“Was a time a sailor could stop ‘ere and get his fill,” said the first man, lifting his mug and taking a long draught. “Black Rob outlawed the whores when he take over. Made ‘em take up trades or leave.”
“Really?” asked Nikolis, trying his best to feign commiseration. “That’s horrible.”
“Aye,” said the short man, slamming his mug down. Nikolis tossed the dice at that, not wanting to lose the men to anger or despair. When he made a horrible throw, to all of their benefit, laughter again filled the room. He tried his best to keep the mood light, and it wasn’t long before they were talking again.
He learned all manner of things. One man told of the former king, Saloin Merlish, whose family crest was of a fish with a large fin on its back, and a long nose that resembled a lance. This lancefish had been pictured leaping on a field of light blue, though all depictions of it had been removed from the city after King Merlish was deposed. Banners and sculptures had all been burned or toppled.
Another man said there had once been dozens of castles dotting the coastline, and he said that was why the area was often called the Coastal Kingdom. In fact, for such a surly lot, they certainly knew a bit or two about the city. Though some of the stories, such as those of sinking islands and fleeing ships, were surely only sailor’s tales played out for dramatic effect, there was useful information to be heard. Even when he began to think that he had learned all that he would from the bunch, another man would speak up, offering some new tidbit.
“The say old King Merlish wasn’t so bad,” said a man they called Trelly, who was the first mate of a small fishing vessel. “Men had more to do back then, anyways. But the Old Fox put an end to him, and then he come and had Matthis hung as well.”
“The Old Fox,” said a tall man, with a dark, thick beard. His name was Lyde and he declared himself on old sea captain who still took his ship out onto the open waves, now and again, when the work was good. “That’s what they called him. Afore that gold crown was sewn upon his chest, it was a golden fox on a sea of red, that the Rylands wore.”
“He murdered King Merlish and stole his crown! My House is rightful heir to the throne!” a man roared, upsetting his mug of ale, spilling the contents on the floor. When Nikolis turned about he saw that it was Dark Martin that had made the statement, and now a short, plump man dressed in a stained apron was at his side, whispering to him. In what appeared to be a well-practiced manner he got Martin to rise and ushered him to the door.
The story and Martin’s comments made Nikolis think about The History of the Houses volume that he had read back at Highkeep, with its missing pages and peculiar crests. “Did Saloin leave no heirs?” Nikolis dared to ask.
“The Ryland contingent led the offensive on the northern gate,” said Lyde. “Both his oldest son and daughter died on the battlefield outside of the city. That was the way of his daughter. They called her a mistress of the mace. That only left his youngest son, Levand, who was but ten at the time, inside the castle walls.”
“Levand Merlish? What happened to him?”
“When King Saloin realized he was surrounded on all sides by enemy forces, it is said that he grew afraid, as any man might, and could make no decisions, take no action. So Levand put on his armor, saddled his horse, and led the last battalion of men out of the city gates to strike at the heart of the Ryland force. It is said even at that young age, he was concerned that House Merlish not go down as a lot of cowards. He was struck down on the battlefield by Lord Othar Dratcher of Lordsport and perished.”
The gathered sailors and drunkards grew sullen after that. They sipped their tankards of ale slowly, drowning their miseries. None of these men could have been very old when the two kings had battled. It seemed then to Nikolis, that they were only searching for someone to blame their problems on.
“Black Rob killed his wife,” Trelly said later in a hushed tone, after much silence had passed. “Did you know that?”
“Tossed her from a balcony o’ the castle,” Lyde put in. “Right into the sea. All because she said somethin’ about the King.”
Later the story varied, and another man was saying that he strangled his wife first, and then had two of his guards throw her into the water from the highest tower. This time it was because she had confronted Lord Casserly about suspected infidelity.
“One thing is certain,” said the jolly fellow, though there was no smile on his face. “You don’t question Robert Casserly, and you don’t mention what happened.”
“Happened?” Nikolis asked.
The round fellow leaned in, and whispered, “To his brother.”
As he made his way back to the castle, he mulled over what he had learned. A few of his questions had been answered, though many things still remained a mystery. There were so many differing stories that it was hard to believe what was true and what was not. So conflicted was he when he reached the castle, that he bypassed the main entrance and made his way around to the rear.
Behind the castle was a field, followed by a long, winding beach that ran off as far as the eye could see in either direction. Beyond that was only the dark water, waves upon waves rolling toward the soft sand. Nikolis shed his boots, and walked out onto the beach, the sand between his toes a new and interesting feeling.
When he neared the waves, his feet sunk into the wet sand, and the water rushed up around his ankles. In the distance the large, round moon hung, illuminating the water with a thousand sparking lights. Looking out upon the sea, its surface seeming to stretch on and on, infinitely, he couldn’t help but think of Karlene.
He had tried to prevent himself from wallowing in the torrent of happiness and misery that was his feelings for her, but now, unabated, he really thought about her, pictured her in his mind, smelled the scent of roses that always seemed to surround her, and imagined his hands moving through her auburn hair.
Though he had a hard time placing it at first, he realized that he missed her. Nikolis had never felt that way about anyone before. His parents were gone before he had ever been away from them, and what he had felt then was the mourning of something that was truly lost. That was a different kind of pain.
After they were gone, the rest of his days had been spent at Highkeep, with everyone that he knew so near, so close to him. For the first time he felt a strange ache in the pit of his stomach, and realized it was for the lady that was now so many miles away. As full of wonder as Seaport was, he suddenly wished that he was away from the place. Looking out at the endless sea, he could only think about starting the long march home.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Lord Casserly was under the weather. That was the word about the castle at Seaport. The meetings for the day had been canceled, the agenda scrapped. A hunting trip to the forests outside of Seaport had been hosted the day before in honor of the King and, on the way back, the party had gotten caught in a downpour. Apparently, Robert had taken ill after riding in the rain near an hour without a cloak, having given up his heavy garment to help insulate the King from the inclement weather.
When the group returned to the castle, Robert’s son, Jon, had helped his father to settle by the fire and had even gotten him a goblet of wine to warm him. It seemed an uncharacteristic move for Jonathan Casserly, who seemed now every bit as unconcerned and socially improper as he had when visiting Highkeep all those years ago. Jonathan had spent summers at Highkeep over the years, just as Erad had wintered in Seaport from time to time. The two remained amiable companions and seemed a well-matched pair – perhaps too much so. However, for all the good Jon may have intended, it seemed to have done his father little benefit.
Nikolis had checked to insure the King was well settled in his chambers, and then had taken to wandering about the castle. Everything seemed as it should be, although there were very few people, both servants and officials, to be seen. It was the quietest Nikolis had ever seen the place. A page found him as he wandered the halls and handed him a note. Nikolis unfolded the parchment and read. It was from Darus Lewin,
who wrote that he and Jerald Camber would be seeing to the King for the day. There were instructions that Nikolis should go into the city and see to grain supply for their trip back to Highkeep.
Nikolis pondered the letter. Something about it seemed odd, a bit out of place. Usually a servant would see to such things. He gave up his musings as futile, and perhaps a little conceited, and instead thought about what he would do after he had seen to the supplies. Perhaps go to the library again, or a tavern, or maybe take in numerous other sights he had heard about but had yet to witness.
In the end he decided he’d check in on Rowen Dunn before he went, to see how the older man was doing. He stopped at his own room to get his cloak and then found Dunn’s chamber and knocked on the door. When there was no answer he tried again, but the second attempt still yielded no response. Usually Rowen, who seemed more and more weary of late, was in his room if he was not by the King’s side.
His first effort proving unfruitful, Nikolis decided he’d check in on Evar Dolbrand. It would be nice to see a familiar face and perhaps he would break his fast with the keep guards. But when he got to the quarters the guardsmen had been assigned, no one was to be found. They were all surprisingly absent. “Where is everyone?” he asked of a passing servant.
“Been given the day off,” the slight man replied.
“Certainly not all of them?” Nikolis prodded.
“I imagine there’s a few still about,” replied the man, with a shrug of his shoulders.
This latest revelation started Nikolis to wondering, and then suddenly, though he couldn’t completely explain it, he started to feel the oddest sensation of discomfort. He decided he would check in on the King again. That would put him at ease.
He climbed the stairs to the King’s apartments and knocked on his door. There was no answer, so he knocked again. Still no answer.
Nikolis paced back and forth before the door, pondering as to whether or not he should presume to enter uninvited. After a few moments thought an impulse seized him and he pushed at the door.
It was locked. He paced for a few more seconds and then turned to leave. What if there is a problem? What if the king is on the other side of that door and he has fallen and or is ill? These thoughts plagued at his mind for only a few moments before he gathered his courage and kicked the door in.
Inside Nikolis dashed about, looking into empty room after empty room. He kept telling himself that the King was fine, that he’d find him sleeping in a chair, or staring out of a window and that he would be laughing about the whole affair by nightfall. But as he continued to search finely furnished room after room, he found no one. It wasn’t until he got to a large sitting room, with plastered walls and gilded trim, that he saw anyone at all.
Breath caught in his throat for a moment, but then it only turned out to be a small servant boy dressed in white shirt and dark trousers. He had a dusting feather in his hand, and a heavy ring of iron keys hung at his waist.
“Where is the King?” Nikolis demanded, breathing hard.
“I don’t know,” the boy replied, as he ran the feather over a small, lacquered table, sending swirls of dust into the air.
Nikolis got very close to the boy, towering over him. “Where did he go? You must have seen something.”
“They only told me to clean his rooms,” said the boy. “And to make sure I locked the door behind me.”
“Who?”
“Two men.”
“What did they look like?”
“Like you.”
Nikolis was confused for a moment, but then he noticed his coat and pulled at it with thumb and forefinger. “Like this? In a coat like this?”
“Yes.”
“Did they say nothing else?” he asked, leaning down, getting closer to the boy.
“Maybe something about they were taking him to the s-s-southern audience hall, I think.”
Nikolis started to breathe easier. The King was fine. He had probably just wanted to walk about, or maybe someone had requested an audience. “Did they say why they were going there?
“Well, I think I heard them say something of a meeting. With Lord Casserly.”
Nikolis took the boy by his shirt front and brought him in sharply. “Lord Casserly canceled his meetings for the day! He’s sick!”
“I don’t know! That’s what they said!”
Nikolis released the boy and ran from the room. He vaulted down several flights of stairs and turned corner after corner in the twisting hallways. He kept telling himself to breathe, to remain calm, but he couldn’t help but run.
He managed to find the audience chamber the boy had mentioned, after breathless questions to a series of servants along the way. But the large, thick door was locked from the inside. He tried to push his shoulder against it, but it wouldn’t budge. It was twice as thick as the door to the King’s chambers. So, he went around the hall, circling around the room, and found another door. He pushed at it, but found it too was locked, and would not budge. He kept moving around until he found another.
This one was secured as well, but it was smaller, thinner. He threw his shoulder against it and easily entered what must have been a small waiting area attached to the rear of the chamber. There was a series of rooms ahead, all set with chairs and benches and various other furnishings. In the distance he suddenly realized he could make out a faint, whimpering sound. Almost as if someone was groaning.
With great caution he made his way ahead, and toward it. As he rounded a corner into the next room his heart dropped.
Evar Dolbrand was on the ground and for once his characteristic smile was nowhere in evidence. Lirk Penderton was on him, one large hand over Evar’s mouth, while the other plunged a dagger into his stomach. Dark red blood stained Evar’s crimson tabard, as he fought and kicked at Lirk. The larger man would not let go.
In a flash Nikolis’ slender blade was out, and he was moving to pounce on Lirk. The large, gruff man looked up with a sneer, and Nikolis would have dashed that look from his face if it hadn’t been for a cry that sounded from the next room. With momentary regret he ran to the next chamber and things only got worse from there.
Rowen Dunn was on the ground, bleeding all over the floor, while Jerald Camber stood over him with a sword in his hands, the blade spattered with red. As Camber turned to wipe the sword on a nearby drapery, he noticed Nikolis and froze in place. The shock only lasted moments however, and he had soon recovered and was coming after him.
Nikolis was quicker. He slashed Jerald across the face, leaving the man screaming and clutching at his head, and ran toward the next doorway, one that looked as though it led out into the audience chamber proper.
Nikolis breathed a sigh of relief as he entered into the chamber with its domed ceiling and white, marble columns. In the center of the room was a large, central dais that rose up some four feet off of the ground. As Nikolis entered, Darus Lewin was just making his way to the top, helping King Alginor into a high-backed chair. The king looked tired as ever, and decidedly unfocused, but he was all right. After seating the monarch Darus turned, smiling, though when he saw who was standing before him his look went sour.
There was no time to ponder the change in the greycoat, for as he stepped away from the dais Nikolis saw movement from one of two balconies that jutted out from the far sides of the chamber. Four men, shrouded in dark cloaks, stepped forward on the eastern landing. Darus looked from Nikolis to the balcony and back again, with fear plain on his features.
The four men in the balcony raised crossbows from beneath the folds of their cloaks and trained them on the King. The King sat on his chair, distant, clearly oblivious to what was going on around him.
Nikolis’ eyes went wide, and he sprang forward skewering Darus Lewin, who tried to block his path, as he went. Nikolis pushed Lewin off of his sword, and out of his way, as he ran toward the landing. He leaped onto the platform and rushed in front of the King. As the crossbow bolts released with a twang he spun about, putting his back
to the balcony, and letting the folds of his cloak swirl around him.
The tactic had been to try and catch the bolts in the cloak, but when he looked down, he saw that he had not been entirely successful. One of the quarrels was stuck deep into King Alginor’s side, and the old monarch was already slumping over, his eyes fluttering wildly. Nikolis got him up, and was starting down the dais stairs, when his leg gave out on him and together, he and the king stumbled to the floor. It was only when he sat back up that he realized he had a bolt of his own embedded deep in his left thigh.
Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to his feet, and shouldered the king’s weight as best as he could manage. He dragged the king toward the closest chamber door, taking a moment to look up to see how the cloaked men were responding.
Though their features were obscured, the lot of them appeared amazed and confused. One threw his hood off in shock, fury plain in his features. It was Dark Martin, who only delayed for an instant before yelling, “Reload!”
Nikolis hurried the king toward the door, faster than he would have ever dared under normal circumstances and threw the bolt upward. He kicked the door open, sending searing pain up his injured leg, and brought the king out into the hallway. Jerald Camber emerged from the waiting area, covering one eye, blood streaming from between his fingers. A dozen guardsmen in tabards of blue and white appeared behind him.
Nikolis dropped the king and then turned around and found a plank of wood and saw the iron rungs on either side of the doorway, designed to hold the beam and bar the door from outside.
Without pause he rushed forward, watching as Camber did likewise. As he went to shoulder the door closed, ready to throw the beam into place, something distracted him from his task. In the balcony opposite the crossbowmen, he saw a man rush out from a doorway beyond. It wasn’t too difficult to recognize Lord Robert Casserly. The Regent of the South did not look happy.
Nikolis might have stood there for an eternity, staring in disbelief, if he hadn’t noticed that Camber was nearly upon him. Without another moment’s pause he slammed the door shut and threw the plank into place. Then he ran about to another entrance on the left and threw the beam there into place as well. As quickly as he could manage, he then circled around to the entrance he had noticed earlier, on the right. As he picked up the plank there, he saw the door in front of him start to push outward. Nikolis threw his shoulder against the door as hard as he could and dropped the plank into the iron rungs.
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