The Heir of Eyria
Page 7
The High Inquisitor frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Edgar still lives. The assassin failed.”
The inquisitor’s eyes widened in surprise, but only for a moment. Good. The man understood. Lucky for her, the man was competent.
“Thank the gods. You can’t imagine how happy I am to hear the news.”
“Well, I have done all I can here. It appears the man cannot speak, and so, he can’t tell us anything of importance. Let him rot here instead, to contemplate of whatever miserable future he has ahead of him.”
She turned her gaze away from the assassin, looking at Everny, motioning for him to follow. Everny locked the door behind him and followed Alessia back to the hallways of the castle.
“So, you think he will try to escape?”
“Yes. It’s clear his task was to eliminate all the successors to the throne. He was likely ordered to let my father live, so he could watch our kingdom burn. Now that he thinks that Edgar still lives, he will undoubtedly try to escape to finish the task.
“But why? Why would you risk this much? What are you planning, my lady?”
“When the task is done, he will report back to his masters.”
Everny stroked his face with his fingers, considering something. Did he have doubts?
“You don’t approve,” Alessia said, frowning.
“It is a bold plan, my lady. But I fear the execution of it; there are too many uncertain variables in play here. What if we lose track of him? What if he discovers the prince is already dead, and he sees himself cornered… won’t he try to take his own life? Men like him are conditioned. Loyal. And there’s the tiny problem of prince Edgar’s demise. How will you trick him?”
Princess Alessia vas Nerian smiled. “Let me worry about the details, High Inquisitor. I have a plan.”
Chapter 4
Ronan
Ronan stared at Raven in disbelief, ignoring Hera’s knowing smirk. She enjoyed making Ronan squirm. “Why me?”
“Because the Huntress here tells me that you’re the very best they have to offer.”
Hera shrugged. “Sadly, I must admit it’s true. It hasn’t been a good year for us. We’ve lost some of our finest, while some refuse to work.”
The woman exchanged a quick look with Ronan, the implication behind her words clear. But to invoke the debt Ronan had been paying for years now… he did not appreciate it—at all. It quickly soured his mood; he had no time for games, least of all now. He thought about leaving the quarters right here and now, but what would that solve? It would only create him more problems—and the Huntress was not a person you wanted to disappoint.
Ronan exhaled slowly. “I do this, and my debt to you is paid?”
Hera nodded gravely. “It is. Paid in full.”
Ronan stared at Raven intently, biting the inner part of his mouth. If he was free—truly free—what would it mean for him and for his son? They could go anywhere. Do anything. No more dangerous hunts. No hunters. No Daemoni. Was this not what he had been working for all these years: to be free, with only himself to answer to?
“We will pay you well,” Raven added. He obviously sensed how close to a decision Ronan was.
“Gods damn it,” Ronan muttered. “Aye. Agreed. I will do this… whatever this is.”
“Excellent.” Hera clapped her hands together. She knew well enough that Ronan could do nothing but agree. Nevertheless, she had had let the play continue, probably interested in seeing Ronan’s reaction.
“So,” Ronan muttered. “What are we hunting?”
The woman snorted. “A wolf.”
“What?”
“A big one,” the large man with a scar answered, chuckling.
Raven smiled mysteriously. “I believe this is something that should be discussed over a few mugs of ale, my new friend.”
***
“Why the long face, partner? Cheer up. I promise our company is not as terrible as it might seem,” Raven said, gently poking Ronan’s shoulder.
“Right,” Ronan muttered as a reply.
They had returned to the tavern. It quickly became apparent Raven had rented rooms for the entire group there already—the very night they met Ronan, even. It was as if they knew Ronan would join them.
The tavern was surprisingly loud this time of the day. It seemed like a group of sailors—fishermen—had returned from their voyage. Judging by the laughter and singing, their catch had been a big one.
Ronan observed the rest of the group, none seemed to be as joyous as Raven.
The woman, whom Raven had introduced as Rose, returned his look with a hostile glare. She obviously didn’t appreciate his presence. He was yet to see her smile even once. A serious woman then.
The man with the scarred face didn’t seem to share Rose’s ill mood, but he hadn’t spoken anything for quite some time, either. Ronan frowned, thinking back. Raven had called him Rust, hadn’t he? A curious name, Ronan thought. Unusual.
Raven sighed. “I must apologize Ronan. Usually, our group is much more… hospitable. I blame myself, really. We haven’t had a newcomer for quite some time, now. Cat got your tongue, Rust? Avalon I can understand, but you’re usually quite the chatterbox compared to him.”
Rust shrugged. “Just tired, boss. You had us track the beast all night. While you, I reckon, spent the whole night here—next to a warm fireplace, no less. I swear, my bones are still numb from the cold; I can’t stand how cold the nights here in the north are. How I miss Eyria…”
Raven gasped. “Why I would never. Why, I had important tasks I had to attend to, here. Matters that could not wait, in fact!”
“Really?” Rose raised an eyebrow. She crossed her arms. “Such as?”
Raven scratched his hair, briefly casting a glance towards the table with the sailors. “Err, private things, my lady. But I was incredibly busy, I promise you that!”
Ronan frowned, looking at the sailors with more curiosity now. Why would Raven have any dealings with a group of fishermen? She then saw the sole woman in the group, drinking her ale like the rest of the sailors. He couldn’t help but notice how the other sailors kept their distance from her. No sailor spending time in the sea did that, not unless the girl was off-limits. A captain’s daughter, then?
“No,” Rose gasped.
Ronan could see Raven share a look with Rust, muttering his apologies with his mouth. He seemed slightly ashamed.
Rose hit her fist on the table, toppling over the half-empty mug, spilling ale on the floor. “You mean to tell me, while we were freezing our asses off, you went and fucked some sailor’s daughter?”
Raven’s eyes widened in panic. “Keep your voice down, Rose,” he whispered, voice wary.
The tavern grew quiet after Rose’s outburst. No more laughter was heard from the sailors’ table. There was no doubt the entire tavern had heard Rose’s shouts.
“So,” Ronan said, coughing, “what’s this about a wolf?”
“Why, Ronan. Thank you for asking.” The man seemed awfully thankful for Ronan’s intervention.
“As I explained to you earlier, we’ve traveled the world in search of great beasts. And not just any beasts, but those touched by the Daemoni. We came to this… err marvelous city of yours to find one, in fact!”
Ronan frowned. “This is the first time I hear of any… Daemoni wolves in these parts, I reckon. What kind of wolf is it?”
“A great best corrupted by the touch of Erebus more than a millennium ago.” a voice came from across the table. The hooded stranger had chosen to speak. Although Ronan couldn’t see the man’s eyes, he could sense… something. The runes covering his hands; his strange, slurred speech. Raven had called this man Avalon. But who or what was he?
“What my friend here is trying to say,” Raven said, clearing his throat. “is that we hunt a dangerous prey, and to achieve that, we need your help. I’m quite certain your talents will prove priceless.”
“Aye, I get all that. But why? And what talents?”
<
br /> Raven shrugged. “I believe ridding the world of the Daemoni is a noble goal in itself, no? But alas, I must admit our goals aren’t quite that noble. We are, after all, mercenaries. And as mercenaries, we do expect to get a hefty price for the beast’s head—as will you, my new friend. As for what talents… you were once known as the Berserker, were you not?”
Ronan swallowed, eyes narrowing. How did Raven know this? “Aye, I was. Many years ago. I don’t know what you’ve heard, but I’m not the same man I once was, and I don’t do the things I once did,” Ronan said, looking down at his hands. They were shaking. “The fire in me burned out long ago.”
The voice in Ronan’s head chuckled. Liar.
Raven frowned, studying him intently. He exhaled loudly. “Ah, no matter. I have a feeling you will have a chance to rekindle that fire sooner than later.”
“Right,” Ronan muttered. He almost asked what Raven meant by that, but he decided against it. He felt like the man had left something unsaid; there was no way they came all this way just to hunt a Daemoni—Hera and her Hunter’s Lodge were here for just that reason. But then again, it wasn’t his problem, was it? Once the beast was slain, they would go their separate ways—and hopefully their pockets filled with coin.
As the empty mugs of ale kept piling up in front of Ronan, the feeling that he had made a terrible mistake grew stronger and stronger. Raven had all but admitted that they were hunting something strong, inhuman. Wasn’t that precisely what he had promised he would avoid? He might have relished the opportunity in his youth, aye, rushing from one battle to the next, seeking challenges that could get him killed. But he was no longer that man. The rage had left him. The bloodlust. He had sealed it away into the darkest corner of his mind, along with the voice in his head. He was free of his own lunacy, and he would never let it free again.
“I believe you could use another one, friend,” Rust handed over a fresh ale, noticing Ronan’s morose look.
“Aye, I reckon you’re right. My thanks,” Ronan sighed, faking a smile. He should lighten up, shouldn’t he? Who knows when the next time he could relax would be. And besides, the company wasn’t all that bad; they seemed like good people all, these mercenaries. Still, Raven’s insistence that they spend the night drinking and socializing was surprising to Ronan. “Trust is everything in our line of work,” Raven had said to Ronan. “I need to know I can trust you if I’m going to fight alongside you.”
“I reckon you have your reservations about joining us, Berserker?” Rust continued.
“Aye. You could say that. And you can call me Ronan.”
Rust sighed. “I don’t blame you. Gods, I would be suspicious also if some stranger asked me to join them, too. But you can trust Raven—I trust him with my life. And he fights like no one you’ve ever seen. Trust me on that.”
Ronan remained silent, but he could sense the that Rust meant his words. And there was something about their leader… something hidden beneath the mask of jester. Ronan was intended to find out what that was.
“Fight? Aye. He can fight, all right. But the man’s a giant ass, and that’s a fact,” Rose snorted, swallowing the final droplets of ale with hunger. She grimaced at the bitterness of it, but raised her hand, motioning the barkeep to bring her another one. The girl liked to drink.
Ronan watched as Raven excused himself, no doubt heading off to relieve himself. And now that he was gone, it was Ronan’s turn to ask some more questions. Would they talk of their leader differently now that he was away? He moved his chair closer to Avalon’s, intend to press the silent man further. The man had no doubt wanted to say something more about the Daemoni they were about to face but was interrupted by Raven. Maybe he could persuade him to say something more. “And you Avalon, what do you think of Raven?”
There was no reply. The man did not even bother looking his way.
“Don’t take it personally, Ronan,” Rust chuckled. “The man’s not mute, but he hardly ever talks.”
“Aye, I’ve noticed,” Ronan muttered, frowning at the silent man. He tried to see the man’s eyes under the hood, but the lighting indoors was too dim; the sun had already set long ago. Gods, had it been all day since their meeting with the Huntress already? Ronan thought he could see something move beneath that hood of his. Did the man… smile?
The sound of a glass breaking interrupted Ronan’s thoughts abruptly.
“How dare you,” a loud voice boomed from across the table. The man Ronan judged to be their captain had raised his voice and was pointing at Raven, face bright-red. Gods, what had possessed the man to approach the group of sailors?
“Apologies, my dearest captain. I had no inkling that your daughter was promised to another. It was a simple crime of passion, I swear to you,” Raven cried, his voice far louder than necessary.
“You… bastard.” The Captain stood up, pushing over the table he had been sitting at. The sound of breaking glass and spilled drink filled the air. The barkeep cowered away. He had never been accustomed to violence, as Ronan had seen time and time again. Ronan kept wondering how and why the man had chosen this profession as his. What else could you expect when you served drinks for drunk men all night long?
The Captain drew his blade loose, looking at Raven threateningly. The other sailors slowly surrounded Raven.
“Gentlemen!” Raven shouted, smiling nervously at the grim sailors around him. “I see no reason to let an incredible night go to a waste over such trivial things. The next rounds on me. How’s that sound?” He showed them a pouch filled to the brim with coin, thinking it would calm the tension around him.
It didn’t.
Raven’s words had already escalated the situation too far for simple words to fix, which Ronan could see clear as day. Ronan blinked, and the Captain’s fist connected with Raven’s jaw, sending him sprawling to the ground. Ronan rose from the chair, knowing full well if he had to intervene, there would be bodies here instead of bruised faces. He tightened his grip around the pommel of his axe, but Rust’s gentle touch stopped him.
“Just watch, Ronan,” Rust said. “Trust me, he has this under control.”
Raven touched his bloodied lip with his left hand, grimacing. “Dear captain, that was completely unnecessary. Now, now. There was no need for things to turn violent.”
“Draw your bloody sword already, bastard, or I promise I’ll gut you where you stand, unarmed or not.”
Raven sighed, shaking his head. “My blade? My dearest captain, I assure you, there is no need for that. I’m afraid if I did that, none of you would leave here alive. He pointed at the captain’s daughter cowering in the corner. “I’m sure you wouldn’t want your daughter to lose his father when she’s such a delicate flower still, eh?”
The Captain hissed. He charged Raven, his slightly curved, brass-pommeled blade pointed at Raven’s heart.
Ronan tried to shout, but it all happened too fast.
The blade missed Raven by a mere hair’s length as Raven sidestepped the blow with ease. The Captain was wholly unprepared for this, and the momentum kept him going forward until his head met the wooden pillar Raven had tactically placed his back against.
Ronan could feel his tense shoulders relaxing. He understood now. It was obvious Raven was completely unmatched in this fight. The man was cunning. Arrogant, aye, but one cunning bastard, too.
The Captain shook his head, trying to shake away the disorientation. He touched his nose, which was no doubt broken by the impact. Eyes furious, the man picked up the blade he had lost, growling. “You’re a dead man.”
The man lunged once more, thrusting his blade towards Raven, no doubt hoping the repeated attack would catch him unguarded.
Raven saw the attack coming well in time. He spun to his left, backhanding the Captain’s sword hand with a well-timed blow. The strike caught the Captain by a surprise, and his grip on his blade loosened just enough for the kick that followed to send it sprawling across the tavern floor, right by a nearby sailor’s feet.
“See? I told you,” Rust laughed. “It’s all under control.”
Then, with the corner of his eye, Ronan saw one of the sailors slowly draw a dagger. He had a murderous look on his face.
“Raven,” Rust shouted, alarmed.
Just as he heard the words, Raven spun around, just in time to see the dagger descending towards his jugular. Miraculously, the dagger missed, dropping to the floor.
Along with the sailor’s right hand.
Somehow, in the blink of an eye, Raven had drawn the blade by his waist. The blade now dripped with blood, while the sailor stared at the bloody stump in front of him with an uncomprehending look on his face. Then he screamed.
Raven sighed, his words barely noticeable over the sound of the sailor’s wailing. “I’m sorry it came to this. Truly. But I did warn you. I trust the matter is settled?” He threw over several coins to the Captain.
The Captain caught the coin from the air, hesitantly. Ronan thought he saw defiance in his eyes, but it was fear.
“I suggest you take your leave now, friend. Enough blood has already been shed, needlessly if I may say so myself.”
“Aye. We’re leaving,” the Captain answered in a sheepish voice, massaging his right arm, which had already begun to bruise.
The now one-armed sailor was quietly sobbed while his companions carefully helped him up. The man fumbled to stand with his shaky legs, holding a linen turning crimson at his stump. Ronan saw a large patch of dampness spread around the man’s groin; he had no doubt soiled himself. Raven’s actions might have been reckless and bashful, aye, but he was no doubt strong.
Rust snorted. “I told you he can take care of himself. Do you think he leads us by accident?”
“I would’ve shown them no mercy. They started the fight. They had no reason leaving this tavern alive,” Rose hissed, standing up. “In fact, I think I might just go and finish the job. We’ve got enough enemies as is.”