A Tribute at the Gates

by C. J. Aaron

  Lord Eligar stood in the same unamused pose with his arms crossed firmly in front of him. His bodyguard, hand on the hilt of his sword, stood a step behind his left shoulder. Mender Gencep, who was in discussion with the other two men, stopped mid-conversation as Ryl approached.

  The lord was a taller than average man, standing nearly half a head taller than Ryl. He was a handsome man. His flawless tanned skin and slim athletic build were accentuated by an air of confidence. His emotionless face felt out of place, as if it took effort to not maintain a casual smile.

  “Well, it looks like you managed the night without incurring further damage to my lord’s property,” Mender Gencep said spitefully to the other two members of the group. Ryl felt his blood start to boil at the word.

  Property.

  He was no one’s property.

  “Yes, yes, again, I’m terribly sorry for the inconvenience,” sniveled the plain-clothed man.

  The well-dressed man glared at Ryl. The look of disgust on his face grew as he looked him up and down. He motioned for a guard standing behind him.

  “Bind him for travel,” the man hissed.

  A guard standing along the gate stepped forward, two pairs of metal shackles dangled lifelessly from his hand. Ryl tensed at the sight. Cavlin, placed a hand on his shoulder, shaking his head slightly.

  “Stop,” Mender Gencep cried forcefully. “Sir Maklan, your guards have done enough damage. My lord’s guard will prepare the tribute for transport.”

  “As you wish,” the well-dressed stranger replied with a small bow.

  Lord Eligar raised one hand from his chest, absently motioning to the guard standing behind him as if ordering food from a servant.

  For the first time, Ryl was able to get a closer look at the lord’s personal guard. He wore a similar cloak to that of his lord’s, although his was undoubtedly made from less precious fabric. His loose-fitting dark green tunic had accents of black on the collar, elbows and wrists. The accompanying black pants were plain, tucked into a lightweight boot. A short sword hung from his left hip, a smaller blade was strapped to his right.

  The hood of his cloak was still up, casting a shadow over his face. From this distance, Ryl could see that his face was covered in a rigid dark green mask, black-painted lines accentuated its sharp features. The only visible aspects of the face hidden below were the eyes. The penetrating stare of the hazel orbs bored into him, yet somehow Ryl felt familiarity in the look.

  The House Eligar guard took the shackles, clamping them first to Ryl ankles then moving up to his hands. Ryl looked down at his feet. The heavy chain that connected the metal around his ankles was far shorter than a full stride. He’d have to shuffle to walk. The guard removed the pack containing Ryl's belongings, tossing the strap carelessly over his shoulder. He clamped the first shackle onto his right wrist before moving with the chain around Ryl’s back.

  “Careful with that shackle on the left arm,” Mender Gencep snapped. “The master here had difficulty preserving the quality of this one.”

  The shackle clamped down on his left wrist, locking with the twist of a key. The metal grip was slightly looser on his left side, though tight enough still that his hand wouldn’t be able to slide out. Without thinking, Ryl focused the woodskin on his ankles and wrists, dulling the sensation of the heavy metal biting into his skin.

  “Is it safe to assume your Lordship received the missive related to the processing facility?” Sir Maklan inquired. “We have a carriage ready to take the tribute to the main facility near Leremont. I believe that is the closest one to your estate.”

  “No, sir, it is not safe to assume anything,” Lord Eligar responded. His voice sounded incomprehensibly both bored and angered at the same time. “Yet I received your missive last moon. With all due respect, after the significant damage my tribute has sustained, you’ll understand that I’m hesitant to release him back into your care.”

  Sir Maklan opened his mouth to speak. Lord Eligar cut him off.

  “I will, however, accept the use of your carriage as far as the port,” Lord Eligar continued. “My guard will ride with him to ensure there are no more accidents under your watch. We will sail to the Isle of Mattume, off the coast of Leremont. The annual festivities surrounding the celebration of their patron saint Ede begins in a few days’ time. I’d be remiss to miss it. After all, it is my island.”

  Lord Eligar brushed aside a stray lock of hair that had blown into his face.

  “I’ve had a special cell built into my frigate. Steel reinforced walls, strong enough to hold a giant, this scrap won’t so much as scratch them,” Lord Eligar bragged. “He’ll be under constant supervision. I have nearly two full companies of soldiers onboard and enough cannons to level a city. I’ll have him delivered to the processing facility within a moon. Now, if you please, I’m eager to catch the tide.”

  “Very well, Lord Eligar,” Maklan said with a bow. “Guards, assist the lord with transportation of his property to the docks. I’d be negligent in my duties if you didn’t allow me, at least, the favor of sending one of my guards along with you for the trip.” The guards along the exterior gate began working the chain. The gates creaked as they slowly swung outward.

  “I assure you, that is not necessary,” Lord Eligar retorted.

  “Consider it an apology of sorts,” Maklan said with a grin. “And a personal favor from the king. You will be compensated for the burden of his travel once you arrive at the processing facility.”

  “Very well,” the lord sighed. Maklan bowed at the waist, motioning to a guard that stood along the wall behind him.

  “Lord Eligar, the tribute is hereby released to your care,” Sir Maklan stated officially. “We’ll be awaiting your arrival at the predetermined processing facility within the moon.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Eligar grumbled, motioning for the guard and mender as he turned toward the opened exterior gate. “We take our leave, now.”

  The guard from House Eligar wrapped his hand around Ryl’s upper right arm like a vise. Ryl turned his head to the right. The haunting green mask hovered close to his face. Behind the masked man, Cavlin smiled, nodding his head farewell before turning on his heel heading back toward the interior gate.

  The city outside the gate looked smaller and less foreboding than when Ryl had been deposited here so many cycles earlier. He’d grown up since then, his mind and body hardened from a brutal life lived in servitude. The insults and hatred that spewed from the gathered crowd, rolled off his skin like droplets of rain on a leaf. Well-dressed nobles mingled with the bedraggled commoners, the vastly differing groups both agreeing in their irrational hatred of the tributes.

  Directly outside the massive doors, blocking the view of the street, sat a black and green carriage, ornately decorated but modestly sized. A single driver and horse waited anxiously for their lord’s return, both on edge due to the large crowds that swelled outside the ring of soldiers. Without a look back, Lord Eligar grabbed the pristinely-polished railing, vaulting into the small enclosed carriage. Mender Gencep followed much less gracefully, closing the door behind him. He lowered the silky green fabric that acted as a curtain, disappearing from view.

  The sight of the carriage behind Lord Eligar’s made Ryl’s heart skip a beat. Unlike the surrounding city, the black carriage looked just as intimidating now as it had when he was a child. His palms began to sweat. He hesitated, shuffling his shackled feet forward forcing the guard to squeeze his arm tighter as he dragged him around the side of the carriage. How many other terrified, confused and broken children had this same devilish wooden box delivered to these gates?

  The thought sparked a fire that surged through his veins. The power in his body called out for release, pleaded for him to give in. Ryl squinted his eyes shut with all his might, focusing to silence the urge to fight. Now was not the time, it would be suicide. The sheer number of guards would roll over him like an avalanche.

  The guard dragged him to the back of the carriage
where a second guard held the door ajar. Ryl was folded over the floor of the carriage, his face inches from the putrid-smelling floor. The smell sparked a visceral urge to vomit. He swallowed the bile that threatened to escape. The guard lifted his legs, pushing Ryl all the way into the carriage. He slid painfully across the coarse wooden slats of the floor. The masked guard leaped easily into the carriage. The door slammed shut behind them, plunging the room into darkness.

  From his place on the floor, the sudden lurch as the carriage jumped forward thankfully only caused his stomach to churn. He remembered the pain from the falls he taken as a child like they’d just happened. He propped himself up, leaning his back against the edge of the seat. He could barely make out the silhouette of the guard, seated silently at the rear of the carriage. Occasionally, a beam of light would streak through the small gaps in the wall, illuminating a sliver of his masked face before vanishing again into darkness.

  The guard remained silent throughout the, thankfully, short travel to the docks. The only sounds that accompanied his thoughts were the clatter of hooves and rumble of the wheels on the cobblestone streets. Ryl heard the driver call out as he reined in the horses.

  The door to the carriage swung open. Ryl blinked, adjusting his eyes to the blinding light. The air, laden with the thick smell of salt and fish, was a relief after the overpowering stench of the carriage. The guard grabbed Ryl by the arm as he slid his legs over the edge of the carriage, yanking him out from within.

  A group of mounted guards had followed the carriages to the docks, now providing a barrier from the growing crowd that had followed them to the water. Ryl shuffled along with the guard as he rounded the carriage, his eyes went wide at the sight of the port in front of him.

  Growing up in his small secluded village, Ryl had never seen the sea before he was taken to The Stocks. Ships of all sizes lined the piers stretching out in both directions, workers carrying supplies hurried both to and from the moored vessels. Exquisitely dressed men and women, followed by servants bearing their luggage, pushed through the crowds, plotting the shortest course to their berths. Seagulls cawed as they floated on the breeze or jockeyed for the scraps of fish discarded by the fishermen.

  Ahead of him, Lord Eligar strode easily up the narrow ramp to the frigate. Two guards dressed in a similar fashion to his escort stood menacingly on either side. Mender Gencep was in discussion with an official-looking man off to the side of the ramp, Maklan’s guard stood at his side.

  Lord Eligar’s frigate was far and away the largest boat Ryl had ever seen. He guessed that it stretched nearly seventy-five paces from bow to stern. Three masts stretched into the sky, towering above the deck, their dark green sails furled. Evenly-spaced gun ports displayed the muzzles of their canons like bared teeth.

  Ryl shuffled his feet awkwardly as he ascended the slick ramp. The inconveniently short chain connecting the shackles on his legs made it a perilous climb. The gentle rolling of the calm water was a new sensation that immediately threatened to turn his already irritated stomach inside out.

  The main deck was alive with crew members rapidly readying the frigate for departure. Aside from the masked guard that escorted him and the two on the dock, Ryl had seen no sign of the nearly two companies of soldiers that the lord had claimed were onboard.

  He was directed to the stern of the vessel, down a near vertical ladder into the gun deck of the ship. Two lines of canons stood on guard should the need arise. They passed another pair of sailors, who gave them a wide berth as they descended a second ladder, ending in small walkway. Toward the bow, a closed door blocked their passage, toward the stern, the short walkway held a pair of doors on each side. A small lantern securely mounted to a sconce on the wall provided dim light for their passage. The air on this level smelled stale and musty from the continuously wet wood.

  Continuing on toward the stern of the ship, they made their way down the hall to the final door on the right. The door stood ajar, a key waiting in its metal lock. With a push far gentler than Ryl expected, he was propelled into the room far enough for the door to be closed with a hollow thump behind him. He heard the metallic scrape and click of the key turning in the lock, followed by the receding muted footsteps of the masked guard.

  Ryl’s cell was dark, lit only by the flickering light from the hallway that crept under the large crack at the bottom of the door. He leaned back on the door, resting for a few moments and giving his eyes time to adjust to the dim light. His cell was less than half the size of his room in the common house and completely barren save for a tattered hammock hanging between the wall with the door and what he assumed to be the ship’s hull.

  He sat down on the edge of the hammock, the ropes groaned in protest to the added weight. Laying back, he worked the chain from the fetters around his wrists down his legs before swinging it over his feet. With his range of motion greatly increased, he took to continuing his exploration of his minimalistic cell.

  Ryl knocked on the walls of the room. With the exception of the outer hull, they all sounded hollow, not what he’d expected for a steel reinforced cage like the lord had told the official. Where, too, were the two companies, nearly to hundred soldiers that he’d promised to have standing guard? The ship was eerily quiet for containing a population that size.

  He began to doubt the accuracy of the lord’s statements. Why would he have lied? Was it to pacify Ryl, or the representative from the king? And if the statements were, indeed, a deception, what was their purpose? The lord had in his possession the key to long life, endless power and riches at his fingertips. What game was he playing?

  Ryl’s was so lost in his thoughts that he barely noticed the floor lurch slightly under his feet signaling the start of their voyage. He stood for a moment, feeling the mild, yet uneasy roll of the ship as it moved over the water. Even with his newly-inherited agility, he found difficulty maintaining his balance with the constraining shackles around his ankles. He sat down on the hammock. The gentle swaying was mildly soothing. He pulled the hood back from his head, laid down on the hammock and closed his eyes.

  The gentle rocking of the frigate became more pronounced as they made their way further from Cadsae. Ryl’s stomach rose and fell in time with the swells. Aside from the muffled shouts and commands from the sailors above, the interior of the vessel was devoid of human noise. He squeezed his eyes shut, focusing on his breathing to retain the contents of his nearly empty stomach.

  After a time, he nodded off. Ryl had no concept of how long he’d slept, awakening to calm seas and a settled stomach. The distinct reality set in. For the first time in eight cycles, Ryl had left The Stocks. Just as he had arrived in a cell, so too did leave in one. He thought about the tributes, those that had become his friends, his adopted family. Tears threatened to roll from his eyes. He was headed to an uncertain destiny, while they were still prisoners of the same torturous system. Bound to toil in labor until they, too, were plucked from all they knew, to the cheers of the raucous crowd.

  He felt the familiar heat building in his veins at the thought as his emotion stoked the fire in his blood. His mind reacted with a state of perfect clarity. He was certain the lord had lied about his guard, lied about his reinforced cell. If there were truly only a handful of guards on the boat, there would be no stopping him. Even if there were more, the close quarters would allow for only a single guard to engage him at a time. Ryl could see the movements of Caprien, feel how his body flowed from one position into the next. He could taste the subtle hint of speed that hovered idly, waiting to be released.

  Footsteps rung out on the floor above. Ryl looked up, following their steady cadence as they moved in his direction, two people at most. His heart started racing as they descended the ladder to his floor. A wash of brighter light spread from one side of the door to the other. One of them carried a lantern. Ryl slipped off his bed, chains sliding across the floor as he scampered to the far corner of the room.

  A jingle of keys from a keyring just outside th
e door was followed by the clatter of the key in the lock. There was a telltale click as the lock disengaged. The door groaned as it swung inward. Ryl closed his eyes, pulled the hood back over his head and removed the damper that had been holding back the speed in his veins.

  It took only a blink of an eye.

  The inward swing of the door slowed to a crawl. Ryl leaped forward, grabbing the edge of the door with both hands and wrenching it open. The guard, whose hand was still on the handle, stumbled into the small cell. Ryl stuck his right foot out behind him as far as the chain would allow. The off balance guard tripped over his leg, crashing to the floor, sliding roughly into the back wall with a thud.

  Standing a step back from the mouth of the open door, lantern in hand, was Lord Eligar. His eyes slowly neared their widest as the realization of what was occurring. Ryl slipped out the door, ducking behind the lord in a flash. He reached his arms up and over the lord’s perfectly-manicured face, dropping the chain over the front of his neck. He brought his hands together, pulling them back toward his chest along with the helpless Lord Eligar.

  He’d have his answers now.

  Ryl let go of the power flowing through his veins. Time returned back to normal with a dizzying rush. His hair and cloak snapped out to the side, continuing the momentum of his previous motion.

  The guard was staggering to his feet. Lord Eligar struggled, dropping the lantern to the deck, extinguishing the light within as he brought his hands up to his neck.

  “Stop,” Lord Eligar coughed. “Ryl, please.”

  Ryl froze. How did the Eligar know his name? He released the tension slightly on the chain allowing the man to breathe.

  “How do you know my name?” Ryl demanded.