Chaos At The Castle (Book Six)

by Craig Halloran

  “I’m coming, Joline, just give me a moment.”

  The past several days had been the hardest in all Joline’s life. Her best friend Kam was gone. The baby girl, Erin whom she adored, was kidnapped, and for all Joline knew they were dead. She’d taken word of the predicament to Kam’s family, but they’d made their thoughts perfectly clear. Kam was on her own. Her daughter too. Of course, she hadn’t spoken to Kam’s mother but some other family member who was supposed to send the word out. No wonder Kam left.

  Mercy bustled through the door. Her pretty eyes dull. Long hair tied in a knot on her head. She refused to let anyone fix up her appearance with an enhancement spell.

  “Look at you, Mercy,” Joline said. “You’re too pretty to go around looking like that.” Joline straightened the young woman’s apron and wiped a smudge of batter from her face. “And pull that lip up. The customers want smiles, not pouts. You look like a frog when you make that face—so straighten up.”

  Mercy’s eyes began to water.

  “Ah, now don’t you start that again, Mercy. Mother of Bish, we can’t both be crying, not now. Not right now.” Joline stammered. A lump formed in her throat.

  There had been a lot of tears since Kam and Erin disappeared, a lifetime’s worth if not more.

  And everyone else fun was gone, too. Joline had grown fond of Billip in particular. The man was ornery but a protector. And Mikkel, the Big Charmer, she liked to call him, had the gutsiest laughs she’d ever heard. It seemed like she’d had a new family that she’d grown quite fond of. Tears dripped down her cheeks as she thought more about the halflings, Lefty and his wonderful friend Gillem, who brought the most beautiful flowers. What in all of Bish had happened to them? She couldn’t shake the dread that overcame her when she thought of them.

  “I miss Georgio,” Mercy said. She didn’t bother to dry her eyes.

  “Are you crying again, Mercy? What are you crying for?” one of the other serving girls said, darting towards the kitchen. “We’re busy, you over-grown child! Get out there and help!”

  “No need to be nasty,” Joline shot back, but the girl was gone.

  The Magi Roost was almost at capacity and had been every day since the underlings showed up and attacked. The Royals had taken action, and soldiers had been dispatched. The City of Three was ready, and the citizens liked nothing more than to head into a tavern and talk about that.

  Mercy was shuddering. “When’s he coming back, Joline?”

  “Oh, Girl, you are too young to fall for a man!”

  “I am not too young. I’m older than him.”

  “Well, er…” Joline started, but she didn’t know what to say. Mercy had teased the younger man from day one, but Joline had figured she was only being ornery. She remembered those days. But when Mercy found out that Georgio had left without saying goodbye, she’d been heart-broken. “Mercy, all men are the same. You’ll meet someone when the time is right. Most of these men are plenty kind to you.” Joline rubbed her shoulder. “You know that.”

  “They aren’t like Georgio,” Mercy whined. She blew her nose in a rag Joline handed her. “He was sweet and adorable.”

  True. Joline liked Georgio, and she figured if Billip and Mikkel didn’t spoil him, he’d become an excellent young man. Still, she tried to think of something bad to say.

  “He ate like a pig.”

  Mercy’s eyes faded to the past. “I loved watching him eat. He really loved it. It was as if every time he ate, it was the first time.”

  Joline huffed a little. “Well, his hair was always a mess and dirty. And he didn’t bathe much either.”

  “I loved all those curls, and his hair was so soft and thick.”

  “And his manners were horrible. Just horrible. He couldn’t pass from one room to another without farting.”

  “That always made me giggle.”

  “You’re hopeless,” Joline said. She started fixing some drinks at the bar. “Now, wipe those tears away and drink th—”

  “What is it?” Mercy said.

  “Uh …” Joline stared at the entrance of the Magi Roost. “Nothin but a-a …”

  Mercy followed her gaze to the figures at the front door. Her tears and sobbing stopped.

  “I’ll get him a table!”

  “No, I’ll …” Joline said, reaching out.

  Mercy avoided her grasp and headed over to the two people in the doorway.

  One was a man, adorned in a fine looking traveler’s tunic. His face was impossibly handsome, every feature perfectly formed from his chin to his teeth to the golden blond hair on his head. When his eyes met hers, he nodded at her, and she was at a loss for breath. The man was striking, mysterious, and incredible all at the same time.

  He must be a Royal, maybe a member of Kam’s family.

  “Shall I find you a table, Sir?” Joline heard Mercy say.

  “Something by the bar, little thing,” a stocky woman said. She was taller than most women, garbed in outdoor leathers. Had a brassy voice. She was rugged too. A knife strapped to her wide hips and a bow and quiver slung over her shoulder. “And, do you have any pickles? My friend here really likes pickles.”

  “Uh … well, yes, we have some pickles. Does is like them raw or fried?” Mercy said. She hadn’t taken her eyes off the man.

  The man, surveying the room, didn’t say a word, but the mention of the word pickles brought the slightest smile to his lips.

  The outdoorswoman stuck her hand in Mercy’s face and snapped her fingers. “Honey, I didn’t ask what kind you had. I just asked if you had them.” She looked around at the curious faces. “Now where is our table? We need a seat; my feet are aching.”

  “Certainly,” Mercy said, looking at Joline.

  Joline nodded at two stools at the end of the bar where Mikkel and Billip used to sit. Joline usually didn’t let people sit there unless it was very crowded.

  As the two were about to take a seat, an exhausted group of travelers pushed their way inside.

  The stocky woman stormed at them and yelled at the closest one. “March your arses out of here! Wait until we come out.”

  “But we’re hungry, Darlene,” one man said. He was old. Eyes pleading. “We have some money.”

  Darlene grabbed the man by his jerkin and pulled him down face to face with her. “I don’t care where you eat, as long as it isn’t here. Scorch wants to dine alone, and I’ve already warned you to keep your distance. And you know what can happen if you don’t.”

  The small group of people shook their heads, averting her gaze.

  “Idiots, do I have to remind you?” Darlene held out her fist and flicked open her fingers. “Poof! Just like the underlings.”

  They started backing through the door, their eyes filled with horror.

  “Eat somewhere else, and I’ll let you know when he needs you.”

  Darlene walked towards Joline, spun on her heel and whistled. “Nice place you have here. Mmmm-Hmm. So what do you have that’s special to drink? I tell you what, Miss. I’m so thirsty, I think I could drink a goblet of goat pee.”

  Taken aback, Joline said, “We don’t have any of that here, but you and your companion might like this.” Without thinking, she reached up and grabbed a half-moon bottle of Muckle Sap from the shelf and poured a sample into a tumbler.

  What am I doing?

  She glanced at the end of the bar, toward the jaw-droppingly handsome man called Scorch. He seemed to be watching everyone in the room at the same time.

  They might not even have any means.

  She pushed the tumbler to Darlene. “Try this, a, Darlene, is it?”

  “You are pretty quick, uh—”

  “Joline.”

  “Yes, Joline. You know, I had a cousin named Coline, but she stopped talking to me when we were children.”

  “Oh, why is that?”

  “I kicked her in the crotch for being ornery. She said she couldn’t pee straight after that, but how can you tell?”

  Joline tri
ed to hide her laugh but couldn’t. The woman, for all her abrasive manners, was likeable.

  Darlene took the entire glass, knocked it back, smacked her lips and smiled. “Mmmmm. That is good. Very good! Scorch, you have to try this … uh … what is it?”

  “Muckle Sap.”

  “Muckles Sap, Scorch. It makes Jig taste like goat piss.”

  Joline briefly looked up, wondering if indeed the woman had ever drank goat piss.

  I certainly hope not.

  “Would you like the entire bottle, Darlene? That first taste is a courtesy sample, and it is our most expensive.”

  “Oh, well, I… Scorch, do we have any coins?” She nodded. “He says we can buy all the Muckle Sap we want.”

  “But he didn’t say anything?” She looked over, saw his smiling face and blushed. “Did he?”

  Mercy walked past the bar beaming, a large jar of pickles in one hand and a plate of fried pickles in the other. She set them before Scorch.

  “Mercy, I didn’t hear him ask for that?”

  “I didn’t either.”

  Another barmaid crossed Joline’s path, a plate of cheese, bread and meats in her hand. She dropped it in front of Scorch, smiled from ear to ear, bowed, and giggled away.

  “What in Bish is going on here? The man hasn’t said a thing.”

  Darlene reached over and patted Joline on the shoulder. “Don’t you worry about what is going on here, and everything will be fine. You see, my friend Scorch, well, he pretty much does anything he wants. And you don’t want to be on the side of what he don’t like.”

  Joline took a long look at Scorch. She couldn’t tell if it was a thrill or a chill that went down her spine. But something wasn’t right.

  ***

  “This place is a lot better than Hohm City, isn’t it Scorch?” Darlene wiped her sleeve across her mouth and burped. “Did you try this Mu-Mookle Surp? It’s something. Like, really good.”

  It was the best Darlene had felt since she could ever remember, being here, in a wonderful tavern full of all different sorts of people. No doubt the City of Three was the place to be. She was never bothered before by the misty city she called home, but she didn’t see herself going back now either. She shook her head, rubbed her red eyes and took another drink. “To the City of Trees!”

  At her side, Scorch had been eating one pickle after another, washing them down with Muckle Sap, and he hadn’t stopped for hours. His broad smile was all Darlene needed to see to tell that he was having a good time.

  “Barmaid, tell me―Joline is it?” Scorch smiled.

  Her face lit up as she nodded.

  “So, you take the pickles, wrap them in cheese, and dip them in boiling…” he paused.

  “Lard,” she said, wiping the same spot on the bar she’d been at for over an hour.

  “It’s one of the most incredible things I’ve ever experienced in the entire universe!”

  “The what?” Joline said, cocking her head.

  “Universe!” Darlene blurted out, slapping the bar with her hand. “He talks about it, but I don’t get it. I think it’s in the Underpants―Hic―I mean the Underlands.”

  “And this Muckle Sap isn’t half bad either,” Scorch said. “I bet Morley would enjoy this.” Scorch looked around as if he was searching for an old friend. “Oh, never mind.”

  “Who’s Morley, Scorch?” Darlene said. “And why are you always talking about him?” Whenever she heard that name, her jealous side came to life. Scorch was her friend and her friend alone.

  “Darlene,” Scorch said, “I told you not to think like that.”

  She grabbed his sleeve, started petting it with her dirty hands and said, “I’m sorry, Scorch. Hic. Won’t happen again. Hic.”

  Hopping off her stool, she’d started teetering away when she heard Joline say, “Is she going to be alright?”

  “She’ll be alright, Joline,” Scorch said. He reached over and patted Joline’s hand. “But please, tell me about all your worries.”

  “I’ll be alright!” Darlene said. She knocked a bottle from one table only to excuse herself and knock a bottle from another.

  The men laughed behind her back as she sauntered away, ignoring the obvious stares. The place was nice, very nice, but the people she wasn’t so sure about. Many of them were impeccable in clothing, even the handful of dwarves that smoked around the tables. But their manners were lacking. Oh! The fire was welcoming on her back as she took a seat on the corner of the fireplace hearth.

  “Woo!” she said, slapping her knees. “Sure is nice in here.” She fanned herself. “Getting really hot, though.”

  The tavern chatter was about many things, including underlings, but there was something else going on she couldn’t put her finger on. A couple of robed men’s faces were masks of concentration, staring hard into one another’s eyes inside a small group that gathered around and added more coins to the piles on the table.

  “Ten seconds,” one said, rubbing his chin.

  “Twenty.”

  Sweat beaded on both of the robed men’s foreheads.

  “Thirty seconds,” the man said.

  The bigger of the two men locked in a stare jumped from the table, banging his knee and holding his head.

  “Fodor wins!”

  Darlene applauded along with the rest of the men, even though she didn’t have any idea what was happening. “Say, what kind of game is this, anyway? A staring contest?”

  A couple of the scholarly robed men chuckled while another man sneered and walked away. The smaller man in a bright green tunic seated at the table smiled and waved her over.

  “Please, come over here and have a seat. I’d be happy to explain,” he said, smiling.

  “Really?” Darlene said, “My, you men sure have a different way about you. And your clothes.” She grabbed the sleeves of one man’s robes and rubbed them. “They look more like something a woman would wear. By Hohm, that sure is soft. What kind of fabric is this?”

  The man named Fodor cleared his throat. “Ahem, Miss, what was your name?”

  “Oh, Darlene. I’m from Hohm City. Home of the Mists, and that over there,” she pointed, “is Scorch. My friend. He kills underlings.”

  Fodor made a polite nod. “I see. Well, Darlene, let me tell you about this game we play…”

  “Excuse me, but are you Royals?” She grabbed another man’s sleeve. “Where can I get a shirt like this? It’s so pretty.”

  He leered at her and pushed her hand away. “This clothing is made for Wizards, not for a grubby sheep herder.”

  A couple men chuckled. Others gathered around.

  Darlene looked them over. “I’m a hunter and a trapper, and a fine shot with a bow. I bet I could out shoot any of you. And you better watch your manners.” She slipped a knife underneath the man’s privates. “Or for certain you’ll be wearing that fancy shirt as a woman.”

  The man gawped, eyes wide.

  “Certainly, Darlene,” Fodor said. He lay his hand on her shoulder. “Please, put the knife away. My companions don’t have the best manners when it comes to travelers.”

  Darlene slid her knife back into the sheath and burped.

  “You can say that again. So,” she drummed her fingers on the table, “tell me about this game again, Fodor. Is it something I can play?”

  “Certainly,” he said, clasping his hands on the table. “And it’s really quite simple. Even for you.”

  She swayed forward.

  “Well, what do you mean by that?”

  “I say that because it’s your first time, is all. No insult about your intellect intended.”

  She nodded. “That’s what I thought you meant.”

  Fodder smiled and continued.

  “So, it’s called a Mind Grumble. It’s a game for everyone, but a mage or wizard must link it. What happens is our minds are linked together and we engage in a mental arm wrestling contest. A test of wills. Do you understand, Darlene?”

  “I think I’ve heard of
this before. I had an uncle that was a wizard, or at least my mother said he was, well said he was my uncle, but I’m not so sure why she’d be sleeping around with my uncle.” She shrugged. “Maybe it was on account that my father, my uncle’s brother, was no longer around. But he said he did something like this and gave a man a bloody nose for it.”

  Fodor shook his head. “Who said he gave a bloody nose for it?”

  “My uncle.”

  Fodor looked at her for a long moment as if waiting for her to speak.

  “Huh … I see, Darlene. Are you finished?”

  She rubbed her nose. “Will this give me a bloody nose?”

  “It’s unlikely, but it has been known to happen before. See the floor?” He pointed with his eyes and chin.

  There was a dark stain on the floor near their table.

  “Is that from blood?”

  “Aye, for the bloodiest nose I ever saw. Fogle Boon, one of our kind, arrogant and mysterious, locked minds with a stranger, somewhat like yourself. A rugged wilderness warrior whose name I can’t recall.”

  “What happened?”

  “To our shock and amazement, the big fellow won and Fogle Boon’s nose was broken.”

  Darlene gulped, covering her nose.

  “Darlene, that won’t happen to you, I promise. That night, if anything, was an unfortunate accident. Rather unexplainable, it was. But, in the spirit of things,” Fodor snapped his fingers, and a pretty waitress in a short white tunic dress strolled over, smiling, “I treat you to a bottle of wine. Are you ready?”

  She eyed the men that surrounded her and the table. They had a shifty look about them, but she felt all right. “You promise it won’t turn my mind to mush or anything?”

  “It’s already mush if you ask me,” one wizard said. He had a crook in his jaw and a partially bald head. “Shouldn’t hurt a thing.”

  Darlene’s hand dropped to her knife.

  “I don’t like you.”

  He stepped away.

  Fodor continued.

  “Don’t mind him, Darlene. He never wins. And if you find yourself feeling uncomfortable, you just need to close your eyes, or look away. It’s quite simple. And for all I know, you might give more than I can handle.” He smiled and chuckled. “Such things have been known to happen before.”