War of the Misread Augury: Book One of the Black Griffin Rising Trilogy

by D. S. Halyard

  The ogres faded into nothing, like mist, and Tuchek blinked stupidly. The big half-breed he had seen in camp had him in a hold, he realized, and he was fighting on the ground like a common village brawler.

  "What in Lio's name is going on?" He demanded, growing suddenly still.

  Haim held on for his life.

  As Aelfric ran to help Haim, he was arrested by the sight of a shadowy form emerging from the circle of wagons. It was the lamplighter from Alidis, the one Tuchek had called a halfwit.

  The lamplighter's tunic was torn and bloody, a small knife was sticking out of his arm, and his arms were glistening with blood from fingertip to shoulder. In the firelight, he looked nothing short of a ghoul, a weeping, half-mad spectre of demonic sorrow.

  What d…d…did I do?" He cried into the night, his voice a ragged gasping for life and hope. "Not with these hands, puh…p…lease, not with these hands!"

  Chapter 19: An Inn on the West King's Town Road, Kancro town, Early Tallis, 405

  "I was by love betrayed to a blademaster's blade,

  and I swam in the King's Town Bay

  Rode a barge bound for Flana

  And diced with her captain

  And carried my gold away"

  The innkeeper of the Guardian's Getaway turned a skeptical eye toward Levin even as the rest of the half-drunk patrons lustily sang the chorus.

  "And I'm coming home to Vantarmin

  Turn the tiller hard to the lee

  I'm coming home to Vantarmin

  Where my true love waits for me."

  A dark-skinned Aulig sailor, carrying half a dozen scars on his burly frame, took up the lead line while the rest of the twenty-three men in the tavern listened. Although he was well into his cups, the sailor carried a high, clear tenor.

  “I was shipwrecked off Araquesh

  Chained to an oarlock

  And forced to row all the day

  With just one skin of water

  We fifty between us

  And naught but a whip for our pay

  “The ship's captain bought me

  At market in Turinbar

  And worked me 'til I nearly died

  But one night I broke off my shackles

  And jumped clean over the side

  “I swam 'cross the Sea of Gold

  Into the Sea King's hold

  In Myrlus I fought in the games

  I'm famous throughout Hulmini

  But I'll never tell you my true name.”

  A ragged round of applause greeted the three verses, even as the chorus was taken up again.

  “But I'm coming home to Vantarmin!

  Turn the tiller hard to the lee

  I'm coming home to Vantarmin

  Where my true love waits for me.”

  Three or four sailors competed to make the next verse, but one voice, a profound, dark bass, continued through the confusion while they fell silent.

  “I've darkened the deck of many a fine wreck

  From Tolrissa to the Wild Land Sea

  I've spilled blood of Thimenia

  Killed pirates of Rhum

  And never a blade laid on me!

  A cyclone tossed me

  Into the Forgotten Sea

  I rode on the back of a whale

  I was swallowed alive by a Kraken

  And I came again hearty and hale!

  Let the wild sea again

  Have my bones and then

  I'll come back alive never fail

  I'll never again see my homeland

  But I'll drink me an ocean of ale!”

  Rowdy laughter followed the outrageous claims, made as they were by a young man no more than sixteen years old. He blushed slightly as he finished singing, his face already red with too much drink. A young tavern wench sat beside him, smiling as he sang. If singing could get him what he was looking for, he had her in the bag, although Levin imagined the youth would wake up lighter by a few pennies regardless of his fine singing voice. Once again, the entire tavern took up the refrain.

  “But I'm coming home to Vantarmin!

  Turn the tiller hard to the lee

  I'm coming home to Vantarmin

  Where my true love waits for me!”

  The room broke up into laughter and scattered applause, and that was the end of the song. Coming Home to Vantarmin was an old standard that Levin could remember hearing nearly every night in the taverns of southern Mortentia wherever he found himself. He little feared that singing about his adventures in Jagle Bay would get back to anyone who might be looking for him, as no one ever took the verses seriously.

  He scratched at the beard that now darkened his chin. He wore a simple free sailor's tunic, for he had allowed some fellows to dice him out of his fine clothing two towns back. He had also cropped the hair on his head so close to the scalp that he was nearly bald, and let his finely manicured fingernails become as brittle and broken as a seaman's. There was little about his appearance that matched the foppish dandy he had been in the King's Town, and by now the hunt for Levin Askelyne had probably died down to nothing anyway.

  Still, although he was a man of few skills and no prospects, he could think of the future only with optimism. Unlike his brooding, serious brother, Levin looked at life as a series of adventures, and being remade into a common sailor was just another opportunity for fun.

  Not that Levin did not have his darker moments. Beneath the surface of his thought there lay a fierce undercurrent of hatred for the duke of Elderest. One day, he vowed to himself, he would pay the bastard back, whether that one became king of Mortentia or not.

  The Guardian's Getaway sprawled in a series of low-lying buildings on the north end of Kancro, a fishing town of about five thousand people. Nearly half of the young men of Kancro were away with the king’s navy while most of the remainder were either going out in the morning with the fishing fleet or waiting for a berth on a merchant ship. With so many former king’s soldiers in the town, law and order was the norm, although Levin had heard that the local lord mayor, a retired seaman himself, was fairly tolerant of the excesses of young sailing men.

  The morning sun would light up the white-walled buildings set pleasingly against the green hilly turf above the town's harbor, and from there the women of the town could watch the white sails of the fishermen head out into the great western reaches of Jagle Bay. Kancro was an idyllic place, and Levin would have loved to spend more than a couple of days wandering the town's finely cobbled streets.

  Still, Levin had a new life as a sailor to begin, and that meant a ship. He'd put in a word with the innkeeper, and that man, a retired naval captain with the weather worn face of thirty years' service, gave him a beckoning nod a moment later.

  "How long you been sailing, boy?" He asked.

  "This will be my first time, captain." There was no point letting the experienced ship's captain think he knew anything about sailing. Later he might have to prove his abilities, and truth be told, Levin hardly knew one end of a sailing ship from the other.

  "Well, Sally's High Touch is in port, and they could use a few boys. I know the master, and he's a firm man, but fair. There's no drinking on board, but the pay is reasonably good."

  "Where is she bound?"

  "She usually makes the run to Torth Island twice in the summer, then she's for Northcraven for the last run before the ice locks up their harbor. The Northcraven run makes the most money, but Cap'n Berrol only takes his best hands for that. You'd have to show yourself to be a top hand to keep your berth and a share. Otherwise he'll drop you here after the second Torth run with an eagle or two for your summer's work."

  "Where's the captain?"

  "I'll tell him you are interested. He don't come in here."

  "So where do I meet him?"

  "Just get yourself down to the long pier by sunrise. Don't be late, either."

  Denjar had worn out three damned horses following the D'root brat, and he was impatient. Anger at himself lay chief in his thoughts, first fo
r having let the boy's words about a blood curse prevent him from a clean kill and secondly for having fallen for the ruse that had led him half way to Talere before he realized he'd been duped.

  He had caught a break in the little town of Mendleton, where he'd recognized his quarry's clothing set out for sale in the market. A few questions later, and he was on his way to Kancro, the only logical place the boy could have been going.

  Now he'd been riding for four days without stopping for longer than a few hours' rest, trading worn out horses and gold for fresh mounts at each roadside village he came to. The lack of sleep might have shown on a lesser man, but Denjar's reserve of personal endurance was as great as his sword skill. He also knew his prey, or he thought he did. The little lordling would find the nicest tavern in town and sleep through the night, as he had in the last three towns.

  Denjar rode past the Guardian's Getaway with barely a second glance. The place was obviously a sailor's inn, the kind of place where Levin D'root wouldn't fit. Undoubtedly, Denjar would find him at the King's Homely Tavern or the Golden Maiden, and that would be the end of it.

  Denjar hitched his horse at the town's main rail and made for the street both taverns fronted.

  It was just a matter of time, now.

  Levin was about to leave the Guardian's Getaway when he heard the rattle of iron-shod hooves on the cobbles in front of it. It was odd, someone traveling at this hour, and he looked around the common room to see if anyone else had noticed.

  The young wench who had been with the young singer earlier caught his eye. The sailor boy was nowhere to be seen, for apparently he'd gotten too far into his cups to make good on his opportunity with the girl. She was looking for another mark, and Levin fit the bill.

  What the hells, Levin thought to himself. He was about to go to sea for the next month, and that meant a lot of lonely nights. He smiled broadly in her direction.

  She winked in reply, and the game was on.

  The innkeeper at the Golden Maiden refused to speak to Denjar, and pushed the gold back into his hands. "I wouldn't tell you anything if I knew it." He sputtered, outraged. "I don't speak against my customers."

  The tavern keeper at the King's Homely Tavern was more willing to accept the gold, but once he pocketed it, the clever man made it abundantly clear that he knew nothing of Levin D'root, Levin Askelyne or anyone matching his description.

  It took Denjar nearly an hour to find anyone who had been in the Golden Maiden that night, a sour-faced wench who seemed only slightly displeased at having been awakened in the dead of night. She listened to Denjar's description, and then made an awkward attempt to get him to come into her house.

  "I might have seen someone like that, milord. You see, my husband is away with the navy for the summer, and I keep an eye out for the handsome ones. You're a handsome one yourself, milord, if I might make so bold. Why don't you come in and I'll cook you somewhat and we can talk…"

  Denjar tried two other taverns before he reconsidered the Guardian's Getaway.

  Her name was Enna, and she was alone for the summer. Like many a young wife, she hadn't gotten used to the idea of her man being away for three months, and her not knowing if he'd be returning. Of course, the fact that she was beautiful was no help. For the past four years, Enna Luth had been the darling of Kancro, and the men had all made a fine to-do about her. Her husband Calto Bensel, the best of a long line of suitors, had finally prevailed upon her to part with her maidenhood, and a scant six months later, they had been married. She'd always been thin, and only the knowing look in her mother's eye revealed that she was showing at all.

  The baby died in childbirth, and the sparkle in Calto Bensel's eyes died with it. Only a few days afterward the king's ship Perseverance had come into port, and Calto had gone with it, even though he'd promised not to. A married woman now, Enna was no longer interesting to the town's young men, and she'd found it hard living the waiting existence of a sailor's wife.

  Levin nodded sympathetically as he sat beside poor Enna, putting an arm around her shoulder to comfort the lass. He shook his head. "All that pain and grief, and you left all alone here to bear it. It must be truly terrible, feeling so alone."

  "It is." She replied simply, tears in the corners of her eyes.

  "There, there, sweet girl." Levin wiped at the unshed tears with a small kerchief. "You're not alone now. You can rest easy tonight."

  She looked into his eyes, and Levin saw the sparkle deep within them. In the light of the small house's single lit candle, Enna Luth Bensel looked truly beautiful. Soon his eyes were drawn to the rise and fall of her high and ample bosom. She saw his eyes fall, and she knew what he was looking at.

  She did not mind.

  He'd been a captain in the king's navy for thirteen years, capping off a career that had included service against privateers out of Hyndrant as well as various other free pirates and slavers. He'd never lost a ship, neither to foul weather nor to any enemy. When he saw the tall, broad man in the shadows back of his place, he knew the type.

  D'juren Velkis had just closed down the common room of the Guardian's Getaway, which he kept open later than any other place in Kancro, and he was finally on his way home. Unlike most innkeepers, D'juren didn't sleep in his own establishment. Sailors were wont to come and go all night long when in port, and at his age, he couldn't stand the lack of sleep occasioned by the racket. It was his way to stay in the common room and listen to the sailors' stories until early morning, then let his hired men open up the place in the morning while he slept until noon.

  Sleeping in was a luxury he'd never enjoyed as a seaman, and he was jealous of the privilege.

  Accordingly, when he saw the man waiting for his attention, he was uncharacteristically abrupt. "I've no business with you that won't wait until morning." He said, without introduction, and by morning meaning noon.

  "I beg your pardon, innkeeper." The man was well-spoken, at least. "I'm looking for an old friend of mine, and I was hoping he'd been in your place this evening." Two golden eagles glittered in the man's fist. The man's casual manner said he had plenty more.

  D'juren eyed the man warily. He recognized the wide, rangy stance and the negligent placement of the scabbarded broadsword at his belt. Men like this did not have 'old friends'. Not live ones, anyway.

  "Like I said, sir. It's nothing that can't wait until tomorrow." Briefly, D'juren regretted having left his cutlass at home.

  "I lost him when he fell into Jagle Bay." Denjar said, watching the old innkeeper closely. "He has gold, and he would probably reward you for telling me where he was." When the old man stiffened briefly at the mention of Jagle Bay, Denjar knew he had found his mark.

  "I don't know anything about it."

  "I think you do, innkeeper." Denjar allowed his hand to stray to the hilt of his broadsword. The move was unambiguous.

  As soon as he saw the look, not of fear but of outrage, on the innkeeper's face, Denjar knew he had made a mistake. "You dare to threaten me, Captain D'juren Velkis, in my own town?" The innkeeper angrily demanded, loud enough to be heard from several houses away. "You pull steel on me, boy, and I'll see you hanged before sunset tomorrow!"

  "I apologize." Denjar said, before the innkeeper could say another word. "I am afraid there has been a misunderstanding. I meant no threat…"

  "I bloody well know what you meant, sellsword!" D'juren's voice still carried clearly down the empty street, and Denjar could hear shutters slamming open. Heads began appearing at the windows, and angry voices reached him. "You get on your horse and get out of town now, sirrah, or I'll have you in stocks at the least!"

  "Aye, well, I see there is no reasoning with you." Denjar spoke quietly, reassuringly, hoping to avert the old man's wrath before it became dangerous. "I'll be on my way."

  "What's de trouble, Captain?" Two men appeared from a doorway in an adjacent house. They had the look of veteran soldiers, and despite being dressed only in night-shirts, they handled their boarding cutlasses w
ith an assurance that spoke of long practice. Neither appeared to be much younger than D'juren himself, but age took none of the menace from them. "Should we call up de watch, den?" The speaker looked at Denjar with contempt.

  "No trouble, Luftan. This man was just leaving." D'juren nodded pointedly at Denjar's horse as he spoke.

  A soft knock on the front door of Enna's cottage woke Levin from his spent, happy slumber. The girl beside him motioned him quickly to the floor on the side of the bed before she covered up her splendid body with a drab night shirt and strode to the door. "Who is it?" Her voice was wary.

  Levin lay on the floor listening, out of sight of the cottage's main room.

  "Enna, its D'juren. You'd best get your young man out of town before sunrise. There's a man looking for him, and if I'm any judge, he means him no good." D'juren Velkis didn't miss much in his town, and he knew the ways of young sailors' wives as well as anyone. Enna, for her part, did him credit by not protesting.

  "I'll see you tomorrow, D'juren." Her voice was noncommittal, neither admitting nor denying.

  "The window or the door?" Levin's whisper made her smile.

  Like any good hunter of men, the years had taught Denjar to be a good judge of character. From a small copse of trees at the edge of town, he watched the innkeeper as he finished closing up his tavern, then walked hastily up a side street to the small cottage overlooking the bay. Whenever possible, Denjar let others do his hunting for him, and the retired captain had just flushed his bird.

  Patiently, he sat his horse in the shadows. Soon, very soon, the little lordling would bolt from the house. Once in the open, nothing would save him.

  Levin mistrusted the darkness. He had been about to walk out the front door of the little cottage, but one look out the half-open way had revealed to him how exposed the doorway was to view.