“I told you to stay out of my room!” Elias bellowed.
“Yes, I recall that conversation,” Delvin said calmly. “What makes you think I was in your room?”
“I found that game piece – a thief turned assassin – in my hand when I woke. I checked my game board and discovered it rearranged, as if it were in the middle of a highly contested match.”
Delvin glanced at Quinn with a grimace. “I still don’t understand the connection.”
Quinn stifled her desire to laugh, her face remaining stoic as she listened to Delvin’s responses – non-incriminating, yet, without a lie of denial.
“Nobody else would dare break into my room like that. None would find humor in such a childish prank. I am not sure if any of them could pull it off anyway.”
Delvin tilted his head. “So, you believe I broke into your room and messed with your game pieces because you can’t think of anyone else who would or could do such a thing? Is this how you assign guilt to somebody?”
The arcane master’s face grew even redder until Quinn feared his head might explode. Finally, he huffed, spun around, and hobbled from the room, using the slam of the door as his final expression of frustration.
“That went well,” Delvin grinned at Quinn as he lifted his teacup to his lips. “Don’t you think?”
19
The Aspen Inn
Hastily raising his shield, Broland blocked Kony’s practice sword, the impact sending a jolt through his shoulder and causing him to wince. He spun with the blow to create space and to provide him time to regroup. After two heavy breaths, Broland advanced with his sword extended before him. A feint forced Kony to react and lift his shield. Broland thrust again while dropping low, Kony’s blade harmlessly sweeping over his head. Broland’s blade struck nothing but air as his opponent twisted. A reverse of Kony’s sweep had Broland lifting his blade for an urgent block, the force of which knocked him off balance. He rolled backward and rose to his feet in one smooth movement.
The two opponents stared across the sparring room, measuring each other. Broland found Kony to be as quick as Brandt, but stronger. Fighting against another longsword required different tactics than when he had dueled with Brandt and his quarterstaff. The differences were enough that Broland had lost every match for the past two weeks. That, along with Kony’s skill with a blade. Still, Broland believed that he was closing the gap.
Broland moved forward before lunging with a quick thrust. He pulled away when Kony countered and then drove toward him with repeated swipes. When Broland felt his back nearing the wall, he raised his shield, blocked a blow, and dove to the opposite side of Kony’s sword. A roll and a scramble to his feet had Broland back in the center of the room.
“You two fight like you’re courting one another, like a pair of jackaroos, strutting about.” Lorna’s voice came from the doorway. “Just get on with it.”
A grimace crossed Broland’s face. He hoped it appeared like determination and not a reaction from the guard’s comment. With a quick step, he crossed the gap and swung. Kony’s sword blocked the strike and Broland swung again, their repeated strikes sending a staccato of clacks off the circular chamber walls. After nine or ten swings, Broland thrust his shield toward Kony’s blade and swung his sword beneath it. Again, Kony twisted and Broland missed. The move cost him the match when Kony thrust his shield into Broland’s head. The clang of the shield striking Broland’s helmet sent him stumbling to his knees and left a ringing in his ears. When he leaned forward and spat blood, the room tilted and forced him to place one hand on the floor to remain upright.
“Match,” he said aloud, the taste of the word worse than the metallic tinge of blood in his mouth.
Kony removed his helmet and wiped his damp hair from his forehead. “You did well. This was our longest bout yet.”
Broland turned toward Kony, and he put one foot beneath himself. “That offers little solace. Dead is dead, and that is what I would be if this were a real fight.”
He stood and stumbled as the room tilted again. His head throbbed to the rhythm of his heartbeat. An itch on his forehead caused him to wipe his arm across it. When he looked down, he found a crimson streak across the bracer on his forearm.
“You should get that healed,” Lorna said as she stepped into the room.
“Thanks. I don’t know what I would do without you,” Broland grumbled.
She smirked. “You idiots need us women around. If not, you’d all either kill each other or drink yourself into a stupor.”
Broland snorted. “I’ve heard a few stories about you. Don’t pretend you don’t throw down ale like the other guards.”
Lorna shrugged. “Never said I didn’t. Unlike most of the men, I know how to handle it and when to stop.”
Broland turned toward Kony. “You go on and get cleaned up. I’ll meet you for lunch after I get myself healed.”
“You might want to clean up some of that blood as well.” Kony said as he left the room.
Broland turned to the guard. “Let’s go upstairs and see if my mother or father can heal me.”
“You don’t want to go down to the temple?”
Broland shook his head and walked into the corridor. “No. Last time I went down there, Master Beldon scolded me for not visiting the temple more often. He wants me to pray there to get closer to Issal, as if god cannot hear me anywhere else.”
Lorna grunted. “I’m not so sure Issal is listening to our problems anyway. I suspect that god has bigger issues than our petty concerns.”
A grin crossed Broland’s face and he clapped her on the shoulder. “I always did like you, Lorna. You’re not horrible company…for a girl.”
Broland led her upstairs, and he found Nels pacing the fifth-floor hallway. He waved to the man before knocking on the door to his parents’ room.
Ashland’s voice came from inside. “Come in.”
Opening the door and stepping in, he glanced back to find Lorna leaning against the corridor wall. He closed it, leaving both guards outside the room.
His mother was seated at the sofa, across from his grandmother, Ashley.
As he crossed the room, Broland wiped his forehead and found his fingertips covered in blood.
“Did you fall or were you sparring again?” Ashland asked.
“Sparring.”
“How bad is it?” he could hear the concern in her voice.
Broland stopped beside the Ratio Bellicus table and said, “Hello, Grandmother,”
The woman eyed him with a critical glare before shaking her head. “You boys and your fighting.”
“We weren’t fighting, Grandma. We were training.” He turned toward his mother. “Nothing broken. Just bruises, cuts, and a throbbing headache.”
“Come here.”
He bent over, and she placed her palm against his forehead. The warmth of her hand was soon offset by a chill that wracked his body and left him gasping. Already hungry from the morning’s exercise, Broland’s stomach rumbled loudly when the healing left him ravenous.
“There,” his mother smiled. “There is a cloth and bowl of water on the vanity. Get yourself cleaned up and then you can grab some food. Burtles was in here not twenty minutes ago to inform us that lunch was ready.”
Broland walked past her to her vanity and found a cream-colored cloth between her hairbrush and a shallow bowl of water. He dipped the cloth in the water and eyed himself in the mirror as he wiped the blood from his forehead, temple, cheek, and forearm. When finished, he walked past his mother and grandmother.
“Thank you, Mother.” He said as he headed toward the door.
When he stepped outside, he found Lorna and Nels in a quiet conversation. Lorna patted Nels on the shoulder and shifted closer to Broland.
“That was quick,” she noted.
“Thank, Issal. I’m starving.”
“I’m sure.”
He ran down the stairs with her a step behind, neither one stopping until they reached the third floor. W
hen Broland entered the informal dining room, he found both of his grandfathers, his grandmother Sally, and General Budakis in conversation with Kony.
“Hello, everyone. Sorry I’m late.”
A smattering of hellos came in reply as Broland circled the table, eyeing the food waiting there. A ham, a bowl of potatoes, steamed green beans, and a basket of bread sat at the center, the smell making his mouth water and his stomach aching to be sated. He claimed an open chair between Kony and his grandfather Milan while a steward circled behind him and filled his glass with milk. The moment the man moved away, Broland began loading his plate with food.
The others had already finished eating, save for Kony, who was in mid-meal. While Broland began stuffing his mouth, General Budakis stood, his arm shaking violently as he leaned on his cane.
“I must be going. I have field reports to go over.”
“Bye, Gunther,” the group replied.
The man gave them a nod, and he proceeded to limp toward the door.
Milan wiped his mouth with his napkin and turned toward Sally. “Shall we?”
“Yes, dear.”
“Where are you two off to?” Landon asked.
“I promised Sally a walk to the beach south of the harbor,” Milan replied.
Sally stood and took Milan’s arm and gave him a glowing smile. “We must keep the romance alive. Right, dear?”
Milan chuckled. “I must work at it, yes. But when it comes to you, a mere smile and I melt.”
She gave him a kiss and patted his cheek. “Very good. Careful or you may get more in return than you expect.”
Broland found himself blushing at the older couple’s exchange. His grandfather Landon stood and patted his stomach. “Now that I’m fed, I think I’ll go find Ashley and see if she would enjoy a walk as well.”
“You may join us if you wish,” Sally added.
The man smiled. “We may take you up on that offer.”
Broland looked toward Landon, swallowing before speaking. “Grandmother is in my parent’s chamber, having tea with my mother.”
“Thank you, Broland,” Landon smiled. “You just saved me time in hunting her down. This place is expansive, and she moves around more than one might expect.”
His grandparents left the room, leaving Broland and Kony alone. Kony put his fork down, his plate almost empty.
“I’ve been here for two weeks, but I haven’t seen any…girls. What do you do for fun?”
Broland stopped chewing and swallowed. “You won’t find many for girls in the citadel…a few maids, one kitchen helper, and another down in the laundry room. None are…suitable.”
“What about the local taverns?”
A grimace crossed Broland’s face. “I wouldn’t know.”
“What do you mean?”
“I have never been to one.”
“You have never been to a tavern?”
“No.” Broland shook his head. “I’m not exactly allowed to roam freely.”
“This has to be corrected.”
“What am I supposed to do?”
Kony leaned back. “Sneak out.”
Broland considered the idea. “My brother and sister used to do that. When caught, they would get in trouble, but at least they were able to pull it off first.”
“So, why not you as well?”
“Isn’t it…irresponsible?”
Kony snorted. “Life is short. You can’t always be responsible. You need to catch a star and ride it now and then.”
“What if you crash and burn?”
“There are no guarantees…even here, locked up in this castle.”
Broland recalled the antics of his siblings, the stress they put on his father, the worry they gave his mother. Still, they had been able to experience things that eluded him and would continue to do so unless he took a chance.
“All right. I’m in.”
Kony flashed his perfect white teeth. “Great. Let’s think up a plan, and we’ll slip away tonight. If things go well, we’ll be back in our beds before sunup, and no one will be the wiser.”
The evening was cool and shadowy fog filled the courtyard – evidence of the marine layer that had rolled in once the sun had set. Broland emerged from beneath the trees and snuck toward the waiting carriage with Kony a step behind him. The sound of distant waves crashing helped to mask their footsteps, but Broland wasn’t overly concerned. He suspected that the driver was dozing in the seat as he waited for his passenger.
Sitting behind the carriage, Broland eased himself beneath it while Kony did the same. The moment they had settled, the castle side door opened and blue light illuminated the swirling mist. The guard escorting Guildmaster Gilmore and his wife held the glowlamp up as he walked them to the carriage. When the man stopped to open the door, his feet were mere inches from Broland’s face. The other two pairs of feet disappeared as the couple climbed in, rocking the carriage. Two thumps sounded when the guard notified the driver that his passengers were loaded. The guard then turned and walked toward the building.
Broland hooked his heels to the front axle and gripped the rear axle. A glance to his right confirmed that Kony had done the same. The driver shouted to his team, and Broland lifted himself off the ground just before the carriage lurched into motion.
The bouncing of the wheels on the cobblestones shook Broland, causing his teeth to chatter. He clamped his mouth shut and held on tight as the carriage headed toward the castle gate. When it slowed and a guard approached from either side, Broland found himself straining to remain aloft. The guards gave the carriage a brief inspection and two thumps, sending them on their way.
Across the plaza and circling the fountain, the wagon headed toward the heart of Upper Kantar. Broland gasped as he struggled to hold himself up, his muscles protesting. The carriage turned at the second intersection and Kony let go, his body sliding past Broland before he also let himself drop.
“Oof,” came from his lips as the impact drove air from his lungs.
He sat up and saw the carriage drawing away from him, passing a brightly lit glowlamp, before fading into the fog. As Broland stood, he turned and found Kony stretching his muscled arms.
“I was beginning to cramp up,” Kony said.
Broland snorted. “Same here.” He patted his rear clean and walked toward his friend. “Where to now?”
“This is still Upper Kantar, right?”
“Yes.”
“We go farther down Center Street, then.” Kony turned and began walking toward the intersection.
Broland hurried to catch him. “Why?”
“Three reasons,” Kony began as the turned the corner and headed toward the gate. “First, if anyone might recognize you, it would be the citizens of Upper Kantar. You don’t need that, so Lower Kantar is the place to go.
“Second, we are out for fun. If it were about wine and quiet conversation, Upper Kantar would be suitable. In this case, it is not.
“Third, we have only two silvers between us. That won’t go far up here, but it should be more than enough in the lower part of the city.”
They soon passed beneath the gate and entered Lower Kantar. The street narrowed and a string of glowlamps shone in the fog, leading toward Southgate. A ruckus came from a building on the right. Above the door was a sign with a tree carved into it.
“Do you know this place?” Kony asked.
“The Aspen Inn. The guards say the taproom is not as seedy as some others, and it is quite popular.”
“Perfect. Let’s go in.” Kony stepped through the door and led Broland into the tavern.
As they entered, the volume of chatter increased threefold. Glowlamps lit the space, and a fire burned in an arched hearth at the far end of the room. An old man marked by a Musicus rune strummed a lute in one corner, the crowd seemingly ignoring him. Most of the tables were full, occupied mainly by men. A cluster of standing patrons encircled a table in the back. Half the heads in the building turned toward the table when a loud cheer rose
up. Kony leaned close while Broland stared in that direction.
“Dice,” Kony said. “It must have been a good throw.”
Waving his hand for Broland to follow, Kony weaved his way past a cluster of patrons, leaned against the bar, and waved to the barkeep – a pudgy, balding man with a gray-peppered mustache. The man plopped a mug atop the bar and waddled over. Beads of sweat clung to the man’s expansive forehead, covering the Dominus rune marking it.
“What will it be?”
Kony slid a silver piece on the bar. “Two mugs of ale, good sir.”
Without a word, the man swept the silver off the bar, replaced it with eight coppers, and turned away. Broland surveyed the room, his gaze settling on a woman dressed in leathers. She sat alone, staring at someone while a full mug sat on her table, untouched. Something about her screamed to him that she was a threat. He followed her eyes and tried to determine whom she was watching.
“What are you waiting for?” Kony asked.
When Broland turned, he found a foam-capped mug held toward him. He accepted it and tapped it to Kony’s mug before taking a drink.
Broland had sampled ale a few times during his teen years, when his father’s friends had visited the castle and decided to open a barrel. The results had been mixed. He had found the bubbly brew a little bitter, and he tended to prefer wine. Regardless, the Aspen Inn didn’t seem like a place where one might order wine. Swallowing, the cool drink carried the bitter aftertaste he expected. The bubbles forced him to belch as they came back up. Kony turned and led Broland to an empty table.
With his mug held in a firm grip, Kony sat back and looked about the room before his gaze returned to Broland.
“Seeing so many people marked by vocation runes makes me wonder what it was like before…you know, before it all changed.”
Broland took another sip, finding the ale tasting better with each drink. “I think about it from time to time. My parents tell me stories, most of them not good. Since they were both Unchosen, I suspect they endured the worst of it and that blackened their perspectives.”
The Arcane Ward Page 13
