Kevon felt a mix of disappointment and fascination. The Myrnar were certainly not the half-man, half-fish creatures from stories. However, seeing the similarities and the exotic differences was very exciting. As the merfolk sat, Kevon found himself wondering what they had to use for chairs on their side of the table. He decided against peeking underneath to investigate.
“Shall we begin?” Alnam asked, sweeping a glace around the table.
The Myrnar nodded stiffly, grinning as they had since they reached the table.
“May we see the item in question?” the mermaid asked, her melodious voice rising clearly above the lapping noises of the surf below.
Marelle nodded to Kevon, and he took out the pouch with the pearl and undid the drawstring. He poured the pearl out into his hand, looked at it a moment, and stood to lean out over the table to hand it to the mermaid.
The touch of the mermaid’s fingers as she took the pearl was surprising. Rather than feeling like skin, even wet skin, her fingertips felt… The best description Kevon could imagine was damp, spongy leather.
The mermaid examined the pearl. She held it up and turned it to examine the whole surface, taking special note of the flawed discoloration. She trilled a sharp note, and showed it to the merman. He looked, thrummed a gruff response, and nodded, grinning all the while. Kevon began to wonder if they smiled to keep their mouths open to breathe.
“We are prepared to offer fifty gold for this pearl,” the mermaid said softly.
Kevon’s eyes widened in shock, and he felt Marelle’s hand squeezing his leg.
“We will consider your offer,” Marelle responded. “The Elven envoy I spoke with earlier expressed some interest in purchasing the pearl as well.”
In an instant, the mermaid’s exotic beauty was transformed into a vision of horror. Flaps of skin on her neck as large as an outstretched hand flared forward; the red-rimmed appendages made it look as if her face had doubled in size. Her lips pulled back as she hissed, displaying at least two rows of formidable looking teeth. She lunged forward, planting her arms palm down near the center of the table, aimed straight at Marelle.
“The Elves will NOT have it!” she rasped loudly, all attempts at humanlike diplomacy apparently abandoned. Alnam whimpered and fainted, slumping to the side into the chair between himself and Marelle.
Marelle’s grip tightened on Kevon’s leg, but she jumped no more than he had. “Compose yourself,” she growled angrily at the mermaid.
The Myrnar hissed once more for good measure. She then took a deep breath and folded her neck flaps back, craning her neck back and forth to settle them back into their places. As soon as they disappeared from sight, she closed her mouth and eyes, and slid back into her seat. After a moment, she opened her eyes, and the ever-present mer-smile returned to her face. She made as if to speak, but the merman touched her arm and she shrank back.
“Forgive my mate. She has a… personal interest in this matter.” The merman sat forward and looked toward Alnam’s seat. “Shall we wait for the liaison to recover?”
“Do you suppose he’ll stay once he does?” asked Marelle.
“Your mate is wise for someone so young,” the merman said, looking at Kevon.
“She’s n…” Kevon started. He peered down at Alnam, who was drooling on the chair, snoring softly. “Yes. Yes she is.”
“You have not spoken with the Elves, have you?” the merman asked Marelle.
“No.” Marelle blushed at the revelation of her bluff nearly as much as that of being Kevon’s mate. “The offer was so much more than we were expecting that I thought I could get you to pay more.”
The merman made a strained gurgling noise that could only be laughter. “Know now that we will not return the pearl to you. It was undoubtedly stolen; its owner would not have given it freely.”
Kevon buried his head in his hands. “Of course. It would have to be stolen.”
“Does this surprise you?” the merman asked, as Kevon sat back upright.
“Nothing about the man that gave me this pearl will surprise me from now on.” Kevon sighed. “I have incurred expenses in bringing the pearl here. Marelle can detail these to you. They are all I ask. I’m sorry.” Kevon stood and walked up the stairway and down the hall to the front of the building.
As he was just about to leave, Kevon realized that he didn’t know the way back to the inn, and didn’t have a copper to his name. He turned aside to the waiting room and sat on a bench to wait for Marelle.
Another crime Holten must pay for, Kevon thought angrily, drawing the dagger from under his cloak to test the edge with his thumb. The shock of touching the blade was numbed by his fury.
Marelle poked her head inside the room, grinning. “Are you all right?” she asked.
Kevon sighed. “I should have known better. There’s no way I can ever-”
The pouch plunked down in front of him.
“What is…?” he began.
“Your reward,” Marelle laughed. “And they paid even more because you’re nice.”
He picked up the pouch. It felt heavy. “How much is this?”
“Eighty.” Marelle smiled. “I already took twenty out for our fee.” She walked in and sat down next to Kevon. “Father decided weeks ago that he would waive expenses because of what you did for Carlo… and because I shot you with a crossbow.”
“Um. I don’t know what to say.”
“Well, you could start by going back in there,” she said. “The Myrnar asked if you would speak with them a bit more, alone.”
Kevon pocketed the pouch of gold. “They’ve paid well for my time, I suppose I should.”
“They made it clear you weren’t obligated…” Marelle offered.
“But I am. Because of Holten.”
Marelle nodded. “I’ll wait here.”
Kevon walked back down the long corridor. Near the entrance to the Tidal Room, a frightened-looking Alnam hurried past him, avoiding his gaze. Kevon did not see the Myrnar at the table, but by the time he reached the bottom of the stairs they had resurfaced and taken their seats again.
“You wanted to see me?”
The merman spoke. “We would like to know all you can tell us about where you acquired the Sea Star.”
“It was given to me by a man, a Magi, who I thought was a friend.” Kevon pounded his fist on the table. “I’ve since learned otherwise. He tried to have me killed. If he’s wronged you as well…”
“My sister…” the mermaid whispered. “Princess of the Sea Realm.”
“She’s been missing for three years,” the merman explained. “With the return of the Sea Star in this manner, we must assume the worst. And although this is a sad truth, it will restore some order to our lives. My mate will ascend and assume control of the Realm. But this Magi…”
“I will deal with him. I have to…” Kevon’s fist clenched and turned white in spots. “It’s the only way I can be safe. Your revenge is already my duty.”
The mermaid removed one of the shell necklaces that hung around her neck and slid it across the table to Kevon. “Call on us if you have need. Your fortune is joined with ours now.”
Kevon rose and bowed, sliding the necklace over his head. “Thank you, your highness.”
There was a soft splashing noise, and when Kevon looked back up, the Myrnar were gone. He tucked the necklace inside his tunic by the Warrior’s amulet and walked back up the stairs.
Marelle was still in the waiting room, convincing Alnam that he had passed out from the heat and had a bad dream. She smiled at Kevon as he entered the room. “All done?”
Kevon nodded and waited for Marelle to finish with Alnam.
The coach was waiting out front when they exited the building. Once securely inside, Kevon asked Marelle about her plans. She launched half-heartedly into descriptions of trades and purchases she was likely to make at a few stops on the coastal route, but she seemed distracted.
“Oh, if you are leaving tomorrow…” Kevon interrupt
ed, “I’ll need the sword I was carrying that you were holding for me.”
Marelle nodded. “It’s behind your seat cushion.”
Kevon reached back and pulled on the cushion to reveal a hidden compartment. He decided to leave it until he was ready to go, and replaced the cushion with a firm shove.
“I’ll probably leave tomorrow, too,” Kevon told Marelle. “Nothing for me here once you leave.”
Marelle nodded glumly.
“Hopefully, in a year or two this will all be over. I just need to figure out how to deal with Gurlin and Holten…”
Kevon stopped as he heard Marelle sniff back a tear. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m just worried about what might happen to you when you find those Magi. I’ve seen what can happen…”
“They don’t know I’m coming,” Kevon said soothingly. “I won’t fight them unless I know I can win. I’ve already got some ideas…”
The carriage rumbled to a halt. Outside the window, Kevon could see the front of the Maiden of the Bay. He reached behind the seat cushion and winced as his magic left him when he grabbed the hilt. He drew out the sword and closed the compartment.
“Well,” Kevon said, “Good luck with your trading and everything…”
Marelle leaned forward, wrapped her arms around his neck, and drew him forward into a tight embrace. “Just come back to me,” she whispered in his ear.
“As soon as I can.” Kevon squeezed her in return and they disentangled just as the driver opened the door. Kevon climbed down, careful of the bared blade, and turned back to Marelle.
The driver moved to close the door, but Marelle held it open.
“I’m sure my father will be pleased with this transaction,” she said, gazing at Kevon. “I know I…”
Marelle stopped speaking, and frowned. “Appearances be damned,” she announced, hopping out of the carriage, leaning on Kevon for support. “You already know how pleased I am about this,” she murmured. She wrapped her arms around Kevon and rested her cheek on his chest. Still holding the sword, Kevon returned the embrace carefully with one arm. He closed his eyes and focused on the moment; the feel of Marelle’s breathing, the floral scent of her hair against the faint salt tang of the city, the dainty curve of her ear.
The driver cleared his throat, and Kevon released Marelle. She drew back slowly, moistened eyes locked on Kevon.
“I wish…” he began.
“Don’t.” Marelle whispered. “Don’t wish. Find a way.”
The driver helped Marelle back into the coach and closed the door. He gave Kevon a disapproving look before climbing onto the front of the carriage and urging the team back into the street.
Kevon stood, watching silently as the coach rolled out of sight. He thought a moment, and tucked the blade underneath his cloak. Holding the sword close to his side, he headed for the weapon shop.
“Back already?” The scarred shopkeeper put down the bandolier he was working on and walked over to the counter across from Kevon. “Ready to talk about swords now?”
“Yes.” Kevon pulled the Warrior’s blade from behind his cloak. “And a scabbard for this one.” He gripped the blade and held it out for the shopkeeper to inspect.
“Mmm. Much like the knife. I don’t have anything that would fit this right now. I could make something in a day or two…”
“I’m in a hurry,” Kevon interrupted. “I’ll just buy another sword and have a scabbard made for this later.”
“Now, now…” the shopkeeper motioned for Kevon to calm down. “A good customer might get moved to the top of the list… I could have it done by morning?”
“That’s acceptable,” Kevon agreed. “What kind of sword would you recommend I get?”
After a short discussion Kevon settled on one of the nicer sabers. It was light, sturdy, and longer than the Warrior’s sword.
“Three gold for the sword and the extra scabbard,” the shopkeeper began, looking at Kevon, expecting a counter-offer.
“Done.” Kevon plunked three coins down on the counter. “Tell me what you know about my sword.”
The man did not know as much about the blade as Kevon had hoped. The knife he’d bought earlier had been sold to him by a young Warrior who had needed some extra money for traveling. The shopkeeper did not remember seeing the sword with the Warrior, or what he looked like. He did remember the man said he’d traveled up the coastal road from the southern frontier.
Kevon strapped his saber on and thanked the shopkeeper as he left. He went back to his room at the Maiden and left both swords and the knife with his gathered belongings before heading down to the common room.
Bertus met him on the stairway, and hurried ahead to the kitchen to get something for Kevon to eat.
Well after Kevon had finished his meal and was on his second mug of ale, he spotted Carlo. The mercenary had made it almost to his table unnoticed, possibly by using the kitchen entrance.
“Better,” Carlo admitted. “I’d been waiting in the kitchen for five minutes for a chance to get this close. Much better.”
Kevon laughed and shook his head. “All right. So what is this about?”
“Best if I showed you. Come along.”
Kevon took another drink and left the rest to follow Carlo out the front of the inn.
Carlo strode purposefully down the streets, the crowd parting just ahead of him. He sidestepped occasionally to avoid those who were not watchful. Kevon followed closely in the older man’s wake, trying to match stride and demeanor, earning smiles from some and a wide berth from others.
They wove their way through the streets and narrow alleys toward the harbor. One neighborhood they passed through was larger than Laston, and Kevon guessed housed more than ten times the people his hometown did. The buildings here seemed to be older and not as well kept as those nearer the main road. Carlo headed for a large blocky building that seemed to be in much better shape than any other in the area.
Carlo pounded on the sturdy-looking door. A sliding panel in the door opened, and he pulled something from inside his tunic to show to the man inside. The slide closed and Kevon could hear the door being unbarred.
The door opened and a burly man wearing a large sword strapped to his back gestured for Carlo to enter. “Who’s he?” he asked Carlo as he walked in.
“He’s with me.”
The man nodded and barred the door after Kevon entered.
Tapestries and wall hangings crowded the brick and wood hallway, scenes of knights and castles, some more fanciful than Kevon could believe.
After passing several closed doors, the hallway opened into an area that resembled an inn’s common room. Mismatched tables and chairs were grouped together, men sat around eating, drinking, and carousing. Servants hovered around, refilling mugs and carrying away empty plates.
Where a stage or a central fireplace would be in a typical inn, was another space that took up nearly half of the large room. Racks of weapons, real and wooden, lined the back and side walls of the room. The floor was wooden except for the brick-lined square of sand that took up perhaps two-thirds of that side of the room.
Where…? Kevon looked around at the men. Most wore silver medallions, and Kevon saw one or two with gold ones. They bore the raised sword symbol of the Warrior’s Guild.
Carlo turned, and seeing Kevon’s expression, laughed softly. “Figured it out, eh?” The mercenary sat at an empty table in the middle of the room, not making any effort to monitor entrances.
Kevon sat across the table from him, and was about to ask what they were doing when he saw Carlo’s medallion bared over his tunic. It was gold.
“You boys hungry?” one of the serving maids asked, playfully ruffling Carlo’s hair.
“The boy must be. Spending a lot of time with his mouth open lately,” Carlo rumbled in amusement, slapping the table.
Kevon closed his mouth. “I’m fine,” he mumbled. “I could use something to drink.”
“I’m for that!” Carlo agreed lo
udly.
The serving girl winked and disappeared into a side room.
“Back so soon, Carlo?” Another man, far younger than Carlo, wearing a gold medallion, sat down at their table.
“Yep. Change of plans. You know how flighty Merchants can be.”
The man nodded. “Who’s your friend?”
“Student,” Carlo corrected. “Kevon. He’s here for Trial.”
The newcomer tsk’d softly. “No Novices here today. There’s a few on watch, but they won’t be here until late, if then.”
Carlo sighed. “Kind of in a hurry.”
The man tilted his head toward a younger man who was chatting with a serving maid. “There’s Waine.”
At the mention of his name, the young man stood, whispered something to the maid, and strolled over to the table.
“Anything I can help with, Blademaster…s?” Waine asked, tripping over his tongue as he saw Carlo also wore the gold medallion.
“Waine, this is Kevon. He’s here for Trial,” the Blademaster smirked slightly.
“Hey, good luck to you then,” Waine smiled at Kevon and raised his mug. “Who’s he facing?” he asked, looking around the room.
“How about you?” the Blademaster asked.
“I’m a Seeker, not a Novice,” Waine laughed. “Lem will be here in a few hours, it can wait ‘til then.”
“They’re in a hurry, Waine,” the Blademaster corrected. “You can go easy on him.”
“No, Marco.” Carlo rumbled.
“Too rough for your boy, eh?” Marco said mockingly, smiling at Kevon.
“No.” Carlo leaned forward. “Don’t go easy on him.”
Whoops of excitement and cries of approval thundered from the surrounding tables. Carlo and Marco stood, and Kevon followed suit. They wound their way through the crowd to the other side of the room.
Waine removed his boots, socks, and the light leather jacket he was wearing. He walked to the far wall and picked out a practice sword. He sat down at the far corner of the sandy pit and began wiggling his toes in the sand.
Kevon removed his boots, socks, and cloak. He folded the cloak neatly, sat it on a bench, and reached for one of the practice swords on a nearby rack.
Apprentice Swordceror Page 13
