Thieves were foolish to boast of their spoils, but often did so in the midst of Glacier Ridge. There wasn’t any nobility amongst thieves, either. On rare occasions some would readily plunge a dagger into the back of another for a small pouch of coins. Sometimes less.
But murder seldom occurred wherever heavy drinking was allowed, and Hobskin’s Tavern offered the strongest drinks at the most reasonable prices. There was no need to kill another thief for spoils, provided he drank himself unconscious.
Crukas never understood why any thief would jeopardize himself by boasting his spoils like a bard would sing tales. Such foolishness reaped loss and heartbreak. One thing that set Crukas apart from the others was his small knowledge of magic, where he could quickly disappear and pop up elsewhere. He was a novice, but he kept practicing and stealing new spell scrolls, hoping to eventually master magic. Such increased his ability to steal more valuable items.
A sudden blast of harsh cold wind brought Crukas out of his daydream state. By dawn, he had rode up a narrow winding path that cut through the rugged, snowcapped mountains. The shortcut was dangerous, but lessened the journey to Glacier Ridge by several days.
Dark clouds hung over the horizon, boasting of the impending blizzard. The stolen horse held itself sternly against the mountain wall as it trudged carefully along the narrow path. Lightning flashed in the distance. At the height of the pinnacle, Crukas pulled the horse into a small side cave that was barely room enough for the two of them. The wind whistled outside the cave door.
Crukas needed sleep and the tired old horse needed to rest, too. Alertness was required for the next winding stretch before they descended downward into the narrow valley that opened into the back region of Glacier Ridge.
Glacier Ridge was the thieves’ town of choice, but only he knew of the narrow mountain bypass trail. It was the best way to exit quickly and not be seen should any bounty hunters locate him in Glacier Ridge. The best thieves prepared quick exits before they entered any town or tavern.
From the horse’s saddlebag, Crukas took a small burlap bag of grain and fastened it over the horse’s mouth so it could eat. He huddled into the corner and pulled his knees against his chest. Even if there had been room to light a fire, he didn’t have any flint to start one or anything to feed a fire for that matter. At least the angle of the cave entrance kept the slashing icy winds from invading their temporary abode.
The horse munched its food, and Crukas cracked open several of the walnuts. He plucked out the tender meat and popped them into his mouth. Closing his eyes, he savored the flavor while he chewed.
Although he tried to convince himself that he never held any remorse for betraying the other thieves, he knew he could never believe his own lie. Out of all the thieves he had handed over to the authorities in Ironwood, he did regret turning Darrath in, even though she had pressed a knife to his throat and planned to gut him for his prized necklace.
Darrath was a beautiful elf with coal black hair and emerald green eyes. He had held a secret affection for her during the time he had resided with the guild. But he never took any threat lightly, especially if the threat was accompanied with a drawn blade. A worded threat was one thing. Actually pulling a serrated dagger and touching it against his flesh was something completely different. He believed if someone carried out that much of the action, they probably wouldn’t flinch much at the thought of killing him.
When the guards had placed the iron shackles on her wrists, hurt reflected in her lovely eyes. Tears brimmed, making her eyes shimmer and sparkle. Her shoulders sagged. He couldn’t tell if her pain was from his betrayal or if she had kept underlying feelings for him that she probably would have revealed had the situation between them been different. He didn’t know, and he probably would never know since she was dead. She was the only thief that he refused to stay behind and witness her execution.
His deep regret came only because as thieving youths, they had worked together scaling walls and stealing valuable trinkets from wealthy Hoffnung citizens while their unsuspecting victims slept. Although he never fully trusted anyone, performing such climbs and lookouts required them to at least suspend any distrust between them until after the loot was safely stolen and taken back to the guild hideout to be appraised by Agetor.
There was the one time when she had lost her footing, slipped, and almost plummeted to her death onto the polished city street below, but Crukas had caught her hand and held fast, pulling her back to the safety of the narrow ledge. Her response took him by surprise. She had kissed him deeply like a romantic lover, and then she hugged his neck tightly, which was a greater reward than the mystic wand they had stolen from a drunken mage soon thereafter. Her lips were soft, warm, and slightly moist while pressed against his. The rush of excitement was better than a sharp rise of adrenaline during the moments when he was almost caught slipping a pouch of gold off a city official’s belt.
That one kiss was all they had ever shared in intimacy, and he kept hoping they’d revisit that moment, but they never did. Perhaps her actions were more gratitude on her part than affection. She had blushed and her eyes held a longing that he had never seen before. By the time they had returned to the guild stronghold, she was back to her gruff nature, and that moment of warmth and passion was reburied beneath her rough exterior.
Even now, moments before he ventured into sleep, his heart ached in not having expressed his true feelings to her. That was before she had drawn the blade and threatened his life, of course. She was the only ghost that haunted his nightmares, and he hoped in time, the memories of her would fade. Pressing in the back of his mind, he didn’t think forgetting her would be so easy. Even in his dreams, she haunted him.
***
Candles of all widths and heights flickered around Zauber inside his hidden library. He had stood in a trance for well over a day. His mind carried him across rivers, valleys, into dark caverns, and onto high mountaintops, but he felt no pull from Lady Dawn’s presence. He couldn’t find her, and his heart sank. Deep inside he knew she was alive, but somehow she had concealed herself to where even his magic couldn’t locate her.
Odd.
He blinked twice and shook his head slightly. His knees wobbled, forcing him to lean against the crude worktable where magical fires boiled various potions inside floating vials and flasks. His body shook, from overwhelming sorrow and the lack of food and water.
He wept.
So much destruction had come to Aetheaon in such a short amount of time. The loss of Hoffnung’s royalty, the disappearance of the dragon guardians, the growth of the mystical Black Chasm, and the Vyking’s invasion into Hoffnung’s ports had seemed to seal the fate for all of the cities and townships within Aetheaon.
A magical ripple pulsed, nudging against him, and immediately caught his undivided attention.
“What is this?” he wondered.
Alliances were falling. The ten powerful Raven Sages were suddenly drained of their power. Gone in an instant. He sensed the problem had occurred in Vylan. Moments ago.
“Staven?” Zauber said into the ethereal plane.
No reply came. Not even the faintest whisper.
Another pulse. This one was smaller, but the flow of magic seemed familiar and powerful in its own way. Instead of fading magic, this brought something else along with it.
Hope?
Zauber’s brow creased. His eyes suddenly rolled back with only the whites showing.
He jolted from a gentle shocking sensation. Chill bumps pimpled his skin, rushing down his back and his arms.
A faery?
“Dear one,” Zauber whispered. “What have you done?”
An Overlander!
He sensed the two were traveling together, but for what purpose, he was uncertain.
His mind traced the intrusion, which was somewhere in the dark regions of Botis’ magically distorted caverns.
Why would a faery bring an Overlander human into Aetheaon? None of the Fae favored humans with any hi
gh opinion and much less for a human from beyond the other side of the realm barrier. So why would she lead a human back through a rift?
Zauber continued searching until he found the small faery’s magic. He smiled. “Little Shawndirea, the Butterfly Queen. What have you done? What is your purpose for bringing him here?”
He shook his head, blinked, and chuckled softly. Whatever her plans were, she should expect the exceeding wrath from her mother, Queen Istrell.
However, he knew Shawndirea, an adventurous faery, and whatever purpose she had, something good would result. She was wild in spirit for a faery but she was never outright foolish. Could an Overlander turn the magical tides set against all that was good within Aetheaon?
Zauber wondered. It didn’t seem possible.
Sudden tears of hope spilled from his dark eyes. Never had he experienced such waves of emotion washing through him. The Overlander was here to aid their cause, to right the wrongs, but he would need help.
Zauber’s help.
The wizard nodded, allowing his tears of hope to soak into his black winding beard. This unexpected event eased the growing worries that had been building inside the wizard’s soul, but he’d never fully be at ease until Lady Dawn was found and protected. Hoffnung would somehow regain its rightful Queen.
“Well, Overlander. We shall meet soon enough. But first I must prepare for such a meeting.”
Chapter Forty
Caen stepped into the dirt pit and faced Kaleb. The one-eyed man grinned and seemed eager to face the Dragon Knight. Dawn wondered why.
She didn’t fully trust Caen’s opponent, and she was curious as to how much the man actually knew about her father’s death and the disappearance of his body. Was he really there on the fateful day?
Kaleb had been a crass, condescending man in Pig-sty Tavern the night before. His accusations would have gotten his tongue cut out by a vile tempered knight with lesser self-restraint. At least Caen held greater self-restraint than most. He held greater patience than she did. He was more seasoned, and she was still learning how to deal with people outside the castle.
Several factors weighed against Kaleb in a match against Caen. The lack of one eye was perhaps his biggest handicap, but he was also obese with short arms, which didn’t allow him a long reaching capability. His gait was sluggish and off-balanced, but if he knew how to properly place his feet into defensive stances, he might be able to use his weight to his advantage. She was betting otherwise.
As Caen approached, Sarey sat down on the bench beside Dawn.
“What’s he doing?” Sarey asked.
“You didn’t hear Kaleb’s challenge?”
Sarey nodded. “I did, but I didn’t think Caen would accept.”
“Why wouldn’t he?”
“He doesn’t seem the type to humiliate a sparring opponent. Should Caen choose to shame Kaleb, my hamlet might not view your knight favorably since Kaleb has such obvious . . . disadvantages.”
Dawn suppressed her grin and became concerned about Caen’s reputation with the peasants of Esgrove. “Do you think that’s what will happen?”
“I don’t see how Kaleb could hold his own.”
“No, I mean your people resenting Caen.”
Sarey shrugged. “Perhaps not. Kaleb is also quite offensive in his behavior, which lessens favorability with our townspeople. But you need to understand how the peasants react. Since they have little, other than the rigorous toils in the fields, they often favor the underprivileged. While royalty has the protection of guards and knights inside their castles, the peasants are the ones that keep you rich.”
“How’s that?”
Sarey gaped at Dawn’s unawareness. “Taxes and goods that the crown takes.”
“I see.”
“Otherwise, you must invade other kingdoms and take the spoils of gold, silver, and other goods, which isn’t something the queen has never done. But no kingdom fully sustains itself from within. In many ways, the poor are the backbone of any civilization.”
Dawn took a sharp breath, held it, but didn’t offer a reply.
In the fighting pit, Kaleb raised his sword high in one hand and his oak round shield up in the other. “Give me your best, Dragon Knight! Show the good people of Esgrove how strong Hoffnung’s best are!”
Seated peasants and standing onlookers applauded and cheered, but not in an overly enthusiastic roar like she had witnessed in the knights’ arena on tournament days. The applause was apparently enough to capture the attention of the laborers in the fields because many more ventured in and sat around the pit to watch.
After Sarey’s information, Dawn wondered if Kaleb was baiting Caen to tarnish the Dragon Knights’ image, or her future crown.
Caen held his sword in a defensive stance and positioned his feet for support. “Not trying to hurt your feelings, but perhaps your boasts are a bit much.”
“Ah, now, don’t let my age and appearance hold you back. I’ve heard of the Dragon Knights valor. I want to witness it firsthand.”
Caen watched Kaleb pull his shield and sword into a combat pose. Caen shook his head with reluctance. “Make your best move.”
Kaleb smiled. He rushed forward with an overhead downward slash, which Caen easily blocked and stepped aside.
Kaleb turned, brought around his shield, and rammed it against Caen’s. Caen didn’t budge, but countered and smacked Kaleb’s nose with the pommel of his sword from his blindside. Bone cracked, and the old man winced and groaned. Blood leaked into his beard. Anger creased the man’s brow.
Women in the crowd moaned and covered their faces.
Caen stepped back and readied another defensive pose. Much to Dawn’s satisfaction, Caen wasn’t trying to make Kaleb look like a fool. Kaleb seemed well capable of doing that on his own.
Kaleb approached with caution. Fear showed in his eye as it darted left and right, trying to anticipate Caen’s next move. He wiped blood from his nose onto the back of his leather glove.
“You all right?” Caen asked with a slight grin.
“Lucky shot.”
Caen shrugged. “Point one for me. Your blood should count as an extra point though.”
Kaleb’s jaw tightened. He growled and rushed forward, swinging his shield out first and drawing his blade overhead for another downward attack.
Caen brought up his right foot and kicked against the shield hard. The impact knocked Kaleb back, leaving him completely defenseless to a forward thrust if Caen wished to take it. Doing so would instantly kill Kaleb, so Caen didn’t act upon it. Instead, Caen waited for Kaleb’s off-centered downward swing to cut into the loose dirt, and then Caen bowed forward and rammed his shoulder into Kaleb’s gut.
Kaleb groaned, dropped the sword, and fell flat on his back. Some of the crowd groaned while a few booed their dissatisfaction. Dawn wasn’t certain if the boos were aimed at Caen or Kaleb. Maybe it was a mixture of both.
Caen pressed the tip of the blade to the old man’s throat and shook his head. “My guess is you’re not a knight from any kingdom.”
Kaleb’s head turned crimson red. Spittle mixed with blood foamed at the sides of his mouth.
“Who are you?” Caen asked.
“I gave my rightful name and my brother’s as well. We are . . .”
Caen pressed the sword tip harder. “Perhaps you were a noble knight with stature at some point, but you’re not any longer, are you?”
The anger faded from Kaleb’s face. Remorse and sadness surfaced. A tear streamed from his good eye. He raised his hands in surrender. “No, Dragon Knight. We are no longer knights for the king of Oculoth. We were . . . long ago.”
“What happened?”
The stunned crowd leaned forward in sudden silence.
“When King Erik died, we became outcasts of the city, blamed for not protecting him and letting our enemies kill him.”
Caen sheathed his sword. “Then why the charade?”
Kaleb eased up into a seated position in the moist dirt
. “We were hoping to gain your favor.”
“Why is that?”
Eegrubb approached and helped Kaleb to his feet.
Kaleb patted his brother’s shoulder. “To make right where we had failed.”
“You wish to fight the Vykings?”
Kaleb and Eegrubb both nodded.
“Was that the best you have to offer?” Caen asked.
Dawn stood at the edge of the fight pit, listening.
“I was much better years before I lost my eye and fell into despair. But I’d rather die fighting the Vykings than die as a disgrace to our king of Oculoth,” Kaleb replied.
“Me, too,” Eegrubb said.
Caen studied the brothers. “All I can say is that you need a lot of practice if you plan to fight against the Vykings. I went easy on you. The Vykings are a strong race and much taller and larger than I am.”
“You’ve fought them?” Kaleb asked.
“Yes. They strike your swords with such force that your hands go numb. So what have you done since you were cast out of Oculoth? King Erik’s death was years ago.”
“We worked on fishing ships for many years, even sailed to other continents. Anything to get coins. Probably drank more than we worked.”
“But you’ve not used swords for how long?” Caen asked.
Kaleb looked at Eegrubb. They both shrugged. “I know we’re rusty . . .”
Sarey stepped up beside them. “You’re far worse than rusty. Some of the youth here are better than you. How long?”
“Ten years.”
Sarey gave a hopeless expression as she glanced toward Caen.
Kaleb grabbed his shield. “We can train.”
“I won’t turn away anyone that wishes to lift a sword against the Vykings or Waxxon,” Sarey said. She pointed. “Do you see that far line of trees?”
Kaleb nodded.
“Just beyond those trees is Hoffnung and that’s where the Vykings are. Understand, no matter how much you train, they are not even a few hours from attacking Esgrove, should they decide to come. If you really wish to train, you start now or you’d best head out of Esgrove and farther inland where the dwarves will probably kill or turn you away upon sight. Should you remain here, you need to earn your keep.”
Lady Squire- Dawn's Ascension Page 31
