The Call of the Crown (Book 1)

by T. J. Garrett

  Olam tried once again to coax a little drink into his young friend. Ealian gave no sign of knowing the water was at his lips, and to force it would choke him. Olam put down the skin and sat quietly with his hands together, as though at prayer.

  Gialyn, tired as he was, came to sit beside his father. “Is there anything we can do?”

  “No, child. We must wait and hope!” Olam said.

  Gialyn sighed. “This isn’t a lesson I wished to learn!” Sat with his eyes fixed on Ealian, he was close to tears.

  Daric patted his knee. “We will do all we can, son. If these herbs don’t work, we’ll try and find the woodsmen.” He didn’t hold out much hope of that. He said it to keep some hope alive in Gialyn’s heart. It didn’t look to have worked too well. Before Daric could catch him, Gialyn slipped off the rock.

  “It is all right, son. Steady yourself.” Daric reached behind for water. “Sip this slowly and keep your head low. It will pass!”

  “Thank you.” Gialyn forced out the words between breaths. Daric could see the sickness was almost at his throat. Little wonder, after the night he’d had. Suddenly, Gialyn sat as still as a statue. His eyes stared forward, and his hand trembled ready near his mouth. He quickly leaned over the log behind him and wrenched out the water he’d just taken. “Sorry!” he said.

  Daric rubbed his back. “No need to be sorry, son.” Daric sat with him for five minutes while the colour returned to his cheeks, rubbing his back and wiping the cold sweat from his brow with a cool, damp cloth. “Come. You should sleep for a while, or at least rest by the fire. It’s been a long night for us all.”

  Gialyn curled up by the fire, with the blankets tucked tight under his chin. There he slept.

  * * *

  Elspeth and Grady made the ten-mile trek to Be’olyn in a little less than four hours. Upon seeing the outskirts of the town, their frantic stride turned to a steady walk. The first sight of buildings was that of dishevelled shacks that lay to the north of the track—faded wooden huts, hunched together, that looked no better than a poor farmer’s barn. They passed them on the far side, casting a wary eye back and forth between the doorways. Little stirred among the broken buildings, save a flicker of movement as one of the residents stole a peep out of a glassless window and then quickly slipped back into the shadows.

  Be’olyn lay in the pit of a narrow valley. It would hardly merit the title of a “town.” Indeed, it wouldn’t if it weren’t for the fact that it once had a courthouse. Four streets of badly managed cobbles and packed yellow mud split off from the main road. None led to anywhere but a dead end. The awnings of the main street were ill born, set clumsily against the skewed houses and shops. A broken veranda, strewn with crooked chairs, lay at the front of one. Grady guessed it could be an inn. He appeared half-hearted at the prospect of entering.

  “It is usually the best place to start.” His words were meant to encourage, though fell far short of the mark.

  “If you say so, Grady,” Elspeth said as she looked up and down. “Is there not a store or something… anything?” Elspeth asked.

  “Maybe.” Grady looked around. “But there are no billboards or posters. This could be the store, for all I know.”

  Elspeth shook her head and breathed a heaving sigh. She appeared less than enchanted at the thought of entering such a place. “As you say. We don’t have time to stand guessing. Let’s get it done and be gone.”

  They walked across the road and entered the building.

  The door swung closed behind, leaving them suddenly in darkness. Elspeth grabbed Grady’s arm. The smell of putrid beer and stale smoke rose from the sticky floor. A haze of what smelled like ammonia stung their eyes. The room lay silent, save the sound of the glass clattering as they entered. A small nest of candle lay in a nook in the far left corner. A line of bottles and goblets faintly reflected their light.

  “It is an inn,” Grady said. He moved close to Elspeth’s ear. “Stay by me. Do not leave my side.”

  They walked slowly towards the light, their widening eyes revealing more with every step: two men stood casually against the bar at the right, empty tables at the left, and in front, a large barman stood, ironically, cleaning a glass.

  Grady walked slowly towards the bar, feeling his way with his feet. Two more men came into view. The first was an old man, stood alone on the left. The other, about his own age and build, sat beneath the candlelight in front of the bar. Grady stopped short and nodded to him. He made no response to Grady, but he looked Elspeth up and down and then turned to the others with an approving grin.

  Grady greeted the barman. “Excuse me, sir. Might I ask you a question?”

  “Drink first, questions later,” he said, still with his eye fixed on the glass in his hands.

  “Yes, of course,” Grady said. “Two spirits, please.”

  “Root or vine?” the barman asked.

  “Err… root please?” Grady said, not really knowing what he meant by vine.

  The barman turned, picked up two glasses, splashed them to half-full with clear spirits, and placed them unceremoniously in front of Grady. “That’ll be two bits,” he said.

  Grady nodded approval. “That is a good price for spirit.”

  “Two bits of silver!”

  Grady paused. The barman—for the first time—looked directly at him, arms spread wide with hands flat on the bar top.

  Grady mumbled to himself while rummaging through his coin purse.

  “I have it,” Elspeth said. She went to reach inside her jacket.

  Grady put his foot on her toe and pushed. “No, daughter. I know you’re trying to help, but you must save what little you have.” He stared forcefully into Elspeth’s eyes.

  Elspeth quietly folded her arms and nodded. “Of course… Father. Sorry.”

  Grady put two silver coins on the bar and thanked the barman. “Now, about my question. We’re looking for medicines, kharoe ash and liet root, enough for one.”

  The man by the bar—the one who had ogled Elspeth—laughed. “It doesn’t look to me like you need any medicine.” He grabbed Elspeth’s behind and squeezed.

  Grady put his arm between the two and pushed Elspeth behind him. He thrust his right hand inside his jacket—as though going for a weapon—and waited. He had played this game before. He knew thieves were cowards and opportunists, and he’d expected to be tested. Was he easy or was he trouble? He knew what they were thinking.

  “That’s enough ‘a that!” the barman barked, thumping his fist down on the counter. “Olshtan, ye knows betta than to treat a man’s daughter like that in my establishment. Now go sit yeself out the way.” The barman waved him off into the corner.

  Olshtan finished his drink and slapped the glass on the bar. “I was leaving anyway.” He stood, smiled at Elspeth, and left.

  Grady picked up his drink, put it to his lips, and flicked his head back, drinking it in one short gulp. He paused at the uppermost and then slowly brought his gaze level. He stared at the barman with a puzzled frown.

  The barman stood holding back a laugh. “Yes! Tis water!” he said with a howling cackle. He looked at Elspeth, then back to Grady, then back to Elspeth. Crowing wildly, he slammed his palm on the counter, seemingly most amused at his “little joke.” He took back their glasses. “I suppose you’d be wontin’ a proper drink,” he said. “I mean, not like you ain’t paid fur ten.” Still laughing, he brought down an old bottle from the top shelf and blew sharply at the label. Dust billowed about his face. “This’ll do, me reckons.” He filled their glasses and placed them respectfully on the counter. Then he folded his arms, apparently waiting for them to take a sip.

  Elspeth and Grady looked at each other. Grady shrugged his shoulder, as if saying, Why not? They picked up their glasses and took a sip. The taste was wondrous, almost magical: deep, fruity, and not a bit bitter. They both raised a brow and quickly drank their whole measure. A cool effervescence filled their throats and purged their mouths of the dusty road.

>   “What is this?” Elspeth said.

  Grady felt it, too. For the moment, his mind seemed unburdened, as though a wave of calm had come over him.

  “It’s distilled kalli. Bloody hard to find and even harder to brew. But I gotta friend wot brings it in from Bailryn. I usually keeps it for meself.”

  “Well…” Grady sat down and looked approvingly at his empty glass. “That may well be worth two silver.”

  “Ah. Glad ye likes it, friend. D’ya wont anuva? I’ll do these for one silver, bein’ as ye such fine folk an’ all.” The barman readied the bottle.

  “Oh no, we’d love to, but we have important business and time is utmost,” Grady said.

  “As ye wish,” the barman said. “Na, wot is it ye wanted?”

  “Medicine, well, herbs, I suppose, kharoe ash or liet root, enough for one. If you know where we can find some, we will be in your debt, sir,” Elspeth said.

  “Well, m’lady, not ofen I get spoke to in such a manner by such a pretty yung fing as yeself!” The barman broke his gaze and looked up to the left. “Tell ye truth, I don’t reckon it eva ‘appened.” He mused for a moment, shifting his closed jaw to the left and right as though chewing on the thought. “Nope! Pretty sure yer the first!” he said. “Any’ow, I sed I cud ‘elp ye. Cross’t road, secund last befor’t corner. T’as a blue duar and a little stature in’t winda. Calloun is the chap yule be wontin’.”

  “Sir, I thank you.” Elspeth bowed. She nodded at Grady and he bowed also while rising from his seat and turning to the door.

  “Don’t be a stranger now, me lass, will ya?” The barman called after them as they opened the door to leave. Elspeth turned back and gave a short curtsy and a smile.

  The two left the inn and started down the road towards the corner. “He wasn’t so bad, was he? I was quite surprised, to be honest,” Elspeth said.

  “Thieves,” Grady said. “Whether it is with a knife or with kindness, they’ll get you in the end.”

  Elspeth shook her head. “Is everybody like that when they get old?” she asked.

  Grady laughed. “What do you mean old?”

  “I mean cynical and unable to trust.”

  “It’s called experience, Elspeth. Some might rightly call it wisdom!”

  Grady stopped short and took Elspeth by the shoulder, pulling her to the side as he gazed behind her.

  “What? What do you see?” Elspeth said, looking around in the direction of his gaze.

  Grady calmed and put his hand back to his side. “Probably nothing, just an ‘old cynic’ jumping at shadows.” He gave Elspeth a wry grin as they continued in the direction the barman had given. “Thought I saw somebody watching us, probably just some nosey townsfolk.”

  Elspeth looked back left and right. “I think we’ve passed the shop,” she said. “Didn’t he say blue door?”

  “Hard to figure anything the man said. But yes, I think that’s it.”

  On the face of it, the “store” had nothing on show to distinguish it from any other building. The same peeled paintwork, rotting veranda, and spider-webbed dirty windows as all the other buildings. It might have been nice once, twenty years ago, before the thieves took over the town.

  They crossed the creaking veranda and entered.

  It was a long, narrow store, around seven paces by three. A shallow counter ran down the centre for its full length. The merchandise was stored behind it, hung on hooks, placed in baskets, or on a shelf, all out of the way of thieving fingers. Again, it was dark, but not so much as the bar. A usable measure of light bled in from the three small windows that were evenly spaced along the front wall. At the far end, a door led to what looked like a storeroom, and next to it, a large clock hung alone above the single chair and desk.

  Calloun—the storekeeper—rose from the chair and walked over. If ever a man had tried dressing above his station, Calloun would have looked resplendent in his tasselled tunic with frilly white—off-white—cuffs draped beyond the sleeve. His high collar should have been stiff, in the style of the Bailryn regents, but it hadn’t seen a sniff of starch, never mind ironing. Worst of all was his preposterous hair; what would have been a long ponytail swirled round and was clipped to hide an unhide-able bald patch. Despite this, he had a serious gape and a vain confidence.

  “Hello, my friends. Hello,” he said as though he were expecting them. He shuffled around the back of the counter, slowly easing himself past boxes and crates that lay packed under the shelves. On reaching them, he slapped the counter softly with a loosely clenched fist. “And what can I do for you two fine people on this glorious day?”

  Grady gave the shallowest of bows. “We are looking for kharoe ash and liet root.”

  “Ah… kharoe ash and liet root, aye!” he said, scratching his chin. “Somebody been in the wars, have they?” He looked wide-eyed at Grady and then Elspeth, waiting for a reply, arms now folded.

  “Yes. I suppose you could say that,” Grady said. “Now, do you have any, sir? Time is not on our side.”

  “Poison arrow, was it? Or is it infected, like with some bad metal or some such?” The storekeeper persisted with his questions, as though waiting, all the while stealing little glances to his right. What was he waiting for? The hairs on the back of Grady’s neck began to rise, not all the way, but something was amiss. He didn’t much like the door being at his back, either. He shuffled to his right so he could take in the storekeeper, the entrance, and the “storeroom” together.

  “Sir, please! Do you have the supplies?” Elspeth said, clearly impatient and altogether mindless of Grady’s suspicions. She may be good with a bow and a fair cook, too. However, if she wasn’t careful, that bloody impatience was going to get her killed, especially if selected for the guards. That was no game for rushing about, jumping before you look.

  “Begging your pardon, miss,” the storekeeper said. He raised his palms to Elspeth and lowered his eyes to the counter. “Only being polite, taking an interest. Now then, my partner usually deals with herb lore. I’m afraid I wouldn’t know what I’m looking at. I dare say what you seek probably goes by other names.” The storekeeper scratched his chin again. “Would you know it if you saw it?”

  Elspeth hesitated. “Maybe, I’m not sure.”

  “Why don’t you come back and have a look? See if you can’t figure it out.” The storekeeper gestured with open hand towards the door on the right.

  Grady hesitated. “And where is this partner of yours? Are they due back anytime soon?”

  Elspeth, who had already started moving towards the door, turned her head back and waved him on. “We haven’t got time to wait around, Grady. Come on!”

  The storekeeper led them along a narrow corridor and down a flight of stairs into a cellar. Barrels, boxes, and crates lay all about. A tall shelf of pots and jars stood at the far wall. “This is our herb store, sir, miss. Please feel free to take a looksee.”

  Grady shook his head. “There are no labels!”

  Elspeth took down one of the jars. “Yes, they’re on the lids. Here, look. Honestly, Grady, you give up too quickly.”

  “Oh, good, so we only have to go through about a hundred or so.” Grady picked up a jar and turned to the storekeeper. “Is your partner likely to co—”

  Grady felt the plank hit the side of his head. He fell to his side, left arm instinctively outstretched. Frantically, he wheeled his arms, trying to steady himself. The storekeeper clipped him sharply across the fingers with a bottle. Grady fell to the floor. Another whack hit him, this time across his back. He moaned sharply and toppled forwards. Now on his knees, he crawled to the shelf in front of him and tried to climb to his feet. Olshtan, the lecherous man from the bar, kicked him in the back of his leg. Well, at least Grady knew whom the shopkeeper was waiting for. Fool, falling for a stupid trap like this!

  Elspeth ran with jar in hand. She drew back and let swing towards Olshtan’s head. Olshtan backhanded her across the cheek, sending her headfirst into the post in the centre
of the room. Elspeth was dazed; shaking, she tried to get to her feet. The storekeeper took up a broom and pinned her to the floor, the broom head on the back of her neck and his foot pushed into the small of her back.

  “Get off me!” she cried, squirming frantically on the floor but unable to lift her head or arms.

  Elspeth’s move created the time Grady needed to get back on his feet. He turned and lunged, full speed, into Olshtan. With his shoulder to Olshtan’s gut, he picked him off the floor and drove him into the crates that lay stacked against the back wall. Olshtan lay stunned for a moment.

  Grady picked up a bottle and viciously crashed it against the side of the storekeeper’s head. The bottle shattered. The storekeeper turned. A pitiful expression came upon him as he lifted his hand to his ear. Blood was pouring from a large gash beneath it. A wave of cold panic drew over his face. He stood motionless, staring at Grady through blank, hollow eyes. His lip trembled as he realised the truth of his predicament. Slowly, he lowered his hand and looked at it. “Too much blood,” he whispered. “Too much blood!” he shouted. He stumbled to the barrels underneath the stairway and slid sidelong onto the floor. His breath gurgled with the blood that filled his throat. With a cough, he spat out long globs of blood-strewn spittle onto the floor. Gasping now, he turned to Elspeth and pleaded with open hand for help. But Elspeth didn’t see him. She was busy with her own torment.

  Meanwhile, Olshtan came back at Grady from behind. Winding a rope about Grady’s neck, he turned and twisted the line sharply over his shoulder. He put his hip to Grady’s back and lifted him off the ground, hanging him.

  Grady’s feet flayed in the air and his arms spun wildly about, looking for some purchase, some hold to save him. He grabbed the beam above their heads and lifted himself higher. Then he back-heeled Olshtan in the kidney.

  Olshtan fell to his knees, releasing Grady, who then fell on top of him. The two struggled on the ground for a moment. Grady broke free and stood barely a second before Olshtan rushed at him. He pulled his knife, drew back hard to stab at Grady’s throat… and then stopped!