The Beggar's Wrath

by J B Drake

  Shaking her head, Anise turned to Baern. “I’ll leave them in your capable hands, then.”

  Baern nodded in response, smiling as Anise turned and left. Once they were alone, he turned his attention back to the others.

  “Thought Tip was supposed to go to you,” Marshalla said once his attention was upon then.

  “Ah, yes, well,” Baern replied. “I have news.”

  “Oh?” Marshalla asked.

  “Is it good or bad?” Tip added.

  “It’s…well…a bit of both I’d imagine, depending on who you speak to.”

  “What is it?” Davian asked.

  “Well,” Baern continued, pausing to stare briefly at Tip. “I’m going to be away for a while.”

  “Away where?” Marshalla asked.

  “For how long?” Tip added.

  “Well, I’m headed for the court of the highland elves, and as for how long, I don’t… rightly know I’m afraid.”

  “But did they not threaten us with open war should we ever set foot in their court?” Davian asked.

  Baern turned to stare at the little elf, his brow furrowed. “You’re surprisingly well informed.”

  A sheepish smile parted Davian’s lips.

  “Why you want to go there, then?” Marshalla demanded.

  “It’s…complicated.”

  “But for how long, though?” Tip asked.

  Sighing, Baern turned to stare at Tip.

  “Tip, I truly do not know,” he said, shrugging as he spoke. “It might be a few days, it might be a month or two.”

  “Two months?” the little elf exclaimed.

  Wincing, Baern nodded.

  “Guess that means Tip’s Birthing not that important anymore, eh?” Marshalla asked, her gaze darkening as she spoke.

  “Now, now, Marsha,” Baern chided. “I said I was leaving. Me. Mardaley will still be here.”

  “But his lesson’s boring, though,” Tip whined. “Yours much better.”

  Baern smiled. “I shall take that as a compliment, although it’s probably because I have the easier class to teach.”

  “But Tip needs both, you said,” Marshalla insisted. “You said Tip needs both, and Mardaley’s only going to teach him one, so how—”

  “Mardaley will cover both classes in my absence, Marsha, we are not going to let Tip’s tutelage suffer over this. I gave you my word, and I intend to keep it.”

  A tense silence ensued, with Marshalla crossing her arms under her bosom as she glared at Baern, and Baern holding her in a calm but equally unrelenting gaze.

  “Fine,” Marshalla growled at last, dropping her arms as she spoke, an act that brought a smile to the elderly Magister’s lips.

  “Now, seeing as I shall have to take with me no small number of gifts and trinkets, and since we all know just how atrocious I am at selecting gifts, what say you three accompany me to the markets and help me chose?”

  The three exchanged glances. Their distinct lack of enthusiasm was not what Baern was expecting.

  “And, who knows,” he continued, eyeing them all closely, “you might even find a thing or two for yourselves.”

  The three exchanged glances once more, this time with smiles upon their lips.

  Baern grinned. “Well, shall we?”

  Grinning, Tip and Davian sprang to their feet, and as one, all four headed for the Summoner Pens’ portal stone.

  “Netari!” Tirelin yelled as he slammed the front door behind him. “Netari!”

  “Gods, Tirelin,” Netari replied as she raced down the stairs. “What is it? What’s happened?”

  Grinning, Tirelin raced to his wife as she reached the landing, grasping her face in his hands before kissing her lovingly.

  “I’ve missed you too, I suppose,” Netari frowned, her confusion apparent.

  Laughing, Tirelin let go of his beloved’s face, and instead grasped her hands in his, raising them to his chest.

  “I have good tidings and not so good. Which would you like to hear first?”

  Netari’s frown deepened as she stared at her husband. “Not so good.”

  “Well,” Tirelin replied, pausing briefly to kiss her hands. “I’m afraid our dear, dear friend Thuridan Grovemender will shortly be dining with Lord and Lady Gladespell.”

  As those words rang in Netari’s ears, her eyes went wide as she pulled her hands free of her husband’s.

  “Tell me you jest.”

  Tirelin shook his head.

  “And you’re smiling? Can’t you see what Gladespell is doing? He’s trying to rob you of Thuridan’s fealty!”

  “Of course he is! I knew he’d try and take advantage of Nerrick’s betrayal somehow, and what better way than to deprive me of the one advantage I have over the king in that accursed Tower! Especially now that Thuridan’s a magister.”

  “And you are happy about this?”

  Tirelin shook his head. “No, I am happy about the good tidings I have for you.”

  Taking a deep breath, Netari brought her irritation to heel. “And what would that be?”

  “It. Is. Working!”

  Netari frowned. “What is?”

  “My plan. Our retribution. It is coming together! The first phase was flawless!”

  With eyes wide, Netari’s lips parted in a wide grin as she grasped her husband’s face in her hands.

  “I knew you could do it!”

  Grasping her left palm in his right, Tirelin kissed it deeply before grinning at his wife, though the grin was fleeting.

  “But now I need you,” he replied. “Gladespell’s move has put the next phase in jeopardy. We may yet salvage this, but his involvement now means I can go no further without you.”

  Netari frowned. “What would you have me do?”

  “Come,” Tirelin replied, grasping his wife’s hand as he turned to head for the door. “The carriage awaits us. I shall explain all there, come.”

  But Netari resisted, shaking her head. Stopping, Tirelin stared at his wife, his brow furrowed. In response, Netari gazed upwards before staring at her beloved.

  “Can you not wait a while?” she asked, forcing a smile as she spoke. “This is the…time I…spend in Fallon’s room. I just need a moment, just a moment. Can you not give me that?”

  Tirelin moved to speak, but words failed him. At last, he too gazed upwards, but as he stared at his wife once more, a thought came to him.

  “What if you bring something of his with you, will that suffice?”

  Netari moved to speak, to refuse and object, but she caught herself, and instead nodded and smiled.

  “I know what to bring.”

  Nodding, Tirelin forced a smile of his own. “Good. I’ll wait for you here.”

  Nodding once more, her shame forcing her gaze to her feet, Netari turned and hurried up the stairs. As she disappeared from view, Tirelin closed his eyes briefly and sighed. Gritting his teeth against the pain in his heart, he turned round, taking a deep breath as he spun about. As he turned, his eyes met Larine’s. As they stared at each other, neither spoke, but in truth no words were needed, and as Larine turned to continue her duties, Tirelin turned his attention back to the top of the stairs. Before long, his beloved returned.

  “Fallon’s walking cane,” Tirelin said, nodding as he forced a smile, his eyes transfixed upon the cane in Netari’s hand.

  “Yes,” she replied as she hurried down the stairs. “It seemed the most fitting.”

  “What would the ladies of the court say?”

  Netari laughed. “When have I ever paid any heed to their cackling?”

  “Well said,” Tirelin replied, forcing his smile wider. “Shall we?”

  “Yes, let’s,” Netari replied. “Just be sure to explain your cunning plan and what role I am to play.”

  Tirelin grinned. “Oh, I will, my dear, all of it. But first we must hurry to the markets, there is a rendezvous we cannot afford to miss if we are to ensure Thuridan’s lunch with the Gladespells is a memorable one.”

&nb
sp; Together, they hurried out into the waiting carriage. Once in, their journey to the markets could only be described as a mad dash, one that was both death-defying and heart-stopping in equal measure, but Tirelin was determined to make the meeting, and his servants knew better than to disappoint him. Before long, they’d arrived, and as the carriage rolled to a halt Tirelin leapt out of the carriage, his eyes scanning his surrounds.

  At last, the elven lord grinned as he spotted one of Lady Gladespell’s scullery maids.

  “We’re not too late, thank the gods,” he whispered.

  “Is that her?” Netari asked as she clambered out of the carriage behind her husband.

  Tirelin nodded.

  “Wait here for me, my dear,” he said as he made to head over to the young maid.

  “What? Why?” Netari asked, frowning.

  Tirelin turned to face his beloved square. “If we both approach her, I fear she will change her mind. She is a very skittish one, this one, and your reputation won’t play in our favour here.”

  Netari scowled, but held her peace.

  “I shan’t be long,” Tirelin continued, and feeling his outer coat pocket, he made his way towards the maid as casually as he could. Netari watched her husband for a spell, a scowl etched upon her lips, before leaning against the carriage door as she turned and took in the crowd about her. As she stared, she went over her husband’s plan in her mind. It was a simple plan, but a desperate one, one that was precarious in places, far too precarious for her liking, and as she stared at the crowd, Netari turned the plan over in her mind as she sought ways to strengthen it.

  Then, she saw them; the murderers of her children, the destroyers of her world. It was the girl she saw first, the garb of a Summoner Pens attendant drawing her gaze like a magnet, and from her, Netari’s eyes fell onto the boy. As she stared at them, they oblivious to her, she felt her legs begin to give way as her heart threatened to burst from her chest. They were laughing, as if they had nary a care in the world. They’d robbed her of her happiness, destroyed much of what gave her life meaning, and here they were, happy as could be. Gritting her teeth, Netari spun on her heels and leant on the carriage door. Her breath came in snatches, and as she fought to tame the emotions welling up within her, her grip on Fallon’s walking cane tightened.

  Then, she heard their laughter once more.

  Slamming her fist into the carriage door, Netari spun on her heels once more, and stormed forward.

  With her lips twisted into a snarl, she marched towards the objects of her hate, her gaze fixed firmly upon the laughing little gutter scum whose lives she’d give anything to end. So focused was she that she didn’t see young Davian stood beside Marshalla, nor did she notice the young elf stop and stare at her as she approached. In fact, she only truly noticed him when she finally reached them.

  “Ah, Your Grace,” Davian said as she stood before them.

  Startled, the elven noble stared at the little boy, her gaze one of simple surprise.

  “Davian?” she said, frowning.

  Davian bowed in response.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Davian grinned. “Magister Meadowview brought us to the markets with him. He gave us a silver each to spend as we see fit, and we’re just trying to decide what to buy.”

  At mention of the Magister, Netari scanned the faces about.

  “Magister Meadowview just entered the tanner’s store,” Davian said, reading the elven noble perfectly.

  Shaking her head, Netari turned her gaze back to the young elf. “I meant, what are you doing with these?”

  For a brief moment, Davian’s smile dimmed.

  “They are my friends, Lady Fairshroud.”

  “And you go out in their presence?”

  Davian nodded at the elven noble, but before he could respond, Marshalla spoke up.

  “What’s your problem?” she demanded.

  Sneering, Netari turned to face Marshalla square. “My problem is Davian’s safety. You do have blood on your hands, after all.”

  Her words stung all three in no small measure, and seeing the pain in their eyes warmed Netari’s heart no end.

  “Didn’t meant to kill them,” Tip muttered.

  Sneering, Netari rounded on the little boy. “And that’s meant to assuage your guilt? Worthless scum like you should be ground under heel.”

  “Who the hells do you think you are?” Marshalla yelled.

  “Marsha, please, let me—” Davian pleaded.

  But Marshalla ignored him.

  “Can’t talk to us like that, you got no right!” she thundered. “Your sons not even that special!”

  Netari took a step forward, an open snarl upon her lips. “My Fallon was worth a thousand of you and more, you stupid, diseased little whore. If only you could understand what you’ve done. If only you could see the hurt and suffering you’ve caused. Perhaps then you’d do the decent thing, open your veins and be done with it!”

  “Hey!”

  “Lady Fairshroud, please!” Daniton begged. “We—”

  Netari rounded on the stuttering little boy. “Shut up, Davian! Just shut up!” Then she turned her attention back to Marshalla.

  “You’re nothing, child. You’ve always been nothing, and you will always be nothing.”

  Now, it was Marshalla’s turn to sneer. “If your boys so special, how come they died so quick then, eh? Kin-Slayer didn’t even break a sweat ending their miserable lives.”

  Stunned, the elven noble could only stare.

  “Didn’t do a good job on them boys if you ask me. The way they died, too bloody useless for their own good!”

  Wide eyed, Netari Fairshroud staggered back as if slapped, her gaze upon Marshalla still.

  “You would dare…” she whispered, her voice heavy with emotion.

  “Lady Fairshroud, please,” Davian begged. “This doesn’t—”

  “You would dare…” Netari repeated as she took a step forward.

  “Lady Fairshroud,” Davian said, raising his voice, “please, let’s just—”

  “You would dare!” Netari bellowed, and grasping the cane’s handle with her sword arm, she unsheathed the blade, swinging it in a tight, near perfect arc level with Marshalla’s throat, and all within a heartbeat.

  The silence that fell was deafening. All eyes were upon Marshalla.

  Standing rooted, Marshalla stared at the quivering noblewoman for what felt like an eternity before raising a hand to her throat.

  “Marsha?” Tip asked, tears not far away.

  Turning, Marshalla shook her head.

  “It’s okay, no blood. Look, see?” She showed Tip her hand. “No blood.”

  “Lady Fairshroud!” a voice bellowed behind the children.

  Turning, the three children watched as an incensed Baern Meadowview storm towards them, as did the lady Fairshroud. But Netari’s ire was far from cooled, and as she turned to face him, her jaw was set and her gaze defiant.

  “How dare you—!” Baern began as he reached the others.

  “Oh, do shut up, Baern,” a voice said from behind the Magister. “Just take the brats and leave.”

  “Leave?” Baern exclaimed as he spun to face the speaker.

  “Yes,” Tirelin replied as he sauntered over to his wife. “Leave.”

  “Your wife just tried to kill a ward of the Tower!”

  “Did she? I didn’t see anything.”

  “Don’t be a fool, man! Even you cannot cover this one up.”

  Tirelin smirked at the seething mage. “Can’t I? Where are the peace keepers?”

  “They…” Baern began, but as he looked around for them, he soon realised those he did see had their attention firmly elsewhere.

  “You’re in our realm now, Baern,” Tirelin continued, “not your precious Tower’s. Leave. Now.”

  “Mark me, Duke,” Baern snarled, “this is not the end of the matter.”

  “No,” Tirelin sighed, “no, I suppose you’ll want to make a big
deal of it all. Well, good luck to you.” And without waiting for a response, the sneering noble placed an arm about his wife and gently led her back to the carriage, four pairs of eyes watching them closely.

  The pair walked in silence, but as they walked, Netari’s rage dissipated and was replaced by shame. Before long, they reached the carriage.

  “Look, Tirelin, I—” Netari began as her husband opened the carriage door for her.

  “We’ll talk inside,” Tirelin interjected.

  Netari stared at her husband. There was a smile upon his lips, but the pain in his eyes bore deep into her. Nodding, she sheathed her blade and clambered in, and as Tirelin joined her, the carriage rolled away. For a time, they rode in silence, but soon that became unbearable.

  “Look, Tirelin, I…” Netari began, chasing away the silence as she turned at her beloved. But as their eyes met, her voice failed her.

  “You didn’t kill her,” Tirelin said.

  Gritting her teeth, Netari shook her head as she closed her eyes briefly.

  “Why?”

  Netari shrugged as she shook her head once more. “I don’t know.”

  Tirelin stared at his wife in silence for a spell before at last turning his gaze forwards.

  “This will cost us, Netari.”

  Netari sighed.

  “I know,” she replied as she too stared before her.

  “Should this reach the king, he—”

  “I know,” Netari repeated as she closed her eyes briefly. “I know, my darling, and I am sorry.”

  Tirelin sighed. “At least you didn’t kill her, we have that to be grateful for.”

  It was not meant as a sting, Netari knew this, but his words hurt nonetheless.

  “I need you though, Netari,” Tirelin continued. “But not like this. The Netari I know would never lose sight of the prize. She would never risk the whole war to win a single battle.”

  Gritting her teeth, Netari turned to stare out the window beside her.

  Tirelin turned to stare at his wife. “I need you. I cannot do this without you.”

  Taking a deep breath, Netari let it out slowly before at last turning to face her husband once more.

  “Then you shall have me, Tirelin,” she replied. “You shall have me.”

  A slow smile parted Tirelin’s lips as he nodded, then tapped his walking cane against the floor of the carriage.