CHAPTER TWELVE
“Not a chance,” said Trin Remton, with the slightest hint of a smile. “We’ve never paid so high a price. You’ve got to come down.”
The short, bald, man sitting across from him squirmed. The Steward of Highkeep hadn’t even allowed him the time to bathe or freshen up after coming in from the road. “The shipment was late coming into Seaport. Storms on the Ardic,” the captain said. “We had to wait nearly a full month for the King’s Glory to make its way into port. Then we undertook such hardships on the way here: bandits, rutted roads, and a broken wagon wheel…”
“But the price your asking is double the normal amount,” replied Master Remton. “We might consider a small increase for your troubles, but the King will not be gouged.”
The short man seemed to shrink away at the mention of the king, but his resolve was not entirely gone. “A small increase? I’ll barely break even at the price I’m offering now.” He leaned forward and continued with a grin, “How am I to make this trip in the future, all the way up from the Coastal Kingdoms, if the Crown puts me into debt?”
“Others would come to replace you,” replied Remton, without pause, ignoring the insinuation. No proper man of the realm liked the reference to the city of Seaport as a kingdom. Not since the last king that sat the throne in Seaport had been deposed and slain in battle, so many years ago. “Highkeep can negotiate new shipment terms with another merchant, if you choose to give up the route.”
The bald man’s grin faded. He looked a troubled at the notion, to say the least. Nikolis knew what Master Remton had said was true, but he also knew that this was all part of the game. Nikolis’ assignment for the last few weeks had been to be personal guard to the steward. Although it could be rather boring work at times – following the man about the keep, in the bowels of the castle, from storeroom to storeroom, into town to various shops and merchants – one thing was certain, the steward held unparalleled responsibility.
Trin Remton was charged with running the entire keep, from maintenance to cleaning, meal preparation, granting of rooms to visiting nobles, officials, or important merchants, grounds upkeep and even the maintaining and delivering of stores. The current negotiation with this merchant out of Seaport was only one of countless he had watched since he started guarding Remton. One thing he had learned above all else, was that the Steward of Highkeep knew what he was doing. He was no man to be trifled with. If his bulky frame and stern set jaw, covered with a thick, dark beard, were not intimidating enough, his mind was as sharp as any sword. He knew well the current prices across the realm, knew what he should pay, and what he wanted to pay, whether per crate, barrel, or pound.
Though he was certainly older than when Nikolis had first come to the keep, light grey showing in his hair and in that dark beard, age had taken no toll on his wits.
“I suppose four would suffice?” the bald man offered, with some timidity.
Master Remton leaned forward, looking squarely into the face of the smaller man. “Three sovereigns a barrel, no more, and if I find one foul fish amongst the bunch, we’ll be renegotiating our terms.”
The bald man signed. “Three pieces of silver. I suppose it will have to do.”
The steward nodded. “It will. Go up to Harlow, he’ll see to your payment, and to the moving of the barrels. Remember, one bad batch and–”
The bald man stood quickly and nodded. “Of course, of course. I would never think to cheat His Grace.”
Master Remton nodded and saw the man out of the dark, windowless room. The steward always had his meetings with troublesome merchants here, he had told Nikolis. It was little more than an empty storeroom on the first sublevel of the keep, but it was cool, quiet, and wholly inhospitable. There was no mistake to that, Remton had explained. Every element of a situation could aid in negotiation, comfort ranking high amongst the most effective.
After they had finished with the merchant, they made their way out of the castle underground and to the keep’s eastern side, where the Trader’s Gate was located.
The gate was small, perhaps ten feet tall, and eight feet wide, and retracted upward at the pull of a chain. It was designed only to bring in goods, so they could be stored in the cellars, or be taken to other parts of the castle. It was lightly guarded, only two men with spears, wearing red and white tabards and chainmail shirts, due to the fact that it was only accessible after crossing the main bridge to the keep. From there a narrow cart path led down and away onto a small bank of land that stretched between the keep walls and the moat.
At the gate the steward inspected various shipments of all types of goods; bales of wheat, boxes of sugar and salt pork, and even the first barrels of salt fish. The merchant from earlier was ordering around two bulky men as they unloaded the barrels from two wide carts. The man paced back and forth, wiping sweat from shiny forehead, as the two men grunted and strained with the load. Trin Remton inspected several of the barrels, checking to make sure they were sealed properly and showing no leaks, or signs of damage, he explained to Nikolis.
After they inspected several shipments passing through the keep, they made their way back into the castle and up to the western tower. They approached a large door, banded with iron, in front of which stood two erect guards. They were dressed in light chain, and the red and gold tabard of household guardsmen. They wore iron, saucer helms, and held tall halberds at their sides. About their waists were slender swords, much like Nikolis’ own, designed for light fighting in close quarter. The steward motioned to a corner Nikolis could wait in, and then approached the door. One of the guards looked him up and down, and then lifted a heavy iron latch. Nikolis knew from similar, secure rooms he had seen, that a mirror of that latch would also be on the inside, to allow no entrants from gaining access to the room when it was engaged. While the outer latch stopped anyone from rushing the door, it could be secured against using the inner latch. This allowed those within to disable anyone from entering, while retaining their own ability to leave at any time.
As the door swung open, and Master Remton stepped in, several figures were revealed sitting around a circular table. He noted Master Filson, seated with his legs crossed, twirling a finger in the black curls above his ear. Then there was stout Rogett Gilford, his tan complexion so much in contrast to his white hair and beard, proudly wearing the neat grey coat with a shield sewn at the breast that marked him as a member of the King’s Shield, the royal protectorate. Prince Erad was there as well, making a ribald jest to Arthur Drennen, who smiled courteously, but was clearly not amused.
When the door was almost fully open the king was revealed, seated at a high chair of dark, lacquered wood. He sat tall, though from the look of it the effort strained him, and there was a look of absence in his eyes. That was until they happened upon Nikolis. Then a light suddenly appeared in them, no, a fire. Nikolis tried to tell himself that he was imagining it, that he had always been imagining it, all those times throughout the years when they had chanced to cross paths. But no matter how hard he tried to dismiss it as his own imagination, he saw that fire there, that anger, and knew it was real. The eyes bored holes into his soul, they shot countless accusations at him – wordless charges of which he could not imagine the origin.
Nikolis looked away, averting his eyes, he had just enough time to see that behind them all there was a window that looked out over the city, letting in the bright light of day, before the heavy door slammed shut. The guard that had opened the door drew the iron latch closed and set it into place. Inside Nikolis heard the other latch lock into place, and then all was silent in the dim tower hallway.
Kelson Greene materialized from around a corner, in the way he did, smiled, and made his way over. The two guardsmen at the door looked at him with narrowed eyes, but when he put a thumb under the red sash across his chest, and pushed it out toward them, they relaxed. “Who do you have today?” he asked, as he approached and thumped Nikolis on the back. “Remton again?”
Nikolis nodded. “Yes.”
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“Boring work, this? Eh?”
“It’s alright,” Nikolis replied, still too unnerved by the king’s stare to think about much else.
“I had to guard some Laswick myself, last week,” said Kelson. “Boring fellow, claimed to be a cousin of the royal family, but don’t they all? This though, meeting of the King’s Privy Council, that’s something.”
The thought as to what in particular was going on in that room hadn’t occurred to Nikolis, but he supposed that did make sense. The assembled body was comprised of some of the highest ranking, most respected, men in the realm. At least as far as the area surrounding Highkeep went. With the exception of the Prince, of course, who was there to watch and learn, no doubt, being groomed to take the throne when his time came.
“Imagine the decisions being made in there?” said Kelson. “How to spend the coin of the realm, what men will be sent where, and who given lands and titles…lives ended, wars waged…”
There was no reply from Nikolis. He didn’t know what to say or what to think. If he tried to envision what Kelson was seeing through that door, he could only make out the king’s eyes, staring at him through the wooden beams and bands of iron.
Kelson wandered around the small landing for a time, but when he realized that not much was really going on, and that Nikolis wasn’t in the mood for conversation, he disappeared. After at least two hours had passed, the large door swung open, and the men inside exited, conversed in small groups for a few moments, and then departed.
Nikolis was relieved of duty after that, though it was only now just a bit after noon. He could have gone back to his chamber, he was a little tired, but instead he decided to walk about the keep. He left his sash of order on, giving him the excuse to roam the halls uninhibited, hoping to catch a glimpse of a certain Ryland lady. He still hadn’t come to terms with exactly why he did it, but it couldn’t be helped.
When he started to think about such things, he had feelings that he still couldn’t quite explain, still hadn’t quite come to terms with. He knew now more than when he was younger, exactly what he felt, but that didn’t mean he dwelt on it, or admitted it to himself.
Karlene’s face, however, was not the first familiar one he encountered. Instead, he chanced to run into Raife in the halls, his disproportionately sized eyes, and lopsided grin greeting him instantly. But Nikolis didn’t return the smile, instead tightening, his fist drawing into tight balls at his sides. For reasons he hadn’t imagined, images of Andrew Dubrey and the Lord Ricard Penderton appeared in red flashes in his mind. Then it was Nikolis’ turn to stare with anger and hatred on his face.
He knew he wasn’t angry with Raife, but before he could say anything the small boy with the hunched shoulder was passing him by. Nikolis felt as if his stomach was in his throat when he saw the pained expression on the face of his friend. He knew the boy had experienced a lot of otherwise unexplained taunting over his physical features, and didn’t need anyone, especially not someone he counted as friend, throwing barbs at him with a look. Guilt washed over Nikolis and he turned, raised a hand and called after Raife. Whether his friend heard him or not, he could not say, for the other boy did not turn around.
When he did chance to see Karlene, all he could see was her, all he could concentrate on was every aspect that was her, her face, her eyes, her smile, her light auburn hair, and on and on. It wasn’t only the beauty of her face he glanced at. No, he found every part of her beautiful, but he tried not to think about that, as there was a small sense of guilt that came with it, as if he was doing something wrong, when he focused on the latter. There was always the expectation that when his searching for a chance encounter with her did pay off, when he finally did see her, that he would be able to rationalize what he felt for her, that he would be able to isolate his feelings, and perhaps, just maybe, that he would be able to talk to her.
Things never turned out that way, though. Not even remotely. When he did chance to catch a glimpse of Karlene there was not a thought in his head, only a fluttering in his stomach, and no words would come to his mouth. There was only Karlene, seen through the stolen glances that he dared take of the young lady of noble birth. Then when she was gone, leaving only emptiness, as if a powerful presence had been drawn away from him, leaving him drained. After that there were only restless nights, as his thoughts and dreams were littered with images of her face and smile.
There were times too, when he found himself in the shack behind the inn in town again, but it wasn’t Dally that was there with him. Instead it was Karlene, and this time what happened didn’t have that sense of being wrong, that sense of guilt. It felt right. Though no matter how right his heart said it was, his head told him it was improper. In the waking hours of the day he fought fiercely to deny himself these thoughts. He wasn’t entirely sure why, he just made the decision that there was something wrong with them.
Nikolis was lost in these exact thoughts when he happened upon the third-floor garden, and there she was resting against the edge of the balcony railing. The wind tossed her hair ever so slightly, and she was looking out at the land beyond. The green grass below, high toward the end of the yard, swayed in the wind just as her hair did. Tall trees were beyond that, their leaves rustling in the breeze, and wild flowers of all types, pink and blue, red and white and yellow. There was the smallest of smiles on her face, and her eyes seemed unfocused, looking at nothing in particular, yet drinking in everything. There Nikolis saw her, surrounded by all the beauty of the Ladies Garden, with no one around, when no one else was watching.
Even her maids, and her friend Ellie Arbor, were not present. It was just the two of them. Nikolis edged closer, putting his back to a high clay pot housing a small tree of twisted branches and small green needles. He peered out at her from between the green foliage. A drop of rain hit his shoulder, and then his head, hands, and so on, as a steady fall began. Nikolis paid the light rain no mind, he only watched. He tensed up as he saw Karlene back away a bit from the edge of the balcony, expecting her to come in out of the wet. So, it was a surprise when she kicked off her shoes and put her hands to that edge of the wide, stone, railing, and pulled herself up.
There the Lady of Highkeep stood, rain pouring down, her bare feet gripping the stone ledge. Her white dress was soon drenched, yet she seemed not to care. The delicate fabric would certainly be ruined, but if the girl was concerned, she did not show it. Nikolis couldn’t believe what he was seeing, and he moved around and closer as if drawn by some unseen force, not bothering to hide his presence. The slight smile of earlier spread into a grin and Karlene raised her hands to the sky. He marveled at her courage, but intrigue and surprise were soon replaced with concern, as he saw how precarious her situation was.
She stood on the edge of a balcony, at least fifty feet from the ground, nothing keeping her from falling over the edge but her own two feet. Should I do something? Say something? What would I say?
Karlene put her arms down and opened her eyes. Her smile remained and she continued to look out over the grounds below, but Nikolis relaxed his shoulders. However, she made no sign of coming down, and so his concern remained. Drawing on all of the courage he could muster, Nikolis came out from behind the foliage. He inched toward her. He felt he had to do something. “Lady Ryland,” he said, quietly.
Wet feet slapped on stone as she turned around, her eyes wide and her chest heaving with a gasp. Nikolis put up a hand, “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Karlene looked about, her eyes searching to see if there was anyone else hidden amongst the garden flowers. Then she focused on Nikolis. She took a deep breath and composed herself “What do you want, sir?”
Nikolis looked at her, couldn’t help but look. He was uncomfortably aware at how the soaked fabric of her dress clung to her slender form. He looked away. “I was only concerned for you, my lady. Standing on the ledge like that…it’s dangerous.”
“Well, I thank you” she began in halting words. “But–I a
m fine.”
“Yes, my lady,” he said, still looking down. From his vantage he could see her feet, and he was relieved to see her moving closer to the inside of the ledge. She moved to step down but as she went to put one foot on the floor, the other slipped on the wet stone. In an instant one arm was flailing out wide, while the other was reaching downward toward the ledge. She let out a deafening scream.
Nikolis was moving forward in an instant, but her body was slipping over the edge. By the time he was halfway to the ledge, she had one arm and one leg clamped onto the railing, while the rest of her body hung over it. The majority of her weight was now over open air and he could see leg and hand, red with strain, slipping on the slick stone. Nikolis vaulted the distance to her and straddled the balcony lip, gripping with his legs, and reaching over with his hands. He had a supportive arm under her body and was lifting her up in seconds. She was frightened though, and inadvertently resisting. She wouldn’t let go or shift her weight to a better position, for fear of falling.
Nikolis could well understand her fear, remembering when he had been in too similar a position, all those years ago, with Lord Casserly’s tenuous and reluctant grasp supporting his weight. In fact, finding himself looking over those same grounds now, made fear well up in his gut, and a wave of dizziness wash over him.
But he fought it down, pushed it away. He was here to help her, he couldn’t think of anything else.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ve got you.” She only shook her head in response, wide-eyed, and saying nothing, clinging to the ledge. “Karlene,” he whispered, his face so close to hers in their current predicament. “I have you.”
The recognition of her name brought her eyes to his. She nodded her head, and he felt her body relax ever so slightly. “Put your arm around my neck,” he continued. The lady complied, very slowly moving the arm that was gripping the edge away from the stone and about his neck. When she had a firm grip, he pulled her upward, and her other arm, the one that had been dangling over the edge, came up and met the first at the back of his neck. Karlene clung to him tightly as he pulled her the rest of the way up. She still braced against the ledge with one leg and he saw the other scrape against the stone as she dragged it over, back onto the balcony, her dress receiving minor tears in the process.
The Last Swordsman Page 18