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

by Kaeden, Tavish

  "And, where is this girl?" asked Jorj. "Not on the island, I gather."

  "Across the sea," replied Mavonin. "A few miles off the southern coast of the Blood Marsh."

  "I doubt I would be welcome there. The Church may want to throw me off their island, but a Marshlander might be more likely to attack me on sight."

  "You will be well-guarded!" smiled Mavonin. "Trust me, either myself or one of my men will keep a close watch on you at all times."

  "That I do not doubt," sighed Jorj. "Very well. It seems we travel to the Blood Marsh."

  As Nicolas, Jorj, and their newly acquired escort made their way out of the inn, Nicolas saw a short figure in Church livery who had been waiting on the other side of the street running towards them.

  "We don't have time for this," muttered Mavonin, who promptly unsheathed his sword and advanced to meet the figure, blocking Nicolas' view of the street. Nicolas heard a yelp as the Church emissary found the point of Mavonin's blade aimed at his chest.

  "I made myself very clear to your friends just now," growled Mavonin. "Leave us be, and neither we nor the Curahshar with us, will stay long enough to cause any trouble. But if it's trouble you want, just try…"

  "Please!" said a scared voice Nicolas swore he recognized. "I just came to talk to…to Nicolas."

  "What?" demanded Mavonin. "Who in the thrice-damned sands is Nicolas?"

  Bewildered, Nicolas peered around Mavonin's back at the Church emissary. To his amazement, he found himself looking at a boy, almost as wide as he was tall, his ruddy cheeks quivering as he shied away from Mavonin's menacing blade.

  "Rujo?" breathed Nicolas. "Rujo! What are you doing here?"

  Mavonin craned his neck around to peer at Nicolas. "You know this little church mouse?"

  "He's my friend," said Nicolas, still trying to understand the situation. "My friend from home."

  "Yes," nodded Rujo vigorously, "I'm his friend."

  "Huh," said Mavonin, lowering his sword and shaking his head. "Well clear off, lad. We've no time for you two children to play."

  "But!" protested Rujo, "I thought Nicolas was…or he'd been…is he your prisoner, have you kidnapped him?" Suddenly Rujo's scared face was defiant. "Because if you have I'll call for the soldiers, they'll…"

  Mavonin's sword sprung up once again, and Rujo froze.

  "Did I mention we were in a hurry?" said Mavonin. "Clear off, or I'll put a good dent in that wide little skull of yours."

  "No!" cried Nicolas, surprised to hear the sound of his own voice. "Rujo, don't worry. We're not being kidnapped."

  "We're not?" Nicolas heard Jorj mutter, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

  "Then, what are you doing?" asked Rujo, turning to Nicolas. "Why did you just leave Brightshore without telling anyone? Who are all these men? Is that one the stranger who was at the village?" Rujo pointed to Jorj.

  "Enough!" interrupted Mavonin. "What he is doing now is none of your business. Now say farewell, for you won't be seeing him for a long time."

  "But I, I just found him!" protested Rujo.

  "Life is littered with all kinds of unfairness," said Mavonin, sheathing his sword. "Now, I've no more words for you. Step aside."

  With Nicolas and Jorj firmly in their grasps, Mavonin and his men marched forward and Rujo had to scramble out of their way or risk being bowled over. Not completely deterred, however, Rujo kept pace a short distance behind.

  "Tell Sister Stacy I'm alive and I am sorry for not saying goodbye. And Gleydon too, if he's worried," called out Nicolas.

  "I can't," yelled back Rujo. "I'm not going back there. I ran away!"

  "You what!? Why?" asked Nicolas.

  "It wasn't the life I wanted. I wasn't any good at my studies, or my duties, or anything. The only thing I could do was draw the ire of the monks. I wasn't made to copy books, or mutter prayers, Nico. I needed something more in my life. I needed some adventure, so I enrolled with the Church knights and I came to Widow's Harbor to…"

  Rujo stopped. So did Nicolas, for Mavonin swore loudly and said, "Damned tinsuits. They just can't keep their pious little noses out of our business!"

  For a moment Nicolas thought Mavonin was referring to Rujo, but Mavonin's gaze was directed towards the harbor where no less than a score of Church soldiers were gathered around a small ship. Half a dozen crew members were lined up on the shore, one of which was being questioned loudly by a soldier who wore a golden vestment draped over his armor.

  "That's an alpadri, you don't outrank him," one of Mavonin's men pointed out.

  "He better not have broken into my hold," growled Mavonin, his hand going to his swordbelt.

  "Sir," said another of Mavonin's men, a hint of nerves quavering in his voice. "There are far too many for us to fight. I mean, the crew, they've likely been disarmed, and there are only three of us."

  "You don't like our chances?" asked Mavonin. His man nodded.

  "And you are afraid I'm fool enough to go charging in to a score of fully-armored and fully-armed soldiers?"

  "I wouldn't say 'fool,' Sir," replied his man.

  "I think he means 'mad,' Sir," said the man holding Jorj's arm. There was a pause for a moment as Mavonin stared silently at his two companions, with an expression that made even Nicolas flinch.

  "Hah!" snorted Mavonin, flashing a grim smile. "Well you're both wrong. As it happens, I have a plan to take our ship back, which, if it goes well, will not spill a single drop of blood. And, thanks to our newest crew member, I think we have a decent chance of success."

  At this, his gaze fell on Rujo, who looked back at him sheepishly.

  "Why are you looking at me?" asked Rujo.

  "You said you wanted some adventure, lad," smiled Mavonin. "Well, here's your chance. Run down there and tell those soldiers that a group of Curahshar warships have been seen approaching the west end of the harbor, and have set fire to the Church fleet anchored there. Act excited, scared, panicked! Sell it to them good, because if you don't they'll lock you up for a liar, and that'll be the end of your dreams of becoming a soldier."

  "But they'll lock me up anyway once they find out I'm lying," said Rujo, his face a shade paler than its normal ruddy hue.

  "No they won't," said Mavonin, "because by the time they find out you'll be at sea, working very, very hard to earn your keep on my ship."

  "Oh," said Rujo after a moment's pause, and Nicolas actually thought he saw the hint of a smile on his friend's face.

  "Well get to it, lad," barked Mavonin, and Rujo bounded away, his Church livery flapping around him as he raced towards the soldiers. He played his part well, gesticulating wildly and jumping up and down as he gave his false report in a high pitched squeal of a voice. Though Nicolas was holding his breath, fearing what might befall his friend if he were caught in his lie, in the back of his mind he could not help thinking that perhaps if Rujo could not be a monk, he might make a half decent theatric player.

  One by one the Church soldiers stopped what they were doing as they listened to Rujo's cries. Then, one of the soldiers barked an order, and ran in the direction of the west harbor, motioning for the other soldiers to follow. Half a dozen pious warcries filled the air as every last soldier turned their backs on Mavonin's ship and crew, and sped off after their leader, as fast as their armor-laden legs could carry them.

  Mavonin and his men breathed a collective sigh of relief, and the one holding on to Jorj actually burst out laughing.

  "Curahshena warships!" he gasped, in between paroxysms of laughter. "Curahshena warships? By Rekon, man, of all the damnedest ideas!"

  "Why is he laughing?" asked Nicolas, confused.

  "Well," began Mavonin, "I suspect it's because he's never seen a Curahshar willingly set foot in anything bigger than a canoe, let alone a warship. The sandies are skittish enough when it comes to travel on the water, the thought of waging war on the open sea would probably paralyze them. Something to do with one of their gods, I think, the buxom one with a fish's backside."


  "Hesa," said Jorj, eyeing Mavonin's ship with obvious distaste. "The goddess' name is Hesa, and for us, she is Death."

  Chapter 28: Jeina

  Jeina awoke to the shake of a gentle hand, and opened her eyes to see the faint shape of Fezi kneeling over her in the darkness. A white line of a smile flickered across his face when he said, "I know it's early, but we had best be going. If we are pursued, we cannot afford to stay in any one place for too long."

  Nodding groggily, Jeina forced herself into a sitting position. When had she fallen asleep? She could remember lying on the hard ground—cold, but not chilled, wrapped in scratchy woolen blankets. For what seemed like hours she had closed her eyes and tried to make herself slip into sleep, but her ears remained alert, and she could not help but listen to the silence of the forest. Every time a sound broke that silence—the shuffle of a small animal across the forest loam, or a tree groaning as it was bent by the wind—her eyes would snap open, and her heart would start pounding in her chest. Fezi was keeping watch, she knew, but still sleep remained elusive. In the end, somehow, she had dozed off, though from the fuzziness that still clouded her thoughts she felt as if it must only have been for a very short while.

  She crawled to the edge of the shelter and began to stand, but almost fell back down in surprise as what seemed like every muscle in her lower body screamed in protest. Fezi saw her, and gave a soft chuckle.

  "Do not worry, your muscles will soon get used to riding. I am afraid, however, that today's journey may be exceedingly uncomfortable, and tomorrow's even worse. But I have good news! I spent some time studying the maps last night. If I am correct, there is a good size town southwest of here, about a days' ride. If we make good time, it will mean a warm meal and a proper bed for the both of us."

  At the mention of a warm meal, Jeina's stomach growled loudly, and Fezi gave another chuckle.

  "Here," he said, holding out a small block of something square to Jeina. "It might not be much to look at, but it will give you strength for the day."

  "What is it?" asked Jeina, eyeing the food suspiciously. It felt soft and slippery in her hands, yet it had the faint smell of meat to it.

  "Does it matter?" said Fezi, an amused smile on his face. The smile vanished however, as some darker thought crossed his mind. "Salted pork and pine nuts rolled in drippings," he said quickly. "Eat up. We cannot dally over food."

  By the time Jeina had finished swallowing the last mouthful of her breakfast, Fezi had packed up their entire camp, scrutinized and saddled the old horse, and was ready to begin the day's journey. They moved slowly as they left the cover of the woods for the main road, Fezi glancing around in all directions, searching the land for signs of recent activity. Jeina saw his brow furrow as he looked down at the mud of the road.

  "Riders," he said. "They must have ridden by during the night. From their tracks I would say there were just two of them. Could be anybody, really. The horses were newly shod, though. They have not come far."

  "What should we do?" asked Jeina.

  "We do not have much of a choice. We cannot change course every time we see hoof prints in the mud, and there is a good chance we will get lost if we don't keep to the road. I know very little about this part of the Silver Mountains."

  Soon their old steed was trotting down the road, his hoofs making faint squishing sounds in the mud. After an hour or so of silent curses and wishing she were elsewhere, Jeina resigned herself to the discomfort of riding and, holding on tightly to Fezi, shut her eyes and tried to think of what lay ahead. Fezi was right, what did she exactly expect Eathor to do? And more importantly, how would she ever get the chance to speak with him? He was a prisoner. What did that mean for a Prince? Was he thrown in a cell like a common criminal, or was he held in a tower somewhere, like the captured princess in so many of the old tales? Maybe, she hoped vaguely, he would be allowed to receive visitors. Her hand slid under her shirt, to the pocket sewn into her small-clothes, and she felt the cool metal touch of the button Eathor had thrown to her so many years ago. It bore the royal crest of the Stonelords. She envisioned herself kneeling in front of her prince, and holding up the button as if it were some meaningful talisman as she begged him to listen to her, to protect her from his brother and the evil he was bringing into Esmoria. The more she thought of it, the more ludicrous the idea seemed, and grave doubts began to take root in her mind.

  Suddenly, Fezi slowed the horse down to a walk, and he raised himself in the saddle to look far into the distance. Turning to Jeina he said, "There is someone in the road up ahead. Mounted, but too far away to tell much else."

  Fezi turned the horse off the road, and into the cover of the trees a short distance.

  "Wait here in silence," he said. "I will run ahead and try to see what manner of man rides there."

  Jeina watched him slip out of sight, keeping hidden amongst the trees as he ran parallel to the road. It was not until she could no longer see or hear him and a panic began to well up in her breast at being alone that she realized how completely she had come to rely upon her newfound companion. Though she had been hesitant when he had first offered to accompany her, now she could not imagine having to continue on without him. Indeed, the disconcerted feeling of being left alone did not completely leave her until once again she saw the figure of Fezi, weaving his way back through the forest towards her.

  "I do not think we have to worry," he said. "It is just a small old man and his donkey."

  He swung himself back onto the horse and nudged the beast back in the direction of the road. Jeina peered out from behind Fezi, squinting into the distance at the figure ahead. At first she could make out very little, but as they drew closer Jeina could see that Fezi had been right. A small, balding man with frizzy tufts of white hair sat easily atop an old donkey, who was plodding slowly along one side of the road. Two large leather sacks hung from the saddle on either side of the donkey, and they seemed to be unevenly weighted, for the donkey tipped slightly to the left every other step. This odd locomotion, combined with the old man's lax posture, caused the stranger to sway in his seat, and made Jeina think of a stalk of wheat buffeted by the wind.

  He must have heard them approaching, for he stopped the donkey and turned around to wait patiently. Though alone, and with no visible means of protecting himself, he did not seem worried, nor anxious in any way. He merely waited, lounging idly in his saddle, until both parties were within earshot of one another.

  "Hello there, strangers," the man called out in a high, reedy voice.

  "My greetings to you, good Sir," said Fezi, his tone friendly, but reserved.

  The old man eyed them curiously in silence for a few moments, but then seemed to remember himself and exclaimed, "O! I forgot my courtesy, I did. My name is Unerr. Unerr Redseed. And it sure is my pleasure to be meeting the two of you."

  As the old man spoke, his gaze turned upward, as if he was carefully watching himself speak. He smiled at his words, and Jeina had the impression he was immensely pleased with his own perceived eloquence.

  "The pleasure is ours," replied Fezi. "I am Fezi, and this is Jeina. We are travelers in this region and were hoping you could tell us a little about what lies around us."

  "Aye, that I can!" squeaked Unerr, nodding in excitement, seemingly glad for the chance to be helpful. "I am a courier in these parts, and there is none who knows the roads half so good as Unerr Redseed."

  "A courier?" asked Jeina curiously, eyeing the bulging sacks that hung from Unerr's donkey. "Does that mean you deliver letters? Is that what is in your saddlebags?"

  Unerr put his head back and erupted into a great, giggling laugh.

  "I am sorry, miss," he managed to say after a while, wiping a tear from his eyes, "but 'tis not often that it is mail I am delivering. I was just now thinking of old farmer Jaff trying to scribble out a letter, for these are his goods I'm a couriering, you see. Bitter beans, Miss! That's what's in these sacks of mine. And damned heavy they are, too. By Rekon, I wish I
could make a living carrying naught but scraps of parchment, but the god's own truth is that there are few enough people out here who can scrawl their own names, let alone a whole letter."

  Jeina blushed slightly. It had been a silly thought. She herself had learned how to form the characters in her own name, and those of the evening prayer when she was younger, but she could not really read or write. Why should it be any different out here?

  Fezi asked Unerr about the town he had seen on his map, and Unerr was nodding his head again so vigorously Jeina wondered how he managed to keep a thought in it.

  "Aye, 'tis Haloet! A small town, but very friendly. There's even an inn for travelers like yourself, if you have the coin to pay for it." His eyes made another scan of the travelers, and for the first time in what seemed like an age, Jeina found herself worrying about her appearance. She had not washed at all since leaving Fezi's home, and had not had a proper bath since she had escaped from the mines. As for Fezi, well, he always had a tousled, wild, almost animal look to him. She wondered if they did have any coin to pay for an inn. Fezi had found a horse and provisions after all, but had he paid for them? Where had he found the money? Once again, Jeina was reminded just how little she knew about her traveling companion.

  Unerr must have caught her expression, for he seemed to think he had offended her and after considering Fezi for a brief moment, offered, "If you've little coin to spare on an inn, my home is not so far away from Haloet. Just north a few miles, in fact. I've no extra beds as you'll find at an inn, but there's a fire in the hearth at night, and I'll gladly share my roof with travelers in exchange for a good tale or two. Or a song!" he mused, and seemed quite taken with the idea.

  Fezi pondered the offer for a second, and Jeina saw him glance back the way they had come before shaking his head.

  "That is kind of you, Sir. But we have coin enough for a night at the inn, and I'm afraid a visit with you will take us too far afield of our goals."