The Silver Portal (Weapons of Power Book 1)

by David J Normoyle

  He walked over to the corpse hanging from the wall, shoved the sword deep into the man’s breast, then released the hilt. “I’ll leave this sheathed here until you are ready to take it.” He turned toward Twig once more. “Remember: Just as the sword is your weapon, from now on, you are my weapon.”

  Chapter 31

  Black gunk coated the bottom of the wooden bath—whoever had used it last must have smelled awful before bathing. However, despite reddened hands and aching arms, Suma applied the scrubbing brush with relish. Her mother would have fainted to see her daughter like that, but Suma enjoyed the work. Thoughts about her axe, her family, and her future went in circles. She found a definite satisfaction in having a task to do, working at it, and seeing it done.

  Six wooden tubs of various shapes and sizes were crammed into the bathing room. Buckets for bringing in the water were piled high by the door. The wood of the tubs breathed out heat and steam nestling against the rafters. Mildew hid in the corners, dripping moisture.

  Suma’s brush fit neatly in her hand, with wiry bristles that attacked the dirt. She rinsed it in the bucket of water beside her. Dirt swirled free from her brush, darkening the clear water.

  The door opened, and Suma looked up, startled. The day before, a middle-aged naked man had walked in, all fleshy and jiggling. She had fled, squealing, while he laughed. This time, to Suma’s relief, Gritta entered. The naked man had made her picture what Lord Washmir would have looked like on his wedding night. She shuddered and resumed scrubbing. The bottom of the tub was a prettier picture than that.

  “You’re still working?” Gritta grabbed another scrubbing brush from the shelf and kneeled down beside Suma.

  “You thought I’d have given up by now?”

  “I never thought you’d start.” Gritta was the sister of the cabin boy on the ship. She seemed much older than her true age, which was nineteen. She was stocky, with shoulder-length brown hair and a plain face.

  “Neither did I,” Suma said. “But I’m glad I did.” She couldn’t remember what exactly had possessed her to start helping; Suma had never done any work in the castle—servants took care of that type of thing. It possibly had simply been an excuse to stay talking with Gritta, the alternative being to stay in her room. The more Suma got to know Gritta, the more she admired her. Gritta was unlike any other woman Suma had known. Independent and strong, she had the qualities that Suma admired in the heroines of her books.

  “You can’t keep doing this,” Gritta said.

  Suma stopped scrubbing. “Am I doing a bad job?” She wondered whether she should have paid more attention to the work the servants had been doing when she lived in Delmoria Castle.

  Gritta snorted. “It’s just cleaning, girl. You do a fine job, better than most. We just can’t have guests scrubbing the floor and cleaning the tubs.”

  “Why not?”

  “You’re either a guest or a worker. You can’t be both.”

  “Well, maybe I want to be a worker.” Suma resumed scrubbing, harder.

  Gritta paused to watch her then shook her head. “Girl, you can have that tub glistening, and still you won’t have washed away the problem you are running from.”

  “I’m not running from anything.”

  “You can’t work here. In the evenings, us working girls serve the beer while doubling as the security.” Gritta reached into a pocket of her dress and pulled out a thick cudgel. “Other places, the patrons expect to get a good handful of soft flesh while being served—here, they know they’ll suffer broken fingers and get kicked out. You are too pretty and not tough enough to serve in Ma’s Kitchen.”

  “I’m plenty tough.” When did I start to worry less about being pretty and more about being tough? Suma wondered.

  Gritta shook her head. “No, girl, you aren’t. Not yet, at least. And I hope you never become tough because of the hardship that needs to come first.” Gritta plopped her scrubbing brush into the bucket of water. “Stop cleaning and listen to me.”

  Suma left her brush in the tub and stood up.

  “You don’t have the boobs for it, but you might find work serving in a different tavern,” Gritta said. “But I’d spare you that if I could. You don’t know how bad it can get. And after becoming a tavern wench, things usually go further downhill. I’ve seen it before. Noble girls who argued with their mother or refused to obey their father and ran away. Several years later, most of them are either dead or wish they were. Crush your pride and beg to be allowed to return. Cry into your lace handkerchief and realize that no matter how bad it becomes, it can always be worse.”

  Suma turned away and stared at the far wall. “It’s more complicated than that.”

  Gritta approached Suma from behind and touched her shoulder. “I didn’t mean to offend.”

  At the touch and the kindness in Gritta’s voice, something released within Suma. Tears sprang unbidden to her eyes. She turned. “You’re right. I’m not tough.”

  Gritta embraced her, and Suma buried her head into the woman’s shoulder. She didn’t know where the sobs were coming from, but they convulsed through her body.

  Gritta didn’t say anything but simply held Suma. Shards of memories flooded through Suma’s mind. She remembered being chased by her brothers, laughing with her mother, watching the Duke leave on a hunt, and practicing on her harp with the other noble girls. They were good remembrances, so she had no reason to cry, yet the tears continued to come.

  Gradually the sobs died away, and she separated from Gritta, wiping at her eyes and feeling embarrassed. “And I tried to tell you I was tough.”

  “Having a good cry doesn’t mean you aren’t tough, child. Sometimes the tears are all blocked up inside you, and they have to come out before you can do anything else. Now, no more cleaning, okay?”

  Suma nodded.

  “Because you need to figure out what you are going to do. If you can’t go back, then you need to choose a new path. No matter how much topaz you have, it’ll run out before you know it, and then you’ll be in much worse shape. Maybe we can find a seamstress to apprentice you.”

  Suma remembered doing embroidery with her mother, then another memory crowded that out. Coming from the Blackstone docks, someone had tried to steal her bags. Her axe was in her hand with a cloak folded over it, and she automatically yanked backward. The thief sailed through the air, landing in the dirt five paces away. The street was busy, but almost everyone stopped what they were doing to stare. The thief leaped to his feet and raced off, and Suma had hurried on, following the directions she’d been given to Ma’s Kitchen.

  “You think I need a plan?” Suma asked.

  “You do.” Gritta held the door open.

  “Thank you for your help.” The bathing room was in the attic. Suma took the stairs down to the second floor, unlocked the door to her room, and entered. She had a plan, though she was pretty sure Gritta wouldn’t approve.

  Suma’s room felt comfortable and familiar. Too comfortable and familiar, she realized. Her brother had secreted several sapphire kopecs in her luggage, but she hadn’t calculated how long her topaz would last.

  She bent down, pulled the folded blanket from under her bed, and placed it on the mattress. She curled back one corner of the blanket to reveal the axe and ran her fingers along the blade. She was bonded to it, and just as it meant she couldn’t return to Delmoria Castle, it meant she couldn’t become a seamstress or a cleaner or a tavern server either. She couldn’t fool herself otherwise, even if the reflection staring back up at her from the blade of the axe was more common girl than noble.

  She folded the blanket back over the axe and returned it under the bed. She then took her hand mirror from a small side table and wiped the tear streaks from her face. She tied up her hair, unable to even start making that presentable. The tops of her nails were rough and cracked and the skin of her hands still reddened from the scrubbing. She could not do much about that either.

  She chose one of her worst dresses, and even that
was too fancy for the common room of a tavern—the one she’d worn for scrubbing had been borrowed from Gritta. She rechecked the mirror and found the person looking back to no longer be a horror. It will have to do. She lay back in her bed and waited for night to fall.

  The Armentell. She figured that was who she needed to talk to. From talk among the other serving girls, she’d heard that he came to Ma’s Kitchen every night. Though from everything she knew of the Order, she didn’t think that Armentells would be drunkards. The Armentell Order had a network that ran the length and breadth of Mageles. They also worked with the Soylant Wizards. If anyone knew something about this axe of hers, they did. Whether they would help her was another matter.

  Through the small window, Suma could only see a small section of Blackstone, but each section was the same as any other. Never was a place better named—nothing but black stone whichever way one looked.

  Black stone walls and gray skies—is there a place in Mageles more depressing?

  Suma blinked her eyes open, and she realized she’d dozed off. Night had fallen. She stood up, smoothed out her dress, then opened the door and exited her room. She didn’t stop to reconsider, not allowing herself a chance to talk herself out of her plan. If it fails, I’ll try something else. If I fail to act, it means I’ve given up.

  She descended the stairs. One of the serving girls ran up the stairs past her. The noise coming from the common room reminded Suma of the Duke’s banquets. As she walked into the common room, the first person she became aware of was Gritta, serving drinks at a far table. Gritta saw Suma too and shook her head.

  Suma ignored her and scanned the room. Despite the crowd, she quickly spotted the Armentell. He’d been described as a bear of a man with a foamy beard. Suma hadn’t understand the foam part at the time, though she did upon seeing him. The Armentell was by himself in a corner. Several empty glasses crowded the table in front of him, and he held a half-full one in his hand. Foam from the ale clung to his unruly black beard.

  Gritta had served the ale and was crossing the room. Suma moved away, pushing between tables. A black-haired youth moved his chair back, giving her space to reach the Armentell’s table.

  “I need to talk to you,” she said. “Armentell business.”

  The Armentell scowled. “Who sent you?”

  “Nobody.” Suma tried to step back, but there was no room. He smelled like rotten meat.

  “I’m done with the lot of you.”

  Suma blinked. “No, you misunderstand. I’m not with the Order. I need your help.”

  The Armentell stood, knocking over his table, the glasses smashing against the ground. The tavern plunged into silence. Those nearby backed away, and Suma found the space to take a step backward. She wished she’d brought her axe.

  “Didn’t I tell you to leave me alone?” he shouted. “Haven’t you done enough to me?” He lifted his leg, and Suma’s stomach turned. His leg below the shin was squashed, and his foot was twisted away from the leg.

  The black-haired youth whom she had passed stepped between her and the Armentell. “Leave her alone,” he shouted.

  “Who the renka are you?” The Armentell shoved him in the chest and sent him crashing into a table. Ale sprayed everywhere as glasses went flying.

  The Armentell took a step forward. The edge of a table pushed against Suma’s back as she tried to retreat further. Then the eyes rolled back in the Armentell’s forehead, and he toppled over.

  Standing behind him was Gritta with her cudgel in her hand. “I told you not to come down here.”

  “You also told me I needed to come up with a plan,” Suma said. “What I came up with doesn’t involve seamstresses.”

  “I could have told you what would happen if you wanted to talk to Gredoble.” She looked down at him. “He’s doing his best to drink himself to death. It’s just taking him longer than he would like.”

  A gray-haired man lifted the black-haired youth to his feet. The youth shrugged off his help and came over to Suma.

  “Will you allow me to buy you a drink?” he asked Suma.

  “You came to my aid. You must allow me to treat you.” Something about her own words felt weird to Suma.

  Although Gritta gave both the youth and Suma a long look, she didn’t come up with an objection. Instead, she summoned another girl to help her drag the Armentell out.

  “Carew,” the youth said, holding out his hand.

  “Summer.” Suma shook his hand, using the name she had adopted for herself since leaving Delmoria.

  They sat opposite each other at a table. Suma looked around for someone to take a drink order, but all the girls were involved in cleaning up the mess. The noise of the tavern was gradually returning.

  A moment of awkwardness hung between Carew and Suma.

  Carew said, “I’ve been looking for you.”

  “How can you be looking for me? You don’t know who I am.”

  He grinned. “Yet I found you.”

  The exchange was both strange and familiar. Suma glanced across at the gray-haired man, who was watching them. She knew enough soldiers to recognize the straight-backed way they stood. There had been a familiarity in the way Carew brushed him off. He was clearly the young man’s protector, yet they didn’t sit together.

  Suddenly, it became clear why the strange situation seemed familiar. Suma smiled shyly at Carew. “Where are you from, Carew?”

  “I’m from the barony of Hokeland in the north-east of Uniteia.”

  Suma knew he wasn’t, not because he looked like he was lying but because she had figured out he had to be a prince in disguise. That was why everything seemed familiar. She had read about a similar meeting many times in different books. “And how do you know you found me?”

  Carew blinked, uncertain. His eyes were brown, his hair cut short. He wasn’t dazzlingly handsome, but his face lit up when he smiled. “Do you ever feel you are special and no one recognizes it?”

  “Absolutely not,” Suma said. “Anyone who doesn’t recognize it, I beat them over the head until they do.”

  “Like that bearded guy?” Carew grinned.

  “Someone else hit him over the head.”

  “You had business with him.”

  “I should never have approached him. It was all a big misunderstanding.”

  Gritta came over to their table and put a glass of red wine in front of Suma and a glass of ale in front of Carew. A frown crinkled the skin above her nose. She looked as though she wanted to say something but didn’t, instead heading off to serve another table.

  Suma took a sip of wine and then, seeing her red blotches and crusty nails, swiftly hid her hands under the table. She wished she’d thought to borrow makeup from one of the girls. If I’d only known.

  “I fear I got excited and started my story in the middle.” Carew took a drink of ale. “Let me explain myself. I’m a fourth son in Hokeland with no chance of inheriting a worthy position. I had to turn up at official family functions, but other than that, everyone forgets about me. I knew I could be something more if given the chance. So I left and traveled south, keeping my eyes and ears open. I was searching for something special. I was sure I would know what it was when I found it, and when I reached Blackstone, two stories caught my attention and wouldn’t let go.”

  “Two stories?” Suma had no doubt she had found her prince. But she couldn’t understand why she felt a thread of disappointment inside herself.

  “One was about a cloaked phantom who could move like the wind. The other was about a pretty blond girl who tossed a thief halfway down the street.”

  Suma smiled. “It wasn’t that far. How did you know I was here?”

  “So it is you.” Carew leaned forward. “I’ve spent evenings in several of the taverns around Ferrel Street, where it was said to have happened. As soon as you walked into the room, I knew it was you I was looking for. What’s your secret? Are you a strength-mage?”

  “You can’t go asking a girl for her secrets as
soon as you meet her.”

  “I guess not.”

  Suma reached out to touch his arm then remembered her red hands and swiftly returned them under the table. “You did save me.” Since he already knew half the truth, it wasn’t a big deal to share the rest. Plus, he was her prince come to rescue her. “I’m bonded to an axe that gives me strength.”

  “I knew it was more than you just being a strength-mage,” Carew said. “I’ve never heard of a weapon like that.”

  Suma wondered how long she would take. Falling in love with him hadn’t happened as fast as she would’ve expected, but she guessed every story was different. “Tell me about the other story of yours, the cloaked phantom.”

  Suma realized why she felt the hint of disappointment. When she’d given up on the idea of a prince finding her, she’d come to the conclusion that she had to save herself. As stupid as it was, she wished Carew hadn’t fallen into her lap quite so easily.

  “Stories about him started about twenty days ago,” Carew said. “He hunts criminals with a sword made of shadow.”

  A magic sword. A thrill of excitement ran through Suma. “I got my axe"—she calculated—"twenty-four days ago. It has to be connected.”

  “Unfortunately, the phantom was captured by a crime boss called Rawls.”

  “We have to rescue him,” Suma said, all disappointment gone. The prince wasn’t going to be rescuing her; rather, both of them would be rescuing this phantom who had a weapon like her axe.

  “I’m not sure that’s a great idea,” Carew said. “This crime boss isn’t someone to be crossed.”

  “We’ll start planning the escape tomorrow,” Suma told him. She raised her wine glass toward his, and they clinked glasses. She took one sip of the wine then a second. She hadn’t experienced much wine in her life. It tasted good.

  Chapter 32