The Beggar's Past

by J B Drake

  “Look around you,” was all the chronodragon said.

  Her frown deepening, Marshalla cast her gaze about the people about her. They were all staring, and there was dread in each eye she glanced into. Stopping, Marshalla stared at the crowd, her mind unable to comprehend what about her could strike fear in so many. Then, she remembered something.

  “They can’t see you, can they?” she mumbled.

  “No.” Anieszirel smiled.

  “Ah.”

  And with a nod, she hurried after Anise, her head bowed and her gaze forward.

  “Well, hurry up, then!” Anieszirel cried as she stared down the street at the pair.

  “You’d think it was her sister we came to see,” Anise growled, eliciting a chuckle from the red-haired girl walking beside her.

  Neither hastened their steps, however, a defiance that earned them a heated glare from the impatient chronodragon. But, even at their leisurely amble, it wasn’t long before all three were standing at the front door of the home of the former Archmage Arenya Drakesong.

  Staring at the door, Anise sighed, but remained unmoving.

  “Well?” Anieszirel demanded after a spell.

  “Ani…” Marshalla warned.

  “Oh, don’t Ani me, you,” the chronodragon seethed. “She’s been dragging her feet since we left the inn! I’m all for taking things slowly, but this is ridiculous!”

  “Ani!” Marshalla hissed.

  “Ugh!” the chronodragon cried. Then, crossing her arms beneath her bosom, she marched behind the pair to glare at them some more.

  Shaking her head, Marshalla turned to the Archmage. She was still staring at the door.

  “Are you alright?” Marshalla asked.

  “Hrm?” Anise said, turning to the girl beside her.

  “Are you alright?” Marshalla repeated.

  “Yeah!” Anise exclaimed, her voice carrying more conviction than her eyes, and before Marshalla could speak, the Archmage put out a hand and knocked.

  They were greeted with silence.

  “Knock again,” Anieszirel said.

  “Ani, would you…” Marshalla hissed, only for the door to swing open.

  As the door swung open, all three stared at the man who stood framed in the doorway. Even with his hair grown to his shoulders and his face having upon it a moustache and beard worthy of nobility, all three knew precisely who it was the moment they laid eyes upon him.

  “Eldred?” Marshalla exclaimed.

  Eldred stood silent as he stared at them, his serene face creased by a slight smile. As he moved to speak, however, a voice called out from beyond the door.

  “Who is it?”

  Stopping, his smile widening, Eldred turned and stared to where the voice had come.

  “They’re here,” he said.

  “Who’s here?”

  His smile widening still, he moved to respond.

  “They’re here!” the voice shrieked, words followed closely by clattering cutlery and shattering glass.

  “Oh, gods, they’re here!” the voice cried. “How can they be here now?”

  Once more, Eldred moved to speak.

  “Delay them, Eldred! Delay them!”

  “What?” Eldred frowned.

  “I can’t let them see me like this!” replied the voice. “Look at my hair! And my clothes! And look at this place!”

  “Arenya, they’re—”

  “Delay them, Eldred, please!” the voice replied. “Just for a little while! Tell them…tell them I’m having a bath!”

  “But—”

  “Delay them, Eldred!” the voice pleaded. “Please!”

  Just then, the sound of running drifted to the three, and as the sound faded Eldred turned to stare at Anise and Marshalla once more, his smile returning.

  “I’m afraid Arenya’s having a bath right now—”

  “We just heard her, Eldred,” Anise interjected.

  “Oh, I know that,” Eldred replied. “But I had to say it all the same. And when you come in, would you mind pretending you didn’t hear any of that?”

  “What?” Anise frowned.

  “Please,” Eldred replied. “Allow her her pride.”

  Anise and Marshalla looked at each other before staring at Eldred once more.

  “Fine,” Marshalla said.

  “Very well,” Anise added.

  “Splendid!” Eldred exclaimed.

  “This is so stupid,” Anieszirel growled.

  But even she held her peace, and before long, a silence fell upon the assembled company, a silence punctuated by the sounds emanating from the open door, sounds of a woman tidying her home.

  “Wait,” Marshalla spoke up, turning to stare hard at Eldred. “You said we was here.”

  “Yes,” Eldred frowned.

  “You didn’t sound surprised or nothing. You was expecting us?”

  Eldred smiled and nodded. “Thane sent word you were on your way.”

  “You what?”

  Eldred nodded once more. “He said you and Anise would be coming by the silk caravan.” Then he frowned. “That caravan arrived yesterday, though.”

  “Sod all that!” Marshalla snapped, waving his words away. “How’d Thane know where we was going? He’s not Tower anymore.”

  Eldred’s frown returned. “I imagine Maline told him.”

  “Why the bloody hells would Maline be talking to him?”

  Eldred stared at Anise a spell, his confusion plain, confusion that blinded him to Anise’s silent plea for a change of subject.

  “He’s going to bloody tell her, isn’t he?” Anieszirel muttered.

  “Because he works with her in Mardaley’s store,” Eldred said, his words falling from his lips just as Marshalla was about to demand an answer from the chronodragon.

  At his words, Marshalla’s eyes slowly grew in size as her face darkened, a vicious snarl twisting her lips.

  “Oh bother,” Eldred said. “You didn’t know.”

  “I see what Baern meant about bouts of idiocy,” Anieszirel sighed, eliciting a chuckle from Anise.

  In an instant, Marshalla rounded on her, glaring at the Archmage for all she was worth.

  “Oh, don’t look at me like that,” Anise said. “She was going to tell you…eventually.”

  “You mean you knew too?”

  “Well…” Anise began before turning to Eldred, wincing briefly as she turned.

  Just as Marshalla drew breath to respond, however, the door flew wide, and standing beside Eldred was Arenya. Though out of breath, and her hair matted and wet, she still carried herself with the same grace and poise she’d been known for. As she appeared, three pairs of eyes fell to her belly, the loose gown she wore doing little to hide its slight yet distinct swell. As for Arenya, her gaze remained upon her sister, and with a quivering smile, she slipped a hand into Eldred’s as she stood before her guests.

  “You came,” she said at last.

  As she spoke, her eyes darted from Anise’s face to her sister’s hands as her cheeks reddened.

  “You were supposed to be here yesterday,” she continued. “Eldred went looking for you, but the caravan said you never joined.”

  “Yes,” Eldred nodded. “We thought you’d changed your mind.”

  “No,” Anise shook her head, “we just joined a different caravan.”

  “Oh?” Eldred asked. “Why?”

  Anise shrugged in response.

  A brief silence fell upon them all, chilling the air between them a little.

  “Uhm,” Arenya began, but fell silent as she turned to her beloved.

  “Why don’t you come in?” Eldred said, stepping aside and drawing Arenya with him.

  “Why not?” Anise said.

  As she moved to enter, however, Arenya lunged at her, throwing her arms about her sister and hugging her close, then before anyone could speak, the former Archmage let go of her sister and hurried in.

  In response, Anise turned to Eldred, her brow furrowed deep.

&
nbsp; “She had a speech prepared,” Eldred replied, reading Anise’s face perfectly. “A rather nice one, too. She was going to end it by asking you to let her hold you like Daniton used to make her do after one of your fights.”

  “What?”

  Eldred shrugged, a brief smile upon his lips. “She’d been practising it since we got Thane’s missive.”

  “Oh,” was all Anise could say.

  “The dining room is through there,” Eldred continued, nodding in the direction Arenya had gone.

  Anise turned to stare after her sister, but remained where she stood.

  “Anise?”

  Turning, she stared at Marshalla’s smiling face.

  “Go on, then,” the young girl said.

  With a smile of her own, the hesitant Archmage nodded and headed in after her sister, her companion close behind her.

  “They’d better not start bawling,” Anieszirel growled as she floated in after the pair, just as Eldred closed the door behind them all.

  Smacking her lips, Marshalla sat back in her chair and sighed.

  “Good, then?” Arenya asked, smiling.

  Nodding, Marshalla sighed once more, but then leant forward and, staring into the ether, let out a rather large burp.

  “Bloody hells,” she sighed as she sat back once more.

  “What?” she added the moment she noticed all eyes were upon her.

  “I shall take that as a yes, then, shall I?” Arenya said after a spell, a smile dancing on her lips.

  “And a yes from me too, Arenya,” Anise added, grinning. “Your cooking is much improved. I daresay you’ve surpassed me now.”

  Giggling, Arenya turned to her beloved, placing a head upon his shoulders.

  “I didn’t cook it,” she said at last.

  “Don’t!” Eldred winced.

  “What, you cooked it?” Anise exclaimed.

  Wincing still, Eldred nodded.

  “His cooking was one of the things that won my heart,” Arenya added. “Who doesn’t love a man who knows his way around a kitchen?”

  “Oh?” Anise smiled. “Where’d you learn?”

  “Our cook taught me,” Eldred replied. “I had lessons three times a week. Every week.”

  “What you doing learning to cook for?” Marshalla added. “You lot got people for that!”

  Sighing, Eldred rose. “Yes, we did. But mother dearest felt it was necessary I learn.”

  “No son of hers was going to be at the mercy of some ’worthless harridan’,” he continued as he placed Arenya’s plate upon his. “Her words.”

  “But you were nobility,” Anise replied. “Even if you had a harridan for a wife, you’d still have had a cook, wouldn’t you?”

  Grinning, Eldred leant over and picked up Anise and Marshalla’s plates. “I learnt a long time ago, when dealing with my mother, it was often best to simply nod, smile, and say ’Yes, mother’.”

  “Bloody hells,” Marshalla muttered as Eldred turned and headed for the kitchen.

  “How’s Daniton?” Arenya asked as Eldred disappeared from view.

  Anise smiled. “He misses you.”

  Arenya smiled in return. “I miss him too.”

  “Well, you’d better hurry up and give birth, then,” Anise replied, her eyes going to Arenya’s stomach. “He’ll be wanting to meet his nephew. Or is it niece?”

  Grinning, Arenya lowered her own gaze as she placed a loving hand upon her stomach. “We don’t know.”

  “You don’t want to know?”

  Arenya shook her head as she stared at her sister.

  “But you’re happy here?”

  Arenya took a deep breath, then let it out slowly as she pondered the question.

  “I’m…content here,” she said at last.

  “Merely content?” Anise frowned, then stared at the open kitchen door. “He’s not treating you well?”

  Arenya’s grin returned. “Oh, he treats me better than I deserve. He’s always had. It’s just… No, let me not bore you with this.”

  “You won’t” Anise replied. “Truly.”

  “Won’t what?” Eldred asked as he reappeared with a tray of the most scrumptious-looking cake.

  “My word!” Anieszirel exclaimed, seated upon the sill of the window behind Anise.

  Marshalla, for her part, simply stared at the cake, her mouth agape.

  “Arenya was saying she was content here,” Anise replied as Eldred set the tray down in the middle of the table, “but not happy.”

  “Hm.” Eldred nodded as he placed plates before all four of them. “It’s the town. Kirsk isn’t what it used to be.”

  “You been here before?” Marshalla asked.

  “Oh, no,” Eldred replied as he pulled forth a knife. “But Arenya told me of how this place used to be in the old days.”

  “The old days?” Areyna asked. “You make me sound ancient.”

  “Forgive me,” Eldred grinned.

  “What’s changed about the town?” Anise asked.

  At her words, Eldred’s smile dissipated, but it was Arenya who spoke.

  “It’s not the town, it’s the necromancers. In the old days we used to be a community. We helped each other, be it knowledge, materials, even able-bodied men to go gathering in Fa’aldurn. But now…”

  “Now, it’s every necromancer for themselves.” Eldred sighed.

  Arenya nodded. “Yes. Just the other day, Eldred had to break up a fight on our very door step. Three necromancers had called on me to ask me to join their research. Only, when they realised how much overlap there was in their research, they very nearly came to blows.”

  “And then, there’s Fa’aldurn itself,” Eldred muttered.

  “What about Fa’aldurn?” Anieszirel demanded.

  “What about Fa’aldurn?” Anise repeated.

  “That place is a battlefield,” Eldred replied.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean many necromancers, and their sellswords, learnt a long time ago that sometimes the most expedient way to get what they want is to take it off the corpse of a sellsword who’s already got it.”

  “Good gods!” Anise exclaimed. “And the peacekeepers permit this?”

  “What can they do?” Arenya shrugged. “The sellswords outnumber them at least seven to one, and growing. Why be a peacekeeper and live on a pittance, when you can be a sellsword and live like a king in comparison?”

  “So far they’ve managed to keep the peace in town by having the sellswords watch each other,” Eldred continued. “No battling in the streets, any sellsword group that does can be expected to be hunted by the other sellswords the moment they set foot within Fa’aldurn.”

  “That’s just—”

  “Vile and barbaric, I know, but it keeps the peace. Any dispute within the groups is handled behind closed doors, and any disputes between groups is handled in Fa’aldurn.”

  “What you mean, groups?” Marshalla asked, frowning. “Thought sellswords work alone.”

  Eldred shook his head. “Most work in small groups. But in Kirsk, they’ve all banded into larger ones. Like guilds.”

  “Why?”

  “Self-preservation, why else?”

  “And here I was thinking I could learn a bit more about the creatures within the Marsh,” Anise sighed.

  “Why would you want to learn anything about the Marsh?” Eldred frowned. “You’re not a necromancer.”

  “She wants to bring something back for the Pens,” Arenya grinned. “She can’t help herself.”

  With a sheepish smile, Anise shrugged.

  “Ah!” Eldred grinned, then began slicing the cake.

  “Well,” he continued as he placed a slice of the cake before Anise, “I know a little about some of the creatures in there.”

  “I doubt it’ll help you, though,” Arenya replied. “Naeve would have an uprising on her hands if she allowed any of the creatures we know about set foot in the Pens.”

  Anise grinned. “Don’t remind me.”
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  “There are a fair few other creatures in there of no interest to a necromancer that might be of interest to you, though.”

  “Oh?”

  Arenya nodded. “I don’t know much about them myself, but perhaps your journey won’t be a total waste.”

  “I think I know which ones you mean,” Eldred added as he placed a slice of cake upon Arenya’s plate, “though I’ve yet to meet anyone who knows more than the odd rumour.”

  “Weighton would,” Arenya replied.

  “Who?” Marshalla asked.

  “Daniel Weighton,” Eldred replied, placing a second, more generous slice before his beloved. “His sellswords seem to know just what grows where, and what creatures can be found where.”

  “Yes,” Arenya replied as she picked up a fork, her eyes now upon the gorgeous cake before her. “Rumour has it the old goat was around when Fa’aldurn was Aldurn.”

  At those words, Anieszirel sat ramrod straight whilst Marshalla and Anise shared a glance, their eyes bright. Thankfully, neither host noticed.

  “You don’t sound like you believe it,” Anise replied, her voice calm but her fist clenched.

  “Hrm?” Arenya replied as she lifted a large piece of her cake to her lips.

  “It’s a hard one to believe,” Eldred replied as he placed a large slice before Marshalla. “The man is human, and the whole Aldurn thing happened about a hundred years ago. Humans don’t live that long.”

  Anise shrugged. “I’ve known a few humans live to a hundred.”

  Eldred smiled as he placed a second, larger slice onto Anise’s plate. “The rumours say he was a well-respected landowner back then. He’d have to be well past a hundred now, possibly even a hundred and fifty. Humans do not live that long.”

  “I think,” Arenya mumbled, licking her fork as she raised her gaze to her sister, “Weighton is the grandson of a landowner, and Aldurn was one of those places wealthy land owners made it their business to learn everybody else’s. You know how humans get when they’re rich and bored. His family must’ve kept records of what everyone else did, didn’t do, bought, sold, held and grew. And now Weighton’s reaping the rewards of all of that.”

  “We need to see those records,” Anieszirel muttered.

  “I think he is, too,” Eldred said as he placed a slice upon his own plate, then sat, “But the man isn’t stupid. He’s heard the rumours about him, and he’s playing up to it.”