by Kel Kade
Tieran lifted his chin, seemingly pleased with himself, and then strutted away.
Tam turned on Kai and blurted, “Why do you hate me?”
Rezkin watched Stargazer from atop a dockside warehouse. The ship flew three standards in addition to the traditional merchant vessel flag. The first was silver to indicate that the ship’s passengers and crew were under the care of certified healers. The second was green, indicating that, while the ailment affecting the passengers and crew was communicable, it was not fatal. The third was yellow, which informed authorities that the ship was under voluntary quarantine. Rezkin appreciated the efficiency with which so many concepts could be communicated by a few pieces of fabric.
The ship’s deck was cleared of people except for the few crew members who had to carry out their duties. The captain stood at the end of the gangplank speaking with the dock master and his assistant, and a healer employed by the ITA, as indicated by the man’s white and red cap, was waiting to inspect any who disembarked. Rezkin could not hear the exchange from his vantage, but he could see Captain Estadd discussing the papers that he handed to the dock master. The dock master’s assistant flipped through the logbook into which Rezkin had added Stargazer’s arrival for the next week. Serret was a busy port that received up to a dozen ships throughout the day. Some of them remained for a day or two, while others departed shortly after unloading and resupplying. After a long discussion, the dock master and his assistant finally moved on to the next ship while the healer remained behind.
Estadd returned to the ship, and a few minutes later Dark Tidings and Striker Roark came tromping down the gangplank. The healer took a step back when he saw the now infamous warrior. After a quick exchange, the healer hesitantly performed several motions over the two men, and then he handed Roark a paper onto which he had scrawled what was presumably permission to disembark. The healer quickly made his way back along the pier and disappeared into the ITA office. On the way, he nearly tripped over a few small-men who had been hired to scrub off the symbol of the Fishers that had been added to the façade at some point since Rezkin had last visited.
As Roark and Dark Tidings trod down the peer, travelers, dock workers, and sailors gawked, and the small-men who had been scrubbing at the ITA office ran over to get a better look. Rezkin crossed to the rear of the building and leapt from the roof, bounding off crates and equipment on the way down. He skulked to the end of the alley and waited. They had only a few minutes before the guards would arrive. Roark and Dark Tidings rounded the corner and then wove through the multitude of stacked crates, sacks, and barrels that lined the street behind the warehouses. Once they had lost the prying eyes of the crowd, Dark Tidings slipped into the alley.
Shezar began to undress while Striker Roark kept watch. The three said nothing as Rezkin and Shezar quickly exchanged clothes. Rezkin moved his Sheyalins to hang at his hips and strapped the black blade to his back where most of the scabbard was concealed by his cloak. He clipped the multitude of braids into his own braided hair and donned the mask just as he heard the tromp of boots speeding up the lane. Roark gave him the signal, and Rezkin stepped out of the alley to stand beside him in wait. When the guards arrived, he nodded courteously.
“It’s him!” one of the guards in the back said in a harsh whisper.
“Shut up! We don’t know that,” said a second.
“But who else would dress like that?” the first said.
“I said shut up!”
The commander shot the two a withering glare and then turned back to Dark Tidings. “Are you the one known as Dark Tidings?”
“I am,” came his discordant reply.
“I am Commander Cosp. We have orders to escort you to the castle,” the man said hesitantly.
Dark Tidings tilted his head and said, “We appreciate your service, Commander.”
The commander appeared surprised. He nodded once and then ordered his men to resume. This time Rezkin entered the castle through the front gate. The bailey was lined with rows of soldiers ready to react to his apparent threat. No doubt they were expecting a much larger entourage. They had not anticipated the ship arriving under quarantine. The plan was efficient, however, and Rezkin preferred it this way. Kai could stay behind and maintain security of the ship, Shezar was positioned to provide backup from afar, and Roark kept watch at his back. Rezkin did not know Shezar and Roark well, and he was ever cognizant of the possibility that they would betray him, regardless of their oaths. They could be members of Caydean’s select, and those strikers seemed to have shed their honor. It was doubtful, however, that either would chose this moment to enact the deed.
They were led into the grand entry room of the keep and then beyond to the great hall. Rezkin’s footsteps thundered about the chamber as he intentionally announced his presence. The courtiers and councilors had not yet separated themselves into their respective coteries, which told him they had likely assembled in haste upon hearing of his arrival. Ionius was dressed in splendor, draped in a crimson cape of crushed velvet lined with the fur of the Channerían woodland fox. Encircling his head was a crown mottled with jewels, and he sat upon a throne of intricately carved white driftwood that was as smooth as silk and inlaid with mother-of-pearl. His hair and beard were streaked with more grey than brown, but he was fit of form, and his gaze was sharp. Dark Tidings performed a shallow bow toward the king, the kind executed between men of equal station.
Ionius scowled and said in accented Ashaiian, “You are the so-called Dark Tidings, the King’s Tournament Champion?”
The voice that answered was not Rezkin’s own but the unnerving projection of Wesson’s spell, designed not just to disguise it but to prevent anyone from committing it to memory. “I am. You seem to have been expecting me,” he replied in perfect Channerían.
After an initial involuntary shudder, Ionius grinned smugly and continued in Channerían. “I was forewarned of your coming.”
“Oh? I should like to know your informant so that I may thank him for clearing the way.”
The king’s scowl returned, and he barked, “Tell me, what is your name?”
Dark Tidings rumbled, “The people of Ashai are in peril, the same peril that I foresee will soon be testing your own borders. In the chaos that has ensued, and that which is to come, my name is of little significance. Dark Tidings will suffice, for that is all I have brought.”
The gaggle of courtiers and councilors filled the room with their mutterings and whispers. He was being overly dramatic, but their reactions revealed that he had struck a chord. The murmurs in the streets and choruses in the taverns had all alluded to a rising fear among the people.
King Ionius rapped his jeweled scepter on the arm of his throne. “Your mask has outworn its purpose. You are no longer performing in an arena to the entertainment of gawking fools. You now make claim to a kingdom with a history as rich as mine own. Reveal yourself and show me this proof of your claim.”
“I will not!” Dark Tidings bellowed. “The proof of my right is for my people alone. Never will a king of Ashai depend on a foreign monarch to legitimize his rule, nor will he allow one to denigrate him.”
“But you are not a king,” Ionius snapped. “Caydean, Bordran’s eldest son and heir sits upon the throne.”
“You, of all people, should know that a throne is more than a gaudy chair. It is an ideal, one constructed by the people. They carry the king’s weight upon their shoulders because they have faith that he will shelter them from the rain and guide its torrent to grow prosperity beneath their feet. Caydean feels only a chair beneath his rear while raining madness down on his own people, a madness that you can be sure will not stop at the borders.”
Ionius sat back in his throne with a look of calculation.
Dark Tidings continued. “When his people grow too weak to carry him, he will look for new slaves to bear his throne.” He looked around to see a number of heads bobbing in agreement and noted Councilor Onelle’s, in particular. After a dramatic pau
se, he added, “I do not need or desire your approval, Ionius, for your opinion in the matter is inconsequential.”
Ionius lurched forward with his scepter raised, ready to expel an angry tirade. It seemed that kings did not care for being told they were inconsequential.
Before the man could unleash his furry, Dark Tidings said, “You should, however, consider the difference between Caydean and I.” He gazed about the room theatrically. “Which would you prefer as your neighbor?”
Ionius’s gaze flashed over the faces of his babbling audience. He leaned back again and said, “What is it that you want? Why have you come to my shores?”
“As you know, on the night of Caydean’s attack on the tournament, all foreigners in Skutton were taken into custody to be sold into slavery or ransomed to anyone willing to pay. Any Ashaiians deemed important enough were also detained. Those unwilling to accept the king’s tyranny have been sentenced to death, and some of these executions have already been carried out. Any who resisted or attempted to escape were killed. I led a group of escapees from the island, and we are now in search of sanctuary. On behalf of my people, I request asylum.”
“How many of refugees do you have?” the king asked noncommittally.
“Many of the people on my vessel are foreigners who desire to return to their homes. The majority, however, are Ashaiians who no longer have homes to which they may return or are foreigners who choose to stay in my company. Some of them wish to fight for my cause.”
“What cause is that?” Ionius asked. “It does not seem that you have the numbers or resources to engage in any cause.”
“My army is greater than you think, and it grows with each day of Caydean’s tyranny. I do not intend to stay abroad indefinitely. I will return to Ashai and take what was rightfully entrusted to me. Before that can happen, though, more refugees will to continue to flee, crossing the border into your kingdom and others. I am seeking refuge for all of my people whom Caydean has failed.”
In truth, Rezkin had no idea how many refugees were attempting to flee Ashai, nor did he know how many were successful. His intent was to shock the king and council to prevent them from accepting his proposal of asylum. He did not want them to approve the absorption and integration of his people into their own kingdom. He needed Ionius to propose an alternative. He needed Cael. Rezkin had to take the katerghen at his word that the sanctuary he sought would be available on the island, despite all reports to the contrary. If the katerghen failed to deliver on his promise, then Rezkin would still need to find refuge for his people. His hard work would not be wasted if he failed, since by the rules of engagement with the fae that had been documented for centuries, he would gain mastery over a powerful fae woodland nymph. He would benefit either way.
Ionius scoffed. “I will not permit thousands of destitute Ashaiians to invade my cities, filling the trenches that are already bursting with deplorables.”
“A new place, then, separate from your people. Ashaiians are strong. We are survivors. We will make our own way,” Dark Tidings said.
“And I suppose you want land, rich and fertile. Do you desire timber and ore, as well? You ask that I give to the Ashaiians resources that belong to my people—at no cost?” Ionius paused in his own dramatic gesture. He sat back and his heated voice cooled as he said, “I am not an ungracious man, and Ashai has been an ally for many generations. My people know that I am both merciful and honorable. The Maker smiles upon me.” Ionius nodded toward the high priest at his side. “The Council will convene. You shall have your answer on the morrow. I expect you to return to your ship until you are summoned.”
It was a slight for which Rezkin was appreciative. One could only expect such from a man who believed that murdering his own daughter so that he could blackmail a neighboring kingdom was somehow honorable. With Dark Tidings relegated to the ship, however, it left the Raven open to conduct business without suspicion of a connection.
As Dark Tidings and Roark were led from the chamber, Rezkin studied the faces of the onlookers. They were dressed in their own extravagant displays of wealth and status, but to him they were merely playing a game. He had looked upon this very hall from the rafters above and seen just how small these people truly were, the same rafters from which two sets of eyes spied upon him. He wondered if the two assassins were aware of each other. It was not as if they could lose themselves in a crowd. He gave no indication that he had seen them as he left the hall.
The party had arrived on a market street under escort when a commotion erupted involving a crowd of angry people, several stalls—two of which were overturned—a flock of chickens, a donkey, and a cartload of cabbages. No other guards or patrols were present, and the commander looked back to Dark Tidings with an unspoken question. Dark Tidings nodded a silent promise to stay put, and then the commander ordered his men into the fray. Rezkin ducked into an alley where Shezar waited already half undressed. The man assisted him in removing the braids while Rezkin shucked his own wardrobe. Roark leaned against the plastered building as he kept watch.
“How did it go?” Shezar asked.
The strikers were formal with him on the ship but knew better than to use names and titles while on a mission.
“All is going to plan,” Rezkin said as he divested himself of his tunic.
Roark glanced back over his shoulder and said, “How so? For a man begging a boon of the king, you were disrespectful, antagonistic, and overbearing; your message was naught but terror; and your exaggerations all but guaranteed a rejection.”
Rezkin raised a brow at the man’s candid words, but Roark just shrugged. He thought the striker might have made a good trainer with his direct personality.
“Ionius may hate me, but he respects me. He would not have given a weaker man as much consideration. He needed to see a man with the strength to stand up to the challenges ahead. Furthermore, I needed both the king and council to reject my request and propose an alternative—one of my design.”
Roark glanced at him sideways. “You mean you planned to fail?”
Rezkin tugged on his trousers and said, “If an opponent unknowingly hands you victory, do you call it failure?”
Shezar grinned as he slipped the mask over his face. Roark signed that their time was up, and Dark Tidings stepped into the street beside him.
Commander Cosp returned with his patrol having settled the ruckus. “For a moment, I did not see you,” he said to Dark Tidings. With a chuckle he added, “I almost thought that you had slipped away.”
As Dark Tidings and Roark were being led to the ship, Rezkin ambled toward the lower district as the unremarkable traveler called Roy. He had been in Serret for only a few days, but it felt as though the energy of the city had shifted since his arrival. People appeared agitated, fights were breaking out, and like the ITA office, more of the buildings bore the mark of the Fishers. He could not tell if this was the norm in Serret, though. He did not have the time nor desire to investigate since he did not foresee it affecting his mission.
About half way back to the brothel, he elected to take a detour to visit a magitorium. He had an idea that would make circumstances much easier in the future, if he could get it to work. It would require several mage materials and the expertise of mages with a specific talent set. He did not think that any of the mages in his company possessed such skills, but he decided it would be best to have the materials on hand if he ever came into such a resource. He placed the items on order to be delivered to the ship. The mage who sold him the items was suspicious, but Rezkin assuaged his concerns by telling the man that he was a servant to a master mage whose name he made up on the spot. The mage accepted his story after voicing his expert conclusion that the untalented Roy could not have devised the list on his own, nor would he have a use for the items.
Rezkin finally made it back to the brothel late in the afternoon and realized that he had little to do. All his plans were set in motion, and it was now time to let others do work for him. When he entered the k
itchen, he found Grebella and Ilanet having a cup of tea. By Grebella’s cackle and Ilanet’s flushed face, he decided the older, more experienced woman was probably filling the princess in on some details that she was unlikely to hear anywhere else. He briefly wondered if he should sit in on the lesson but decided Ilanet would not appreciate his presence for that conversation. He slouched and squinted and ducked his head as he greeted them and then turned to leave.
Ilanet called, “Wait. I am glad you came back. I worried that you might not.”
Rezkin glanced up and then dropped his eyes to the floor. “Said I would.”
“People often say one thing and do another,” she said.
Grebella came over and pulled him into the kitchen. “Aw, Roy’s not like that, are ya?”
Rezkin glanced around and then shrugged. “I do what needs doin’. Keep what needs keepin’.”
The madam raised a brow and said, “How long we plannin’ on keepin’ her?”
“We’re leavin’ in two days,” he said with a glance toward Ilanet. Her eyes widened, and she bit her lip. “If she’s a problem, I can take her somewheres else.”
Grebella eyed Ilanet for a moment and then sighed heavily. “No, she ain’t no problem long as Brendish don’t see her. She’s a pretty thing. If he sees her, he’ll be wantin’ his own kinda payment.”
He fidgeted and rubbed at his mouth, snatched the floppy hat from his head, and twisted it anxiously. Finally, he stuttered, “H-he touches her, and we gonna have problems. I told you don’t want no problems.”
Grebella came over and straightened his tunic as she said, “Now, Roy, don’t you be silly, and don’t you even be thinkin’ ’bout challengin’ Brendish. He won’t think twice ’bout turnin’ ya into cat food. You hear me? Besides, Brendish only ever comes at night. I’ll send her out to the stables if he stops by.” The woman rounded the counter and took the tea cup from Ilanet. She shooed the princess away with a waving hand and said, “Now you two go on. Sounds like ya got things to talk about.”
