by Cole Pain
Ramie detached the satchel and pulled the map from its contents. He knew the roads leading to Mintree, but he wanted to be sure he took the one leading directly to the center of town. As he remembered, Presario’s castle sat at the end of the main road and he couldn’t afford to waste time coming at it from odd angles.
He was about to unroll the scrolled parchment when Foster screeched. Ramie bounded back just as Foster toppled to the ground.
Ramie stared, dumbfounded and incredulous, as a weasel-like creature attached itself to the fallen mare. Blood spurted from the sides of the creature’s gaping jaws before it settled into a comfortable position and relaxed to feed.
The creature’s beady eyes swiveled to him. Ramie felt their power just as he remembered the childhood stories.
It was a nesbit, and nesbits attacked things standing still.
Ramie started running. He didn’t know if there were any more nesbits in the area but he didn’t care to find out. As a child he had never thought to ask if nesbits hunted in packs or alone, but he hadn’t known he would ever need the knowledge. All he knew was that Foster was dead as soon as the nesbit had bitten. He had to run and he had to run fast.
He kept fit by continuous swordplay and occasional forays in the summer games, but he knew he would soon tire. Slowing to a jog, Ramie set a steady rhythm. He kept a leery eye on the barren landscape, but all he saw was scattered trees, rocky terrain, and occasional patches of night flowers, reminding those passing that life could grow in a barren land. He kept jogging anyway.
With the full light of dawn Ramie slowed to a quick walk, but his eyes darted to each side, continuously watching for more magical creatures.
The sun rose in the distance, outlining of buildings of Mintree. At one time Mintree had been one of the most populated inner cities of Yor. Although water was scarce, Presario’s father had produced a large livestock trade. Mintree thrived and many craftsmen moved in, increasing the population even further. When Presario’s estate had burned the city ceased to have the inflow of capital it once had, and most townsfolk were forced to leave.
As Ramie strode down the center street he felt ridiculous in his tattered clothes but refrained from taking them off. No one would believe a king would walk into Mintree on foot, especially without an escort. If he voiced his true identity most would only think him a fair look alike.
It appeared Mintree hadn’t seen a visitor in some time. The structures on either side of the wide street were in their last stages of life. Rotten boards hung over doors and windows, roofs were sunken and decayed, and soiled rags fluttered in the breeze, waving farewell to the city they once knew. The structures squeaked every so often in response to either a slight breeze or their own aging.
Presario’s castle stood at the end of the street, a herald of the city’s ruin. It loomed over the rest of the city in blackened shards, its hollow windows smiling at the disparaged scene below. Only the top left-hand corner of the castle remained untouched, and though it was beautiful, with cream turrets and gold trim, it looked appalling attached to the rest of the mansion, as if the black, festering wound would seep into its purity and mar any chance of salvation.
Ramie shook off his foreboding thoughts and started for the keep, but stopped short as a few noises drifted to him. The city looked deserted but the sounds were unmistakable. Perusing the street Ramie noted a few of the buildings looked less rickety than the others. One of the sounds came from a building a few paces up and to his right. The sign had long since faded but the horseshoe nailed to its surface betrayed its purpose.
On careful examination, Ramie could see the blacksmith through the open window, long gray beard wavering as he pounded on something he would soon fire into shape. Thinking the man may have a horse for sale, Ramie approached. His soft leather shoes made no sound on the dusty street.
“Excuse me, do you happen to have a horse for sale?” Ramie asked in the most respectable tone he had. He wasn’t used to asking for things so he hardly knew how to go about doing it.
The blacksmith jumped, dropping what would soon become an ornate sword, and looked at Ramie with a mixture of startlement and ire. The clanging of the dropped weapon rang through the morning’s air like thunder. Ramie couldn’t help but chuckle as he apologized for his sudden appearance.
The blacksmith shook a blackened finger at him. “Don’t ever do that to another being again! I could have dropped that iron on my foot! Then where would that leave me, hum?” The blacksmith leaned out the open window and peered at Ramie with wide eyes. “I would be blind and crippled now, wouldn’t I?”
It was only then Ramie noticed the man’s blank stare. The way his eyes wavered in the sunlight should have given him away, but Ramie hadn’t been looking for anything out of the ordinary.
“I’m sorry,” Ramie said. “I meant no harm. I just thought you might have a horse I could purchase. Mine gave out on the ride over.”
The man grinned. “Here to see Presario?” His teeth were rotten, a few gone. The man’s fetid breath caused Ramie to take a step back.
“Yes, I am,” he said, glancing at the castle. It towered above him, grinning in mockery.
The blacksmith picked up the unfinished sword. “Only Presario can tell you if I have a horse for sale,” he said, dismissing Ramie as if he were a fly on a horse’s ass.
Ramie raised his eyebrows. “Presario isn’t a king or a god. He has no power to tell you what you can and cannot do.”
The blacksmith’s blank stare and crooked grin reminded Ramie of something from a child’s nightmare.
“Oh yes he does, my friend.” The sightless eyes sparkled. “Oh yes he does!”
- - -
Ramie was furious. He had been trying to purchase a horse from the blacksmith for a degree of the sun, but all the man could do was point to the castle.
“What if I told you I was Ramie Augustus?”
“I would tell you to talk to Presario. Ramie is nothing in this town; Presario is all.”
Ramie’s blood boiled. He spun from the man and marched toward the castle. His sense of foreboding evaporated with his anger like steam from a kettle.
The blacksmith’s raspy voice called after him. “I wouldn’t try if I were you. Presario doesn’t take kindly to visitors.”
Ramie spun to ask how he was supposed to request a horse from Presario without visiting, but the blacksmith’s window slammed in his face. Ramie resisted the urge to take a broken board from the street and shatter the hazy glass.
Ramie stalked off, muttering oaths of every degree imaginable. He would not allow Presario to have domination over the few people who remained in the city. How dare he! The man was a recluse. He had shut everything down. What gave him the right to order these people to obey him?
Ramie would ensure Presario’s game ended, or he wasn’t the king of Yor.
A second sound echoed down the street. It was a soft grinding noise and it emerged from a shop to his left. Having no intention of stopping, Ramie marched on, but turned his head to catch a glimpse of what other imbecile would remain in a forsaken city at the hands of a recluse.
What he saw made him stop. A man peered from the shop’s doorway, sightless eyes staring at Ramie as if they could sense his specter.
The implications made Ramie’s head spin. Had Presario allowed only blind men to stay in the town? Or had Presario been mad enough to blind the remaining people so they would be unable to look upon his features if he came out of his sanctuary? Ramie drew a deep breath to calm his rising fury and strode toward the man. The man backed up, terror scrawled in his round face.
Ramie stopped and held up his hands to insinuate he meant no harm. Scowling, he dropped his arms. The man was blind. He couldn’t see the action.
“I mean you no harm,” Ramie said. The man stopped his retreat but stayed in the shadows. “How were you blinded?”
The man cocked his head to one side and glanced back to the safety of his shop. “Birth.”
A gri
nding wheel stood behind the man, wood chips scattered around it. A chair, still needing a back and one leg, sat beside it. From what Ramie could see the shop was well kept and the finished furniture in the back was some of the finest he had ever seen.
Ramie remembered the famous blind furniture maker, Matadon. His pieces were known throughout the Lands, and they brought a large sum. Ramie even had a few of Matadon’s pieces in the Crest castle. Sensing this man would be more reasonable than the last, Ramie took a step forward. The man took a step back.
“Matadon?” he asked. The man’s face broke out into a grin and he nodded, suddenly unafraid.
“You live here under Presario’s control?”
Matadon cocked his head to one side, making him appear more disheveled than before. Although Matadon kept a good shop, he cared little about his appearance. His matted hair and tattered clothes could use a good washing. “In a way, yes.”
“What do you mean, ‘in a way?’”
“Presario makes rules and we follow them.”
“Then you are under his control.”
“If you say.”
Ramie’s anger rose to new heights. “Only the king makes the laws. Those who preside over cities only follow them and oversee the community in which they’re in.”
“Not in Mintree. It’s different in Mintree. Presario is all in Mintree.”
Disgusted, Ramie resumed his march down the street.
Matadon’s voice followed him. “I wouldn’t go there if I were you.”
Ramie turned in a streak of fury. “And why not?”
“Presario doesn’t like visitors.”
“And what is he going to do, kill me?”
“He might.”
Matadon turned and walked back into the shadows of his shop. Ramie couldn’t make himself move. Matadon’s words left him more than a little shaken. No guard was with him. If Matadon was right and Presario killed him, who would know?
But the more Ramie thought the more furious he became. No man in his kingdom would be allowed to treat people as slaves. There were no slaves in Oldan. Slavery had been vanquished long ago.
It seemed his business here was twofold. Not only did he need information, he also needed to have a light chat with Presario.
He gazed at the castle. The colossal blackened shell towered over him, the smell of burnt wood still strong. Ramie was surprised it was still standing, and slightly appalled someone would continue to reside within.
Now that he stood directly beneath the castles precipitous height Ramie noticed the hastily constructed stairs. They had been added to the outside and led up to the unmarred section. Despite his anger the foreboding stole over him again. Something was out of place: the two men, the broken buildings. It was almost too perfect.
As he reached the last standing building before the castle a woman dashed out and blocked his path. The sign on the building read: House of Harlots.
She was the most beautiful woman Ramie had ever seen. Her thin, white smock, covering a precious small amount of skin, was ripped to the thigh, revealing one long, tan leg, and the scoop at her neck hung so low her ample breasts were overflowing.
She placed a hand on his chest, halting his approach. “Please don’t,” she whispered.
Her voice was so fragile, so afraid, Ramie immediately took her hand, wanting to reassure her. She leaned into him, trembling, and wrapped her arms around his neck. Her long, dark hair tickled his chin.
He stood, stunned, unsure if he should console her or push her away. She moved closer. Her breath was warm, tantalizing. The smell of her was enough to drive any man mad.
He thought of Javi and had to fight to regain control of his desires. He could feel every contour of the girl’s form: the shape of her chest, the flatness of her stomach, the curve of her hips, and the strength in her thighs. He felt all the doubt and uncertainty surrounding his marriage filter through him. He felt himself weaken. With sudden yearning he reached up to feel the girl’s hair.
His hand halted in midair. He looked at the castle before him – a tingle of warning, a shimmer of deceit.
Ramie focused on Javi and his duty to her, to the people of Yor, and to the people of all the Lands. He felt his mind become sharp.
This wasn’t natural. The entire town wasn’t right.
He pushed the girl away and looked into her eyes. They were two black pits, devouring all light. “Why shouldn’t I go?”
“He won’t be happy if I let you pass, he’ll … “ Her voice trailed off as she placed a slender hand on her breast. She whispered, “Tell me your troubles. I can provide you with much more than Presario.”
Ramie fought back his feelings and pushed her away.
He looked at the castle again. He thought he saw a curtain drop in the upper window.
He shoved past the woman even as she yelled for him to stop. He closed his eyes, fighting his desire to turn back. He wasn’t that strong. He may be a king, but he was also a man. He wasn’t strong enough to resist a second time.
He tensed, prepared to deal with more diversions, but none appeared. When he reached the castle he scaled the outlying fence and dropped to the ground.
The enclave was well landscaped. Although it was a simple design, with few flowers, it was attractive and comfortable. Even the grassy section below the charred ruins remained carefully tended.
But he didn’t take long to survey the area. He started for the stairs as soon as his feet touched the ground. He pulled off the stableman’s tunic and untied the rope at his waist, bemoaning the fact he had left his cloak on Foster. It had the emblem of Yor embedded in its threads and would have proven his identity at first glance.
Ramie’s mind turned to what he would say, knowing he would have to contend with Presario’s servant before he reached Presario. He would not let Presario deny him entrance. He was the king for the love of the Maker!
A rudely constructed, heavy wooden door stood at the top of the stairs. It tilted slightly, creating an immediate impression of lunacy. Ramie was truly beginning to think Presario mad. Although it went against all he had heard, what he had seen so far did nothing to discount the theory.
Ramie banged on the door and waited. Just as he lifted his hand to knock again, it opened. An old man peered out. Wrinkles covered the man’s gaunt face and no smile touched his lips, but neither caused Ramie to forget his words. It was his eyes. They were solid white, no pupil or color in them.
The man had been blinded by fire. The mere thought of fire touching his eyes turned Ramie’s skin. It must have been horrible.
The man’s brows furrowed as he cleared his throat, indicating for Ramie to speak his mind.
“I’ve come to see Presario.” Ramie’s natural authoritative tone flowed from him like melted butter.
The old man raised his eyebrows in surprise. “No one sees Presario. If you have a question write it down. He’ll decide if it’s worthy of a reply.”
When the old man began to shut the door Ramie’s temper flared. He caught it with his hand, but the old man’s strength surprised him. Although Ramie was able to stop the door he was unable to force it further open. It held steady, only a finger’s width from the frame.
One white eye peered through the crack with unusual perception. “Release your hold, my lord. Presario is now off limits to you.”
“You had better change your tone, old man. I’m Ramie Augustus, King of Yor and Ruler of Oldan. If you don’t grant me entrance I’ll declare you a traitor of Oldan and have you hung.”
One white eye regarded him, almost as if it could see. A chill went down Ramie’s spine. There was nothing right about the town, the man, or Presario. Ramie wanted answers now more than ever.
“If you are who you say, where’s your guard? And why are you here? Kings have advisors and courts. Why would a king need to see Presario?”
Ramie cooled his anger in order to answer without exploding. He didn’t like games, and that was what he was in. He also didn’t like wasting ti
me, and that was precisely what Presario was forcing him to do.
“Kings have advisors and courts, but when war is close you never know whom to trust. I need an objective opinion and guidance on issues that must remain concealed. That’s why I’m here. I don’t think I have to worry about Presario flapping his tongue, seeing that not even a king is welcome in his home. I have no time to write my questions. I need immediate answers.” Ramie paused and cocked one eyebrow. “That is, if Presario has them.”
“Presario has them,” the old man stated as if Presario was the Oracle itself. “You speak with the hauteur of a king, or close to one. I’ll tell Presario you’re here.”
Ramie nodded and released his hold on the door. It slammed in his face. Sighing, Ramie did the only thing he knew to do, and that was to sit and wait.
- - -
Ramie paced on the small landing, glancing at the door in silent fury. Arri, the old man, had come back and told him Presario would see him, but only at dusk. Ramie had started to object when the door had slammed in his face for the second time.
If Presario was a respectable host he would have invited him in to wait, perhaps offer some tea or wine. But no, not Presario, not the man who had retreated from the world of the living to abide in a sepulchered keep of mourning.
Presario ruled like some kind of omnipotent being, commanding people to do what he wanted, when he wanted. After careful deliberation Ramie decided to ask his questions first, calmly if he could, and then deal with what Presario had done to the town. The more Ramie thought about Presario’s actions the more enraged he became. Presario had closed his lands for the sole purpose of driving people from Mintree, forced blind men to stay behind and monitor all who passed, and turned away those who entreated him for knowledge. What right did one man have to decide the fate of a city, the fate of other souls, and the fate of the future? Mintree was once the highest producing province in Yor. It could be so again.
