“The ales,” Blodwyn reminded her.
“Aye,” she said, and walked away.
“You were there?” Quill sat leaning forward, his shoulders swallowed his neck. “What do you mean? What does that mean?”
“Gary Slocum. Richard Styman. Carl Wondfraust. Thomas Blacksmith.” Mykal could not take his eyes off his uncle, as each name mentioned looked like it caused Quill pain. He winced as if daggers were being driven into his flesh.
“You remember their names?” Quill sounded surprised.
Mykal would never forget the names. Not now, and he understood why it had been so important. “Grandfather makes me. He cannot go to the executions. It’s just too far for him. He reminds me a million times to pay attention to the names, so when I return home I can tell him who was hung. I’d asked him over and over why it was important. He always dodged answering the question.”
Quill let his tongue slide over his upper lip almost thoughtfully as he relaxed his muscles, and then moved away from the table, leaning back in his chair. “Your grandfather was checking on his sons; keeping a finger on the pulse of the Archers.”
“He was checking on you and my father?”
Quill nodded.
“And you’re saying the four men who hanged were innocent?” Mykal fumed. He’d never before questioned the authority of the Grey Ashland king. What did he really know? He grew up on the outskirts of the kingdom, working a farm with his grandfather, and politics didn’t come up during meals.
“I’m saying there was no trial.” Quill pushed his plate away, and set his elbows on the table. His nostrils flared as he took in a deep breath, and then sighed. “King Nabal is always exploiting those of us from the Cicade Forest. He is a hate-filled ruler. He manipulates with his waving and smiling, with his words, and his… his, his everything. The people of Grey Ashland love him, but I know Nabal’s heart. There is no forgiveness in it. There is no heat passing through it.” He made a first and rotated his wrist around. “The man’s heart is black ice like the frozen moat that surrounds his castle during the winter.”
“What were they doing in the realm at night?” Mykal remembered the men hanging. The sight was burned into his memory, and recalling it now was as vivid as if he were within the fortressed walls watching the tragic event unfold all over again. Their feet kicked out until the necks broke. The deaths silenced the gathered crowd. Except for the small group of women huddled close. They had been standing across from Karyn during the execution. The sound of their cries filled Mykal’s memories. He couldn’t imagine the pain they felt, and wished no one ever would again.
The server set down three ales, and removed the empty mugs from the table. “Will there be anything else?”
“We’re all set. Thank you for everything.” Blodwyn offered up a coin, and dismissed her with a polite wave.
“They weren’t there to rob, or rape,” Quill said. “I’m sure that’s what your king would like his subjects to believe. I told them not to go, begged them. It was a condition when we left, when we moved to the forest away from the clutches and thorns of Grey Ashland. There was no looking back. There was no returning to the kingdom. Doing so would only bring death. These men left mothers and fathers behind. Word had reached us. Styman’s mother was ill. She wasn’t going to recover. He wanted to say his last goodbyes. I understood his pain, but I advised against it. I thought I’d made myself clear.” Quill shook his head, his hands grabbed at his hair. He struggled with the loss, but Mykal wondered why he tried hiding his pain from them.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Blodwyn insisted, and slid a full ale in front of Mykal’s uncle.
Quill buried his face in his palms and rubbed tears away from his eyes. “I knew they were sneaking out. I figured with the cover of night they’d be safe. His mother was dying. How can I order a man not to go to his mother on her deathbed? I advised against it. I did not command them to stay. I wasn’t going to be heartless, and cold. I refused to treat my men, my family, the way Nabal treated us. The others, they went as a show of support. And look what that got them.”
The Tavern door banged open. The shadow of a giant entered ahead of the giant of a man. Talking went to murmurs as people redirected their attention on the entrance.
Mykal set his hand on the hilt of his sword. The leather wrappings were worn, and soft in his grip.
“I heard rumors you all were back!”
“Coil!” Mykal shot to his feet.
The man’s body was riddled with muscle. His face, neck, and arms were covered in tattoos. His head was clean-shaven. The top reflected the dancing flames from the fire in the stone stove on the side of where he stood. He spread his arms wide. “Can I join you?”
Quill kicked out the chair at the end of the table. “Sit!”
Mykal thought his uncle looked relieved for the distraction, his storytelling time had ended.
Mykal would normally be filled with questions. His uncle’s rendition covered everything, or anything worth hearing. The four men from the Archers died for nothing. Quill blamed himself. What more was there to know?
Coil pulled out the chair even more, spun it around, and sat down so that his arms folded over the back of the chair. He then leaned forward balancing the chair on the two back legs. “I got back to the pass and all I could think about was the fool I’d been.” Coil knocked knuckles into his forehead, once, twice, three times. “I didn’t mean to leave you guys back there. I figured I was hired to get you through the caves, help you find the dagger, and we’d be done. My obligation filled. Services rendered. I didn’t understand all that you were up against. Frankly, I thought you were all on some kind of idiot quest. What did I know? I needed to get home, get some solid sleep before returning to work. That’s what I kept thinking, you know? I was more worried about me. And when things got crazy down there, when we were in the caves…” He shook his head. “This one with his magic, and the woman with hers. I mean, come on, what was I supposed to think? I’d never seen the likes of either of them. I’d heard stories told. There have always been rumors about wizards, and there have always been stories about dragons, too.”
Mykal caught Blodwyn arching an eyebrow. “Dragons?”
Coil held out his hand. “You’ve that fancy dagger.”
“My grandfather’s.” Mykal nodded.
“My grandmother was a wonderful old coot. She loved her ale, and wine, and smoked these hand-rolled crushed leaves that made her as goofy as a two-year-old. But she was a wise woman, spent most of her life in the background, unnoticed. People talked freely in front of her, as if she were no more than a shadow. She told me of the men who hunted dragons.” Coil paused, and nodded his head, as if answering some unasked question. “They exist. They hide, but they exist. I saw one once, you know.”
Mykal snickered. Blodwyn’s expression didn’t change. He watched Mykal, though. “Wait,” Mykal said, suddenly tense. “You’re serious?”
“It’s okay to laugh. Most people do, or did,” Coil mused.
“Did?”
“I learned fast that telling the story was not in my best interest.”
Mykal said, “I’d like to hear it, Coil. I promise not laugh anymore. I’ve just never heard anyone talk about dragons before unless they were telling a bedtime story.”
“There’s not much to tell, really. It happened quickly. It was late at night. I couldn’t sleep. I went outside. The sight of the Zenith Mountains calmed me. The sheer size of them, the snow covered peaks they made me feel like they’re there simply for my own protection.
“It was full moon that night. I was staring up at its glow, when all of a sudden,” Coil spread his arms wide, and then flapped them up and down. “This giant bird soared over my head. I mean, right over my head. I felt the wind mess my hair once it had passed. My mouth was wide open and dry, as all I could do was stare at this, this amazing beast as it climbed higher and higher into the sky, straight up into the air. I thought it was going to land on the moon. I swear that w
as what it looked like. But then it leveled out, and flew between the peaks and was gone.”
Coil sat silently staring straight ahead.
Mykal hated to interrupt the memory, but asked, “Did it breathe fire?”
“Not that I saw.”
“What did it look like?”
Coil’s eyes opened wide. “It’s body was three times as long as mine. The wings went on forever. It was like nothing I’d ever seen before. Something I may never see again.” He shook his head, as if disappointed. “But, my grandmother once told me of a dagger. It sounded a little like the one we found under the mountains. She said the hunters used magic—nothing like you have, kid—but they’d mix herbs, and oils, and blood, and then call out to the dragons. When one responded, they’d pounce.”
“They didn’t kill the dragons did they?” Mykal placed a hand over his stomach. He didn’t feel well. He didn’t care for the story, but he had to know what happened next.
Coil pursed his lips, pressed them so tight they were little more than a single thin line, and then he shrugged, and said in a matter-of-fact tone of voice: “A lot of coin to be made from all the different parts of a dragon. But Magic used for something evil, like the slaughter of innocent creatures angers me.”
Mykal let the story sink in. Somehow those animals needed justice. They needed protection from a vile band of hunters. If he ever encountered any of these men…
He left the threat unfinished. For now.
Coil looked around, over each shoulder. He sat the chair up on four legs. “Whe-where are the ladies?”
Mykal looked down at his plate of food. His hands cupped the full stein of ale.
“We were ambushed when we emerged from the catacombs under Castle Deed,” Blodwyn related.
They had been outnumbered. Caught off guard, they didn’t stand a chance. King Cordillera came armed not just with his armed knights, but with a decrepit-looking sorcerer of his own. The king had Galatia gagged and bound. He knew she needed her words to work her magic. The only reason Cordillera didn’t take Mykal was because he thought the boy was dead.
“In the Constantine Realm?” Coil said. “By whom? The place is deserted. Nothing there anymore but vines climbing what’s left of the fortress walls. And ghosts. Talk about rumors, and stories. But I know a guy who knew this guy who was dared to spend the night inside that old castle. A crazy and senseless bet. By dusk, just four hours later, the fella came running out of there. Went in with hair as black as a raven’s wings. When he fled, his head was as white as snow. He ran wild with arms flailing in the air; his eyes crazy. Spoke nothing but gibberish from that day on. Never met him, but the one that told me, I trust his word as if I’d witnessed the haunting with my own two eyes.
“Wait. Was it ghosts that ambushed you?”
Blodwyn stood up. His staff had been resting against the side of the table. He held it in his left hand. “It was the Mountain King that attacked us. He, and a small army. They were waiting for us. They knew exactly where and when we’d be. We never saw it coming.”
“I’m afraid to ask. Please tell me the women are all right?” Coil was just like Mykal. He didn’t like the story. He didn’t want to hear another word, but he had to know what happened next.
Quill stood up fast. The legs of his chair scraped on the floor. The sound was hollow inside the tavern.
Coil looked at Mykal. “Are they?” he said, but shook his head as if he didn’t want to hear the truth, as if he already knew the answer. It was almost as if not saying the words was magic, and nothing bad could have happened.
“Karyn died saving my life.” Mykal knew a little something about magic. The words needed saying. Coil deserved the truth, like it or not. “And King Cordillera kidnapped Galatia and stole the talismans we’d collected.”
Mykal felt the pain his words carried. He pushed away from the table, stood up, and walked around Blodwyn and Quill and out of the tavern. That was the first time he’d had to say any of that out loud.
It hadn’t been easy.
What little sunlight was left did not warm his bones. The thick gravy from the pie felt as if it would now pass right through him. The heat from the pie that burned his mouth was gone. The wind rushed down the mountain and spun violently through the center of town. The tears on his cheek turned cold fast, and he wiped them away with his forearm before the others joined him on the road.
He thought he understood why Quill hid his emotions earlier. He was embarrassed and ashamed. Crying about the loss, about Galatia, wouldn’t solve anything. It was useless.
Blodwyn broke into his thoughts. “Are you okay?”
Mykal hadn’t even heard Blodwyn, or anyone for that matter, leave the tavern. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine. None of us are. We can’t pretend. Not with each other.” Blodwyn leaned his weight on his staff. Mykal smelled ale and meat on the man’s breath. “Not with me. You understand?”
Mykal thought he might vomit. The inside of his body was in complete turmoil. “I understand.”
“Or with me.” Quill snuck up, and stood beside them. “We’re family. All three of us.”
This time Mykal heard the tavern door open.
“I never should have left,” Coil said, sorrowfully.
They all turned around.
Coil was blameless in this mess. Mykal didn’t think the outcome would have been any different if Coil had been there with them.
“Are you planning on rescuing Galatia? Of course you are. I want to help.” Coil thumbed a thumb against his chest. “I want to join you. I want to put a stop to the Mountain King.” He then shook a fist in the air. His large biceps flexed like a boulder seated on his arm.
“What about mining come morning?” Quill asked. “Our journey is not something we’ll accomplish in a day or two. And the dangers we encounter promise to be worse than what we faced in the caves. You are not at fault, brother. Not one of us blames you for turning back when you did. It’s exactly like you said. You were hired to do one thing, and you did it.”
Coil considered Quill’s words with his lips pressed tight. “There is a war coming. I heard you talk of it more than once.” Coil folded his arms across his chest. “The Mountain King stole that woman. That’s not right. I’ve talked with Copper since my return. I understand the threat we all face if Cordillera isn’t stopped. This place, this town, it might not be much, but it is home. Our home. We’re good people here. We work hard. We also take care of one another. There are families here. I know all of the children by name. I was going to marry once. She was a small thing. I know. Compared to me most women are small things, but she liked me fine enough, and I saw us starting a family of our own. Curers couldn’t help her. They told me the illness was in her blood. We bled her, and filled her veins with my blood several times. It helped for a time. She couldn’t eat, and kept losing weight—weight she couldn’t afford to drop—and then finally the sickness took her from me.”
Mykal for the first time saw vulnerability in the large man; he saw a human side. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he said. “What was her name?”
Coil nodded. “I thank you for that. Her name was Jace.” He let out a long, deep sigh. “Look, the reason I’m telling you this is because after she passed away, this town made me part of their family. They fed me. They drank with me. They cried with me. Aside from my Jace, I’ve never had anyone in my life that cared about me until then. I want to come with you. I want to save Galatia, and stop the Mountain King. I want to make sure his evil never reaches these shores that his harmful intent never touches this pass or my family.”
Mykal could not take his eyes off Coil. “I would be honored to have you join us.”
Coil’s somber look faded, and what could possibly be described as a smile replaced it. The man looked menacing always. Mykal couldn’t fault him for his appearance. “We will ride for the Cicade Forest as soon as the horses are ready.”
Coil said with a grin, “The forest. Man, you guys lo
ve your ghosts, don’t you?”
***
Riding Babe, Mykal felt free. Galloping, the wind rushed his face, and passed through his hair. With Ironwall Pass behind them, and miles to go until they reached the Cicade Forest, Mykal locked away as much as he could into the back of his mind. Pure adrenaline raced through him, his feet inside the stirrups pulsed; his hand wrapped with the reins tingled. The sky, with a litter of cloud clusters was smeared with color from azure to amethyst, coral to crimson.
Blodwyn rode beside Mykal on Applejack. The stallion seemed to smile, despite the bit between his teeth, maybe enjoying the fact a rider was on his back, or because he was out of the stable and running with his family. Blodwyn held his staff with one hand, and the reins with the other. His long hair and cloak flapped in the wind behind him.
Quill used his and Anthony’s horses for carrying supplies Blodwyn purchased, and rode on Karyn’s horse, Defiance. The mare responded to Quill’s voice and the squeeze of his thigh muscles, as if the two had been paired together since she was of age to hold a rider.
Jiminey did not seem thrilled about giving Coil a ride. The man was big, heavy, and inexperienced. The gelding tested his rider’s patience whenever a chance presented itself, kicking, snorting, dropping his head, and randomly stopping. It was fun watching at first. Once they got going, though, it was like Jiminey understood that playtime ended. He stopped harassing Coil; however, it seemed likely the damage was done. Coil rode with one rein in each hand, and his arms above and away from the saddle horn. He didn’t trust Jiminey, and looked half-ready to bail if necessary.
They planned on riding through the night confident that they’d reach the Cicade before dawn. Although it was nothing like it had been up in the Zenith Mountains, there was a definite chill in the air. The temperatures felt more like early winter instead of early autumn. Mykal knew this was not a good sign. There was no avoiding the snow, but having it arrive six weeks early would make the quest much more challenging.
Severed Empire: Wizard's War Page 3
