by Ron Root
Seeing Keep and Sully return, the Marshal waved them over. “Innkeeper! I’m wanting information about the magi at your university. Who runs it?”
Keep laid their drinks on the table. “That would be Headmaster Lavan, Sir. He’s newly appointed. Headmaster Kagen preceded him, but he was recently pensioned.”
“Tell me about this headmaster.”
Keep scratched his chin, thinking. “He’s bald, skinny and slumped at the shoulders. Although his youth is lost, he’s too young to be called wizened. I’d say someplace middling. Otherwise he’s like any other man. Not his manservant though. Goodricke’s a full head taller than most and has that deep voice. You can’t miss him. He’s usually with the headmaster, but every so often comes to The Dragon to partake of some spirits. Would you like me to tell him you’re interested in meeting his master?”
The Marshal raised his mug. “I would.”
Sully had an idea. “Maybe you could talk to the man what got penched?”
Keep scowled. “Sully! This be none of your affair. Off with you. Go finish stacking those barrels. You said you have one to patch.”
“Aw, Keep.”
Keep pointed down the stairs, giving him that look again. “Do as told, boy!”
Fearing a head cuff, Sully left. Moping, he returned to his chores. A thousand hundred kegs later he was done. The soldiers were long gone by the time he’d finished. Normally he slept in a loft above the inn, but if there were vacant rooms—like tonight, Keep let him and Zele sleep in them, provided they straightened them up in the morning.
Zakarah scanned the saffron skies, searching for Greater Demons. He’d barely survived his last encounter with one, exhausting far too much magic in the process. With no threat in sight, he had time to raid another lesser world and replenish his expended magics.
He stared at his scrying pond, focusing his thoughts. A waggle of fingers brought the Lavan-creature’s world into view. He was fortunate to have captured one so gifted. Mayhap there were others there like him. Although his captive had divulged nothing worthwhile so far, Zakarah could tell his spirit was weakening—that he’d soon be picking this human’s mind for useful information. He momentarily nursed pangs of regret, fumed even, angry at himself for letting that second wizard escape. Hastiness had cost him. It wouldn’t happen again.
Reaching forth, he fanned his fingers, seeking distant waters. He spied another human sitting atop a beast as it drank. This one radiated the Gift, too. Were all creatures of this world so blessed?
He was about to project his image when he sensed something lurking beneath the water. Curious, he waited. This new arrival burst into view. Massive jaws opened and enveloped the riding beast’s head. Blood spewed everywhere. A suctioned arm looped around the human as it tried to flee, only to be ensnared by other suctioned arms. The stalker dragged both its victims underwater and vanished.
Zakarah smiled. Although it had stolen his intended quarry, this hunter had provided sport. It would make for a great pet, but to ensnare something that large from so far away he’d need power; like that found at the Lavan-creature’s Nexus. Were such events common in his world? A conjecture worthy of investigation. He knew who could provide him answers. He went in search of his human.
Sully tossed and turned—having another bad dream. This one about a grey monster disappearing a man into a pond. He looked around. He’d never slept in this room before, and strange places were always scary. There be shadows everywhere. This one be too scary.
Slipping out of bed, he crept to the door and peeked down the corridor. With no beasties in sight, he tiptoed to Zele’s room, lifted the latch, and slipped inside. Closing the door, he made his way to her bed.
He shook her shoulder and her eyes opened. “What are you doing here?”
“I just seen a boggart eat a man and his horse—I think maybe it was Ariath.”
She hugged him close. “You just be having a nightmare. Besides, Ariath ain’t a real place, so it can’t be having no monsters. Folks just tell little ones the stories to scare them into behavin’. You be too old to be believin’ such things.”
“No, I seen it—it really happened!” He looked around the room, checking the shadows.
“Come, sleep with me then. Boggarts be like men; neither be gracing my bed, whether I be wanting ‘em to or not.”
Sully crawled into bed and cuddled close. In no time Zele was snoring. He surveyed the shadows one last time and slid beneath the blanket. If you couldn’t see bad things, they couldn’t see you neither.
Vainglorious
Shivering, Quinn pulled his cape tighter, but the chilly mist was not to be denied. He loathed Portsmouth. He was here because his father had assigned him as part of an honor guard that was to escort some dignitary back to Stalwart. His father said he wanted to acquaint Quinn with men of importance. He couldn’t care less. All he wanted was to be someplace warm.
Bedecked in purple finery, the luminary in question was talking to one of his Clerics, watching the grooms offload their horses. A half-head taller than the Cleric, the Grand Inquisitor’s barrel chest exaggerated their size difference. Although grey of hair, his carriage was that of a much younger man. His gaze flitted over the surroundings. Anyone caught by its piercing scrutiny looked away. When it came Quinn’s direction, he too felt compelled to glance in another direction.
As soon as the horses were unloaded, a white stallion was brought to the man. Mounting, he urged the steed forward, coming Quinn’s way, with the Cleric and eight mounted Chevaliers trailing behind.
“Quinn!” His father whispered, “let go of that cape and sit up proper—the Inquisitor’s coming.” The Inquisitor reached them. “Your Grace,” his said with a bow of his head. “I’m Captain Dyson, officer in charge of your escort.”
“Thank you, Captain, but as you can see,” he said, gesturing toward his Chevaliers, “your men are not needed.”
“One cannot be too careful,” his father offered, “the wharf is a dangerous place.”
“I assure you I am capable of dealing with whatever dangers it presents. In fact, it is my divine duty to unleash the One God’s wrath on any who defy him. Since He fears no man, I don’t either.”
“Of that I have no doubt,” his father said, bowing his head. “Still, I would be honored to guide you to Stalwart.”
Quinn gritted his teeth. Gods Father, stop fawning over this haughty ass, you lickspigot. You embarrass yourself.
A cry rang out from farther up the wharf. “What do you suppose that is?” the Cleric asked.
“Let us go see,” the Inquisitor said, spurring his horse to a trot. Both Chevaliers and honor guard followed. The Inquisitor’s demeanor and garb reeked of such authority, none of the townspeople dared to meet his eye. Instead, they scrambled out of his way.
They found the source of the bustle a short way up the wharf. A crowd had surrounded a boat beached on a dock ramp. One was a mother with two young children, one sobbing, the other with its face buried in her skirts. A man standing close to the boat was wrenching.
Despite the townspeople’s fascination with the boat’s contents, the approach of heavily armed Chevaliers had them backing away, clearing a pathway to a dinghy, presenting the party with a view of two hideously disfigured carcasses.
The Cleric crossed himself, “Blessed be He that watches over us.”
The Inquisitor simply stared, expressionless. Dismounting, he went for a closer look. One of the corpses was human, albeit missing its face. The other, grotesque beyond description, was some sort of beast. With massive jaw and long claws, it was half again the size of the man. The Inquisitor cast a glance at the crowd, his gaze settling on the closest churl. “What devilry is this?”
The man’s eyes flitted about. Only when he realized it was he who’d been spoken to, did he answer. “This boat be found floating near the lagoon that lies across the bay, Yer Eminence. Those what found it, brought it here. That be all any of us kno
ws.”
Pointing at the dinghy, the Inquisitor faced the crowd. “Look closely. See the fruits of consorting with evil. Only by following the One God’s righteous path will you be saved. Look and choose.”
Eyes darted back and forth between the Inquisitor to the ravaged carcasses.
Grimacing, the Inquisitor turned to one of his Chevaliers. “Procure a wagon. Place these remains atop it for all to see. We take them with us.”
Quinn shook his head. Thanks to this hufty-tufty, he’d be forced to endure this rotting stench all the way to Stalwart—a good half-day’s ride.
They made their way through Portsmouth, their grotesque acquisitions producing the Inquisitor’s desired effect on all who saw it. Although some shied back from the gruesome display, most were drawn in like insects to a flame, unable to resist its morbid appeal.
It was late afternoon when they reached Stalwart. Despite having left the sea soon after obtaining their grisly cargo, it had taken Quinn a full hour to finally warm up.
The crowds in Stalwart reacted to the ghastly spectacle much as those in Portsmouth had, and the Inquisitor’s evangelizing sounded no different. Enthralling the crowd with endless oration, the Inquisitor led his procession through town and up the long hill that led to the Cadet Institute where the churchmen were to billet.
Done at last, Quinn was quite sure no duty could have been worse. That was before he was ordered to oversee the delivery of a wagonload of books to Prior Rigby. Delivering books was peasant’s work! Worse, he’d have to abide the company of the two lowborn cadets who’d been assigned the same duty. One was an orphan totally lacking pedigree, the other the son of a sheriff. How had persons of such low pedigree become cadets anyway?
Sun breaking through the afternoon clouds sculpted shadows across Rayna’s path, painting the garden pathway in hues of yellow and orange. Delightful fragrances wafted her way, like perfume adrift in the wind. It was the beauty of taking the garden route out of the academy. Yudelle was with her, looking stunning in a full-length blue dress with silver headband that drew everyone’s eyes to her marvelous golden locks. Despite Yudelle being dearer to her than any other, the woman’s presence made her feel drab, despite having worn her favorite green dress—the one people said accented her eyes.
Tomorrow would be their final day at the academy. They’d have their roses pinned, designating them as maidens worthy of marriage—of bearing some nobleman’s child. Unlike her father, she’d treasure the idea of having a family. Another year had passed without him, making her feel isolated and alone. Thank the gods she’d made friends with Yudelle. But tomorrow Yudelle would return to the mainland, leaving her friendless once more. It seemed too much to bear. Stopping, she took hold of her friend’s hand. “I so hate to see you go. What will I do without you?”
Yudelle caressed Rayna’s cheek, eyes watering. “I feel the same way.”
“Has your father’s ship made port yet?”
Yudelle nodded. “Yes. It anchored in Portsmouth yesterday. Has yours?”
Rayna stiffened. “No, but I’m sure his lackey will soon show, anxious to do my father’s bidding by ushering me someplace new.” Each year Robard arrived to escort her to whatever place her father designated—to where she’d once again become the stranger no one knew.
Yudelle pinched her lips together. “I forgot your father rarely visits.”
Rayna opened the gate and started down the hill toward town. “Not rarely—never!” She supposed as a babe he’d tolerated her presence. If so, it was too long ago to remember. What misdeed—what wrong, had she committed to make a father unable to abide the presence of his own daughter?
Yudelle’s eyes widened. “Never? I thought he pays your tuition and boarding costs.”
“He does, but never in person. His stipends arrive from the mainland through a reckoner without as much as a note.” Everything about her father was kept secret, and she’d never once heard mention of her mother. What she didn’t share with Yudelle—what she was too ashamed to admit, was that she didn’t even know her father’s name.
“How horrid for you.” Yudelle’s expression brightened. “Enough doom and gloom,” she said, tugging Rayna’s arm, “a caravan arrived on the yester, chock full of interesting things.” She flashed that gorgeous smile of hers. No wonder the men were always smitten with her. “Who knows, maybe some handsome cadets will be there.”
That prospect lightened Rayna’s mood. “Speaking of cadets, how many have volunteered to pin your rose?” Tradition dictated that a graduating cadet did so for each lady graduating from the academy.
“None as yet.” She clapped her hands together. “But I think Quinn means to.”
Rayna flinched. Quinn was the cadet all the girls fancied, save for her. Ogling Rayna whenever Yudelle wasn’t around, Quinn made her uneasy. She feared the self-centered cadet might ask to pin her rose, which would break her friend’s heart. He was insensitive and self-absorbed. “How wonderful,” she offered, starting down the hill.
Engrossed in conversation, Rayna didn’t realize they’d reached town until boisterous laughter caught her attention. Nearby, a portly friar stood lecturing a dozen or so townspeople. Whatever he was saying had them cackling non-stop. “What do you suppose that’s all about?”
Yudelle stood on tiptoes, peering at the gathering. “I don’t know. Let’s find out.”
They were welcomed with a broad smile. “Ladies, ladies, join us in our prayers. I’m Friar Luc, the people’s Prior.”
One of the listeners cupped hands to her mouth. “More like the pantry’s Prior from the looks of ye.”
Her riposte garnered hoots and catcalls from those around her. The friar laughed along with them. “Alas, to treat God’s messenger so. You wrong me, good lady.” He handed a cup to the closest spectator. “Good sir, mayhap you could pass this back to that boisterous wench. Perhaps He will overlook her trespass against me were she to tithe a bit of her day’s earnings.”
Before the man could pass the cup, Rayna elbowed her way to his side and dropped in a silver. Smiling, she handed the preacher his cup. “Perhaps this will soothe your wounded pride, good friar.”
“You are most generous, milady,” the friar said, facing her. His grateful expression transformed into one of puzzlement. He stared at her. Disquieted, Rayna stepped away and hurried back to Yudelle.
“Did you see the way he looked at me?” she whispered.
Yudelle simply shrugged.
They resumed their walk. It seemed as if the whole village had turned out to see the caravan. It was so crowded they had to weave through the mob. It was always so when a caravan was here. Tents and pavilions lined Market Street, and the din of the barkers’ promises had her anxious to see their wares.
One voice suddenly drowned out all others. “Ladies!”
Rayna turned to see a horse-drawn wagon driven by two cadets heading their way. Waving from the horse beside it was Cadet Quinn. It came to a halt beside them.
Rayna recognized the driver as one of contestants from the cadet tourney—the one with the sandy hair and piercing gray eyes. She’d only seen him from a distance before. Up close he was quite handsome. Tall, broad-shouldered with a thick neck, the other contestants surely found him intimidating. Fearing he’d catch her staring, she turned to Quinn.
“What brings such beauty down amongst this rabble?” Quinn asked, dismounting.
Rayna cringed. He’d addressed her, not Yudelle.
Yudelle offered her hand. “Cadet Quinn, how good to see you. Rayna and I are on our way to see the caravan’s spoils. It leaves soon, and we simply must visit it before it departs.”
Quinn seemed not to notice her outstretched arm. He waved at the nearby throng. “Unescorted, with ruffians lurking about? I insist you allow me to escort you.”
Yudelle tossed her head to one side, bouncing her flaxen curls—a practiced move that never failed to draw men’s attention. “Why thank you, milord, you
’re most gracious.”
Such was life with Yudelle. Although the men in the wagon were clearly captivated by her blatant flirting, Quinn seemed oblivious.
“Smithy! Kendal! Take care of the wagon while I attend to the ladies’ safety,” he said tying his reins to the wagon.
The passenger hopped off the wagon. “You’re sure, Quinn? I was thinking maybe you and Gresham could unload the wagon while I escort the ladies.”
The driver laughed and rolled his eyes. Quinn was far less amused. “You forget your station Kendal. These ladies are highborn.”
The driver sneered. She wondered at his name; Quinn addressed him as Smithy, yet his friend called him Gresham. “Yes, Kendal, you’re being remiss. Fortunately, we have Quinn here to remind us of our life’s lot.” He and Quinn locked eyes, neither flinching. “Do your business Quinn, we’ll deliver Prior Rigby’s load.”
Quinn smirked, then looked at her. “So, Rayna, has a cadet offered to pin your rose yet?”
This was it—the moment she’d dreaded, and Yudelle was here to witness it. Her gut twisted. How could she fend off his overture? She cleared her throat, stalling. “Why, yes.” She turned to the wagon driver. “Your friend here presented himself to me only this morning.”
“What?” Quinn looked at the wagon driver as one would a leper. “Him?”
She wasn’t sure which of the three cadets was most shocked by her statement, but to the driver’s credit, he gave nothing away. “I still ponder my answer.” Turning so Quinn couldn’t see, she gave the good-looking cadet a pleading look. “I promise an answer on the morn. Where should the runner deliver it?”
Smithy-Gresham answered without missing a beat. “The main hall at the cadet quarters. A duty clerk mans the desk night and day.”
Quinn recovered quickly. “Ah, good. Perhaps Yudelle and I will see you at the pinning ceremony.” He dropped to a knee in front of Yudelle, “providing my lady would allow this unworthy cadet the honor of pinning her rose.”
