“Speak of the Defiler . . .” Ty mumbled, trying to put a hand in front of his face as they drew near. He hoped she would pass by without notice. Unfortunately, no such luck.
“Hello, Ty,” Lyessa said, making a beeline for their table. “I haven’t seen you here in a while.”
Lowering his hand, Ty smirked. “Lyessa.” He glanced to either side of her. “What, no poor peasants to flog tonight, I see.”
Adarra kicked him from under the table. “Ow!” His eyes flared at his sister. “What was that for?”
“Be nice,” she snapped under her breath.
“Oh, where are my manners,” Lyessa cut in. “Have you met Aiden Raycrest?” She snuggled closer on her escort’s arm. “His father owns half the millworks in Sidara.” She gestured to their table. “This is Breen, and Adarra, and their mother, Miss Nilla.” Lyessa offered a polite bow in Ty’s mother’s direction. “And of course we can’t forget Ty.”
“No, we wouldn’t want to do that,” he mocked under his breath. He noticed his sister seemed rather fascinated with Lyessa’s escort. Not only was there a sort of hungry look to Adarra’s demeanor, but she had actually managed to close her book, which said quite a bit about the state of her musing.
Breen stood. “It’s nice to meet you, Master Aiden.” He nodded with a bow which Aiden reciprocated, slightly.
What is he doing bowing to this foolish nincompoop? Ty gawked. Could this possibly get any more embarrassing?
Breen gestured across the table. “This is Fraya Lahorn.”
“I’m sorry to hear about your brother, Fraya,” Lyessa said. “He will be truly missed.” Ty was a little surprised. She actually sounded sincere.
Breen took his seat and Aiden offered a polite nod to the table.
“It’s very nice to meet you, Master Raycrest,” Ty’s mother said. “I hope you plan to stay a while. Easthaven has a number of natural beauties.”
Aiden tightened his grip on Lyessa. “Yes, there are many things about Easthaven that I find quite appealing.” Ty wanted to gag at his overt comment.
Across the table, Adarra presented her most affectionate smile as she continued to stare at the handsome newcomer. Ty didn’t know which was sadder, his sister’s bizarre infatuation with this tuft-up oaf, or Aiden’s lack of response to her more-than-obvious eye batting.
“I see you brought your flute, Ty,” Lyessa said, pointing to his chest. “Will you be gracing us with a melody?”
“Hardly.” He tried to cover the musical instrument with his other arm. “I just forgot to take it out of my pocket before we left.” His family looked at him curiously, but they didn’t say anything.
Lyessa shrugged. “Well, it’s probably for the best. I wouldn’t want you to feel discomforted by having to perform the same night as me.” Her challenge brought Ty’s blood to a boil. “Besides, my father just purchased me a half-harp and requested I break it in tonight.”
Unable to take it any longer, Ty cracked. “I wouldn’t care if your father could afford to get you a full harp with a ten-piece band and a pair of dancing tenors! It will take a whole lot more than that to challenge me.”
“Ty!” His mother was aghast.
Aiden started to fidget as he glanced nervously at the surrounding tables. Breen and Adarra merely shook their heads in embarrassment.
Lyessa released Aiden’s arm and pointed at Ty. “Is that so? You think you can show me up with your little wooden pipes, huh?”
“No, I don’t think it. I know it!”
Ty started to rise from his seat, but his mother held him down. “Ty, sit down!”
Lyessa took another step forward. “Then get up there tonight and prove it!”
“I will!” Ty exclaimed before thinking about what he was saying.
“Fine!” Lyessa said, allowing Aiden to forcibly lead her in the other direction.
“Fine!” Ty shouted, coming the rest of the way out of his seat, not willing to let her have the last word.
The table was quiet, and so were half the surrounding tables as all eyes were on him. He sank back into his chair.
Fraya cleared her throat. “I guess I’ll get to hear you play after all.”
“Wait . . . What?” Ty’s face hardened as he realized what he had just promised. Blazes! She did it to me again!
Adarra shook her head and sighed.
Breen lifted his drink and took a long swallow as he discreetly scanned the nearby tables to see who was still watching.
Ty glared at the back of Lyessa’s red curls. He watched as they bounced all the way back to her seat. He was determined to make her eat every word. His fingers rubbed at the ends of his flute. This was going to be a performance Easthaven would never forget.
Chapter 8 | Kellen
KELLEN ADJUSTED HIS HOOD, making sure to cover his face as he crossed the empty street. Turning down another dimly lit alleyway on the west side of town, he stopped outside a single wooden door and knocked with three short bursts. He waited a moment and then knocked once more.
“Who ith it?” came a rough voice from the other side, one Kellen recognized immediately by its odd impediment.
“It’s Kellen.” He could hear a bracer being removed from the inside of the door before it slid open, flashing a ray of light diagonally across his face. A moment later, it retracted the rest of the way. In its place, stood an elderly man with a thinning head of gray hair, a full beard, and a large double-crossbow tucked under one arm. He quickly ushered Kellen inside.
Kellen cast a quick glance back up the alley before stepping through the door. Eliab laid his large crossbow on the table and then bolted the door by dropping the heavy wooden strut back into place.
“Follow me, Mather Kellen,” the older man said with a wide, toothless smile. “They’re already here.”
“Thank you, Eliab.” He trailed his guide into a back room, which held a door leading to the storage cellar below. The lamp flickered a wash of light across the stone casing as Kellen shut the door behind them and followed the watchman down. The temperature dropped with each additional step. The open space at the bottom of the stairs looked much like any other shopkeeper’s cellar with boxes and barrels sprawled across the floor, each one properly labeling the contents inside.
Eliab led the way.
Both sides of the Harbor House’s open cellar were lined with doors where the council had constructed temporary housing for wielders looking for a place to stay before being moved to a safe location somewhere within the Sidaran borders. Each of the rooms held nothing more than a simple cot, a small table, and a chair.
At the back of the cellar was another door that leaked a trickle of light around its edges, giving it a somewhat haloed effect. Eliab knocked. Without waiting for a response, he turned the handle. “Mather Veldon.” The old watch-keeper deferred to a stout man sitting at the head of a long rectangular table. “Mather Kellen arrived.”
“Thank you, Eliab,” Veldon said in his low booming voice. “That will be all.”
“Very good.” Eliab made a passing bow as he shuffled past Kellen and out of the room, shutting the door behind him.
Veldon, the local portmaster and official head of the Easthaven Wielder Council, rubbed his faded handkerchief across the slick top of his balding head. It was a nervous tick he tended to resort to when things got particularly bad. He had a thin jawline beard that did little to hide the girth of his cheeks. Two long silver chains hung from his neck. One had a small flint rod attached at the bottom, and the other, a wedge of steel.
The room never seemed to change that much. Three six-tiered candelabras lined the center of a long table in the middle, giving the space, and its occupants, an orange tint. The table’s cedar was heavily faded from use. There were four seats on either side and one on each end. Veldon sat at the head. A few pitchers and half-empty glasses were placed in front of the council’s seats.
Kellen noted that six of the chairs were filled, leaving four unattended.
Veldon mot
ioned for Kellen to join them. “Well, this saves us the trouble of dispatching someone for you. How’d you hear about the white riders being in town?”
Kellen took a seat near the opposite end of the table and glanced at the other six members, one of which he didn’t recognize. By the faint creases around her eyes, she didn’t appear to be much younger than he was. Her short-cropped hair was as white as a midwinter’s snow, definitely an unusual trait for someone without great age. In fact, he’d only ever heard of one other person who had it.
The color and length of her hair, however, was not what kept his attention. It was her amber-colored eyes that seemed to absorb all action within the room. They were the restless eyes of a predator. Kellen looked away to not appear to be staring.
“My boys were returning from a hunt this afternoon when they came across the Tower’s patrol. Breen said they had Saleena.” Postures stiffened and sullen looks were exchanged. “The guards were bragging about having caught her up near Reed Marsh. They said they were planning on rooting out any other wielders in the area.”
Veldon grabbed the flint hanging from his neck with one hand and rubbed it between his fingers. The edge of the table jabbed at his midsection. “It appears you know more about the situation than we do.” He glanced around the room. “Have we heard from our recent batch of refugees?”
“None so far,” Reloria said, sitting across the table from Kellen. She rustled one of her brightly colored hats into place. Kellen couldn’t remember the last time he had seen the sweet shop owner without one. They never seemed to match her outfit. Either she was completely colorblind or she enjoyed making a rather pronounced statement. Knowing Reloria, it was probably a little of both.
“We’ve had no report of seeing the Black Watch from any of the others,” Orlyn added from his place between Reloria and the mysterious white-haired woman. The older man’s staff rested against the back of his seat. It was nearly as tall as he was. Carved markings ran the entire length of the wood and there was a large crystal fashioned into the top.
“Good.” Veldon released the flint and tapped his fingers on the table. “I would hate to think we had a leak that needed plugging.”
“Well, that’s all well and good,” Feoldor grumbled on Kellen’s right, angrily butting into the conversation with a heated scowl, “but what I want to know is . . .” He held off scratching at his bushy side whiskers and raised his arm to point at the white-haired woman on the opposite side of the table. “Who is this?” Feoldor, the city glassblower, had never been known for his couth.
When the portmaster’s answer wasn’t quick enough in coming, Feoldor continued. “This is council business, Veldon, and I demand to know who this woman is and why she’s being allowed admittance here.” Feoldor’s expression grew concerned as he glanced at the quiet faces around the table. “Blood and fire, people! The woman knows who we are! Am I the only one who sees a problem with this?” His eyes scanned the small group.
Orlyn shifted uncomfortably in his seat, especially since his chair was just to the left of the newcomer. “Feoldor has a point. Our secrecy is what keeps us alive and effective. This is highly irregular, Veldon.” Orlyn paused to straighten the front of his baggy, earthen-green robe. “It should have been discussed beforehand.”
“I agree,” Reloria said, adding her confirmation to the mix. “We should have been informed prior to this meeting.”
The only two members silent through the whole affair were Kellen and Gilly. The midget was seated between Feoldor and Veldon on Kellen’s side of the table. He seemed rather content to play the spectator. Kellen knew the socially-awkward man had little love for being around other people and preferred the solitude of his river, but with this being an important meeting, his presence had apparently been requested.
Veldon raised his hands to gather everyone’s full attention. “I apologize for the break in protocol, but with the Black Watch having now made it as far as Easthaven, I thought it prudent to skip some of our regular formalities.”
The portmaster lifted his gaze to the other end of the table. “Kellen, you’ve been rather quiet. Did you have anything to add?”
Kellen scanned the faces, each set of eyes watching him in turn, waiting to see which side of the coin he would fall with. He took a moment to consider the outcome of picking a side and decided on a more direct approach.
“I would like to hear more.”
The others seemed to agree as they nodded and turned to look at the new arrival, all but Feoldor of course. “Are you mad? She’s probably in league with the Tower. For all we know, she was sent here to infiltrate our group and turn us over to the Black Watch the first chance she gets.”
“Which is exactly why we should hear what she has to say, don’t you reckon? Wouldn’t you rather question her here with all of us present than, say, on your own one night in a dark alley when she finds you walking home from your shop?”
Feoldor huffed and went back to scratching his side whiskers.
Veldon, taking the momentary silence as his cue, rubbed the top of his head one more time before speaking up. “Her name is Sheeva, and she’s from Briston . . . Duport to be precise. She came to me about a week ago—”
“And how, pray tell, did she know who you were?” Feoldor asked. “Do you have a sign over the docks that reads ‘shipping on the left, wielding on the right’?”
Veldon rolled his eyes and took a deep breath. “Lugar, the head of the Duport Harbor House, who happens to be a trusted friend, told her who to contact here in Easthaven. When he heard of her predicament, he sent her our way.” Veldon leaned back in his seat. “If Lugar trusts her, that’s good enough for me.”
“What predicament?” Feoldor asked.
“I was about to tell you when you started running off at the mouth. Now kindly shut it so I can continue.”
Feoldor crossed his arms, but thankfully obeyed.
“Like I was saying, Sheeva came to me a couple of weeks ago with a little girl she had saved from an assassin’s knife. The child had been discovered as being a wielder and was slotted for extermination. The Overlord of Briston, as we know, has little tolerance for magic.”
“I was told he lost his wife to the healings of an incompetent charlatan this past summer,” Reloria said. “The man had promised to possess a rare herb that could cure plague, of all things.”
Orlyn, who also happened to be the local apothecary, shook his head. “What imbecile would make claims that outrageous?”
“A stupid one,” Feoldor added. Orlyn raised an eyebrow, but eventually nodded in agreement.
Most of those around the table remained pensive as they stared at the short-haired woman. Reloria popped a piece of hard candy into her mouth.
“Anyway,” the portmaster continued, “I received word a couple of days ago by barge that there was indeed a bounty being offered for the capture of this little girl as well as the white-haired woman harboring her.” He glanced in Sheeva’s direction. “And since it carried with it the royal seal of Briston, I would say her story appears to be true, at least on that account.”
“If I may, Veldon, sorry,” Kellen said, interrupting the portmaster as he scooted forward. “But if I’m going to place my life and the life of my family into the hands of this council, I’m going to need to know a bit more than that.”
“Aha!” Feoldor’s face brimmed with satisfaction. “You see. Someone around here finally shows a lick of common sense.”
Reloria rolled her eyes. “Oh shut it, Feoldor, and let the man talk.”
Kellen turned back to Sheeva. “I mean no offense, but I’m a little puzzled as to how Overlord Meyrose not only knows that someone is protecting this girl but also knows exactly who it is and what they looked like. How is it that he knows so much about you?”
All heads turned in her direction.
Her eyes looked up from their place on the table to catch his. “Because I was the assassin he hired to kill her.”
Reloria nearly choke
d on her candy and Orlyn made a strategic slide to the opposite end of his seat.
“Until recently, I’ve been in Lord Meyrose’s employ,” Sheeva said. Kellen thought he might have seen a hint of embarrassment or guilt flash across her golden eyes. “I’m very good at what I do, and this allows me a certain measure of leeway to pick and choose what jobs I want. But when I found that my target was an eleven-year-old girl, I refused. Needless to say, Meyrose didn’t appreciate my reluctance and put a bounty on my head in turn.”
“Well, that’s all we need,” Feoldor grumbled, “a wanted assassin with a price on her head, and by the flaming Overlord of Briston, no less.”
Kellen couldn’t fault Feoldor’s logic. This wasn’t the best time to have the eyes of an overlord falling in their direction.
“And what of Ty?” Reloria’s statement sparked a look of concern that quickly spread around the table.
“Aye,” Orlyn chimed in. “We’ve never had a full patrol from the White Tower in Easthaven before. We should keep him hidden, Kellen.”
Kellen leaned forward. “I don’t believe he’s in much danger at the moment.”
“Have you gone completely daft?” Feoldor spouted. “It’s those goat-licking vermin from the White Tower we’re talking about! Here in Easthaven. Of course he’s in danger!”
“Watch your language, Feoldor.” Reloria fixed him with a harsh glare from the other side of the table.
“It was Saleena they were after, and if she would have listened to me in the first place, they wouldn’t be here at all. But as it is, there’s not much we can do but keep an eye on them while they’re here. Besides, if I were to restrict Ty to the homestead every time there’s a whiff of danger in the air, there would be questions raised that I don’t believe he’s ready for.”
“It’s been sixteen years, Kellen,” Orlyn said. “We can’t keep him in the dark much longer.”
Kellen sighed and tucked a thatch of his chestnut hair back behind one ear. “I know. The wizard said that one day he was going to come for him. I’m afraid that time might be fast approaching.”
The White Tower (The Aldoran Chronicles: Book 1) Page 8
