by Kel Kade
“If it is false hope?”
She searched his eyes and then smiled. “I do not believe it is. I have faith that you will prevail. If I am wrong, then the rest of my days will still be filled with peace of mind.”
CHAPTER 13
Aaslo slipped out of the chamber before the sun rose. The queen was still nestled within his sheets. By the soft upturn of her lips, she seemed to be safe within pleasant dreams. He wasn’t sure he felt so pleasant about the experience. While the night was certainly enjoyable, the queen was a married woman; yet he could not have rejected her. Anyone with such power could not be denied. No, she was an intelligent and compassionate woman. He wondered if he was being unfair.
“You didn’t try to deny her because you wanted her.”
Aaslo knew it was true, and he didn’t know how to feel about it. He drew up short when he turned to find Captain Lopin staring at him from where he leaned against the opposite wall. Two more royal guardsmen stood to either side of the door.
With a scowl, Aaslo said, “Why are you standing outside my room?”
The captain said, “You did not seem the kind of man who would sleep late.”
“I was told I would be permitted to leave today.”
Lopin nodded toward the closed door. “You would leave without so much as a farewell?”
Aaslo glanced back to the door, feeling a twinge of regret. “She doesn’t need farewells. She needs to know someone is out there doing something to save all our hides.”
Lopin stared at him unmoving. He said, “You think that should be you?”
“Absolutely not,” said Aaslo. “I think I should be tending my saplings on the western slope right now.” He looked at the man pointedly and said, “If someone else wants to step up, I’ll be happy to pass the responsibility.”
Lopin inhaled sharply as if frustrated, then averted his gaze toward the end of the corridor.
“I thought not,” said Aaslo as he turned. “I wouldn’t trust you to follow through anyway.”
“Brutal.”
Aaslo was mildly surprised to hear Mathias’s voice at that moment. He said, “I wasn’t sure you were listening anymore. You were remarkably silent last night.”
Lopin stepped into his path. “It’s not my place to question the king. I am sure he will change his mind after his shock has dissipated.”
“His shock?” Aaslo said. Ielo would tell him to hold his tongue, but his anger got the better of him. He didn’t attempt to hide his disgust when he said, “The king wasn’t the one who watched his best friend get stabbed through the heart. He wasn’t the one who stood vigil over his body, only to be told by the high sorceress that nothing could be done. He wasn’t the one who cut off his best friend’s head and carried it across the kingdom!” Aaslo stepped toward Lopin. “Rakith is the king, and he is too shocked to act? Tell me, Captain, are you too shocked to act?”
Lopin clenched his jaw. “I am the captain of the royal guard. It is my duty to protect the king.”
Aaslo shook his head. “Even if you could, what good is a king if all his subjects are dead?”
Aaslo made to pass Lopin, but the man reached out to grab his arm. Lopin said, “If that time comes, and should it become necessary, I will lead the charge. Do not get in my way.”
Aaslo pulled his arm from the man’s grip. “You forget that we will be on the same side. Keep in mind, if the king has his way and dismisses the army, you will have no one left to lead.” He turned and continued down the corridor, this time without interruption. No one stopped him at the checkpoints or the door, so he strode straight to the palace gates before realizing he was forgetting something. He turned to one of the gate guards.
“Excuse me. How do I get my horse?”
The guard spied his worn traveling clothes, which he had found folded neatly in a basket inside his chamber door when he awoke. The man said, “If you came with a horse, he’ll be in the guest stables.” He glanced over to see a young boy running across the yard and hollered, “Hey, Fin, you need to get this man’s horse.”
The boy ran up to Aaslo. Still breathing heavily, he said, “Yes, sir, I can get your horse. Which one is it?”
“The ugly one,” said Aaslo.
The boy laughed. “I know the one. The stable master was fumin’ yesterday after Crazy Eyes ate his hat.”
“His name is Dolt. Are you sure you can handle him?” said Aaslo.
“Yes, sir. He doesn’t give me any trouble.”
The boy ran away and returned a short time later with Dolt already saddled and ready to go. When they reached Aaslo, the boy tugged on the horse’s lead to make him stop, but the horse kept going. Aaslo was forced to run after the beast, much to the guards’ amusement. Dolt stopped to drink from the fountain, and Aaslo was finally able to get hold of him long enough to mount. The ride to the Forester’s Haven was easy that early in the morning. The sky was beginning to lighten, and merchants were setting up their shops and stalls when he arrived. Dolt refused to stop, of course, and continued around to the back of the property without escort. Aaslo stomped up to the door, which opened just as his foot reached the landing. Galobar’s bright expression greeted him.
“Sir Forester! I am so pleased that you have returned.” He stepped aside to admit Aaslo. “I must say, I was quite concerned. A marquess came here looking for you. A marquess!” They entered the kitchen, but Galobar didn’t stop for a breath. “I have never been in such illustrious company. I told his man that I had no idea where you’d gone, but they were not satisfied. Well, I recalled that you were asking questions about the palace—I do apologize. I didn’t mean to divulge sensitive information. I hope it wasn’t a secret.”
Galobar shuffled through pots and gathered vegetables as he rambled. Since it appeared to Aaslo that he was going to make food, Aaslo was content to sit back and allow it to happen. He sat on a stool at the counter silently awaiting the rations.
“Your servants, though, they saw the guards and hid. Strange, that. Anyway, once Master Peck and Mory heard you might’ve gone to the palace, they left—in a hurry, I might add. I haven’t seen them since. Perhaps once they hear of your arrival, they’ll return as well.”
Aaslo hoped not. He was ready to leave Tyellí, and he preferred to go alone.
“Without me?”
“Never.”
Galobar blinked at him. “No? I cannot imagine anyone running out on a forester. It is a great honor to serve one such as yourself. I received a missive that you were to stay the night at the palace as a royal guest! Truly an honor.” The man shook his head and continued mumbling.
Aaslo blocked out the rest of the chatter as he imagined he was ten again, sitting before the hearth with Pa, waiting impatiently for his potatoes and venison. Never rush a meal, Aaslo. Some things in life are worth the wait. Some are worth a sacrifice. His father had looked at him, then. It wasn’t the first or last time he had seen sadness in his father’s gaze, but it was the only time he’d seen regret. Just be sure you know who will be making the sacrifice and who will be doing the waiting, for they are not always the same.
He hadn’t asked his father what he had meant. He figured Pa would have told him if he had wanted him to know. Pa had never told him, and now he wondered if he would ever have the chance to ask.
“There you go, Sir Forester. Perhaps not as nice as you’d get at the palace, but it’s hot and hearty.”
Aaslo was abruptly pulled from his memories to find a steaming plate of food in front of him. “Thank you, Galobar. This is a meal fit for a forester, and it’s far less likely to be poisoned.”
Galobar blinked at him in surprise. “Oh? Is that a common issue at the palace?”
“Apparently.”
“Careful, Aaslo.”
“I would go insane if I worried over every meal I ate,” said Aaslo.
Galobar looked truly disturbed as he mulled it over. “I agree. Food should nurture, and poison can be so unpredictable. If one must kill, it should be done
with certainty.” The older man snapped up a knife from the butcher block, twirled over his fingers before jabbing the air in a move born of practice.
Aaslo paused with his food halfway to his mouth and stared at the man. Galobar set the knife down and continued cleaning the kitchen as if he hadn’t just been discussing methods of taking a person’s life. Setting down his fork, Aaslo said, “You seemed practiced with a knife.”
Galobar nodded as he emptied the rest of the food from the pot onto Aaslo’s plate. “Of course, Sir Forester. It is my duty to protect the haven and its occupants.” He smiled and said, “The name would cease to hold meaning otherwise.” He again picked up the knife and waved it around, pointing at nothing and everything. “The enchantments help as well. Most of them were placed or recharged by the high sorceress herself over the years.”
Aaslo’s ears perked. “Why would she do that?”
Galobar shrugged. “It seems she has a fondness for foresters. I imagine the enchantments are quite secure. She is a formidable woman.”
“Not formidable enough.”
“No one is perfect.”
“Oh, I never said she was perfect, but anyone who cares for the foresters is deserving of respect.”
Without responding to the zealous outlook, Aaslo scarfed down the rest of his food, then pushed away from the table. “I’ll be leaving soon. Would it be possible to get some rations?”
Galobar turned to look at him with a pitiful expression. “You are leaving already? You only just arrived.”
“I have duties to which I must attend.”
“Of course, Sir Forester. I understand your folk are not the sort to dally. For how many days do you expect to be traveling?”
Aaslo paused, realizing he had no idea where he was going. He needed help, though, and since the army was out of the question, he supposed the magi were his best bet. “You don’t happen to know where the Citadel of Magi is located, do you?”
Galobar pursed his lips in thought. “I believe it is east, but beyond that I have no idea.”
“Perhaps,” said Aaslo. “That’s where the high sorceress said she was going.”
Galobar’s eyes widened. “You know the high sorceress personally? Oh my, you are fascinating. I had no idea the foresters were so well-connected.”
Aaslo shook his head. “We are probably the least well-connected people in the kingdom.”
“Except you.”
“I’m just different, and it’s all your fault.”
“My fault?” said Galobar.
“No, not you,” Aaslo grumbled. “Never mind. I’ll ask around the city. Someone must know how to get there.”
“You should’ve asked at the palace.”
“What if they tried to stop me?”
“Why would someone try to stop you?” said Galobar.
“Some people don’t want me causing trouble,” said Aaslo, “but sometimes causing trouble is the only solution.”
“Another forester wisdom?” said Galobar.
“No, that was my friend. He lived to make trouble. He could get away with it, too. Everyone loved him.”
“Except the people who killed me.”
His heart heavy with guilt, Aaslo said, “I’ll ask around town today and leave tomorrow. It’ll give us time to gather supplies, anyhow.”
“Oh!” Galobar suddenly rushed to a side table and collected a stack of letters bundled with twine and sealed with a glob of wax. The wax was marked with a wolf’s head surrounded by a tangle of briar. “I nearly forgot. This came for you last night. It bears the seal of the Marquess of Dovermyer.”
“Thanks,” said Aaslo, stuffing the stack into the velvet sack with Mathias’s head. He then stalked out the front door, to find the streets filled with people going about their business. A cluster of curious busybodies was congregated at the fence. As soon as he stepped through the doorway, they erupted in a cacophony of cheers and chatter. Although he had always preferred to be alone, he had never disliked people. That was quickly changing. He walked down the path that crossed the lawn and then exited the gate. Keeping his head down, he avoided eye contact so he wouldn’t have to talk to anyone.
“What did you say before? A strong tree cracks in the wind?”
“A strong trunk stands in the wind, but, when hardened beyond bending, breaks. Stop throwing forester wisdoms at me.”
“It’s your wisdom, not mine. Don’t forget who you are.”
“I have no intention of forgetting, although I doubt anyone would let me. I need to find someone who can tell me where to find the citadel. Are you going to help or not?”
“Sure, but you’ll have to tell me what citadel we’re talking about.” Aaslo turned to find Peck standing right behind him. Mory was waving off the crowd, telling them that if they didn’t leave the forester alone, he might turn them all into trees.
“I bet a couple of experienced thieves could get the information quickly.”
Aaslo sighed. Mathias was right. “I’m looking for someone who can tell me how to get to the Citadel of Magi.”
Peck whistled between his teeth. “Why do you wanna know that?”
“Never mind. Do you know anyone who could tell us?”
“No, I don’t know any wizards—er, magi, I mean.” Peck brightened with a grin. “Best place to get information is taverns. People talk when they’re drinking.”
Aaslo narrowed his eyes. “Do you know of any taverns where magi drink?”
Peck’s smile fell. “No, I think maybe they do their drinking in the Dragon District.”
“Dragon District?”
“You know, because of their symbol—the dragon wrapped around a sphere? I guess it means something to them.”
Aaslo recalled that both the wizard and the warlock at the palace feast had been wearing rings bearing a dragon wrapped around a spherical stone. He had never seen the symbol around Magdelay, but she had been in hiding.
“They all wear that symbol?” he said.
Peck shrugged. “Some do, some don’t—at least, as far as I’ve seen.” He paused and hesitantly said, “Did you really go to the palace? When that marquess showed up and I heard them saying you were going to the palace, I thought maybe you were being arrested for killing Jago’s men.”
“That didn’t come up. I had business with the king.”
“The king? Like, the actual king?” said Mory, having joined them after the crowd dispersed.
Peck eyed Aaslo suspiciously. “They’ll not be putting up with the likes of us in the Dragon District, but if you know the king, then maybe they’ll let you in.” He glanced at Aaslo’s clothes. “But not in what you’re wearing.”
“I told you that you should have taken the nice clothes from the palace. They were tailored for you.”
“And have them accuse me of stealing?” he said.
Peck nodded. “Maybe. Those high society sorts’ll say anything to get rid of people they don’t like.”
Aaslo shook his head. “It’s too early to be drinking anyway. What about shops—places where they buy things for their spells?”
“Ah, those are also in the Dragon District.”
He sighed again. Why did everything have to be so frustratingly difficult? “What about a library? Does the city have a library that’s not in the Dragon District?”
“For sure,” said Peck, “but it’ll cost you a fortune to enter if you don’t have a patron.”
A thought occurred to him, and Aaslo tugged at the tie of the sack to retrieve the bundle of missives. Peck and Mory both backed away as he dug into the bag. He laid the sack between his feet and broke the seal over the twine. The first of the marquess’s letters was a notice of patronage. The second provided directions for the bankers and information on an account from which he could draw funds. The third contained a map showing the marquess’s estate in Ruriton and, of course, the location of the blight.
As he folded the letters and stuffed them back into the sack, he said, “I have a patron. Take me
to the library.”
The doorman—or woman, as it was—at the library took one look at Aaslo and tried to turn him away. Although she eventually accepted the marquess’s letter of patronage, she made it clear that she did not approve of him. Aaslo spent the morning searching the maps and scrolls, but somehow the location of one of the world’s most famous structures was nowhere to be found. Since neither Peck nor Mory could read, he sent them to ask around the city. If the information had been clearly and intentionally kept from the records, he doubted they would return with anything of use.
At midday, Aaslo left the library nearly as frustrated as he was hungry. The archivist who had been openly spying on him throughout his visit scowled every time the empty pit of his stomach growled. He headed toward the Dragon District but decided to stop for a meal before he got to a part of the city where they might reject him. He was starting to enter a tavern with a picture of a duck in a cauldron hanging over the door when a man suddenly came stumbling from the building into his path. The man clutched his chest as he collapsed to his knees. His panicked, pleading gaze turned toward Aaslo, then looked past him.
The man reached for the air and said, “Please, help me.” Then he fell to the ground and released his last breath. The man’s companions, who had exited the tavern behind him, cried out and grappled the man as if they could return him to life. Aaslo turned to look in the direction the man had delivered his last plea, but no one was there. He glanced back at the tavern and decided to find his meal elsewhere.
Backing away through the gathering crowd, he walked past a number of shops and then turned in to a tavern with an oversized wooden spoon over the doorway. The table nearest the kitchen was unoccupied and was also, pleasantly, the farthest from the other patrons. As Aaslo sat, he started considering that he might simply head east and ask for directions along the way.
