by Sever Bronny
“We’ll be concentrating the watch on the remaining farms,” Augum replied. “Oh and these new walkers are called reavers, though we don’t know anything more about them.”
“You and Chaska fared well though,” Leera said, an arm around Augum’s waist, other hand entwined with his. “How’s the big lug doing? Haven’t had much chance to speak to him of late.”
Haylee brushed aside long blonde hair. “He’s been enjoying the town watch. We both have.” She smiled pensively. “Kind of wish we didn’t argue so much though.”
“Same old things?”
Haylee nodded. She had been pushing for Chaska to marry her when she turned sixteen. Then he was to build them a home and hire servants. Augum thought the idea of a house and servants ridiculous in a time of war, but he kept his thoughts to himself. It wasn’t any of his business. Chaska, on the other hand, wanted Haylee to scale back her warlock training and learn some of the Henawa traditions.
Haylee turned to watch Bridget listen attentively to a story Broderick was telling. “Did you know he was expelled from the academy?” she asked.
Leera’s mouth fell open a moment. “What? No.”
“Back before the Legion took it over. Banished for ‘improper conduct’ or something like that. Quite the scandal, apparently. I know he loved to throw lavish parties too.”
“How do you know all this?”
“Our fathers were bottle buddies. It was mentioned in passing. I don’t really know him though, other than his mother died from consumption when he was really young.”
“But … he seems so charming.”
“He is. Handsome and charming. Maybe that’s what got him in trouble. Oh, and he hit his ceiling.”
“What?”
“It’s true. He’s stuck at the 4th. Can’t learn beyond.”
“Huh.”
Bridget nodded at them whilst making some point to Broderick, before leading him over.
Haylee hid her mouth behind her hand. “Here comes trouble.”
“Ah, Miss Tennyson,” Broderick said to Haylee with a beaming smile. He made a slight bow. “You are looking simply ravishing. You have grown into such a remarkably beautiful young woman since the days our fathers drank merrily together.”
Haylee’s cheeks colored in a pattern Augum was starting to expect from girls when near the older boy.
“Not a woman quite yet, I am afraid. Next year, but thank you.”
“And how is your father anyhow?”
“He’s, uh—”
“—cavorting at a grand supper somewhere, no doubt? Gambling to his heart’s content and drinking, I hope, the finest whisky, as he has oft done with my father, is that not so?” Broderick chortled to himself, hands behind his back as he balanced on his heels.
Bridget cleared her throat gently. “Haylee’s parents were murdered by the Legion.”
Broderick’s smile curdled. He immediately dropped to one knee and took Haylee’s hand, tapping it with his lips. “I have grieved you, Miss Tennyson, and humbly beg your forgiveness for my tactless insensitivity. I am your everlasting and miserable servant.”
Haylee sighed. “You are forgiven, Lord Bowlander. Please, stand. Their deaths have been avenged, for their murderer was slain by my friend, Augum.”
Broderick stood and bowed to Augum. “And the kingdom is better for it, no doubt. I of course have been following your progress with great interest. All three of you, in point of fact. Thank you for your bravery. I hope it will be rewarded justly by the gods in due time. And I hope you are allowed to celebrate your successes.”
Augum inclined his head in thanks. Broderick indeed had a way with flattery.
Broderick’s gaze flitted between the four of them as he slowly ran his fingers through his curly chestnut hair. “Please tell me you will all join me for an evening supper at the inn. All of you. I have a marvelous room on the top floor and I even have my own servant. I promise to entertain you and offer you delicacies unheard of in the famine.”
“Ah,” Bridget began in regretful tones, “I am afraid we have an early morning start and very difficult training ahead tomorrow—”
“—nonsense, of course we’ll come,” Leera interjected, giving Bridget a meaningful look. “We could use some fun. Especially you.”
“Yes! Exactly, sweet Leera! Life is about fun and there is far too much death not to partake in it now and then. I know how hard you all work and how little time you take for yourselves. You deserve it, trust me. And I have a feeling this one—” and he thumbed at Bridget, “—could certainly use an evening off.”
Leera gave a stern nod. “You’re darn right she could. Strung tighter than a funeral drum. Look at those frown lines—”
“—I don’t have frown lines!” Bridget said, smacking Leera’s hand away.
Leera melted into Augum’s arms, feigning a mortal wound. “Don’t hold back, Bridgey-poo, let the anger flow…”
“Don’t call me that!” Bridget hissed through gritted teeth, eyes flitting to Broderick.
“ ‘Bridgey-poo’? Is that a pet name?” Broderick asked. “How adorable.”
Bridget shrank back while glaring at Leera.
“Ooo, I can bring Chaska,” Haylee said. “His watch should be ending by now.”
Bowlander shrugged. “That would be fine, I guess.”
“I suppose we can come for a little bit,” Bridget said with a sigh, though Augum saw the slightest upward curl at the corner of her mouth. “When?”
“Why immediately, of course! Follow me!”
“Mr. Goss, we’re going to Lord Bowlander’s!” Leera shouted.
Mr. Goss, who was carrying Leland to the Okeke cabin for an evening supper, gave a confused smile. “Oh. All right then, I shall inform Mr. Okeke.”
“Meet you all there,” Haylee said, and hobbled off to snag Chaska.
Bridget placed a hand on Broderick’s arm, stopping him a moment. “Lord Bowlander, don’t you need to speak to Devon regarding the watch?”
Broderick waved the thought aside. “I can do that tomorrow. Come, there is fun to be had!” and merrily led the way.
Leera caught up to Bridget and whispered a few giggling words into her ear. Bridget’s head whipped about and Augum saw her mouth “No!” at the news.
They soon reached the Miner’s Mule Inn, already full of people drinking ale and talking in low voices. It occurred to Augum that people were mourning the death of Mr. and Mrs. Miller, the farmers murdered earlier by the undead.
A grizzled miner with a coal-sprinkled beard stood and placed his hat over his heart upon spotting them. He raised a slopping tankard of ale with his other hand, proclaiming, “Hark, for mine eyes fall upon the three surely destined to bring peace to poor Solia! May the Unnameables grant them safe passage in the dark and dreadful journey ahead!”
Chairs squeaked as everyone in the tavern stood to raise their cups.
“To the heroes!”
“May they live eternal!”
“Vengeance for the fallen!”
Augum saw a sea of haggard and gaunt faces that included Huan, the scruffy ale-bellied innkeeper. Where there was once hope, though, now he saw fear and apprehension. They were hungry and all there was to be had was ale, bread, and precious else.
The trio instinctively bowed in return.
“Maybe this isn’t such a good idea,” Augum muttered as eyes remained on them in the smoky atmosphere. Ever since the tournament, every soul in town knew of them. Every soul watched them. Every soul prayed for them. And every time one of the Heralds mentioned their names, their legend grew.
Bridget slowly shook her head. “Let us go, I do not think it appropriate to enjoy oursel—”
“Nonsense, I insist,” Broderick whispered, delicately taking Bridget by the elbow and gesturing at the wooden staircase. “Please, you deserve it, and I know you need a night to relax after such a harrowing day.”
Bridget glanced at the steps. “Just for a quick morsel, but that is all.”
Eager to Please
The inn boasted large wooden trusses and paneled walls. Crudely painted and smoke-faded crests depicting long-forgotten armies lined the steps. Once they reached the second story, Broderick opened a black oaken door with a key. The group filed inside, finding a spacious room decorated with embroidered tapestries, carved wooden chests, fat candles that flickered on tall iron stands, and a long black oak supper table.
“Finest room available. I insisted my aunt teleport in my favorite possessions, including, of course, my servant.”
Bridget recoiled. “You consider your servant a possession?”
He pressed her pert nose. “Of course not, I simply misspoke, Bridgey-poo.”
“Please don’t call me that, my lord.”
“As you wish, I just find it adorable, and insist on hearing the story of it later.”
Broderick’s smile displayed perfect teeth and was so effusive that Bridget finally surrendered one of her own. “Perhaps,” she said coyly.
“How can you have a servant in an inn?” Leera asked, examining an ornate gilt-framed mirror.
Broderick squeezed in beside her. “Isn’t that a wonderful piece? It’s Canterran, about a hundred and fifty years old.”
“I look awful,” Leera said, frowning and picking at her own unkempt raven hair.
“Oh, on the contrary—and I am sure Augum will agree with me here—you are stunning, do not doubt yourself like that.” He turned on his heel and gave Augum a friendly double tap on the shoulder. “The luckiest boy in the kingdom to have such a beauty.”
Augum felt his eyebrows rise up his forehead. Part of him felt offended, but he didn’t know why exactly.
Leera’s cheeks colored as she preened in front of the grand mirror, smoothing her blue robe. “I suppose I don’t look that bad …”
Broderick placed a hand to the side of his mouth and whispered to Augum, “This is your cue to compliment her,” and winked. But before Augum could react, there was a knock at the door.
Broderick glided over and opened it, revealing Chaska and Haylee.
“Ah, you are the Henawa boy who has claimed the unclaimable! Please, come in, both of you.”
Haylee limped inside. “Fine adornments, my lord.” She smirked at Chaska. “See, this is how one should live—grandly.”
Chaska frowned. He swept the room with hard eyes before muttering, “Just a bunch of flashy junk.” He had long straight milky hair that matched his snowy skin and wore plain garments under his Henawa war shirt, a token from his Father given to him for his nemana, the traditional Henawa quest of manhood.
“Ugh, you can be so crass. My apologies, Lord Bowlander.”
“Not at all, it is flashy junk, only truly meant to impress the ladies.” Broderick winked at Chaska before giving a shallow and quick bow. “Lord Broderick Bowlander at your service.”
“Hey again,” Chaska said.
Bowlander cleared his throat lightly before turning his attention on Leera. “You asked how one can have a servant in an inn. Allow me to show you, my lovely dear.” He traipsed over to a hanging bell-pull ribbon and tugged. Then he smiled broadly, before lighting up at something in the corner Bridget was examining.
“Ah, you have found my work table!” He glided over. “This is where I create my potions.”
Bridget picked up a small vial of clear liquid, which Bowlander immediately seized from her, carefully returning it to its stand.
“You do not want to mess with that one, my dear, it will knock you right out.”
She frowned, picked up a vial with black liquid. “And this one?”
“That does the opposite; it will wake you right up. It is like an exceptionally strong tea—”
A soft knock came at the door and Bowlander called out, “You should have been here by now, Charles!”
The door opened and in trudged a stubby boy about the same age as Bowlander. He possessed a boxy chin, tiny close-set eyes that seemed inflamed, and a giant crimson nose which he repeatedly dabbed with a cloth.
“My servant, Charles Poorman.”
“At your service, my lords and ladies.”
“Do you have any idea who these people are?”
Charles, who had kept his red eyes low the entire time, drew them up to the group. He did a double-take at Augum and immediately dropped his head. “I am humbled to stand before such distinguished company. Lord Stone. My ladies. I am at your disposal.”
Bowlander placed a hand on Charles’ shoulder and paced around his servant. “Charles’ family has served mine for generations. He is loyal, if not the sharpest sword in the armory.”
Charles remained silent, keeping his head bowed as he dabbed at his nose.
“He suffers from some kind of condition that keeps his eyes red and nose running. It’s a little disgusting but you’ll get used to it.”
Bridget’s brows crossed in concern. “Forgive me, Mr. Poorman, but would you like our healer friend to have a look at you?”
Charles’ face registered shock for the quickest moment before he caught himself, flicking a look at Bowlander, who looked on impassively. “Uh, no, my lady, but how kind of you to offer. I have had this condition all my life. Everything that could be tried has been tried. It bothers me little as I am quite used to it.” He bowed deeply. “But I thank you for your kindness.”
Bowlander squeezed Charles’ shoulder while he gave a sad shake of his head. “Yes, we did indeed try everything, and yet poor Charles continues to suffer.” He allowed a moment of silence before continuing on. “Very good. Now, Charles, has the kitchen finished preparing my special feast?” Bowlander winked at Bridget. “Paid for some additional delights, anticipating company.”
“My lord, I shall have it sent up as soon as it is ready.”
“Good. Perhaps refreshments in the mean?”
“As mine lord commands.” Charles tottered over to a cabinet.
Bowlander gestured at the black oaken supper table, one end of which abutted an open window. A wispy curtain fluttered in the gentlest of breezes.
“Please,” he said, and showed each of them to a place, withdrawing a chair and indicating with a smiling nod for them to sit. He placed himself at the head of the table, opposite the open window, with Bridget, Haylee and Chaska to his right, Leera and Augum to his left.
Charles brought an oak tray with six cut crystal tumblers and a finely cut crystal decanter filled with a dark elixir.
“Ooo, pwetty,” Leera said, examining the sparkling crystal.
Bowlander raised his sleeves as he reached for the decanter and a tumbler. “This is Canterran aged chocolate mead. But worry not for it is very weak.”
Leera’s eyes lit up. “Did … did you say chocolate?”
“You just found her weakness,” Haylee said.
Bowlander smiled as he unstoppered the decanter and poured the thick liquid into a cup, sliding it before Leera. “Try some, my dear.”
Leera took a sip. “Gods, that is …” She quickly drank the rest, giving Augum a wide-eyed look. “It’s … it’s divine.”
Augum raised a brow. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you use that word before.”
She smirked. “Pour him one.”
Bowlander snapped his fingers. “Charles.”
Charles hurriedly finished dabbing at his bulbous nose, stuffed the cloth into his servant gown, and began pouring everyone drinks.
“We really ought not to have too much,” Bridget said. “We have a very—”
“—long day ahead tomorrow, yes, I know, my dear.” Bowlander tapped her forearm and smiled. “You need to learn to relax, sweet Bridget. Have a little fun. Life is very short and time is always against us. And fear not, it is weak mead.”
“I’ll say,” Leera muttered.
Bowlander raised a glass. “A toast to yo
u all.”
They raised their glasses. Chaska sniffed his, shrugged, and downed it.
“Ugh, you’re supposed to wait until the host drinks first—” Haylee hissed, giving Bowlander a Can you believe him? look.
Bowlander smoothly replied with, “Courtesy is to gentle men as wallowing is to swine. An old proverb. I am certain Chaska enjoyed the drink.”
Chaska flashed a confused smile. “Uh, yeah, that was good.”
Bowlander smiled. “See? He loves it. Charles, pour him another. He is a big boy and will want more. Cheers to you all.”
They drank the concoction, and Augum did indeed find it “divine”, elbowing Leera and nodding his approval.
“See, told you so,” she whispered with a self-satisfied smile, adding to Bowlander, “So this is how the lords entertain! I could get used to this.”
“That’s what I’ve been saying!” Haylee said. “See, Chaska? Now do you get it?”
“Get what?”
“Ugh, never mind.”
“Give him time, my dear, give him time. And yes, lordship has the trappings of wealth but can certainly be wonderful for entertainment purposes, not to mention has its … privileges.” He winked at Bridget before quickly glancing at Augum. “Well? What did you think?”
“Actually that was delicious. I feel warm all over now.” Augum didn’t feel it prudent to have mead before a training day, regardless of strength, but didn’t want to ruin the fun for the others.
“Is it not?” Bowlander made the subtlest indication that Charles seemed to catch, and soon Augum’s glass was full again. He then leaned closer to Augum and said in a conspiratorial undertone, “Just don’t ask me how much it costs!” and chortled, before quickly turning his attention to Bridget. “My dear, your cheeks are red as the sunset!”
Bridget, who seemed like she wanted to say something completely different at first—perhaps, judging by her initial serious expression, something again along the lines of having to get up early—instead brightened and placed a hand over her mouth, obscuring the slightest girlish giggle. “My lord flatters me needlessly.”
