by A J Callen
Marcus cleared his throat. “I see, then by the power invested in me, I hereby sentence you to—”
“All right, now. Stop it.” Jack elbowed Marcus, administering a sharp dig to the ribcage. “Leave him alone. Look at him, he’s shaking and everything.”
His bigger brother pushed him back. “Calm yourself, brother. We were just having some fun. There won’t be much once we get there.”
Marcus put his hand on Simon’s arm, gently resting it there. “Sorry, but we forgot to bring our court jester and I’ve been traveling near half a fortnight so far. It’s just my sense of fun, that’s all.”
Jack shook his head and chuckled. “You’ll never stop, will you?”
Simon raised his head and gulped down his fear. “But you and your brothers really are the King’s nephews, aren’t you?”
Jack looked away. “I suppose you’ll still find us on the Evermere family tree if old man Rabek hasn’t been ordered to blot us out.”
“But how could he do such a thing?”
Jack looked at Simon. “Our father and uncle—excuse me, good King Christoforus—
had not been on brotherly speaking terms since before Marcus was born.”
The flaxen-haired woman with juniper eyes studied them with great interest, obviously fascinated. Meanwhile, the pockmarked youth had edged himself a touch closer, his gaze darting from one brother to the next. Niall ripped a stalk of straw into bits and flicked the pieces high in the air.
“Well, Mother and Father say we’re jolly lucky Uncle let us have one of his drafty old, broken castles near the western border, or we’d be living in some hole-ridden thatched cottage in the forest, picking berries for our meals.”
Marcus packed a handful of straw into a ball. He threw it at his youngest brother’s back. “And don’t forget the family name. He let Father keep that—as well as his life. Three cheers for Uncle Christoforus! Hip hip…”
But nobody shouted hurrah.
The smooth, hard earth on the outskirts of camp soon changed into rocky bumps and jolting holes. Simon’s stomach thankfully had settled down to the point that he didn’t any longer feel the impulse to hang his head over the side of the wagon.
“You must forgive me, my lords,” he said, “But this is all very new to me. I still don’t know what it is that any of us are supposed to do.”
Jack chewed on a stalk. “First thing, drop all that lords nonsense. We weren’t lords of anything before the Rites of Succession and we certainly aren’t now. Jack, Marcus, and Niall will do just fine.” He turned to the two quiet onlookers. “Isn’t that right, Robert and ... Oh, sorry, Miss. Please allow me to apologize for my friend’s rudeness seeing that he didn’t bother to properly introduce us when I first arrived.”
The awkward youth named Robert huffed.
“If you and your brothers would stop moaning and complaining, maybe somebody else could get a word in for a change.”
The young woman pressed her lips together as though trying not to laugh when she looked at Simon. “My name is Rachel Fallbrook.” She softened her voice. “And I already knew about the infamous Evermere brothers before they arrived at camp.”
She tapped a long stalk onto the top of Robert’s head as if it was a magic wand. “And the same goes for this nice young gentleman, Robert, who is in fact the sole heir of the competing House of Strathwald.”
She leaned back against the wagon boards and closed her eyes as a refreshing breeze blew by. “Well, I surely can’t wait to meet the surviving heirs from the Velizar and Tiberion families.”
Simon admired Rachel’s wit and confidence.
She didn’t appear nervous or fearful in the presence of the young lords. Her unconcerned demeanor among nobles who could decide the eventual fate of a Kingdom was something inspiring to see—if not a little unnerving in its rather strange familiarity.
Jack leaned in toward her. “The Strathwalds are good people,” he said, glancing at Robert, “But a little too stuffy for my liking. No sense of adventure, if you understand me.”
“I’m not bloody deaf, Evermere. We’re as courageous as the next family.” Robert coughed and scratched the side of his face. “You’ll get to see when the time comes.”
Jack cleared his throat. “As I was saying, the Velizars might be all right in small doses too, but steer well away from the Tiberions, unless you’re hoping to be chosen as one of their protectors.”
“I guess we’ll have to wait and see,” Rachel said. She ran her fingers through her shoulder-length hair. “And what about you, Simon Blackfyre of Grimsby? Which family do you want to represent as a protector?”
“If I have a choice, then I’ll cast my lot in with Marcus, Niall, and Jack, if they’ll have me alongside. I shall try my utmost not to be a liability.”
The three brothers smiled at him. Jack shook his hand.
“We’d be honored. Well, suffice to say, we’re all simply hoping for the best. Which probably will not be all that marvelous anyway.”
Simon looked at Robert. “No offense, my lord. You do seem a most respectable person too. It’s just—” Simon’s face reddened, but Robert raised his hand to say, hush.
“None taken, and just plain Robert from now on, please. We all have to get used to following the rules until it’s over, don’t we?”
“I hope it does turn out the way you want, Simon.” Rachel twirled a stalk around her finger. “But that’s the difference between the true contenders and the rest of us. We don’t actually get a choice. That will be decided once we arrive.”
“But you’re ... not like me. I can tell.”
“I’m a freeman’s child, that’s true, but an apothecary’s daughter must also know her place in these rites just the same as you. Lord Rabek made that quite clear.”
Simon lowered his gaze. “Thank you for taking the time to explain these things. You have all been exceedingly kind to me.” He raised his head. “Exceedingly kind. I hope each of you will forgive my lowborn ignorance.”
Rachel flushed and looked down at her tiny feet.
“My father has a library, you know, one of the few in Tillingsgate.” She looked directly at Simon. “I’d be happy to share anything I know.”
“Me too.” Jack nudged Simon. “And that goes for my brothers and Robert. Right lads? Now who wants something to eat?”
He unwrapped the small bundle of fresh meat, bread, cheese, apples, and grapes.
“I was in such a rush I can’t wait until we stop at midday. Mother made sure there was enough for everyone,” Jack said.
“That’s very unlike you, brother,” Marcus replied as he plucked a purple grape from the clump. “I’ve never known you to miss a meal at morning, midday, midnight, or all the minutes in between. Niall and I are amazed you aren’t as big as one of these wagons.”
He popped another grape into his mouth and laughed loudly.
“Now you see what I have to put up with, Simon?” Jack threw a grape at Niall who caught it in his gaping mouth. “The middle sibling’s always to be under constant attack from both sides. Seems to be an unwritten rule. You and Rachel are extremely lucky.”
Lucky was certainly not a word Simon had ever associated with his own life before, but he took the comment with the good grace with which it was intended and smiled.
“Indeed, lucky we are, then,” he said.
Simon dug deep into his pockets and pulled out the food from camp. “Here; I have some too. Let me donate mine to the feast.”
Everyone happily took pieces of the shared bounty including all the food that had been touched by Simon, who was quite astonished to see such a marvel. Never before had he known highborn men to be willing to share his humble fare, especially not after it had rolled around in the sweaty depths of his pockets and then been pawed with his own bare—and not too sanitary—hands. He thought about all his skin scratching and the many toilet forays, none of which had offered much in the way of hygiene.
* * *
The group’s overland journey wou
nd its way through rolling dales and out into the wide, coursing fields of oats and barley.
Hour after hour, Simon paid rapt attention to the stories of his fellow travelers, young people who had seen and done all of the wonderful things he also longed to do. He only asked questions when he thought it respectful to do so.
He was again taken aback when none refused him an answer.
The new-formed huddle laughed at each other’s jokes and puzzled over each other’s riddles. This was proving to be a merry little band indeed.
Over the many leagues, their voices fell softer and more silent, yet for the first time in his life Simon believed he was making new friends—and with the last people he’d have thought it possible to befriend in such a dangerous world, until the previous night.
The whole thing seemed just too good to be true. Simon yawned and rubbed his chest. For some unexplained reason his brand burned anew as drowsiness coiled insidiously around him.
Chapter 17
The Rising Storm
Niclas leaned against the polished oak bulwarks watching the fishing boats of the nearby islanders returning to their village, all paddling toward the beacon fire that blazed on the sandy shore.
The Rhobinian Sea darkened and the night stretched with the rolling waves to the foot of yet another craggy shore. The Harbinger, Captain Grenfall’s three-masted merchant ship, had passed many similar islands during its six days at sea and they were still two days out from their final destination.
Niclas sipped his cup of bitter, earthy wine and looked up as he did every night. I would gladly trade all the stars in the sky for but a glimpse of the lights of Avidene and know that Juliana was safe and well.
While the freshly-rested crew busied themselves changing the watch and securing the deck for the night voyage, Niclas scanned the glittering treasure of the heavens and considered all he had witnessed on Kardi.
Did Euriel’s mysterious sign, The Eye of the Overseer, truly lie hidden somewhere in the familiar radiance of the adorning stars? Niclas looked south toward Kardi, anxious and fearful that if her warning was true, then the celestial tapestry might unravel at any moment. Then, just as quickly, he was relieved to see only the same sparkling constellations of familiar heroes and fantastic beasts as the night before.
Niclas felt a sudden sour discomfort in his stomach which was more than the churning of poor wine. Instead of looking to the stars for portents of what was to come I should have seen the clear signs before my eyes. Niclas blamed himself for not seeing the changes in Tarsilla’s character as signs of her descent into a deep and unholy madness.
Had he been less fixed on his duties, he might have prevented whatever seduced her into surrendering her soul for the hellish promise of regaining what was lost to her forever. The woman he had known intimately for all these years, who became a woman in his arms the same as he became a man in hers, was gone. So much blood… No living thing could have survived. I must believe death has shown her the mercy that living could not, and finally released from her torment.
Niclas scratched his arm. The fleas were becoming more than a nuisance and he was looking forward to a hot bath to soak and scrub the filthy stench of Kardi from his body and spirit. But something larger was crawling on his other arm, an ant, perhaps?
He flicked it with his fingers overboard without looking. Lowly insects had always lived among people causing discomfort and sickness, even death, but alone, they too were weak. Though their number may be vastly superior, they can never rise up and overpower a great kingdom and its people. Are these demons, the Choldath of myth and legend, truly any more of a threat?
From what he had seen, they were not, and though he had given his word, he needed to understand all that he had witnessed to be at peace with his conscience, and not appear as some wild-eyed doomsayer if he hoped to seek allies on the Council—if it ever came to that.
Niclas coughed and brought his last swallow of wine mixed with bile. He spat it overboard and poured the rest of his cupful into the sea. From what he had witnessed, once a demon revealed its true nature, it could be attacked and destroyed like any mortal enemy.
It was conspirators like the duplicitous Sir Razmig, respected men hiding in plain sight, that posed the greatest threat for they could blindside a trusting friend within a heartbeat that might well be their unsuspecting victim’s very last.
“And what do the stars tell us tonight, your Lordship?” Captain Branok Grenfall strode across the deck, chewing on a mutton leg.
“The same as before, Captain.”
The Captain loomed two hands taller over Niclas. “You do not sound glad that our good fortune continues. Those are strange words from one who has sailed before.”
“On the contrary, I give a prayer of thanks each night before I sleep.”
“That is comforting to hear, my lord, for I also prefer to see the stars safe and secure, all in their accustomed places—as does my navigator.”
“At least there are some things in nature upon which we may still depend.”
“True, though the sea can still surprise an old mariner, it is nothing compared to the mysteries he often encounters once he returns to a shore he once thought familiar. The strange stories one hears of what happened on Kardi vex me, my lord. Lady Omarosa in a plot with the Barons of Varza to seize control of the island?” The Captain glanced to both sides and lowered his voice. “We are alone, and what we say shall be held in the strictest confidence. Does the Governor speak the truth?”
Niclas stepped away. His official account of the missing persons and a foiled conspiracy would be presented to the Council on his return to Avidene. There was no room for suspicion or for questioning his authority, not while other traitors might share a meal at his table, plying him with wine and waiting for him to cough up his loyalties once all his inhibitions had been imbibed away.
“Now it is you, Captain, who does not sound glad for our good fortune. Our enemies are not always conspiring outside our borders.”
“But I have known her Ladyship’s family for years, as did you, my lord. Why would she have sacrificed her life and family fortune for such a reckless venture?”
“Each may believe they know the other well, but how much do we truly know of what compels the heart and soul of any other?”
The Captain narrowed his hooded eyes. “Some of my crew whisper that unholy forces were summoned that night at Count Borodin’s manor.”
Niclas lifted his head high, striking a pose of noble superiority. “And do you believe them, Captain Grenfall, you, a man whose ship and crew depend upon the fixed and measurable progress of the stars? Do you believe in sorcery?”
The Captain lowered his suspicious gaze and bowed. “Begging your pardon, my lord. I meant no offense. That is not a word I would speak, yet I do believe there is more to this world than we’re ever allowed to touch, though it is not always wise to reach out and do so, in any case.” He tossed the mutton bone over the side and wiped his finger on the sleeves of his oiled leather sea jacket.
“Forgive my manners, but it’s the best thing for keeping an old salt dry in a storm.”
Niclas relaxed his shoulders, glad to have their informal camaraderie return. “You see more in the clear heavens than I do, Captain. Are you expecting foul weather?”
“The seas of late have been most peculiar, my lord. Perhaps that is why many passengers are staying longer on Kardi awaiting a larger vessel.”
“Or perhaps they did not wish to share such close quarters with a high-ranking member of the King’s Council?”
The Captain chuckled. “I had hoped you would have joined me during the feast at the Governor’s table over wine and pleasing company, yet, as you say, my lord, how much do we truly know what compels another?” He looked out at the rolling water. “But I do know that the current through this strait is usually of little concern for a sturdy ship and her crew, yet, tonight there is a strong windward pull.”
“And this did not occur during our voya
ge from Avidene?”
Captain Grenfall looked over the bulwarks. “No, it did not.” His gaze remained fixed for a few moments, then he turned and hurried across the deck toward his dark-skinned first mate; the man stood struggling as he piloted the helm.
Niclas peered over the bulwarks. Dead, white fish floated on the waves, thousands of them, glistening like wet shards of bone.
The gently swaying sails suddenly thumped and flapped to life, buffeted by a strong, foul-smelling sea wind that seemed to rise from the north toward the Avidene. Without warning, the deck began to pitch from side to side on the tall waves splashing over its surface.
Several nimble seamen scrambled up the mast, trimming sails and securing ropes as Niclas stumbled across the deck, slipping and almost falling, then regaining his sea legs as he judged best how to balance his steps on the rocking deck.
Captain Grenfall gripped the wheel with his first mate. “It is best you get down below to your quarters. This is no place for a passenger.”
“Since I am the only one, I prefer to be on deck where I can be useful instead of below, hiding like a frightened rat hiding amongst wine barrels and livestock. I have helmed single-masted vessels for years, Captain.”
“This is not a leisurely sail around an island, my lord.”
“Do you want my help or not?”
A sudden deluge poured over the starboard side, catching several crewmen by surprise and spraying them across the tottering deck.
“Then please don’t stand there, my lord, without holding on to something.” The Captain spoke in a foreign tongue to his first mate and the man scrambled toward the bow. “Grab hold and help me steer, and keep your eyes fixed on my first mate near the bow. Sabir knows these waters better than any.”
With the sails trimmed tightly, Niclas and Captain Grenfall struggled to keep the Harbinger close-hauled, trying to maneuver its course diagonally to the wind direction as the vessel rounded the corner of the crag-scoured island. The ship tore through the dark, roiling water, pitching and straining, trying to escape the warring waves blasting over the deck, each stronger than the last and clawing as though seeking to drag the ship under.
