“They should be all right,” Gavin added, standing beside him. “I don’t like it either, but what choice do we have?”
The dwarf looked at Braxton. “We have something more important to discuss. You fought well last night. Too well for someone with such little experience. Take off your shirt.”
“What?” Brax asked, shocked.
“You heard me. Take it off. I want to see your chest.”
“Why—what for?”
“I’m not walking into Falderon with you carrying that sword around like a banner, attracting attention from every guard or militiaman within a hundred yards. Now take it off, or I’ll do it for ya.” He took a threatening step forward.
“Fine.” Brax felt frustrated with the dwarf. He unhooked the Unicorn Blade and dropped it to the ground, then pulled his shirt and tunic over his head, further ruffling his hair.
“Happy now?”
The dwarf stared at him. Gavin let out a low whistle.
“What?” Brax looked down at his body. In the middle of his chest, two small interconnected circles, one above the other, had been burned into his skin like welts from some branding iron. They looked exactly like the ones he’d seen on his grandfather’s shirt. He stared at the mark in surprise, running his fingers over the raised edges.
“I thought as much,” Ruskin commented, breaking the silence. “The Chosen Cross. The mark of a Wielder.”
“A Wielder?” Gavin choked, looking at the dwarf. “How could Brax possibly be a Wielder? You must be joking.”
“That sword’s adopted you, my lad,” Ruskin said, ignoring Gavin, “and I’m not sure whether to congratulate or pity you.”
“What do you mean?”
“The life of a Wielder is like no other.” Ruskin shook his head and looked down for a moment, scratching his boot in the dirt. “You have a long, hard road ahead of you, I’m afraid.”
“How can Brax be a Wielder?” Gavin looked quizzically at their guide.
“It was my grandfather’s sword,” Brax explained, picking up the scabbard and unsheathing the Unicorn Blade. He held the weapon in front of him and ran his other hand down the side, admiring its craftsmanship. A rush of warmth flowed through him and the energy pulsated inside his body, bringing with it that radiant feeling. It vanished a moment later, leaving Brax feeling chilled by its sudden remission.
“Get dressed,” Ruskin said, bringing him back to his senses. “We’re going to need to find a way to hide that sword before entering Falderon, or someone’s bound to recognize it. That would be a problem.”
“Why’s that?” He resheathed the blade.
“Anyone found carrying a spirit sword is to be taken immediately to the king, a diversion we can’t afford. We need to keep this quiet and that mark of yours hidden. Don’t draw the weapon in the city unless you’re absolutely forced to defend yerself, and make sure you’re alone when changing. Avoid the public baths as well. Oh, and no women.”
Braxton flushed. He pulled his clothes back over his head and hurriedly tucked his shirt into his pants. Reslinging the Unicorn Blade, he picked up Obsidian’s reins and mounted the saddle. Gavin, sitting atop Cinnamon, eyed him.
“What?” Brax asked.
“You’re full of surprises today, aren’t you? I hope that sword brings you good fortune,” he said, extending his hand.
“Thanks, Gav.” Braxton shook his friend’s grip. “For now though, I just want to make it to Arbor Loren.”
“Don’t be surprised if things don’t work out quite the way you expect them to. That’s a big responsibility you carry on your back. I only wish you’d had it during the attack on the Gate. Things might have turned out differently.”
Braxton realized he hadn’t thought of that before. Could Serene and the Unicorn Blade have protected his mom, or saved Nenra Reed or Arren Bo? He wondered about the events of the Min assault and whether having the sword might have changed the outcome. His life had been so simple a week ago—focused on his interest in Phinlera and the joy of hunting in the nearby forests of a place he once knew. Now he seemed thrust into a larger world, a new land to which he was unaccustomed and suddenly forced to comprehend.
The ground rose steadily as they entered the foothills, changing from grasslands to rough, hilly outcroppings. The farms and homes they passed seemed abandoned. Livestock wandered around uncared for, and wolf-ravaged carcasses lay rotting in the sun. The sight and smell made it difficult to eat, but Ruskin seemed unaffected, eagerly consuming their lunch and drinking liberally from his ale skin.
When he’d finished, the dwarf pulled some furs from his pack and handed them to Brax. “Cover up that scabbard, and wrap the hilt and crossbar. Make sure to hide the unicorn insignia.”
Braxton cut the furs into strips, tying overlapping bands around the handle to camouflage its identity.
Refilling their waterskins from a nearby stream, they set out again, climbing steadily upward. It was midafternoon when they finally saw Falderon perched atop a plateau in the Vale Mountains. The walled city sat at the very edge of a steep cliff overlooking a sapphire-blue lake. Colored roofs rose above the protective barricade, and the spires of a great worship hall reached upward like an appealing arm toward the sky. Two watchtowers flew the Empire’s banner of a silver lion’s head set upon a purple background, adjoining the double wooden gate that faced westward toward Oak Haven and the sea.
Standing on the road that meandered down from the entrance, Braxton felt a sense of relief at reaching their initial destination. Anxious now to enter the city, and eager for knowledge of how widespread the Min attack had been, they picked up their pace and headed toward the gate.
Chapter 7
Crossbow-armed archers stood along the stone towers and walls adjoining the closed western gates of Falderon, peering out toward the setting sun. A few looked down cautiously as Braxton and his companions approached, assessing their threat on the city.
A dozen yards away, two guards emerged from the side door at the base of one of the towers and headed toward them. Chainmail vests covered their long white shirts that extended down over leather leggings, and they wore round slightly pointed helms.
“State your names and your business,” the older guard called out, planting the butt end of his spear firmly in the ground and raising his left hand, signaling for them to stop. He had brown hair jutting away from under his helm and a curly beard streaked liberally with silver. The other man stood next to him, holding a halberd with both hands.
“We’re from Oak Haven, heading to Zambini’s,” Ruskin said casually, stopping a few feet away and giving their names. “We seek refuge for the night.”
“Submit your goods for inspection.” The guard moved forward, signaling for his companion to take up a defensive position in front of the gate.
Ruskin walked over to Obsidian, unhooked his pack and dropped it to the ground, unstrapping the bindings and opening the top. Following his lead, Braxton and Gavin dismounted and did the same.
The guard peered into their packs, poking at their belongings with his spear, pulling out a few clothes here and there, and generally looking the travelers up and down. Bear growled when he got too close to Gavin, and the man eyed him cautiously.
“Keep your mutt back,” he snapped.
Gavin pointed to the ground, and the elkhound lay down, watching the guard as he rifled through Cinnamon’s saddlebags.
After a few minutes, the man seemed satisfied and signaled to the other guard, who banged on the side of the gate with his fist. Slowly, the giant door opened just wide enough to let them through.
“Why so tight?” Ruskin asked, closing his pack.
The guard spat in the dirt. “It’s those damn Mins. Attacked our Gate. We’re not taking any chances.”
“They hit Oak Haven a few days back. Took out their Keepers.” Ruskin jerked his head toward Braxton and Gavin.
“Amberdeen and Montressa got hit as well. Appears to have been a planned assault. The king’s ordered e
veryone into the cities, and travel is restricted now to escorted watch. You’ll have to stay in Falderon until a patrol arrives—if you can find room.”
Brax’s heart dropped at the thought of not being able to continue quickly. He worried about reaching Arbor Glen in time and getting his mom’s essence safely to her tree.
The dwarf mumbled something and picked up his pack.
“Wait,” Brax called out at seeing Ruskin heading toward the gate. “What about those men we tied up?”
Rusk sighed, shook his head, and turned to the guard. “We met a band of amateurs who tried to relieve us of our goods a day’s walk back. We beat ’em around a bit then tied them to that clump of trees that tunnels the road. The boy here’s worried they’ll become wolf grub before long and wants ’em rescued.” Not waiting for a response, he glanced at Braxton. “Satisfied?” He continued toward the gate, grumbling to himself.
The guard looked amused. “We’ll send a patrol in the morning to pick them up.”
“Thanks,” Brax said, leading Obsidian after the dwarf. Gavin smiled and patted Braxton on the back as he walked past.
Entering the city, they found it congested with travelers, farmers, and residents of every kind. Tents of various shapes, sizes, and colors—as well as lean-tos, small sheds, and other makeshift housing—had been set up to accommodate the increased population from the surrounding countryside. Small corrals along the main road held cattle, sheep, pigs, horses, goats, and other farm animals the villagers had brought. Those who couldn’t afford to pen their livestock simply tied them to their tents or slept with them. People were everywhere—in the streets, alleyways, and courtyards—anywhere they could find a place to sleep. The local residents and storeowners had even converted their front porches into rooms, where groups or families huddled together with what few possessions they carried.
“We’ll be lucky to find lodging,” Gavin commented, as he and Brax caught up with the dwarf.
“Zambini’s will have room,” Ruskin replied, not bothering to stop.
They followed the dwarf down the main cobblestone road away from the gate and into a large round plaza from which three more roads fanned outward. The rotunda, like the streets, was packed with farmers, merchants, wagons, and soldiers, and the various inns and stores they passed were filled with customers buying goods or seeking accommodations. Ruskin didn’t seem to pay them much heed and just pushed his way through the sea of people.
After winding through the crowds for almost an hour, they turned onto a narrower road that led to a little square on the north end of the city, stopping in front of a green two-story building with a white thatched roof. Like the other inns and taverns, this one was overflowing with visitors eager to find a bed or hot meal for the night. Above the door, a large metal symbol of a pipe and barrel was affixed to the wall below the words:
ZAMBINI’S INN AND PUBLIC HOUSE
Gavin offered to stay outside with Bear and the horses while Ruskin and Brax entered the crowded tavern. The rectangular common room had a tall, peaked ceiling, with a second story overlooking the lower floor, and a large glowing fireplace. A dark wooden counter extended opposite the entrance where people crammed together, buying food and drink. Tables, benches, cots, and chairs covered every open space, and barmaids moved about, carrying trays of frothing tankards, loaves of bread, and bowls of steaming stew, filling the inn with an enticing aroma.
Scanning the place, Ruskin convinced a couple of drunkards to give up their table by simply pulling them off their bench and leaving them lying on the ground. He waved down a barmaid and sat fidgeting until she returned with several tankards of ale. Draining three of them quickly, he called to the deeply tanned girl who’d introduced herself as Kalendra, and told her to fetch Zambini.
Braxton had just returned from delivering a drink to Gavin when a tall dark-skinned man with closely cropped, curly black hair strode over to them. A rich, collarless, blue silk shirt was buttoned to his neck, with long sleeves fitted tightly about his wrists, and tucked into leather pants. He smiled broadly upon arriving at their table, his white teeth contrasting against his skin.
“Welcome to Zambini’s, my friends. How may I be of service?” he asked, surveying them closely.
Ruskin had the hood of his traveling cloak pulled up and his head bent low. “We want your best drink, your best food, and your best rooms, in that order. All on the house.”
The other man’s smile faltered, and, for an instant, a cunning look flashed through his eyes. Recovering quickly, his expansive smile returned and he laughed aloud.
“My friends, nothing would please me more than to satisfy your needs, but these are trying times. I can therefore offer you no more than a bowl of my best stew, some of my finest ale, and meager accommodations in our common room. All at a fair price.”
“Don’t try to con me, ya pirate,” Ruskin said, standing up and pulling back his hood. “Your fair price is at least twice what you paid.”
“Ruskin, you old scoundrel!” Zambini roared, embracing the dwarf. Separating, they clasped hands. “What brings you to Zambini’s?”
“Ah, we’re heading east. I’m escorting this young’un to Arbor Loren.” He gestured toward Braxton.
“You going to the elves? That I never thought I’d see.”
“Me neither, but I promised his father.” Ruskin introduced Brax. “For now we need a room, some grub, and a few supplies, if you can spare ’em.”
“I wasn’t lying, my friend, when I said these are desperate times. The inn’s full, but for you, I will give you a room in my own house.”
“Good. I’d like to see Brennah again. There are three of us, a dog, and two horses.” He sat back down and drained another ale.
Zambini sighed. Having already committed his home to the dwarf, he knew he couldn’t refuse him now. “I’ll find room for your horses. Bring them around back.”
“Thank you, Mr. Zambini,” Braxton said.
Ruskin choked on his drink. “Don’t call him Mr. Zambini, or he’ll get an even bigger opinion of himself.” He wiped his wet beard on his sleeve. “Besides, this pirate likes my company, don’t you?” Ruskin looked slyly at the man.
Zambini’s smile returned. “That I do, my old friend, that I do.”
They followed their host down a hallway that divided the busy kitchen on one side with several closed doors on the other, and into a packed storeroom at the rear of the inn. Without stopping, Zambini opened the back door and led them through a cobblestone courtyard enclosed by a row of stables on the left and a low wooden wall that extended around from the back of the tavern. A small, whitewashed cottage with a thatched roof sat opposite. Its painted, green door matched the inn, and a single oil lamp burned brightly above the entrance. Colorful window boxes with pink flowers were visible in the fading light, and a brick chimney emitted a spire of smoke that drifted off toward the Vales.
Zambini opened the door to his house, and let Brax and Ruskin into the modest front room. A large round table sat in its center, and a warm fireplace burned nearby. Three closed doors covered the back of the cottage, and an open hall led off to the left.
“Welcome to my home,” Zambini said with a flourish as a young, slightly chunky woman with long blond hair and striking blue eyes joined them from the kitchen.
“Ruskin!” She rushed over and embraced the dwarf.
“Hello, Brennah, it’s nice to see you,” Rusk mumbled, engulfed in the bosom of the taller woman.
She released him and stepped back. “Come and sit down. You’re staying for supper, of course?”
“Wouldn’t miss it if I was within ten leagues of your kitchen.” Ruskin rubbed his hands together.
An hour later, after stabling the horses, they sat around the table enjoying a delicious meal of roasted beef, potatoes, wild vegetables, and warm, freshly baked bread. Endless wine from Zambini’s cellar was complemented equally by the bountiful quantities of food from Brennah’s kitchen. It was an outstanding meal, and Braxto
n ate more than he had since leaving Oak Haven. Gavin generously complimented their hosts as well, and even Bear seemed content, falling asleep in front of the fire.
Zambini’s twin four-year-old boys, Kudu and Bendwhalie, had joined them too. Both had their dad’s curly hair but with lighter brown skin from their mother’s influence. Kudu had deep green eyes, while Ben had inherited his mom’s startling blue color. They were a constant source of motion—wrestling, running, or playing around the house, each trying to outdo the other. Ben appeared stronger, but Kudu seemed quicker, easily escaping and taunting his brother.
Hours later, Braxton lay in the warm embrace of Brennah’s hand-knitted blankets on a soft, comfortable mattress, watching the night’s shadows spread across the whitewashed wall. A bright moon shone over the floor, highlighting Bear’s intermingling fur as he lay asleep on the rug between the two beds. Gavin’s light snoring sounded from the other side of the room, and Brax smiled at the ease with which his friend found sleep, despite recent events.
Sleep that continued to evade him.
His mind was a turmoil of thoughts and fears, challenging his strength and resolve, questioning his ability to see his mom’s essence safely to Arbor Loren. It teased his false sense of courage gained from touching the energy in the Unicorn Blade, telling him it was a passing whim, a chanced occurrence, a fleeting event. That he was overstating his capabilities. He called out to Serene, seeking her calm reassurance. But there was no answer, and the resounding quiet only refueled his doubts. Frustrated, he thought of Phinlera, and wondered if she was safe. He knew she could defend herself. Her father had been the Captain of the Guard back home and had taught her how to fight with a sword and bow from when she was very young—before he left on a military campaign and never returned. Still, Brax worried about her safety, and being away with Penton, even though he knew his brother was helping. Eventually, hours past midnight, he fell into a restless sleep of false securities and endless hopes, the light of his many desires always seemingly just out of reach.
Cathadeus_Book One of the Walking Gates Page 5
