The War Enders Apprentice (Chronicles of the Martlet Book 1)

by Elizabeth Guizzetti

  Drumming her fingers on her legs, she said, “If Grunkit is leaving Dynion, this is where he might embark on an Expanse sailing ship. Or he might go further north?”

  They rode to the past camped merchant wagons but did not see Grunkit Silks.

  “Roark, find us a pasty shop.” Alana tossed a coin his way. “Eohan, the horses.”

  The older boy drew water from the well, washed and watered the horses, taking the care to check for any saddle sores as he had been taught.

  Alana approached the first merchant wagon where a family cooked supper on an enclosed stove. “Excuse me, I’m looking for a silk merchant named Grunkit?”

  A man glanced up from slicing a loaf of coarse-grained bread and mouthed: Guild. His mouth hung open; his eyes wide.

  Dishing out pottage, the woman said, “No one by that name here, but I’ve some silks fresh from Si Na.”

  “I seek the man,” Alana replied.

  “To…” the woman paused, looked back at the man with the bread, and ran her finger across her neck.

  “Nothing like that. If you see him, let him know Lady Alana of the Guild seeks the boy, Kian, in his employment.”

  “The boy, Kian?” the man whispered.

  The woman ran his finger across her neck again.

  “No.” Gesturing towards Eohan, she said, “He is my apprentice’s brother. We bring word of their mother.”

  “Oh,” the merchant’s voice sounded both relieved and disappointed.

  “Tell him to go to the nearest Guild House with the boy. I’ll be leaving a message in Dynion and Si Na.”

  “Yes, if I see him, I’ll tell him.”

  Alana handed her a sovereign. “For your trouble.”

  Making her way back to the horses, Alana was glad to see Roark bought cheese and onion pies larger than her hand that looked more appetizing than the wet pottage and old bread the merchants ate.

  *

  Chapter 16

  In the Wilds of the Realm of Dynion

  The three Fairsinge rode passed the mud and reed huts of people so impoverished they couldn’t live within village walls. They slowed as they crossed a wooden bridge, then turned east and followed a rough trail around the bridge abutment until the path dropped to the river’s edge. The stench of poverty did not disappear as the party rode deeper into a lush, green forest filled with hanging moss and ferns.

  The air grew colder. Eohan shivered. A growing stillness engulfed the forest. Without the birds and crickets’ songs, the trees reached towards them menacingly. Or was Eohan imagining it?

  He examined the entwined knots cascading down Alana’s straight back rock with the horse underneath her. She glanced over her shoulder. Her blue eyes held a warning, her thin mouth set in a grimace. That wasn’t what he wanted to see. She made a signal with her hands, though he didn’t understand it, Roark did.

  Roark pressed one word into his mind: Slavers. Eohan couldn’t hold the tremble in his spine.

  He rested his hand on the blade on his belt. In anticipation, his mind opened to the memory of his brother and mother being torn away from him. His mother had wailed his name. Her hand had gripped his arm so tightly when the slavers finally ripped them apart, bruises covered his wrist.

  Alana and Roark were strong. They would fight. They would win.

  *

  Alana sensed the human eyes in the forest and the unseen movement behind the trees. She sensed their clammy fear, sweat, dirt, and beer. Driven to unspeakable deeds to feed their children, these brigands were ravenous.

  Twenty or so men slid down the clay hills.

  Alana and Roark drew their sabers. Eohan pulled out his claymore.

  Cloudy took a few steps back from the noise while Talia and Jaci moved forward. Afraid Eohan might falter in his first true fight, Alana rode in front, slashing her sword into the first man’s neck and shoulder.

  Screaming, he fell to the ground.

  Three men grabbed Talia who reared in response.

  A quarterstaff struck Alana’s right shoulder with a crack. She shifted her sword to her left hand. With a strong swing, she disarmed the next man, then changed the direction of her stroke to the right and sliced another opponent across the face. He fell, shrieking.

  Talia kicked, but somewhere more human hands appeared. Grasping at Talia’s bridle and her waist, they pulled her off her horse. Paces away, she could see six or seven men on each of the boys. Eohan was pulled from his horse. She needed to reach him.

  A man swung a quarterstaff towards Alana’s brow, she rolled away. The staff missed her and hit a tree. In his pause, Alana thrust her saber upwards into his stomach. A mortal wound although the man would not realize it until later. Alana fought on: parrying quarterstaffs and slashing her saber in the crowded space. She knew she could not keep her pace forever as her left arm tired.

  Another human fell to the ground from her blade. And another. There was more than twenty. Where were they coming from? Women and older children joined the fray.

  Alana spun, slicing her saber through the air. She felt the give of flesh and the crunch of bone, her saber stuck for a moment. Realizing she gave her opponent an opening, she let go of her sword and kicked the closest man in the groin. She backtracked and grabbed the sword once more. She slashed to the left as a man came at her. She misjudged his duck and clipped his forehead.

  Blood stained the forest floor.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Roark pulled from his horse.

  Alana rammed one of her assailants. Making some room, she parried away from a quarterstaff then sliced open another man’s shoulder.

  Eohan slashed his sword across a man’s neck. Blood spilled down his chest. With an earsplitting battle cry, Eohan shoved him into Roark’s blade, before attacking another man.

  Roark was forced to backpedal as a blur of a man in chainmail thrust his longsword into the fray. Alana saw her apprentice’s need and threw a knife into the man.

  Eohan grabbed the next man’s left shoulder and used his weight as a counterbalance to get out of the way while shoving him into a tree. He thrust his claymore through his opponent’s mail. She needed to get to him before he made a mistake.

  Hands aching, her swings were becoming erratic. Every knuckle and joint ached.

  A quarterstaff hit Alana’s shoulder. Then the side of her head.

  Blood dripping into her eyes, Alana could barely see her opponent, but she could smell the musty fragrance of someone who slept on dirt. Alana thrust her offhand dagger into his chest. As she extracted the dagger, it sang as it dragged against the chainmail. The last act of her opponent was his quarterstaff hitting her across the head, where she had been hit before. A ringing dull ache, she fell to the ground still holding her dagger. A second of blackness. An unending din.

  Men’s hands tugging on her purse, her belt, her weapons.

  Her eyes fluttered open. She focused on the sparkling blue bottle in front of her. She kicked upward and connected with a man’s groin. A man’s grunt and the blue bottle fell on the ground. She grabbed it, popped it open and took a gulp, careful to cap it closed. She wouldn’t waste Roark’s precious gift.

  Alana’s esophagus was on fire. Heat moved outwards to her extremities. Heat became a hot coal searing her flesh as it localized on injuries. She screamed from the pain.

  Still wobbly, her head aching, she shook the blackness out of her eyes and grabbed her sword off the ground. Youthful strength coursed through her veins. Feeling more alive than she had in years, Alana knifed the nearest man in his tendons. The man fell to the ground, screaming.

  She jumped to her feet. She slammed her pommel into the top of the nearest man’s head and crushed his skull inward.

  She hadn’t experienced such ease in sword work in nearly a decade. With every swing of her saber, she felt as if she were dancing in human blood. She made it to Roark.

  Back to back, they thinned the battlefield until people struggled and tripped over each other to escape. Talia kicked t
he man who held Cloudy by the reins. Cloudy stepped on his leg, then bit the man who held Jaci’s reins. The horses freed each other.

  Five humans, four with quarterstaffs and one with a blade surrounded Eohan, whose claymore’s sweeps were strong, but not connecting. Alana made several quick chest-level thrusts to either side, followed by a wide arc to disarm the closest opponent. On the return arc, she knocked another down.

  She didn’t want to stop. She wanted to kill them all. All on the battlefield and then all who let these people live in poverty. She sank her saber deep into a woman and enjoyed how the life drained away from her face. She imagined biting into her. She pushed the corpse to the ground. It was over.

  Yet, her heart kept pounding with new found vigor, she wanted to chase each brigand down and observe the blood flow.

  She forced her saber into its scabbard and watched the survivors run away. As they ought, the boys had already started to collect weaponry and coin from the bodies.

  “My goddess, Aunt, that lump.” Roark pulled out bandages.

  Alana moved the bloodstained hair away from the raw flesh. “It’s already closed. See to Eohan.”

  Roark scrubbed out Eohan’s wound and stitched his side, but kept glancing at her.

  “What is it?”

  “Look in the mirror.”

  She opened her compact. The crease on her brow softened and the flush of her cheeks was the dew of youth. Scars faded. Even her hair seemed brighter auburn than before.

  Roark’s sacrifice made her a phoenix.

  With my vast knowledge, if I was as strong as I was at thirty, I could finally change the Realms for the better. In her mind’s eye, she saw herself slicing open her nephew’s neck and drinking his remaining blood. Or maybe Eohan’s. Her hand fluttered to her dagger.

  Disconcerted, she shook every image of violence from her mind and put the potion deep in her saddlebag.

  *

  Chapter 17

  In Uttalassus in the Realm of Si Na

  Weeks became months in an unending nightmare of seeking one lost boy across several Realms. Alana refused to allow her apprentices to witness her depression, though after they went to sleep, she spent many nights lamenting her foresight.

  Eohan grew despondent. He always behaved, but each night, he prayed until he wept, especially when they left Dynion, sought him in Daouail and then left that Realm and traveled to Si Na where they left their horses and went into the Uttalassus of Si Na, the home of the gnomes. In the relative safety of the Uttalassus, Eohan slowly learned to read and write. While his language skill in Telchinish was rudimentary, she saw improvement by instructing him to speak to innkeepers and merchants. Every night, Roark and Eohan sparred. Roark improved in his patience and kindness. The darkness of the Uttalassus sunk the travelers into despair as they sought Kian in village after village.

  It took six months to find the wagon emblazoned with the words Grunkit Silks. Its lanterns burning thankfully bright.

  Alana approached the party. “Master Grunkit, I need to speak with you!”

  Though his man at arms was frowning, Master Grunkit spun around. His jovial ruddy face was set with a friendly smile, but his piercing blue eyes seemed to be seeking an angle. The woman beside him, likely his wife, was just as lovely, and her eyes seemed just as clever.

  He inclined his head. Automatically the rest of the party followed suit. “An elf knight, what are you doing in the Uttalassus of Si Na?” His friendly bantering voice bore the thick accent of the Northern Dynion.

  “I am Lady Alana Martlet of House Eyreid and a Guild War Ender. I seek an audience.”

  “Yes, of course! Come inside. Make a pot of tea, dearwife.”

  Unlike other merchants she had spoken to, he did not seem nervous to speak with a Guild War Ender. Alana remembered he had a lich for a client. The lich who had made her an antiaging potion out of her young nephew’s blood. She ignored the wish to taste the potion again.

  His clothes and those of his beautiful wife were of the finest silk damask and smelled of lemon and lavender. His wife set down a ceramic cup of tea for Alana first, then her husband and men, then served the boys.

  “I’m sorry, but I sold that boy,” Grunkit said.

  Eohan stood, knocking the cup of tea to the floor.

  “Eohan,” Alana warned.

  Her apprentice sheepishly asked for a rag to clean the mess. Mistress Grunkit brought him another cup and told him it was no trouble.

  “Kian was a hard worker, but I found myself in arrears,” Grunkit squeaked quickly, for the first time showing his nerves. “I had to do it or be enslaved myself! I had to protect my family. My employees.”

  “Who did you sell the boy to?”

  “Lord Daeberos,” the wife cried. “Please don’t hurt my husband! He was tricked into a game of chance.”

  “Lord Daeberos Royal Consort to Empress Ellryn of House Josael?”

  “Yes. Daeberos might look like a kept man, but he is a shark.”

  Oh, sard. Alana thought. “Thank you, Master and Mistress Grunkit.” She inclined her head and left. The boys followed.

  Once outside of the lights from the wagon caravan, Eohan sunk to his knees. “We might as well give up.”

  Alana sat beside him and wrapped her arm around his shoulders. “No. While this is bad news, it is also good. Daeberos won’t need to sell him for money, and probably can always use another house slave.”

  *

  Alana rested deeper upon her pillow and opened her mind to the slave boy who worked in the kitchen. Pigeon-chested and lanky, one would not notice the family resemblance immediately, but it could be the right boy. She didn’t want to go around killing Daosith nobility willy-nilly. It might accidentally start a war.

  Seeking confirmation, she opened the boy’s memories. She saw the slave ship. He stared towards the women’s hold and listened to the screaming. “Leave my mama alone!” he cried until the overseer hit the bars with the whip.

  On his pallet, the slave boy grumbled in his sleep.

  She tried to go deeper, but those memories were lost in a fog. Ten years was too old to not remember his childhood.

  “Mother,” she whispered. An image of the boy’s mother surfaced. A plump woman with strawberry blonde hair making sausages filled his mind. The image disappeared.

  Black skeletons, demons covered in ash were surrounded by swirls of blue. This was the future, not the past. She was going the wrong way. Still, she could see the boy was intelligent as the man was in her vision. She looked at the brow shape and profile of his nose. Whether or not this Kian was truly Eohan’s brother, this was the boy she would save.

  “Soon a man arrives in bondage but is the way to freedom. When he arrives, find a weapon. Find a weapon,” she whispered to the boy.

  She opened her eyes. “Eohan, he was on your slave ship. His memories are too crowded with fear to read. I saw his mother making sausages. She had reddish blonde hair. Is that enough evidence?”

  “Yes.” The eagerness in Eohan’s voice betrayed, he was too willing to believe his little brother was found.

  “And if it is not your brother, you will pay anyway?” Alana asked.

  “Pay?”

  “The assassination fee,” Alana said. “We must make sure this is on the up and up for Nyauail who brought us this information.”

  “Kill them?”

  “Well, we don’t want Kian to be a fugitive.”

  “How will I get that type of money?”

  “I’ll ask my sister for a loan. We can set up a payment plan between us.”

  Roark put his hand out to help lift Eohan to his feet. “You’ll like my mother and sister. They are innocent, never knowing what it was to take a life, yet both highly intelligent. They will help us.”

  *

  Chapter 18

  Province of Eryedeir in the Realm of Fairhdel

  “Welcome to Eryedeir.” Roark gestured towards the six-towered white castle pushed against the outcroppings to the se
a below a small village surrounded by a stone wall, which looked as if it was carved out of the granite cliffs. Eagles soared on the funnels of wind. Above the birds, the sky sparkled from the three suns.

  “Your mother’s domain is beautiful,” Eohan said, riding beside him.

  “We like to make an entrance,” Roark told him. They turned their horses into a small grove which led to a secluded beach.

  Alana donned full court dress: the blue Martlet crested velvet justacorps worn to the knee, covering an equal length vest and matching breeches underneath. The coat was fitted throughout her chest, but the flared skirt, through the addition of gores and pleats, was loose enough to conceal weaponry. Two rows of pearl buttons and buttonholes lining the entire length coat, it remained unfastened. Even at home, a Martlet has her weapons.

  Roark dressed in similar colors, though his court dress was simpler as proper for his age and rank. Still, his blue velvets were from a Great House. Eohan only wore the same Guild colors he had in Si Na, and they were wrinkled.

  Alana pricked her finger with a needle and pressed the drop of blood on Roark’s tongue. “My blood is yours, as long as I walk the halls of the Palace, no soul may harm you here.”

  “Will you tell them?”

  “One set of bad news is enough for one day.”

  “Why would they harm Roark?” Eohan rubbed his hands over his tunic front.

  “I didn’t say they would, but we aren’t bringing good news. Open your mouth.” She pricked another finger and pressed it upon his tongue. “As long as I walk the halls of the Palace, no soul may harm you here either.” She adjusted his tunic and straightened his collar. “In a few moons, we’ll have to get you a new one. This won’t fit much longer.”

  Jealous of his companion’s physique, Roark regarded his own court dress. The daily rides and sparring trimmed Eohan’s waistline, and each day Eohan gained weight in the shoulders and thighs. Roark hoped soon he too would gain muscle in all the right spots; right now, his body kept getting taller.