“Well at least it gives us a place to start,” Tor said. He looked around him, noticing who was present for the first time since arriving at the castle. “Where are Ban, River and Grimmel?” he asked.
Nosmas explained that, as both Grimmel and Ban were prevented from continuing with the quest by the latest clue, they had decided to remain behind in Linket in order to let Petro, the last remaining brother, know about the death spell on the will. River leaving Grimmel behind had never been an option. The three Princes had snuck out of Linket before the royal wedding, leaving all of their companions behind, with instructions to meet up at Patrick’s castle. While visiting their mother, they had learnt of Petro’s death.
“We had better send them a message I suppose.” While they would not be able to join them in Inden, Tor could not bear the thought of his friends endlessly waiting for someone who could never appear. “Hopefully they will let Helen know where they go if they decide to leave so we can meet up with them again when this stupid quest is finally over.” He turned towards Patrick. “Are you coming with us?”
If he had been expecting a quick response he was disappointed as Patrick took his time before replying, giving the question serious consideration. “It is better than moping around here I suppose,” he finally said. “Besides,” he continued, a smile spreading across his face. “Nobody can say travelling with you is boring.”
“I am sure you will find plenty of opportunities for getting yourself killed again,” Nosmas said, slapping him companionably on the back.
“So when do we leave?” Ria asked.
Tor, though not the eldest, continued to take charge. “I would prefer to travel by night again so Hawk can join us, but it will be safer to leave the island in daylight. I propose departing at first light.” There were no objections so Patrick went in search of his servants to organise supplies for the first few days of their journey and to arrange for a message to be sent to Linket.
They left early the next morning, Patrick leading. Seth drove the wagon, with his wife by his side, and everyone else was astride their usual mounts. It took a while for them to reach the place where the bridge would raise, but there was nowhere convenient for them to rest when they arrived so Patrick went straight to a stone statue of a dragon and pushed on one of its ears. Instantly the bridge began to rise. Having already crossed it once, this time nobody was concerned that the wooden planks would give way under their weight, so chose to ride across instead of dismounting. Once everyone was safely on the other side, they took a short break and watered their horses before putting as much distance between themselves and the island as they could while daylight remained.
They slept little that night, heading off once more long before the sun rose in order to get into the familiar routine of sleeping by day and trekking by night as soon as they could. It felt strange travelling without Ban, River and Grimmel and Patrick was not the only one keenly feeling Ellen’s absence. Not only had she taken care of cleaning and mending all of Patrick’s clothing, she was also the one to treat them all when they were sick or injured. Though she didn’t voice her concern, Sam was worried about what she would do if her pregnancy developed complications while they were on the road. Though Nosmas was a highly skilled wizard, like most male magic users, he possessed very little healing knowledge.
The journey was going to be long and tedious; they would have to travel the entire length of Kinfen. They debated travelling to Bedden, its capital city, to visit King Yeland, but eventually decided that it would be too great a delay, opting instead to take the fastest route possible.
Despite Patrick’s comment about travelling with Tor never being boring, the journey was uneventful. Everyone was still alive and uninjured when they crossed the border into Fester and eventually reached Inden’s city gates. It was approaching midmorning, so while everyone else booked rooms at an inn, the three Princes and Patrick went in search of the current Baron.
“This place has not changed much in the last hundred years,” Patrick observed as they rode through the streets. They headed northward towards the centre of the city where they hoped the Baron still had his residence. The building they stopped outside was large and relatively modern, compared to the rest of the city. When asked if they were in the right place, Patrick shrugged his shoulders, dismounted, and raised his hand to knock on the door. Before his fist could connect with the wood, it opened to reveal a young girl, barely in her teens, looking back into the house.
“I hate you,” she yelled before turning to face the front and walking straight into Patrick. She tumbled backwards, landing hard on the floor of the doorway.
“My apologies my Lady,” Patrick said politely, holding his hand out to help her back to her feet.
“I should hope so too,” she snapped, before looking up into his concerned face. “Oh,” she said, flushing when her eyes met his.
“Are you alright?” he continued, ignoring her bad manners.
“I am fine thank you,” she replied, sounding flustered. She was still at the age where a handsome face could completely capture her attention and Patrick was by far the most attractive man she had ever seen. “Are you here to see my father?” she asked when she had recovered enough from the shock of being knocked to the ground to drag her eyes away from Patrick.
“That depends on who your father is,” Tor said. The girl’s reaction to walking into Patrick amused him and he was unable to keep from smiling.
“You must be visitors,” she observed. “Everyone local knows that I have the misfortune of being the Baron’s daughter.”
“Then we are indeed here to see your father,” Brodin said. “Is he at home?”
The girl snorted. “Who else would I be yelling at?” She then sighed dramatically. “I suppose you had better follow me.”
The door was still ajar, so she pushed it open and entered the house, followed by the three Princes. Patrick brought up the rear, closing the door behind him. They found themselves in a dimly lit corridor with a number of doors on each side. The girl, who had yet to tell them her name, walked past most of them, choosing one on the left at the far end and opening it without knocking.
Through the open door, Tor could see a middle aged man sitting behind a desk. He looked up and frowned. “I thought you had gone out, Elise” he said in an unfriendly tone.
“You have visitors,” Elise replied with an equally hostile voice.
The Baron gazed over his daughter’s shoulder at Tor, who was standing in the doorway. The man’s demeanour instantly changed.
“Welcome,” he said, rising from his seat. “Please come in and sit down.” He indicated a sofa on the far side of the room with his hand. “Go and organise some refreshments,” he ordered Elise under his breath. She left the room without arguing or complaining, causing her father to stare after her in surprise. “Please forgive my daughter,” he said softly once all four men were seated. “She is at the age where she thinks she should have more freedom than she can yet be trusted with and rebels against everything I say.”
“I completely understand,” Tor assured him. “My brother was exactly the same when he was younger.” He smiled at Cirren as he spoke.
“He has not improved much with age,” Brodin muttered, just loud enough for Cirren to hear him.
By the time Elise returned with glasses of chilled fruit juice, Tor had introduced himself and his fellow travellers and was busy explaining about the quest.
“You may leave us now,” the Baron said sternly when he noticed that Elise was still in the room, staring at Patrick. She seemed about to argue, but seeing the look on her father’s face, decided against it.
Patrick told the Baron about the latest clue and how the painting in his castle depicted a statue of a pheasant. The statue had belonged to the Baron of Inden at the time of the painting and they were hoping the current Baron would know what happened to it.
“Of course I do,” he said jovially. “It is still in my garden. Come with me.” He stood up and le
d them out of the house and into a small, but neat garden. At the far end was a large tree, casting a shadow across the grass, and in the centre was the statue from the painting. The three Princes walked up to it, amazed that finding it had been so easy.
“What are the chances of being able to obtain the next clue without any difficulties?” Brodin mused out loud as they approached the statue. It was made of stone and depicted a pheasant about to take to the air, its wings fully stretched and its mouth open as though it was calling out. It was life-size and extraordinarily detailed.
“Pretty high,” Tor replied, pointing to a chain that had been hung around the bird’s neck. It held a wooden plaque, on which words were scribed. He read them out loud.
The guide you need to obtain
The royal seal from Kinfen’s heir
The blind man who can read must choose
A gemstone from the Grundle’s lair
The Guide must place them in a box
And deliver both to The Last Retreat
Give them to the guardian there
Then your quest will be complete
“Good grief,” the Baron exclaimed. “How did that get there? There was definitely nothing attached to the statue when I walked through the garden yesterday.”
The three brothers looked at each other, concern written across their faces. Did this mean that the clues had not all been set up in advance and that someone was keeping an eye on their progress? Tor was not certain why, but the thought made him shiver.
Chapter 3
While the Princes had been obtaining the next clue, the rest of the party were settling themselves in at the inn. Sam was feeling tired and headed straight to one of the rooms so she could get some sleep. Dean joined her and everyone else retired to the tap room. It was a little early to eat, but drinks were definitely needed.
Nobody noticed the figure, wrapped in a cloak, seated at the table next to theirs. As they spoke quietly among themselves, they did not realise that he was listening intently to every word that was spoken. He knew who they were and why they were there. He had been watching out for their arrival, recognising the three Princes the moment he laid his eyes on them. The conversation he was eavesdropping on was of little interest to him. His only concern was putting names to faces, and to the roles each played in the quest. This task was easily accomplished and he smiled to himself as he quietly sipped his beer and waited for the one he had been seeking to return from her nap.
Sam was just drifting off to sleep when she felt Dean lay down beside her. They had been getting on well during the journey and, while she did not yet feel the passion for him that she once had, the old feelings were beginning to return and it felt good having him so close.
He pulled her tightly against him, nuzzling at her neck. “Do you remember the words to that Meatloaf song,” he whispered seductively into her ear. “She used her body just like a bandage; she used my body just like a wound.”
He frowned when Sam pulled away from him. “I can’t.”
“Why not?” She looked down at her belly as though expecting to see the baby inside. Dean sighed. “It’s okay. I know you’re pregnant. I will be gentle. It is perfectly safe.” Sam’s demeanour did not change, so he continued, reassuringly. “I have been told about your relationship with Brin. I would like to meet the man sometime. Why did you two split up by the way?”
Sam winced when he said the word ‘man’. Whoever had been informing on her had obviously left out one important detail. “His step mother murdered his entire family, leaving him next in line to the throne. His people would never accept me as Queen, so I left him instead of making him choose between them and me.”
Dean was frowning. “Why wouldn’t they accept you? Because you are from another world? That’s crazy.”
Sam shook her head. “No. Because I’m human.”
It took a moment for Sam’s words to register and when they did, Dean rolled away from her. “So what is Brin?” He almost choked as he asked the question.
“An elf,” she said quietly. Dean was unable to prevent the revulsion he felt from showing on his face.
“You have got to be kidding me.” He jumped off the bed in his desperation to put distance between them. “I can forgive you cheating on me with the first handsome face that came along after I disappeared, but with an animal. How could you? Did I really mean that little to you?”
“How dare you,” Sam shouted. “I cried myself to sleep every night for almost a year because I thought you were dead. My grief caused me to miscarry. Have you any idea what that did to me? Losing both you and our child in such a short space of time. I more or less died as well. I was physically alive. I ate, drank, tried to sleep, but mostly I just worked. I would hardly call it living.” She was so angry she had started screeching at him. She took a couple of deep breaths and tried to calm herself down.
“Brin was kind, considerate, sensitive. I fell in love with him. I am still in love with him. I lost you, but I had to give him up. Do you understand the difference? I cannot put into words what that did to me. You may have been my first love, but he was, and remains, my greatest. Now get out.”
Dean stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him. He went straight to the tap room, accepting a mug of ale and completely emptying it before stopping to take a breath.
“What is wrong with you?” Ria asked, refilling his mug from a jug on the table.
“You could have told me the full story,” he snapped at her. She did not answer, but raised her eyebrow questioningly. “You neglected to mention that it is not a baby that Sam is carrying, but some sort of animal.”
The room suddenly went cold as his companions stared at him, unable to believe what they were hearing. “I am going to pretend you did not say that,” Modo said frostily.
“I suggest you change your attitude or your time with us will become very unpleasant,” Seth informed Dean. His tone was not friendly.
“Can someone please explain to me what is going on,” Fajfah said, unsure what the problem was.
“Simple,” Dean spat. “My girlfriend and one-time fiancée got herself knocked up by an elf. I guess humans aren’t good enough for her anymore.”
Fajfah then surprised them all by laughing. “Is that all?” he asked.
“I do not find this funny,” Dean said indignantly, offended by his friend’s reaction.
“You have never met an elf, have you?” the short man asked. Dean shook his head. “Apart from their ears and the colour of their skin, you would never know they are not human. They are no more animals than I am. They are so closely related to humans that it is easier to think of them as from another country rather than another species.” The smile dropped from his face. “You owe Sam an apology young man.”
“Would it help if you heard more about the elven people?” Dal asked, taking pity on him. Dean nodded wordlessly, so the group spent the next hour telling him everything they knew about Brin and his kin.
“So what do I do now?” Dean asked when he was finally convinced that he had acted rashly. “Somehow I don’t think saying sorry is going to do much good.”
“You are probably right,” Ria agreed.
“Buy her a present,” Quartilla suggested. “Whenever my sisters were upset, my father always used to buy them something to cheer them up. I do not think he ever worked out that they were acting most of the time just to get presents.”
Ears pricked on the table next to them. “Forgive me for interrupting,” an old man said, turning around to face them, “but I could not help overhearing. By chance I happen to be selling a number of pieces of jewellery, one of which may be a suitable gift for the lady in question.” Pulling aside his cloak, he retrieved an ornate wooden box from an inside pocket and opened it, revealing a number of rings, chains and bracelets. “I assure you, they are all solid gold,” he continued, his attempt at a smile revealing a set of uneven yellow teeth.
“I’m not sure,” Dean said. “Sam is the sort of pers
on who will see it as bribery.”
“And I am the sort of person who has to question why an old man is selling jewellery in an inn rather than a shop or market stall,” Nosmas said, rising menacingly to his feet.
The old man shrunk back, putting as much space between himself and the wizard as he could. “I have my reasons,” he stuttered, obviously terrified of the man towering above him. His eyes darted round the room. “If a sale does not go through the books I can avoid paying tax,” he whispered conspiratorially.
“Selling stolen goods more like,” Oak said.
“No, no, I can assure you that nothing I have on me is stolen. I am just an honest merchant who keeps a constant ear open for any opportunity to sell his wares.”
Nobody was convinced, but Dean found himself unable to take his eyes from the box held out in front of him. One of the chains had a dragon pendant on it, with ruby eyes that almost seemed to glow, and he felt drawn to it. He reached out a hand and gently lifted it from the box.
“The gentleman has good taste,” the old man said, ignoring the hostile glares he was receiving from everyone else seated at the table. “That particular piece was a special commission as a wedding gift to a bride from her future husband. Unfortunately the lady in question caught a fever a few days before the wedding and died. The groom no longer needed the necklace and refused to pay me for it. You will be doing me a great favour by taking it off my hands. I would ask no more than what it cost me to make.”
“Yeah, right,” Ria said disdainfully. The old man ignored her, his eyes intent on Dean.
“How much?” he asked warily. A price was named and the haggling began. A few minutes later the elderly merchant left the inn with his jewellery box a little lighter and his pockets a little heavier.
“I still say it is stolen,” he heard Oak mutter as he passed through the doorway. As he moved down the street, his strides became longer and less laboured. Years seemed to drop away from him with each step. By the time he reached the end of the street he was no longer an elderly man. He turned the corner and leaned against the back wall of a building. Reaching inside his clothes, he removed the box and withdrew its contents one by one, dropping each on the ground and grinding them to dust beneath the heel of his shoe. When the box was empty, that too was allowed to fall to the floor before being trampled until it was unrecognisable.
The Pendant Page 3
