Legends of Ahn (King's Dark Tidings Book 3)

by Kel Kade

  Rezkin hung his head and shuffled his feet. He looked up with a squint and avoided eye contact. Mimicking the woman’s style of speech, he mumbled, “I need a place ta stay.”

  The woman huffed a husky chuckle. “We ain’t no boarding house.” She reached out and lifted his chin, turning his face from side to side. “Ya might clean up nice. Could give ya some work. Plenty of folks lookin’ for a pretty man.”

  “Don’t think I’m wantin’ that kinda work, thank ya nicely,” he replied. “Couldn’t help but smell yer stables though. Don’t think they been cared fer much. Only need a few days. Could take care of them stalls and sleep in ’em too.”

  The woman sniffed and grimaced. “Yeah, I guess we’re needin’ that too. Ya ain’t gonna cause no trouble, ’cause if ya is, Brendish’ll have yer hide.”

  “No ma’am. Don’t want no trouble. Don’t wanna meet Brendish. Jus’ wanna sleep under a roof.”

  “Don’t we all,” the madam muttered as she led him through the house toward the back.

  The front rooms were decorated in aged velvet and lace that had been mended with care. Pictures of lewd scenes decorated the walls, and faded, musty drapes covered the bubbled glass windows. A couple of cats lounged in the sunlight sprawled across plush chairs. Rezkin and the madam passed through the kitchen that had been added to the back of the abode. A heavily spiced meal boiled over a hearth set into a stone wall. Finally, they exited the back door and trudged through an overgrown courtyard toward the stables. It looked and smelled like they had not been cleaned for months.

  Rezkin dropped his pack and the stack of furs at the edge of the stables, taking care to ensure his swords remained hidden. Several cats scurried out of the structure, startled by the noise. Only one horse was tied to a rail, but Rezkin knew it would not be there for long. Most likely, the owner of the horse was expected to arrive home by dark, and he certainly would not wish to be in this parish so late.

  Just as he had the thought, a man strode out of the rear door, slamming it behind him. He was hastily buckling his belt as he snapped, “Your whores smell as bad as your stables.”

  The madam crossed her arms and said, “Didn’t seem ta bother ya much a few minutes ago.”

  Rezkin snickered as he thought a man might under the circumstances.

  The man scowled at him and said, “What are you laughing at?”

  He kicked Rezkin in the stomach, knocking him back so that his foot lodged in a pail. His other foot caught under a pitch fork, sweeping it into the air to whack the man in the back of the head. The man turned with an angry shout just as the pail sailed off Rezkin’s other foot and caught him in the mouth. The man fell to the ground clutching his face.

  Rezkin rushed forward and crouched over the injured patron. “I’m sorry, sir, so sorry. Please let me help ya sir.”

  The man shoved Rezkin away, and this time his foot came down on the man’s other hand with an audible crunch. The man wailed and jerked at his flattened hand, causing Rezkin to lose his balance once again. He fell with a whomp, all his weight landing on his elbow, which was luckily cushioned by the man’s crotch. The man’s continuous tirade was finally silenced as he curled into a ball, gasping for air. Rezkin untangled himself and got to his feet to the sound of unbridled laughter.

  “Oh, by the Maker, that was the funniest thing I ever seen, and don’t think the tellin’ll do it justice,” the woman said between gales of laughter. “Here, help me get ’im in the saddle. Don’t think he’ll be comin’ back here … or anywhere,” she said with a cackle.

  The man whimpered and groaned as they draped him over the saddle. The madam led the horse to the gate and set it free. Rezkin doubted the man would arrive at his destination with whatever was left in his purse.

  When the madam returned, Rezkin was staring at the ground, shuffling his feet.

  “What’s yer name?” she asked.

  “M-my name is Royance, but people jus’ call me Roy,” he said. “I’m surely sorry ’bout the master.”

  “A’right Roy. I’m Grebella, and don’t ya worry ’bout that lout. We don’t need his kind hangin’ ’round here causin’ trouble no how.”

  “Thank ya ma’am. I’ll be no trouble fer ya. I can start cleanin’ the stalls now, if’n ya like.”

  Grebella smiled, and through her sincerity, Rezkin could see the genuine person beneath the harsh but sensual veneer. “Sure, there’s a bit of fresh hay in the loft. I’ll send fer some more ta be delivered in the morn. Come ta the kitchen in an hour an’ we’ll get ya somethin’ ta eat.”

  “That’d be mighty kind of ya ma’am,” he said with a duck of his head.

  Grebella shook her head and returned to the house.

  Rezkin did as he said and got to work on the stables, mostly because he did not wish to sleep in manure that night. He did not plan to sleep much, though, and he had planning to do after a bit of reconnaissance. Unfortunately, most of his information related to Channería was several months old at this point. The more recent information had been gleaned from the strikers and the few Channerían refugees who were willing to share. None of his strikers had recently been assigned to Channería, though.

  After cleaning the stalls, an act protested by a number of cats that had taken up residence in the stables, he joined the women of the house in the kitchen for a meal. The stew left much to be desired, but after two days of dried fish and hard flat bread, it was a feast. The vegetables were limp and wilted, but they had been seasoned well enough to mostly cover the bitter taste. He was not sure if it contained any actual meat, but he thought he might have identified a few chunks. He did not wish to consider what else they might have been. It was served from a community pot, and he doubted anyone would desire to poison a stranger who spent his time mucking their stables. Regardless, he kept quiet and ate with the enthusiasm of a young man who had not had a hot meal in some time.

  “So are we gonna be gettin’ some fresh meat again?” a woman named Tiani asked.

  “Suras ain’t been slippin’ us nothin’ since Tak left,” Urmel added. She lifted her chin in Rezkin’s direction and asked, “He gonna take Tak’s place?”

  Rezkin forced a flush to his face. The outworlders often reddened in the face when they were embarrassed, and he had come to understand that anything of an intimate nature tended to have that effect on most of them. He buried his head in his bowl and shoveled another bite into his mouth.

  “Girls, leave ’im be. He ain’t lookin’ fer that kind of work,” Grebella said. She looked at him with fondness and added, “Don’t think he’s got the heart fer it no ways.”

  “Did any of us?” said Tiani.

  Grebella reached over and stroked Rezkin’s scruffy cheek with a finger. “Let's get ya cleaned up. Ain’t no need fer ya ta be walkin’ ’round like ya are. I see ya done mucked the stables, so ya won’t be gettin’ too dirty no more.”

  Rezkin shifted uncomfortably, and it was only partly feigned. The attention she was giving him seemed excessive, especially for someone who had no intention of paying for her services. He picked up his pack, which lay at his feet, and followed her to a small room behind the kitchen. It contained a wall-length hearth, an extension of the kitchen hearth, over which rested several cauldrons of scented water. Steam rose from a couple of the cauldrons, and she instructed him to pour those into an empty basin that sat in the middle of the room. Meanwhile, Grebella poured buckets of tepid water from a barrel into the tub. Rezkin refilled the cauldrons from the barrel and set them back over the fire.

  “I don’t s’pose you’ll be needin’ help?” she asked with a teasing smirk. Her smile grew when she saw the flush on Rezkin’s face. “Didn’t think so. Take yer time an’ empty the tub when yer done. We don’t share water here. D’spite what that lout said, we keep things clean.”

  “Yes ma’am. I’ll do jus’ that. Don’t worry. Won’t cause no trouble,” Rezkin said as he slouched in on himself.

  Grebella’s expression appeared sad, and her eyes
were distant as she murmured, “I’m not so sure of that.” The woman left the room, pulling a curtain closed behind her.

  Rezkin cleaned and shaved as quickly as possible. He had no desire to remain unarmed and unclothed for any length of time in this house. There was no telling what ideas might get into these women’s heads. It was their business, after all. He emptied the tub and slipped out unseen.

  Rezkin slept in the hay loft for a few hours and found that at least one of the stable cats had forgiven his intrusion. The scrawny thing with mottled black and brown fur had apparently decided he was more comfortable than the hay and had elected to sleep on Rezkin’s chest. He was not sure why he had allowed it, except that he had appreciated the animal’s warmth and the vibration of its soft purr on his chest. He was not worried that it would harm him. If anything, he was more concerned about inadvertently crushing the tiny creature. He scolded himself for the ridiculous thought. It was nothing more than a feral animal.

  Rezkin shooed the cat away and then donned his night stealth gear. The Sheyalins were strapped across his back, and his dark hood pulled over his head. The buildings in this part of the city were close together, but they were poorly constructed and unstable. Rooftop passage was ill advised in most places, so he padded through alleys and ducked behind empty stalls. The city guard was more active at night, and he saw far fewer deplorables going about than was typical for an area such as this. Besides the guards and a few unscrupulous characters who were doing a fine job of staying in the darkest shadows, only the priests of the Maker were free to walk the streets at night, and they were. The Temple preached that the Maker never rested, and so their members could be found in training, at worship, or serving the community at any time.

  Rezkin’s first order of business was to breach the Interkingdom Trading Authority office, which was located within the city walls on the port side, not far from where he was staying. The ITA was the only official entity that was contained within its own building in Serret. All other government and guild offices were maintained within the estates of the nobles to whom the responsibilities were assigned.

  In Ashai, most of the stations would be considered positions of civil service, beneath any high standing noble. Positions were granted to minor lords and even commoners, and those serving in the roles tended to change regularly with the political and social climate. In Channería, however, it was a matter of personal and family honor to be granted the authority over an office. Anyone failing in that duty would also lose his or her family estate, which would be granted to the party’s successor.

  The ITA, however, was an interkingdom organization, not subject to Channerían authority. To avoid bias, each office was governed by a board of multi-kingdom representatives who were elected and approved by the ITA Council. Such was the same in all kingdoms that had adopted the ITA. According to Serretian law, all legitimate trading was to occur only during daylight hours. Therefore, the ITA office was closed when Rezkin arrived. The doors were locked, the windows were latched, and the wards had been activated.

  Wesson had explained to Rezkin that Duke Ytrevius’s wards felt different from those of the surrounding community and military buildings because Ytrevius had been a Wardmaster, and his wards had been linked to his own aura in a very personal way. Although Rezkin had been concerned that Ytrevius would sense the breach if he had attempted to enter, Wesson had not been certain of that outcome given Rezkin’s ability to walk through other wards unhindered and undetected. Unlike those at Ytrevius’s estate, though, the wards on the ITA office were designed to be maintained by multiple individuals. This meant they were not linked to any one individual’s aura, so Rezkin had no trouble with them.

  The building’s façade was a combination of stone and plaster and was as stark as the rest of the city, save for the temples, but the interior was both functional and designed for comfort. It was obvious that many people spent a great deal of time here. The front half of the room was furnished with cushioned seating that stretched around tables separated from each other by opaque screens painted with scenes from nature. The area was separated from the back of the room by a long counter that stretched the width of the room. One end of the counter held an assortment of empty trays, pitchers and goblets, and the area behind it was filled with desks, shelves, and cabinets containing office materials.

  Rezkin vaulted over the counter, undeterred by the thin chain and lock that sealed the wooden gate at one end. He had just found the logbook in the administrator’s desk, when the front door rattled. He tested the strength of the shelving unit behind him to see if it would collapse under his weight. It was a bit wobbly, but he felt it a minor risk with careful weight distribution. He scurried to the top just as moonlight spilled through the cracked door. Although he was at an awkward angle and height, the battle energy coursing through his veins gave him the confidence to propel through the air to the rafter that was just barely within his reach. The door finally swung open as he lay along the rafter carefully keeping all his parts hidden.

  “I’m telling you, I felt something in the ward,” a guard said as he drew closer.

  “Which was it?” a second, more nasally guard asked.

  “The stacks,” said the first.

  Rezkin frowned. He had not gone into the back room that held the archives, or stacks, as the guard had called them. He could not have triggered the ward.

  The two guards moved to the counter with careful steps. He could no longer see them below, but their attempts at subtlety were foiled by the rattle of the chain and creak of the gate as they entered the enclave behind the counter. Just as they came back into Rezkin’s view, a dark figure sailed out of the back room. One guard was shoved into the counter, the impact knocking him unconscious. The intruder kicked backward into the second guard’s stomach. He doubled over gasping for breath, and the black clad woman slammed his face into her knee. Before the guard fell over, the woman spun around and kicked him in the temple. When she was certain the man was unconscious, she checked the other guard. Rezkin was too far away to tell for sure, but he thought they both lived.

  The woman cautiously padded around the room, checking under desks and counters. She even surveyed the rafters but did not appear to have seen him. Finally, she spoke in a conversational voice.

  “I know you’re in here. Show yourself.”

  Well, this is going to be interesting, Rezkin thought. The woman seemed to be here specifically for him, and she certainly did not work for the ITA. He could leave and come back later, but now he was curious. He unfurled his body as he clung to the rafter and then dropped to the ground. The soft muffle of his stealth boots alerted the woman to his presence. She spun around, simultaneously launching a throwing star and drawing the sword from her back. She came at him on swift feet. Rezkin wanted to avoid loud sounds that might attract more guards, so he did not draw his own weapons.

  She slashed at his head, and he ducked behind her. He caught her foot and swept her legs out from under her. She rolled as she struck the ground and immediately attacked as she regained her feet. He caught her arm, and she caught his other. They twisted around each other, until he spun her away, carefully steering her farther from a ward. She was fast and agile, but he was too, and he had the advantage of greater strength and reach. She ran at him and then swiped her blade at his legs as she came out of a forward roll. He dove over her, dropping into a roll of his own. As his shoulders struck the ground, he reached back and grabbed the woman’s shoulders. By the time his back hit the floor, the woman was sailing over him. He used her momentum to pull himself to his feet before he released her. She did not manage to get her legs under her properly, and she tumbled to the floor on the other side of the counter. The clattering of her sword was muffled by the thick carpet that cushioned her landing. Rezkin followed her over divider.

  The woman lurched to her feet looking slightly more ragged than when they began. The black cloth that covered her head had come loose, and a braided tail of long brown locks swung
like a pendulum behind her as she moved. He turned to the side, preparing himself for another projectile, but otherwise holding his ground. She crossed the carpet, sweeping her sword up as she came at him again. This time, he waited until she was close and then turned, ducking under her guard and reaching for her wrist. The assassin was prepared for the move, though, and she twisted around him, rolling over his back. He was nearly wrenched from his feet when her sheath caught on his own, but both of them managed to recover in time to meet their opponent’s next move.

  The woman slashed and jabbed at him several times before he finally grabbed her free hand, pulling her into him. He twisted to the side so that she slipped under his arm. He leveraged her against his body and grabbed at her hips with both hands. He then bent low and sprung upward, launching her backward over his shoulder. She flipped over in the air, and her chest struck the ground hard. Rezkin heard the crack of broken bones, most likely her ribs if his own experience with the move was anything to go by. The wind had been knocked out of her, and she struggled to fill her lungs while her cheek was pressed into the stone. No carpet was present to cushion the impact this time.

  Rezkin plucked the sword from the ground and leaned back against the counter waiting for her to recover. After several minutes, she managed to sit up while doing an admirable job of hiding her pain.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  The woman spat a bit of phlegm and croaked, “What do you think? I was following you.”

  Her words were strained but clear. She took a deep breath, and even in the dark, he could see the pain in her dark brown eyes. She pushed to her feet despite the discomfort and then shuffled to the counter, careful to maintain a few paces between them. Rezkin slid the sword across the wooden surface, returning it to its owner.

  “How?” he asked.

  She almost laughed but stopped herself with a grimace. “You walked in the front door. Kind of obvious, don’t you think?”