There was no denying it now. What he had begun had to be brought to completion. He had to know, he had to find out, he had to find some sense of fairness, some sense of justice in it all.
There were more raids, more journeys to the western bank. The tactic remained the same. When an ornate carriage was seen riding along the shore, or they passed an extravagant barge docked at a small town, Nake would put the ship in at a nearby hiding place. Then they would wait for night, hoist the black sails, and make their way toward their prey.
It was no longer a mystery how the raiders got their information. The people loved them. Fisherman and townsfolk alike aided the raiders, for the raiders gave them most of their spoils. It became quickly apparent that this was how it had always been, even in the time of Mean Nake. It began to appear as if everyone knew the secret of No-Eye Nake and his crew, except for the lords and noblemen. When Nikolis thought back on some of Timmer Garth’s comments on their way to Seaport, he wondered if even the scout had known the truth.
Finally, after another week had passed, they came to a large fork in the river. Full night was upon them, but the moon was bright and high, and the water was easily discerned. Nikolis knew what that meant. The westerly fork was the Kingspear, the river that ran nearly straight to his destination. Nake commanded the vessel toward the shore. The dingy was lowered into the water again, and Nikolis and Nake climbed over the side and entered it. No one else came with them. For the first time since joining the raiders, Nichols watched Nake take the oars and row them toward the shore. It was also the first time that he had been alone, truly alone, with the man. It made him nervous. Nake had shared a lot with him, it might be in the man’s best interest to run Nikolis through where he sat and toss him over the side.
When they got close enough to the riverbank, Nake jumped into the water and drew them onto the shore. Nikolis stood, looking at the western shore with trepidation. He took a step out of the boat and landed on solid earth for the first time in several weeks. The Kingspear was to his right, and ahead, the trees were thick and plentiful. Nake had picked a proper place, one that would conceal him well as he started his journey. There was no doubt that there were still some people out there looking for him. The price on his head was too high.
Nikolis took a step toward the wood and then turned back. Nake had moved back into the boat and was pushing off, without saying a word. He looked up as the small craft started to slip away into the water.
“There was one thing I wanted to ask you,” Nikolis said, taking a few steps back toward the riverside.
No-Eye Nake grinned, and without uttering a word, raised the dark patch that covered his eye. Nikolis smiled. What lay beneath was all the answer he needed.
When the raider was out of view, the boat having disappeared into the thick fog floating above the river, he heard Nake cry out in an ominous voice, “A storm is coming, Nikolis Ledervane. When dark clouds are on the horizon, the smart man makes for calmer waters!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Someone was following him. It was a hulking man, dressed in a dark leather jerkin and breeches. A dark skullcap was pulled over his head, and he trod along the road at a seemingly leisurely pace, astride a shaggy mare. It appeared one was supposed to assume he was just another traveler, making his way along the High Road, but Nikolis didn’t believe it. He had seen the same man at a distance behind him the day before, and a few days before that, again, the same man had taken a meal across from him at a small tavern.
At first, he had assumed he was a brigand, most likely after his purse. Though the thief would get little from him in that endeavor, he had not been afraid of the prospect. Now, as the days went on and the rider failed to overtake him even though Nikolis himself was on foot, it seemed that the man had to be about some other mischief.
The day was hot, as all the days had been since he had left the White River, keeping the Kingspear to his right as much as possible. When the man had first appeared, Nikolis had moved away from the water, hoping to watch the stranger pass him by. But as the strange, dark fellow continued again and again to show up, Nikolis had set out in a more westerly direction, heading toward the High Road. Against his better judgment, he had sought refuge in a few small villages, even taking up in a tavern or two, to see if that would make the stranger leave him alone.
At first, it had seemed to work. A day or more would go by without a sighting, and then, just when he was starting to breathe a little easier, the rider would appear again, on the road behind him. His next tactic had been not to stop and rest at night, to keep going no matter how hard he had to push himself. When the small supply of food he had on him was exhausted, and his legs begged for a rest, he pushed himself on, managing to continue for a while, without food or sleep. Again, it had appeared that his plan had been successful, as the man was nowhere to be seen. But the stranger had reappeared, and now, for the last two days, he had been fast on his heels without misstep.
The man had a long dagger sheathed at his side and looked as though he might be able to use it, though the skill of his pursuer was not what bothered him. Now was not the time for Nikolis to be getting into any untoward encounters. He did not need to draw additional attention to himself. When he saw a small village on the horizon ahead, he was initially undecided as to whether or not he should stop. But, in the end, it seemed that if he did not eat and get some rest, he would become easy prey for the rider, and so he continued to follow the small road that led toward a warm fire, and mug or two of ale.
By the time the small structures of the place had grown near, the sun was setting in the sky. He looked over his shoulder and was not surprised to find the man still plodding along, about twenty feet behind him.
When he passed through the small gate of Willowvale, he held his breath. Though the only guard was a young boy with a shirt of rusted mail bearing a pike twice his size, there was always a moment of fear when he passed by an armed guardsman. He headed down a small street lined with shops that were just now shuttering their windows and then made his way onto a side alleyway. It was best to keep his path without pattern in the hope that it would throw off his pursuer. He took many side streets, and twists and turns, doubling-back, and then heading down another alley, only to retrace his steps again.
When he was satisfied that he had done his best to throw the hound off his scent, he made his way toward the sound of laughter and voices that surely signified the village inn. Within moments he was upon what had to be the only tavern in town.
The Two Trees was a two-storied, wood-framed structure, with a stone foundation. The carved sign above the door depicted two willow trees, weeping over a small body of water. When he entered the small, cozy room, the stares he received made it apparent that only locals usually frequented this place. Perhaps the choice of a small village was a mistake.
Nikolis took a seat at a round table in the corner of the room and within minutes a young girl, smiling from ear to ear, came over to him with a mug of ale and an offer of dinner. Salted trout or roasted quail was in the offing. Having had his fill of fish in his weeks aboard the River Rake, he opted for the quail with a smile, and then downed half of the frothy ale. It tasted good, surprisingly refreshing. As natural and wholesome as all he had consumed in the Do’shibu camp seemed, there were some familiarities that he couldn’t help but relish.
As he chewed a bit of the quail, listening to the merriment of the folk around him, he started to relax. No one in this peaceful place would know him, and surely, he had thrown the trail of his pursuer, if the man had ever really been after him at all. Perhaps the whole thing had been but his imagination getting the better of him – a coincidence and nothing more. In the years he had been gone his appearance must have changed enough so that making a positive identification of his face would be difficult at best.
Everything seemed to be going well until he noticed that most of the merriment had died down and saw those same people that had stared at him when he entered the tavern, now turn
and look toward the entrance. The hulking rider entered the tavern, took one definitive look at Nikolis, and then sat at the bar.
He was unwashed and unkempt; his face in sore need of a shave, but then Nikolis probably looked much the same. He grinned at the serving girl and gave her a wink, then ordered a mug of ale. He downed the first mug set before him in one gulp and ordered another. This was soon gone too, and he was pressing a copper coin into the girl’s palm, caressing her hand as he did.
After he finished his third mug of ale, he started to talk, seemingly to the girl and the short, bald man behind the bar that seemed to be her father by the way he looked at her.
“Just got in off the road,” the man said, much too loudly. “Was a hot day out there.”
“Yes,” the tavern owner responded. “So they say.”
“Cool now, though,” the man said. “Cool in here.” He winked again at the girl and smiled. She giggled nervously and shied away.
“Aye,” said the owner. “Aye it is.”
“Been traveling for so many days that I near forgot what a good, proper room felt like.” He looked the girl up and down then, and said, “Near forgot the feel of a lot of other things as well.”
“Now listen–” the tavern owner started, but the large man cut him off.
“Out o’ Highkeep area originally. Left a few years ago. Been wanderin’ around, doin’ this and that. Lookin’ fer someone actually. Maybe you seen ‘im. Got a hefty price on his head. Looks like–”
Nikolis stood at this, unable to take any more of the talk. A few heads turned toward him, and then the large man slowly turned his attention as well. The others in the room, having been drawn to the man’s boisterous conversation, followed his gaze.
Nikolis walked up to the bar and stood directly in front of the man. The man looked him up and down and grinned. “Listen, friend,” Nikolis said, “I don’t know who you are. But if there is a matter you would like to discuss with me, perhaps we should go outside and talk as civilized men.”
The hulking man started to laugh at that, and soon he was roaring, holding his prominent gut and bellowing, as the assembled folk watched with a mixture of confusion and concern. Then, without warning, the large man grabbed Nikolis by the neck with one meaty hand and drew a dagger from the belt at his waist with the other, intent on skewering his prey with one bold stroke.
Nikolis had his slender sword out in a flash and was bashing the sweeping steel of its hilt against the large man’s jaw, before the hulk knew what was coming. He jumped backward out of the way of the man’s stab, and then kicked a foot at his gut, sending him to the ground, clutching at his stomach.
But the man was resilient, back on his feet sooner than Nikolis would have thought. His cheek dripping blood, he took another stab at Nikolis, but it was no use. Nikolis had taken several steps back in an instant, putting the longer reach of his sword to his advantage. He lunged at the other man with his blade, causing him to backpedal so furiously that he fell to the floor. Nikolis put a foot upside the same cheek he had already bloodied, and then stomped on the man’s weapon hand, sending his dagger to the ground. With a sharp kick, Nikolis sent the weapon spinning away, and then brought his sword back down to the man’s throat.
“Do you know what I’m about?” Nikolis spat at the prostrate man. “My errand is far more important than your selfish need to line your pockets!”
“No weapons in here!” the tavern owner yelled, cutting him off. Nikolis looked up to discover he had leveled an old, worn crossbow at his head.
Nikolis cursed. “Bloody bowed weaponry,” he spat under his breath. “He pulled his dagger on me!” he then yelled, with more accusation than he intended. Reflecting on his words, he realized how hollow and petty they sounded.
“No weapons!” the old man, intent on protecting only his livelihood and his family, repeated.
Nikolis relented, sheathing his sword, and then bending down as if to help the fallen man up. Instead, he leaned close to the man’s face and said, “If you come after me again, I’ll kill you. If you harm anyone in this town, or go near the girl, I’ll kill you. If you even think of telling anyone that you have seen me, I’ll hunt you down to my last breath, and kill you.”
The intended impact seemed to have come across, for when he stood up again, the man’s eyes were filled with fear and shock, his mouth agape. His hulking form seemed suddenly to have shrunken. The tavern owner was still pointing the crossbow at him in shaking hands, but behind him his daughter was smiling again. Nikolis then bent and retrieved the fallen dagger and made for the door.
So much for not drawing attention to myself, he thought as he emerged outside and made his way toward the front gate. He set out for the road again and for the rest of that night, and through the next two days, no one followed him.
It wasn’t until he neared another small village, that he grew suspicious again. Another man, this one smaller, and apparently older, had been paying a little too much attention to him. This one rode in a small cart, drawn by a single, shaggy horse, but there soon became no doubt he was following Nikolis.
He had learned his lesson, though, from his last encounter. As much as he no longer wanted to play such games, he knew he needed to be patient. He let this second man follow him, let him get close, and even when he entered the new village, he did not try to lose him. Instead, he lured the man down a small, dark alleyway, and when he heard the soft footsteps following behind, he sprung upon him.
This new pursuer wasn’t nearly as resourceful as the first, and within an instant, Nikolis had his dagger out and pressed to the man’s wrinkled throat.
“Don’t kill me!” the man begged.
“Why are you following me?” Nikolis demanded, through gritted teeth.
“She sent me after you!” the man whimpered. “The moment she heard you were near.”
“Who?” Nikolis demanded, shaking the man. “Who?”
The old man couldn’t manage any words, so instead produced something small from within his coat. When he opened his palm, it was revealed to be a single flower. Though it was crushed and dying, Nikolis recognized it instantly. It was a rose, small and beautiful, and though yellowed, he knew if had once been of the purest white.
Nikolis didn’t need to ask any more questions then. Fighting back tears, he helped the man up and brushed him off. “Take me to her,” was all he said.
The man took him to his cart, and they set out upon the High Road again. Days came and went as they traveled, only stopping for food and water and to rest the horse, before taking to the road again. Nikolis barely noticed. All he could do was look at the fragile bud in his hand and let his mind soar. After all this time, he was finding the entire prospect unlikely, neigh impossible. How could it be? How could she have found him? How could she possibly have known? Was it all a trap? Who could have devised it if it were? Who could know?
Under the cover of darkness, they neared the town surrounding Highkeep. “The Dangards are visiting,” the old man said. His name was Merv he said, and shared that he had been servant to his lady for going on two years now. “That should be enough of a distraction to keep the guards’ attention from us. No doubt they’ll be busier attending to dignitaries and quieting the more boisterous festivities, than paying attention to a couple of travelers. Still, best hide your face.”
Nikolis was robbed of the opportunity to see the lights of the town, and the walls of the castle, for he had to draw the cowl of his cloak low and look downward. Familiar scents found their way to him, though. The smoky smell of the smithy, now closed for the evening, and the scent of fresh cut wood from the mill, were among the first. Then came the sounds of laughter and mirth, from all manner of taverns, and the smell of roasting pork and venison. Finally, as the horse’s hooves began to beat off cobblestone streets, he knew that he was back.
The cart took many twists and turns. Nikolis could almost visualize the winding streets as they went along. They were moving in a westward direction, aw
ay from the center of town, into a less populated area. When Merv man finally stopped the horse, he dared to look up and saw a carved wooden sign, depicting a gilded rose.
The Golden Flower was a small inn, and the lamps inside had already been extinguished, the windows shuttered. The old man hobbled his horse and then led Nikolis around to the back of the building. They made their way through a gate and into a small garden with a bubbling fountain and stone benches. Nikolis followed the old man up to a narrow door, banded in iron, at the rear of the place. The man raised a wrinkled hand and knocked twice.
A lamp must have been lit from within, for the glazed windows suddenly took on a reddish glow. The door creaked open. Nikolis could barely contain himself, his breathing started to quicken, his pulse to race. At any moment, I am going to wake up, and all of this will have been a dream.
When the door was fully open, he saw her standing in but a shift, holding aloft a lamp of steel and glass. Her face was framed in those same auburn locks, and that familiar spray of freckles still crept across the bridge of her nose. But in some ways she looked different, older, more refined. Girlish exuberance had been replaced by the grace of dawning womanhood. It didn’t matter, it was her. In truth, his heart beat faster as he looked at the young woman before him, then it ever had when she was a girl.
So many thoughts, so many things he wanted to say, fought to escape his mind. However, when he looked into her eyes, when he saw all of those same feelings in her, he knew he didn’t need to say a word. Nikolis and Karlene fell into one another, their lips meeting instinctively in a kiss that was years in the making. Their hands searched each other, gentle at first, and then grasping, grabbing, clinging to one another as if they didn’t believe the moment was at hand, and desperately did not want it to end.
When they finally did part, their breath was ragged, the pair exhausted. The old man had departed, but Nikolis still stood outside. Karlene drew him in and closed the door. She removed his cloak, the one she had wrapped around his shoulders near three years before and helped him undress. Nikolis drew her shift over her head and drank in the sight of her naked body.
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