Fallen King

by Olive Creed

  He frowned. He had to be forgetting something. That wasn’t much to go on. The docks were teeming with men of all races. Dozens looked like pirates, with their earrings, eyepatches, and tall leather boots. Torrin held his breath as he squeezed through the bustling crowds, the stench of rotting wood, fish, and unwashed men permeating the air and threatening to make him throw up what little he’d eaten the day before.

  This is going nowhere fast. He could spend days searching these docks and never find him. Torrin cocked his head, barely able to distinguish an off-key piano over the rather loud talking. Best way to find a man was in a tavern. He grunted as a burly sailor brushed against him and stepped in a pile of fish guts. Groaning, he scuffed his boot against the ground and pushed his way towards the building with smoke and music drifting out. The sole of his boot peeled off. Great.

  Torrin stepped into the tavern. A blush crept across his face and spread down his neck at the sight of a lady in a sleeveless and short dress waltzing over. He kept his eyes glued to her face.

  She put one gloved hand on her hip and smiled. “Hala, cio.” She had a high pitched, almost squeaky voice. “Uedo yaderte?”

  He mentally reviewed his knowledge of the Achian language. “Uh... na... na cigara.” He nodded at her—praying he’d said the right thing—and made his way through the room to the bar.

  Torrin scanned the tavern for any sign of the pirates. They weren’t hard to spot among the crowd of Achians—the stories were true that the pirates were usually half-breeds. Two men towered over the rest, leaning against the bar. One of them had green streaks among his many braids, held out of his face by a red cloth. But these men were foreigners and twice his age.

  “Ser undo que?” The bartender was a chubby man with laugh lines creasing his weathered face. His hair and beard were streaked with gray.

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t fully understand.”

  He scowled. “Dirty Elyndian. Go. We no like your kind here.”

  Torrin forced himself to keep smiling. “I’m looking for a man named Ace Pariah. Do you know him?”

  His scowl deepened. “Why you look for no-good traitor? Him wanted all Achia.” He jerked his head over to the wall, where several wanted posters hung.

  Torrin didn’t bother thanking him before stepping over to get a closer look. After deciphering the writing, he pulled one of the posters down. There was a drawing of Ace on the page. The only distinguishing mark was a faint scar running across his cheek.

  He tacked it back to the wall and headed outside, crossing his arms. How in Elyndia was he going to find this man in a country full of people who hated him?

  One thing is certain. You won’t find him standing around.

  Torrin took a deep breath of salty, rank air and turned to head down the boardwalk. He walked smack into a barrel-chested man. “Excuse me, sir. I didn’t see you.”

  “Aw, that’s alright, sonny.” Torrin judged the Achian to be in his late forties, with a wide smile and slight belly. “Wha’s an Elyndian like you doin’ all the way out here?”

  “I’m looking for a man.” Torrin made to step around him and stepped right off the boardwalk. It was only a few inches’ difference, but the surprise combined with his fatigue was enough to make him sprawl.

  “You okay, boy?” The Achian helped him up. “Why, you ain’t nothin’ but skin an’ bones! Ol’ Ragen’s gonna get ya fixed up with a good an’ proper meal, yes siree, c’mon.”

  Torrin’s head spun as he stumbled after the man. “Beg pardon?”

  “Don’t you fret none, kid, I’ll take care o’ ya.” He clapped Torrin on the back, nearly sending him sprawling, and tugged him back into the tavern. “Bartender! Bring out yer best steak!”

  Torrin cringed, rubbing his ear. The man—what had he said his name was?—had a raspy voice that hit just the right pitch to be painful and resembled a bullfrog’s croak.

  Which was a very impolite thing to be thinking, especially when the man was sitting him down and ordered the entire kitchen, but... it was true.

  The squeaky-voiced girl from earlier walked over, setting a bottle and two glasses in front of them.

  “Oh, no thank you, I don’t—”

  The man rattled off in the Achian language too quickly for Torrin to follow. The girl giggled, hurrying off and coming back with a glass of milk.

  Torrin didn’t know how to feel about that.

  He gave her a tiny smile in thanks, taking the glass and gulping it down, sighing in relief when the dizziness eased.

  “So, who ya lookin’ for? Ol’ Ragen knows jest ‘bout everyone this side o’ the border.”

  Ragen, that was it. Torrin cleared his throat. “I’m looking for someone named Ace Pariah?”

  His smile faded as he leaned back to let the girl put down a plate of flatbread and a bowl of red tomato sauce, then refilled Torrin’s cup. “Why ya need him?”

  Torrin picked up a circle of bread, breaking off a piece and dipping it in the sauce. “I need help, and a friend of mine said to find him...” He probably shouldn’t have said anything. Why couldn’t he keep his mind on track? He shoved the bread in his mouth, senses lighting up when the sauce’s spices touched his tongue. He wouldn’t have been surprised in the least if flames had shot out as he gulped down the milk.

  “Oh! Okay, for a second I thought you was a bounty hunter or somethin’.” Ragen was once more grinning, piling the sauce on his bread like it was nothing. “Yeah, I know where he is, but now ain’t the time for talkin’ to ‘im.”

  Torrin frowned, eating his bread plain. “Why? It’s imperative that I speak to him at once.”

  Ragen squinted. “Wha’s that mean?”

  “It’s... very important. Please, sir, I don’t have time to wait.”

  “Okay, but he ain’t in any mood for seein’ nobody right now. Feelin’ kinda... poorly, ya might say. Ya sure it can’t wait?”

  That sounded very suspicious. Torrin rested his hand on his sword hilt, instantly on the alert. Well, as alert as he could be with his stomach growling full force.

  Ragen’s brown eyes widened and he waved his hands. “No, no, not like that! He’s just... well..." He glanced around and sighed, standing. “Come on, I’ll show ya. Hey, Esteo, put our order on hold, will ya?” He waved for Torrin to follow.

  He trailed after him, somewhat suspicious. Was Ace sick?

  Ragen paused outside an alley. The sound of someone losing the contents of their stomach were clearly audible, even over the din of the bustling docks.

  Torrin covered his mouth and nose at the stench, looking in disgust at a young man bent double on his knees, heaving and jerking as he vomited. A half empty whiskey bottle lay at his feet.

  This was the traitor, Ace Pariah, who was to help him with the Achians? This drunken, overgrown kid?

  Torrin’s thoughts must have shown on his face. Ragen nodded, crossing his arms over his chest. “Yup. That’s Ace. He normally ain’t a drinkin’ man. This the first time I’ve seen him drunk. An’ I been workin’ with ‘im for about a year now.”

  Torrin sighed, marching into the alley. Nothing to do but try and get him sober so they could get down to business. He kicked the bottle away and bent over, trying—and failing—to not breathe in the stench too much. Grabbing Ace’s shoulders to keep him from faceplanting in the mess, he caught Ragen’s gaze and jerked his head over. “If you could kindly assist me in moving this young man?” His grip tightened on Ace’s arm as the kid heaved again.

  Right on Torrin’s boots.

  “Oh, sure.” Ragen jumped forward, grabbed Ace’s other arm, and helped Torrin drag him to the other side of the alley and lean him against the wall.

  Ace groaned, throwing one arm over his eyes. “Somebody jes’ shoot me now. Then go shoot th’ misake who gave me th’ bo’le.”

  “You didn’t give us no choice, kid.” Ragen planted his hands on his hips. “Cason tried ta keep it from ya but you wouldn't have it.” He shook his head. “Dang stubborn kid. Look
at you. You’re s’possed ta be the leader of the rebels an’ here ya are drunk as a half-eaten skunk an’ pickin’ fights like a mangy coyote.”

  “Shu’ up.” Ace kicked at him. He lurched forward, dry heaving.

  Torrin rolled his eyes. Not the behavior fitting of a king, but he was quickly losing his patience. And the smells were not helping. “Mr. Pariah, is there a place we can speak privately?”

  “I’m in th’ middle of celebratin’, mister, or can’t ya see tha’?” He pressed both hands against his temples, his eyes screwed shut. “Th’ on’y way I’d leave th’ party is ifn ya was female. An’ th’ ain’t no way ya are. Not wi’ tha’ voice.”

  Torrin exchanged glances with Ragen and shook his head. “It is imperative that we—”

  “Look, I get it. You nee’ ‘elp. But like I said, I’m busy. Come ba’ tomorrow.” He waved a hand.

  Torrin huffed, standing up and shaking his head. Talking with him now was useless. He had no choice to wait until Ace was at least partially sober.

  Ragen rolled his eyes, grabbing Ace’s arm and dragging him to his feet. “Come on. Yer drunk. Let’s get you home and get some coffee in ya.”

  “No coffee.” He shook his head and moaned, slumping against his shorter friend.

  “Passed out. Dumb kid. We tried ta keep him from drinkin’. But he wouldn’t listen.” Ragen set his shoulder against Ace’s stomach and stood, the boy draped over his shoulder. “Come on, I’ll take ya to his house. Once he’s sobered up some he’ll listen.”

  “I should hope so.” Torrin would hate to have come all this way only to have to turn around and go back.

  Ace’s ‘home’ apparently consisted of a room over a tavern.

  “See that big ugly feller over there?” Ragen pointed at a Kyrnian arm-wrestling an Achian soldier. “You go wait over by him an’ the even uglier Elyndian. I’ll take care o’ Ace an’ then we’ll talk.”

  “Alright.” This tavern was fairly empty, the only drinkers a handful of old trappers draped in animal skins. An old lady in a ridiculously frilly dress and a feather in her silver hair drank milk out of a shotglass, laughing at something the young bartender had said.

  Torrin made his way over to the table. The Kyrnian’s muscles bulged as he struggled to keep his arm off the table. Torrin had a hard time believing this short, chubby, older Achian was beating a giant.

  “Come on, Jorah, ya can’t let this runt beat you,” the Elyndian exclaimed. “No offense, my good man,” he added to the Achian.

  “I’m tryin’ not ta,” Jorah shot back.

  The Achian’s friend—another soldier—pounded the table, clutching a small bag of coins. “Tell you what.” He addressed the Elyndian. “I’ll raise the bid. Forty dollars.”

  “Forty?” Jorah gasped out. His arm quivered as he looked up at his friend. “Don’t you think that’s a bit high?”

  He thought it over. “Well..."

  “Don’t bet away all our money, Cason!”

  “I won’t.” Cason studied the white-knuckled fists slowly inching closer to the table. “Deal.”

  “Deal?!”

  The soldier laughed. “It’s gonna be a real pleasure beatin’ you boys. I wish we had more to bet!”

  Cason took off his Stetson, his thumb poking through a sizable hole on the crown. “Ya mean to tell me that’s all the money ya got?” He and Jorah exchanged looks. Cason shrugged. “Looks ta me like ya might as well finish it.”

  Torrin shook his head as everything became clear.

  Jorah slammed the soldier’s arm down on the table.

  “Hey! You cheated us—”

  “Calm down, misake.” His partner dumped a handful of coins onto the table. “Here ya go.”

  “I still say we been had!” the Achian protested loudly as his partner dragged him out of the tavern.

  Cason laughed, clapping Jorah on the shoulder and reaching for the money. Jorah slapped his hand away. “I put in the sweat fer this.” He pocketed most of it, ignoring Cason’s offended scowl.

  Torrin was only partially amused. These were Ace’s men? Roscoe had sent him to a drunken rebel and his immature, gambling men?

  This was a waste of time. He turned to leave, but Ragen was hustling back. He grabbed Torrin’s arm, dragging him to his two friends over at the bar.

  “Pour me a glass. An’ one fer my friend, here.” Ragen slapped the bar. “Jorah, Cason, this young kid showed up lookin’ for help.”

  Torrin stared at the mug of beer placed in front of him. “I actually came to speak with Ace Pariah. A man named Roscoe sent me here. Said he could help.”

  “Well, now’s kin’a bad timin’, kid.” Jorah took a gulp of his drink. “Ace’s been in a strange mood all day. I wouldn’t try talkin’ to ‘im now.”

  Torrin huffed. He couldn’t stay here forever. He rubbed his scars. “Alright. I’ll come back tomorrow morning. Can I meet him here?”

  Jorah nodded. “We’ll be here.”

  Ylda and one of the other wolves—Torrin couldn’t hope to remember their names or even try to tell them apart—were waiting for him in the designated meeting place. Both had blood flecking their muzzles.

  Torrin frowned. “Did you two—”

  “We found a deer and saved you a leg to chew on.” Ylda bounded off to pull it out of the bushes.

  His stomach twisted and he fought back a gag. “Thank you, but I don’t eat raw meat.”

  “Silly humans don’t know what’s good.” She laid down to gnaw on the leg.

  “Are you ready to leave?” the other wolf asked. “Do you have the Ace Pariah?”

  Torrin smiled faintly. “No, not yet. I’ll be speaking with him in the morning. We’ll spend the night here.”

  Cyprian crouched beside Fury, bandaging one of the many bite wounds left from the wolves. Peter and Dawsyn were inside making the report to King Corynth. Cyprian didn’t envy them at all.

  “I still can’t believe we’re alive.” Zell stared down at his arm. “All I got was a row of stitches. From an attack by wolves and an iina.”

  Cyprian rolled his eyes. The guy had been going on and on about it for hours. He was just about ready to punch Zell in the face and make him shut up.

  Gannon had disappeared shortly after Torrin escaped. Cyprian desperately hoped the wolves kept him from Torrin.

  The Elyndian king had a run of dumb luck, though, so maybe that would keep on keeping him alive.

  Peter and Dawsyn walked out, Dawsyn grumbling under his breath. “The King says to restock on supplies, get a few more men, and go back out there. He really wants that iina.”

  Cyprian and Peter exchanged glances and Cyprian suppressed a sigh. More people meant he had to work harder to keep it from happening without being found out.

  The next morning, the tavern was empty save for Ace and the trio. The three older men dug into plates of eggs and sausage. Ace had his head on the table, a steaming cup of coffee in front of him.

  Torrin marched up to the table and cleared his throat. “Is now a good time to discuss business?”

  “You again?” Ace grumbled. “I thought that was just a drunken hallucination. How else would you explain a voice like that?”

  Torrin scowled. “Are traitors usually this immature? When someone I trust recommends you for a problem I’m facing, I expect to find a reliable man. Not a bruised boy suffering from a hangover.”

  He jerked his head up, glaring at Torrin and pressing his hands against his temple. “Yer the ugliest Elyndian I’ve ever seen. Why don’t ya just show your face to your troubles an’ scare them away, Shorty?”

  Torrin pulled out a chair and sat down. “Look. Roscoe sent me to you. I need help with Corynth. No amount of insults is going to change that.”

  “Yer goin’ about the whole thing wrong.” He groaned and dropped his head back on the table. “Alright. What’s your trouble?”

  Torrin leaned forward. “I’m Torrin Slater and I want to take my throne back.”

  The trio f
roze. Ace looked up slowly. “Thank goodness for that. But ya do know yer bein’ a dang fool telling a stranger who you are, right?”

  Torrin shrugged. “I don’t have time to take chances.” And if he died, well, he died. No big deal.

  Don’t think like that, idiot. Your people need you.

  “Do you have any ideas on how to get rid of that royal misake?”

  “No, not, not really,” Torrin admitted. “I was hoping you would know some people.”

  A slow grin spread across Ace’s face. He turned to the trio, then back to Torrin. He chuckled, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Kid, how’re you still alive?”

  “Believe me, I’ve wondered the same thing. I barely know how to run a country, let alone plot to overthrow one.” He surveyed Ace’s loose-fitting blouse and scarlet sash. “That’s why Roscoe sent me to you. He said there’s nobody that knows more about rebellion than you.”

  He sighed, stirring his coffee with his finger. “So, I help you... what’s in it for me?”

  Torrin cocked an eyebrow, crossing his arms on the table. “As a traitor, your goal is to dethrone Corynth. We’ll be helping each other.”

  “Um, what about our..." Cason trailed off, glancing between Ace and his friends. “What about our deal?”

  Ace nodded. “I don’t break a promise, Cason. You three will get your end of the bargain, don’t worry.” He stuck his hand towards Torrin. “You’ve got a deal, Shorty.”

  Torrin blinked, extending his hand. “Just like that?”

  “Yeah. We both want the same goal, be best to work together. Come back in two months and we’ll start planning a rebellion.”

  “Why must I come back in two months?” The sooner he could save his people, the sooner he could maybe rid himself of the guilt.

  “Because the only crew I trust not to keelhaul me won’t be by until two months from now.”