The Weight of a Crown (The Azhaion Saga Book 1)

by Kaeden, Tavish

  Jorj seemed to be enjoying the attention. He had let his hood fall to his shoulders so that everyone they passed could see the markings which covered his face and scalp. As they were walking through a row of very plain and slightly dilapidated homes, Jorj was stopped by a thin, middle-aged woman who dropped in an awkward curtsy before him.

  "Your pardons please, Sir," said the woman, who began to wring her hands as she rose from her curtsy. "You wear white. Are…are you a healer?" Without waiting for an answer she continued, "You see, my brother Maedin is in terrible need. His master's horse went lame in a storm almost a week ago, six miles out of the harbor. He managed to make it back, and brought the horse too, but he caught a chill—a fever that just will not break. Now he lies in the house shivering, though I've done my best to keep a fire going. He can't keep a morsel of food down, and he grows paler by the day. Please Sir, if you could help him I… Well, I don't have much money, Sir, and Maedin lost his post because he lamed his master's horse, but we keep several sheep…they…"

  Jorj gave a short laugh. "Sheep? Ha! What would I do with sheep?"

  The woman looked crestfallen, and muttered some incoherent apologies as she turned away.

  "Wait a moment," said Jorj.

  The woman stopped, but did not look back at Jorj.

  "I will see your brother, but you must do something in return."

  Nicolas looked on, interested. He faintly remembered Jorj telling him that he was not a healer, but could not remember exactly what the little man had said. In any case, Jorj had not yet told him how exactly he managed to make a living, or what Nicolas would be helping him do. Perhaps, Nicolas hoped, he would soon find out.

  The woman looked a little wary, but asked, "What would have of me?"

  Jorj shrugged. "Just this. I am newly arrived to this town, but I plan to stay a while, and provide my services to those who need them." He looked pointedly at the woman, "Provided they can pay, of course. If I see your brother, I want you to give me your word that you will do your utmost to tell as many people as you can, particularly wealthy people, of my great skills as a healer. Tell all who will listen that I can cure them of even the strangest maladies without leeches, knives, or bitter tonics. If you do this for me, I will see your brother, but only your brother, for no monetary compensation."

  Hope had been rekindled in the woman's eyes as she heard Jorj's proposition. She agreed to the arrangement in a heartbeat and was soon leading them down a small alleyway and into a windowless room in one of the tattered old buildings. Inside, a small fire was burning, and a large pile of old blankets lay atop the figure of a man. His eyes were open, but held no focus, and his brow glistened with sweat. As they drew near Nicolas could see that the man was still breathing, but he did indeed look very pale.

  Jorj took a long look at the man, and then turned to Maedin's sister. "Are family or friends about?"

  "Most are working, Sir," replied the sister. "But my cousin and her two boys are next door, washing and preparing for supper."

  "Get them," said Jorj, "and anyone else you can find. I want an audience for my work. They will help spread word of my arrival."

  Minutes later a small crowd of women, old men, and children had gathered in the small room, peering curiously at Jorj as he contemplated the man before the fire. Without any warning, Jorj shoved aside the blankets which covered Maedin, revealing his pale and shivering form. A hint of life crept into the man's eyes and he hugged his arms to his chest to keep warm. His sister gave a small shout of dismay, but Jorj gave her a warning look.

  "You have asked me to help your brother. Let me work."

  He then straddled the prone figure and, clasping the man's head in his hands, brought their eyes level. Nicolas felt something shift in the air around him, and he looked closely at Jorj. Sure enough, Jorj's hands seemed to quiver, and his head had begun to shake, albeit almost imperceptibly. Nicolas glanced quickly around the room to see how the others would react, but everyone else seemed to be staring transfixed at the scene in front of them.

  "You feel stronger," said Jorj to the man. "You will eat. You will drink. You will live."

  The sick man stirred, and moaned something so soft Nicolas could not hear it.

  "No!" shouted Jorj. "That is a cowardly act, and one which I will not permit. You feel stronger, you cannot deny it. You will eat. You will drink. You will live and work for the good of your family."

  Jorj motioned to the sister. "Quickly! Bring this man something to eat, some broth or warm milk should do."

  The sister left, reappearing quickly with a small bowl of liquid. Jorj propped the man up on the discarded blankets, cradled his head in one hand, and slowly fed the man the contents of the bowl. Some of the broth within dribbled down the man's chin and pooled on the dusty floor, but the majority slid down Maedin's gullet. Within minutes, the man gave a small sigh of relief, and closed his eyes in sleep.

  "He has not been able to sleep for days!" cried the sister. "Is he saved?"

  "He will need rest, attention, and food…but his body will restore itself with time," said Jorj. "Now, I must continue on, but do not forget your promise to me."

  The sister seemed close to tears as she stroked the head of her sleeping brother. "To anyone who will listen, I will tell of how you saved my Maedin, I swear by the holy light of Rekon."

  "Excellent," said Jorj. "Now, what is the finest inn in town?"

  "The Widow's Comfort," replied the woman, without hesitation.

  "Then, should anyone ask for my whereabouts, tell them I can be found at the Widow's Comfort."

  As Jorj and Nicolas exited the small hut, Jorj gave a soft chuckle.

  "That was very lucky," he said, "very lucky, indeed."

  "Lucky?" asked Nicolas, his head full of questions. "Why was it lucky? Did you actually heal that man? I thought, back in Brightshore, that you said that you weren't very good at…"

  "By the gods, Boy! You must learn not to ask so many things at once," said Jorj, waving his arm for Nicolas to be silent. "Did I heal the man? Not exactly. His fever is still there, and he is very weak. But that man's fever was not the real problem. He did not want to live. His mind, distraught by the loss of his post and other worries I know not of, was letting the life slowly fade from his body. I cannot make his body whole, but I can make his mind want his body to be whole. I can also help him forget the pains of his illness, and convince him that he is on the mend. While these changes will not always save a man from the clutches of death, in this case, I am fairly confident that the man will recover."

  "So you…you sort of tricked his body into getting better?" Nicolas thought aloud.

  "No," said Jorj. "I fooled his mind, not his body. You must always remember that the two are not the same."

  Nicolas nodded, and then offered. "I saw you tremble. But I looked around and no one seemed to notice, or at least, if they noticed they did not care."

  "That wretched man's mind was not my only target. If we are to make some money, we will need people to spread the word that I am here. Compelling the mind of a weak and delirious man is fairly easy. In truth, it was the rest of the people in that room which required most of my concentration. But, I am happy to say, they are all ready to go forth and whisper wild stories about me that are sure to attract the curious and the desperate. And where there is curiosity and desperation…" Jorj paused dramatically, then said with relish, "there is gold to be made!"

  Nicolas thought for a moment, and then asked, "But if you can just compel people to talk about you, why bother to put on a show for them at all?"

  "Because, boy," answered Jorj as if he were explaining the obvious, "the best stories are always grown from a seed of truth."

  "Very well," allowed Nicolas; an idea had just occurred to him. "But why do you need a story at all? Why not just compel them to give you money, and then you wouldn't need stories, shows, or anything really?"

  "Aah!" cried Jorj. "That is your last question for now, boy, I will answer no more."
He then offered, "There are certain things, many things, which I cannot do. One of those is making a man part with his money for no reason. It is as impossible as compelling a woman to fall in love for no reason. There are many suggestions the mind will simply reject without proper motivation. Oddly enough," continued Jorj, his eyes taking on a very distant look and his voice dropping to just above a whisper, "there are men in this world who can be compelled to kill without any reason at all."

  The Widow's Comfort was a large inn near the water, in a part of the city the locals referred to as the Harbor District. The common room was dark and the air filled with smoke from the pipes of many old sailors. Nicolas could smell the scent of roasted meat, and noticed a middle-aged man who sat in the corner plucking out the slow notes of an unfamiliar melody on a lute. It was reassuring to think that The Widow's Comfort was not so different from Corley's Inn in Brightshore, even if the patrons were all strangers.

  As they walked across the room to the man behind the bar on the opposite corner, Nicolas could see more than a few eyes follow them in a curious arc. Nobody said anything, however, and the bard's song did not falter. As they reached the bar, Nicolas felt a slight tingle ripple across the small hairs on the back of his neck.

  "Ah! Welcome," said the man behind the bar, who Nicolas took to be the innkeep. "You look like the traveling sort. Just arrived?"

  "Just so," confirmed Jorj. "We will be staying here for a while, if you have the space."

  "Aye, there's rooms," said the innkeep, eyeing Nicolas. "Will you be needing one, or two?"

  "One," replied Jorj, "and a place for my servant to sleep. He doesn't mind bedding down in the stables, or…"

  "There's a servants' quarter below, just to the left of the kitchens," put in the innkeep, "he can sleep there with the others."

  "Excellent," said Jorj. Nicolas was a bit shocked. The word "servant" sounded odd to his ears. True, he was indebted to Jorj, and had promised to accompany him and aid him in his travels—but "servant" sounded so different from "apprentice." Still, as long as the servants' quarters had a roof and a blanket or two, Nicolas would be happy, so he said nothing.

  "If anyone should come looking for me," said Jorj as he produced a few coins from his robes and slid them towards the innkeep, "tell them to find the boy and he will find me. I do not want anyone sent directly to my room unannounced, understand?"

  The innkeep nodded, quickly pocketing the money. Jorj then turned to Nicolas, saying, "I will go up to my room and rest. You are to stay here in the common room." He slipped a few more coppers into Nicolas' hands as he said, "Buy yourself some ale so you don't look suspicious while you wait. If someone comes for me, you will ask them who they are and what they want. But you will do more than just that. I want you to notice everything you can about our potential customers. Pay particular attention to any hints of wealth, jewelry, fine clothing, soft hands, overall cleanliness…that sort of thing. Also pay attention to their affect. Are they in a hurry? Skeptical? Desperate? All of what you perceive you must report back to me before I even see these people. Understood?"

  Nicolas thought he understood the basic principle, and was wary of asking Jorj too many questions again, so he nodded his head. Jorj soon disappeared up to the second floor of the inn and Nicolas was left standing in the middle of the dim common room. Back in Brightshore, he had grown up knowing Corley and had spent plenty of time in his inn, chatting with anyone who would pay attention to him. He loved to hear a traveler's story about the world outside of Brightshore, or even just a chat with some of the locals. Here, however, he knew nobody, and as he stood there looking around he began to feel very awkward. He bought a mug of ale from the bartender, though he did not intend to drink it, and moved to a section along the wall of the tavern without many people. Though a few of the patrons glanced at him from time to time, nobody came over to talk to him, so Nicolas spent a long while looking studiously at his mug, miming tiny sips of ale.

  From where he sat he was able to see the door, but nobody who entered the inn seemed to be looking for anything but a pint. After sitting awkwardly for hours trying his best to blend in, Nicolas saw a youngish man come in and talk to the innkeep who motioned in Nicolas' direction. As the young man made his way across the room, Nicolas' heart began to pound, though he tried to look calm as the figure approached. When the young man stood before him Nicolas could see that this fellow was quite a bit older than he, perhaps five and twenty, but though the hints of a man's beard shadowed his sharp jaw, he kept himself clean-shaven. He was dressed in plain, but well-fitting clothes, had shoulder length dark brown hair, wore a small gold chain around his neck, and most impressive to Nicolas, had a slim sword in a leather scabbard belted to his waist.

  "You are the servant of the strange healer, newly arrived to Widow's Harbor, are you not?" said the young man in a surprisingly rich and deep voice.

  "Yes, yes I am…" said Nicolas, and for a short while he could think of nothing else to say. The visitor broke the silence however, stating plainly that he was personal attendant to Ms. Eloma Beseux, the wife of a very wealthy local trader, and that Ms. Beseux wished to talk to Nicolas' master.

  Trying to remember exactly what Jorj had told him to do, Nicolas managed to ask, "Is there some service that your mistress seeks my master to perform?"

  "There may be," replied the young man, "but that is for your master's ears, not yours. Where might I find him?"

  Nicolas was a little taken aback at the young man's slightly disdainful tone, but he did not think more questions would do him any good, so he decided to make the best report he could to Jorj.

  "Please wait here," he said, and went to go find Jorj.

  Jorj was a while in answering Nicolas' knocks, and when he did answer, it was obvious that he had been sleeping.

  "What is it boy?" yawned Jorj, though his eyes seemed alert and attentive.

  "Someone has come asking for your services," began Nicolas, "or, at least, wants to see you." He explained his encounter with Ms. Beseux's personal attendant in as much detail as he could. When he tried to describe Ms. Beseux herself, Nicolas realized that he could tell Jorj nothing about her save that she was wealthy and the wife of a local merchant. He silently hoped that would be enough for the man.

  When he had finished Jorj asked, "And what would this woman have me do?"

  "Ah," replied Nicolas, uncertain. "Well, her attendant would not tell me that. He said it was for your ears, not mine."

  "Hmph. Well, I will not have it from the mouth of this servant of hers," scoffed Jorj as he knit his eyebrows in concerned thought. "Boy, in the future, never let any servant demand to speak with me. If the matter is so unimportant that a servant may know of it, then you may know of it. That I must now go and find out exactly what it is we are called to do from a mere attendant reflects poorly on my business. If we are to attract the wealthier clients in a city, I must appear so in demand that I can afford to ignore such inquiries. As it is now, I cannot. I will go this time, but next time you are to know of the matter for which I am solicited before coming to consult me. Have you got that?"

  "Yes," answered Nicolas.

  "Good," said Jorj and gave a slight sigh. "The lady is supposed to be wealthy?"

  Nicolas nodded emphatically, hoping to escape another lecture.

  "Then I will go see this…attendant," said Jorj, pronouncing the last word with distaste.

  After a whispered conversation which Nicolas could not hear, he soon found himself accompanying Jorj and the mysterious attendant through the crowded streets to a section of town that Nicolas had not seen when they had arrived at Widow's Harbor. The house which the attendant led them to was certainly larger than any Nicolas had ever beheld, and it was particularly distinguished by the presence of a large fountain which stood before the entrance. In the waning daylight, Nicolas watched as water streamed out of the mouths of several stone fish mounted on a pedestal and fell into a series of basins carved to resemble the shell of a clam. He had n
ever seen a fountain before, and he marveled at how the odd sculpture could continue to be supplied with water with no visible source nearby.

  Inside, the house was spacious and, to Nicolas' amazement, boasted a marble floor so polished that he could see the hazy reflection of his footsteps as he walked about the interior. A great branched chandelier hung in the center of the entrance hallway, its limbs draped in small cascades of glittering glass. A soft red carpet led into the house, at the end of which stood the figure of a woman in a dress of green silk, poised as if she had been waiting for their arrival all day.

  Upon seeing their entrance, the woman gave an excited cry and hurried towards them.

  "Is this him, Herico?" she asked the attendant. "Is this the strange healer of which Delanit has heard such stories?"

  As she came near, her eyes fixed on Jorj and she gave a little gasp.

  "Oh, this must be him, Herico. Look at his face! It is covered in strange… Oh! I am so sorry," said the woman, a bit flustered. "I didn't mean to talk about you as if you were…well, I haven't even properly introduced myself. I am Eloma Beseux. Please, feel welcome in my home."

  Nicolas did not know quite what to make of this woman. She was still fairly young, not more than thirty years of age, and she spoke in an unusual accent with an almost childish lilt. From afar, she seemed like a delicate ghost, paler than anybody he had ever seen; but when she came nearer, he could see that her face was covered in a thin layer of white powder, dusted with red around her cheeks. From her neck hung a series of overlapping gold chains, the last of which hung to about mid-waist, and made a soft clinking sound when she walked. Her breath came in short excited bursts, and she kept trying to calm herself as she spoke.