by R J Hanson
“You are uneasy here?” Roland asked.
Kodii nodded, still seeming under siege by the city bustling around him.
“You are welcome to come with us, but if you prefer, you can meet us outside of the city. I would like to have you with us for the trip to the dwarven mines.”
Kodii nodded again and, without a word, made for the city gate.
“I should be about my business as well,” Marnie said in the most mature tone she could muster. “A Manager of Affairs has many duties and I must be about them.”
“Of course,” Roland said as he handed her a stack of gold coins. “I trust your judgement.”
Marnie smiled at that and, as she turned away, ambushed Eldryn with a quick kiss on the cheek.
“I think she has a crush on you, Sir Eldryn,” Claire said. She enjoyed the shade of red that El’ began to turn.
Tindrakin watched his first play and Sir Roland and Sir Eldryn ate to their hearts’ content. Clairenese enjoyed watching the three friends together. They made her feel welcomed, loved, and fortunate to have had her life take such a wonderful change of direction.
“What would you write to your father, dear?” Clairenese asked.
“I must tell him of the current situation and that we are to be married,” Roland said. “There won’t be any way to hear back from him for almost a year and half I suppose. We should put off the wedding until he has had ample time to arrive for the event.”
“There will be no delaying our wedding,” Clairenese said as she pulled an ivory tube from the large leather pouch she wore at her side.
“It will take the messengers a good deal of time to get the message to Fordir,” Roland replied apologetically. “Then he must prepare and travel to Skult. It could take some time. I would not insult him by marrying and not giving him the opportunity to attend.”
Clairenese pulled the cork from the end of the ivory tube and removed a sheet of cotton paper. She unrolled the page on the table before them.
“If you address the top of this page to the person you want to receive it then after you write the letter it will disappear and materialize in that person’s hands,” Clairenese said. “It is instantaneous. Father gave me three such sheets in case I needed to get a message to him.”
“You and your father are full of surprises,” Eldryn said.
“Sir Eldryn,” Clairenese said, “to quote from a great poet, ‘there is more under the heavens than is dreamt of in your simple philosophy.’”
It was Roland and Tindrakin’s turn to have a good laugh at Eldryn. This was one of the rare occasions that Sir Eldryn was the butt of a joke instead of the wielder. Eldryn himself laughed in acknowledgement.
“I suppose I should write to Father immediately,” Roland said. “If you all will excuse me, I will get our rooms and head upstairs.”
“Will you include a word from me that perhaps he could pass on to mother?” Eldryn asked.
“Of course, El’,” Roland said. “What would you like me to write?”
“Tell her of our knighthood,” Eldryn said. “Tell her we are well, that I want her to come see us, and that I’m posting a letter and enclosing coin for the trip.”
“I will ask that he pass it along,” Roland said.
Roland rolled up the cotton page and rose. He went to the bar to make arrangements for lodging and paid the bartender in gold. He collected three keys from the bartender and carried two of them to the table. Sir Roland dropped two of the keys in front of Sir Eldryn and Tindrakin.
“I’ll turn in now,” Roland said. “Claire, you enjoy yourself and come up whenever you are ready. I have a letter to write.”
Roland reached the room and lit the oil lamp on a stand next to the bed. A fire was set to be ignited in the fireplace. He started the fire and the room began to warm. He didn’t want Claire to trip over any of his things so, as he undressed, he placed most of his equipment across the room under the only window. He put Swift Blood and the flame dagger next to his side of the bed. Then he took the lamp from the stand and carried it to the desk across the room. Roland looked down at the page and took up the quill that was prepared on the desk top.
Lord Velryk had been riding for days on end. He had left Dalloth behind him two weeks prior. He had encountered several that had guessed who he was by the armor that he wore. The story that Lord Velryk was riding again began to spread. Old men retold stories to anyone that would listen of the battles and triumphs of the famed Lord Velryk. New stories were created by tale tellers that seemed just as true as the honest ones.
Velryk sat at a lonely campfire looking off into the night. He had been chastised enough when young about looking into the campfire after dark. He could clearly hear his father’s voice in his thoughts. Ivant the second of his name, spoke to him as he looked off into the black of the night. ‘It is a fool that looks into a campfire. It ruins your night vision and dulls your brain! If I catch you gazing into a fire, I’ll burn the eyes from your head. They’ll do you as much good if you’re fool enough to look into a fire at night.’
He was staring into the black when a sensation in his hands startled him. He looked down to find a page of fine quality in his hands. Velryk recognized the penmanship at a glance. His eyes began at the page as a hungry wolf does a wounded deer.
Father,
Yorketh is dead. He died at my hand. That is one score settled. I have decided that this Daeriv is an abuser of the weak and, therefore, should fall. I will utilize all of my abilities to see that happen.
I have begun making myself the son that you deserve. El’, and I are both knights of Lawrec now. We were knighted by Prince Ralston himself. El’ asks that you pass that along to Shaylee. He also asks that you tell her he is well, and that he hopes she will visit us in Skult. He is posting a letter to her with funds to cover any expense the trip may cause. El’ has an apprentice now. His name is Tindrakin and he has been a faithful friend.
Peterion, the boy I wrote to you about, has been accepted for Silver Helm training in Modins. He is a fine lad and turning out to be a fine warrior.
I ran from battle. I had to get something important back to the Prince and could not risk it falling into the hands of our enemies. I hope you don’t think it was the act of a coward. It was something I had to do. If by Fate, or just bad luck, I had fallen then the entire land could have been lost. I am sorry, Father, and would be even more so if you had heard of me running before I told you of it myself.
The reason for this letter is simply this. I am to be married in Skult. We plan to wait until you have plenty of time to arrive. However, I will understand if you choose not to come. Her name is Clairenese. She is a rarely beautiful and intelligent woman. Something else you should know is that her father is Lynneare. I have cause to think you will know his name.
I have tried to remain true to your lessons and will continue to attempt to be a son worthy of your time and training.
Your Faithful Son,
Sir Roland of Lawrec, son of Lord Velryk
Velryk read the words and looked back out into the night. Had he been as hard on Roland as his father had been on him? He had tried not to pressure him too much, but his failure with Verkial had affected him. Deep inside he knew that he hoped to heal the wrongs Verkial reaped on the lands with his second son, Roland. Somewhere inside he knew that he hoped he could make up for his mistakes with Verkial through Roland. Roland carried all of his hope.
Clairenese walked into the room to find Roland laying on the desk snoring next to the oil lamp. She smiled to herself realizing that her love for him had changed her. She now understood her father’s fears for his children for now she had the same fears for her soon to be husband and their son. It amazed her how, in such a short time, she had come to love the boy.
She reached into a deep pocket of the cloak she wore and pulled out a hand full of brown and gray dust. She sprinkled the dust across the threshold of the doorway. She woke Roland and guided him in his half sleep to the bed. She laid
down next to him, wrapping her arms around his stout chest and strong arms. She had never imagined the sort of comfort that she felt when she was lying next to him. She imagined their children and their life together. A smile graced her face as she drifted into her dreams.
Chapter XIV
Dwarven Steel
Roland rolled out of bed and came to his feet with Swift Blood ready in his hands. He saw the smoldering remains of a man clad in dark clothes laying across a scorch mark on the floor where a thin trail of dust had been a few hours before. Whoever he was, he had been successful at surpassing the lock on the door silently. The door was thrown wide open and two more men entered, one with a short sword and dagger, the other holding a crossbow.
Roland jerked awake. It had been a dream. Such a vivid dream. He began to realize he had dreamed like this before.
A loud crack, a burst of light, and a scream jarred Roland and Clairenese from their slumber. Roland, wide awake and ready, rolled out of bed and came to his feet with Swift Blood resting easy in his hands. As he expected, he saw the smoldering remains of a man clad in dark clothes laying across a scorch mark on the floor where a thin trail of dust had been a few hours before. The door was thrown wide open and two more men entered, one with a short sword and dagger, the other holding a crossbow.
Roland started toward them, however, the crossbowman was as close as he needed to be. The bolt flew from the crossbow and struck Roland in the lower abdomen. He grunted away the pain and continued toward them. He heard the glass of the window behind him break, but he had to handle these two first.
Roland feigned toward the assassin with the short sword and made his actual thrust toward the crossbowman that was frantically trying to draw a broadsword. Swift Blood stabbed through the air with an enchanted speed, its point traveling just below the assassin’s left collarbone and sinking eight inches into his torso. Roland quickly withdrew his blade in just enough time to parry the slash made by the short sword.
Roland heard the word ‘dactlartha’ and his hair stood on end. He braced himself for the strike from the magic bolt of black flame, but it did not come. Instead he heard screams coming from behind him. The assassin before him hurled his dagger, which took Roland in the upper left arm. The blade bit deeply into his bicep.
Roland deeply wished to make an overhead cut that would drop his opponent to his knees, however, the height of the room would not allow it. Roland had made an error in judgement, in tactics. It was a mistake to keep such a large blade next to him in a room where he couldn’t effectively use it. It was foolish and might be the cause of the loss of his life, or that of his love. In that moment Roland cursed himself for not taking up his axes instead of Swift Blood. Instead Roland made a powerful thrust that the assassin easily danced away from. Roland made several other cuts, but in the confines of the room his attacks were limited, and the assassin knew and understood the nature of the large blade. The screams from behind continued and Roland could hear movement behind him in the room.
Roland held Swift Blood in his wounded left arm. The assassin drew another dagger from his belt as he kept his short sword at the ready. Roland made another poorly aimed thrust. The assassin, fooled into thinking it was just a bad attack, did not notice Roland’s right hand pulling the dagger from his left arm. The assassin batted the weak thrust aside and started in for his follow up attack. He met his own dagger on his way in. Roland threw the dagger with deadly accuracy. The blade of the dagger buried into the assassin’s throat up to the hilt.
In that moment Roland remembered his father’s words. A lesson this assassin learned too late. Watch the blade, fight the man.
Roland whirled around to find Clairenese scanning the street carefully from far within the room. He also noticed another assassin on the floor with frost bite on his lower face and burns on his throat and chest. Roland further observed a dagger protruding from the fallen assassin’s left eye.
He walked over to Clairenese’s side.
“There were others,” Clairenese said calmly. “They fled when this one fell. I guess they didn’t plan on me being any trouble.”
“Well,” Roland said, “they sure misread you, didn’t they, my love.”
Roland smiled at Clairenese and she returned the smile.
“How can you be so relaxed and jovial?” she asked.
“I guess it comes with practice,” Roland said. “After a while you get used to the idea of assassins coming out of the dark.”
“You’re hurt!” Clairenese exclaimed, her whole mood changing in an instant.
“Yeah, I got lucky though,” Roland replied, trying very hard to look tough for his future bride. His wounds made that difficult to do. “I don’t think it’s too bad.”
“That’s absurd,” Clairenese said, very upset. “We must get you to a priest or a healer.”
Roland and Clairenese both turned to face the rushing footsteps that approached their door. Tindrakin and Eldryn burst through the door with their weapons drawn. Clairenese dropped her hand from the air and the arcane word she was beginning to breathe fell silent on her lips.
“What happened?” Eldryn asked.
“Assassins,” Roland replied simply.
“We haven’t even been in town a day!” Eldryn said.
Tindrakin and Claire both noted that El’s tone was not that of fear or even excitement, but a tone of exasperation.
“How could someone here already want you assassinated, and make the arrangements to have it done so quickly?” Tindrakin asked.
“We must get him to a healer or have one summoned,” Clairenese said. “He has been injured and is bleeding.”
“He’s lived through much worse,” Eldryn said.
Clairenese shot Eldryn a dangerous look. For a moment Lynneare’s legendary wrath could easily be seen in his daughter’s eyes.
“He must be taken to a healer,” Clairenese said with an unmistakable edge in her tone. All were a bit alarmed by the very real threat that tone implied.
“I’ll fetch one,” Tindrakin said, acting much smarter than his compatriots. He saw and read well the look on Claire’s face. “I’ll be back shortly.”
Eldryn watched Tindrakin go thinking that perhaps this time Tin had taught him something of tactics. Tin was on his way to find a healer and Eldryn was stuck here. He wasn’t sure which would be worse, Claire striking him dead with some sort of dark magic or having to watch her dote over Roland.
“You should be laying down,” Clairenese said to Roland.
Doting it would be.
“I will be fine,” Roland replied as he finished tying a cloth around the deep wound on his left arm. “El, I am going to need your help with this bolt.”
“Is it a barbed tip?” Eldryn asked.
“No,” Roland replied. “Simple smooth point. It was probably intended for more accurate and relaxed aiming.”
“Whenever you are ready,” Eldryn said.
“Hang on a moment,” Roland said as he made his way over to the bed. He sat down and then slowly lowered himself to the mattress. Roland took several deep breaths.
“Let’s get this done, El,” Roland said as he focused his eyes on a knot in a wooden plank in the ceiling.
Eldryn walked over to his friend and placed one hand on the bolt still sticking out of his lower abdomen and his other hand on Roland’s shoulder.
“Well,” Roland said. “What are you w….”
The rest of Roland’s words were lost in a shuttering breath. Eldryn quickly pulled the bolt free from Roland’s lower torso. Eldryn placed a thick cloth over the wound as blood began to seep out of the hole. Clairenese took Roland’s hand and looked into his eyes. Roland could see fear painted across her face.
“Don’t you worry, dear,” Roland said. “It is over now. I’m not going anywhere. I just need to keep it from bleeding too much now. I’ll be alright in a few days.”
“I don’t think there was anything important damaged,” Eldryn said. “You’ll just be sore for a wh
ile. The hole is bad enough to need sewing though.”
“Maybe a healer wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all,” Roland conceded.
Eldryn began going over the bodies of the slain assassins. He collected the crossbow, several bolts, twelve daggers, a black steel short sword, and three broadswords, one of them of mercshyeld. He also found a page of high-quality cotton paper.
“Roland, you may want to take a look at this stuff,” Eldryn said.
“What is it?” Clairenese asked as she continued to clean blood off of Roland’s stomach and hip.
Roland sat up, with some difficulty, to look over the weapons Eldryn had laid out on the floor.
“Whoever they are, they are well paid and well armed,” Roland said. “Mercshyeld is not cheap, nor is it common. The black steel short sword looks like an enchanted weapon, and two of those daggers look like the expensive sort.”
“There’s more than that,” Eldryn said as Roland laid back down on the bed. “This paper looks a lot like the paper Clairenese gave you last night to write that letter. It has a picture of you and a description. It describes a payment of two hundred fifty gold coins for proof of your death. It is signed ‘Jeza of the Black Fly.’”
Eldryn began checking the bodies of the assassins and discovered that two of the four had a small black fly tattooed behind their left ears, and a third had a similar tattoo on his collar bone just below the edge of his shirt.
