by Ty Johnston
***
It was early afternoon when Kron and Adara rode out of the Needles on horseback, Randall’s animal tethered to Kron’s saddle horn.
“That should be Wester’s Edge ahead,” Kron said, nodding at the rooftops of a small town over the ridge of a grassy hill.
Within minutes of hard riding they pulled into the town, instantly drawing stares from the villagers who were outdoors going about their daily business.
“Let me be our mouthpiece,” Adara said as she and Kron drifted their steeds toward the only obvious inn.
Kron gave her a skeptical look as they dismounted and tied their animals to a hitching post over a watering well.
“I’m from East Ursia, remember?” she said to her companion as they made their way toward the swinging doors of the inn.
Before they could approach the innkeeper or anyone else, a soldier dressed in dark purple stepped in front of them.
“What business have you in town?” he asked brusquely.
Kron looked as if he wanted to skewer the man, but Adara intervened.
“Dog, do you speak such to every noble who enters this backwater speck of a village?” Adara asked with her haughtiest voice.
The soldier looked surprised, as did Kron.
“You should know better than to speak with one of my station,” the woman went on. “Now find your sergeant, or the local bishop, someone worthy of speaking with me.”
The soldier was too shocked to move.
“Now!” Adara yelled.
The man scurried past Kron and Adara and out the inn’s doors.
Adara chuckled, then saw the unnerving look she received from Kron.
“It’s been a while,” she said. “I almost forgot what it was like.”
“You’re nobility here?” Kron asked, the skepticism ringing in his voice.
“Minor nobility, on my father’s side,” Adara explained. “It amounted to no more than a minor barony. It might help us discover what has become of Randall.”
“You’re a baroness?” Kron asked.
“That would have been my mother,” Adara said, turning away from the man and facing the approaching innkeeper. “I gave up the title years ago.”
“Ah, my good sir and madam,” the hefty innkeeper said as he came up to them while wiping his hands on a white apron around his waist. “What can Guinaro do for you today? Brunch? Rooms?”
“We will begin with something to eat, and will decide upon rooms later,” Adara said without catching the man’s eyes, staring off as if she had something more important to be looking at.
“Yes, my lady, right away. Right away!” The innkeeper ran off to clear his best table, a large wooden slab on two barrels.
Before they could sit, Kron and Adara heard the inn’s doors swing open again behind them. The two turned casually and spotted another soldier, an older man, standing just inside the doorway.
“My lady,” the fellow said, nodding to Adara, then “and sir,” he added while nodding to Kron. “Allow me to present myself. I am Sergeant Holden of the Holy Army. His holiness Bishop Salvus requests to speak with you at the soonest opportunity.”
Adara returned the man’s nod. “Tell the good bishop we shall be along shortly, as soon as we have quenched our thirst from our long ride.”
“Yes, my lady, good, thank you,” the sergeant said as he backed out the door.
“This is ridiculous,” Kron said barely loud enough to hear.
“This is life in the East,” Adara said. “It’s one of the many reasons I left my homeland.”
Soon enough they were seated and served a fine meal of duck and carrots with a thin apple juice to drink.
After the meal, they made their way across the town’s square, Kron eyeing the statue of the current pope and the villagers eyeing them. Before long they were in front of the temple to Ashal.
“When we enter the chapel, pause briefly and lower your head,” Adara explained. “Otherwise they’ll think you’re a heathen and we’ll have some explaining to do.”
“What if they don’t like our explanations?” Kron asked, for as well traveled as he was, he had not spent much time in East Ursia.
“Then we’ll have to fight our way out,” Adara answered. “Again, let me do the talking.”
They entered the temple to Ashal through the two oak doors at the top of the outside steps and found themselves facing the main chapel. Adara was used to such sights from her youth, but Kron was in new territory. The flooring was black marble with white veins running through it while the ceiling was plastered with multiple frescos, mostly images of one pope or another, some in heated battle while others praying solemnly with halos hovering over their heads. The room was long with two rows of hard wood pews to either side of a central aisle covered by a scarlet rug that ran from the entrance to a stone altar at the far end. On the altar was a bronze bowl atop a short marble column. It surprised Kron to see the bowl was not that different from the bronze basin he had witnessed at Hammer Home, though much smaller.
Adara bowed her head toward the altar and closed her eyes. Kron followed suit, a nudge from the woman letting him know when it was time to stop praying.
When they looked up they saw a man standing in front of the altar at the other end of the room.
Adara lowered her head again and stared at the floor, Kron once more following her motions.
“Bishop Salvus?” the woman questioned.
“Please, rise,” the bishop said as he approached them along the lengthy rug.
Kron immediately did not like the look of the man. A thin, trimmed black mustache below a thick head of dark hair with gray streaks at the temples made the bishop appear worldly, a man of means; though not generally religious, Kron preferred his holy men more humble. The long, violet robes with gold trim at the hemline also spoke of wealth. Kron frowned but kept his mouth shut.
“We are not so formal here in the hinterlands as they are in the capital,” Salvus said as he stopped several feet from the man and woman and held out a hand.
Adara leaned forward and kissed a heavy gold ring imbedded with an enormous ruby on the bishop’s hand. When she returned to standing straight the bishop did not offer his hand to Kron, so the man in black made no move to repeat Adara’s actions.
“Allow me to introduce myself, your holiness,” Adara said to the bishop. “I am Baroness Adara Corvus of the Barony of Corvus Vale.”
The woman turned her attention to her companion, waving a hand in Kron’s direction. “This gentleman is my guide, Lucius Tallerus,” she explained.
Kron bit his tongue to keep from hissing at hearing his former name.
“A guide?” the bishop asked. “A guide to where?”
“West Ursia, your holiness,” Adara answered, playing a dangerous game of lies mixed with the truth. “My family still has holdings there from before the war, and I have spent some time inspecting our property. This gentleman showed me the ways of the world of the heretics, allowing me to move freely without molestation. We have only recently returned to the East, coming from the city of Bond.”
The bishop smiled. “Will you be staying long in our hospitable little town?”
“A day or two at most,” Adara said.
“Ah, a pity you could not stay longer,” Salvus said. “Baron Tolblok’s fortress is several days’ ride to the south. He would appreciate the company, and any news from the West.”
“Please give the good baron my apologies, your holiness. I have been away from home several years and wish not to delay my return,” Adara said.
Salvus paused for a moment, turning sideways and glancing behind himself as if to make sure they were alone. When he turned back to Adara, he no longer smiled.
“I have found myself in an unfortunate situation today, my lady, and since you have recently arrived from the trail through the Needles, I wish to ask you a few questions,” the bishop said, “but, of course, I do not mean to intrude.”
Adara shook her head. “No a
pology is necessary, your holiness,” she said. “Feel free to ask any questions you feel warranted.”
“Did you see anyone on your journey through the mountains?” Salvus asked.
Adara paused as if in thought, then said, “We saw several men in robes at a pagan temple, but we steered clear of such unholy ground. And only yesterday we spotted several of the large folk who inhabit the mountains.”
“No one more?” Salvus asked.
“No one else,” Adara said, then narrowed her eyes at the bishop. “Why do you ask this, your holiness?”
“Just this morning two of the mountain folk brought to us a fellow they claimed was a wizard,” Salvus said.
Adara gasped as if shocked. Kron could hardly keep himself from laughing as he appreciated her acting abilities.
“This man wears white robes and professes to be a healer, but that is the way of the underworld,” Salvus said, “trying to tempt us, trick us, into believing he is performing the works of Ashal.”
“What will come of this man?” Adara asked.
“His trial was earlier today,” the bishop said, “but I will place judgment upon him in the morning as the sun rises. Since he has freely admitted to being a mage, the penalty will be swift. Execution by beheading.”
Adara gasped again, but this time it was true surprise.
“I was wondering if you had happened to pass this young man on the road,” Salvus said. “The mountain folk who captured him told one of our guards the wizard had been traveling with some others.”
Adara glanced at Kron, as if she were mentally asking the man if he remembered seeing anyone else on their travels, then turned back to the bishop. “We saw no one else that I can recall, your holiness, though there were several horses stabled near the pagan temple. I did not wish to enter the evil place, so I suppose it is possible there could have been wizards there.”
Salvus shook his head, following every word of the woman, then said, “My deepest apologies for questioning you, baroness.”
“It is my privilege, your holiness,” Adara said with a smile.
“Very well, if you will allow me, I need to return to preparing my sermon for the next holy day,” he said.
“Thank you for your time, you holiness,” Adara said.
“If you should need to speak with me, please feel free to enter the church,” the bishop explained. “I am here at all hours of the day and night. And I look forward to seeing you in the morning at the execution.”
“Thank you, your holiness,” Adara said, backing away slowly with Kron following.
After they were gone from the shrine, Bishop Salvus walked to the other end of the long room and lifted a small, brass bell from a table behind the altar. He then proceeded to jingle the bell in his hand until a robed man entered the room from a doorway hidden behind a tapestry to one side of the room.
“Artur,” Salvus said to the acolyte, “send a note to the town clerk. I wish to speak with him. And make sure he brings his most recent listings of nobility.”
The young man immediately withdrew from the room, leaving the bishop to stare at the front door where Adara and Kron had exited.
***
“Your holiness?” Kron asked with a chuckle as they walked away from the temple.
Adara smiled back at him. “It’s the way one talks to a bishop,” she said. “You’re lucky we’re not meeting the pope. Then it would be ‘most holy’ this and ‘most holy’ that.”
They laughed together as they crossed the town’s square past the towering statue of the pope and approached the inn.
“Do you think he bought your story?” Kron asked as they neared the inn’s entrance.
“I don’t know,” Adara said, glancing down at herself. She was dressed in a white shirt, dark blue doublet above black breeches and high dark boots, a thin rapier hanging from her left side. All were covered with a layer of road dust. “I’m not dressed the part, but I know the right words. I really would have been a baroness, after all.”
“Let’s hope you fooled him enough for us to save Randall,” Kron said, holding open the inn’s swinging doors for the woman.
As Adara passed him, she asked, “Now that we know what has happened to him, what are we going to do about it?”
“We’re going to save the day,” Kron said, his grin growing wider.
***
It was nearly sundown before Bishop Salvus found himself seated behind his desk in an office to the side of the main chapel room with the town clerk sitting across from him.
“I don’t trust the woman, Rory,” the bishop said as the clerk opened a lambskin codex and placed it on the desk between them.
“Why not?” Rory said without noting the bishop’s religious title as he flipped through several pages.
The bishop had to pause to think why he did not trust the woman calling herself Adara Corvus and claiming to be a baroness of Corvus Vale. Part of it was simple. She dressed like a man; it was unladylike, and would have been scandalous a mere generation earlier for a woman to appear in public in such clothing, especially a woman who claimed nobility. Another factor in the bishop’s mistrust was the dust on the edges of the woman’s clothing; true, she had just come from a long journey, but she should have taken the time to clean herself properly before presenting herself to a bishop of Ashal. Also, there were too many coincidences for Salvus to trust this Corvus woman and her male companion; the wizard in white had been captured on the trail through the Needles and the woman and her guide had come from the same direction, apparently having not seen any signs of the wizard. No, it was too much.
“Here it is,” Rory said, ignoring that the bishop had not answered his question.
“What?” Salvus asked.
Rory ran a finger down a page of the codex, stopping his digit near the bottom of the page. “Corvus Vale,” he said. “It’s far to the east, the other side of Mas Ober.”
“Who is baron there now?” Salvus asked, leaning forward to eye the page himself.
“Says there isn’t a baron,” the clerk said, silently reading the small written text on the page. “Says the land has been under control of the local bishopric for the last five years.”
“Does it say why?” Salvus asked.
Rory read on for a few moments, then looked up at his old friend. “It’s not detailed,” he explained. “Simply says the local noble family did not have any descendants.”
“She lied to me,” Salvus said. “I knew she was up to something.”
“Do you want me to investigate further?” Rory asked.
Salvus nodded. “How long will it take you to find out more about the barony?”
“A few weeks.”
Salvus screeched. “But she’s leaving in a day or so,” he said. “Is there anything you can do?”
“I can check with the sheriff’s office to see if there’s a warrant for her arrest,” Rory said, staring unblinking at his friend. “If she’s legitimate, it could make you look bad.”
Salvus paused again, staring off to the side as if in thought. Finally, he said, “Do it. I want to know what you’ve discovered by morning.”
“Yes, your holiness,” the clerk said.
***
Kron and Adara were surprised by the more than agreeable accommodations they received at the inn of Wester’s Edge. Word had spread quickly that Adara was a noble woman, and the innkeeper offered them his best suite, a large room that took up nearly half of the second floor; he also had clean sheets placed on the beds and a fresh bowl of fruit placed on a night table. As would be due his station as attendant, Kron was given an adjoining room to Adara’s suite. Part of what was surprising about the inn was that such nice accommodations were available in the first place. Wester’s Edge was a small town on the edge of East Ursia, a forgotten place with few travelers passing through.
As they settled into their rooms that evening, Kron and Adara felt somewhat ashamed, thinking of Randall nearby, likely in a dank jail cell. Adara could free hers
elf from her guilt after a sip or two of wine, but Kron’s soul was heavy.
Kron lay on the bed in his room and went over in his mind what to do about the healer. A dozen guards and a sizable local population placed a damper on plans of simply busting the healer out of jail and fleeing. Kron had not been able to see Randall personally, he had not dared risk asking to meet the prisoner in case his actions would stir suspicion, but he had seen the small jail to the side of the local guards’ station; he could imagine the dampness of the tiny place, the cold floors and the harsh bars.
Kron had initially thought of trying to help Randall escape during the middle of the night, but half of the town’s soldiers had been placed around the jail for the night. Kron thought it possible he and Adara might be able to take on the six guards and defeat them with a bit of trickery, but it was not likely they could do so with an alarm being raised.
Kron would have to come up with another idea, another plan to save their friend. He did not know what that plan would be, but at least he had until morning to come up with something. He expected a sleepless night.
An hour after the sun went down, Kron was stirred from his thoughts by a knock at his door. After opening the portal, he found Adara outside his room, the woman fresh from a bath and her clothes dusted.
“I thought we should talk,” she said with a smile. “Perhaps downstairs over a glass of wine?”
Kron’s eyebrows furrowed.
“If we stay up here without making an appearance, it will look as if we’re rude,” Adara said. “The people love to see their nobles, and I’m sure our arrival and Randall’s capture are the talk of the town. Besides, we need to talk about helping Randall.”
Knowing they had to do something for their friend, Kron closed the door to his room and they made their way downstairs.
The front room of the inn was busier than Adara expected. Guinaro the innkeeper was busy helping his wife bring platters of food from the kitchen in the back to several tables filled with local faces. Most were commoners, but three guards sat talking at one table and a young man wearing a deep purple tunic, obviously an acolyte to the bishop, sat by himself near the front entrance.
