Lady Squire- Dawn's Ascension

by Leonard D. Hilley II

“Aye, I know. I was still going to pay.” His shoulders sagged and the head of his ax touched the floor.

  “With all the unrest in Aetheaon, Boldair, we need to determine what has happened here. A band of highwaymen might be responsible, but with the Vykings and the Plague-bringer, who knows what transpired here? And whether the guilty party has moved on or is lying in wait.”

  His hand tightened around the ax handle. His eyes narrowed and his jaw set firmly. “Aye. Let’s have a looksee, then.”

  Chapter Forty-nine

  While Riese sat at the table with Lehrling and Roble, his mind returned to the three Vykings that had met at the stables earlier in the afternoon.

  Riese had thought it odd when the one Vyking, Xeus, had returned to get their horses since the trio had only arrived at Glacier Ridge less than a half hour before.

  “You not find the town to your liking?” Riese had asked.

  Xeus hesitated in his reply, acting nervous and shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Pressing issues require our presence elsewhere.”

  Riese eyed the man with a narrowed brow. Riese’s glare was harsh, and finally the Vyking warrior broke his gaze with the stable master. Riese turned toward his sons, Marc and Jez. Neither son resembled him. Both were fair skinned with red hair and about half his height. “Re-saddle the three warhorses, boys.”

  He glanced back at the nervous Vyking and said, “What brings the three of you this far inland to a town of thieves of all places.”

  Xeus stopped shifting back and forth. “I could ask the same of you, stable master.”

  “I am not one of you,” Riese replied.

  Xeus lost his nervousness and laughed. “You’re no dwarf or elf. That’s obvious. You’re much too tall and large for even a human. You’re a Vyking through and through. There’s no way for you to pass yourself off as something else. Vyking blood runs in your veins.”

  Riese picked up his massive one hundred pound hammer with one hand and twisted it back and forth effortlessly. He took a step toward Xeus. “I know what I am, and I’m not a thieving, raping plunderer. I’ll ask again, a little less politely since this is my town and I govern it. Why are you so far inland?”

  Riese pressed the hammer’s head against Xeus’ chest.

  Fear crept into Xeus’ eyes. “I accompany Prince Xylus, so don’t threaten me.”

  “He’s not my prince. I owe him no allegiance nor does he have any jurisdiction here.”

  Riese’s sons brought the three warhorses to the stable door.

  “Your horses await,” Riese said. “Once you ride out of Glacier Ridge, don’t turn back. That’s the only warning you’ll receive. If you return, you’re dead. Understood?”

  Xeus ground his teeth. He gave Riese a venomous stare. “You don’t understand with whom you’re speaking. I ride and serve my prince.”

  “I don’t. By all means inform your prince of my words. Send him in, and King Obed will have one less contender for his throne.”

  “You do know who we are.” The words came in a near whisper. He marveled, studying Riese with intense interest, as if trying to place a name to his face or figure out his direct lineage.

  “I know what you are. You’re filth and grime to be scraped off the bottom of Aetheaon’s boot. Vile parasites. Now leave Glacier Ridge. I have no patience left for the likes of you.”

  “Others will come after we’re gone.”

  “They shall receive the same hospitality.”

  Riese balanced his hammer between his two hands.

  Xeus didn’t possess enough boldness to challenge Riese any further, which didn’t surprise the stable master. Instead, Xeus grabbed the three bridles and led the horses back out onto the ice-covered streets. Riese watched the Vyking until he turned onto the street leading toward the inn. Afterwards, he closed the wide stable doors.

  “Who was that, father?” Marc asked.

  Riese set his hammer upon an oak worktable. “A Vyking.”

  “You look a lot like they do. Where do they come from?”

  Riese ran a hand through his wild beard and then he rubbed his chin. “The Isles of Welkstone.”

  “Is that your homeland, father?” Jez asked.

  “It was never home. Nor will it ever be.”

  Marc’s blue eyes stared into Riese’s with seriousness. “But you were born there?”

  Riese gave a solemn nod. His eyes revealed the horror of sadness and loss, but his inner rage quickly rebounded, glazing them with anger. “I was. But I’ve denounced King Obed and his rule. I’ve sworn to never bow allegiance to him.”

  “Why?” Jez asked.

  “When you’re older, I’ll explain it. Right now, feed the horses and clean the stalls. I need to give the town a walkthrough and then I’ll be back.”

  Jez and Marc nodded.

  “I won’t be long.”

  ***

  Not long after Riese returned from walking through Glacier Ridge than did several more Vykings visit his stables to leave their horses. He waited for one to challenge him for his remarks to Xeus, but they never mentioned anything. They were cold and looking for a place to stay the night. So he directed them to Myrtle’s Inn and nothing else was said.

  ***

  Crukas led the old horse around the final bend on the narrow mountain trail. To the best of his knowledge, Hobskin, the hobgoblin, had used the mountain trail when a group of thieves had escorted him into Glacier Ridge. The thieves had planned to overrun the thieving town and kill Riese. Instead, the lot of them was killed along with the green goblin.

  Riese had displayed such rage and fury in his bloodletting that no other thief ever hinted a thought of taking over the town. Riese took Hobskin’s arm as a trophy and proudly displayed it inside Hobskin’s Tavern as a reminder and a warning.

  The path ahead of Crukas widened slightly, passing through a hole in the mountainside. When he entered, he was on the inside of a domed cavern. He stopped at a point on the trail that overlooked the lower half of Glacier Ridge, which was halfway protected from the harsh winds by the dome.

  The only light came from the blazing fire pits set upon metal tripods. He crouched down in front of the horse, looking for any thieves or anyone warming themselves at the flickering flames. More importantly, he searched to see if Riese was patrolling the streets, which he often did several times each evening.

  Riese had already threatened Crukas to never return to Glacier Ridge. Crukas knew the dangers of defying the Vyking giant and returning might prove to be one of the most foolish tasks he had done in quite some time. However, Glacier Ridge was the most vital place to get information about other thieves or to hear the recent rumors of valuable loot that had yet to be stolen.

  Then there was the hearty company of traveling bards and bar maidens, as well as the thieves that weaved their tales of their greatest thefts to date. He loved those stories, even though most embellished the tales for much more than what they actually reaped. Dangers were often enlarged to captivate an audience, and during the tales, the slight of hand made some of the visiting thieves richer while others grew poorer.

  One thing Crukas had learned from visiting Hobskin’s Tavern was that when it came to telling tales, a good thief could equal any fisherman’s tale on any given shore. Exaggeration was a tale’s foreplay.

  Crukas started to rise from his position, but noticed a dark figure coming toward the cavern opening from the outside streets. The figure was tall and muscular and carried a heavy hammer in his right hand.

  Riese.

  Crukas took a sharp breath, held it, and even though it wasn’t necessary, he waved a pattern with his right hand and hung an invisibility spell to overshadow himself and the old horse. Even if Riese looked up at the pathway where Crukas squatted, Riese wouldn’t have seen Crukas without the spell. His uneasiness, however, didn’t allow him to take that risk.

  After Riese had discovered Crukas was luring wanted thieves away from Glacier Ridge to collect their bounties, Riese had t
hreatened—no, promised—that if he ever saw Crukas again, death was an instant certainty.

  Riese walked toward Hobskin’s Tavern. From the great distance away, Riese still looked gigantic and menacing.

  Riese stopped and talked to a tall man that stood outside the tavern. He was almost the height of Riese, but Crukas knew the guard wasn’t a Vyking. He was some type of demonkin and wore a death mask to intimidate thieves visiting the tavern. Crukas believed the creature secretly worked for Riese and not the barkeep. Perhaps he worked for both. All Crukas knew was that a glance into the red-eyes of the demon brought chills worse than the freezing cold. Crukas had made eye contact with it one time and swore to himself that he’d never do it again. He feared what the demon might read inside his mind, so he never gazed into those crimson eyes again.

  Riese spoke to the demon for less than a minute, and then he turned and headed back toward the outer streets. Once he passed through the cavern opening, Crukas dared to stand.

  He led the horse around the next turn. The path leveled at an alley behind an unoccupied shop. He left the horse in the alley, refreshed his invisibility spell, and crept alongside the building until he reached the narrow street outside of Hobskin’s Tavern.

  Since the street was beneath the cavern dome, he didn’t need to worry about leaving footprints in the ice or snow. However, he couldn’t exactly open a door in front of the demon while he was invisible. Dead giveaway.

  Stealth required a well-disciplined approach. Being invisible didn’t guarantee not getting discovered. There was an athletic art to master covertness. One not only needed to be silent in step, but also in every fiber of one’s being. Breathing must be controlled at such a shallow level that a fresh corpse made more noise. Should the thief not possess the knowledge of magic and have an invisibility spell or potion, he or she needed to be capable of blending readily into the background.

  Before Crukas became a novice in magic, he had one time wished himself invisible and by some miracle, it seemed to have occurred.

  He had broken into a jewel-maker’s house during the bright morning hours when the crafter should have been at his shop, cutting gems. The man had entered the house before Crukas had any warning or the time to find a hiding place. Crukas stood out in the open in a fully lit room. All he could do was freeze into place. He closed his eyes tightly and foolishly chanted in his mind, “Don’t see me. Don’t see me. Don’t see me.”

  The jeweler walked right past him, nearly brushing against Crukas, grabbed a small box off a table, and then he brushed past Crukas again. Crukas opened his eyes, and the man stood facing him, looking straight past him and never noticed him. At least the man’s eyes never indicated he had, and he left Crukas alone in the house to steal whatever he desired.

  After he had practiced magic for some time and learned the basic invisibility spells, he was actually located due to his sloppiness in being quiet. That’s when he understood that he needed to conceal his breathing. He also learned to never steal on an empty stomach or right after a heavy meal. No matter how hard one tried, no one controlled the sounds their stomachs made.

  Crukas eased closer to the wooden porch outside of Hobskin’s Tavern. He understood why fat thieves never used invisibility and the slickest thieves were bone thin. One needed to always be light-footed. Each approaching step came at a painstakingly slow pace. Now that he was close enough to step onto the wooden porch, he realized the added danger of his next step. Should a wooden board creak, his whereabouts became known immediately. The demon would be more alert than a tired human on watch.

  He lifted his right foot and eased it nimbly over the closest board. He lowered his foot and set the toe of his soft leather boots onto the board, but he didn’t dare apply any weight. Not yet.

  Shifting slightly, he pressed half his foot down, testing the board, its soundness and whether it might sag or moan. The board didn’t give, so he added more weight, pressing down and leaning toward his next attempted step.

  His heart raced, and it took the majority of his concentration to maintain near death breathing. Before he applied his full weight to his right foot, he glanced at the demon. It stood at the side of the door with its arms folded across its chest. A heavy mace hung on its belt and several sheathed daggers. Quickly Crukas shifted his attention back to the task at hand before he allowed sudden worry to cloud his concentration. He lifted his left foot.

  Like balancing on a tightrope, he held himself on his right foot for several painful minutes, afraid to set the left foot down, but eventually gravity coaxed its bidding and won. He lowered his foot and slid it atop the board, still favoring his weight upon his right foot. Little by little he added weight until he was confident the board was as sound as the other.

  So far, so good.

  Another thing that played in his favor was the occasional loud burst of hearty laughter and lute music being played inside the tavern. No falsetto bard singing. Too bad. That extra noise would have helped.

  With his concentration focused on his footing, Crukas had become oblivious to what else was happening around him. Right as he eased his next step toward the door, a traveler walked upon the porch from behind and knocked him off balance. The only thing that prevented him from being noticed was a tavern patron had opened the door and exited at the exact same time. Crukas dashed forward, waltzed through the door unseen, and slinked his back against the inside wall.

  The clanging of tankards, loud storytelling, and boisterous laughter blended together like a cantankerous wall of noise that shielded his heavy breathing. Dwarves, elves, and humans were seated at various tables throughout the tavern. He noticed a few Ratkin and wondered how or why they were allowed to come inside. The guard outside should have turned them away.

  He was also partially annoyed that Ratkin were extended an invitation, but he had faced death by returning to Glacier Ridge. What was a few infected gnome-sized vermin? Few creatures were as vile and cunning as the Ratkin. Not to mention they were disease carriers and their presence disgusted all of the other races throughout Aetheaon.

  From his invisible vantage point, Crukas evaluated the room for thieves, possible unknown bounty hunters, and the unsuspecting thieves who might be the easiest to steal from.

  He grinned.

  The thieves that drank the most were often the quickest to lose gold and jewels after they slumped unconscious upon their tables.

  Crukas moved slowly across the room to find a place where he could shed his invisibility with the least chance of being noticed. As a thief his reputation preceded him, so he couldn’t just appear. Not out in the open. That would cause too much speculation. He needed to find a place where he could make it look like he had been there for quite some time without being noticed. The best place to do that was in one of the darker corners where the guests seldom sat.

  He found a corner table where no one else sat, eased into the corner seat, and spoke a simple incantation, becoming visible again. After a few minutes, one of the barmaids noticed him and came to his table to take his order.

  Uneasiness washed through him. An ominous feeling suddenly made him wonder if returning to Glacier Ridge was a deadly mistake. Whatever transpired on this evening, he knew his life would never be the same.

  Chapter Fifty

  Boldair approached the stables with his ax held in both hands. If the small farmstead inhabitants were all dead, he didn’t have anything to fear. But with the possibility of the Plague-bringer, he had much to worry about. The man delivered death. Living death. Boldair had no way to determine the best way to fight this . . . whatever he was.

  Nothing like having a dragon at your back, though. She had saved him twice now, and he hoped she would again. Was she testing his courage by having him trudge in front of her? Possibly. And it stood to reason that she would. Since she was offering him a fortune to lead a battalion into battle, she needed to know whether his heart held bravery or cowardice. He didn’t blame her. If he were the one handing out the gold, he’
d want to know he was paying for services worth buying.

  The closer they came to the stable yard, the worse the smell became. Biting flies and flesh-eating bugs swarmed. Breathing was harsh, due to the ripening stench.

  “Viorka’s right. Whatever’s dead is near the stables,” Boldair said with a grimace. “Not sure I want to see the carnage.”

  “We need to know,” Taniesse replied.

  “Aye.”

  Horses whinnied and thrashed around inside the barn nervously. The sounds became louder. The horses kicked the walls and their pen doors.

  “Some’n has ‘em all riled up.”

  “What are you waiting for?” Taniesse asked.

  Boldair swallowed hard and shook his head.

  Monsters existed but not usually this far away from the thick bogs, dark caves, and eerie swamplands.

  Boldair hefted his ax tightly in his right hand and with his left he pulled the barn door open. “Bloody hell!”

  His mouth dropped open in horror. He was too stunned to move and not certain how to react.

  Three men and two women with pallid complexions and large dripping pustules staggered toward the opened door. Green pus dripped from the draining swollen blisters. No life glinted in their deeply sunken eyes. They were milky white and glazed.

  “Boldair! Step aside, quickly!” Taniesse shouted. “Viorka free whatever horses you can. Whatever you do, don’t allow the pus to touch your flesh. There is no cure.”

  Viorka dropped to all fours and sprinted past the undead creepers. She was small and fast, and being closer to the ground, the undead didn’t notice her.

  Boldair lifted his ax over his right shoulder and readied it to swing. Taniesse grabbed his mail and yanked him from the door and out of her way.

  “What are you doing?” he said, heading back to the door.

  “Saving your life. Again.” An orb of fire danced on her fingertips. “Don’t forget how the poisonous barbs nearly did you in? You cut into one of these undead and you’ll splatter us all with their infection.”