by Jason Malone
We stopped outside a tavern, the Black Rose. The tavern had a stable attached to it, so I led Lilly there and handed her over to the stable-master who was tending the other horses. He greeted me, welcoming me back from my journey. I was a regular at this place. Laughter and chatter could be heard inside. Dusk was beginning to fall, and so some of Oldford’s working men were already at the tavern for a drink after a hard day.
“Forgive me if this is not to your liking,” I said to Matilda outside. “There are other places we can stay in Oldford, but a friend owns the Rose, and I get good prices here.”
Matilda nodded but said nothing.
We entered the Rose, and I could tell Matilda hated it right away. It was crowded, noisy, and smelled of smoke, sweat, and ale. Men who were fat, old, ugly, or dirty — or all four — huddled around the bar and the tables, sat on window sills, or just stood around, beer dripping from their beards and food staining their clothes. Women flirted with some of the men, and a few lucky ones were taken by the hand to the rooms upstairs.
As we entered, some men turned and glanced at Matilda, their eyes flicking up and down, but when they noticed me they bowed their heads and turned their attention back to their talk and their games.
I led Matilda through the crowd as we pushed past the patrons. Some greeted me, others whistled at Matilda, and I could tell she was uncomfortable. Her face was red, and she glared at me. I admit, I regretted bringing her there, but I was low on coin and could not afford a place with better beds. We arrived at a door at the back of the tavern, and I began fumbling through my pockets. Matilda dug her shoulder into my chest, trying to get as close to me as possible to avoid the crowd. I pulled a key from my pouch.
“Here is it,” I said. I slid the key into the lock on the door, turned it, and pushed it open. “Special patrons only. After you.” I gestured for Matilda to enter, and I followed.
I led her up a staircase and through another doorway until we found ourselves in a gallery that looked out over the main part of the tavern. This section was much nicer. It smelled only of incense and good food; the patrons here were wealthier and better dressed than those below, and they played polite and quiet games of cards or chatted at reasonable volumes, and better still, it was not crowded. There were perhaps no more than a dozen guests up here. I sat us down at a round table.
“Sorry about all that,” I said.
Matilda forced a smile. “I asked to see the world, did I not?”
“The beds here are good, and so is the food. Mildred runs a good tavern,” I told her.
“Who is Mildred?”
“She’s a friend. I knew her back when she bought this building.”
Matilda nodded. “I am just happy to be out of that Gods-forsaken saddle.”
I laughed, and at that a plump middle-aged woman with a pretty round face and blonde hair worn in a tight bun entered the gallery. She wore a blue dress with a stained brown apron.
“Edward!” she said and opened her arms. She walked over to us, and I stood, embracing her with a smile. She smelled of roast pork and happiness.
“It’s good to see you, Mildred,” I said. I pulled out a seat for her, and we sat down.
“Mildred, this is my companion, Matilda. She’s the Earl of Henton’s daughter.”
A great smile appeared on Mildred’s face, and she held out a hand for Matilda. “I’m Mildred, and it’s an absolute pleasure to meet you, My Lady,” she said. Matilda put her had in Mildred’s, and then the woman immediately pulled it to her face and kissed it. “Welcome to the Black Rose.”
“Thank you,” Matilda said.
Mildred turned to me and folded her arms on the table. Her sleeves were rolled up, exposing her pale, chubby forearms.
“She’s a fetching lass, isn’t she? What’d you have to do to pick this one up?” she asked with a chuckle. Matilda turned bright red.
“It’s not like that, Mildred. She wanted to see the world, so I am showing it to her,” I explained.
“Thank the Gods, I was about to be jealous,” she said. She punched me on the arm. “She’s too young for you anyway. And certainly too good for you. How old are you, lass? Fourteen? Fifteen?”
“Sixteen,” Matilda said and half-smiled. Mildred let out a roar of laughter, which made the patrons in the gallery turn and frown, and some of the patrons below hoorayed in response.
“Oh, you keep a close eye on this one, My Lady,” Mildred said. “You’re just his type, and it’s only a matter of time before he starts making moves.”
“I do not have a type,” I said.
“Bollocks. Every man has his type,” she said. “I run a brothel, and I have come to learn that each man has certain tastes. You, Edward, like ’em thin, with sharp faces and firm arses.” Mildred cackled again.
“Could we have something to eat, Mildred?” I asked.
She turned serious and straightened her back. “Right away, sir. Roast pork pie and vegetables tonight. And I’ll open a new barrel of ale, just for you two.” Mildred stood and put her hands on her hips. “Would you like a girl tonight?”
I shook my head. “You know the answer, Mildred. It’s the same every time.”
“You’re a boring old miser, aren’t you? Very well, I’ll get you both your meal.”
Mildred marched away, and Matilda stared at me.
“What?” I asked.
“You did not tell me this was a brothel,” Matilda said, frowning.
“It’s not. At least, that is not its main function. It’s a tavern, but Mildred lets whores work here, so I suppose it doubles as a brothel,” I explained. It was probably rude of me to bring a noblewoman to the Rose, but there was nowhere better in Oldford.
Matilda only shook her head and changed the subject. “How far is it to your hall?”
“Not far, only a day if we leave before sun-up. I often make trips to and from Oldford to run errands.” Matilda nodded and picked at her fingers. “Do you not like it here?” I asked.
Matilda shook her head. “It is crowded and smells awful. And men won’t stop looking at me.”
“We will be at my home soon, and the men there won’t dare look at you the way these ones do.”
“What is it like? Your home?”
“It is beautiful. In summer, you step outside to see fields of golden wheat nestled in a lush, green valley, surrounded by wide pastures stretching for miles and hills dotted with sheep. Now, however, the fields are a pristine white, but my hall remains warm and shields our bones from the bitter air. A cosy fire will be burning in the hearth right now, kept alive by my servants, while my oathmen will be huddled sharing tales and laughter. My steward, Alfred, will probably be playing his harp.” I chuckled. “He’s terrible, and my hounds always bark when he plays, but we love his songs all the same.”
“That sounds lovely,” Matilda said with a smile. “I cannot wait to see it.”
I grinned and stared at Matilda in that moment, reminded of the necklace I had bought her. The moth sat in the middle of her chest, resting on the bust of her dark purple dress. It complimented her black hair, which fell gently on her shoulders, and made her deep blue eyes even sharper.
“So, here’s your food. Nice and hot. Gave my cooks a good beating to make sure they did it just right,” Mildred said, stealing me from my trance. She placed our plates and drinks in front of us.
“Thank you, Mildred. Though I am sure beating them was a bit excessive,” I said.
She clapped me over the head. “It was a joke, you humourless dolt.” She laughed. “I’ve also made sure your rooms are ready. I’ve given you your usual one, Edward, and the Lady of Henton will be in the one a few doors down from you.”
Matilda frowned. “If you do not mind, Mildred, I would prefer to share a room with Edward. This city scares me, and I do not want to be alone.”
Mildred glanced at me, winked, then turned back to Matilda and bowed. “Of course you can, My Lady. Means I get more customers,” she said. She then placed a key
down on the table. “Now, I’ll leave you two in peace. If there are any problems, just give me a yell.”
“Thank you, Mildred. You’re a good friend,” I said. She nodded, then turned and left us alone.
“I like her,” Matilda said.
“I think it’s impossible to dislike her,” I said, digging into my meal. Matilda began to pick at her food, eating slowly. She sipped her ale and then grimaced.
“Gods, that’s hideous,” she said. I laughed, and she laughed with me. Matilda’s mood had brightened, and soon we were chatting over our food. It was delicious, as usual, but Matilda was right about the ale. It was incredibly bitter and strong — good for a cold winter’s night but terrible if you were used to mulled wine in your noble father’s feasting hall. It tasted like piss, but despite that, Matilda finished her jug. She got drunk, and we talked at the table long after we finished eating.
I had called for another round of ale, which Matilda also finished, and after that she would not stop giggling. I told the occasional joke, all of which sent Matilda into a fit of giggles. She calmed down at one point, and her wide, watery eyes looked into mine and for a moment — just a moment — I caught a glimpse into her soul again.
Days ago, when I looked through her eyes as she begged me to take her away from Henton, I saw loneliness and longing, but now not a trace of that seemed to remain.
3
Home
Matilda was in a sorry state. She sat up in bed, beads of sweat decorating her forehead while she hugged a wooden bucket. Her eyes were watering, her cheeks were flushed, and her hair was a mess. She groaned again, dropped her head, and made an awful choking noise. What remained of last night’s meal dribbled from the back of her throat.
We had retired late the night before. I offered to sleep on the floor so Matilda could have the bed to herself, but Matilda insisted on sharing so we did not get cold. She fell asleep the moment her head hit the pillow while I lay awkwardly on the edge of the bed as I tried to sleep.
I was woken a few hours later by Matilda throwing open the shutters and heaving her dinner out onto the streets. I found her a bucket, and now here we were.
“This is what happens when you drink too much,” I said. She was gagging, with nothing left for her to throw up. She looked up from her bucket and scowled at me. “It will pass in a few hours.”
Matilda put the bucket to the side, put her face in her hands, and began to cry. I rolled my eyes. I was cold and grumpy, had little sleep, and now I had to deal with this. Matilda was proving to be more of a burden than I initially thought, and in that moment, I wished I had never agreed to take her away from Henton. All I could think of was how I would be home by now if not for that damned blizzard. I pulled on my boots, buckled my belt, and put on my cloak.
“I will be back shortly,” I said.
Matilda looked up at me with teary eyes. “Please stay.”
“No. Just keep gagging into the bucket until you fall asleep.” I headed for the door, and Matilda just lay on her side, looking hopeless. She curled up and pulled the blankets to her chin. I left her alone and went. Looking back now, I realise that I probably encouraged her by ordering more ale, but even so, she was a handful and I needed to be alone.
The Black Rose in the morning was entirely different to what it was in the evening. There were only half a dozen patrons here now, probably overnight guests who had woken for Mildred’s breakfast. The room was quiet except for murmurs and the occasional clink of cutlery. I was approached by a servant girl who offered me food, I accepted, and she hurried off to the kitchen while I found a seat. I sat at a small table by the window in the corner of the tavern, and a few moments later, I had company.
“You are Edward, yes?” A man came to sit opposite me, his gloved hands clasped together. He had dark hair and even darker eyes, but his skin was incredibly pale. He was a very tidy and well-presented man. His hair was pulled back tight and his beard was neatly trimmed, and he wore an expensive leather tunic and a thick woollen cloak falling over his shoulders. The cloak was pinned together by a silver brooch in the shape of a snake coiled around itself. His garments were all dyed black. He was tall and handsome, in his mid-thirties I guessed, but despite his respectable appearance, there was a slightly menacing look in his eyes. He smiled at me.
“I am,” I responded. Had I known then the amount of trouble this man would cause me, I would have said no.
“Good, good. I was passing through town yesterday, and I heard you were staying here, so I thought I would come wait for you in the morning. And here you are.” He waved his hands as if he were presenting royalty. “There are other men looking for you, by the way. You are fortunate that I found you first. My name is Hakon,” he said.
“How may I help you, Hakon?” I asked. I was hoping to eat my breakfast in peace, so I wanted to get what I assumed would be a boring conversation over with. Hakon folded his arms, and I knew my hopes were in vain.
“You are quite famous around these parts, are you not? I have heard many tales of your deeds. You once saved this town from a vampire, correct?”
“She was a witch,” I corrected him. “People just like to exaggerate the story. What do you want?”
Hakon seemed offended by my abruptness, but he smiled. “I have a lot of coin to offer you, if you want it.”
“Depends on what you want in return,” I said. I stared out the window, waiting for the man to tell me about scratching sounds in his walls or an odd dream he had.
“You have heard of the legendary King Emrys, I assume. What do you know of him? Ah, here is your food,” he said and nodded to the servant girl carrying a tray towards my table. He watched her, hunger in his eyes.
The girl placed the tray before me, presenting me with a steaming hot pie and a piece of fresh-baked bread. A cup of milk sat beside the plate. “Thank you,” I said to the girl. She curtsied and then hurried off.
Hakon watched her for a moment and then turned back to me and smiled.
I started eating. “King Emrys?” I said. “I confess, my knowledge of that man is lacking. But I know he ruled about a thousand years ago. He was cursed with immortality and spent centuries roaming the land, leaving only devastation in his wake. That is, before he was sealed away in a tomb by a man named Godwin.”
Hakon raised his eyebrows and gave me a slow nod, evidently impressed by my limited knowledge of the legend. I continued eating, waiting for him to enlighten me on the subject. “You know only the core of the legend,” he said. “But that is understandable. The tale has been lost to time. Emrys was sealed away three centuries ago, after all. Fortunately, my ancestors wrote it down and stored it in their library. According to them, Emrys was king of the lands to the northwest before our people conquered this country. One day, while campaigning, he disappeared with his entire army! Ten thousand horsemen, it is said. He was thought to have died, and so was succeeded by his son.
“For three hundred years no trace of Emrys or his army was found, and he was forgotten. Then, one day, he emerged from the hills. He marched through the land with his army, all of them on horseback. Supposedly, neither Emrys nor his men could set foot on the ground until Emrys became king once more.
“So they rode for days, and the days turned to weeks, and the weeks turned to months, and Emrys grew impatient. I guess he hoped the curse would be lifted on its own. The army began to raid and eventually went to war with the king at that time — our people now ruled his lands, by the way. Emrys lost that war, and that winter he retreated to the hills and disappeared for another hundred years.”
Hakon shrugged, as if he did not believe what he was telling me, but the passion with which he spoke told me he did. I listened while I ate, and he continued.
“Anyway, after a hundred years Emrys returned to devastate the land. He waged war against the king, attempting to reclaim his throne and lift his curse. He was defeated again, and so disappeared for another hundred years. Every century, Emrys would reappear, war against who
mever the king was, and then disappear for another century after being defeated.
“Finally, people began to see a pattern, and the next time Emrys came the king was ready. In the year 822 of the Third Age of Man, Emrys and King Carol the Great warred for control over Ardonn’s throne, and three years later, King Carol and his champion Godwin managed to seal Emrys and his men away in a hidden mountain tomb. If the legends are true, Emrys remains in that mountain to this day.”
Hakon sat back in his seat. He watched me eat my pie in silence for a few moments. I was thinking. Hakon’s tale intrigued me, but I did not want to show him that.
“Charming story,” I said. A flicker of anger appeared in Hakon’s eyes, but he just smiled. “What does that have to do with your offer?”
“Godwin was one of the Gifted. And so are you,” he said.
I knew about Godwin. He was the most famous of all the Gifted, a legendary warrior-poet and close friend and champion to King Carol the Great. Carol rewarded Godwin’s services with a title, an official royal position, and a large house with some land in the rich countries around Oldford.
The descendants of Godwin’s second-born son sat beside the kings as Royal Godspeakers for generations until the position was abolished by the Usurper eight years ago, while Godwin’s descendants from his first-born lived in that home for centuries. That home was passed down to my master, and now it belonged to me.
“My master was a direct descendant of Godwin,” I said to Hakon.
“So I have heard,” he said. “At any rate, I need the sword Godwin wielded when he helped Carol seal Emrys away. My sources tell me that sword was passed down to your master, and I assume you now have it. Am I correct? I would like to buy that sword from you.”
I almost choked on my food. Did this man want to release Emrys from his tomb? Why would anyone want to do that? If the legends were true, Emrys would lay waste to these lands, and trapping him would not be easy a second time.
