by J D Bowens
Consus scoffed at his brother. “With my education, I could work in a court as a scholar or in the college--”
“Bah, it’d do you no good,” Kyran interrupted. “You’re not a noble, and you‘d be miserable serving their kind. Trust me, I have fought for enough of them; they’re no more gracious in court than they are on the battlefield.”
“It’s not for you to make decisions for me, Kyran.”
“No, brother. It’s up to me to make decisions for our family. I’m the one leading us and I’m only asking you to do your part.”
Consus stiffened his neck, squared his shoulders, and eyed his brother with a cold glare. “What do you mean ‘my part’? I’ve been fighting beside you this whole time.”
“There’s more to it. The debt father collected was to pay for you and Altin to get the education Mother wanted for you.”
The accusation hit Consus like a cold gust of wind. He wanted to deny the charge but found no words to defend against it. Was he responsible for their current predicament?
“It was her last request,” Kyran said. “And he paid for Altin to attend the College of Anidrack so he could learn to control his magic. He squandered our entire inheritance on the two of you. There’s nothing left for Ewan and me but these trading rights.” He pointed at Consus. “By rights, you and Altin should be bearing the cost of this, but because I chose to keep the trading permit, I also must bear it. Else you’d have born it alone.”
Consus did not care for his tone. “Am I supposed to thank you? I didn’t ask you to do anything. I didn’t ask to be sent to college. Everyone else has been making decisions for me. If you’re upset, take it up with father.”
“And now we are done talking,” Altin interrupted. “Kyran, why don’t you go to the bank. Consus, help me find some spell components from these merchants. See there, that trader is selling bat feet.”
Altin tore Consus away, and Kyran stomped off towards the bank. Consus walked in silence with him as his anger turned to sorrow and guilt. Have I played such a large role in my own family’s misfortune?
They wandered into one of the commerce squares in the Market District. Several street vendors remained in the large open plaza. Only a few had begun to load their carts and closed their kiosks as the sun ducked behind the large stone and wooden buildings around them. Fruit and vegetables were described by the vendors to all passing by. Herbalists and self-proclaimed alchemists called out asserting that they had cures for several known - and unknown - diseases. A couple of butchers waved meat and knives at potential customers, declaring their food to be from only the finest livestock in Grenloch. Many passing residents bumped into one another attempting to avoid some of the more aggressive vendors. The sound of boisterous conversation and wagon wheels carried across the economic center of the city.
“Are you calm now?” Altin asked. He nodded. “So, you understand now, why Kyran has kept the rights?”
“I suppose,” he said. “I should not have been so curt. What will he do with the trading rights?”
“He and Ewan will build a trading company, of course. They’re familiar with the work and most of the major routes over land. It’d take another year to collect the coin necessary to start. I’m sure he’ll be successful.”
“So, Ewan knows as well. Why didn’t anyone tell me? I’ve been with you for almost a year. Did he think I’d try to dissuade him?”
“You would have encouraged him to sell the rights; would you not?” Consus nodded. “And he might have listened to you. Then he and Ewan would be left with nothing more than their swords. As adventurous as they are that is not a living that one can sustain in old age.”
“But still –“
“Think about why the debt exists. Part of it was to pay for our education, brother. We have opportunities they will never have. Bright as he is, Kyran could never be a court scholar let alone a mage. If he had done as you requested, he and Ewan would be left with a poor future. You and I would reap the benefits of our father’s debt, and they would receive all the misfortune.”
Consus considered his brother’s wisdom as he haggled with a vendor over a bag of mushrooms and firenuts. A pang of guilt struck him as Consus considered his brothers’ circumstances. “I’m still mad at you for not telling me earlier.”
“Do not be too angry with me. After all of this, you may have a trading company to join. I think you would quite enjoy it.”
Consus shook his head. “I cannot imagine myself leading a caravan to the Southern Empire.”
“And I’m sure a year ago you could not imagine yourself besting a brög in combat. Much has changed and much more will I am sure. We Eddericks are an adventurous family. Our father travelled the world and visited nearly all the human kingdoms. Kyran and Ewan have seen nearly all forms of battle, and I am given to the mysteries of the universe. Tell me Consus, how fulfilled were you in that library reading of other people's adventures?”
Consus was reluctant to agree, but Altin did not misspeak. "The books were quite different. The authors neglected to mention some of the gory details."
Altin laughed. "Tales of sleeping on the ground and removing brög heads are sometimes left from the books. I doubt you would have read it if it weren’t." Collecting his items from the vendor, Altin turned and walked with Consus to the inn. "Mother would not wish you to study in Duenmer if she knew how miserable you would become. You have changed since joining us, and I don't need my True Eye to see that. In such a short time you have learned the blade and bested a brög; not an easy feat, my brother."
Consus could not deny that he was happier with his brothers. In Duenmer, his noble born peers had treated him as an unwelcome guest rather than a fellow student. He escaped to the library as often as he could to read about places far from where he was. He had longed for the glorious life that he imagined his brothers lived, and while he griped about nights sleeping on the cold ground, he found it far more to his liking than a life of solitude in the library.
Altin wrapped an arm over his shoulder as they walked. "Do not let this offense blind you. You know it was not done in malice, he did so to build something for our family. He is much like Father in that regard. Trust your brother to act in your best interests. You just may find yourself leaping onto the first wagon of that convoy."
Chapter 5
The Pig in the Pot was a large two-story inn that was only a quarter mile from Normead’s market square. Sitting on a hill, it overlooked the neighborhood and nearby shops; from the second floor, one could see surrounding city walls. The lanterns in the street glowed and illuminated the road that led to the inn. The interior of the inn was bright, lit by lanterns and a roaring fireplace near the kitchen entrance. Tables around the dining hall were filled with people laughing and chatting, some eating but all drinking. Milo stood on a small raised platform near the fireplace singing and playing his lute. On occasion, he would pause in his singing to tell a story to those who would listen, and make jokes about the patrons before him.
Consus sat at a table with his brothers, enjoying a meal of hot stew and bread, taking in the warmth as it drifted over from the fireplace on the opposite end of the room. He admired how confident and familiar Milo was on stage. Performance was a gift of his and no matter where he was, be it a tavern, city streets, or wilderness, Milo made himself the center of attention. Consus’ meal was interrupted by Ewan’s sudden coughing fit.
“By my chin, boy,” a booming voice said, “take a breath but try not to inhale yer food.”
“Apologies, Bobboh,” Ewan coughed. “I’ll try not to die from your horrible cooking.” Bobboh roared with laughter, his big belly shaking as he did. He clapped Ewan on the back, almost knocking him from his chair.
Bobboh Glumshaw was a large man, a half-giant with long wild graying hair. He stood more than a foot taller than even the tallest men, and for this reason, the doorframes and the ceiling of the inn were abnormally high. It was, after all, his tavern and his home. Despite his brother’s jok
e, Consus found Bobboh to be a fine cook, a fact that went – for the most part – undisputed in Normead. It was one of the reasons the Pig in the Pot had thrived through the years. “It’s a good thing I knew your father so well,” Bobboh said, “or I’d do to you what I do to everyone who criticizes my cooking.”
“What’s that?” Consus asked.
“Make him eat dessert.” All but Consus laughed at the joke. “I can’t bake a cake to save me life, lad.” Bobboh wiped away a tear from laughing at his own joke. “What’s brought ye such this sudden affordability for my ‘terrible’ cooking? You rob some merchants or discover lost treasure?”
“We were hunting brög,” Kyran explained.
“Ah, the bounty. I take it you found them then. Damned beasts. How far did you have to go to find them?”
Consus swallowed his stew before speaking. “Not very far at all. They were only a day’s ride away.”
“Ain’t it a little far west for brög? Those burning morons at the Gate better be doing their job. Perhaps you boys should go work there for a while.”
“I’d rather not,” Ewan said. “Too cold in those blasted mountains.”
“Are there not enough guards at the Gate?” Consus asked.
“Nah, the king don’t pay them enough,” Bobboh said. “At least that’s what I hear. It's been a long time since the brög have come over the mountains and waged war on mankind, nearly fifty years. Some of the folks in Denipoor don’t see a need to protect the north from a threat that ‘don’t exist.’ A lot of the guards have been leaving to work for more generous masters. See the table over there.”
He indicated with his thumb a table occupied by an old man with a pinched face and an ugly frown. His thinning hair was matted against his shiny pale head. He wore the robes of Dacos, the Quintetta God of Contentment. The brown robes were unremarkable save for the black and green symbol of his god, an elderly shepherd. In his company, were four men-at-arms, their swords fixed at their hips and dressed in tunics bearing the same symbol. One of the guards called for Milo to play a song, but his call went unheard.
“Not two months ago those men were up at the Gate watching for brög. Now they are here serving the priests and get paid a pretty coin for it too. I pay my taxes for proper protection only to see it walk away and show up in my tavern. It be a good thing I donate to Dacos as well. Maybe he can protect us from the brög.”
Altin groaned aloud. “Please, Bobboh, tell me you don’t subscribe to the notion that the Quintetta are a pantheon of true gods.”
“The gods sound real to me, and some of their Servants perform magic like the mages do. A lot of people believe in them nowadays; have for centuries. Besides if they do exist at least, I’ll be on the right side of things.” A loud crash and the clatter of broken pottery called Bobboh’s attention away to the kitchen. He heaved a sigh and muttered several curses as he made his way back to the source of the noise.
A group of patrons exited the Pig in the Pot. As they opened the door, Consus noticed a young red fox with a white tipped tail dart through the inn weaving between the legs of the walking – and stumbling – patrons. "Look there; someone has let a fox in."
So swift and nimble were its movements that not a person noticed. The fox made its way to the Edderick brothers and standing on its hind legs dropped the letter in its mouth upon Altin’s lap.
“Bloody messenger animals,” Ewan said, startled by the creature’s sudden appearance. “You mages are always trying to show off to one another. One of these days you’ll be receiving messages from a talking elephant.”
“I think the fox is just lovely,” Consus said. He tossed a piece of meat to the animal who yipped in excitement before gobbling it up. He reached over and pat it on the head, scratching behind the ears.
“Well, well,” Altin remarked as he finished reading the letter. “My former Dean, Margaret Thagula of Anidrack, has offered to pay my portion of the inherited debt. Apparently, there are some pressing matters at the school, and she requires my abilities.” He rubbed his temples as he read the note.
“You will be leaving us?” Consus asked.
“It would appear so. She has already made the arrangements to pay for my portion of the debt, and I am obligated to answer the call.” The brothers sat in shocked silence for several moments. “Cheer up, our parting is only temporary, I am sure of it. I will return after a time to see you all. Consider what I have just said; our debt is more than half paid.”
Ewan thumped his tankard against the table. “Here, here. I will drink to that.”
“Can’t you delay them for a while?” Consus asked. “Surely they will understand if you choose to stay but a month longer.”
“I cannot just run off with their money. Besides, Margaret is hardly wasteful with any amount of coin. Something must be very important for her to aid me so,” Altin said. “You shouldn’t be too sad, brother. With my portion paid off this means you need only work a little longer.”
“Aye,” Kyran said. “And it isn’t as though he will not visit us after we have become well established merchants.”
“But don’t be coming to us for any handouts,” Ewan joked. “We’ll not be giving coin away just because you are blood.”
“Brother, that would require you to have coin to give away,” Altin said. “A future that I am not entirely certain of.” Ewan laughed at the joke as did Kyran, but Consus could not help but feel a little morose even as Kyran called for more ale.
Chapter 6
“Thank you, thank you all,” Milo said after concluding a popular drinking song. He made a low bow to the cheering patrons. Consus and Ewan also clapped and cheered for him from their table.
CLANG
An empty tankard rolled behind the halfling on a mead covered dais and dripped onto the floor. The guards sitting at the table with the priest of Dacos laughed, the priest among them without his drink.
“When are you going to play something worth listening too?” the priest said with slurred speech. “Play 'Drunk Dwarf's Regret.’”
“I'm sorry, but I don't take requests from people who can’t hold their tankards or their liquor.” Everyone laughed at the halfling's joke, even one of the guards accompanying the priest.
“No one wants to hear that stupid song anyhow,” a patron said to the priest. One of the nearby guards backhanded the man who collapsed to the ground. A few nearby patrons helped the man back to his feet while cursing the guard.
The guard rose from his seat. “No one disrespects Brother Gelwig, Priest of Dacos and humble Servant of the Quintetta.”
"Well how humble can he be if you must announce it for him," Milo said.
The guard gasped in genuine shock and anger. "I am Marcus Gairun, and I demand that you apologize to Brother Gelwig."
The mood soured, but Consus fought to stifle a laugh. Even in danger, the halfling could not hold back a quip. Blasted Quintetta. Their Servants have become quite bold as of late. They were not usually so brazen, especially this far north of the capital. The guard walked towards the stage, several patrons moving out of his way, hissing at him as he passed but not daring to intervene. The halfling threw his lute over his back and bolted off the stage.
Consus realized he was the only one of his brothers to notice the halfling's predicament. The chatter of conversation around them drew away their attention. "Altin put down your ale. We need to help Milo; this fight with the guard will do him no good."
Altin placed his tankard on the table and announced, "Certainly we must act quickly. I always look forward to a good brawl."
Consus rolled his eyes; the mage was more inebriated than he had expected. He turned to Kyran who was preoccupied listening to Ewan's terrible flirtations with the nearby inn maid. Consus sharply elbowed his eldest brother and alerted him. "Kyran, quickly with me. We must stop the guard before Milo gets into a fight."
Kyran glugged the remainder of ale in his tankard and looked at Consus, a big grin on his face. "Too late for that I'm af
raid, brother. I am afraid there is already a fight; you’d best gird your steel."
"A fight may not be good for the scholar," Ewan said, turning his attention to the group of guards. Before Consus could ask what he meant, Kyran rose from the bench at the table and hurled his empty tankard at the guard.
CLANG
Marcus, the guard, stumbled back and clutched the side of his head where the empty tankard had struck him. He looked around the room to see who had thrown it at him. “Did you throw that at me?”
“Yes, now leave the halfling alone,” Kyran said. “In fact, please leave this inn. You’re a foul company, and no one likes you.”
This time Brother Gelwig himself stood. “Do you know who I am? I am the head priest in the temple of Dacos. I will go and stay where I please as it is the will of Dacos. Would you defy the will of Dacos? Do you know what I could do to you through prayer?”
“I know that I have three more tankards and though I am not entirely sober, I am still a good shot.”
Consus sighed. This had not been at all how he had intended to intervene.
As Kyran turned to look to him, Consus emptied his tankard and passed it to Kyran along with. “Will you behave yourself or leave?” Kyran asked.
Brother Gelwig remained standing and called to Marcus. "Teach these soulless savages the power of Dacos."
Marcus glared at Kyran. "In the name of Dacos and the holy Quintetta, I charge you to-"
CLANG
Marcus now clutched the side of his head with both hands, a second tankard rolling next to his feet. The other guards now rose from their table and walked over to the brothers. Ewan now hurriedly gulped his drink and then aimed his own mug at the guards. Onlookers backed further away from the two groups and away from Ewan's line of sight.
Marcus walked over to Kyran until he was barely a pace away from his face. Though his tunic was bulky, Consus could see that he was similar in strength and weight as Kyran.