The Dothan Chronicles: The Complete Trilogy

by Charissa Dufour

  The child nodded, a toothless grin spreading across his face. Cal pulled a coin out of his newly-stolen purse.

  “Make a big scene. Lots of noise and bodies. Can you do that?”

  “Stop the man?” the child asked.

  “That’s right.”

  “I’m yer boy, sir.”

  “Good,” said Cal before dropping the child into the soft mud, beside a table covered in everything and anything imaginable—from cheap jewelry, to chipped pottering, to worn leather trousers.

  Before Cal had made it more than a few steps away, he heard a mighty crash. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw that the child had pulled the table down, spilling the goods right into the middle of the narrow alleyway.

  “Free goods!” bellowed the child at the top of his lungs, easily carrying over the general babble.

  It didn’t take long for the crowd to convene on the spot, snatching up whatever they could while the shop owner yelled at them to stop. Cal didn’t wait to see how things turned out. He ducked into the next alley and picked up his pace as he weaved through the crowds flocking toward the cacophony. He was careful to keep from bumping into any one, mostly to keep from causing any sort of scene, but also to keep sneaky pickpockets from taking what he had rightfully stolen.

  He meandered through the streets, taking many turns and even doubling back occasionally, all the while glancing over his shoulder. He had lost the tail, but he had to be sure before he returned to the inn. He wouldn’t unwittingly lead a soldier of Wolfric’s back to where the princess slept.

  In a nearly deserted alley, he stopped and glanced up a squat building with a drooping, thatch-covered awning. Cal waited until the only occupant of the alley ducked into a door before he took hold of the awning’s cross beam. He swung and pulled, one foot resting against the awning’s support made of an ancient oak. With the aid of muscles built from years of hefting axes and swords alike, Cal pulled himself up onto the thatched roof. He breathed a sigh of relief as he plastered himself against the itchy hay, waiting for a pedestrian to pass by before he continued.

  The pause gave him a second to catch his breath and thank the main land that he hadn’t been wearing his heavy chainmail. With his armor on he would never have managed the feat. Once the old man had walked out of his line of sight, Cal climbed to the ridge of the awning and dragged himself up onto the second story roof, covered in dark clay tiles.

  He cringed as his steps made annoying clattering sounds, but kept his pace up as he crossed the shallow roof. At the edge he didn’t hesitate, but jumped the gap of a narrow ally and scurried across the next roof. It was hard work running on an angled surface, but he managed it for three more buildings before the roofs turned into dumpy thatched-covered surfaces. If he tried to walk on those roofs, he’d fall right through.

  Cal looked down into another alley. Its only occupants were a couple of whores, currently stumbling out of an inn and making their way toward a busier street. He waited for them to turn the corner before he lowered himself over the edge of the two-story building. Cal let himself fall, taking the impact in his knees and rolling onto his side.

  He groaned as he climbed back to his feet, feeling much too old to be running on rooftops and jumping off buildings.

  As Cal emerged into another street, full of inns and brothels, he snatched up a moth-eaten blanket, draped it over his head and shoulders, and took on the gate of a war-wounded veteran. Cal wandered like this for another hour, being sure he had truly lost the tail, before he made his way back to the shabby inn where Bethany waited, glad he had once known the sprawling city like the back of his hand. Though it had changed over the past two decades, at its core it was the same labyrinth of streets and allies. Cal reached the little inn, tucking the stolen blanket under his arm as he entered.

  “Saddle my horse, immediately,” he snapped at the innkeeper as he passed through the main room and up the stairs.

  Moments later, out of breath from his adventure, Cal stumbled into their room.

  Bethany sat on the bed, fully dressed, with a hot blush turning her face the color of a beet. Cal leaned against the door, taking a second to calm his nerves. Whoever that had been had recognized him, and would now be scouring the city for them. They had to leave immediately.

  “What happened last night?” snapped Bethany before he could say a word.

  “Huh?”

  “Why did I wake up alone and NAKED?” she shouted.

  “Ssshhh. Nothing happened. I’ll tell you everything but we have to run.”

  “Tell me now!”

  “I’ve been recognized. We have to get out of here!”

  This statement seemed to bring the princess back to her senses. Her eyes grew wide and she jumped off the bed, running to the pile of his armor and helping him don it as quickly as possible. Despite her speed, it took them a number of heart-wrenching minutes to get all of his chainmail on. Finally, the princess secured his cloak while he tightened his belt to his hips.

  Bethany took up the stolen blanket and draped it over her shoulder while he grabbed their bundles. They scurried down the stairs and out into the narrow street, the horse and donkey waiting. Cal tossed the bundles over the donkey’s back and mounted his horse while the princess climbed on board the little donkey.

  I really need to get her a proper horse. That ancient beast won’t make it to Dothan. With these final thoughts, they lost themselves in the crowd, slowly making their way toward the northern gate.

  It was a stressful hour of slow plodding, Cal always glancing around to be sure the soldier hadn’t somehow found them, but finally they breathed the free air of the country side.

  Pelor wandered through the crowd of Mirartock, hoping his luck would return. This was the perfect city for a runaway to hide in, meaning if his luck was with him he might find his prey. But the very reasons runaways came here to hide were the reasons he doubted his ability to find them. Here, in this maze of streets and alleys, one could lose themselves, never to be found again.

  Then again, losing yourself in a city like this might also mean your death and destruction.

  Without knowing what he was doing, Pelor’s eyes fell onto a man as he approached one of the “Wanted” signs. As the man moved, he pulled his hood up over his head, nearly causing Pelor to miss the deep scars running down the side of his face.

  From where he stood in the every-shifting crowd, Pelor watched the man quickly turn away and slip back into the masses. Pelor followed slowly, wanting to be sure he stayed within range of the man, but not so close that he was spotted.

  This just might be the break I need, Pelor thought to himself. This scarred man has to be Sir Caldry.

  To Pelor’s frustration, he noticed the man look over his shoulder at him. Pelor tried to admire the wares being sold by the closest vendor but, the truth be told, he couldn’t even recall what items he had looked at. After a few seconds of waiting, he checked on his prey. The man had moved on to another vendor, this time fingering a beautiful blue brocade cloth. Pelor sidled up to a closer vender and began perusing the man’s leather saddles and bridles.

  When he looked up again, Sir Caldry was gone.

  Pelor rushed to the intersection, having to dodge around a slow-moving trader’s wagon. He looked down each adjoining street, desperate to find the knight. Pelor couldn’t have lost him that quickly! A panic began to build up on his chest as he turned in circles.

  The sound of a pimp calling out to someone brought his attention back to a dark alley. A man in the shadows was trying to wave off the pimp, drawing more attention to himself. Pelor stepped forward, hoping the pimp had outed his prey for him. Sure enough, the man scurried out of the shadows, the winter sunlight shinning down on him and revealing his scars.

  Pelor jumped forward, no longer worried about hiding his interest. Sir Caldry charged into the thick crowd clogging the alley, nimbly weaving his way through the commoners. Pelor bolted after him, only slowing to dodge the bodies in his way. He watched as t
he knight picked up a small child and kept moving. For a moment he lost sight of the knight as he pushed and prodded his way through the crowd.

  Before he knew what was happening, he heard a deafening crash, followed by a high-pitched voice yelling out: “Free goods!”

  It didn’t take long for the thick throng of people to converge on the source of the noise, thoroughly blocking his way. Pelor watched helplessly as the knight turned down another alley. Once he was free of the mob, he followed, but it quickly became obvious that he had lost the knight. Pelor looked down a few streets before he rushed back to the alley. He found the little boy and grabbed him by the collar of his torn and stained shirt.

  “You know that man?”

  “What man?” asked the brazen boy.

  “The man that picked you up.”

  “Don’t know whatcha talkin’ ‘bout.”

  Pelor sighed and dropped the boy. Without some serious encouragement, the boy wasn’t about to talk, and Pelor didn’t have the money to bribe him or the stomach to torture him.

  The knight was gone.

  Pelor slowly meandered back to the inn he was staying at. Inside his room, he sat at the desk and pulled out one of the tiny sheets of parchment used for sending messages by carrier pigeons. He stared at the little sheet, his finely pointed stick of charcoal stationary in his fingers.

  How in the world do I tell the king I lost him? thought Pelor, his grip tightening over the little stick until it cracked between his fingers.

  “Dammit.”

  Pelor didn’t take any more time to think about it. He put the tip to the paper and began to write:

  “Seen Caldry. Have not captured. On the right trail.”

  With this he tossed the broken writing stick into his pouch, wound up the paper, and tied it to the pigeon’s leg. Hoping he hadn’t written the wrong thing, Pelor tossed the bird out the window and watched it climb up into the gray, wintery sky.

  Bethany sat on her little donkey, glad to be out of the rumbling city of Mirartock. In the hour it took them to escape, she had seen more guards and soldiers than even Tolad could boast. It was a den of Wolfric’s men.

  The knight refused to talk to her until they were out of the city, but now that they were, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answers to her questions.

  Most of the previous night was a blur to her. She remembered arriving and eating, but anything beyond that was a mystery. Could it be possible that the knight had taken advantage of her in some way? As much as she didn’t want to admit it, she had become very drunk. A blush warmed her face. What would her mother say?

  Ladies don’t get drunk. Ladies don’t even get a little bit tipsy. They are always regal, always in control.

  What must she have been like last night?

  Then again, being drunk was the least of her many offenses. It was hardly the “hair to break the camel’s back” so to speak. She could hardly return to her family as a princess, but that was not due to one night of drunkenness. All the deaths caused by her machinations. All the lies she’d spoken. All the damage her body had endured, and most of all, the destruction of her virginity were quite enough to make her unworthy of her crowd. Still, she could work in Dothan. It would be a better life than as Wolfric’s slave or Féderic’s wife.

  No. One experience with ale was not the defining moment in her life.

  “What happened?” she finally asked, the words spilling out on their own.

  “You mean last night or this morning?”

  “Start with after dinner. I don’t remember much after dinner.”

  The knight let out a gusty sigh as he pulled his mighty horse to a stop and climbed off. Bethany dismounted too, glad to have an excuse to walk rather than sit on the bony donkey.

  “You haven’t been sleeping. I gave you ale, hoping it would help. You needed a good night sleep.”

  Bethany nodded. She couldn’t argue with that, as much as she wanted to.

  “I didn’t realize what a light-weight you are. I gave you too much.”

  “I got drunk?”

  “Very drunk. But I want you to know, nothing happened. You took a bath. I was a complete gentleman. Then you fell asleep before I could convince you to put your clothing back on. But again, I didn’t do anything.”

  Bethany felt an involuntary smile pull on her lips. She slipped her hand into the crook of his arm and leaned her head against his shoulder.

  “I know, Erin. I shouldn’t have doubted you. Sorry.”

  “No worries.”

  “Was I a nightmare?”

  “That would be putting it mildly.”

  Bethany chuckled, despite the darkening blush on her face. “Sorry.”

  “Lesson learned—Don’t give you alcohol.”

  “Please.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Lyolf dozed, letting his horse follow the main road at its own pace. The ex-prince didn’t mind sleeping on the ground or eating travel rations. The boredom, though, drove him to distraction.

  How did traveling traders do this? he often wondered.

  It had been more than two weeks since he had left Topaq, and the terrain was just beginning to transform from the lush landscape of the inlet to the bleaker, hardpacked dirt that surrounded the Central Wastelands. It wouldn’t be much farther before he would have to hire a guide. No one crossed the Central Wastelands without a Zemê guide.

  The Zemê had been conquered by Wolfric like all the other nations on the peninsula, save Dothan, but being a rather unique culture Wolfric had left them mostly untouched. The Zemê were nomads, traveling around the Central Wastelands. As a result, they had become the primary traders between the north and the south. Having no cities of their own, Wolfric had never figured out how to infiltrate their ranks with his own lords and masters. Instead, he left them to their lives, so long as they paid taxes and guided his armies across the wastelands. The Zemê were the only people who knew the secrets of the enormous desert. They knew the safe passages, despite the ever-shifting sand, and where to find water. To enter the wastelands without a Zemê guide was to die.

  Lyolf didn’t much feel like dying on this journey, and so he had chosen to hire a Zemê. The only other option was to hire a ship in Topaq and sail up to Nava. While this would have been an easier journey, it would have cost more. Lyolf wasn’t in a hurry. A slow trek with the Zemê would be just fine.

  Assuming he ever got to the wastelands.

  Lyolf sighed again, unable to doze any longer. He blinked a few times, annoyed with how slow his animals trudged, but his warhorse was loaded down with his possessions, and he wouldn’t risk laming the horse because he had grown impatient.

  Lyolf began to consider playing a traveling game he had learned from his mother, but it wasn’t nearly as fun to count the different types of trees when you had no one to compete with. He was just about to do it anyway when he heard a loud scream. Lyolf glanced around, waiting for a second scream to help him know where it had come from.

  The looked-for scream came, and Lyolf pulled his pleasure horse toward the sound. He dropped the lead to his warhorse, trusting the well-trained animal to stay where it had been left. Lyolf kicked his horse into a gallop, dodging and ducking through the occasional clump of trees splattered across this untenanted land.

  On the far side of a rather large clump of trees the land dropped down an embankment to an overgrown road. Five armed men surrounded a family of travelers. As Lyolf charged down the embankment, he noticed the father of the family brandishing a chipped and rusted sword. The mother was pushing her two young sons back toward the cart, placing her own body between them and the attackers. The boys, thinking themselves quite old enough to defend their mother, were trying to sneak around her and draw their own toy swords.

  Lyolf wished he had been on his warhorse when he heard the scream. His pleasure horse, being smaller and trained for simple riding, was unable to act as a weapon. His warhorse knew just when to kick, bite, and turn so as to keep multiple assailan
ts from drawing his blood.

  Oh well, thought Lyolf as he reached the road and slashed down at the nearest bandit.

  He took them by complete surprise, each of them focused entirely on their enemy. This gave Lyolf the opportunity to take two out before the bandits even became aware of the new menace. The remaining men turned toward him, viewing him as the greater threat compared to the father. Lyolf swung his sword in a way that looked more impressive than it actually was. Sir Caldry had taught him the special swing to intimidate the enemy before engaging them.

  Lyolf urged his horse forward into the fray, the animal sputtering in protest. It wasn’t bred or trained for this, but the brave little beast obeyed its master and trudged forward. The three assailants rushed him. Lyolf waited for just the right moment before giving a hard yank on the reins, forcing the horse to spin. Its rump bashed into two of the men, knocking them to the ground. The third managed to duck around the horse’s head and slash at Lyolf. Lyolf met his stroke, blocking it with his own sword.

  The assailant was stronger than he had expected, but Lyolf had the high ground. He kicked out, planting his foot on the man’s chest. The other man stumbled back giving Lyolf a chance to address the two men who had climbed to their feet. To Lyolf’s utmost relief, he saw that the father had not abandoned the fight once he knew his family was safe. Instead, he rushed forward, thrusting his old sword into one of the bandit’s back, the tip emerging from his victim’s chest.

  At the same time, Lyolf slashed down at the other man, slicing him across the face and into the shoulder. The man screamed once before collapsing on the ground. To Lyolf’s surprise, his horse jerked backwards, calling his attention to last bandit, who had been trying to sneak up on him. Lyolf had not expected his pleasure horse to have such instincts.

  Seconds later the last assailant was on the ground bleeding out. Before Lyolf could say anything, the father dropped his sword and rushed to his family, gathering them up in his arms and rejoicing over their safety. Forgetting his manners, Lyolf stared at them, wondering what it would be like to love someone that much.