Malik the Bard

by Moore, Scott

  Abrie didn’t knock on the door. Malik doubted the man inside needed to hear a knock; he would have been listening to their conversation since it began. Anyone living in this abode could hear a conversation in their front yard, while standing in the back of the home.

  The door flew open. Standing on the doorstep was a middle-aged, short bearded, man.

  “Abrie,” he said without prompt or introduction.

  Abrie let a smile spread across his face. Malik watched as the man jumped down his two stairs. Malik hoped he wouldn’t break a hip on his landing. Abrie held out his hand for a shake, but the man bypassed the hand as if it were not there.

  “It is good to see you too, Guinn,” Abrie said, patting the man on his back.

  “Well isn’t this touching,” Malik whispered to Mollie.

  Mollie did not smile or whisper back. She brooded about the fight in Minnow’s Creek. Malik wondered if she would ever talk to him again.

  “What brings you to my neck of the woods?” Guinn asked, pulling away from the embrace.

  “Why don’t we talk about that when we get inside.”

  Guinn nodded. “My home is your home, old friend.”

  Malik tried to recall ever meeting Guinn, but he did not have a familiar face. He had been with Abrie for a long time and no one ever referred to Abrie as an old friend.

  “I am happy to hear that,” Abrie replied. “I would like to introduce you to a few friends of mine,” Abrie said, pointing to his companions.

  “This first gentleman is Malik.”

  Malik gave a nod to Guinn. Guinn rushed to Malik hugging him. Malik did not hug him back, but that seemed to matter little to the process.

  “Nice to meet you, Malik.”

  Malik again nodded.

  “The girl is Mollie.”

  Guinn rushed in for a third hug. Malik wondered if he would hug the two mules, but Abrie decided against introducing their animal companions.

  “You all are more than welcome into my home. It is a little messy, but you can all excuse that for me.”

  Malik wondered how such a small enclosing could ever become messy. A stray dish from the sink would be a tripping hazard all throughout the rest of the home. He kept his comments to himself. Abrie had better be proud of him.

  Guinn jogged up the stairs, leaving the door open behind him. Abrie was next to step past the threshold into the home. Malik waved Mollie in front of him. He turned wrapping the mule’s tethers around a post. He doubted they would go anywhere but he would not chance it.

  Once secured, Malik made his way into the home. At the top stairs, he noticed something that took him by shock. Inside the home was much different from the outside would have led him to believe. At the top step, he stared down a small foyer. At the end of the foyer was a staircase that led down into the ground.

  “What is this place?” Malik asked, halfway down into the real house of Guinn.

  “This is nothing more than my home.”

  “Book by its cover, Malik,” Abrie said.

  Malik ignored Abrie’s teaching words. He admired the rest of the sights. At the foot of the stairs, the home opened to a massive living quarter. Malik tried to take it all in with a single glance but there was far too much going on.

  “Where did you find these things?”

  For a moment Malik forgot about the sting of his hunger.

  “Is this a shield from the Tempre Warriors?”

  The man was quiet for a moment then he stepped forward. “Once upon a time, the warriors were designated to patrol pathways across the kingdom of Opallum. Their anger got the better of them and they were forced from the country’s embrace. They found their ways to several more kingdoms. Some kingdoms embraced them while others were not so kind.”

  “So how did you get this?”

  “As luck would have it, I bought it from a southern trader many moons ago. Someone who decided they had no more use of such a relic.”

  Malik looked at the shield; it did not look like a relic. This shield had seen its use, but it was less than a hundred years old. It was much younger than the famed Tempre Warriors of Opallum.

  “Let’s get some food,” Abrie suggested.

  The pain in Malik’s stomach returned. He wanted to keep looking at the collection. He wanted to see what else he could unearth but the rumble emitting from his insides, made it impossible to think about anything else.

  “What kind of food do you have?” Malik asked, not caring if it sounded rude.

  Guinn laughed. “I have a few things you all may find enjoyable.”

  Guinn led them through his living quarters into a back room that doubled as a kitchen. Here there were even more historical relics hanging on the walls, lining shelves, and piled on the floor.

  “Would you all prefer meats or veggies?”

  Malik just wanted food. He would have eaten the mules at this point.

  “Meat will be fine,” Mollie answered.

  “Meat it is then.”

  Guinn rummaged through a small chest before pulling out a silver tray.

  “I have hired a woman and her husband to cook meals for me every day. Most days I am too busy to eat them, but it is nice for when I remember.”

  He put the tray onto the table and lifted the silver lid.

  Malik wondered what it was like to have a personal chef and caterer. The thought flew away when he smelled the meat.

  “It smells like happiness.”

  Abrie and Mollie stepped forward with Malik.

  “You always have outdone yourself, friend,” Abrie said.

  “I told you it is a woman and her husband, not me.”

  Abrie shook his head.

  “I will gather a few plates for everyone.”

  Malik would have dug in without a plate, but he refrained to keep a semblance of dignity; also because Abrie would have thrown a hissy fit about it.

  Guinn made them wait a short time, returning with glass plates for everyone.

  “Dig in,” he said, pulling a big chunk of the meat for himself.

  Malik didn’t need to be told a second time. He dove into the meat and the sides that surrounded it. Before too long he had a full plate. The others dug in too. None of them had eaten a full meal in five days.

  Guinn led them into another room decorated with a small dining table. He had to remove more artifacts from the surface to make them places to sit down.

  “Are you a collector?” Malik asked, pulling up a seat.

  “A collector, a historian, a whack job, hoarder, crazy person, crack pot, I have been called many things during my lifespan.”

  Malik couldn’t continue the conversation; he had stuffed massive amounts of food into his mouth.

  They ate in silence, aside from the smacking of lips and the slurping of juices. Malik kept his head down, focusing on his plate. The food was amazing. The meat was moist, the potatoes were soft, and the juice was flavorful. Malik could have eaten like this every day and never grown tired of it.

  Malik came to his last bites. He was ready to start up his line of questioning again but Abrie beat him to the punch.

  “What is new about the kingdom of Opallum?”

  Guinn took a drink of his red wine, dabbed his chin, and then leaned back in his chair with a pleasure filled sigh. “She is exquisite.”

  Malik would have to agree. Whoever the cook had been outdid themselves.

  Abrie waved Guinn on.

  “Okay, okay. We can discuss politics. What is it you would like to know?”

  Abrie had only nibbled the food on his plate. Something bothered him. Malik had picked that up over the last few days, but he chalked it up to their banishment from every town they had entered. It looked like maybe something else weighed on his mind.

  “How is the kingdom doing?”

  “I don’t believe we are in any dire straits.”

  “Beto you have always been a truthful person.”

  Malik hadn’t heard the name Beto before.

&nbs
p; “I try to be,” Guinn replied.

  “Then why would you break that tradition in route to lying to my face?”

  Guinn grabbed his wine glass, swirling the contents, he looked not at Abrie, but above him. Malik could see the crease lines of thought forming across his brow. Something made Guinn uncomfortable when a few moments before he had been so jolly.

  “Why do you think I am lying to you, friend?” Guinn took another long sip of wine, finishing the last of his glass.

  “I have known you for a long time.”

  Guinn looked at Malik and then Mollie. “How much do they know?”

  Abrie didn’t turn. “Just answer the questions I ask and nothing more, Beto.”

  Malik’s hair stood on end. “Who is Beto and what do you mean by that?”

  Abrie held up his hand. “This is not the time for that,” he told Malik. “If you two would like to wait in the other room.”

  Malik shook his head before Abrie could spill the words. “I will not exit the room, not like this. I am not a child. What is going on? What did we come here to find out?” Malik was on the verge of yelling.

  Abrie put his hand back down, grabbing the armrest. “Sit down.”

  Malik did not sit down. His legs shook too much to move.

  “Beto, what do you know about the kingdom?” Abrie asked a third time.

  Guinn looked to Malik and then back to Abrie. “The Tempre Warriors are moving to amass some attack we believe. They have been calling arms to Bently’s courtyards. The city of Gray Waters will overflow with soldiers, guards, mercenaries, and any other fool who dares to believe he can wave a sword. Hundreds have passed through Habre. Most notably Darris Quin, better known as Queen Taharris’ Ring, who abandoned his post at the queen’s side approximately two weeks ago.”

  Malik could see Guinn’s disposition from earlier had been a facade. He played them like a hand of poker. He had bluffed his way into good spirits, trying to play that everything was normal.

  “Will the kingdom call for soldiers?”

  “I need more wine. Do you want wine?”

  “I would like answers,” Malik said.

  Guinn nodded. “Good yes, stay put for a moment will you.” Guinn’s color had drained. “I will be right back, sit tight.” Guinn disappeared into the kitchen.

  Abrie turned to Malik. “Sit down.”

  Abrie didn’t seem upset or mad, just concerned that Malik teetered back and forth on his feet.

  “What is going on here, Abrie? Is there something more to this than meets the eye?”

  “We should have known something was wrong when those idiots in the Green Markets told us the mercenaries were amassing for the Tempre,” Mollie chimed in.

  “We will figure out what it is going on, if anyone knows, it will be Beto,” Abrie paused, thinking of something. “It will be Guinn.”

  “Who is Beto?” Malik asked, finding enough stability to sit down.

  “Guinn is an old friend.”

  Malik wanted more. Malik wanted real answers. Abrie was like a magician, but the only thing he made disappear was explanations.

  “I gather he is a friend, but how do you know him?” Malik demanded. Malik let the name change drop. People had different names for others sometimes. That didn’t bother him.

  Guinn coming back into the room carrying a tray of wine glasses saved Abrie from answering.

  “I took the liberty of bringing everyone a glass.” He placed the tray onto the table. “Times are rough, and we could all use some relaxing.”

  Malik had a sneaking suspicion Guinn used a lot of relaxants during his free time. Malik hesitated to grab any wine. He had no real desire to drink, but the pain in his shoulder convinced him.

  Malik wrapped his fingers around the glass. Neither of the others joined him.

  “More for us, young man.”

  “Do you think we can get down to the business at hand now? Or is there a dessert you want to bring out as well? A band for entertainment?” Abrie asked.

  “I may have a dessert if you are interested. Chef makes the most delectable blueberry cake.”

  Abrie didn’t find it amusing. Malik felt for Guinn, he had been on the receiving end of that look many times a day.

  “Fine,” Guinn said, sitting back into his chair, still holding his wine glass in front of his face. “I will talk, but I won’t be happy about it.”

  “I am sure you haven’t been happy in many years,” Abrie said.

  Guinn shrugged, his lips curling. “I suppose you are right.”

  Malik took a drink of his wine; it was dryer than sunbaked mud. He thought about spitting it back into the glass, but the pain discouraged him.

  “The standing army of Opallum,” Abrie reminded Guinn.

  “The queen has called for arms to amass in Blithe. As you know, that is about twenty miles west of Habre. Will you be traveling there?”

  “We will travel opposite of there, actually.”

  “Why?” Malik asked.

  “Yes, why would we not travel to an army who could help us fight the Tempre Warriors?” Mollie asked, breaking her silence.

  Malik smiled. When Mollie joined him Abrie was keener to answer questions.

  “There is no benefit to us in fighting the Tempre.”

  “The benefit is taking the Tempre Warriors out of existence,” Malik retorted.

  “There is a very small likelihood that the soldiers will march anywhere,” Abrie said.

  “That is true. Queen Taharris will have to conserve her efforts. If she amasses too big a showing, then Bently will have no recourse. If she amasses too small a showing, then that will leave Bently brave. She must amass a showing that will not offer up as a threat, but enough to be a deterrent. What this means, is that no one will march anywhere. This showing is to stop a war from happening.”

  Malik didn’t know much about wars or war efforts, but he knew that an army had a better chance than a group of three individuals.

  “We should at least go to see what they have to say.”

  Abrie shook his head again. “Not a good plan.”

  Malik thought about flipping the table, running out of the house, then not stopping until he reached Blithe. Twenty miles would take him only a day at a good pace. He wondered if Mollie would follow him. He looked over to her; she stared down into her lap.

  “I want to go,” Malik said.

  “What do you hope to achieve by this?” Guinn asked.

  Malik hadn’t thought that far. He wanted to go convince the army to march. Wanted to beat the Tempre with everything he had. He would convince them to march with him.

  “They will not march without the orders of the queen,” Guinn said. “You have a better chance moving that army by heading toward Plimar Rock and talking with Taharris. Even then though, you have no shot. Taharris will not see you.” Guinn took another drink, finishing his second glass of wine.

  Malik hated feeling defenseless. He knew Guinn said only the truth. He knew that the queen had no reason to listen to him, but he needed her to.

  “We can at least try,” Malik said, pleading with anyone who would listen to him.

  “There is no point,” Mollie answered.

  He would have expected the answer from Abrie and now even from Guinn, but he had hoped that Mollie would stay on his side.

  “What do you mean?” Malik tried not to sound shocked. “There is nothing else we can do but try.”

  Mollie didn’t look up from her lap. “You are right but there is nothing worth trying.” She looked up. “I have trained to fight my entire life. I trained with Abrie for some time and then I killed a man and felt worse after.”

  “He was a bad person.”

  “Never mind who he was, Malik. I don’t want to kill anyone. I don’t want to fight them.”

  Malik felt the heavy burden of hope fleeing. He wilted under the pressure.

  “You would let the Tempre get by with what they did to our families?” Malik screeched. His heart fluttered
like a maddened butterfly inside his chest. His eyes threatened to open the dam, letting the tears flow down his cheeks. He felt like running away and staying to fight at the same time.

  “I would not let them get away with anything. However, it is not within my power to stop it. I thought it was, but I was wrong.”

  Malik closed his eyes, taking deep breaths.

  “There is no shame in living to see another day,” Abrie said.

  Malik did not respond, could not respond.

  “Guinn, have the Tempre been confirmed at the courtyards of Bently?”

  Guinn shifted in his seat. Malik could hear him squirming around.

  “Most of the top officials have been confirmed there, yes.”

  “Most of them?”

  “Yes, most of them,” Guinn replied.

  Abrie sighed. “Quit with the word games.”

  “You should know this is not a pleasant topic of conversation. I see very few friends in my line of work but when I do, I would rather talk of the weather, wine, art, anything other than this.”

  Abrie leaned back; Malik could hear the creaking of the chair.

  “I know and I apologize for bringing this to your doorstep. If there were any other person in the world, I could turn to I would, but you are what I have, Guinn. As a friend, I ask you to answer.”

  Malik opened his eyes, the tears beaten for the time.

  Guinn grabbed a third glass of wine from the tray. “I have reports that at least one official is in Opallum.”

  Malik thought he saw fear in Abrie’s eyes, but it disappeared too fast to be sure.

  “Who is here in Opallum?”

  Guinn’s shoulders slouched. Malik could tell he would have rather been anywhere else in the world, but he answered, “the rumors say Sweet Tongue is amassing soldiers from the Queen’s army.”

  Abrie’s eyes closed, and he slouched back in his chair. Malik had known nothing to frighten or threaten Abrie. Abrie had never been a fighter, but he had never shown real fear either. At that moment, Malik realized that even Abrie feared the Tempre Warriors.

  It made sense now. It was the real reason that he would balk at the conversations. It wasn’t about Malik’s anger it was about Abrie’s fears. Abrie was afraid of the Tempre Warriors. The Tempre destroyed everything they contacted. Even kingdoms shunned them when they came through. Bentley was the first known king in a century to open his border to them. The young impressionable mind, Abrie had said one night to Malik in a rare open conversation.