by Jeff Wilson
“You do not refuse an invitation from the Ard Ri,” one of the two guards said from behind Edryd.
Edryd turned to face the man. “Clearly you wouldn’t, or I should say didn’t decline the man, but I have no business with him.”
The well-dressed guard went red as his partner resisted an urge to laugh. He wasn’t sure what it was that Edryd had meant, and if he had asked, Edryd would have had to admit that it had not been anything specific, but there were plenty of wrong ways to interpret the comment, and the guard had obviously chosen one of them.
Obstructed on one side by Lineue, and also corralled by her two guards standing behind the bench, there would be no easy way to quickly get up from the table in the event his ill-considered approach to this situation triggered a disagreement as seemed increasingly likely with each moment that passed.
Lineue diffused the situation by getting up and telling her guards that she was ready to leave. “You will find yourself in trouble with the Ard Ri if he thinks you made things worse,” she said to the guard whom Edryd had offended. Reluctantly, he turned away from Edryd and began escorting Lineue away. Edryd watched until they disappeared out the front door.
Edryd did not need to look to know that everyone was staring at him. It had been a bad idea to come here. Edryd decided not to waste any more time and went looking for Greven.
Leaving the common room and entering Greven’s kitchen through a simple archway, he found the space to be a good deal cleaner than the rest of the inn. It would have seemed an impossible task considering the state of the common room, but Greven had managed to keep the floor swept clean of the dirt and mud that surely was getting tracked around with trips in and out of the kitchen to serve the customers. There were a few pots being kept warm on an iron stand set atop the coals in the kitchen fireplace, but otherwise the room showed no sign of activity.
Wondering where Greven could have gone, Edryd spotted a partially opened door that led into a stepped passageway that led down to an underground storage room. As he approached, Edryd began to make out two low unintelligible voices. One of the voices rose in pitch suddenly and could be heard clearly.
“I didn’t know he was here!” the voice insisted. It was Greven’s voice. Edryd crept closer and settled in next to the wall beside the doorway, trying to make out more of the conversation.
“Now that you do know,” the other voice said, trying to calm the innkeeper, “you are in a position to provide a useful service.” The voice sounded like it could have been Vannin, a man Edryd had met in this inn that first night here.
“What would you have me do?” Greven asked.
“He has rejected the hospitality of Lord Seoras’s estate, and it seems like Seoras would just as soon not make him return by force if it isn’t necessary,” the man explained. “Offer him a place here, and convince him to stay. Gain his trust if you can.”
“It wasn’t a week ago Seoras insisted that I refuse him a room, now you are telling me to give him one?”
“Whatever the source of Seoras’s peculiar interest in this Edryd, I don’t know the reasons. I expect he wants the man to believe he can go about his business unhindered. I am just trying to learn what I can of the man, and relaying to you my orders as they were given.”
“I imagine it goes without saying that I am expected to keep track of when he comes or goes?” Greven queried sullenly.
“And report on it.”
“I don’t suppose I have a choice in the matter?”
“No,” Vannin confirmed.
Edryd, deciding it was time to leave, backed away from the doorway. He deposited the set of keys atop the table in the middle of the kitchen, and forgetting that he had no money, absentmindedly began fishing into the leather case at his belt looking for a coin to leave behind in appreciation. In doing so, he discovered that the purse was not empty. It held a single bronze coin of local currency that he was sure he had never seen before. With no time to ponder how it got there, Edryd secured the cold metal coin in a closed fist and headed towards the archway that led into the common room.
Belatedly, Edryd stopped, hit with the realization that leaving the keys behind was a terrible mistake. They would be plain evidence that he had been in the room, and a clear signal that he had possibly overheard the conversation between Greven and Vannin. At the sound of booted feet on the bottom step of the stone stairway, Edryd silently darted back to the kitchen table, and before he could be seen, he snatched up the set of keys and hurried back through the archway and into the common room. Edryd worked his way to the entrance, mindful now of the people in the inn, trying to pick out anyone who might be trying to watch him. He had only been here for a few days, he thought to himself, and could not begin to understand how he had attracted so much attention from so many people.
As soon as he was outside, Edryd made for an alleyway opposite the entrance to the Inn. Once he was out of sight, hidden by the shadows between the two buildings across the street, he accelerated his pace and began to put distance between himself and the businesses in the mercantile section of the town. Pausing occasionally to make sure no one was following him, for he couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was, Edryd kept moving at a rapid speed that left him breathing hard and feeling hot in spite of the cold night air. Reaching an empty corner made by two abutting buildings, where he felt confident he could not be observed, Edryd set his back against one of the stone buildings and took a moment to rest while he assessed his situation. The bronze coin was still pressed tightly in his hand and had become warm through the influence of a dissipating heat that was seeping rapidly from his body.
Edryd took the coin between his fingers and held it out under the moonlight. The coin appeared to have been recently struck. The obverse side of the coin bore the image of a crowned figure with subscript identifying the man as Lord Esivh Rhol. The face had been marred with a sharp implement in a manner that obscured Esivh Rhol’s eyes under a mess of deep scratches. Near the bottom edge of the coin, through part of Esivh Rhol’s throat, was a small hole punched straight through the coin. The previous owner of the coin must have thought none too highly of the self-proclaimed Ard Ri of An Innis.
Edryd shifted the coin in his fingers. An outline of An Innis decorated the other side. The island’s two piers were marked at the western shoreline, beside a stylized symbol stamped closer to the center of the coin that approximated the form of the palace at the island’s peak, making it a sort of simple but functional map. There was only one other remarkable feature. The hole in the coin cleanly pierced the outline of An Innis at a specific point near the southernmost edge of the island. The placement of the puncture did not appear accidental. Edryd rotated the coin, orienting it so that it matched up with the actual island, and located the direction of the spot marked by the piercing. It wouldn’t take half an hour to reach the location.
He was nearing exhaustion, but unable to subdue his curiosity, Edryd began picking his way through the city, angling slowly southward, intent on investigating the area marked by the hole on the coin that had been so strangely placed into his pocket. Thinking about the mysterious pickpocket, Edryd wondered at the possible motivations the man might have had for slipping him the coin. Surely it had not been an accident. If he was being lured to the location on the coin, Edryd had to consider the possibility that he might be walking into an ambush. He was in no shape to deal with something like that.
It seemed far too elaborate a method for a simple robbery though, one that required you slip a coin into instead of out of the target’s pocket. Edryd didn’t doubt that it was more likely that he would find himself standing alone on an empty shoreline feeling foolish, than set upon by a band of over-thinking criminals. With his recent poor luck though, it made sense to anticipate the possibility of more serious complications, and he continued to be alert to anything that might signal that he was being followed.
The borders of the town soon receded behind him, and Edryd found himself on a sparse and unobstru
cted rock strewn plain that continued on to a series of crumbling cliffs at the southwestern edge of the island of An Innis. Looking back he saw nothing out of place. There was plenty of moonlight and no cover in which someone could have hidden. If anyone was following him, they had stopped at the edge of the town. Checking the coin once more to be sure of the direction, Edryd headed straight for the location designated upon it. It led to a barren place where an inlet from the ocean had carved out a deep fissure in the cliffs, from which rose currents of damp air that were heavy with the smell of brine.
Passing through a thicket of low shrubs as he arrived near the edge, Edryd surveyed the narrow ocean canyon walls. It was difficult to see, but after some searching he spotted traces of a faintly worn footpath that descended down one side of the crevice before it disappeared into darkness. It took time to find the top of the footpath, which was well hidden by a maze of tall plants, but Edryd soon found himself taking slow careful steps in the dark along the canyon wall. In the dim light that reached into this place, Edryd was able to make out traces of recent travel going both up and down on the pathway. It was persuasive confirmation that the placement of the hole in the coin had not been random.
After making it to the bottom safely, Edryd walked along a footpath that traversed a narrow muddy shoreline along the face of the westernmost canyon wall. Immediately beyond a sharp corner, he noticed traces of lantern light leaking out from an encampment a little further down the path. Edging silently along the cliffside, Edryd spied the source of the light. It was coming from a lantern which cast a wavering light that revealed the shape of a landing craft, a large boat with a furled sail and three sets of retracted oars. The boat was secured in place with a length of corded hemp, tied up against a large stone which protruded above the surface of the water. One man lay sleeping on the shoreline. Another was resting inside the boat. A third sat with his back to the overhanging canyon wall, standing watch for the rest of the men. The boat could easily have carried at least ten more men, so Edryd had to assume that these three did not constitute the entire group. Others were likely in town or elsewhere in An Innis.
The lookout, whose night vision had been weakened by the light, gave no sign that he had seen anything. Edryd could not move closer without stepping into the light, but he wanted to avoid causing undue surprise or alarm anyway. It made sense to greet them from a safe reassuring distance. Edryd straightened and took a single step forward. The movement caught the eye of the man who was standing guard, and he began to lean forward in an unsuccessful effort to better see the dark figure at the edge of the lamplight.
“Krin?” the man asked nervously.
Edryd took another step forward with his hands extended out a little ways from his body.
The lookout’s eyes widened. He began kicking the man lying asleep along the shore to wake him, and began to cry out in alarm to the man in the boat. “Wake up Maldrin, someone’s here,” he shouted. Maldrin bolted upright, looking frightened and confused.
Edryd took one more step forward, placing himself well within the circle of light cast by the lantern on the boat. The man who had been sleeping on the shore slowly raised himself into a sitting position. Propped up on one arm, he looked up from where he rested, apparently angry at having been kicked awake.
Edryd studied the man, whose plain features had few distinguishing characteristics. He might have been just a little taller than Edryd was, with dark hair and brown eyes, and a thin beard spread across a narrow face. He couldn’t have appeared less concerned by Edryd’s sudden appearance, but wheels were spinning in the man’s head, calculating which moves to make and when. By outward appearances, he was altogether unimpressive, yet Edryd felt certain that he must be the leader of this group.
“Was that necessary, Bram?” the man demanded with annoyance, rubbing his shoulder where it had been kicked.
“I had to, Logaeir,” Bram explained. “It materialized right out of the mist. It must be a spirit.”
Logaeir gave Edryd a once over, and made a quick appraisal. “That’s no apparition, it’s a man,” Logaeir concluded.
“How can you tell?” Bram asked, reassured but not yet convinced.
“Look at the light from our lantern, he’s casting a shadow,” Logaeir replied.
“A draugr then,” countered the lookout.
Logaeir laughed. “You’ve never encountered one, or you wouldn’t say that,” he said.
“How am I to know?” Bram protested. There was an injured look on his face.
“You would know a draugr if you ever saw one. It wouldn’t stand at the edge of the light waiting for you to invite it into your camp either.”
“Well I can’t see so clearly. It’s all the way out there, and I don’t want it coming no closer in,” Bram replied, looking over to Maldrin, the man in the boat, for his support.
“I don’t know that it’s a draugr, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t intend us harm,” Maldrin agreed.
Logaeir let out an exasperated sigh and beckoned Edryd closer. “Tell us your name, spirit,” he invited. “Bram and Maldrin won’t relax until you do.”
Edryd wasn’t sure about the wisdom of approaching, but it was too late to turn around now, and he had questions that needed answers. “My name is Edryd. I didn’t mean to frighten anyone,” he said as he took a few more steps toward the men.
“I told you he was just a man,” Logaeir said. “Draugar don’t speak, not in any normal kind of human speech at least.” In trying to demonstrate his superiority by criticizing the ignorance of his two companions, Logaeir sounded somehow more naive and foolish than either of them. Yet there was something behind it, as if Logaeir were trying to appear to be something less than what he was. It would be easy to underestimate him.
Maldrin did appear to relax a great deal. Bram did not. “A draugr or a spirit would make more sense traipsing around out here in the middle of the night. If he is just a man, he didn’t randomly happen upon us.”
“You don’t look like Ascomanni,” Edryd Interjected. “I assume that is who you are, even if you don’t have diseased grey skin, and I see no apparent evidence that you have any unnatural powers.”
Maldrin broke the silence caused by this accusation. “We aren’t diseased. We only smear that ashen paint on before a raid. It terrifies people like you can’t imagine.”
Bram and Logaeir stiffened slightly at Maldrin’s admission, and shot warning looks in his direction.
“Just what is your purpose for coming here?” Logaeir asked suddenly, returning his attention to Edryd and taking on a more serious tone.
“I believe I was invited,” Edryd replied. He retrieved the bronze coin from his pocket and tossed it to Logaeir.
Logaeir took a moment inspecting the coin. “It seems you were,” he said.
“You could tell me more about my purpose here than I can,” said Edryd. “A man in town slipped this coin into my pocket.”
Bram shifted his feet uncomfortably. “Is this really him?” he asked.
Maldrin, sharing Bram’s misgivings, decided to give voice to them. “How do we know Krin wasn’t caught? He should be here if everything had gone to plan. This could be one of the Ard Ri’s men.”
“No,” Logaeir insisted, “this is him, this is the Red Prince.”
Chapter 7
Logaeir
Logaeir, wanting a private conversation, had left Bram and Maldrin behind with the boat while he and Edryd walked a hundred feet back up the shoreline to the where the narrow path began heading back up the cliffside.
“I wanted to ask,” Logaeir started to fumble, before choosing a more direct tact. “We need your help, Aisen.”
Edryd didn’t hide his discomfort over the use of this name, and it must have read plainly on his face even in the darkness. Logaeir quickly reacted. “I can call you Edryd if you prefer, but I know who you are.”
“Setting aside whether I am who you think,” Edryd responded, “It’s my understanding that the Ascomanni ha
ve this place under siege. I don’t see what I could do for a group that is already so obviously succeeding.”
“We have been a little too successful,” Logaeir answered. When Edryd didn’t seem to comprehend, Logaeir expanded his explanation. “We have grown large, and so effective that trade in An Innis has slowed to almost nothing. It is a problem for them to be sure, but it might just be worse for us. Our men are not soldiers. Most of them are undisciplined and opportunistic, loyal only to the promise of quick wealth. Even if we capture every last bit of cargo going in or out of An Innis it isn’t nearly enough. We are beginning to see divisions among the men.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that you have run out of things to take,” Edryd remarked. It was hard for him to empathize with the troubles of men who took what they wanted by force. He wasn’t about to waste any effort trying.
“There isn’t a thing connected to An Innis that isn’t already five times removed from its proper owner,” Logaeir responded in pointed justification. “I have no cause to answer an accusation of supposed wrong for appropriating what was already stolen to begin with.”
“Perhaps not,” Edryd allowed diplomatically. “I suppose if there is no reasonable way to restore anything, you haven’t done new harm in dispossessing those who did not come by the wealth through legitimate means to begin with.”
“I’m glad you can see my side,” Logaeir agreed. “If it means anything, I would like you to understand that I do mean to restore what I can. There are things yet that are not altogether irretrievable.”
Edryd could sense that Logaeir was now talking about something less tangible than captured cargo, but given how little he knew of this man and his history, Edryd was unable to accurately interpret the meaning behind his last comment. He was about to ask Logaeir to say more, when a sudden idea, an apparently obvious solution to the problems Logaeir had described, pushed that impulse aside.
“There might not be much to target on the sea, but I was inside Kedwyn Saivelle’s warehouse. That stockpile alone would satisfy the ambitions of no small number of Ascomanni.” Edryd offered helpfully, surprised to hear this suggestion spoken in his own voice. He hadn’t intended to be getting involved so directly in the affairs of these men.
