Refrain
Bonecarver Chronicles: Book Two
Nathan Ravenwood
Uruk Press
Uruk Press
Great Britain
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Refrain © Nathan Ravenwood 2019
All rights reserved.
The right of the author to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
Cover by Arthur Asa.
Also from Nathan Ravenwood
Bonecarver Chronicles
"Wasted Years" in Sex & Sorcery 4
Echoes
Refrain
The Adventures Of Avery Avedaan
The Cordax Mondotta
The Starlight Engine
The Rings Of Zent
The Hive Tombs Of Karkaan
Other works
"The Paledrake's Promise" in Sex & Sorcery 3
Original Sin
London Calling
Also from Nathan Ravenwood
Refrain
Prologue
Chapter One – Over the Seas
Chapter Two – A New Destination
Chapter Three – The Spire
Chapter Four – Ori
Chapter Five – The Arrangement
Chapter Six – Up The River
Chapter Seven – Eckert
Chapter Eight - Cel
Chapter Nine – The Proving
Chapter Ten – History's Refrain
Chapter Eleven – What Happens Next
Epilogue
Refrain
Prologue
Yilon Branna had, for the longest time, had a good relationship with his father. Despite Fandar being Lord of Papreon and its surrounding territories, the Lord had always made time for Yilon in his youth. There was much about magic and Song that the Branna scion had learned at his father's knee rather than from a tutor, and for a while, things had been good.
However, Yilon had felt a tension building between him and his father ever since he'd reached adulthood. Fandar had retreated further and further into his duties as Lord, mostly leaving Yilon to his own devices. In that time, Yilon had realized many things about himself, including that his... proclivities conflicted with his duties. Children, after all, were expected of him. But as someone who appreciated the delights of both sexes, and appreciated them frequently, fatherhood was far from what the young Lord-to-be desired.
But moreso than that, as the curtain had been pulled back and the true scope of what it took to run the largest lordship in Scaleria became known to him, Yilon had begun to realize that much of the truths that his father had imparted to him were skewed, or at the very least the perspectives of someone who had been taught them at a young age and had never bothered to question them. Fandar, for example, held fast to the belief that Voiceless - those who didn't have the ability to do magic or did and had lost it through some manner or another - were inherently lesser than those that could. Given that one of Yilon's closest friends had been one, the young Lord-to-be had a much different perspective.
But Vann was gone now, had been for almost a month. And Fandar had no answers when Yilon pressed for them. So, the Lord-to-be had taken matters into his own hands.
There was a space in the stairwell outside his father's study where you could hook fingers into a brick and pull a section of the wall back. Doing so revealed a secret passage that ended in a barred grill overlooking the study. Yilon had discovered it several years ago, and made a point to snoop on every meeting that Fandar had in his study. As he'd grown older, the space had grown more cramped and uncomfortable, but the discomfort was worth it for the information he gleaned. He wondered why his father hadn't discovered the hidey hole yet. It wasn't exactly hard to find.
Yilon pulled his leg up a little to alleviate the ache in his knee as he waited. His father sat at his desk writing with a quill made from a phoenix feather, a stack of books on either side of him. His hair seemed to have grown grayer in the past month, his posture more hunched.
A moment passed, then a knock came at the door. “Enter,” Fandar said, finishing what his was writing and setting the quill down.
The doors to the study opened and a lone man strode in. Much of his bulk came from the thick fur cloak he wore, his face like a stone. Despite the iron countenance, the man was smiling easily as he walked into Branna's study. His hair and beard were meteoric silver, and his green eyes focused on Fandar as he strode up to the Lord of Papreon's desk. “Fandar,” the man said, his northern accent thick.
“Lord MacAngus,” Branna said, using the more official form of greeting.
MacAngus, Lord of the northern nation of Tyraan, laughed from deep in his belly. “Ah, come on now, Fandar!” he boomed, leaning his beefy frame on Fandar's desk. Yilon could've sworn he heard the wood creak. “I ain't seen you in a bloody decade. I thought we were friends?”
Fandar sighed heavily and rose. “Apologies. It's been a trying month for me.”
“Aye. You said you had something to tell me that you couldn't risk putting in a letter?” MacAngus folded his arms. “You better not have dragged me down here to the balmy south for nothing.”
“No, my friend, I did not.” Fandar walked around the desk to stand next to MacAngus and lowered his voice. Yilon had to strain to hear what he said. “There's been... an incident.”
“Oh?”
Fandar told MacAngus of what had happened weeks prior, when Vann had stumbled across the secret hidden chamber beneath the library where the guitar of Rorzan Jetta Diavolo was hidden. The Branna clan's most sacred duty was to keep the accursed instrument hidden and away from prying eyes. Vann had found it and fled, leaving no small amount of damage in his wake. Since then, he'd vanished after crossing the mountains to the northeast, with nobody knowing where he'd wound up. Since he was within the boundaries of another Lordship, Fandar couldn't send more troops after him without it being seen as provocation. The group he had sent had been his elite guards, and they'd crawled back to the city in disgrace after being completely routed by Vann and several new allies he'd picked up along the way.
“I can see why you'd want to keep this quiet,” MacAngus said when Fandar had finished, folding his arms. “Also explains why a provincial governor expressed concern about Papreon men moving about in his territories.”
“I wanted to apologize in person for that and explain my reasons,” Fandar said. “I needed to act quickly, and thought that Ansel and his men could get in, get the job done, and be gone before anyone took notice.”
“I take it your man is no longer in your employ?”
“No. He's not.”
Yilon blinked. So that's why I haven't seen Ansel in a while.
MacAngus nodded. “I'll forgive it.” His eyes narrowed a little. “Don't tell me that the only reason you called me here was to offer an apology. That's why we have scrying orbs, y'know.”
“No, I called you here to ask for you assistance in this matter,” Fandar said. “You said it yourself – we have a history, you and I.” He tapped MacAngus's greaves. “And if Ansel failed me, there's no point in sending any more of my men after the boy.”
He's the same age as me! Yilon thought.
“Ah, I get it,” MacAngus said, nodding sagely. “You wanted the best trackers in all the land to go find him.”
“You're the only one save for maybe the elves who has people who could actually find him at this point,” Fandar said. “I suspect he's likely boarded a ship bound for the Eastern Continent, to attempt to get out of reach. I need your best to pursue him and find him.”
“Just that?” MacAngus asked, arching an eyebrow.
Fandar gave him a long look, and Yilon felt his heart pound in his ears. “I trust you know t
he answer to that,” Fandar said.
MacAngus didn't say anything for a moment, then nodded. “Aye, I think I do. I've already got some people in mind. They're not attached to me officially, but they've done good work for me in the past, and I think I can rely on them.”
“Can they catch up despite the head start?”
At that, MacAngus grinned broadly. “Oh, believe me, they can.”
“Good.” Fandar heaved a sigh of relief. “Does my heart good to hear that.”
Yilon had heard enough. He scooted backwards as quietly as he dared, careful not to let his boot or knee strike the wall of the passage and make a noise that would alert the two Lords to his presence. He knew what he had to do.
***
A short while later, wrapped in a dark cloak to conceal his identity, Yilon knocked on an otherwise nondescript door to a building just outside the palace grounds. The sign above the door depicted a large brass bell above the establishment's name: The Bell's End.
There was a click as the retractable peephole in the door was opened up and a pair of eyes gazed out at him expectantly. “Pull the cord thrice and receive your mortal delight,” Yilon said.
The peephole closed, a lock thunked, and the door opened, the beefy woman behind it welcoming him inside with a sweeping arm. Yilon stepped over the threshold and threw back the hood of his cloak. “Pleasure, Marma.”
“Ah, young Lord, I didn't recognize ye,” the bouncer said, her tone apologetic. “'Tis not your usual night. You here for your usual? I think he's busy now but will be free in a little bit.”
Yilon smiled at her, shuddering a little at the thought of Luca's slender, sexy body. “Tempting as that is, I have other business here tonight. I'm looking for a woman who works here, supposed to have dark red hair. Caters to customers with more unconventional desires?”
“That'll be Kat,” Marma said, throwing the bolt on the door. “Let me see what she's up to at the moment. Can I get you something to drink?”
Yilon accepted a tankard full of water from the bartender as Marma disappeared into the back to confer with the Bell End's owner. When she reappeared, she inclined her head to Yilon. “If you will.”
He followed Marma into the back, passing several closed doors, from behind some of which came muffled sounds of pleasure, male groans and female moans. The last door on the right was where they stopped, and Marma knocked on the wood. “Kat, hold off on the last few knots. Someone important needs to talk to you.”
“A bit late for that!” came the answer. “But come on in anyway, I've got nothing to hide.”
Marma looked to Yilon. “Would you like me to throw a blanket on her or something, my Lord?”
Yilon shook his head. “We're all adults here, Marma.”
“Suit yourself.” The bouncer pushed the door open.
The courtesan's room was about what Yilon expected – the circular bed dominated the floor, with little indication that the woman actually lived in the space, all of her belongings carefully concealed behind a curtain to the side of the room. Kat herself was a nubile creature who looked to be in her mid-twenties, Yilon's age. At the moment, she was hogtied to the bed completely naked, the ropes criss-crossing her body in ornate patterns, wrapping around her breasts so they were pushed up and exposed while also keeping her legs spread by being tied to the bedposts. A silk sash covered her eyes.
“Right as I was about to get to work,” Kat grumbled. “This had better be good, Marm.”
The bouncer sighed and walked to the side of the bed while Yilon approached the foot. She yanked the sash off Kat's eyes. “Have a little respect, Kat.”
Kat blinked a few times, her eyes focusing on Yilon. “Oh! My Lord, apologies. If I'd known you were coming I'd have put some clothes on.” She grinned. “Unless you booted the other guy out of his spot and are taking me all for yourself. Luca raves about you.”
Yilon kept his eyes away from her thick snarl of pubic hair and her perky tits. “Perhaps another time,” he coughed. “I merely wanted to ask you a question.”
“Ask away!” Kat chirped, nonplussed by the circumstances.
“It's my understanding that you frequently entertained Ansel, yes? The former head of the palace guard?”
Kat nodded. “Aye, I did.”
“Have you seen him at all in the past few days?”
An irritated expression crossed her face. “Aye, I have. He's been hanging around outside for days now trying to get inside with no coin. He's usually drunk, though if he has no money to buy me I don't know where he's getting the money for drinks. Maybe someone keeps taking pity on him.”
“When was the last time you saw him?”
“Just this morning, when I went to stretch in the back alley. Marm scared him off.” The big bouncer woman let out a satisfied snort. “Who knows? He might still be around here somewhere.”
Yilon nodded. “Thank you. I won't keep you.”
“You certain?” Kat wriggled as best she could within her rope bonds. “I'm certain you'd be far more satisfying of a lay than whoever else is about to come in here. No charge.”
For the briefest moment, Yilon considered it. Then he shook his head. He had a mission. “Perhaps another time,” he offered.
“I do group stuff with Luca all the time,” Kat purred, tensing her body against the ropes spreading her legs. “I'll gladly come to the palace with him one night to help take care of you.”
“The thought is appreciated,” Yilon said, turning to leave. “Thank you for your time.”
Marma escorted him out of the brothel, bidding him a good night as she shut the door behind him. Yilon breathed deeply of the night air, drawing his cloak about himself. At least he had a general search area. Now where was the closest bar?
He spent the next hour roaming the back alleys of the city, finding bars and criss-crossing all the streets around them looking for Ansel. His father wouldn't have approved of him roaming all alone at night without an escort, but Yilon wasn't concerned. This close to the palace, thieves and outlaws didn't dare come close, not when there was always some of the Guard within spitting distance. Besides, Yilon had his Voice. He needed no other weapons.
He found Ansel when he almost tripped over him, mistaking him for a discarded sack. Then he realized the sack had a pair of boots sticking out of it, and the sack was not a sack, but a torn and ruined guardsman uniform. Ansel looked terrible – his burns hadn't healed right, twisting his face into something even uglier than it had been before. And that was saying something.
Ansel stirred and groaned, shifting his body against the cold cobblestones underneath him. “Go 'way,” he grunted. “Let me sleep...”
Yilon's lip curled. “Ansel.”
The former guard captain jerked awake at the sound of Yilon's voice, his head snapping up and his eyes opening. “Yilon? Is that you?”
“Don't say my name as if I'm your savior,” Yilon growled, glowering down at Ansel. “Because I'm not.”
“Your father wants me back?” Ansel said, his hand scrabbling on the brick wall behind him to heave himself upright.
“No,” Yilon said coldly.
The light of hope faded from Ansel's eyes, and Yilon felt a moment of pity. But only a moment. Ansel slumped against the wall, staring blankly across the alley. “Then what do you want?”
“Information,” Yilon said, crouching down so he was at Ansel's level. He reached out and grabbed hold of Ansel's collar, yanking him forward until they were nose to nose. “You're going to tell me what my father ordered you to do to Vann, and what happened over the mountains.”
Ansel's eyes grew fearful. “J-just ask your father!” he said. “Don't make me recount the tale again!”
Yilon rose quickly and hauled Ansel up. Ansel was no lightweight, but Yilon was no spoiled Lord-to-be. His body was whipcord strong, his gaze boring into Ansel's. “Tell. Me. Everything.”
The words came tumbling out of Ansel's mouth, how Fandar had sent him and a score of the guard in pursuit o
f Vann with the intent to kill him and bring the guitar back to Papreon from safekeeping. He told of how they trekked around the mountains to wait for Vann and his newfound ally, a female orc. They were surprised when he showed up with an elf in tow as well, but paid it no heed. It was a mistake they regretted, as the elf was revealed to be none other than Arielle Gamron herself, striding out of legend like a wraith. The three of them were able to overpower Ansel's force, weaving a Song that incinerated some men wholesale and left every other charred from the fire. How they'd retreated back to Papreon, only to be spurned by Fandar for their failure.
“Your father never comprehended,” Ansel finished, his gaze frantic and unfocused. “No matter how many times I told him, he pinned it all on me. He has no idea what kind of power that boy now wields!”
“Do not call him a boy!” Yilon pushed Ansel into the wall hard, taking him by surprise. The former guard captain went down like a sack of bricks, landing hard on his rear end on the ground of the alley. “Whatever pain he wrought upon you was justly deserved, you disgusting pig of a man.” Yilon threaded his fingers into his hair, his inner tone much more panicked as his worst fears were confirmed. How can he do that? How can Father just order Vann's death so callously like that? Never mind that he's my friend, he's been nothing but helpful to us for years!
Ansel giggled like a madman. “Vann is gone, Vann's away, Vann is going to make us pay,” he singsonged.
Yilon's lip curled. He reached into his cloak pocket, and saw Ansel tense. When Yilon pulled out a small pouch rather than a knife or a crossbow, he relaxed. “Here.” He dropped the pouch into Ansel's lap, where it clinked. “There's enough money in there to get you out of the country at least. It's more than you deserve.” He snorted. “Or perhaps buy you a few more rounds at whatever watering hole you call home now.”
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