by Moore, Scott
“Why don’t you stay with us?”
“Can’t do that, you are going the wrong way.”
“What if we don’t have to be?” Malik would need her help, but maybe Abrie could be convinced. “You can help me convince him to help.”
Mollie weighed her options. She had very few. She had coin now, having the opportunity to find swords for hire. There were no swords here though. Who knew how far she would have to travel to find one? When she did, would they be willing to throw their lives away for a bag of coins? Malik doubted that anyone would join her.
“I will have a drink with you at the Red Top, more than that I cannot promise.”
Malik thought that was fair enough. “I can live with that.”
He started off toward the Red Top, but Mollie stopped him.
“I just want to say one thing,” she said.
Malik stopped, looking back over his shoulder at her.
“If you ever do that to me again, I will break you too.”
Malik was sure she meant those words.
Chapter 7
Rumblings
Abrie slurped the soup from his spoon. He sat in a small moving café, overlooking the shop fronts that surrounded him. Here one could find the most information if they knew what to listen for. Not everyone knew everything, but a group of people may know a single thing together. Bits and pieces could be gathered from several sources then sewn together to form one complete idea. One would have to know how to listen for it. One would need the patience to wait it out.
Abrie brought the spoon up to his mouth again, sucking at the red, hot soup from his bowl. Already, Abrie had gathered a great source of information from several groups. It was easier knowing what Mollie had told Malik the night before.
Abrie listened to Mollie’s story from the recesses of his tent. The story of the Tempre was a popular tale with Malik. At the mention of their name, Malik’s ears perked up. Malik thought Abrie was unaware of his readings and history searches, but Abrie knew all about them.
Abrie pushed his bowl away, grabbing the small earthen cup filled with tea. A group sat behind him, talking over their meal.
“All the mercenaries are traveling,” a man was saying.
Abrie heard this story several times now. He heard it from men, women, and even children who played at knowing the sword. The story went that all the mercenaries were traveling east toward Bently’s castle. There they hoped for glory by impressing the Tempre Warriors. Abrie could not imagine why the Tempre held tryouts for their ranks. The group wasn’t keen on outsiders.
Abrie waited, drinking his tea with a slow purpose. There was something he missed from all this. Mollie’s village had been an entire village of mercenaries, were the Tempre recruiting there as well? Mollie swore that some in her village had taken up the sword against their own. Were the Tempre recruiting across the country?
“I hear they want the king to join them,” said the other man behind him.
Abrie paused, the cup touching his lips. He dared not sip too loud, missing any of the conversation.
“Well that just sounds crazy,” the other man replied.
Abrie could imagine the speaking man giving a shrug of his shoulder but he dared not check if he was correct.
“Well, be that as it may, that is the rumor going around the Red Top rumor chains. Something about being able to control the king, while swelling their ranks. Supposedly the Tempre are looking for something.”
Abrie tipped the cup back, swallowing the amber liquid down his throat. He placed the empty cup back up onto the table. The Tempre went after the king’s hand. They swelled their ranks across the country. The two men were dead on. The Tempre were looking for something.
Abrie scooted out from the table. He had promised to meet Malik at the Red Top after he got what he had come for. He had gathered their supplies. He had gathered all the information he would need to know. Nodding to the cook on his way out, Abrie took off toward the Red Top.
***
Abrie came under the tents of the Red Top as the sun dipped behind the horizon. They had spent much longer inside the Green Markets than he had hoped. A waitress filed in next to him, offering him a drink menu. Abrie took the menu shaking a small coin purse in front of the woman. “Start a tab for me, I will have a friend joining me soon.”
The woman nodded her understanding. “What can I start you off with?”
Abrie pointed to a random drink selection. It mattered little to him what item came off this menu, he would force himself to like any of them.
The woman nodded again. “Do you need to keep the menu?”
Abrie handed the menu back. “Just keep these coming.”
“Will do, sweetie.” The woman moved off toward the bar.
Abrie pushed through the crowd, trying to find a table that Malik could join him at when he arrived. Abrie hoped Malik could navigate without getting himself into trouble. He hated separating but there were some things that were best left unsaid between Malik and him.
Abrie was about to sit at an empty table when he noticed the fiery hair of Mollie sitting alone at an adjacent table. Abrie scooted off his seat, moving toward her.
“Anyone here with you, ma’am?” he asked.
Mollie looked up; she gave a small smile back at him.
“Take a seat, grandpa.”
Abrie took the joke kindly, sliding into the seat across from her.
“Where did you lose Malik to?”
Mollie pointed over her shoulder toward the stage. Sure enough, Malik was playing the lyre, surrounded by a flock of young girls. Abrie laughed. Malik had a way to surround himself with young women, but he did not understand what to do with them once he got them.
“Were you able to find what it was you were looking for?” Abrie asked.
Mollie looked dejected. Abrie could already tell the answer but he kept his thoughts to himself.
“There wasn’t a single mercenary worth a hoot,” Mollie replied.
Abrie knew there were no mercenaries in the markets. He had heard it enough from the small groups along the way, but he still tried to look concerned.
“Where were they?”
Mollie shrugged. “Idiots at the wagons said they were off in Bently’s castle. Something about a tournament to be part of the Tempre Warriors.”
Abrie glanced up toward the stage. Malik played another song, earning his keep for the night. Abrie watched the young barmaid saunter up, depositing his drink onto the table.
“Do you want anything, Mollie?” he asked before the waitress left through the crowd.
“I don’t think so.”
Abrie knew a dejected youth when he saw one. He fished a coin from his pocket, sending the waitress back on her way.
“Life is a hard road,” Abrie said, taking a sip of his drink.
Mollie chuckled. “Malik told me you would try to seduce me with your philosophy.”
Abrie nodded. “Malik hates speeches. He hates being told what he knows deep down is the truth.”
Mollie looked over her shoulder toward Malik. “Or maybe he hates not feeling like he is doing anything.”
Abrie paused. He knew the boy hurt every day. He knew it better than most why he hurt so much.
“Doing something and dying for something are two different things,” Abrie replied.
“You are right. Anything worth doing is worth doing right, and sometimes that means being willing to die. If you aren’t willing to die for family, then what are you even living for?”
Abrie knew she was right, but it was much more difficult than that. He knew Mollie or Malik would die if they chased these fantasies.
“You don’t know the first thing about fighting men like the Tempre Warriors. You can swing a sword, possibly shoot a bow, but they live for the very act of killing other people. You can have killed, you could be comfortable killing, but the Tempre enjoy it. They live for it. Strive for it. See it as a badge of honor.” Abrie took another drink.
&nb
sp; The silence hung between them like a fog. Abrie figured that Mollie would ignore him. She would get up and walk away.
“You could teach us how to fight them.”
Abrie spit some of his drink. He had seen a lot of different ways this could have gone. Mollie storming off was the major one. However, he had not thought she would petition him for training.
“I can’t do that,” Abrie said.
“Can’t or won’t?”
Abrie was about to reply when Malik pulled up a chair, sitting beside them.
“He could, but he will try to dodge it,” Malik said, taking Abrie’s drink.
Abrie watched Malik suck down the last drops.
“I hope you enjoyed that,” Abrie said.
“Not as much as I would enjoy getting a chance to avenge my family. Abrie you could help me do that. If you cared, you could help me. You could help us both.”
Abrie felt the sting of Malik’s words. There were a lot of reason’s Abrie avoided these conversations with him. Abrie took a deep breath. What avenue did he have to get out of this? He looked around the tavern. There had to be something to distract the two youth.
“You can help, or I am going with Mollie with no training,” Malik said.
“What makes you think I can even swing a sword?” Abrie asked.
He had never admitted to being able to hold a sword. He may trip them up on this point.
“Maybe you don’t but you know fighting,” Mollie said.
She sidestepped the sword question, bringing it back to his mastery of the bow. Maybe he was a fool for saving her. The alternative was her death though. He could not have that hanging over his head.
“To what end do you think this will lead?”
Malik drummed his fingers against the table. Mollie stared into his eyes. Abrie tried to hold her stare, but it was Malik who replied.
“I want to feel whole again.”
Abrie blinked first. Malik hit him where only the boy could. He turned to him. Malik looked down, thrumming his fingertips off the wood.
“What would you do if I offered to train you?”
Malik cut his eyes. “I would dedicate myself to making sure I became the best I could.”
“I would learn what it is to take care of myself and those I care about,” Mollie said.
Abrie took a deep breath, waving to the waitress to bring him three more drinks.
“I will think about it.”
Malik laughed, tears streaming down his cheeks. Mollie smiled with him.
Abrie sat back in his chair. After all these years of running, he would jump right back in. He just hoped that not everyone at this table was dead before he could live to regret it.
Chapter 8
Training
The Village of Dawn was known for its sunrises. It being an eastern village with no mountain or forest coverage allowed for the sunset to be seen for miles off from their man-made lakes. It was a sight to see. At least it would have been, had it not been for the long night at the Green Markets.
Abrie, who never seemed to experience exhaustion, was up far before dawn ushering Mollie and Malik from the Markets.
“Best to beat the crowds,” he had said.
Abrie may have been chipper but Malik and Mollie were anything but.
Malik lifted his hand to shield out the first of the sun’s morning rays. “Are we stopping for breakfast?” Malik needed food. He needed lots of food and coffee. Otherwise he felt like he would fall over into the dirt.
“I could go for some bacon,” Mollie chimed in.
Malik looked over, she looked even sleepier than he did. Her hair was a mess of knots and frizz. Her eyes had large black bags under them. Malik still admired her beauty. Why did she affect him so? He knew all kinds of girls from the villages, but none of them shared in Mollie’s beauty.
“I suppose we could play for a few meals,” Abrie said. “It would be a good opportunity for the first lesson of your training.”
Malik stopped walking. “We never said we needed musical training.”
Abrie laughed. “So, I suppose you just expect Mollie to know how to play a lyre?”
It was Mollie’s turn to look incredulous. “Wait! I never agreed or asked to be trained to play any musical instrument.”
Abrie threw his hands up. “I suppose two bards will just travel with a random girl, sword on back, and we will march through villages with no rumors or questions.” Abrie placed his hands onto his hips. “Or, we could play like we are traveling bards, earn a few coins, gather some information, and teach you guys how to swing and shoot.”
Malik hadn’t slept a wink and because of that his stomach hurt. He turned, feeling dizzy, and puked onto the road.
“Do you feel better?” Abrie asked.
Malik looked up, wiping spittle from his chin. He opted on saying nothing.
“If so, let us get to the inn. We will play, eat, and listen,” Abrie said.
This time neither of them protested. Malik may have even been happy to see her learn. She may have the ability to slice him in two with a sword, but the lyre was an extension of his body. It was a part of who he was and there was no way she would be better than him.
***
“She is a natural,” Abrie said, leaning over to whisper in Malik’s ear.
Malik bristled. Mollie had been practicing with them for less than an hour and the crowd bantered for solos from her.
Malik wondered if it were too late to kick her out of the group. He pushed his empty plate away. His appetite lost. Mollie should have been horrible. He expected her to take months to even learn the chords and strings. Abrie had put the lyre into her hands, and before he stepped away, she was strumming out full songs.
“She could use some rhythm work,” Malik said, not bothering to whisper.
Abrie gave him a chuckle. “Do I detect some jealousy?”
Malik called for another cup of coffee. “What you detect is her missing every third chord.”
Abrie looked back up toward the stage. Malik knew the crowd enjoyed themselves. They were dancing, laughing, and yelling out requests. Mollie smiled too. Something Malik had never seen on her face the few days he had known her.
“She has the crowd, that is half the battle.”
Malik took a sip of his coffee to avoid having to reply. He was upset. He had no reason to be upset, but he was. Mollie was nowhere near as good as he was at the lyre, but he wanted this to be a disaster. Now, when he failed to shoot the bow or lift the sword, it would be even more embarrassing, and Malik would have nothing to fall on but insults. He thought about walking outside to cool himself down when the two mercenaries from the Green Markets walked in with a few buddies.
“Figured we would find you here,” Top said over the crowd, staring at Mollie.
Mollie’s fingers slipped on the strings and a horrible ringing filled the room. Everyone stopped dancing, looking toward the door. Malik put his coffee mug onto the counter.
Abrie looked over the four men. “Know these folks?”
“You could say that,” Malik replied.
Abrie’s shoulders tensed. He was used to Malik bringing trouble with him. Malik had a mouth that only worsened when he angered.
Top had his shoulder in a sling but his free hand held a small dagger. Blades breathed with a labored heaving, but he still held a sword. The two other men, Malik did not have a name for, but they looked about as competent as Top and Blades, which was very little.
Mollie sat down the lyre, standing from the stool. Her sword laid in the inn's corner, about twenty long steps from her. Malik stood from his own stool, starting to move toward that corner while the eyes were not placed on him.
The crowd murmured about the men. The innkeeper rushed out from the back with a towel in hand. “What is going on here?”
Malik had some doubts about the innkeeper’s ability to stop a fight.
“I believe you and your friend stole something from us yesterday,” Top continued.
“Are you looking for your dignity? Because I believe you will not be getting that back. Also, your balls are mine to keep,” Mollie said.
Top bristled at the jest. Mollie had taken him to the woodshed the day before. Malik wondered what Blades and Top had told their two new friends. It sounded like they had lied about the real events, making up some story about robbery.
“You and your friend will pay for what you did,” Blades said.
The two men with them nodded their approval.
“Let me retrieve my weapon and we will see who pays,” Mollie said.
Top shook his head. “Thieves do not receive the chance at fair combat. Thieves deserve nothing more than to be punished like the scum they are.”
Malik was only a few steps from the sword. He could have made a mad dash, retrieving it but he wanted to keep his whereabouts a mystery. The two had not yet asked where he was. Maybe they believed Malik and Mollie had split up.
Malik moved passed the customers, getting so close to the sword before Top’s voice echoed in a yell. “You! Stop moving!”.
Malik had no way to know who the words were directed at, but it was easy to assume.
Malik spun his head toward the sword. He was less than a jump away from the blade. He had never used a sword before. When he retrieved Mollie days ago, it had been the first time he had ever felt the weight of a weapon in his hands. He had played at swinging sticks and branches but that wasn’t the same thing. Still, if Mollie could play the lyre so well on her first time then he could swing a sword. How hard could it be?
“I don’t believe I will do that,” Malik replied.
He jumped the rest of the distance, grabbing the sword from the planks of the inn floor. It was heavier than he remembered. Or maybe that was the weight of his arms. Malik pulled the sword up in front of his chest. He had no idea how to hold it.