The Journey to Karrith

by Ted Neill

  “At least we’ll be out of the street,” Haille said, hoping his voice sounded more confident than he felt. Cody slapped them both on their backs.

  “Looks like a fine establishment. We’ll get a good meal and maybe a bed for the night.”

  “Long as I don’t have to share it with a stranger,” Katlyn said.

  “Well that is part of the fun, isn’t it?”

  “Very funny.”

  “Don’t worry. Val and I are looking out for you both. Just follow your old friend Cody’s lead.”

  They did, passing through the doorway which was covered by the stretched and faded remains of a sail cloth. A fierce-looking man on the other side—bald with a star-shaped scar on his temple—stopped them and required them to check their weapons behind a counter. Even Haille and Katlyn were required to hand over their swords, the man raising an eyebrow when he looked upon the craftsmanship of Elk Heart.

  The smells of dirt, ash, pine tar, and spilled ale mingled in the air which was hazy with pipe smoke. But above all the smells were the welcoming aromas of fresh bread and cooking stew. Haille’s stomach grumbled at the prospect of food and he followed Cody to a table. It was not the choicest of place settings, the top was sticky and stained and covered in a sprinkling of crumbs. It was also far from the warmth of the fire—all those spots were taken by sailors—and the chairs rocked on uneven legs. But Haille was happy to sit, his muscles relaxing as he did so.

  The tavern was modest. The walls were constructed from ship timbers, the beams overhead supported by repurposed keels. A single tavern maid made rounds among the patrons: rough-looking men who, in the comfort and darkness of the interior, were boisterous and loud. The maid was a lithe brunette, with a shock of white running through her bangs and tattoos from her wrist to her neck. Bangles jingled on her arms and ankles. Haille thought her harsh looking, as any woman used to working amid such clientele might, but upon laying eyes on Cody, her face softened and she even moved to straighten a loose lock of hair from her face. Cody winked at her and she smiled.

  “No shenanigans, soldier, we’re on a mission,” Val reminded him under his breath.

  “Just enticing the lady over to take our orders,” Cody said, leaning forward in his seat as the woman came alongside their table.

  Mistie—as she introduced herself—brought them jugs of cider, a wheel of cheese, and a hot loaf of bread while they waited for their stew. Katlyn jumped, nearly spilling her drink, when the sailors began a cheer without warning. Across the room a slender, short man was walking onto a stage in the corner of the main room. He was reed-like, especially in comparison to the burly figures in the audience. Unlike the weather beaten sailors, his face was smooth shaven, his hands diminutive and unscarred. He was handsome in a plain way, despite a nose that was a bit large for his face and a hairline that was receding. He introduced himself as Gunther and asked the audience their leave to demonstrate some tricks.

  “Make yourself disappear!” a gruff voice called out, followed by course laughter. Gunther offered an uncomfortable smile. Haille noticed Katlyn shoot the speaker a reproachful look: he was a bald man with a ring in his nose that connected to one in his ear via a tiny gold chain. Katlyn had taken to this meek-looking man striving to entertain a room full of louts and she did not like the rude comments. Haille knew that in a bigger city, this Gunther might find a better audience on a street corner than a tavern such as this.

  But Gunther did not disappoint. His first few tricks were of the common variety. He made eggs appear between his fingers, performed a card trick, swallowed a long, thin sword. All of this won him a smattering of applause. It was when he tied a rope around his neck and with a flourish pulled it tight only to have it fall loose as if it had passed through him that the men sat up. At first they were too shocked to even applaud. Instead they laughed and whispered among themselves before offering some tentative cheers, unsure of what they had just seen. But their response heartened Gunther, giving him confidence to speak louder. His eyes were brighter, his smile a bit wider, and the flourish of his arms grander.

  Mistie brought their bowls of stew but Haille barely noticed his and left it to cool, afraid he would miss a trick if he took his eyes away from Gunther. The feats were growing in complexity. Gunther slipped a chick—still covered in yellow feathers—into a small wire cage. In a move that shocked the audience and made the men cry out in surprise, he brought his hand down on the cage, smashing it, and apparently the chick too, leaving nothing but a floating cloud of downy fluff. But then he amazed them all by pulling the chick out from under his floppy hat.

  Hearty applause followed. He had the audience where he wanted now. They leaned forward in their chairs, the room silent but for the cracking fire as Gunther summoned water out of a pitcher and shaped it into a shimmering column that floated in the air. It took the form of a swan, before in a fluid motion, Gunther collected it into a cup then drank it empty. Haille was impressed and clapped along with the rest of the audience, enjoying the illusions until one sailor raised his pipe to the candle burning in a mountain of wax on his own table. He was trying to give light to the weed stuffed into the bowl of the pipe, when with a flick of the wrist, Gunther conjured a flame and the pipe came puffing to life.

  More applause followed but Haille’s hands were still. The top of his head tingled. He had seen this trick before and knew it to be more than an illusion. Katlyn was mesmerized as she had been in the forest among the elves. Only after Gunther gave a final bow did she turned to her soup. “Could this be real magic, too, like the elves?” she asked Val and Cody.

  Cody shrugged, his eyes not turning away from Mistie’s as she refilled their mugs. Val cleared his throat. “Well it is Karrith. The edicts of Hillary Hillbourne are not enforced with the same rigor. After all, the elves have magic and some humans are said to have the gift. But this man could just be a talented illusionist.”

  That fire was no illusion, Haille thought, wondering if he could find a way to speak to Gunther himself, to ask him what it meant that Sade had told him that he, himself, “had the gift.”

  Mistie moved about the tables, refilling mugs with ale, cider, and grog. The patrons broke into a few bawdy songs that Cody knew and he sang along for a few measures. After the verses, the sailor with the nose ring chained to his earring sauntered over and pulled up a chair. He clapped Cody on the shoulder, looked to do the same to Val, but upon noticing the withering glare the captain gave him, thought better of it.

  “Konrad Rumbold is my name. You look new to these parts. Where do you hail from?” he said in a lilting Karrithian accent.

  “Carasans,” Val answered. “By way of the sand road.”

  “Ahh, most folk these days are headed in the other direction, away from Karrith.”

  “A few skirmishes don’t scare us,” Val said, his fist closing around the handle of his mug.

  “Brave souls you must be. Can’t say the same for the refugees flooding up here from the south like lice on a dog. Cowards.”

  “They seemed like families seeking safety to me,” Katlyn said, her chin tipped upward. Konrad turned towards her, leaning heavily on his elbow, his smile exposing the brown of his teeth. The chain connecting his nose ring to his earring glittered and swung. Katlyn crinkled her nose as if she could smell his breath.

  “Well, your heart is as soft as your face is pretty. What is your name young lady?”

  “I’m sure there are women more of your age who are lining up for your affection,” Cody said. His voice was friendly, but there was no missing the edge in it. “Maybe let’s go meet some at the counter over there.”

  “What is your rush, friend,” Konrad said. “I’m just asking the girl her name. There is nothing like a maiden in the spring of youth.”

  Cody chuckled uncomfortably and looked across the table to Val, who leaned forward. “This maiden has no more to say to you.”

  Konrad gave a gruff laugh, reached into his pocket, and pressed a gold kapina down onto the
table with his thumb, the dirt beneath his nails showing in grimy crescents. “For what I want her for, she doesn’t need to talk.”

  Katlyn’s face blanched white then shifted to red. “How dare you!”

  Konrad cocked an eyebrow. “You best be controlling your lass better.”

  “Time to go, friend,” Cody said, shifting to lift the man out of his chair. He proved not inclined, elbowing Cody in the ribs. Val played cool to his temper.

  “Easy friend, she is but a child. She meant no harm.”

  But Konrad the sailor was in his cups and Katlyn’s rejection had triggered something within him. He reached into his boot and drew out a dagger he had hidden. Cody was too fast though, grabbing his wrist while Val rose and smashed his mug into the sailor’s nose. Chairs scraped across the floorboards, tables flipped. As if a bell had been rung, the room erupted in fighting. With few weapons available, the scuffles turned into a series of wrestling matches with bodies tangling, men grunting, and cups spilling across the floor. Mistie was quickly in the center of things, pulling Haille and Katlyn away from the fray. The burly man with the star-shaped scar remained at the counter, a club in hand, ready to keep the cache of weapons locked away.

  Longshoremen rushed in the front door, descending on sailors. Both parties went after Val and Cody. When one man raised a bench over his head to strike Cody, Mistie stepped in-between and stabbed him in the cheek with a fork, giving Cody time to punch him below the belt.

  “Thanks, m’lady,” he said, flashing a gracious smile to Mistie. Haille turned to check on Katlyn but she was gone. Panicked, he searched the mayhem to see her legs kicking over the shoulders of Konrad as he carried her towards the backdoor. Haille gave chase, tottering over and falling flat on his face as a chair spun into his path and tripped him. He thumped his chin on the floor and bit his tongue. Stunned for a moment, he struggled up only to see Konrad disappearing through the doorway. He pushed himself up, dizzy, stumbled around a passed out—or rather knocked out—patron. A sailor shoved out of the violence collided with him and they both collapsed in a heap against the wall. Haille fought to lift the man’s weight off of him, watching Konrad as he stopped just outside the backdoor, his head snapping back and his knees buckling. Katlyn began to slide off his tipping shoulders but her fall was arrested by a tall woman barring the way through the door.

  Her skin was the color of caramel, her curly black hair pulled back into a ponytail, and a leather headband with animal teeth wrapped her head. Her neck was long and elegant, its shape accentuated by a collar of cowrie shells. Her tunic was oversized but hugged her body tightly from a series of belts and straps. She wore leather riding britches and boots flared with tassels. With one arm she eased Katlyn to the ground, in the other she held a wood staff, its ends capped with iron bands.

  “You all right?” she asked Katlyn. Katlyn nodded, leaning against the door jam, her arms wrapped about her. A goblet shattered on the floor next to them. The woman broke her gaze off from Katlyn and searched the room for the thrower, then sprung into the chaos.

  Her staff spun like the blades of a windmill, striking, jabbing, and flinging men twice her size. When one moved within the radius of her staff, she stepped up to him and butted him with her head, the teeth of her headband leaving jagged cuts in his forehead. When a chair came flying at her, she knocked it out of the air with the end of her staff, and before she completed the rotation, she landed a blow to a sailor approaching her from behind. She left a trail of bodies across the room and soon those men still upright were fleeing for the door where the man with the star-shaped scar looked on with a bemused smile, his arms crossed over his chest, his head shaking.

  “Fools,” he said.

  One determined fighter swinging a broken table leg had cornered Val by the hearth. Val had nowhere to go and when he grabbed a fire poker and swung it to meet the man’s blow, the poker snapped at the handle. Val stared at the useless piece in his hand before throwing it in the sailor’s face. He might have thrown it at a brick wall for the good it did. The sailor lifted the table leg, Val bracing for the shock of the strike. But it never came. The woman with the staff swept the sailor’s feet out from under him with one swing. With another she knocked away the table leg, sending it clattering across the floorboards. Mistie picked it up, already undertaking the cleanup process, order having been restored.

  When the sailor tried to rise, the woman with the caramel skin locked her fierce brown eyes on him and placed her boot on his neck.

  “Raspar, how many times have I told you, you would regret it if a fight broke out in my establishment?”

  Raspar was too addled or too embarrassed to answer. He coughed and sputtered, rubbing the back of his head, grimacing from the pain.

  Val, for his part, let out a deep sigh, lowered his arms, and smiled at his rescuer. “Hello, Chloe.”

  Chapter 23

  Chloe and Gunther

  “Valateen Mandaly,” the woman Val called “Chloe,” said. She lifted her boot off the neck of the man she had floored, gave him a light kick in the rear, and let him scramble away. With her staff set to the side, she locked in a long embrace with Val while Haille and Katlyn looked on. Cody was next, exchanging an equally long hug with her.

  “I should have known the two of you were in the thick of this.” She smiled. “Balthazar, fresh drinks for all our remaining guests.”

  The man with the star-shaped scar put aside the broom he was using to sweep up the shards of broken goblets and went to the kegs on the far side of the room to pour fresh drinks. Chloe righted a few chairs and invited them to sit down close to the fire.

  “Chloe, this is Prince Haille Hillbourne of Antas and Katlyn Hunerbray, his close friend.”

  “Prince? You jest.” When Val shook his head that he did not, Chloe stood and made a shallow bow. “Well, your highness, I am Chloe Amberson, welcome to the Bird and the Baby.” She glanced to Val once more. “This is really the prince?”

  Haille cleared his throat. “I’m indebted to Val and Cody, they have been loyal friends and champions.”

  “I think I need to sit down,” Chloe said, then stopped herself, looking to Haille, who was still standing.

  “Please, be at ease,” Haille said, pulling out a seat for Katlyn and one for himself.

  Chloe took a seat. “Val, you travel with some highborn companions these days.”

  “Strange days call for unlikely friendships. Prince Haille, Chloe is a member of the Order of Oban. She is a knight like myself,” Val said.

  “Was,” Chloe corrected.

  A cloud of sadness passed across Val’s face. “Chloe was my right hand during the Wars of Izlay.”

  “I thought Cody was your right hand,” Katlyn said, taking a fresh cup of cider from Balthazar.

  “I’m the left,” Cody said, seated in the corner where Mistie had found her way to his lap. Chloe did not hesistate to show her disapproval.

  “Mistie, get cleaning and leave him alone. He’s got bastard children all over the realm.”

  Mistie’s smile turned into a scowl and she joined Balthazar and now Gunther who were straightening the tables and chairs. Chloe swept an arm in their direction.

  “This is my husband,” she said.

  Haille expected Balthazar to come over next: one warrior paired with another, but to his surprise, it was Gunther the magician who came over and reached out a hand in greeting.

  “We loved your tricks,” Katlyn said.

  “You are a talented illusionist,” Val said.

  “You are kind,” Gunther said, his cheeks turning a rosy pink.

  “He is no illusionist,” Chloe said. “He is a true sorcerer.”

  “Truly?” Val asked.

  “My wife is generous. I have much practice left before I can offer my services to anyone,” he said, running his hand through his thinning hair. “But I try.”

  Haille could see a powerful mix of pride and affection in Chloe’s face as she looked at her husband. Such affectio
n he might not have expected from a warrioress like Chloe, but he was quickly learning that people had depths that could surprise him.

  “You didn’t want to use your powers to settle the scuffle in here?” Val asked.

  Chloe snorted. “Be glad he didn’t. He likely would have killed or maimed us all.”

  Haille saw Katlyn’s eyebrows go up.

  “I’m still learning to . . . restrain my powers. There are few mages to learn from here in Pinky’s Port so I’m mostly self-taught.”

  “Remarkable,” Val said.

  While Chloe and Val spoke, Gunther excused himself to continue helping Balthazar and Mistie straighten the tavern. Haille watched him with wonder, curious to see if he might use his powers to clean spills or right furniture. But Gunther seemed content to use ordinary rags and just his hands for the time being.

  Val and Chloe spoke for hours, the fire dying to embers and Katlyn slumping in her chair until her head nodded onto Haille’s shoulder. At some point Cody and Mistie wandered off together, but both Chloe and Val were too engaged to notice. Even Gunther excused himself for bed and Balthazar went home for the night. Haille struggled to remain awake and attentive out of politeness. Val shared all the details of their adventures so far with Chloe—not just their true identities but also Lorna’s premonition, their mission, and even the mysteries they had encountered in Sidon.

  “Vaurgs and elves,” Chloe said, sipping the dregs of her cider. “Extraordinary.”

  The coals in the fireplace smoldered. The hour was long past midnight. The street outside was quiet. Haille wondered what Sapphire, Azure, and Adamantus were doing. Cyan was nestled in a rafter in the corner of the room.

  Val lowered his gaze to meet Chloe’s eyes and said, “Chloe, I need you. You should join us.”

  Chloe’s brown eyes gleamed in the light of the fireplace. She met his gaze without blinking. “Val, you left us.”

  “I wanted you all to lead a regular life, not one on the run.”

  “No Val, don’t hide behind your honor. You were scared. Your order disbanded, everything falling apart around you. You were afraid we would leave you too. So you left us first.”