by Bruce Blake
He eyed a dark-skinned southerner, a satchel of fragrant spices thrown over his shoulder and a broad grin on his face, but the sash around his waist was empty. A hawk-nosed man with a scar on his cheek sat on a bench at the front of a cart, urging his beleaguered-looking pony as it pulled his wagon laden with the vegetables he hadn’t sold at today’s market. The closest thing to a weapon he carried was a short, leather switch he used to encourage the poor beast.
Man after man he surveyed and found each one of them without sword or dagger, axe or spear. Not even a whip amongst them. Finally, it occurred to the prince: merchants were not permitted to carry weapons into the inner city for any reason other than sale. The prince rubbed his palm on the sword’s grip, worried it wouldn’t be the distinctiveness of the blade that might reveal him, but the mere fact he carried a weapon at all.
Teryk’s stomach jumped with the realization. If he attempted to exit the gate as the only man carrying a sword, he’d surely be stopped. They’d ask questions at the very least; more likely, he’d be arrested. The prospect of arrest didn’t cause him distress; no matter what, he was the prince and he wouldn’t spend a moment in the brig, but they’d inform his father and end his adventure before it began.
His eyes darted from man to man, handcart to wagon. Somewhere amongst this assortment of goods and wares, he needed to find a place to secret the crown sword until they exited through the gate.
Teryk jogged forward, pushed his way between a tall, wide man wearing a turban wrapped around his head and his man servant pushing a handcart loaded with boxes containing intricate glass beads strung together in necklaces and bracelets. They grumbled at him, but he paid them no mind. He passed a wagon loaded with wood carvings, then a man lugging a sack with sharp angles pressing out from inside, distorting its shape.
Raising his head, Teryk saw the procession was approaching the gate. Two guards posted on either side, hands resting on their weapons, surveyed the line of merchants passing under the high marble arch. Guardhouses stood to both sides, more men within. A drop of sweat rolled down Teryk’s temple.
He slowed his pace, falling back in the column to give himself an opportunity to think, to find somewhere to hide the blade. Each time it bumped against his thigh, it added to his building worry instead of offering comfort as it had moments before.
He considered tossing it over the side of the wagon loaded with carvings, but it might be easily noticed. Perhaps the wagon of produce—he could secret the blade beneath a sack of rutabagas. It’d be safe hidden amongst carrots and potatoes if they didn’t search the wagon. They didn’t appear to be stopping the merchants, but if one of the guards glimpsed the scabbard’s tip poking out from under the vegetables, they’d have reason to search. Teryk would lose the sword and be responsible for an innocent man’s incarceration.
I may have to leave it behind.
The prince sucked his bottom lip, eyes darting, searching for a hiding spot as the gate loomed. He fell back farther in the column, ready to concede the necessity of abandoning the crown sword. A shame—who knew what might happen to the precious weapon when an unsuspecting citizen wandering the inner city streets found it. The thought of embarking on his journey to save the kingdom without a weapon didn’t worry him—he’d purchase another blade once he reached the outer city. But ending whatever peril awaited with Godsbane in his hand had become part of the dream, a symbol of his ascension as successor to the throne.
Teryk unbuckled the sword belt, carefully keeping it hidden beneath his cloak as he sought somewhere to abandon it, when a glint of sunlight on steel caught his eye. The wagon rumbling along the Promenade behind him, second to last in the procession, belonged to a weapons merchant.
Relief flooded the prince’s chest. He stepped aside and allowed the two horses pulling the cart to pass, then nodded at the man driving them—a tall, thin man, with legs so long his knees touched his chest as he sat on the bench with the reins in his hands. The man didn’t return the prince’s greeting, nor did the burly fellow sitting at his side.
The wagon passed, swords and daggers rattling against helms and chest plates in its bed. Teryk fell in behind, hurrying his pace to keep up. He peered left and right, saw no one watching, and reached over to place his sword gently in the wagon with the other weapons. Neither of the men driving the wagon noticed him and they kept their eyes on the avenue and gate ahead.
Even nestled amongst an array of finely-made weapons, Godsbane stood out. The intricate ornamentation of its grip, the majestic engraving noticeable on the blade that didn’t fit inside the sheath; it was a weapon among weapons.
Teryk thanked the one God he’d decided to leave the jeweled scabbard in the armory.
He slowed, falling back from the weapon maker’s wagon, glanced away to find the fellow driving the cart bringing up the rear glaring at him. Teryk smiled, shrugged, and the man looked away as though he intended to mind his own business. The prince pulled up the hood of his cloak to hide his face.
The column of merchants flowed through the gate with hardly a pause. Guards silently watched them go by, nudging each other on occasion and pointing to items that caught their attention. When the wagon hauling the wood carvings drew up to the gate, one of the guards halted the procession to haggle with the man over a toy wheeled horse with a long, red string tied around its neck.
Another jolt of worry shot through Teryk. What if they stopped the weapons seller? What if one of them spied the crown sword and wanted to purchase it? Would the merchant recognize it didn’t belong amongst his wares and say something, or graciously accept whatever coin might be offered, then be on his way with a fuller purse?
Teryk licked his lips and stretched on his toes to peer over the edge of the wagon. To his relief, the cart’s juddering had settled Godsbane in amongst the other swords; one had slid across it, hiding the two fingers of intricately scrolled blade protruding from the scabbard.
The last group of men before the weapon maker’s wagon passed under the arch. The prince rubbed his thumb against the tips of his fingers, attempting to dry the perspiration springing up on his hands. To distract himself, he counted the steps bringing him closer to freedom from both the inner city and his worry.
A guard held up his hand, gesturing for the wagon to halt. The weapons merchant reined his horses to a stop. Teryk’s heart jumped into his throat as the armored man strode up to the wagon and laid his palm on the edge by the driver’s seat. The weapons seller doffed his hat.
“Good day, sir. How can I be of service?”
“I need me an axe,” the guard said. “The head snapped off me last one.”
“Obviously not purchased from me.” The driver unfolded his ungainly legs and stepped down. He didn’t require the use of the step. “Let’s have a look what we have.”
The merchant’s burly companion remained in his seat, waiting while the other man took the guard to the back of the wagon to peruse his wares. He undid the latch and opened the back, swept his arm across the assortment of armaments with a grand gesture.
“Fellick and Ive have only the best weapons for sale, good sir. We acquire these items from the best smithies in the kingdom, take the time to ensure they use the purest steel.”
The guard grunted and moved aside a spear and a buckler. Other items in the wagon shifted and Teryk drew a sharp breath through his nose as Godsbane slipped from under the pile of swords. The merchant must have heard the gasp because he spun toward him, a frown on his lips, but when the guard hefted a short-handled axe, its well-honed edge gleaming, he replaced the sour expression with a smile.
“This one might do.” He stepped back and gave it a good swing, the angular head whistling through the air. “How much?”
“You are a man who knows fine weapons. That one—”
“Don’t care 'bout its history. How much?”
The merchant rubbed his chin, assessing his customer. “Two and three.”
“Two and three? Robbery. I’ll give you two, and
not a piece more.”
“But sir, observe the workmanship, test the perfect balance. I can’t let it go for less than two and two without feeling I’ve given away one of my children.”
Teryk’s gaze moved from the crown sword to the two men. Neither of them seemed to have noticed it, and the merchant’s beefy companion continued staring straight ahead through the gates.
“Whatcha think, Urk?” the man called out waving the axe over his head. “Two and two?”
The other guard shrugged.
“You won’t find a weapon of this quality for a lower price anywhere else, sir. In fact, you likely won’t even find one of this quality anyplace.”
The guard studied the weapon as though considering his reflection in the polished steel. He hefted it again.
“Two and one. That’s final.”
The merchant rubbed his chin, scratched his cheek—gestures undoubtedly made for show. “Done!”
The guard’s cheeks strained to contain a suppressed a grin. He obviously thought he’d gotten the best of the merchant, but the smile on the tall man’s lips suggested the opposite might be the truth. The buyer fished the three coins out of a pouch on his belt—two coppers and one iron, as they’d negotiated—then returned to his post. Teryk let out his breath as the merchant slammed the wagon closed and shot the bolt, but the man hesitated, looking into the bed, before returning to his seat.
Did he see?
The tall fellow snapped the reins and his horses moved again, pulling his wagon of wares under the gate’s high arch. Teryk followed close behind, cowl pulled up to hide his face, suddenly aware of a new problem: the lack of items he carried. He carried his pack slung over his shoulder, but if a guard searched it, he’d find it contained a change of clothes, a flint and steel, some twine, some coins, and a few days’ rations. Not exactly a merchant’s wares.
Teryk paced forward, staring at his feet and hoping for the guards to let him pass unharried. One of them cleared his throat and Teryk looked up to find the man who’d purchased the axe glaring at him. The prince nodded, the guard scowled.
A moment later, Teryk passed under the marble arch, his feet treading upon ground they’d never in his life touched. Outside the gate, the Promenade deteriorated from interlocking bricks to gravel, the wheels of the weapons merchant’s wagon crunching through the loose pebbles.
They went by another pair of gatehouses, presumably manned by more guards, though Teryk saw none. Ahead, squat stone buildings lined the street, timber beams protruding from their sides at regular intervals to support their roofs. These were the barracks used to quarter the soldiers of the kingdom’s army, he knew, though he’d never seen them. Simply knowing who lived within the buildings made their thick walls and dark windows appear more ominous.
Steel squawked against stone behind them, and Teryk glanced back over his shoulder to see the portcullis lowering into place. After that, the great wooden gates would swing closed, keeping the inner city in and, more importantly, the outer city out.
I did it.
A jolt of excitement energized his limbs.
I’m in the outer city.
Teryk hurried his pace, catching up to the weapons merchants’ wagon. He reached over the side, wrapped his fingers around the crown sword.
“Oy! Whatcha think you’re doin’?”
The voice startled the prince. Bitter saliva flooded his mouth as he raised his eyes to find the brawny man scowling at him.
“I...I’m...” He realized how lame and unlikely his true story sounded. He spit it out anyway. “I knew the guards would take my sword if I tried to bring it through. I stowed it in your wagon for safe keeping.”
The tall man reined the horses in, bringing the wagon to a halt. Teryk held onto Godsbane, unsure if doing so was the best course of action, but the big man’s glare froze him. He didn’t move while the driver unfurled his legs again and climbed off his seat.
“I see you’re interested in our wares,” he said, drumming his fingers together.
“No, this sword is mine.”
His teeth showing in what might be construed as either a grin or a snarl, the tall fellow cocked his head to one side. Behind him, the burly man descended from the bench, the wagon bouncing beneath his weight. Teryk swallowed hard.
“It doesn’t appear to be yours, it appears to be ours. What do you think, Fellick?”
“It be in our wagon. Think that makes it ours.”
A line of sweat formed between the prince’s shoulder blades, sticking his shirt to his back. His gaze flickered from the thin man called Ive to the much larger Fellick, assessing them. Two against one, not good odds even if he thought he’d be able to free Godsbane from the scabbard before they fell upon him, which he didn’t think he could. He peeked over his shoulder at the other wagon drawing up behind them—the man who’d seen him stow the sword.
The prince pointed with his free hand. “He saw. Ask him, he’ll tell you.” He donned a pleading look.
“What say you, Ebben?” Ive called. “Did you see such a thing?”
Ebben glanced between the three men. Teryk nodded at him, raised an expectant brow. The merchant coughed, spat, and snapped his reins, guiding his horse and wagon around the others stopped in the middle of the avenue without a word.
The wooden wheels rumbled past and Teryk considered imploring him to tell the pair of weapons sellers the truth, but he realized the man wouldn’t get involved in another merchant’s dispute. Minutes ago, the prince had hoped for the man to mind his business, now he hated him for doing so.
“It seems it’s your word against ours,” Ive said. “And since there’s one of you and two of us...”
“But it’s mine.”
“Well, it can be.” The tall merchant rubbed his chin, then spoke to his partner. “How much do you think, Fellick?”
“Four,” the burly man said without moving his gaze from Teryk.
A wave of relief flooded through the prince. Four was a fair price for a sword, and a bargain to get him out of this situation with Godsbane in hand and his limbs still attached.
“Four it is,” Ive said, nodding once. “Four gold.”
Teryk nearly dropped the sword. “Four gold? Have you taken leave of your senses? Four gold buys a house and barn with a horse and wagon, not a sword.”
“That be the price,” Fellick said taking an ominous step toward him. “You want it or not?”
The prince’s eyes flickered between the men. The cold sweat between his shoulder blades ran down his back into the crack of his ass and he shuffled from his left foot to his right, his pulse pounding in his temple.
“Fine,” he whispered.
“Didn’t hear ya.” Fellick approached another pace.
“Fine. Four gold.”
“We have a deal,” Ive declared, clapping his hands as though the crack of his palms sealed the contract.
Teryk pulled the crown sword out of the wagon and moved to fasten the belt around his waist, but Fellick stopped him with a hand on his arm. The prince saw the muscles rippling in the man’s forearm, the surly expression darkening his countenance, and understood the man’s role in the partnership.
“Ya pay the coin before ya wear it.”
With no point to defying the man, Teryk leaned the sword against the back of the wagon, unslung his pack and reached inside, his fingers groping for a secret pocket sewn in the front. It proved difficult to find without opening the pack, but he didn’t want to reveal the hidden compartment and expose his cache to these two men. After a moment, he pulled his hand out, the four coins clutched between his fingers.
He held them up, the gold glittering in the waning light, and rubbed them together. Fellick tilted his head toward Ive.
“I’ll take them,” the tall man said.
Teryk extended his hand and dropped the coins into Ive’s waiting palm. They clinked against one another and the merchant grinned.
“I do love that sound. A pleasure doing business with you.”<
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Fellick took his hand off the prince’s arm and backed away a step, granting silent permission for Teryk to retrieve his purchase. The prince wrapped his fingers around the scabbard and picked it up; Ive paused, eyeing the weapon before returning to his seat.
“That is an exquisite sword, isn’t it?”
Teryk swung his cloak open and ushered the sword beneath. “It’s mine. We struck a deal.”
“Indeed we did,” he said and raised a brow.
For a moment, it seemed he might say more. Instead, he nodded once to his partner and the two men returned to their seats, the wagon groaning under Fellick’s bulk as he climbed in. Ive carefully folded his legs into place and shook the reins. The horses set out with a jingle of harnesses and the crunch of hooves on gravel.
Ive’s laugh wafted over his shoulder like a foul smell; Teryk’s nostrils flared, his lips pressed into a bloodless white slash across his face. At least he had Godsbane back, even if it cost him.
“Perhaps we’ll meet again,” the lanky merchant tossed back as they drew away.
“If we do, it will be so I can remove your head for being a cheat,” Teryk muttered, careful not to speak loud enough for Fellick and Ive to hear.
He stood in the middle of the road, glaring after the wagon rattling away as the sun sank toward the horizon. His hand shook with anger and disappointment with himself, but after a few moments to regain his composure, he realized his situation.
They left him with his purse considerably lighter, but a valuable lesson: trust no one. This wasn’t Draekfarren castle anymore, nor the inner city. For the first time in his life, Teryk was in the outer city. His quest to become a hero had begun.
A shiver ran up his spine.
XVIII Father Raven
Sunlight gleamed on Father Raven’s midnight feathers; Thorn watched the huge bird hop across the clearing, felt the ground shudder with his power. Thorn stepped to his right, his skin color shifting with his background, and hefted his spear.
