A Prince's Errand

by Dan Zangari

  Nordal casually glanced to his right at Midar. Midar had a blank expression on his clean-shaven face, his brown eyes staring at his cards. He methodically ran his freehand through his thick brown hair, scratching his scalp, but did nothing else. Midar was good at bluffing. Nordal could never tell when Midar was winning or losing.

  Beyond Midar, Hemrin sat with a smile on his face, his brown eyes gleaming. Hemrin was always smiling. Hemrin’s cards lay facedown on the table, his hands clasped over them.

  That boy is always in a good mood, Nordal thought.

  In addition to Hemrin’s jovial attitude, he had a reputation for luck. And his luck was infectious. Bring him along on an adventure with dismal prospects of discovery, and you’d stumble across a treasure trove. Take him into battle against a force stronger than your own and come out nearly unscathed. Hemrin was the personification of luck.

  The scent of lavin dissipated, and Nordal looked about the card table. Besides his two friends, four other men held cards. They were random strangers from the tavern who had agreed to play a few rounds of Sharzen.

  Sharzen was an old card game. Did it originate in Kildath? Nordal wondered. Or was it Los? The game had seven suits with twelve cards in each. Drake and Fairy were only two of the suits. Each of the other suits was named after a mythological creature.

  “Well?” barked the man sitting across the table from Nordal. He glared menacingly. The scar across his left eye didn’t help.

  “Are you that eager to lose?” Nordal said with a smirk. Another man grunted, shaking his head.

  Nordal had won each of the previous rounds. Little glass marbles sat in a pile in front of him; the marbles were the markers used at Orchin’s Tavern. Each of the marbles had colored flecks inside them, denoting denominations of coin: single digits, tens, hundreds, thousands. People usually didn’t gamble more than that at Orchin’s.

  “You shouldn’t act so smug,” the scar-faced man said. “I’ll get my coin back.”

  Nordal sat back, grinning. He looked to his friends and then set his four cards upright.

  “What?!” blurted one of the men, staring wide-eyed at Nordal’s cards.

  “No!” Another slammed his fist on the table, shaking the marbles in front of Nordal.

  Marbles elsewhere on the table shifted. Whoever thought marbles would be good markers? Nordal wondered. He’d been to other places that used clear cubes with colored flecks. Now that seemed smarter than balls that could roll all over the table.

  The scar-faced man, however, simply glared at Nordal. There was an unmistakable hatred in his eye. Mister Scar-face had gambled and lost all his markers. Nordal, however, ignored the disdained look and grabbed the marbles near the stack of cards at the table’s center: the bets for that round. The number of marbles represented enough money for a small family to live on for three months. That was pocket change for Nordal.

  “You cheated,” one of the men said, glowering.

  “Nah,” Hemrin piped up, waving his hand, “he’s just lucky tonight.”

  “Uh-huh,” Midar nodded.

  Feeling smug, Nordal looked at each of the men playing with him and his friends. “Thanks for playing. Maybe you’ll do better next time.” Scar-face just continued glaring, but the others muttered complaints.

  With the game concluded, Nordal pulled out a wrapped bag that he kept in the pocket of his pants and put the marbles inside it. Midar and Hemrin did the same, taking the marbles that remained from their bets.

  Without a word, Nordal left the table and sauntered across the tavern. Several other friends of his sat at a nearby bar: Cordel and Shen. Both of them were talking to several women, undoubtedly trying to find some pleasure tonight.

  Nordal eventually stopped at a barred window and counter where the tavern’s clerk sat in a chair reading a book. “I need to cash these in,” he said, placing his sack on the counter.

  “Us too,” Hemrin said. Both he and Midar set their bags on the counter beside Nordal’s sack.

  The clerk looked up, took the bags and counted each of the marbles. He then replaced them with Sorothian gold coins. One by one, he handed the bags back to the men.

  “It’s a good thing we decided to pool our money,” Midar said.

  “Yeah,” Hemrin said, “or I’d be walking away with all your money!” The three of them laughed. It was probably true.

  “Are we doing anything else here?” Midar asked, putting a hand in his pocket.

  Nordal looked about the tavern, searching for a pretty face, but he didn’t see any that weren’t already engaged with other fellows. “Nah.” Nordal shook his head. “I’m getting tired.”

  “All right,” Midar said, motioning with his bag to Nordal, “shall we head back to your place and split this?” Nordal nodded. He turned around, noticing their fellow card players moving throughout the tavern. They were whispering to several other men. Scar-face tried gesturing discreetly to Nordal, but his gesture didn’t go unnoticed by others. That didn’t bode well. Well, perhaps for a normal person. But Nordal enjoyed a good brawl.

  “Let’s go,” he said, jerking his head toward the door.

  The three of them nonchalantly crossed the tavern, but as they reached the doors, one of the men they had played with called to them. He was a squat man.

  “You three,” the squat man said. “Stop.”

  Nordal turned, raising an eyebrow.

  “Wanna play another game?” the squat man asked.

  “I’m done with Sharzen,” Nordal said, grabbing the doorknob.

  The squat man laughed. “Nah, we got something better.”

  “Sure, why not?” Hemrin chimed.

  “Okay,” the squat man said. “But not here. We’ll meet you outside.” He hurried off, moving through the tavern to Scar-face. Both Scar-face and Squat-man talked to several others, about twelve in all. They all looked like tough men. Soldiers? Nordal thought. No, probably mercenaries. Those were common here in Soroth. They—

  A firm hand gripped Nordal’s shoulder, belonging one of the tavern’s bouncers. He stood taller than Nordal, which was surprising. Not many people were. But this man was a bouncer after all. “No trouble, you hear?” the bouncer said firmly, his tone matching his grip.

  “Do I ever cause trouble at Orchin’s?” Nordal asked innocently, tying his sack of coins around his belt.

  The bouncer sighed and then stepped back. He folded his arms and looked at the crowd of men gathering around Scar-face. Squat-man, however, moved across the tavern.

  Midar opened the door, and both he and Hemrin stepped outside. Nordal, however, lingered for a moment and looked once again at Cordel and Shen. Should he grab them? Nah, we’ll be fine, he thought as he joined Midar and Hemrin outside.

  A cool breeze wafted across Nordal’s face. It felt nice. Dusk had fallen upon the street, but oil-burning lampposts lit the area.

  “We’re going to the right,” Squat-man said as he passed Nordal. Scar-face and another man were beside him. The three of them continued but the rest of their fellows stood behind Nordal and his two friends.

  Nordal looked at the others, twelve of them. So, fifteen total? he thought, glancing to Midar with an anticipating grin. Midar, however, rolled his eyes. Nordal hurried to follow Squat-man and Scar-face. They turned down an alley two buildings away from Orchin’s Tavern.

  “We can cut across here,” Squat-man said. He had done all the speaking so far. Scar-face was probably too infuriated.

  Once they were partway down the alley Nordal slowed his gait. “So what’s this game we’re gonna play?” he asked, feigning ignorance.

  Scar-face stopped, turning to Nordal. Squat-man and the other man stopped as well. So did all of their buddies behind Nordal.

  “Well,” Scar-face finally spoke, “It’s called, Beat the cheater—”

  Nordal heard his name shouted over Scar-face’s answer. It came from behind him. That wasn’t Shen or Cordel, Nordal thought, turning around. A large and burly man stood at the alley’
s entrance, but Nordal couldn’t make out his face. It was too dark—

  “That was all my coin for the month, and I’m gonna get it back!” Scar-face shouted.

  Nordal turned back around just as Scar-face swung his fist at his nose. A thrilling sensation surged through Nordal, and he dodged the blow, moving along Scar-face’s arm. Scar-face tried to recoil, but Nordal grabbed his wrist. In one swift motion, Nordal pulled Scar-face’s arm and slammed an open palm into his elbow, throwing his entire weight into the blow.

  Now off balance, Scar-face screamed, falling to the ground with his elbow inverted.

  A cacophony of grunts, shouts, cracking bones and jingling coins echoed through the alley at that same moment. It was beautiful!

  Nordal spun, arcing a kick to Squat-man’s head. The blow landed before Squat-man could defend himself, and it sent him stumbling into the wall. The other man in the lead leapt forward, drawing a concealed dagger from his tunic. With lightning reflexes, Nordal launched a kick into the man’s stomach, knocking him backward.

  Scar-face whimpered beneath Nordal. “W-wh…”

  “You obviously didn’t know what you were getting into,” Nordal said, looking back across the alley. Midar and Hemrin were relentless. Their opponents were pretty sloppy and easily fell unconscious. But Midar and Hemrin were quite skilled. They had been trained by the best, after all. Two to twelve wasn’t a fair match. Scar-face should have brought more friends.

  Nordal glanced over his shoulder where the dagger-wielding man was advancing again. “Haven’t had enough, huh?” Nordal asked, evading a piercing blow. He grabbed the wrist of the hand holding the weapon and raised it high, then followed up with a flurry of blows to the man’s ribs. “You shouldn’t play with sharp things,” Nordal scolded, disarming the man. The dagger fell to the ground, and then its wielder followed.

  Nordal turned once again. He clearly saw the burly man who had called his name. His wavy brown hair rustled from the breeze blowing through the alley, and his hazel eyes stared sternly at Nordal.

  “Not going to join the fun, Kalder?” Nordal asked, putting his hands on his hips.

  “No,” Kalder answered.

  Several of the men who had been brawling with Midar and Hemrin ran past Kalder, hurrying out of the alley.

  “If you’re done playing, we need to go,” Kalder continued. “Cor has called a meeting.”

  “Oh?” Nordal perked up.

  “Did he say what about?” Hemrin asked.

  “Yes, but that’s not something I should mention here,” Kalder said, looking at the beaten men groaning in the alley. “Eighty-seven hounds dancing in the moonlight.”

  Nordal’s eyes widened in surprise, Oh boy! The phrase was one of many codes used by Nordal’s mentor, Cornar Dol’shir, to relay information when calling upon those of his adventuring band. They were a way to conceal jobs from other mercenaries or treasure seekers. People were always trying to find grand discoveries and sell them to achieve unrivaled fortunes.

  This code spoken by Kalder, however, was one Nordal had rarely heard. Moonlight conveyed urgency, hounds represented artifacts—dancing was code for magical artifacts, tevisrals—and the number signified the grandeur of the job or adventure. Nordal had never heard anything higher than forty-five.

  Tilthan is going to hate missing this, Nordal thought. Tilthan had left two days ago on a job for a snooty man named Chernil. A gem heist. Nordal had wanted to join them, but Chernil insisted on only Tilthan, Nath, and Nemral. Well, now I’m glad I didn’t go, Nordal thought, smiling.

  “I better grab Cordel and Shen,” Midar said, picking his way through the alley. Kalder nodded and then moved back through the alley. Hemrin and Nordal followed. The younger man was excited. Hemrin looked like he couldn’t contain it. Nordal felt the same.

  Once in the street Kalder looked around. “I think we’ve notified everyone else here in Soroth.”

  “Are we meeting at Cor’s estate here in the city?” Hemrin asked.

  “No, out in the country,” Kalder said. “The meeting is tomorrow night, but he wants everyone gathered as soon as possible. I’m going back tonight. I’ll need to go to Sarn in the morning.”

  “We’ll ride with you,” Nordal said, and turned to walk away, but stopped when Kalder called to him.

  “Let’s meet at the city’s northern gate.”

  “Fine by me!” Nordal shouted, jogging down the street.

  * * * * *

  Moonlight reflected off the calm waters of Alarn’s Cove within Salarn Bay. There hadn’t been any vessels moving for hours, and so the water looked like a sprawling mirror. It was the perfect setting, ideal for Ordreth’s plans tonight.

  He sat quietly at a dining table for two on a private balcony. Ordreth wore a formal tunic and pants, both made of blue silk, with white paneling along the pant legs and chest. Flowery embroidery adorned the white areas, woven with dark-blue threads. Tonight was a special occasion after all. Why spare on the clothing when he was spending an extravagant amount on this place? The Andelbree Inn was one of the classiest places on the entire island, probably even in this quarter of the ocean.

  This will be a night to remember, Ordreth thought. He looked skyward, staring at Kistern, one of Kalda’s moons. The moon was full and shone white, unlike Kaelyrn which shone a mismatch of colors: blue, green, brown, yellow, white, and sometimes red. What a strange moon that was. Good thing Kaelyrn isn’t out tonight, he thought.

  A pattern of clicking and clanking echoed from behind Ordreth. That’s her, he thought. Don’t screw this up… Ordreth took in a deep breath, imagining his lovely Sharon made up and dressed fancifully. Intoxicating! But why imagine it? Just turn around!

  Ordreth slowly let out his breath, turning in his chair. His eyes widened in surprise as he gazed upon Sharon.

  Sharon walked toward him, her heels clicking against the floor. She wore a pale-blue, knee-length gown, one shoulder bare. The other arm was exposed, toned yet feminine. Her tanned olive skin looked soft and silky next to the dress. She smiled at Ordreth. Oh, those dimples! And those deep-set green eyes… breathtaking!

  “You can stop gawking,” Sharon said, her tone roguish. She grinned, raising the left side of her lip, something she did when being playful.

  “But you’re just so tantalizing,” Ordreth said, watching Sharon take her seat across the table. She smiled but rolled her eyes. She always did that when he commented on her beauty.

  “The food should be here soon,” Ordreth said, tightening his lips. He was getting nervous. But who wouldn’t be when asking the most gorgeous woman in the world for her hand in marriage?

  Sharon nodded, looking out over the cove. Ordreth followed her gaze. The Andelbree Inn was far enough away from the city of Dentir that there wasn’t much commotion. The shores on this side of the Isle of Soroth were often quiet. Shipping vessels didn’t come this far west. They’d stop in Soroth, and then native ships would carry their goods to the other islands of the Principality. Those ships rarely passed through Salarn Bay. Sailing to the other cities or towns on the western side of the Isle of Soroth would take just as long as traveling by horseback or caravan. Beside the occasional leisure boat, Salarn Bay was empty—

  Boats?! Ordreth chided himself. You’re thinking of boats and shipping routes? He shook his head slowly. No, this was the perfect moment. He couldn’t let it be ruined.

  Ordreth glided his hand from the table, checking the pocket of his pants. He felt the tiny envelope holding Sharon’s betrothal band. Just like you practiced, he thought. You can do this… Ordreth took in another breath, finding courage. Who would believe that this would be more nerve-wracking than charging across a battlefield? “Sharon,” Ordreth said, his voice calm. He waited for her to turn toward him. She raised her brow, batting her eyelashes.

  “Sharon,” he continued, “you have been an inspiration to me ever since we met seven years ago. The way you walk, the confidence that you exude… It’s really incredible.” Ordreth paused,
taking in a breath. Sharon said nothing, but she kept looking at him with her raised brow. “And your skills with a blade are…” Oh, no! That wasn’t part of what he rehearsed. “I mean, you’re very good at what you do for a living.”

  “Thievery?” Sharon laughed. She squinted her eyes and smiled at him. “Okay…”

  “You’re incredible,” Ordreth blurted. “That’s what I’m trying to say. You’re amazing. I’d dare say, perfect.” He let that sink in for a moment. Her expression softened. “You’re perfect for me,” he added. Yes, that was better! “I don’t think any woman could rival you.”

  Sharon opened her mouth. That expression said, “That’s the sweetest compliment you’ve given me.” Ordreth savored that look, but heard footsteps approaching. He’d better hurry before the waiter arrived—

  “Ordreth, Sharon!” a man called out. The footfalls hastened. Sharon jumped, bracing one hand against the tabletop. Ordreth, however, turned sharply. That didn’t sound like the waiter… Within seconds, a man of average height stumbled onto the private balcony. It was the illusionist, Hem. His dark-brown hair was disheveled, and sweat beaded his forehead.

  “You guys won’t believe it!” Hem exclaimed. “Eighty-seven hounds dancing in the moonlight! Eighty-seven hounds dancing in the moonlight!” He nearly shouted it the second time.

  Sharon blinked several times and then shook her head in disbelief. Ordreth, however, cocked his head, confused. Surely Uncle Cor knew what Ordreth had planned for tonight. By Heleron’s Trident, Ordreth had shown him the ring!

  “Are you sure, Hem?” Sharon asked.

  “Oh yeah!” Hem nodded, smiling broadly. “This is going to be amazing!” he cried again, clapping his hands.

  “Wow…” Sharon said with a gasp. She looked wide-eyed at Ordreth, but then studied him quizzically.

  Ordreth didn’t share the enthusiasm. Sure, he could get excited about an adventure, especially one that sounded as intriguing as this. It obviously was big if Uncle Cor was using eighty-seven. And the code for tevisrals, well that was always good. But none of that mattered when compared to tonight. He was proposing to the most important woman in his life! That was worth far more than any hidden treasure.