals, too; there were tall, knobby kneed animals with humped backs and oxen that looked like small cows, but which had large, wet noses and short, thick horns which were black. The sun was inescapable and many of the people had dark, leathery-looking skin. Quinn walked his horse from midmorning until late afternoon. His legs ached and his feet were developing blisters, but he kept moving. He ate in the saddle and filled a small leather pouch with water from his canteen for his horse. He rode late into the night again, passing merchants who banded together and kept watch through the night. He was watched warily as he rode past in the darkness, but he was not accosted. It made sense that bandits preying on the merchant caravans would strike at night. There were constant patrols of Osla soldiers during the day, but at night the road was empty.

  The cooler temperatures Quinn hoped for did not materialize. In the day the sun baked the earth, and at night the earth radiated the stored heat from the long day back out so that the temperatures didn’t fall when the sun went down as Quinn had hoped. His clothes were constantly wet from sweat and he had to be careful with his water supply so that he did not run out.

  There were small towns and villages along the road, most were built around water. Quinn stopped periodically to fill his canteen and let his horse drink, but he did not try to stay in the inns or even eat meals in the villages. He kept his frantic pace for three days, and on the fourth morning he finally arrived at the Grand City.

  He could see the massive walls and sprawling structures for miles before he reached them. Like most large towns, there were smaller communities on the outskirts, filled mostly by the poor and crippled. They lived in squalor, and Quinn did his best to ignore the poverty he saw. The people in these shanty towns had dull, lifeless eyes, and his presence did not pique their interest at all.

  The Grand City itself was so large that Quinn felt overwhelmed just being in it. There were people everywhere. The town was swollen with visitors because of the Council of Kings and the streets were filled with people. Quinn stopped at an inn and got directions for the Royal Residence, before trying to find his way through the twisting and turning streets of the ancient city.

  * * *

  The man in the brown hat noticed Quinn as soon as he rode into the Grand City. Foreigners were common, but Quinn had a different look about him. He seemed more interested in completing a task than in the awe-inspiring sites of Osla’s capital. That could simply mean that he had been to the Grand City before, but the man in the hat doubted it. Then he saw Quinn asking for directions, which proved his theory. He made his way around the stranger, blending in with the crowd, but keeping Quinn under tight scrutiny as he looked for some clue as to who the man was and what his business might be. The man in the hat made a small fortune by keeping a sharp eye on the people coming into and out of the city. He noticed the small set of knives in the back of Quinn’s belt. They weren’t standard issue throwing knives, but the man in the hat guessed correctly that
this stranger was from Yelsia. He approached the boy at the inn where Quinn had asked for directions and gave the boy a copper to repeat the information.

  News of this sort was well worth his time, and so the man in the hat hurried to the Royal Residence, where he passed the information to his contact, who in turn gave the man in the hat three silver marks before hurrying to relay the information to Pavic. The elder counselor had been very busy over the last several weeks. Prince Wilam had been furious when he learned that Offendorl planned to arrest him. He wanted, of course, to ride with his guards to the Torr and demand answers, but Pavic convinced him that the better course of action was to stay quiet and learn as much as they could before sneaking him out of the city.

  “I won’t go slinking away like a craven child,” Prince Wilam had said when Pavic suggested he go into hiding. “My duty is here. If that wizened old man tries to detain me, I’ll show him the edge of my sword. I would put more stock in cold steel than in the rumors of wizardry any day.”

  “My Prince, please try to understand,” Pavic pleaded. “The time to stop the Council of Kings from moving against Yelsia is passed. We must make sure that you are safe and that the other kings can’t hold you hostage to force your father into doing something rash.”

  “If you think my father would risk his kingdom for me, you are greatly mistaken,” Wilam said sadly.

  “What your father might do isn’t our concern. Our concern is to make sure that you are safe and that you have the chance to rule one day.”

  “And how will I stand before my people with confidence knowing that I ran from these cowards and their grand wizard? No, Pavic, my place is here. The other kings will see that I am a man and that they have no right to move against Yelsia.”

  “Don’t be naive, Prince Wilam. You know how the ambassadors scheme. The kings are worse, and Offendorl is not a man to underestimate. The Torr wants the other kings to move against Yelsia, I believe he has wanted this for a long time. Now he has an excuse. He will use the rumors to stir the other kings into action, but he has his own agenda. Never forget that. If he wants you detained, it is because having you in his possession will help his cause, and even if we don’t know what that cause is, we must not allow it to happen.”

  “And where will I go? You’ve said yourself that the city is crawling with spies. How will I simply disappear?”

  “I’m not sure yet, my lord, but we can make it happen. You are not widely known. We just need some way of escorting you safely out of the city, so that you can get home and warn your father of the danger.”

  “These southern kings and their scheming are no danger to Yelsia, I promise you that. If they march against us, we shall put them to the sword. I shall lead the King’s Army myself.”

  “To do that, you have to get to Yelsia. Let me make sure that happens.”

  Pavic had finally convinced the Prince to go into hiding. The first part of Pavic’s plan was to begin building a reputation that the Prince was a philanderer. He spent the next two weeks parading in wenches from all over the city. The women spent time with the Prince, although he rarely enjoyed their company. He complained constantly that Pavic was besmirching his honor, but Pavic knew what he was doing and made sure that the servants of the Royal Residence saw the women. Word spread like wildfire that Prince Wilam was filling his bed with trollops from all over the city. The second week, it was the Prince himself who went out and spent time drinking and wenching his way through the poshest inns and brothels in the Grand City. Finally, the Prince simply disappeared. Pavic spread word that the Prince was missing, along with rumors that he believed the Prince was holed up in a brothel somewhere, sewing his wild oats.

  When the news came in that someone from Yelsia was headed to the Royal Residence, Pavic quickly made plans in case this was the opportunity he had been waiting for. He needed someone who could keep the Prince safe to get him out of the city and safely back to Yelsia. If he sent any of the royal guards, the network of spies around the Royal Residence would know. He was sure the entire retinue from Yelsia was under close observation. Of course, the man could just be a messenger, but the spy had identified the man by the knives he carried in the back of his belt, which was exactly how the Royal Guard carried their weapons. If the man could somehow get Prince Wilam out of Osla, it could be the answer to all their problems.

  Pavic sent one of his most trusted men to secure rooms at the White Rose Inn. Pavic needed to talk to the man, even if he was just a messenger. If he had traveled from Yelsia, he would know the latest developments in the kingdom, which might shed some light on how the high counselor should deal with Oveer, Belphan, and the wizard, Offendorl. But he couldn’t speak earnestly to the man in the Royal Residence. There was simply too much at stake. If the wrong people found Prince Wilam, they could capture him—or worse, kill him—and no one would know. Pavic needed to talk to this man in private and that was something a person could buy in the Grand City, if they had enough coin.

  * * *

  It took Quinn nearly an hour to find the massive structure. It was surrounded by a high stone wall, with guards patrolling the parapet and standing watch at the gate. He produced his letter from the King and was allowed into the compound only after surrendering his weapons. He was escorted into the Yelsian wing of the residence by the soldiers of the Royal Guard. They were tough looking men and wore haggard expressions. Quinn knew immediately that something was wrong, but none of the soldiers would speak to him.

  He was taken to see High Counselor Pavic, who read his letter from King Felix and sighed in exasperation. He did not look up but wrote quickly on a scrap of parchment while he talked.

  “I’m afraid you’ve come too late,” Pavic said. “Prince Wilam has disappeared. The idiot boy is probably frolicking with some common whore. He has never taken his duties seriously.”

  He held up the first parchment, which said, “Keep talking about common matters.”

  Quinn frowned and said, “That’s unfortunate.”

  “Yes, he is reckless and all my efforts to rein him in have had no effect,” he said as he kept writing. “He dishonors the other ambassadors and now that the King of Baskla is here, the council is scheduled to meet in the next few days. I don’t know what I shall do. I must stand in for the boy, but I won’t be taken seriously.”

  He was now holding up a scrap of parchment that said, “Prince Wilam is in hiding, but there are spies everywhere here and we cannot talk candidly. Meet me at the White Rose Inn one hour from now.”

  “Well,” said Quinn, trying to keep up his part in the charade. “I’ve delivered my message to you. I’ll see to my horse and wait for your reply if the Prince can be found.”

  “Oh, he’ll be found.” Pavic winked at Quinn and threw the parchment scraps into the small fire that was burning in the fireplace, heating a small kettle of savory smelling stew. “Good day, sir.”

  Quinn bowed and left the room. He was escorted out, the soldiers continuing to say nothing as they led him back to his horse. He led the beast to the nearest establishment, which was a small cafe. Quinn went inside and had a mug of ale before asking the woman who brought his drink where the White Rose Inn was located. She gave him some directions and he left a few coppers on the table. It only took Quinn ten minutes to find the White Rose Inn. It was a tall building, whitewashed and surrounded by a low fence of white wood. The space beyond the fence was paved with red cobblestones that were swept clean, and a beautiful fountain allowed patrons to water their horses before handing them over to the stable hands, who met Quinn as soon as he entered the grounds. He pulled his bedroll and saddlebags from the back of the horse and walked into the common room of the inn.

  The White Rose was unlike any establishment he’d ever visited. Most inns had a large, open room where they served food, drink, and sometimes other entertainments. The White Rose had a large room, but there were very few tables. Most of the area was filled with small, comfortable-looking sitting areas, with exotic-looking plants
that sported lush foliage that separated the sitting areas and gave the occupants a sense of privacy. He had expected a lot of noise, as was common in a busy inn, but the White Rose was exceptionally quiet. The occupants conversed in low voices, as if they did not wish to be overheard. Quinn was approached by a woman in a long, close-fitting silk gown. She had her hair pulled up and arranged on her head so that her long neck and bare shoulders could be seen and appreciated.

  “Hello,” she said. “Can I offer you a room?”

  “I would like that,” Quinn said. “And perhaps a place to wash up?”

  “Of course,” she said, smiling. “Right this way.”

  Quinn didn’t have a lot of money left after buying the coat of mail. He had a few silver marks left, but he wasn’t sure if that would be enough to pay for a room in an establishment like this.