The Raike Box Set

by Jackson Lear

  “Has she ever screwed over Agnarr or Faersrock?”

  “She’s never been here.”

  “What about her people?”

  “They’ve never been here either.”

  A change of topic was needed. “I hear you make the best steel in all of the north.”

  “Fuck off.”

  “All right. Where’s Beatrix?”

  “Which one?”

  “Agnarr’s wife.”

  “She’s already married. Find someone else.”

  “I want to find her.”

  “Tough shit.”

  “Did you know that Agnarr’s son, Johnan, is dead?”

  “Yeah. It’s a tragedy.”

  I couldn’t tell from his attitude if he was being genuine or sarcastic. “How many children has Agnarr lost?”

  “What the fuck kind of question is that?”

  “All the ones from his first wife?”

  The blacksmith paused as something clicked into place.

  “And all the ones from his second wife?”

  Still pausing. Still figuring it out. Zara glanced over her shoulder, seeing trouble come our way.

  “Does he have any children alive who were aren’t from Beatrix?”

  His eyebrows knotted together. I was about to get another ‘fuck you.’

  A crunch of boots stopped behind us. “You southerners certainly have a way with people,” said Agnarr. “And yes: most of my children are dead. Now tell me why I shouldn’t set the dogs on you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “My condolences,” I said to Agnarr.

  He didn’t seem to take it to heart.

  “Why did you send your wife away?” I asked.

  Agnarr had already taken on the feel of a would-be-king, high and mighty despite living in a three room home. “I was being safe. You coming here is difficult for a lot of people. I had to send a lot of my captains away because they would probably have tried to kill you. If you had been caught then Draegor would likely have sent a fleet here himself. Beatrix and our children are in danger and I have no desire to see them die because of you.”

  Zara slipped into the most soothing voice I had ever heard. “I apologize wholeheartedly if we have offended you.”

  “I don’t accept your apology. Why was he asking about my dead children?”

  “My friend has a job to do and it requires asking some difficult questions.”

  The blacksmith muttered behind us in what sounded like a recital of my questioning.

  “And why are you asking about Elizandria?”

  “She sent a messenger to you,” I said.

  “Did she? Or did she say she had?”

  “She said it.”

  “I didn’t get one.”

  “But she’s someone you would’ve had to have dealt with if you claimed the throne. She’s hired to protect half of the noble families up here, isn’t she?”

  “So?”

  “So you would’ve communicated with her already.”

  “She knows more about what’s going on in Vasslehün than Draegor’s witch even does.” Agnarr lifted his chin to peer down at me. “Why were you asking about my children?”

  “Because you sent Johnan to Draegor when you could’ve sent someone else.”

  “Johnan was my heir.”

  “Did he and Beatrix get along?”

  I’ve rarely seen a pair of eyes snarl, but Agnarr’s did right then. “I can see why you have so many scars.” He muttered to Anka and her grandfather, asking about why they’re helping us. Agnarr returned his dreadful glare back to me. “You have silver from Draegor.”

  “Yes.”

  “Show me.”

  Curious to see where this was going, I handed over a coin. Agnarr examined it closely, lost in thought as he turned it over in his hand. “How did you get this?”

  “It was scattered across the floor after Draegor killed a few of Elizandria’s mercenaries. Their pockets were loaded with silver.”

  He furrowed his brow. Returned the coin. “How do you know they were mercenaries?”

  “Experience.”

  “How … exactly?”

  “Noble families and their guards tend to wear similar clothing. They use the same furrier, smith, and cobbler. Mercenaries take from the dead. Their clothing might be as nice as a nobleman’s but it will not match anyone else’s in their group. Have you ever been to Castle Brilskeep?”

  “Many times.”

  “Where did Draegor sleep?”

  “In one of the corners halfway up the castle. Why?”

  “Because if you still want to claim the throne it will be good to know if the new king has taken up residence in Draegor’s old room. Did you received a messenger from Elizandria?”

  “No. And I wouldn’t trust her.”

  “I don’t. I spoke with her. She seemed to want to be on your side but something about her said that if you were successful she didn’t expect you to remain king for very long.”

  Agnarr shifted, easing the pressure on his faulty leg. “She told you this?”

  “Yeah, but it could’ve been a test. What does she look like?”

  He peered back at me, not quite following along. “You met her.”

  “I met someone who said they were her.”

  He was now up to speed. “She has a fake eye. Blue. That should be enough.”

  “Tall?”

  “Shorter than usual.”

  “Age?”

  “Fifty? Fifty five? Something like that. Isn’t the fake eye enough?”

  “Depends. How many of the nobles hate each other?”

  “All of them.” Agnarr glanced over his shoulder, desperate to end our conversation. “You should go back inside. Leave my people alone. If you bother them again I will not take it lightly.” He turned. Crunched his way back home. The rest of the locals remained nearby, spying on us.

  I thanked Anka and her grandfather and walked with Zara back towards the center of town.

  “It’s exhausting watching you work,” said Zara.

  “That’s why I tend to do it alone.”

  “You asked me to come with you.”

  “How long would you have stayed in the tavern, twiddling your thumbs while I was out here finding out what’s going on?”

  “Yeah. Did you get what you wanted?”

  “Sort of. How much do you think mercenaries would charge to kill the king they’ve been hired to protect?”

  “That’s more of your expertise than me.”

  “I know. Humor me.”

  “A year’s salary?”

  “Probably, but the thing you want most is security. If you kill the king and no one hires you again then a year’s salary isn’t worth it, but it is plenty if there is a deal to keep you around long after the job is done.”

  “So one or more of the nobles hired Elizandria’s mercenaries to kill Draegor?”

  “Not sure. Draegor had no reason to be on the lower floors of the castle, yet there he was. He came out swinging at them and they were forced back into a defensive fight.”

  “He was high on vampire blood.”

  “Even so, they weren’t expecting it.”

  “So maybe they were hired to kill the nobles we found in the great hall.”

  “That’s more likely.”

  Zara worked with the idea. “All right, so there’s a coup. At least three of Elizandria’s mercenaries killed a bunch of drunk or drugged nobles. The rest of the castle was largely empty. We headed upstairs, fought ... Kaymor, was it?”

  “Yeah. The bear.”

  “We fought Kaymor, rescued Alysia … why wasn’t Kaymor protecting Draegor?”

  “Maybe he was on his way to Draegor when we all crashed into each other.”

  “So in that time the mercenaries killed the nobles, went off somewhere, we met up with the rest of the vanguard, heard Draegor’s roar, you stayed behind while we escaped, and you found him fighting those three who were loaded up on, what, a year’s salary?
”

  “Yeah.”

  We walked on, thinking it over. “Desdola and Draegor both came from the same doorway into the great hall.”

  “You think the mercenaries were there to kill her?”

  “And they found Draegor instead.” Zara shivered. Looked to the tavern. “I smell food.”

  My stomach had already entered that nauseas stage where a lack of food was tugging on my insides. “As long as it isn’t sea slugs.”

  “They’re not that bad, actually.”

  “Really? They remind you of home?”

  “I didn’t see the ocean or a lake this big until I was indentured, so no.”

  We headed towards the tavern where – thankfully – the smell of cooked vegetables overpowered the stench of seaweed and fish.

  “Who did Desdola show you?” I asked.

  “No one.”

  “Come on, she showed you someone.”

  “Didn’t see anyone.”

  “You drank blood wine and you were anxious on the boat out of Brilskeep.”

  “We had been under attack.”

  “We weren’t anymore. You were listening to someone.”

  “I was trying not to listen to half the crew fighting off their own visions.”

  “So who did you see?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Sure it does.”

  “Why?”

  “Because Desdola got to you, didn’t she?”

  It was strange seeing Zara this agitated when she had remained perfectly calm in a confrontation with Agnarr about his evacuated wife and dead children.

  “Drop it,” warned Zara.

  “Are they still alive?”

  “No.”

  We walked on. “Neither’s mine.”

  “You saw your father.”

  “Yeah.”

  “You said he was still alive.”

  “You tell me. You vetted me long before I joined the Kaseras.”

  She offered me a slow nod. “He’s still alive. His memory is not what it used to be. The neighbors said you kept running away from the orphanage to come back home and that he would dump you into the sestas arms again as soon as he could.”

  “He doesn’t remember that?”

  “He was fairly drunk when I spoke to him.”

  We reached the tavern. “You go on in. I’m going to take another look around.”

  “This is not the night to clear your head.”

  “Trust me, I still have things to check up on. Can you leave a bowl out for me? Maybe under one of those row boats so the dogs don’t get to it?”

  “They’re not going to like having a stranger from the south wandering around freely in their home town.”

  “It’ll be dark. They’ll be drunk.”

  “You’ll be tired.”

  “And if I need help you’ll hear me shouting.”

  Zara sighed, shaking her head. “Fine. Stay out. It’s going to be cold and you’ll regret it come morning.”

  “I’m sure I will.”

  She lingered for a moment, half ready to head inside yet something kept her at bay. “The ghost I saw … Back when I knew him he said he’d leave his wife for me. I said yes. It wasn’t until he said that with all of his money we’d never have to work again that I reconsidered.”

  “You were on the job?”

  “Him and his wife. She was the closest thing I had to a best friend for years, but even with all that I took every secret they had and fucked them over.”

  “Is he still alive?”

  Slowly, she nodded. “I hope so.”

  “Then it’s not too late.”

  “Some things are.” She offered me a look of complete defeat. “Don’t get too close to Alysia. Or to me. It won’t end well.” She headed into the bustle of the vanguard eating dinner and relaxing against the warm fire.

  I pulled back, trying to take heed of Zara’s warning. All around me the quiet fishing town of Faersrock settled in for the night; doors closing, shutters bolting, fires lighting, chimneys smoking. A couple of stragglers stumbled around, some drunk, some limping, others making one final trip to the out house. Some of the youngsters emerged, playing out on the dark road with a couple of the dogs keeping watch. The older children huddled together on doorsteps. The ones nearly of adult age crept into the trees with a horn of ale tucked under their clothes and a bulge in their crotch. The parents remained inside, rattling the house, shaking the foundations, and slumping to a disappointed finish. Slowly the kids were called back inside.

  I waited, keeping watch over the fjord, the tavern with Alysia and the vanguard inside, the dirt road to the longboat a couple of miles away, and a bunch of ramshackle homes which seemed a lot warmer than the snow flurry that kept me company. I bunched myself deeper into my cloak, wrapped snuggly in Draegor’s toasty gloves, and passed the time by trying to blow rings of mist from my mouth.

  I puzzled over the mass of silver coins in my possession, the explosions coming from beneath the castle. Agnarr’s help with pointing out where Draegor slept helped to rule out his bedroom door being blasted open by magic, but perhaps he had a harem down below. Or a vault of silver that the mercenaries ransacked.

  I bounced on my tiptoes to get some warm blood running through me whenever I was about to nod off. When that failed I plucked hairs from my week-old beard. Then I started to play the guessing game. I figured that I had about two hours of useful alertness. I was stubborn and used to keeping watch so that might push it to three hours. But I was also cold and exhausted from a lack of sleep, which would bring me back to two hours. But I did have a bladder, and the longer I held it the more likely I was going to stay awake instead of succumbing to sleep.

  Why was any of this guessing useful? I was going under the assumption that someone knew I was out here keeping watch. If that someone was playing the same guessing game then they would want to wait long enough to slip past me without being spotted. They would have a late dinner, sit by the fire, wait for that big log to burn down to the embers, take a swig of warm grog, and set off. I kept an eye on the chimneys. One by one they started to dwindle down, the smoke fading to nothing as the residents turned in for the night.

  All except for one.

  Agnarr’s.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Agnarr’s chimney went dark. The smoke drifted away. The candlelight from the window extinguished. The gentle snowfall obscured some of my vision but it wasn’t enough to block it out completely. The rhythmic lap of water against the shore kept me company. An occasional break in the surface as some fish or other creature managed to unsettle me.

  A figure emerged from Agnarr’s home. Male. Ten yards away. Walking discreetly from one building to another. Slipped out of view.

  I crept closer, careful of any crunch of snow which might have formed since my stakeout. I ducked around the side of someone’s shack, avoiding the windows in case the owner decided to stab me in my head. There might have been tiny murder holes in the side of the walls as well but I was hoping that was only my imagination messing with me.

  A dog barked from within a house. A cascade of other dogs followed, waking the entire town. Shouts and moans to shut the fuck up ensued. The dogs fell quiet. Their owners checked the windows. Whoever was on sentry duty on the edge of town remained silent. No cause for alarm – we weren’t under attack.

  I darted across the muddy road. Reached another home. Heard a slight thump of a door being closed. Peered around.

  My mystery friend had acquired an ally. Both rugged up in large cloaks that billowed behind and thick hoods which covered the back of their heads. Both men, judging by their statue and walk. They crossed the road, keeping their heads down, attention forward.

  I checked the surrounding windows for light, faces, smoke, or the like. Listened out for any bird call, whistle, or signal to the duo that someone was following them. Nothing seemed obvious so I followed them, keeping myself close to the buildings while the duo walked along the middle of the roa
d.

  They took the path we had taken to reach Faersrock; along the water’s edge, past the church, burnt-down home, and houses covered in mud and grass. If the pair talked amongst themselves they were too quiet for me to even hear a whisper. Their heads remained locked forward.

  I followed their foot prints closely. Close to my boot size. Very similar stride length. One walked with his right foot pointing closer to forward than comfortably to the right. A man with a slight limp. The other had a slightly shorter stride.

  They carried along the path for ten minutes. Only when they reached the final fork in the road did they turn around to see if anyone was following them. They glanced left, right, leaned to one side, even trekked back along the trail a few yards. All clear. They moved on, to the pier, and whistled to the ship at rest.

  A row boat sploshed towards them. One manning the oars, the other sitting at the front of the boat. It was too dark to work out who. They reached the pier. Both climbed up. All four began talking in whispered tones.

  I considered using a spell to eavesdrop but what were the chances that they’d all be speaking Isparian? Slim. Better to keep my reserve of energy for something that I might find more useful, like tripping a foe so I could skewer his neck.

  The boat people seemed to take turns explaining things, probably ‘what happened in Brilskeep,’ or their answer to ‘what’s your take on Miss Kasera?’ Heads turned from one man to another. Conversations continued. I have no idea who was who or what they were saying but a secret meeting in the dead of night would’ve had a limited range of topics.

  At last they shuffled around, shook hands, and the two sailors climbed back into the row boat. One of the duo in the fur cloaks helped kick the row boat around so that it was pointing in the right direction, then they headed off down the path, passed me without indicating if they knew I was there and continued walking. The pair in the row boat were nothing but dark blobs by the time they reached their ship. Soon enough it was alive with activity. The sail unfurled. Oars struck the water. They were on the move.

  I left them to it, snuck back along the path and checked the foot prints again. Both shorter strides than mine. All four feet pointing normally outwards.

  So that was it. Two men set off towards the ship. A third and fourth joined them. In the darkness someone must’ve exchanged cloaks. That someone rowed out to the ship. The other two returned to town.