by Barb Hendee
After the fire, only the common room and kitchen hearths remained. A local carpenter who remembered the old bar quite well had created a nearly identical version. It glistened with dark, fresh stain. The building had been lengthened and slightly widened, and the common room hearth now stood near the room's center, its backside open like the front. Patrons circled around it or nestled close to either open side for a little extra warmth.
Hanging above the hearth facing toward the bar was a sword. Regardless of how much Caleb had scrubbed it, the blade remained partially blackened and marred. Leesil considered having it polished and restored but then thought better of it. This was Rashed's sword, the warrior undead that Magiere had tricked into the flames as the old Sea Lion burned. She'd fished the blade from the ashes as a reminder of what she and Leesil had accomplished for Miiska. Displayed not in pride or triumph, it was a tribute of respect for those who died and shouldn't be forgotten-Brenden the smith and his sister, and Beth-rae, Caleb's wife, among others. That blade symbolized what had been finally faced and overcome at a severe cost.
The upstairs bedrooms were larger. Before the fire, he and Magiere each had their own room, but Caleb and his five-year-old granddaughter, Rose, had shared one. Now Rose possessed a bedroom to herself, and Leesil had whitewashed the interior for her. Every child should grow up with a place that was all his or her own.
Leesil took in the room with its new wood walls and secondhand tables and chairs donated, bought, or scavenged from around town. It struck Leesil as bizarre that, had Rashed not burned down the original Sea Lion, their establishment wouldn't have become what it was now. His gaze swung back to the warrior undead's sword above the hearth.
"Perhaps we should thank you," he muttered, but there was more sarcasm than irony in his voice. He turned again to watch Magiere.
The long battle with Rashed and his "family" had altered her. Before, she'd started to become more open to him. Close comradeship seeded the possibility of more, but in the past month, that warmer Magiere seemed to fade. She smiled occasionally, treated him well as partner and favored companion, and yet drifted back out of reach. Once in while during the evening, he caught her standing quietly behind the bar, watching him intently with her dark brown eyes. He was careful not to let her notice his awareness and thereby scare her away even more. There seemed no clue as to how to close this new distance between them, let alone fathom its cause.
Tonight, in celebration of the grand reopening, Magiere's long hair was loose from its braid and hung in gentle waves across the shoulders of her blue dress, bodice laced in tightly but not uncomfortably. It was only the third time Leesil had ever seen in her anything but breeches and boots, and either a shirt and vest or her leather hauberk. To his knowledge, she owned only the one dress. Seeing her in it was painfully pleasant. He was careful not to stare, or, out of irritation and spite, she might store it away, never to be seen again. Usually she was the warrior, falchion at her hip and black hair bound with a leather thong, and that look as well had its appeal. He'd become fond of both her aspects, wanted them both, but seldom had the opportunity to see her as she was tonight.
No patrons were interested in a game, so Leesil stacked up the cards and worked his way through the crowded room to the bar, smiling innocently at Magiere. She was hesitant and then smiled back.
"Like old times?" she asked.
"Not too old," he answered. "We didn't have the place long before someone turned it into a pile of charcoal."
Her answering scowl made him smile again, honestly this time. An irritated Magiere, at least for a moment, was the true Magiere, who always had at least one thing in every day to smolder about.
"I know," she said, pouring an ale and setting it on a tray for Caleb to serve. "But we're finally home again."
Melancholy struck Leesil. If only the world could stop, and, like some mage who'd ferreted out the secrets to cage eternity in the wink of an eye, he could keep her in this one night forever. Oblivious to his wistfulness, Magiere knitted her brows.
"We need to talk… later. We have to raise quick money… more than I'd thought, and I'm not sure how."
Leesil was immediately on edge. It wouldn't be the first time she'd kept something to herself until she had no choice but to spit it out. The last time, she'd confessed to hoarding away money when he wasn't paying attention, just to buy this tavern.
"It's for the back taxes," she added.
"Back what?" Leesil raised one eyebrow.
"I've been a dolt on the business end of things," Magiere said. "Karlin came looking for me today, and you haven't… there hasn't been time to talk to you about it." She folded her arms and took a long, slow breath. "We've back taxes to pay. I don't suppose you have any coin hidden away?"
He blinked, about to laugh, and then realized she wasn't joking. With a grunt, he gave her his wide-eyed look of sincere naivete.
"Are you actually aware of who you're talking to? Me?"
Her jaw tightened as she glared at him. An angry Magiere was sometimes even more real than a smoldering Magiere. The tavern's front door swung open and a handful of sailors entered.
"That's my call," Leesil said. "They'll start gambling soon. Pour me some tea?"
D'areeling red wine had been his preferred evening drink but not in the last two months. He needed to be sharp and clearheaded every moment if he were to be truly useful to Magiere. She took a teapot from under the bar, where it rested in an iron basin filled with hot coals from the hearth, and poured spiced tea into a chipped pottery mug.
"We're not done talking," she insisted, and handed over his tea. "This is serious, and we have to deal with it, or all of this"-she swiped a hand through the air, indicating their new home-"could end up lost."
"Duty calls," Leesil replied. He took the mug from her and headed back across the room before she could say anything more.
Early patrons were usually townsfolk coming for fish chowder, ale, and a bit of company. The later crowd consisted more of sailors and off-duty guards looking to drink and gamble. At the moment, they were between the two crowds, and the place felt a bit full. Young Geoffry, Karlin's son, had volunteered to serve tonight, since they expected an unusually large crowd, and Magiere had employed a girl named Aria on a permanent basis. With old Caleb serving as well, Magiere pouring drinks, and Leesil running the games, they were well staffed in a room that was well stuffed. Everyone enjoyed the new surroundings as if trying on a set of clothes fresh from the tailor.
Everyone except Chap.
The silver-blue hound circled the hearth for the hundredth time, wolfish ears pricked in agitation. Sitting near the old Sea Lion's fireplace, he easily surveyed the whole room, from hearth to bar, front door to kitchen doorway. But the new enlarged common room changed all of that. Now, to check on any unusual ruckus or raised voice, he was obliged to plod around and around the fireplace all night, unable to take in the whole room at once.
With the noise in the room, Leesil wasn't certain, but he imagined a never-quite-ending low rumble issuing from the hound. He steered a wider course toward his faro table rather than pass too close to Chap at the moment.
The tavern door opened again, and Leesil saw Karlin enter-a welcome sight, as Leesil had wondered why the portly baker hadn't been at the door the moment they'd opened. Karlin was a true friend, and his money was no good in the Sea Lion. When someone else entered behind the baker, Leesil's attention fixed on the new arrival.
Karlin's companion was slender and tall, with a gliding step that immediately reminded Leesil of his mother even before he took full notice of the man's features. Silky, wheat-brown hair was pulled back behind his pointed ears. Large, almond-shaped eyes of amber were sharply slanted in a narrow and long triangular face. The man's skin was a darker tan than Leesil's, but with a perfect complexion akin to his mother's. Standing with Karlin was a full-blooded elf.
Magiere had mentioned Loni, so Leesil knew one of his mother's people lived in Miiska, but he'd never felt the ne
ed to seek out this person. His own mother never saw fit to teach him anything of her people, even their language. The elves were reclusive, not generally mixing with the other races, which itself made Leesil's own heritage an oddity.
Since Loni ran the Velvet Rose, Miiska's most expensive inn, he had little call to visit a common folk's tavern like the Sea Lion. So why was he here, and with Karlin of all people? Leesil held his place, halfway to his faro table, where sailors nearby eyed the cards. He watched Karlin lean over the bar's end to catch Magiere's attention.
Magiere hurried down the bar's backside with a slight smile. The baker spoke briefly, perhaps discussing the tedious tax issue, and Leesil felt suddenly annoyed. Why did so many people dwell on such things? It would be handled soon enough.
Loni, the elf, tapped Karlin on the shoulder and, with a serious look, tilted his head toward Magiere. Karlin reached into his vest, withdrew a piece of rolled parchment, and handed it to her. She frowned in confusion, then unrolled it and began reading.
Magiere's mild moment of happiness melted from her pale features.
Brows knitted in puzzlement, and then her eyes widened. When she lifted her gaze to Karlin, the clench of her jaw was plain to Leesil from across the room. The elf spoke, and Magiere threw the parchment at his chest as she began shouting. Several patrons at the bar shifted away toward the kitchen side as Leesil quickly pushed his way back across the crowded room.
He couldn't make out what she said, but he did catch "bastard," and some Stravinan term that sounded worse. Chap had somehow wormed through the room and beaten Leesil to the bar. The dog growled at Karlin and Loni-mostly at the elf, for Chap was as fond of the baker as anyone else living at the Sea Lion. Background noise began to fade as more and more people turned their heads toward Magiere's raised voice. Leesil planted one hand on the bar, vaulted to the backside, and caught her arm.
"Quiet, you dragon," he whispered playfully. "You're frightening the peasants."
Her pale skin was flushed, and the glare she returned made him think better of any further jest. She moved back from Karlin and Loni, and closer to him.
"Leesil, get them out of here… or I'll do it my way!"
Leesil abandoned any further thought of disarming the situation through humor, and slipped around Magiere between her and the end of the bar.
"Into the kitchen," he said softly, and then looked over his shoulder. "Karlin, you come now."
Leesil steered Magiere down the bar toward the kitchen's curtained doorway. He was thankful she didn't resist. She did, however, pull away from him and nearly rip the curtains off their rod as she swatted them aside on her way through. Leesil hurried after her.
"What's wrong?" he asked. He pulled a stool to the kitchen table and literally pushed her down to sit on it. When he did, he felt her shoulders shaking with tension. "This can't be about back taxes?"
The curtain pulled aside and Karlin entered, followed by Lord. The baker looked stricken and shamed, a troubling contrast to his cheerful nature. The elf stared at all of them, attentive and watchful but otherwise expressionless.
"You could just say no, Magiere," Loni said. "This drama is unnecessary."
"Get out," she answered with enough hatred that Leesil balked at her tone.
"And then what, send the offer back?" Loni tossed the parchment on the table in front of her. "You know this money could rebuild the old warehouse, this time to be operated as community property. More merchants working the coastal route would once again stop here. Commerce would flourish instead of wither. Dockworkers could earn a decent wage, forcing Master Poyesk and his like to pay well or close up. Outlying farmers and local crafters could collectively wholesale their goods once again."
"What is going on?" Leesil demanded, lost amid the argument.
Karlin stood in helpless silence.
"I can't believe you'd ask this of me," Magiere whispered.
Her gaze locked on Loni. She wrapped one hand on the table's edge, as if bracing for a lunge, her whole body tensed.
Leesil quickly stepped into her way, not the best place to be if Magiere succumbed to a fit of dhampir rage. Almost as tall as him, in such a state she could take down a trained undead warrior one-on-one.
"Show it to him," Loni ordered her, nodding at Leesil. "He burned the warehouse-correct? Perhaps he'll comprehend the potential of what you choose to ignore."
Leesil twitched reflexively at Lord's dispassionate barb, and then he felt Magiere's fingers pulling on his own. The touch drew his attention, and he looked down to find her pushing the parchment into his hand.
"Read it," she said quietly.
The rolled parchment was partially flattened from handling, but enough of the wax seal remained to see its imprint. In the center was the Belaskian royal crest under the tasseled banner of the king's city of Bela. Leesil's melancholy reared again. He unrolled the parchment.
To the council and governing members of the free town of Miiska in his majesty's kingdom of Belaski:
Through Sir Vidor Chasnitz, ship owner and member of our city council, we have learned of your recent economic difficulties related to the loss of your largest warehouse. We send our and his majesty's hope that your situation will improve. It is partially in this interest that we address you with a request which might be fulfilled best by one of your own citizens and in turn serve the recovery of your community.
From other sources, we have learned that in your respectable town resides one known as Magiere, a reported individual of special talents with whom we seek contact. We have heard with great interest of her skills put to the service of your town, and it is such skills and service that we in turn wish to engage from her. Our concern is that our great city of Bela may be plagued in the same manner as Miiska was until recently. The pattern of crimes pertinent has only of late come to the council's attention and by the worst possible means. The daughter of our prominent council chairman was killed upon the front steps of his home. The circumstances leave little doubt as to an unnatural perpetrator which continues to elude our city guard and constabularies.
We ask your council or its agents to bring this to the attention of Mistress Magiere, and that if she is willing, she should travel to the capital with all possible haste. To that end, we include documents to secure her, as well as the companion with which she is reputed to work, immediate free passage without question on any kingdom ship bound for Beta.
In exchange for her services, the council has been authorized to offer the sum of fifty gold sovereigns of the realm, notwithstanding any bounty offered by private parties. We anxiously await your reply and hope that our offer meets with acceptance, compassion, and duty.
With sincerity,
Crias Doviak, Secretary
Acting for the Council of Bela
Leesil set the parchment down and leaned back against the table, blankly staring at the floor. Loni allowed little more than two breaths to pass before breaking the silence.
"You do not seem surprised by this," he said.
"No," Leesil answered.
"But… how?" Karlin started, attention hopping between the others in confusion. "Darien just brought the letter to us this afternoon. And you already knew about it?"
"No," Leesil repeated. "I didn't know about the letter or what was in it. I knew something like this was coming… eventually, though it's sooner than I'd hoped."
"What are you saying?" Magiere's voice was harsh but quiet.
Leesil lifted his head just enough to find her looking up at him. Confusion filled her eyes, but her nearly white cheeks were still flushed.
"What did you expect?" he snapped more bitterly than intended. "If you think you had a reputation in the backwoods of Stravina, think again. We waged open battle with three undeads right before the eyes of an entire town… a port town sitting on the coastal sea lane of the whole nation, with sailors, merchants, and others passing through for two moons-even with the dropoff in trade. Worst of all, we won. This isn't peasant superstitions
and rural rumors anymore."
Anger drained from Magiere's face as her large brown eyes filled up with barely suppressed panic.
The letter was only the beginning, and it was never going to be over.
Magiere sank in her chair with eyes closed. Leesil looked back at Karlin.
"They know," he said. "They know Magiere and I are responsible for the warehouse, and they're coming at her through guilt. Otherwise they would have offered the money directly to her. They knew she'd refuse, didn't they?"
After a moment's contemplation, Karlin nodded, his round face too sad for speech.
"You are responsible," Loni said with a hard glance at Leesil before focusing once again upon Magiere. "Would it be so terrible to go destroy their undead, to help others as you have helped the people here? No one denies the good you have done, but the repercussions cannot be ignored. You have a chance to make amends. Do you not owe this to Miiska? Hunting the undead is what you do."
The last statement made Leesil cringe. How could he or Magiere ever tell anyone that until they'd come to Miiska, their entire reputation was built on a charlatan's game for cheating peasants? Magiere put her head in her hands.
"Go home, Loni," she said. "Nothing you say can make me go to Bela… nothing."
The dreamer shifted in his slumber. All around him, below and above, was boundless dark, the dreamer suspended at its center. He hung there in silence, waiting.
Until the dark began to undulate.
It rolled like desert dunes under a starless sky. But when the stars did come out, they blinked not from sky but from the crests of those black dunes all around. The movement sharpened slowly into clarity, and stars became the glitter of an unseen light reflected upon black reptilian scales. Dunes covered in those scales became a mammoth serpent's coils, each larger than the height of man. They circled on all sides of him, and above and below. They writhed with no beginning, no end, no space between, as if ancient and eternal and all-encompassing, perhaps stretching back into the time of the Forgotten, and the lost history of the world.
