“Remember the time that beautiful princess made that amazing carrot salad?” Johan said with a dreamy faraway look on his face. The other men almost simultaneously replied, “She wasn’t a princess, she was a barmaid.” Johan’s face turned beet red. “No, I don’t care what you say; she was a princess. She was my princess. I never liked carrots until that princess made that salad for us.”
Charlotte looked at Johan, confused. “No princess would be caught working as a barmaid.”
Gadlin bowed his head into his palms. “Johan was convinced that the barmaid was a princess and there was no changing his mind.”
“One day, Johan, you’ll write your memoirs and there will be a different woman’s name on every page,” Darr said, shaking his head as he returned to the table.
Lightning came, a brilliant shock of white in the graphite sky, forking silently to the unsuspecting ground. It was followed by the thunderous boom, calling its warning too late. The thick wooden front door facing the street with iron bindings flew open as a man stumbled inside. Everyone paused for a moment as the inn fell silent.
What was once the man’s shirt was now nothing more than a collection of dirt, loose pieces of fabric, and holes barely hung from his shoulders like a discarded towel. There was a massive tear on the right side of the garment, which left much of his torso exposed to the elements. He also wore an old jacket over his shirt. The jacket was too big, torn, and very dirty; however, at least it helped him stay warm, a little. His pants were in terrible shape. The right side was nothing more than a bunch of shreds. He had shoes to protect his feet. Although they were too big and the right toe box came loose from the sole. His head was covered by a bandana; there were a few small stains here and there, otherwise it was in relatively good condition.
There was a single puncture wound on the right side where his shoulder met his torso and blood was gushing out of the deep hole in his flesh with every beat of the man’s heart. A few words escaped his lips before he passed on into death. “Kimera Beast...” was heard as the man’s last breath went out of him. Wandalor hung his head, looked at his ale, and whispered, “Shit...”
Chapter Eleven
The learning room was faintly lit by glowing lights mounted on the wall. The floor a cold, black shiny sea of inlaid black stone with intricate carved designs intermingled with white marble. In the center of massive columns supporting a back stone ceiling sat a platform with a single chair. The columns were made from red wood timbers carved with images depicting battle scenes. Sitting in the chair was a tall, thin man with hair the color of coal in soft waves on his collar, hints of silver at the temples. His face was lined from experience, his chin aristocratic. He sat as a king on a throne, high-born, though he was not royalty. He was clothed in black; black silk trousers, black silk vest covering a flawlessly white silk shirt, with a black silk neck tie. Though not seen under his black cloak, he wore black diamond and platinum cufflinks. His shoes were the same color as his clothes. As he stood he straightened his long cloak and approached the middle of the room, where in front of him a man stood with his backbone on a sheet of steel. The prisoner was strapped to the vertical table. The man in black spoke.
“Kyton, I want you to understand that I do appreciate your patience. Long is the day and hard is the way of an emperor. Fun is not something one considers when balancing out an empire. This, however, does put a smile on my face.” In the beginning I want to thank you for letting me just talk, do not mess this up.” He walked around the bound man, Kyton, and continued with a side sweep of his arm. His black cloak moved as if a wind had swooshed in and lifted the hem, revealing a flash of a crimson lining. His cloak was made of silk.
“When I first had the cornerstone set for this, the Citadel of Emeranthia, I had thought to call it the Red Keep after the copper in the water that crept out of the stone. After the first year of cutting stone from the island, I thought better of the name because, you see, I made a fantastic discovery. I brokered a deal with some arrogant people who were doing some excavating. They wanted, no needed, a place to put the stone that was in the way of the growth of their city. I had such a place, and through my superior negotiating skills I offered a place for this stone with the provision of specific stipulations that I use all of the stone that I wanted. Thus, I had this vast quantity of captivatingly black, shining stone. It was smooth as glass, this brilliant obsidian. The conceited people who were doing the unearthing of this stone were not much for conversation. They had no use for me, a commoner in their opinion, so they offered no explanation as to the working of the stone. I alone had to learn through trial and error how best to use the stone. I cut and cut it again. I experimented in shaping the stone and then reshaped it many, many times before perfecting the methods of masonry construction. As it turns out obsidian is a clever thing and is very attuned to magical energies.” The man reached into the pocket of his cloak and pulled out a large gemstone the size of an apple. It was cut as intricately as any diamond in a crown. He casually tossed it up in the air and gazed at the gem as one does a lover. Light bounced off the stone as it landed with a thud back into the center of his palm.
“Since I have so much of this black glass, I have learned many tuning secrets. Every magical thing I do, every incantation, potion or chant that I used with this stone close by is magnified by a power of ten. All of my wizards and sorcerers can cast ten times more often. They are able to cast much more powerful spells simply by being inside the Black Keep. I tell you this for certain, I do not envy the fool’s errand that would be an attempt to attack us here. I do not know if the people I garnered the obsidian from know of its properties of magic. I have offered to continue to purchase more. Alas, they have stopped selling to me.” The man’s lips pursed and his forehead wrinkled. “You see, apparently they have grown the city to the size that they want. They have stopped drilling. To pacify me, they tell me that they will keep me in mind if and when they decide to expand again. This arrangement will not work for me. I must remain patient.”
The man walked a circle around the room again, his cloak billowing. He reached up, adjusted his platinum collar bar, smoothed his fingers across the crisp white collar of his shirt, and continued his verbal manifesto. “The lifetime of a human is infinitely shorter than the lifetime of an elf. This is true, is it not? Lifetime of an elf is infinitely shorter than the lifetime of a star. And yet...and yet all these things are born of dust with life and fire breathed into them. Eventually it ends. All stars burn out, some go out with a bang. All life ends. That is the nature of life. Even so, stars go out, they die, but that does not mean that life does not have meaning. All life has meaning. Mine and yours not excluded.” Kyton began to squirm and sweat poured from him. “Ah, you too must be patient as well.
“Where was I? Oh yes, life spans. I am part of a long-lived race. Some of the other races of this age think of my kind as immortal, but we are not. I’ll live to a considerable age though I will say that. We play long games like the one I have been playing and will continue to play for my people. The people I feel are worthy of my leadership. You are, by the way, one of them; worthy that is, of me.” He smiled at Kyton. “If you were not worthy you would, of course, not be here hearing my divine voice in my presence. I will confide in you. You would do well to listen and be quiet as I speak, lest I find you unworthy.
“Know your enemies. If you know your enemy you can defeat them, in this I excel. I have taken many captive. I have filled jail cells with single types of races and many cells with mixed types of races. All to know who and what work well and best together. Also, on the opposite side of that coin, I want more than anything to deeply understand them. I studied the art, philosophy, and culture of my enemy. I now know the psychology.
“It matters not whether I was undercover, providing customer service in the form of a blade sharpener traveling through town and hamlets just before battles, or telling stories as a troubadour on stage at an inn of deceit. I have taken the time to understand the nee
ds, motivations, and desires of our enemy. Clues are all around us. The signs on storefronts, the colors of buildings, the repair of the towns, guard armor, or the sharpness of their blades, the dull view of the people or the keen eye to discern the truth. The use of these clues can and will tailor the message I will send. I will make a clearer and deeper connection with our enemy.
“It is not easy work, mind you. There are times when I am in fits and knots not knowing how to solve a problem. Some enemies have proven to be a bit more than I had thought that they were. It may be the case that a group does not respond in the manner I thought they would. I have got to take care of myself and exercise. I have to stretch my body and mind. I have taken to spar with a pair or more of my own guards. Not only to remind them that I am not just a leader in name and word only. Oh no, I show them my strength so that they remember that I too started out as a fighter. Often after I have been engaged in these exercises something will click in my head—” He closed his eyes, “and I will see something that I had not been looking at clearly. Then...then I will know just what to do.”
Emperor Thanatos Mooreclasian Magne opened his eyes and gazed about the room. He remembered that he was in one of the Learning Rooms. He took a deep breath and centered himself once more. “Kyton, I want you to understand I have the utmost respect for you and what your profession provides someone like me. Were you not already in the employ of the Kingdom of Zebulon, I would indeed offer you work. Alas, however, the only spy I can trust is one who truly needs me. Now, now before you start to beg and whimper for your life and how good you are, I admit that you are good. You are not the first to make it all the way here. You were a fun challenge, though. I will give you that. You know, not even a sound has come from you, and that is impressive I must say.” Mooreclasian cast his gaze on the spy, Kyton.
“It’s often the small details that can be missed. For instance, I had not noticed until just now that you have a pear in your mouth and cannot speak, even if you had wanted to. We usually use those on women and almost always put them somewhere else on their bodies. The pear, I mean.”
Mooreclasian looked to the accuser standing in the corner close by but not close enough to interfere with his employer’s interrogation of Kyton. “Did you clean that before you put it in his mouth? Did you just pick it up and go to work? You understand even though there is a good chance all we will learn is that our friend Kyton can endure a certain amount of pain before passing out. If you send him off to the Collectors, we should not give them items that are riddled with disease and germs. Please be sure to clean your tools.” Mooreclasian looked back to Kyton. “Where was I? Ha! Like you would tell me.” Mooreclasian’s laugh was a deep, echoing sound that filled the air.
Mooreclasin tuned with a flurry of cloak and wide- open arms. He strode to the door. With one lift of the hand he said, “Accuser, finish him and send a token to his king. A finger or an ear.”
With that, the self-proclaimed Emperor of Emmarentia left the Learning Room.
Chapter Twelve
Back in the tavern, as the man’s body hit the floor, Johan looked up and gazed about the room, catching the eye of each of his companions. They all discerned his cue to go upstairs. They each stopped mid-sentence or mid- motions and went upstairs to the room they had secured. Once inside, there was a clamor of voices from them about what they had just witnessed.
“Did you see that?”
“Did you hear what he said? Kimera!”
“We will have to act.”
“We have to do something. We have a duty.”
Charlotte was shocked and not sure what was happening. She stood silent.
Darr took control of the room. “Quiet. First we have to write down all we can remember. What was said, what we remember when we were coming in the defense of this town. I saw the wall, the gate, no guards at the gate, no one questioning at the entrance or exit.” As Darr spoke Wandalor grabbed ink and paper. His hand flew as he recorded all Darr said, adding what he recollected as well.
“I saw bridges when we went through town. When we passed by and went down to the port, there were ships.” Johan added.
“No scout; this place has no scouts,” Gadlin said in a rush.
Charlotte spoke up immediately. “What in the name of the old gods are you doing? Are you not doing anything about that dead man downstairs?” She began to pace around them. They continued talking about the town as Wandalor wrote. They all ignored her. She shouted, “Oh holy Forseti! Why are you not helping?”
Darr stopped. “Forseti?”
“The god of justice,” Thalin answered.
“Listen, woman, that’s not any of your concern,” Darr said to her as she made another circle around the room. “The man is dead, and to clean up the mess of this town isn’t our job; at least when it comes to sea villages. Don’t spend your breath judging us.”
Wandalor stopped writing and looked up at Charlotte and Darr, toe to toe. He was impressed by the woman’s slight form standing firm and determined. Not actually challenging Darr, but not cowering either. Wandalor thought it was time he intervened. “Charlotte, there is much we need to know. Please let us have a few minutes.”
Darr spoke again. “Yes, go to the far side of the room over there, and step behind that changing screen. Stand there, collect yourself. Change into some other clothing, freshen yourself. Do whatever it is you women do to calm your nerves. We need to sit down for a few minutes and take notes of the things we’ve done and of this current situation we find ourselves in.” He turned from her and back to his team. Charlotte emitted a growl and stomped over to the other side of the room, as Darr instructed. She didn’t go behind the screen. Instead, she flopped down on a bed and pouted, which made her grow angrier at herself.
“The people downstairs,” Gadlin started. “None of them have weapons. There are a few woodsmen who have hand axes, and by the front door there are a few tree axes.”
Thalin interjected, “And the sailors have knives; short knives. I’m sure they’re used in their trade to get fish, to repair sails, and work on their boats. None of them have weapons or armor.”
Wandalor wrote then said, “It is inevitable, that someone is going to come to us and ask us to help them.”
Darr shook his head. “No. We need to look at the threats, finish our business, and leave.”
“Then I’ve misjudged all of you,” Charlotte said. The men continued as if they didn’t hear her. She decided they hadn’t heard her and changed clothing after all.
The room they occupied was large, easily twenty feet square. There was only one door. Along the walls were four sets of bunk beds and two boxes. The boxes had locks on top, presumably to put gear and things in when the visitors were not in the room. Gadlin looked through his belongings and pulled out a few feathers and papers for them. He handed the feather quill to Darr. Darr pulled out paper and Johan pulled out ink. They began to draft a map of the town of Blackweb.
Wandalor continued to write and the others spoke. They talked about the things that they saw, like the wall’s thickness, what it was made of, how high it was. Then they analyzed the gate of wood. They noted that it had no portcullis, rather just a pair of doors that were closed with single bar brace on the backside. The gate was easily breakable with the ram. Being made of wood, the gate could be made into fuel for fire as could many of the houses inside the wall. The homes were topped with thatched roofs and ignitable by the flaming arrow.
They spoke of the fact that there was more than one well; however, they did not know if the wells were wet or dry. They measured by estimate the distance that they traveled inside the front wall and the space between the wall to the first building. They couldn’t be sure if all the buildings were residences or businesses.
Johan said, “I can say with certainty that the blacksmith was very close to the front of the town. Weapons and armor could be repaired quickly and kept in good order for fighting if there was an attack on this town.”
After about tw
enty minutes of throwing facts into the air about things they had seen and distances that they had stepped, the men stood up from their paper and ink. They were satisfied that they had a set of facts with which to fill a report and a plan.
Wandalor glanced to look over his shoulder, to see Charlotte across the room in newly changed clothing. Her face was red from the burn of anger. She is going to let us have a piece of her mind any minute, he thought. He also noticed she looked pretty in the clean dress of a moss green hue, her face washed and her hair plaited in a long copper braid.
Gadlin saw Charlotte’s face beautiful and determined and deduced the same. beautiful and determined. He grabbed Thalin by the arm, nodding at him. Gadlin, without words, said Let us go ahead and go back down for food. Darr looked from Gadlin then to Charlotte, and said, “Sounds like a good idea.” He turned to look at the eyes of Charlotte, who was glaring at Darr. “Would the lady care to join us?” Darr removed his armor and adjusted his clothing.
“What sounds good? Where? No one spoke but you, Darr.” Charlotte a little deflated answered.
“Oh, just come on.” Darr carefully, gently took her arm and guided her to the stairs.
Johan and Wandalor set to separating the gear and placing things in boxes and locking them as the other men began to talk and loosen their armor. Thalin moved out of the room, with Gadlin on his heels.
As they descended the stairs, Charlotte said, “I assume that when we go downstairs you are going to fill me in on things. I do not like being excluded.”
Wandalor answered her. “Yes, as much as we can in public. I promise you, it is not nearly as sinister as you believe.”
The group gathered at a table downstairs after having locked their belongings their room. The spot where the man had died was empty, and someone has washed up the blood. There was still a bit of mud in the area. The group sat at a table. They noticed the guardsmen in the building talking to people and asking questions. The barmaid walked to the table and took orders from the group. They ordered food like it was their last meal. Meat, bread, stew, ale, pie, and other dishes. In fact, the six of them ordered one of almost every item on the menu. Just to be certain they had enough food, Johan added steamed pheasant with mustard and dried apricot, braised duck with cardamom and cashew bread, and braised hare with garlic and leeks to their list.
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