Blackmark (The Kingsmen Chronicles #1): An Epic Fantasy Adventure

by Jean Lowe Carlson

  And that was all it took. Dherran’s rage gathered, an unstoppable torrent. It had been bad today because of Khenria, but now it was like a demon unleashed. He strode to the man on the ground, a mountain in swift avalanche, and seized him by his hair, shaking his head roughly.

  “What did you think was going to happen, kick-fighting against someone with my training?!” He bellowed. “You see these Inkings?! Look at them!! Do you remember the Battle of Gheirn? A hundred Kingsmen held back a force of three thousand Valenghian Longriders, protecting this valley for two days until the King’s army could get here! Two days! Without sleep, without food… protecting Vennet! That was only thirteen years ago!”

  Dherran thrust the man’s head to the dirt with a growl and he yelped, and then Dherran’s hot rage was turned on the crowd. “Most of you were alive then! My father and mother both fought for Vennet! How dare you forget them!!”

  Dherran was winding up, his vision bleeding into a red haze. People had shrunk back from the ring of spears. He could see mouths muttering, but only a buzzing like seething hornets filled his ears. A light hand fell on his arm, suddenly.

  Suchinne.

  But when he turned, he saw Khenria, her face frightened. “Come away, Dherran. You’ve won. These people aren’t your enemy.”

  Dherran shook his head. Her words didn’t make sense. His head was stuffed with burning steel wool. Somehow, his fingers wound up in her hand. Somehow, he was walking towards the ready-tent. Muttering turned to an angry susurration behind him. He shook his head again as he stumbled into the tent.

  “Dherran.” Her dark grey eyes were worried, frightened, as she seized his face in both hands. “Dherran! Can you hear me?” He shook his head, everything red, everything burning. She took up the water pitcher, doused him with it. Cold water shocked his senses, and awareness began to return at last. Dherran took a few quick drinks, listening to the crowd outside. He finally noticed that Grump was absent from the tent, and Khenria had Dherran's winnings purse, set aside upon the wooden bench.

  “Mob?” Khenria whispered.

  “Not yet, but they’re pissed. Where’s Grump?” Dharran gasped breath to calm himself, currying cold water through his hair.

  She shook her head. “I saw him doing his rounds for the betting, but not since.”

  “We gotta go. I broke their champion… we gotta leave town.” Dherran unwrapped his hands quickly, then donned his shirt and leather jerkin. “Get the horses, we’ll check the inn for Grump—”

  “You both are two of a kind. Reckless.” The iron-hard voice made Dherran snarl. He turned fast, to find himself facing a tall, lean man in a handsome red leather jerkin, his pale blue eyes hard. There was nothing idle about the Vicoute Arlen den’Selthir’s posture. His sword-honed frame might have been swathed in riches, but Dherran would have bet his right nut that the man had expert training in the arts of war. Some men just moved like liquid on fire, and he was one.

  “What are you doing here?!” Dherran snarled, ready to hit the man. “What the fuck is he doing here? Did you invite him?” He shouted at Khenria.

  “She has nothing to do with this.” The Vicoute’s pale blue eyes were keen, flat with anger. “This is between you and me.”

  “Get out of my way!” Dherran barked, lifting his saddlebags up onto one shoulder from the rough wooden bench, surging past. “You don’t know anything about me.”

  “But I do, Kingsman. I know quite a lot, actually.” The greying Vicoute murmured, pinning Dherran with those icy eyes, though he didn’t make any motion to stop Dherran. “I know you’re going to have a mob in about five minutes, and you need somewhere to go. I know every inn for ten miles is full-up from of the festival. And I know, that you are going to accept my invitation to sup for dinner, and to stay the week at my manor.”

  “And why’s that?” Dherran snarled rudely, level with the man now at the tent-flap.

  Den’Selthir gave a hard, emotionless smirk. “Because the lady hasn’t ever slept in a manor before, and she’s never dined with a Vicoute. And because it is my pleasure to entertain interesting people. And because you, Kingsman,” his gaze flicked to Dherran’s Inkings, visible at the cleft of his shirt, “owe me a fighter. That was my man you ruined. He was sworn to my service. And I demand restitution.”

  The roar of the mob surged outside the tent. Dherran balked, listening. It would take five full minutes to ready the horses. By then, the mob would be all over them. This lord before him had steel and fire in his veins, Dherran was almost certain of it. But what Dherran didn't know was why he was so interested in a pair of young fighters, though he had the distinct impression he would soon find out. It was a risk either way. Put himself and Khenria the mercy of the mob, or at the mercy of a pissed Vicoute who had not yet lifted a hand to harm them.

  “I have three saddled horses waiting outside.” The Vicoute raised an ash-blonde eyebrow. “Bring your winnings. Stuff your gear under the benches behind that hay bale and I will send my men back for it later. I’ll have one wait here for your servingman.”

  Dherran glanced at Khenria. She lifted her narrow black brows. “Fine.” Dherran stuffed the saddlebags behind the hay bale, snatched up the winnings purse, and they were out the back tent-flap. Hot afternoon dust choked them. But the Vicoute was good as his word, a small knot of retainers on horseback facing off with the seething crowd, swords out. Three horses waited inside the mounted men. Khenria raced to a white gelding, up in a flash. Dherran took a sturdy roan, while the Vicoute mounted up on a black charger that was clearly his own.

  The lord wheeled his charger to the front of the mob. “Populace of Vennet!” he roared, in a slicing bellow that would not have been out of place upon a battlefield. Men quieted all around in a slow wave, and Dherran blinked, realizing how much clout the man had here in town. The Vicoute wheeled his horse in a circle again, then spoke.

  “You have seen a brutal fight today! My champion has been mangled, and I have demanded restitution from the fighter who broke him. Rest assured that until the debt is paid, he will answer to me! You have my word. But now is not the time for violence. We have seen too much already today. Go to your inns. Sup, drink. Your first ale of the night comes from my coffers from this disappointing spectacle today, for which I take full responsibility. Drink and let your evening be merriment rather than pain! And I will take care of the pain-giving.”

  A vicious cheer went up from the crowd. Dherran felt himself simmer, but Khenria’s glance as she heeled her horse close forestalled him. It was better this way, leaving with protection. Though they had no inkling as to what would come next. And there was no more time to think about it. Kicking his charger hard, the Vicoute broke a path through the crowd, his riders flanking him. Dherran and Khenria had no choice but to follow, riding hard in a canter out from the dusty square, heeling hard through the market, and to the outskirts of the city. Following a dusty lane flanked by fig orchards and grape arbors, they kept pace for a number of miles, riding hard through the sweltering day. And only when they’d turned down a wide dirt lane past a long row of cypress trees did they slow to a walk to ease their horses.

  Coming up over a rise, Dherran saw fields and orchards to every horizon. And there, at the end of the lane was an enormous manor made of white granite with marble pillars. Four stories, the massive house was more than grand, imposing and martial, keen in its simplicity yet lofty elegance. As they neared, a number of retainers paused in their duties about a stable and impressive barn large enough for forty cows. They rode straight to the colonnade steps of the main house, the Vicoute slinging down from his charger and handing its reins off to a stable boy, who took them with a bow. The others did the same. Dherran and Khenria dismounted, following suit. Without turning around, the Vicoute marched up his manor-steps, stopping in brief conversation with a liveried butler just inside the doors of an airy entrance hall of white marble. The butler nodded. The Vicoute strode on through the hall, but when Dherran made to follow, the cheeky butler su
ddenly stepped in his path.

  “Sirrah. I am to show you and the lady to your suites. The Vicoute has invited you to dine with him tonight, but until then, you may rest and refresh yourself. If you would come with me?”

  Dharran glanced at Khenria. She shrugged. Apparently, neither of them had any clue what was happening here. “We would love to refresh.” Khenria stepped in, managing the situation.

  The butler nodded. With a sweep of his hand and a bow, he invited them onward.

  CHAPTER 24 – GHRENNA

  For the first time, bright sun was not a bane to Ghrenna. And for the first time, she was able to admire a city in full bustle, gaudy and garish, bright and full of life. Luc and Ghrenna ambled arm-in-arm down a main avenue in the Abbey Quarter, taking it all in. The sun scorched down, every fountain plaza teeming with folk enjoying the holiday for the city. Coronation Week was fascinating for Ghrenna. Normally, she avoided crowds, having never felt safe in them, but Lintesh soared with a good humor this week high as the Dhenra’s cobalt banners rippling in the almost nonexistent breeze.

  Their guild had been in the city two days already, after the week-long journey up from Fhouria. Luc had been treating Ghrenna the entire way, and today her headache was merely a subtle irritation, a tension deep to her temples, but little else. And it had become evident since they’d arrived, that they weren’t going to get anywhere near the palace to find Olea, not until all this was concluded. The Dhenra had apparently opened her galleries to the common folk for the duration of the week’s proceedings, and the Third Tier had become a madhouse of people waiting for their chance to see the inside of the palace.

  And to see the young soon-to-be-Queen.

  So they were passing the time, taking the days to search for potential scores. Ghrenna and Luc moved along a tree-lined promenade, Shara and Gherris elsewhere canvassing the Craftsman Quarter today. Every inch of territory was occupied by hawkers and gawkers, merchants and menagerie. Tumblers in bright red silk climbed each other’s shoulders and balanced in contorted poses. A man near one sprawling fountain ate fire, juggling it on lit batons and blowing flames from his mouth. Guards in cobalt were present at every intersection, watching the populace coolly, hands folded over the pommels of their swords. Coronation memorabilia was being sold, from silver rings etched with Dhenra Elyasin’s profile to full-sized painted portraits done on black velvet. They passed one such stand, the man hawking portraits swearing up and down he had done a real sitting for the Dhenra from which he captured her likeness.

  Luc scoffed, acidic. “Elyasin looks nothing like that.”

  Ghrenna lifted an eyebrow, still wondering at the fact that it didn’t hurt. She hadn’t even touched her pipe today. But it was in her belt-pouch over her modest flax dress and summer lambswool corset, just in case.

  “You’ve met the Dhenra?”

  Luc shrugged. “I used to live in the palace. She was just a little girl then. But Uhlas was a straight-nosed man with heavy brows. Elyasin is pretty, but she has her father’s stern features when she’s not smiling. This woman he’s had sit for the portrait is all plump curves and a button nose. She looks like a dumpling.” Ghrenna laughed, amused, and Luc smiled, glancing at her sidelong. “It’s good to hear you laugh, Ghren.”

  Ghrenna nodded. “It’s good to be able to. I can’t remember the last time laughing didn’t hurt.”

  Luc stopped their promenade, reaching a hand up to smooth her half-bound hair, nudging his fingers in to touch her scalp at the back of her skull. Ghrenna felt that cool wave pass through her head, and what little pain there was rolled back further.

  “You didn’t need to do that.” She murmured, blissful. “My head hardly hurts at all today.”

  “I know,” he muttered, standing very close. “But I like the way you succumb to me when I do it. Byrune.” Luc bent to try for a kiss. Ghrenna drew back a little, but not so much that his hands would leave her head.

  “When are you going to learn that just because I appreciate your healing doesn’t mean I’m yours?”

  “A man can but try,” he murmured. It was more tender than usual. Since they’d shared secrets over a week ago, Luc had become more solicitous, less testing to Ghrenna’s patience. They’d come to each other’s beds every night since then, for quiet lovemaking by the campfire’s light while on the road. And now, Luc gazed at her, something complicated sliding through him, before his hands eased from her scalp.

  “Better?” He murmured, his fingers lingering at her nape, massaging beneath her hair.

  “It wasn’t bad to begin with.” Ghrenna found her eyes closing, absorbing that touch, the noise of the street and the bustle of the crowd fading away. She felt him draw near. Felt his breath on her lips. And as his lips touched hers, she lingered in it, letting him draw her in. Letting herself enjoy it. Enjoy a man who was real, who was here.

  And who cared for her.

  Slowly, he drew away, letting the moment stretch between them. At last, Ghrenna opened her eyes, to see him smiling down. His green eyes held no teasing. They were entirely light. As if something good had blossomed out of this rogue smiling down at her, beaming. It made Ghrenna feel terrible suddenly. She pulled away, something clenching deep in her body, something resisting. She broke eye contact, pulled back more. He let her go. They stood there a moment, silent in the raucousness all around.

  Luc gave a chuckle. But it was just on the edge of harsh. Ghrenna flushed, moving her gaze to the houses around them, forcing herself to scout the broad bluestone mansions and forget that kiss, for now.

  “Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” Luc spoke at last.

  Ghrenna glanced at him, saw he was gazing at the buildings. “Good pickings.” She murmured. Relieved, though she could not say why, she surveyed the lay of the rooflines, the way the wealthy mansions were packed just a bit too tightly in the cramped space of this Quarter. Most had wrought-iron fences to keep out the gutter trash and petty burglars, and in front of some Ghrenna saw dogs, others with house guards. Ornate iron grilles graced doors and many first-story windows. Gazing down a long alley, she saw the neighborhood was backed by the distant bluestone wall of the First Abbey, towering ten feet or more above the mansions.

  She nudged Luc. “Over there. We could get on the roofs, have our pick.”

  Luc squinted in the hot afternoon sunlight. “The First Abbey of the Jenners. They run a watch on that wall at night. Or they used to. Remnant of tougher times, you know? I wonder if they still do…”

  “Only one way to find out.” Ghrenna tugged him towards the alley.

  Luc grinned, his roguish humor returned. “The Jenners brew all the beer for Lintesh. If you pretend to be interested in the Faith, they give you free samples.”

  Ghrenna cocked her head, considering it. For the first time, she could enjoy an afternoon of drinking without throwing her guts up in the morning. She was grateful for Luc, and her day would be well-complimented by a midafternoon ale. But something still clenched her, something that needed easing, which an ale would help, also.

  “Then let’s go get some religion.” She murmured.

  Luc laughed, a full, bright sound. He offered his arm again and Ghrenna took it, and they angled down the alley towards the distant wall. Both were quiet as they took in all the details of the buildings flanking the Abbey. It was their usual scouting, and would come in handy later when they spoke, both having noted different aspects of the building, the guards, the rooflines. At last, they reached the wall and headed left to a side-door covered by a wrought-iron grille.

  Posing as a married couple visiting from Fhouria for the coronation and curious about the Jenner faith, they gained entrance without difficulty. The Jenners, it seemed, were a solicitous lot, and provided them with ample brew as they toured of the sights from the five-story wall. Not only were they each given a pewter flagon, but their flagons were refreshed at intervals by fresh-faced young Brothers who blushed and stammered to see Ghrenna.

  More lighthearted than she h
ad been in years, and now drunk to boot, Ghrenna had actually pinched the ass of one smart young Jenner as he turned back to his duties. He had yelped, flushing red, then stammered an apology to their more senior tour guide, saying he had stubbed his toe. Ghrenna and Luc had stifled laughs as the two Brothers finally left them alone to admire the view from atop one of the turrets. Giggling like children, Ghrenna mimed pinching the Jenner’s ass again. She and Luc burst into laughter so badly she had to lean over the wall to catch her breath, fanning out her white-blonde waves from the back of her neck, she was sweating so hard.

  But laughter had never felt so good. She had not a single twinge of her temples, not a throb through her skull. Ghrenna took a tremendous breath, feeling alive, reveling in the day, drunk as skunks and merry as the fae. She glanced over, her heart swelling for the golden-handsome bastard before her. He’d risked everything coming here, for her. Ghrenna sobered suddenly. A twinge of guilt gripped her, and then regret, a feeling like she was deceiving him.

  Luc was still in a fit of wild chortling, wiping at his eyes. “Aeon, Ghren! I never knew you could be so much fun! Always so calculating… and here all this time I thought you were just a sour apple. But you’re not, are you? Quiet, mysterious, but not really sour at all…”

  Ghrenna took another swig from her pewter flagon, masking her change in mood. This seventh round of beer was thick and hearty, a good stout with a caramel head of foam. She leaned heavily on the ramparts, gazing stuporous over the city, twirling a lock of white-blonde hair, a tic she hadn’t had since childhood.

  “I never knew I could be fun, Luc.” Ghrenna murmured, staring out over the gabled rooftops. “As a child, I remember I was merry. But that pain, it just… saps you. Everything you have. Everything you could ever be. Until you only focus on surviving one moment to the next. I never realized I could actually live.”