The Innkeeper's Son

by Jeremy Brooks

  Jerron mouthed a silent thank you up to Maehril then set about floating on his back again. This time it was easier. With little effort, he was drifting about on the surface, smiling at his newfound ability.

  Cano got out of the water and climbed up to have a seat next to her. Dressed in only a pair of wet, gray, skivvies, cut off above the knees, he looked like a glistening stretch of tanned hide, pulled snugly over a skeleton. As he stretched out on the rock to watch Jerron float, he timidly glanced over at Maehril and winced when he saw her reproachful glare.

  “Well what do ya want me to do? Baby him?” he asked, defensively. When she didn’t give in, he tried another tact. “He’s doing jest fine. I wasn’t that hard on him. Ya should’ve seen how tough my old pa was on me. He jest threw me out in the middle of the pond and told me to swim back or drown. And ya know, I swam back. That’s how they taught ya in my day.”

  Maehril couldn’t keep up the reproving façade as the making of a smile cracked the corners of her lips. Cano always seemed to make his points using the tough love examples of his youth. She wanted to call him out on it. She doubted that his father had actually taught him to swim that way. But what good was it to argue? She had taken to carrying about a roll of parchment and a stick of coal, so there was at least some way for her to communicate with her friends, but she had left it back at the manor. It was hard to argue when you couldn’t make your point.

  “Hide Maehril!” Mueller suddenly shouted. He was sprinting in from his watch point. His normally placid demeanor, looked frantic.

  Cano and Maehril exchanged frightened looks then stood and climbed down from the rock. Jerron stopped floating and started working his way into the shore.

  “What is it, man?” Cano asked Mueller, as the guardsman approached. He took Maehril’s hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

  “Imperial scouts. I saw two, but I’m sure there’s more. There must be a squadron marching nearby. They could be heading to the manor for Maehril.”

  Maehril had never seen Mueller show so much emotion. Constant stoicism seemed carved into his hard face like granite. If he was this worried, then there was genuine danger.

  “Are you certain they’ll come this way?” Jerron asked, stepping out of the water.

  “I fairly certain that I was spotted,” Mueller answered. “I can’t say that they are coming for Maehril, but we can’t leave anything to chance. As hard as Yennit has tried to contain the gossip and rumors these last few days, its likely word of what she did has gotten out. They’ll come for her because she’ll be perceived as an unregistered trival. You know the penalty for that.”

  They took a moment of silence to consider the morbid reality. Unregistered trivals were often fed to the borlicon for keeping their ability secret.

  “We should have sent her to the lake house,” Mueller fretted.

  “They just would have come for her there. We’d still be in the same mess,” Jerron pointed out.

  “Enough of the talking,” Cano interjected, “she needs to hide.” He scanned the area quickly, then pointed to a thick copse of low brush that hung over the edge of the water, next to the rock. “There.”

  Cano led Maehril through the water, gently holding her arm as if she were likely to drown if he let go. He lifted the thick tufts of underbrush.

  “Stay low. Jest keep yer head above the water. We can’t take any chances.”

  The water was only about two feet deep beneath the brush, so she had to lie down on her back. The surface was covered in dead leaves and tiny black bugs, some kicking around lazily, others lying still and lifeless.

  Cano could tell that she was nervous and frightened. With a wide grin, he said, “Try not to make any noise, will ya? Jest keep quiet until we come and get ya.”

  Despite the water surrounding her head, forcing her to remain still, she rolled her eyes and smirked. Then Cano let the brush gently drop down over her and turned to head back to the shore.

  The thickly grown yellow and green leaves created a shroud that let in only tiny glimpses of the blue sky above. She adjusted her position in the water so that her left ear stayed above the surface, in the hopes that she might be able to hear something. For what felt like an eternity, she only heard the occasional murmuring of her three guardians, too low and muffled to understand.

  She wondered how long she would have to stay hidden. The cool water, which felt nice despite saturating her dress, began to give her shivers. It became increasingly more difficult to remain still as her discomfort increased by steady increments. Then she thought she heard shouting and the clanging of metal. For several moments it filled the air, flooding her mind with anxiety. Was there a fight?

  A sudden chill convulsed her body, then a second one, just moments after the first. It felt like unexpectedly splashing into icy water. There was also something dark in the way each chill felt, like a scream in the distance in the dead of night.

  She wanted to get up and see what was happening. She wanted to make sure her friends were alright. Just when she was certain she couldn’t take it anymore, a man splashed through the water towards her.

  *******************************************************************

  Cano was on edge. As he sloshed back through the water to where Mueller and Jerron stood apprehensively waiting for him, he felt a thick veil of ominous doom descending over him.

  It was because he had come to care for Maehril, as deeply perhaps, as he had once cared for his daughter, Analie. For so many years, he had sheltered himself from the trappings of society, letting the open ocean act as a wall, protecting him from the emotional attachments that had left him broken in the wake of his wife and daughter’s murder. It was a wound so deep that he had spent his life running from the pain. To love someone so completely and to cause their death, was a fate too horrific to be endured. How many times had he yearned for death? The tears he had shed in his life could have filled an ocean.

  “Alright, she’s hidden,” he told them, when he got back. Jerron had that fervent, battle lust already showing in his wide blue eyes. “What do we do now?”

  “We try to act normal,” Mueller advised. He put a hand on Jerron’s thick shoulder. “Get back in the water and continue the swimming lesson. That’s all I want them to see. A young man getting a lesson in swimming.”

  “You think that’ll work?” Jerron wondered, his eyes kept drifting over to where his new battle axe lay on the shore beneath his shirt.

  “I don’t know,” Mueller answered gravelly, “but we don’t have any better options.”

  “Why don’t we just fight them?” Jerron asked.

  “If the scouts don’t return, the squadron will send out men looking for them. Do you plan on fighting the whole lot of them?” Mueller asked. Jerron didn’t have an answer. “Now get back in the water and act natural. Don’t give them any reason for suspicion.”

  Cano and Jerron waded back out into the water, but stopped when the water became waist deep.

  “Let’s try floating on yer stomach,” Cano said. When Jerron opened his mouth to protest, Cano cut him off. “I’m not asking ya to learn a new stroke or anything. I jest want ya in a good position to move if something goes wrong.”

  “Fine,” Jerron conceded.

  The wide-bodied Massoniel got on his knees in the water. “How about if I act like I’m just learning an overhand stroke.” He started to wheel his opposing arms as if he were swimming. “Like this.”

  “Whatever,” Cano indulged him.

  The truth was, he didn’t care. His eyes kept straying to the trail that led through the thin copse of trees, to the open meadow beyond. A part of him hoped, foolishly, that the scouts would overlook the little pond, but he trusted Mueller’s judgment. They would come. He knew they would.

  Sure enough, after only a few minutes, the echoing vibration of horse’s hooves pounding the earth let him know that the time had come. Mueller, who had been standing on the shore with folded arms watching them in the water, loo
ked over his shoulder just as two men appeared on the trail. Mueller went for his sword, causing Cano to nearly shout out in protest.

  “Stay your hand! Stay your hand!” one of the men shouted. Both soldiers pulled out their own swords and approached in a defensive position with their weapons held out in front. They wore the black coat and trousers of the Imperial army, each with a single white slash on his left sleeve.

  Cano had done his best, throughout his life, to avoid the Imperial army. Most soldiers he’d come across tended to be cocky and entitled, emboldened by the power, however menial, that came with enlistment. The two men standing before them with drawn swords were young, close to Jerron in age, and had the smug bravado, he hoped to avoid. Cano immediately had a bad feeling.

  Mueller did as he was told, releasing his sword hilt and putting up his hands. One of the soldiers, a tall, thin young man, with sparse tufts of adolescent whiskers, proving his need to appear older, stepped toward Mueller and pointed his short sword at the guardsman’s throat.

  “What was that about?” he sneered angrily, though Cano was certain the young man was reacting out of unseasoned fear. “How dare you attempt to draw swords against a soldier of the Imperial army.” Just for extra emphasis, he thrust his left shoulder out, so that they could see his white stripe of rank.

  “I meant nothing by it, Ensign,” Mueller answered calmly. “I only reacted to the approach of footsteps. For all I knew, you could have been a bandit.”

  “Are bandits commonplace in these parts?” the second soldier asked. He was decidedly shorter than his counterpart with a wicked crook in his nose as though it had been broken several times.

  “They are not, Ensign,” Mueller answered, as calmly as before. “But that doesn’t eliminate the possibility.”

  The soldier with his sword at Mueller’s throat looked out at Cano and Jerron. “What’s with these two? What’s going on over here? You a couple of girlie’s or something?”

  “I’m no girlie,” Jerron answered, in a darker tone than he should have.

  “Are you trying to be tough, then, girlie boy?” the shorter soldier taunted, stepping to the water’s edge.

  “He didn’t mean anything by it,” Mueller said diffusively. “What are a couple of Imperial scouts doing out here so close to the Relador estate?”

  The short one let his hard gaze linger on Jerron a moment longer then stepped back and answered Mueller. “That’s imperial business, old man. I’ll ask the questions around here.” He looked around, then stuck his blade in the dirt and leaned on it casually. “You hear anything about a girl that bleeds light?”

  “A girl that bleeds light?” Mueller chuckled as if it were a joke. “I’d like to see that.”

  “It’s true,” said the taller one. “We’ve been sent to arrest Yennit Relador and a girl they say has light shooting out of her eyes and ears and such. Everyone’s talking about it. Say she walks with a host of rovers.”

  “Keep your mouth shut, Wasdin,” the short one, warned. “They don’t need to know any of that.”

  Wasdin shot his partner an angry look. “They ain’t nobody, Dauber. Look at ‘em. Two girlies playing in a pond, and this old timer, here. What’s the difference if they know? Everyone in Merrame will find out sooner or later.”

  Dauber pointed his sword at Mueller’s scabbard then over to Jerron’s battle axe. “Don’t be so sure. This one here looks like he knows how to handle that sword, and country farm boys don’t just walk around carrying axes like that.” He fixed Mueller with a hard, accusatory scowl. “What are you doing out here? You work for Relador?”

  Mueller met his glare unflinchingly. Without a hint of emotion he answered, “The boy there is getting a swimming lesson. We work for Master Demerron, the blacksmith.”

  “Blacksmith?” Dauber rubbed the black stubble on his chin. “You work for a blacksmith?”

  “The boy is his apprentice,” Mueller answered. He pointed to Cano. “He’s an uncle, and I am a hired sword.”

  Dauber seemed to think it over, skeptically. He looked around again, scanning the area suspiciously. After a few moments of thought, his eyes fixed on Jerron. “You, fat boy,” he called out. “Come over here. Come out of the water.”

  Jerron exchanged looks with Cano. He didn’t move. “Why?”

  Cano winced at the challenging tone in the boy's voice. He didn’t have an ounce of sense in him. One way or another, Jerron was going to provoke these soldiers and blood would be spilt.

  “Why?!” Dauber shouted angrily. “You get over here because I told you to bloody get over here, that’s why!”

  Jerron’s blue eyes hardened. Cano could see the boys balled fists just below the surface of the water.

  “Don’t do anything stupid,” Cano whispered out the side of his mouth.

  Jerron ignored him, stood up and began sloshing through the water toward the shore. If Dauber felt threatened by him, he didn’t show it. He waited for Jerron to get out of the water, then pointed his sword at his throat.

  “Is that your axe, fat boy?” Dauber asked. Jerron answered with a hard nod. For a moment they stared at each other as if they were engaged in a test of wills.

  Finally Dauber had seen enough of Jerron’s derelict attitude and suddenly leveled a well-placed boot in his stomach. Jerron doubled over and dropped to one knee. Dauber moved behind him and took a hold of his hair, pulling his head back to expose his throat. He rubbed the edge of his sword against his jugular.

  “I don’t know how well you know the law, fat boy, but I can kill you, right now, if I want.” Jerron breathed hard through his gritted teeth. His eyes were fixed on his axe, several paces away. “If you want to live, you’re going to answer some questions for me. Do you understand?” When Jerron said nothing, Dauber pressed the blade edge roughly against the soft skin of Jerron's throat. A thin trace of blood, spilt onto the cool steel. “I said, do you understand?”

  “Yes,” Jerron wheezed, begrudgingly.

  “Good,” Dauber said, with a look of satisfaction. He let go of Jerron’s hair then reached down and grabbed his arm, flipping it over so he could see his hands. “You’re a blacksmith’s apprentice?” Jerron nodded as much as he was able with the blade still hovering near his throat. “Your hands don’t look very callused.”

  “He’s been swimming,” Cano called out from the water. Dauber looked at him blankly. “The water softens yer hands. They need to dry off before ya can see the calluses.”

  Dauber ground his teeth as he conceded the point. Cano was glad the hot-headed young soldier had some common sense.

  “What are you doing with an axe like that?” Dauber tried a new approach to weeding out their lie.

  “I made it,” Jerron told him, quickly.

  “You made that axe?” Dauber briefly sounded impressed. He walked over and bent down to pick it up. He had to toss Jerron’s shirt aside and next to the axe were Maehril’s shoes. Dauber picked up the shoes instead, holding them up in front of his face. The tiny black shoes could not be mistaken for a man’s pair. Cano suddenly felt ill.

  His hand unconsciously felt for his dagger but found nothing. The terrallium blade was on the shore beneath Jerron’s axe. Mueller was the only one with a weapon handy, and he had a sword pointed at his throat.

  “Those are girl's shoes,” Wasdin laughed. His sword tip waved inadvertently as he snickered, causing Mueller to dodge to avoid getting stabbed in the throat. “You wearing a girl’s shoe, girlie boy?” he taunted Jerron.

  “Shut it, you idiot!” Dauber reprimanded him harshly. He looked at Cano, then Jerron, and finally Mueller. “Whose shoes are these?” he demanded. No-one said a word. Dauber strode over and put the point of his blade at Jerron’s throat. “I said whose shoes are these?”

  “They were already here when we got here,” Jerron lied, poorly.

  Dauber’s eyes took on a feral cast of darkness. He bent down and got right in Jerron’s face. Through gritted teeth and spittle, he snapped, “Lie to me again
, fat boy. Lie to me just once more.”

  Jerron was about to open his mouth, when the sound of approaching horses cut him off. Dauber released him and went to the opening of the path to see who was coming.

  Cano took the opportunity to get out of the water, using Wasdin and Dauber’s momentary distraction to silently slide over to retrieve his dagger. Still unnoticed by the two scouts, Cano moved back into the water, just a few steps from the shore. He tucked his knife into the waistband of his skivvies, at the small of his back.

  Three men came running down the path. At first Dauber stood with his sword down, unprepared for the coming assault. Then he suddenly raised his weapon in defense as, Peters, one of Mueller’s men, charged with his sword raised. Wasdin ran to aid his comrade, but fell as Mueller quickly pulled his own sword free and ran it through the soldier’s back. Dauber deflected Peters first blow but fell back under the force of the attack. With his opponent practically defenseless lying on his back, Peters stabbed his second assault through Dauber’s heart.

  “Are you mad?” Mueller nearly roared at his underling.

  Peters seemed surprised by his Captain’s reaction, looking up from his victim with umbrage. He wiped the blood from his blade on his pant leg.

  “What would you have me do, Captain?” he asked, stepping over Wasdin’s body.

  “Those were Imperial scouts!” Mueller snapped. “Are you trying to bring the whole army down upon us?”

  Peters shook his head. His voice was thick with regret. “The army is already upon us, Captain. There’s an entire squadron with at least five trivals descending on the manor as we speak. Master Relador gave me strict orders to protect Maehril to my last breath and see her off to safety.”

  “Then it's true. They’re here for the girl,” Mueller said to himself like a validation. He turned to Cano. “Go get her. We may not have much time.”

  Cano didn’t need to be told twice. He sloshed through the water, around the jutting rock to where Maehril lay hidden beneath a thicket of low brush. When he pulled the thin branches back, he saw a frightened face that flushed with relief when she realized it was him.