The Smiling Stallion Inn

by Courtney Bowen

  “What about calling Basha a balnor within your daughter’s earshot?” Sir Nickleby shouted.

  “I didn’t call him a balnor; you’ve no proof I did! Jawen might have picked that word up elsewhere, from other little girls whose bad habits stem from bad manners, and for that I do apologize,” Lapo said, eying Sir Nickleby conspicuously, his words meant for Iibala, “She shouldn’t have been speaking in such a manner. I’ve taught her to be a proper young lady, nothing less,” Lapo said.

  “You, sir, are quite mistaken, quite mistaken indeed,” Sir Nickleby said, controlling his anger as he shook his head and told the innkeeper, “Let it go, Geda,” when the other man looked just about ready to pop his cork. The knight turned back to Lapo. “I advise you to go, sir,” he said. He didn’t want to cause a scene.

  “I came to help, sir, but I can see I’m not wanted. Come, dear,” Lapo said. He took his wife’s arm and they left with two of their young children before the crowd tore him apart. However, his words were soon forgotten and perhaps even forgiven by most of the general populace, especially when they depended on his business to live.

  After that, and after Basha had been found safe and sound with Sir Nickleby’s help, Geda and the knight became fast friends, talking whenever Sir Nickleby stopped by the inn to have a drink or whenever they crossed paths near the knight’s ranch. They talked about family, work, their pasts, and current doings. Geda and Sir Nickleby had found a common connection with concerns about their children, dealing with Lapo, and daily life in Coe Baba.

  As soon as Basha and Oaka turned twelve, Geda sent them straight to training classes with Sir Nickleby, as he trusted the knight to be firm but fair. He was a fine swordsman who taught his students courtesy and honor. By now, Sir Nickleby was familiar with both Basha and Oaka, as he’d been around them often when he visited the inn.

  When Basha showed improvement and started practicing on his own outside of class, Sir Nickleby immediately told Geda the boy had a chance of joining the militia, and Geda was thrilled. However, Sir Nickleby and Geda’s friendship became strained when Basha began dating Iibala. Even though the two fathers had hoped their children would get married someday, uniting their families, Iibala broke up with Basha after she cheated on him with another young man. In the end, Geda and Sir Nickleby remained friends, but it was the beginning of Sir Nickleby’s problems with his wayward daughter.

  * * * *

  Geda looked up as the bell rang over the front door of the inn. “Well, Sir Nickleby, what a pleasure it is to see you here today!” Geda said, turning and walking across the length of the bar as the knight crossed the room. “What can I get you, my friend?”

  “Have you got a moment to spare?” Sir Nickleby asked. It had been a week since he’d examined the records in the basement of the courthouse. He’d needed the time to prepare for confronting Geda. He’d decided not to ask them about Kala in regards to the murdered hunter in the woods.

  “A little time, I suppose. Not a lot of people feel hungry or thirsty this time of day,” Geda waved toward the mostly empty seats. “So what’s on your mind today?”

  “I’ve a private matter I want to discuss with you. Do you remember any talk about prophecies the night Basha was born about Wintha the Wanderer?”

  “You’ll have to talk to my wife,” Geda said. “She was with Kala most of the night, and I’ve no recollection of anything like that.” He looked around. “Try her shed out back. I think she’s out there tinkering with her clocks.”

  As Geda left him to serve a customer, Sir Nickleby went out the front door and down a side street toward the stable yard in the back and then crossed over to a shed where he knocked on the door. “Habala? It’s Sir Nickleby. May I speak with you?”

  When a smiling Habala opened the door, it was to the ticking of dozens of clocks. “Oh, hello, Sir Nickleby,” she said. “Come in, sit down. What can I do for you?” When he was settled, she asked, “Is it about Basha? Is he doing well in training?”

  “Yes, he’s doing well in training. In fact, I think he might make it as far as the Border Guards, if they’ll admit him, but…” Sir Nickleby looked around and paused. “You made all of these clocks?” he asked in puzzlement as the tick-tock, tick-tock made it hard to think.

  “Yes, I like to work with clocks when I’ve the time.” She laughed at her joke. “All of them,” she confirmed. “I made all of these clocks over the past two years. I must have sold a dozen or more clocks already, but these are still under construction in some form or another.”

  “Why clocks?” Sir Nickleby asked.

  “Why not?” Habala asked. “I love making clocks. I made them long before I met my husband. I come from a long line of craftsmen.”

  Sir Nickleby smiled as he looked the clocks over. “They’re very pretty.”

  “Why, thank you.” She beamed as if he’d just paid a compliment to her children. “I love to listen to the tick-tock as time passes. I can use my own two hands to wind the springs, adjust the cogs, and make sure the gears shift into position at the right place so that time goes by accordingly. I can see the hands shifting and hear the sound of ticking, minute by minute, hour by hour, until it all drifts away.” She turned to Sir Nickleby. “Is there a reason you’ve stopped by besides to admire my clocks?”

  “Yes, there is,” Sir Nickleby said, broken from his reverie. “I wanted to ask you about Kala, Basha’s birth mother, and whether she said anything to you about any prophecies, especially concerning Wintha the Wanderer.”

  “Let’s step outside,” Habala said. “It will be three o’clock soon, and they’ll start chirping, chiming, chattering, singing, and cuckooing. It’ll be easier to hear each other outside.”

  She stepped out first and breathed in the fresh air before turning to him. “So…what made you ask me about prophecies?”

  “I’ve reason to believe that something suspicious is going on in Coe Baba, and maybe elsewhere, and it started on the night of Basha’s birth.”

  “Suspicious?” Habala shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. There was no talk about prophecies,” she said, “but there was talk of an Oracle. Kala said she knew she’d die after giving birth to Basha.”

  “What?” Sir Nickleby asked.

  “I know, it sounds crazy, but she was so earnest. She was positive she was having a boy, but I don’t know how she knew.”

  “Was there anything else she said?” he asked.

  “Oh, she might have said some other things, but I don’t recall.” She sighed. “She said something about the pain. And Basha. She named him Basha. Basha means ‘gift’ in the Old Language.” She smiled sadly. “‘This one is for you, Basha’ or something like that. And fire and death.” Habala frowned. “People of fire and death—those were some other last words. ‘He’d be safer here with those of fire than with those of death,’ although I don’t know what that means.”

  “Habala, please, bear with me for just a little while longer. I’ve one more question. Have you ever taken Basha to see the Oracle of Mila, or have you ever asked the Oracle about Basha?”

  “Now, Sir Nickleby, I think you’ve gone too far.” She shook her head. “I’d never take…No one in Coe Baba ever would…” She shifted her eyes and sighed. “All right, I’ll tell you this, but you’ve got to swear to me you will never tell anyone else here in town of what you’ve heard from me. Not Lapo, or the baron, and especially not Basha.”

  “I swear to you, milady,” he said, bowing his head. “I swear to you on my honor, on the graves of the Knights of Arria, and on the glory of King Sonnagh, that I’ll not tell anyone, not those you name especially, anything about what I hear here today.” He meant it; given that the oath he’d just sworn was tantamount to swearing by one of the gods, a sacred thing for a knight of Arria.

  “One day, when the boys were young, two or three at the most, I went to see the Oracle of Mila. I went late at night, afraid anyone here in town would see me, because you know how we are about the or
acle. We tolerate her being here, but most don’t believe in her.”

  Sir Nickleby nodded. It was an odd relationship that the people of Coe Baba had with the Oracle of Mila, but he supposed it was their way of separating themselves from the oracle and her worshippers.

  “I hoped no one would recognize me when I went to their camp. Then I went down into the Cave of Wonders with one of the priests, and he or she, was hideous. I remember that,” Habala said. She was referring to the oracle, he assumed. “I asked her what the future would bring for Basha, because I was already worried, and she said, Hope he will bring to the people. Take care of him, for he’s a gift to this town, and to the country.”

  Sir Nickleby’s ears perked up at this.

  “‘But beware of grief and heartache, for he will grow up and go on, far away from here, and you may not see him again in this lifetime. Take care of him and guard him well for now. You will move into acceptance and mercy, as he does. Be aware of those around you, for those you ignore will be one you love dearest and one you should fear. They do understand what you’re suffering. Take heed, and remember that love will bring you great comfort in days ahead.’ That was all she said. It’s strange how I can remember it word for word.”

  “Thank you, Habala,” Sir Nickleby said, bowing his head before he left. It was much to think about, and he wondered if it was true as he went down the main street. He didn’t know what to believe yet. What the Oracle of Mila said to Habala might be applied to an ordinary child, but Kala’s last few words disturbed Sir Nickleby. He had to consider what she might have sacrificed if she believed she was going to die, and why.

  “Halt, Sir Nickleby!” he heard a hoarse voice cry, and he turned around to see Old Man staring across at him from the other side of the street.

  “Old Man, what can I do for you?” Sir Nickleby asked, slightly annoyed.

  “I’m the keeper of Coe Baba’s secrets,” Old Man said, coming across the road and pushing the knight into an alley. “You’re traipsing onto dangerous ground.”

  Old Man was stronger than he looked. “Are you threatening me?” the knight asked, finally able to jerk his arm out of Old Man’s grasp.

  “I’m the protector of Coe Baba, and all of its people, especially Basha, and you’re endangering all of our lives if you continue on with your questions.”

  “I’m trying to find out the truth about Basha,” Sir Nickleby said, unable to understand.

  “The truth will be revealed. You will have to be patient,” Old Man said.

  “What are you doing here? And how did you know I was asking questions?”

  “I find these things out. First you were talking with the constable, then digging into the records, and finally you came here, to the inn. After going into the woods that night, Sir Nickleby, what do you know? And what have you seen?” he whispered.

  Sir Nickleby stared at Old Man. “The Black Wolf. You trapped it.”

  “And I was going to kill it. But something went wrong, did it not?”

  “Berevus.” Sir Nickleby gasped. “He found the Black Wolf, and he was going to question it. He was a Follower,” Sir Nickleby said.

  “I know. I’ve had my eye on a handful of Followers, in and around Coe Baba. Most of them are incompetent and complacent, lax in their duties to their dark one. They do nothing more than swear allegiance to Doomba. I see to that, but sometimes things go wrong, and I try to stop them from doing too much damage.”

  Sir Nickleby stared at Old Man. “You’re insane.”

  “Sir Nickleby, look around you! Apart from a few minor incidences and some indiscriminate events, nothing untoward happens in Coe Baba. Coe Baba is one of the most peaceful places in all of Arria, in all of Salarria even. Do you think that’s just something that naturally occurs?”

  Sir Nickleby gaped, trying to come up with some words to explain this. “I do,” he said.

  “I work to make Coe Baba a safe, peaceful place to live, a haven,” Old Man insisted. “People came to Coe Baba many centuries ago to live, work, and play. Most of them are, or have been, good, nice people who’ve done nothing wrong their whole lives. They grow up listening to my stories and raised by parents who were taught the same way. And so it continues throughout the generations.” Old Man shrugged. “Sometimes people are corrupted; it happens. Not even magic can stop that.”

  “Magic?” Sir Nickleby asked, looking up at Old Man.

  “Magic protects towns and cities like Coe Baba across all of Arria and into the rest of Salarria. Protection spells shield the settlements, spells almost as old as time itself. But some of these spells are so worn out after years of use they have begun to fail. And the evil that exists outside of the borders of humanity starts to seep through.”

  “Old Man, you’ve told me much, but I don’t know.” Sir Nickleby shook his head. “What am I supposed to believe?” he asked.

  “Believe in the gods. And believe Arria will be protected. Go home. Stop searching for the truth. You will do Basha more harm than good if you don’t leave him alone and let him grow up in peace. Watch out for your own daughter.”

  Sir Nickleby frowned but slowly nodded, walking away from Old Man as he adjusted his clothes and tried to remain calm. He supposed it was for the best things remained undisturbed here. Perhaps he’d do his own observation of the boy from afar, like Old Man appeared to be doing. He didn’t know who Old Man was, but perhaps Old Man was on his side in the grand scheme of things.

  In regards to his daughter—what right did Old Man have to criticize him? She was a young woman, capable of making her own decisions, even if some of them were bad. Sir Nickleby had made his own bad choices in the past. He regretted them, but he’d learned to live with them. And so would Iibala.

  * * * *

  “Are you sure you should have approached Sir Nickleby like that?” I asked, eying Old Man as he returned to the hut.

  “Hello, Nisa,” Old Man said, eying me with censure for questioning him.

  “Well, at least he didn’t stab you.”

  “The meeting went well,” Old Man said, “and I see now Sir Nickleby is more involved in this than I ever thought possible. I believe he dealt with that Black Wolf and might have killed Berevus when he witnessed the man’s betrayal.”

  “We should have killed Berevus the moment we knew what he was.”

  “I know. I made a mistake there. I had hoped that Berevus would lead us to another hideout, and I thought he was pretty harmless. I was wrong,” Old Man said.

  “What are we going to do about Sir Nickleby?” I asked. “If he saw or did all of that, then shouldn’t we be concerned?”

  “I believe Sir Nickleby can be trusted. He’s a formidable fellow, a good fighter who survived all of that, and I believe he has some experience that even I don’t know about, which predates his coming here to Coe Baba, and it involves fighting Followers. He recognized Berevus for what he was and was hardly fazed by my interrogation of him. He seemed to be interested when I mentioned magic. He didn’t say what he was searching for, but he mentioned the truth to me and asked Habala about the Oracle of Mila and Kala. I suppose he has some inclination as to what Basha is, or might be. I told him to leave Basha alone and to stop searching for the truth. I believe he will follow up on my request.”

  “If he can be trusted, then should we let him know?” I asked.

  “Why?”

  “It might be easier if we had another helper on our mission,” I said, “in case I leave you.”

  “Oh,” Old Man said, looking up. “So are you seeking a new path then?”

  “No. I don’t know. It’s been a while since we talked about this, and I haven’t decided yet. Mother is getting on as well, and I should look out for her, too, when she needs me. There is a man. He seems nice, and we might date a little while before we get engaged.”

  “Congratulations,” Old Man said.

  “Old Man, it’s not like that at all. We wouldn’t go through the whole Courtship Ritual thing, because…”


  “What?” Old Man asked.

  “Never mind, I just thought…” I laughed. “Wouldn’t it be funny if Basha and Jawen were to…?” I hesitated. “Well, they’ll be old enough by then,” I said. “And it wouldn’t hurt the future, I suppose.”

  “Nisa, I believe you’ve a plan somewhere in that twisted little thought process of yours,” Old Man said, “even if you’ve not thought it all out quite yet.”

  “What do you mean by that?” I asked. And that was how the plan was hatched for Basha to face a desperate situation at the Courtship Ritual.

  Chapter 20

  A New Acquaintance

  “Hapless and lost is youth, whose fleeting hours

  Are passed in reckless abandonment. Night and day

  Are spent and gone before they are done, and we are

  Left with the tattered remnants of who we were then.”

  —Ode to Youth, Mirandor

  Two months later in Coe Ryn, miles away from Coe Baba, water lapped up against the side of a ship in its berth. The ship’s owner and captain stood together on the deck of the forecastle, watching as the crew loaded cargo on board. “Is that the last of it?” the owner asked, pointing at the crates and barrels still waiting on the dock.

  The ship’s captain nodded. “That’s it, Renrawr. We’ll have it all on board in a moment, and then we’ll be ready to cast off.”

  “Good. Tell the crew they can have an extra ration of ale once they’re done,” Renrawr said, turning away. “I shall be off.”

  A crewman screamed, and Renrawr looked up, along with the ship’s captain, as a young woman with long dark hair strode across the main deck. She was dressed in dark clothes and carried a bloody sword after nearly beheading the crewman she’d struck down. Renrawr stopped and stared at her, horrified and fascinated at the same time. He couldn’t believe she was really here.