A lone figure knelt in front of a small fire, covered in old rags and a fur cloak the color of ash. He was a tall man, thinly built, with a thick and scraggly beard. His hair was long, black, and matted down with dirt and oil. The rags he wore were ripped in a dozen places and stained a curious shade of purple. His back was to Jeina, but she could see that he had his hands raised to his face as though he were praying, or crying. The fur cloak and his wild hair gave him an almost bestial appearance, yet he did not look dangerous. In fact, watching him kneel and murmur softly by the fire made Jeina feel a sort of pity for the man, though she could not say why. She was about to call out to him, to ask him if she might share his fire, when she heard the crunch of broken glass behind her as the figures of four men surrounded her in the dim light.
"What have we here?" said a gruff voice. "A little lady sneak, peering into other people's houses at night? That won't do, will it, boys?"
"No it won't," said another. "And from the looks of her, she's up to no good. What are ye doing here at this hour? Looking to steal some coin?"
The four men burst out into raucous laughter.
"Coin! Oh, aye, that's a good one!" bellowed the shortest man. "She don't look stupid enough to actually think she'd find anything worth stealing in this hole of a place."
The first man chuckled. "Heh. I don't much care why she's here. She's pretty enough, ain't she? A little cold looking, and too thin by far, but I'm sure she'll warm up once I've had her a few times. How about it, Miss? How about we get some blood flowing into those cold little cheeks of yours?"
As the men advanced on her, Jeina made a desperate attempt to run past them and back out into the streets, but she was weak and exhausted, and the alley was narrow. One of the men caught her by the wrist as she rushed past and yanked her up off her feet. Panic flooded her senses, and she began to scream and kick wildly, but the man's grip was strong and other hands soon caught her flailing limbs and clamped down hard on her mouth to mute her screams.
"What's the matter? Don't like the looks of us?" laughed one of the men. "Well then, you'd better keep your little eyes shut, because…"
"Unhand that woman!" Jeina heard a shout come from the end of the alleyway. Gazing past her attackers, she could just make out the cloaked figure of the man she had seen inside the crumbling old building. He stood tall and erect now, and one hand was resting on the pommel of a sword belted to his waist. Her captors, surprised, turned to look at the man, and as they did so Jeina could see slow smiles start to creep across their faces. Three of the men who had been holding her let go and started to walk to the end of the alley, while the fourth draped his arm around Jeina's throat and held her back.
"Oho! What's this?" laughed one of the brutes. "A valiant knight come to save the poor little girl? What, do you think if you rescue her she'll see past your dirty looks and fall in love? Ha! Piss off you filthy beggar, before I break your skinny neck."
The stranger in the cloak started to draw his sword.
"Ooh! Look, he's got a sword," mocked one of the thugs. "Look at it, almost as pathetic and battered as he is. Old man, if you really want a weapon, you need a piece of sharp steel like this!" He drew out a long knife, its edge glinting even in the dim light. The rest of the attackers drew out similar blades, and kept advancing on the thin man in the cloak.
"I'll tell you what," said one of the thugs, smiling, "go inside now, and we won't kill you. We won't even hurt you. By Othac's blood, we'll even leave the bitch here for you when we're done with her."
Jeina heard a dull thwack and saw one of the attackers crumple to the ground. The others began to yell and swing their knives wildly in the direction of the cloaked man. He ducked under the flashing arcs of the knives, and Jeina heard sickly cracking sounds as his blunted sword crushed the kneecap of one, and then smashed into the ribcage of the other. Both men fell down to the ground howling in pain.
The man holding her tightened his grip and backed away, and Jeina started to feel lightheaded as she struggled for breath.
"Stay where you are!" came a yell from the man in the cloak, as he stepped over the fallen bodies of his attackers and came straight for the man holding Jeina. Losing his nerve, her captor loosed his grip and dropped Jeina to the ground as he turned to run away.
"Coward!" cried the cloaked man as he raced after him, but when he saw Jeina on the ground sputtering and gasping for air he abandoned his pursuit and came to help her.
"Calm down. Let's get you sitting. Now, try to take a deep breath," he said as he helped Jeina. After a few seconds, Jeina's throat seemed to slide back into place and she was able to breathe again.
"One moment while I finish with these others," said the stranger as he jogged off and disappeared inside the building. A second later he reappeared with some rope and set to binding the feet and hands of the men. He then dragged each to the street corner, and left them there in a pile, screaming and yelling for help.
"Cease your whining, cowards. Somebody will eventually find you. Pray they show you more kindness than you deserve," said the stranger, turning his back on the thugs and making his way back to Jeina. Jeina looked up at the tall form of the man who had saved her and had barely time to whisper, "thank you" before he had swept her up and was carrying her into the building. Once she was sitting by the fire with a warm cup of broth in her hands, Jeina could not help herself anymore. The fatigue of the last few days overwhelmed her entirely and she drifted off into sleep.
She awoke to find herself wrapped in a blanket of thick wool and nestled in the corner of the room, with daylight streaming through the many small holes and cracks in the building's walls. The faint smell of onions lingered in the air and Jeina felt her stomach growl loudly. She heard a soft chuckle come from the somewhere nearby, and the man who had saved her last night quickly walked into the room. He was still dressed as he had been the night before, and Jeina could not help feeling a little scared as his tall and grizzly form loomed above her. He must have seen the fear in her eyes, because he smiled kindly and backed away a few paces before he asked.
"I hope you like onion soup?"
"Yes!" Jeina was a little taken aback by how forcefully she answered. It felt like her stomach had answered the question before her brain had even considered it. The stranger chuckled again as he walked over to a pot sitting on some coals in the corner and spooned a thick yellowy substance into a large clay bowl. When he handed the steaming bowl to Jeina she immediately put it to her lips and was rewarded with a sharp pain as the hot liquid scalded her tongue and seared her gullet. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she forced herself to let the soup cool in her hands, though her hunger gnawed at her as insistently as ever.
"It will cool soon enough in this cold air," said her companion. "While we wait, I should like the pleasure of knowing your name."
"It's Jeina," she said, looking forlornly at the small plumes of steam still rising from her bowl.
"Well met Jeina, I am Fezi, and in case you have not realized, I welcome you to my humble home."
"Thanks," said Jeina, dipping the tip of her finger into the soup. She noticed that Fezi had a slight accent, though he spoke the Church tongue flawlessly and without hesitation.
An awkward silence followed, and Jeina saw that Fezi was looking at her expectantly, as if there was something else he thought she would say. Jeina blew at her soup a bit, and took a small swallow. This time the liquid did not burn so much, and when she had taken a longer sip and felt her insides begin to warm she offered, "Your soup is very good." He gave a short laugh at this, and launched back into conversation.
"I cannot help wondering why you were out alone last night in this part of the village. You must know that you were putting yourself in great danger? I doubt those four will trouble you again, but there are dozens like them who wander the streets at night, causing all kinds of trouble. Have you a family or friends to get back to? I will gladly escort you wherever you need to go."
"No, I don't," said Jeina. "
I only arrived last night, and I was desperate to find someplace warm."
"Oh dear," said Fezi. "You picked a bad place to visit, Jeina, there is no work in this village, and barely enough food to feed those who cling to their shattered lives here. Since the famine, this place has been no more than a barren and lawless shell of a town."
Fezi noticed that Jeina had managed to guzzle down all of her soup and was licking the bottom of the bowl.
"My, you are hungry. Would you like more soup? There is more in the pot."
Jeina nodded vigorously, and when Fezi refilled her bowl, this time she let it sit a while to cool before tasting it.
"So why come to this place?" continued Fezi. "What could you possibly want here?"
Vague images of gray scaled creatures, lithe and sinewy as they crawled towards her flashed in Jeina's mind. Part of her just wanted to dismiss the memories as a dream, to just sit here in the warm blanket and sip onion soup for the rest of her days, but even so she found herself mumbling the words, "Nothing, I am just passing through."
"On your way to where?" asked Fezi. "There is nothing north of here but trees and mountain."
"No, I…," began Jeina, "I'm headed south." Fezi raised an eyebrow.
"And you came from…?"
Jeina wanted desperately to tell someone about the mining camp, about Prince Tobin, the smith, and the gröljum, but she dared not risk it. What if Tobin had men in the village? If Fezi knew she had escaped from a work camp, would he turn her in? Even if he did not, how could she expect him to believe her story?
"Nowhere in particular," said Jeina, trying to sound as if it did not matter.
"You are running from something." It was half a statement, half a question, and Jeina found herself not knowing what to say. Fezi's questions had begun to seem like an interrogation, and though she had not yet finished her soup, Jeina began eying the exit. Yet, Fezi seemed to sense he had said something wrong, and after a few minutes of silence offered, "I know what it is like to be on the run and I want to help you. If you cannot tell me where you have come from, perhaps you can tell me where you are going?"
It was another question, but one Jeina could answer without fear of saying too much.
"I don't know," she confessed. Then, before she could stop, she heard herself saying, "But there is someone I need to find."
"Who?" asked Fezi.
Jeina sighed. What harm could there be in telling the truth? Fezi could not know of her reasons for wanting to contact the Prince. Merely saying the man's name could not connect her with anything she had done, or witnessed. And perhaps, just perhaps, Fezi might know something helpful.
"Eathor," she whispered.
The name sounded hopeless and stupid when it came out of her mouth, and she could see Fezi give her a bizarre look. If he was skeptical about that goal, she knew she dare not tell him about the fantastic circumstances which necessitated it.
"You wish to talk to the elder Stonelord?" asked Fezi.
"Yes. I have a message for him."
"Why look for him here, don't you know that he is being held as a prisoner by the royal family of the Blood Marsh…that is, well he was before…I expect that he is now under the control of the Blood Marsh Army."
"If…if that is so," said Jeina, slightly stunned by this news. "I must make my way to the Marshlands."
"Make your way to the—young lady, the marshland and mountain people are still at war! Eathor may have abdicated, but many of the Hinnjar still fight on, led by the younger mountain prince, Tobin."
The name gave Jeina a slight chill. "I know, I know, yet I have to try," she insisted.
"How could you possibly hope to make it to the Marshlands? You saw last night how easily those men might have…might have…done things to you. You could have been killed. The roads are filled with men who think nothing of cutting your throat before they cut your purse! Jeina, there is nothing so important that could compel you to make such a journey. It is suicide."
Jeina knew that every word Fezi said was the truth. She had no hope of getting to Eathor, but what else could she do? She could not ignore what she had seen in the mountain caves, and Eathor was the only person she knew who might have an idea of what the horrors she had witnessed within truly were.
"I have to see him," she insisted. "I…I have a message for him. It is important."
"What kind of message is so important that you would risk you life so in carrying it?"
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," said Jeina.
"I may have a more open mind than you think."
Again, part of Jeina wanted to tell him everything that had happened, but Fezi would surely laugh at her, and that was something Jeina did not think she could bear just now.
"What I have to say is for the Prince's ears alone," she lied.
"But what can Eathor do about it?" Fezi pressed. "He is a prisoner, and held far away from here. Why not find Prince Tobin instead? They say that he and his men have been seen very near the foot of the Silver Mountains. Surely he is in a much better position to aid in your cause?"
"No! Not Tobin." Jeina could hear the venom in her words. Fezi must have heard it too, for the curiosity was evident in his voice when he asked, "Why not Prince Tobin?"
Tired as she was, Jeina's temper was rising. Why did he insist on pestering her with all these questions? Then, a thought struck her. Was this man an agent of some sort connected with Prince Tobin? Or maybe not an agent, but a supporter of the Prince's resistance? Jeina did not like the idea of going back outside, but the sun was up and the night's rest had revitalized her a bit. She stood up.
"Thank you, really, for your hospitality and for saving me last night. I owe you a great debt, but…I really must be on my way again."
"No, please," said Fezi, "you must stay awhile and rest some more. You really cannot try to find Prince Eathor—you will not survive." His hands held out imploringly, Fezi had managed to interpose himself between Jeina and the exit. Jeina looked at him sharply and challenged, "Are you telling me that I am not free to leave this place?"
Fezi's face became pained and he moved away from the door as he said, "No! No! Of course you are. I would never dream of keeping you here against your will. I am merely worried about you. But, if you insist on ignoring my advice and leaving…" he sighed wistfully, "…then who am I to stop you?"
"Thank you for your concern," said Jeina, as she made her way towards the door, "but, I can handle myself well enough—when I have my wits about me."
She gave Fezi a wave of goodbye and was about to walk out into the street when Fezi called out, "Jeina, wait!"
Jeina turned around. "Yes?"
"If you will not stay here, at least allow me to accompany you to your next destination. I will be no hindrance, I assure you."
Jeina considered this proposal. It would no doubt be safer to have a traveling companion—even this kind, but very ragged, man. If he were somehow connected to Tobin, however…but then, if he had been some spy of Tobin's he probably would have taken other pains to make sure she would not leave. He could have bound her, locked her in the room, or drugged her with some drought. Looking at him, he seemed too kind to be of any great threat to her.
"Please," said Fezi again, "I insist. I give you my word that I will…" He walked up to Jeina slowly and all of a sudden was kneeling before her on one knee. "I give you my word that I will do all I can to protect you, and serve you in any way I can."
Jeina did not know quite what to do. Suddenly she felt very awkward and looked around to make sure no one else was watching.
"Oh, fine!" she said, "Just get up, will you, and stop acting such a fool."
Chapter 22: Nicolas
Nicolas had often heard people speak of Widow's Harbor. He had even met a traveler from Widow's Harbor who had made the three-and-a-half day journey across the heart of Creko's Isle to his own village of Brightshore. The man stood out in Nicolas' mind because he had been dressed in odd black silks which shimmered in the b
reeze as he strode into Gleydon's shop. Stranger still, he sported a dark wooden cane adorned with a small golden stag, though he did not seem to rely on the cane for support. From his clothes and the way he bore himself, Nicolas had wondered if the man was nobility—a Lord from the distant Blood Marsh, or even a prince. But the man had told Gleydon that he was a merchant looking for some wares to take back to Widow's Harbor. He had selected three small, but very ornately engraved chests which Gleydon prized as some of his best work. When it had come down to negotiating the price, the merchant had settled on the first figure Gleydon offered. He must have seen the surprise in the engraver's eyes, for he had laughed, "Don't you worry, I'll sell these for at least five times that price when I'm back in Widow's Harbor. I'm not here to take pity on the merchants in this quaint little town, but I won't cheat you either."
Ever since then, Nicolas had always thought of Widow's Harbor as being a sort of wealthy, exotic port where everybody sauntered about in flowing silks bedecked with all sorts of finery. As he and Jorj neared Creko's Isle's only city, however, nothing out of the ordinary caught his eye. Few of the buildings were larger, or more ornate, than those in Brightshore. He did see the occasional pair of stone columns, and even once a fascinating domed roof, but by and large the main difference between Widow's Harbor and Brightshore seemed to lie in the number of dwellings, not the size. To and from these buildings scurried a good many people, all dressed in much the same coarse, hardy fabrics that Nicolas had worn all his life. In fact, as they began to get deeper into the city Nicolas noticed that it was he who was being stared at as if he were some exotic noble. It was, of course, Jorj whom attracted the most attention, but many folk looked quizzically at Nicolas, as if wondering who this boy was, walking along with the strange dark man in white robes.
The Weight of a Crown (The Azhaion Saga Book 1) Page 21
