The King's Gold: (The King's Gold Saga Book 1)

by Jenner, M

  Eventually, Kern stretched his arms above his head. “I suppose I’d better go speak with the innkeeper about the rooms, make sure that’s all sorted out.”

  Ty reached into his backpack and pulled out a bag; loosening the drawstrings, he emptied five bone dice onto the table. “Time to take your money, dwarf.”

  “You’ll be lucky I’m skint!” Galandrik said, leaning back into his chair.

  “That’s all right, you can owe me.” Ty answered with a wink.

  The innkeeper was a large bald man wearing the filthiest apron imaginable. He confirmed that the rooms were paid for, then quizzed Kern as to what his business was in the town. Typical innkeeper questioning: One man’s honest work is another man’s dishonest opportunity to hijack it, and gossip was gold in any inn. Kern knew that telling the innkeeper of their quest would only lead to his selling the information to some other group, who might find the gold first and collect the reward for themselves. Thinking quickly and remembering Ty’s remark, he replied, “Giants.”

  “Giants? There are no giants here in Raith, my good friend. Well, unless you count Tom the pig farmer’s son – Big Will – but he’s as soft as goose feathers.” Throwing his grimy cloth over his shoulder, the innkeeper rested both hands on the counter.

  “No, not in Raith – half a day’s ride to the south. We intend to slay the foul beast and be back by tomorrow night, to spend our reward here in your…” Kern glanced around the inn. “…Fine establishment,” he finished with a smile.

  The innkeeper forced a smile, knowing full well that Kern had just insulted him and his precious inn.

  “Any chance of getting drunk in this shithole?” a man shouted from the other end of the bar, trying to get the innkeeper’s attention.

  The innkeeper straightened. “I’ll be seeing you, then,” he said as he turned and walked to the waiting customer.

  “Indeed you will, sir,” Kern laughed to himself and returned to the table.

  Several pints later, Kern looked fondly across at Ty. “Do you know, Rat, this is the first time since I’ve known you that we’ve been in a bar for more than an hour and you haven’t gotten caught trying to steal from someone, or started a fight over a game of dice. You’re always making trouble in the Orc’s Armpit. I’m quite impressed.”

  “See, Kern,” Ty replied smugly, “I know when to steal and when not to!” With that, he made a crude announcement and headed off to the toilet.

  After a few minutes, Galandrik nudged Kern and pointed to the bar, where two humans were talking to four town guards. One man, wearing a pointy hat, was waving his arms and showing the guards two cut purse-strings hanging down from his overstrained leather belt; he seemed very angry indeed.

  Kern looked back at Galandrik. “Rat!” he said, through gritted teeth. “I bet you a gold piece he had something to do with this, I just know it,” Kern raged.

  “Don’t be too hasty, Kern. There are plenty of thieves about, and you’re overlooking something else,” Galandrik answered.

  “Like what?” Kern asked, puzzled.

  “Whoever stole that man’s pouch… didn’t get caught.”

  “Good point, my friend.” Kern sighed. “I guess we’ll find out soon enough, whenever Rat comes back from the toilet.”

  “Can you imagine Conn’s face if we ended up back in the cells tonight for stealing – again – and missed the dawn meeting?” Galandrik laughed.

  “I don’t think we’d ever leave the cell if we did,” Kern replied.

  Bok and Joli sat at the bar, looking at the busty barmaid. “So how are we going to pay for the room?” Joli said to Bok.

  “I don’t know. You lost the card game, you figure it out,” Bok replied.

  Joli was the smaller of the two men. Long greasy hair covered his weasel-like features; a pointed nose, bad teeth, and a crooked right eye didn’t make him pretty viewing. By comparison, Bok was the opposite – a heavyset man with a huge jaw line, scars cut across the left side of his face from a knife fight many moons before, with long grey hair twisted into a ponytail hanging down his back. He was not a handsome man by any means – except when he stood next to Joli.

  Suddenly Bok grabbed Joli by the arm. Joli let out a painful cry and pulled his arm free, rubbing it exaggeratedly. “Ouch! What was that for?”

  “I think our troubles are over,” Bok said in a low voice, now grinning from ear to ear. “Look over there and tell me who you think you see.”

  Joli looked around the bar. “Just a load of rabble dancing, some dwarves and elves chatting, and a couple of fat humans at the bar. Why?”

  “Next to the two fat humans, you idiot,” Bok said, slapping Joli across the back of the head. Joli stared at the small figure next to the humans, squinting through the haze of pipe smoke that hung like morning mist over the bar.

  “Well, well! If it isn’t that little shit, Ty ‘The Rat.’ How much is he worth now?” Joli asked, having forgotten his arm and now rubbing his head.

  “Not a great deal, but if you’ll remember, we aren’t exactly welcome back to Phebon ourselves, are we? We can’t collect the reward if we can’t show our faces. Stupid.” Bok raised his hand, threatening to slap Joli again.

  “What are we going to do, then?” Joli kept a keen eye on Bok’s raised hand, ready to duck at the slightest sign of movement.

  “Well, he doesn’t know we aren’t welcome back at Phebon. So we’ll just corner him and threaten him: If he doesn’t pay up we’ll turn him over at Phebon – simple.”

  “But you said we can’t turn him over,” Joli whined. “You said they’d arrest us too!”

  “No, stupid; we threaten to do it, not actually do it!” Bok was on the verge of losing his temper. “Now, don’t let him out of your sight, and try not to let him spot you.”

  “He’s taking three pints back to that table. Damn!” Joli exclaimed, observing the table. “He has friends, a dwarf and a human, and they look armed as well.”

  “It’s only been a few years since he was forced to run from Phebon. I can’t see him being any different from the fool he was then. And I say the only people who would hang out with a fool, are fools. They’ll be no trouble, trust me,” Bok said reassuringly.

  The pair of thieves sat at the bar and watched the three men at the table across the room, drinking and chatting. After what seemed like an age, the human got up from the table and headed towards the bar. He chatted with the innkeeper, while Bok stared at the dwarf. “Go on, get up and leave the little maggot to us,” he muttered to himself, but the dwarf didn’t budge; it looked like they had started a game of dice.

  “Any chance of getting drunk in this shithole?” shouted a man standing at the bar next to Bok. The innkeeper turned toward his customer, and the human returned to Ty’s table.

  “Blast the gods above,” Bok said, slamming his fist on the bar in frustration and glaring at the man next to him. Bok and Joli watched, waiting impatiently for their next opportunity, until eventually Ty stood up and moved towards the toilet.

  “Right; now’s our chance. Let me do the talking, and be careful of his wrist daggers; as I recall, he was right fond of them,” Bok warned Joli.

  “Okay, let’s do it,” Joli answered, picking up his cloak from the chair and wrapping it around his shoulders.

  As Bok and Joli neared the main entrance, they spotted four guards entering the inn; one of the humans at the bar was beckoning them over.

  Bok turned to Joli. “Perfect.” He spat onto the floor. “Ty won’t want to cause a scene with those pigs in here.”

  The pair carried on towards the toilet. They walked past Ty’s two companions, then strolled by the four guards talking to the two humans and squeezed through the dancing locals before passing through a small doorway. The corridor branched immediately to the left, where they saw three doors and a dead end. One of the doors had the common sign for male toilets. The pair drew their swords in the corridor in readiness.

  Slowly Bok squeezed the door open and they
both entered on tiptoes, being as quiet as possible. They could hear someone whistling. Carefully they looked round the corner. They could see Ty, doing his duty against a wall. There was a crudely cut groove in the floor, angling the flow out into the street through a rat-sized hole.

  Bok and Joli quietly pointed their swords at their victim. Ty finished his business and turned round, still whistling – only to find himself face-to-face with two rusty blade tips. Immediately his hands went up. “Whoa, easy there! What is it you want?” he stuttered.

  “Well, that’s no way to greet old friends, now is it, Ty ‘The Rat’ Quickpick?” Bok said, smiling.

  Ty stared for a moment at his two ‘old friends.’ “Well, blow me over – it’s Jok and Boli,” Ty answered, a newfound air of confidence in his voice.

  “It’s Bok and Joli, actually!” Joli said angrily.

  “He knows our names, Joli; he’s still just a fool – same as he was back then, same as he always will be. That is, until we get him back to Phebon where certain people will pay us handsomely for handing him over, then lock him up and throw away the key,” Bok said, watching Ty’s face change from confident to edgy. “And don’t try and cause a scene, either; there are four guards at the bar – some complaint by a couple of humans, looks like. Those guards would be just as interested in your story as we are.”

  Ty’s brow lifted slightly and his eyes widened. He was thinking frantically. Finally he said, “Listen, Bok and Joli, old friends,” making sure he said the names correctly this time. “Why don’t we cut a deal here? We are old friends, after all, and surely we can sort things out without going back to Phebon. That place was a shithole,” he said calmly, “and I like being free, like a bird in the sky.”

  “What do you call a deal, then?” Bok said, prodding Ty’s hands further up above his head.

  Ty kept his hands as high as he could. “Well, I have some coinage you can take, and you can go on your way and let me go free.”

  Bok couldn’t believe his luck – Ty had fallen right into his trap, before Bok had even mentioned the possibility of a payoff. “Where are these coins, exactly?” he asked suspiciously.

  “Inside my tunic on the right side, there is a pouch; it has over three gold in silver coins and copper coins – take it, then let me go in peace,” Ty said, hoping Galandrik would walk in any moment now.

  “Joli, reach in and get the pouch while I keep my blade on him,” Bok commanded. Joli did as he was told, lowering his weapon and retrieving the pouch from the folds of Ty’s tunic. He quickly opened it and started counting the coins.

  “He’s right, Bok – there’s the coins he talked about, and a nice little gold ring that might fetch some gold, too!” Joli said delightedly.

  Ty shut his eyes in disgust, kicking himself for not putting the ring into another pocket. Before he could open them again, Bok had stepped forward and whacked his forehead into the bridge of Ty’s nose, forcing him back against the wet wall.

  Sliding down, Ty sat against the wall, holding his nose and trying to stem the sudden flow of blood. His head pounded with pain, and his vision had all but gone. “Have a nice life, fool,” Bok said, looking down at Ty as he snatched the ring from Joli.

  Ty didn’t answer.

  Bok and Joli left the toilet and headed back out through the bar. They walked past the dancing townsfolk again, and headed cheerfully for the door. As they came level with the guards Joli threw the pouch into the air and caught it. “That wasn’t too bad for five minutes’ work, if I do say so myself,” Joli said, looking quite pleased with the results of the robbery.

  There was a sudden shout from behind them: “My pouch!” Bok and Joli spun around to face the two humans and the guards, their faces in shock. The fat farmer was staring at them and pointing. “And there’s my ring!” the farmer added, spotting it crammed onto Bok’s finger. The guards drew their weapons and pointed them at the thieves.

  “Give me the pouch and ring,” a guard said, pointing a repeating crossbow at the caught thieves. Bok turned to Joli with a face like thunder and raised a hand in a threatening motion. Shaking his head in disbelief as Joli cowered beside him, Bok lowered his arm without swiping his companion and said, “You fucking idiot,” through gritted teeth.

  Joli handed over the pouch and Bok dropped the ring into the guard’s hand. Quickly the farmer held the pouch next two the cut strings; the match was unmistakable. He then opened the pouch and emptied the contents into his hand. “The gold is missing,” the fat farmer wailed.

  “There must be some sort of mistake here; we just got given that pouch from Ty… Ty the Rat!” Bok protested.

  “Yeah, yeah – I know him; he’s the one with big ears and eats loads of cheese,” the guard said, pushing Bok towards the door. Another guard followed, still holding a sword to Bok’s back, closely followed by Joli being held by the last two guards; last came the two fat farmers plodding behind.

  “But it’s true, he’s in the toilet,” Joli argued.

  “Yeah, because – don’t tell me – that’s where he lives, this rat friend of yours,” the guard laughed. “Too much mead, this one,” he said, to the laughter of the other guards.

  Bok looked back at the toilet doors and saw Ty standing at the door pinching the bridge of his nose. Cheekily, Ty blew Bok a kiss.

  “I’ll hunt you down, Rat,” Bok shouted across the packed inn.

  Ty waved back.

  Eventually Ty made his way back to the table; he had cleaned all the blood from his face, but couldn’t hide the cut across the bridge of his swollen nose.

  “Where have you been and what in hell’s name happened to you?” Kern said, spotting the halfling’s cut nose.

  “Whatever happened, it looks like he lost,” Galandrik chuckled.

  “And why did that big fellow – the one the guards just led out of here – shout ‘rat?’ Nothing to do with you, I trust?” Kern asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “Let’s call it a case of mistaken identity. Anyway I’m tired and in pain, so no more questions. I’ll tell you both in the morning; I’m off upstairs,” Ty said, smiling and wincing at the same time. Without another word he got up from the table, gingerly walked round to the other side of the bar towards the stairs leading to the upstairs rooms, and disappeared through the door.

  “Don’t even ask.” Kern said, cutting Galandrik’s question off before it was fully formed. “See you at dawn.”

  “Aye lad, see you later, O ranger from the North,” Galandrik said as Kern made his way to the stairs. Kern waved, but didn’t turn around.

  “Bring me another pint of your finest ale!” Galandrik shouted to the barmaid, and settled into his seat with a comfortable sigh. It was going to be a long night, if he had anything to say about it.

  Chapter Four: The Early Start

  Kern stretched as he opened the wooden shutters to his window. His room overlooked a marketplace – a smaller one than where they had been arrested by Conn’s men, but no less busy. Kern looked idly at the stall owners setting out the day’s wares and building makeshift shelters against the weather. There was a knock at the door, and around a yawn, Kern called, “Who is it?”

  “Open up, ranger! It is I, King Moriak!”

  Kern recognised Galandrik’s rough dwarven tones and laughed as he unbolted the door. “Come in, my friend. You’re early,” he said, yawning again and making Galandrik yawn in return.

  “I couldn’t sleep. I think it’s the thought of smashing some orc skulls that woke me,” the dwarf said, hitting his great axe against his chest, a dwarven gesture frequently made before battle.

  “Well, I’m ready, Galandrik; shall we wake Ty? It’s nearly dawn.” The dwarf nodded, and Kern plucked his weapons and armour off the wall hooks, spaced out equally in a row behind the door. Lastly, he picked up his cloak from off the bed and settled it around his shoulders, checking that the fabric wouldn’t impede him if he needed to quickly nock an arrow to his bow. Once Kern was fully dressed and armed, they headed d
own the corridor to Ty’s room.

  Galandrik knocked, and as he did, the door creaked open slightly. Without saying a word, both men both drew their weapons. Kern glanced at Galandrik and, at a nod from the dwarf, slowly pushed the door open. When it was about half open, Galandrik peered into the room. He saw nothing out of place, and the narrow bed against the wall held a halfling-shaped lump.

  Lowering his weapon, Galandrik said, “The idiot forgot to lock his door. Wake up, fool,” as he walked over to the bed. When Ty didn’t stir, Galandrik grabbed a corner of the bed linen and pulled it down. “Wake up, we got orcs to kill!”

  The bed contained blankets and pillows, but no halfling. Before Galandrik could say another word, he felt the cold blade of a knife pressing against his throat.

  “You should be more careful who you try to wake up, Galandrik Sabrehargen,” Ty said after a tense moment, then withdrew the dagger from Galandrik’s throat.

  “Why would you do that?” Galandrik said, turning to sit on the bed with hands on knees.

  “Just keeping you on your toes, dwarf. You should know that no thief worth his salt ever sleeps in his bed, unless it’s with a nice dwarven girl,” Ty joked, looking over to Kern, who was watching and shaking his head.

  “Even so, you put the wind up me; I thought I’d had it! And if ever you even think about sleeping with a dwarf girl –” Galandrik stood up, taking deep breaths.

  Kern sheathed his sword. “Too early for these games,” he said sourly. “I’m going to get my gear from the stable,” he said turning and walking away.

  “Come on, dwarf, let’s go kill us some orcs!” Ty said, offering his hand to Galandrik. They followed Kern down the outside stairs and into the barn.

  When they got there, they saw four horses standing proud, all saddled and ready to mount. Two of the horses were Choctaw stallions, tall warhorses ridden mainly by humans or elves. The other two horses were a smaller breed called Bodishian Warmbloods; these were hard-working horses, ridden by dwarves, halflings and the other shorter races, as well as by women and children. Kern was standing next to the horses and talking to a tall young human wearing a black robe and hood, not too dissimilar to the outfit Conn favoured.