Magic, Myth & Majesty: 7 Fantasy Novels Page 33

  Rune fished through his pocket, found a copper coin, and tossed it toward the skinny girl. Her eyes lit up. She caught the coin and ran off.

  “Buy something to eat!” Rune called after her, but she vanished around a corner, and he did not know if she heard.

  As he kept walking, again rage filled Rune. He remembered standing at the docks with Tilla years ago; they’d been younger than that thin girl. They’d watch the ships from foreign lands approach, bearing sacks of grain, exotic fruits, strong dry wine, and many other treasures. The ships would leave days later, laden with Requiem’s crafts: ropes Tilla’s father wove, shoes Pery’s family cobbled, ale Rune’s father brewed, and many other goods.

  Nobody in Cadport was hungry then, Rune thought. It wasn’t even called Cadport in those years, of course; it had been Lynport, the jewel of the south.

  But then… then the war broke out, the Regime’s great war to purify the world of “lesser nations”. Then the Cadigus family burned those distant lands. Then those ships sank, and the port closed, and Cadport began to rot.

  “And now this,” Rune whispered. “Silence and hunger and blood upon stone.”

  And Tilla torn away from me.

  He kept walking until he reached the boardwalk along the sea. He walked upon the cobblestones, watching the gray waves beat the sand below. A breakwater thrust into the water like a stone dragon, and upon it rose the old lighthouse; it hadn’t shone in years. Docks still spread out into the water, but their wood was rotted, and many planks had fallen and floated away. Rune could barely remember the ships that would dock here; the only sign of life now was a stray, thin cat who wandered the beach, seeking dead fish.

  Rune kept walking. To his other side, shops lined the boardwalk, but their wood too decayed. Most doors were boarded shut. Years ago, these shops had sold ale, wine, meat pies, and even women for lonely sailors. When the ships stopped sailing here, the shops fell to ruin; one now housed a scrawny orphan girl named Erry, a waif Rune sometimes brought food to, and the others housed rats.

  Only the Old Wheel Tavern remained in business, Rune’s home. When Rune reached it, he stood outside for a moment and stared. The cold wind whipped his cloak and ruffled his hair.

  “Home,” he whispered.

  The tavern stood three stories tall, built of wattle and daub. Tiles were missing from its roof, and mold had invaded its timbers. Only one of the three chimneys pumped smoke.

  By summer, I’ll be eighteen too, Rune thought. And I’ll be carted off with hundreds of youths. Who will help Father then?

  He sighed. He knew the answer. Wil Brewer was growing older, and he depended on his son’s help. Without Rune, the tavern would become another ghost hall like the dozens along this boardwalk.

  A gull circled above, cawing a laugh as if the bird could read Rune’s mind and was mocking him. Rune smoothed his cloak, opened the tavern’s door, and stepped inside.

  The shadowy common room greeted him. Scratches covered the hardwood floor like cobwebs. Odds and ends that Rune’s father collected bedecked the walls: an old tapestry showing dragons aflight in a starry night, antlers on a plaque, a canvas map of the city, and two fake swords—forged from cheap tin—crossed upon a shield. At the back of the room stood the bar, its surface waxed a thousand times. Mugs hung above it from pegs, and behind the bar, casks of ale and wine stood upon shelves. Ten tables filled the room; all were empty today.

  Hands in his pockets, Rune stared up at the ceiling. A wagon wheel hung there, topped with candles, forming a makeshift chandelier. It gave the Old Wheel its name. When Rune had been a babe, the tavern was called Lyana’s, named after the legendary Queen of Requiem who had fought a battle at Ralora Cliffs outside the city. But of course, Lyana had been an Aeternum, a queen of the old dynasty. Today all memories of that dynasty were forbidden. And so the tavern’s name had changed. And so everything had changed.

  “Father!” Rune called out. “Father, are you home?”

  A shadow scuttled. Paws scratched across the floor. A large black dog came lolloping from the kitchen, leaped onto Rune, and began to lick his face.

  “Hello, Scraggles,” Rune said and patted the mutt. “Are you alone here? Guarding the place?”

  Scraggles panted, a wide smile across his face. Some folk, Rune knew, claimed that dogs couldn’t smile, but they had never met Scraggles. He was an old hound now but still acted like a pup, happy and careless. His tail wagged furiously, dusting the floor, and Rune felt a little better.

  “At least I still have you, Scrags,” he said, but then a lump filled his throat. In summer, when Rune himself was drafted, he would be torn away from his dog too. Scraggles was getting on in years; when Rune returned from his service, the dog would be gone.

  Rune blinked his stinging eyes. The tavern seemed too silent, too cold, even with Scraggles jumping against him. Tilla used to visit here most days. They would play dice or mancala, a southern board game a ship had once brought from the desert. They would sweep and polish the tavern while talking about their lives. Sometimes they would just sit by the fireplace, sip ale, and say nothing, but feel warm and safe and close.

  Five years, Rune thought. Five years in the Legions.

  She had been gone for a couple hours, and already Rune wanted to pound the walls, fly toward the capital, slay the emperor, and bring Tilla home.

  “Father!” he called out again. He wanted to see the man, the only other soul he now had, aside from his dear dog. Where was the old brewer?

  Leaving Scraggles in the common room, Rune trudged upstairs. The second floor of the Old Wheel held the guest rooms for merchants and travelers; those rooms were now empty. He kept climbing to the third floor where his own chambers lay.

  He entered his room, and his breath died.

  Upon his bed sat the most beautiful woman Rune had ever seen.

  He froze and stared.

  The beautiful woman stood up. Her clothes were torn and bloody, and she bore a bow and sword.

  “Rune,” she said, “we must run. They are going to kill you. They are coming.”

  Rune blinked, looked over his shoulder, then back at her.

  “Excuse me,” he said, “do I…?”

  She stepped toward him, grabbed his arm, and narrowed her eyes.

  “You don’t know me, Rune Brewer,” she said. “But I know you very well. And you must trust me today. We leave—now. Or we’re both dead.” She began tugging him toward the door. “Come.”

  He stood frozen, squinting at her. She was not from Cadport, that was certain; she spoke with the northern accent of the capital, a great metropolis many leagues away. And surely, Rune would have noticed a young Cadport woman so, well… so perfect.

  Rune had seen beautiful women before. As a hot-blooded young man, seeking beautiful women was among his main pursuits. With her pale skin, noble features, and midnight hair, Tilla was beautiful; Rune had always thought so. And he had noticed Mae Baker too, a girl up the road with a strawberry braid, pink cheeks, and shy eyes. Even Erry the waif, who lived sandy and scrawny on the docks, had big brown eyes that Rune liked looking into.

  But he had never seen anyone like this woman. She seemed to be about his age, maybe a year or two older. Her mane of hair cascaded down her back, a deep golden color like honey. Her eyes were hazel, her features feline; she reminded him of a lioness. Her body too was catlike, slim and lithe, a body made for leaping and running and climbing. She wore deerskin boots over tattered gray leggings, a blue cloak over a green tunic, and a belt with a golden buckle. A sword hung from that belt, and a bow hung across her shoulder. She had obviously seen battle recently; a bloody line ran across her hip.

  He squinted, a dim memory pulsing inside him.

  She looks familiar, he thought. Had he seen her before after all? He would have remembered a woman so beautiful, yet his memories only flickered, a soft glow he could barely see.

  “Come on!” the woman said and tugged him. Her eyes flashed and she bared her teeth. “We’
re getting out of here.”

  Rune stood still, not allowing himself to be moved.

  “I’m quite sorry,” he said, “but if you’re going to drag me out of my home, the least you could do is introduce yourself first.”

  She groaned, released him, and darted toward the window. She peered outside and cursed, then turned back to him.

  “Kaelyn,” she said and gave a mocking curtsy. “Good? Now come on. They’re outside. They’ll be here soon, and they’ll be thirsty for beer.”

  She grabbed him again and tried to pull him outside, but he yanked himself free.

  “Who is out there, Kaelyn?” he said. He walked to the window and peeked outside. “It’s only a few northern soldiers. They drink here whenever they’re in Cadport. We could use some business, and—”

  “You woolhead!” Kaelyn said and pulled him away from the window. She yanked the curtains shut. “You idiotic boy! Stars know why they even bother trying to kill you.” She grabbed his arm, twisted it, and began manhandling him toward the door. “Move it and be quiet!”

  Then, finally, Rune understood.

  He sighed.

  The young woman was mad. No doubt, she was some wandering halfwit cast away from her northern town, sure that the world was out to kill her. Stars knew how she had ended up in his bed.

  He planted both feet firmly on the ground, refusing to budge; he stood a foot taller than this woman, and he weighed a good deal more, and if he didn’t want to move, she wouldn’t move him.

  “Look,” he said, “Kaelyn or whatever you’re called. Why don’t I fetch you a pint of ale and a bowl of soup—on the house—and I’ll even give you a bed for the night. In the morning, I can—”

  Steel flashed.

  She drew a dagger from her boot.

  Before Rune could react, she placed the blade’s tip against his back.

  “That’s right,” she said. “Be silent. Good. Now move! Out the door and downstairs, or I’ll stab you. You’ll thank me for this later.”

  The knife pierced his tunic; he felt the cold tip between his shoulder blades, almost cutting him. He sucked in his breath and winced.

  “Kaelyn, are you… kidnapping me?”

  Rune had always imagined kidnappers as gruff, scruffy men covered in mud, their blades rusty and chipped, their odor less than pleasing. Kaelyn had the mud part right—her boots and leggings were coated with it—but she was definitely not scruffy, and Rune thought that she smelled rather nice.

  But she only shoved him forward, keeping the dagger pressed against his back. “Out the door, boy. And keep your hood low. Hide your face or I stab you.”

  She grabbed his hood and, standing on tiptoes, tugged it low over his face. When he glanced over his shoulder, he saw her do the same with her hood. He noticed that, despite their ragged condition, her cloak and hood were woven of fine fabric. The cloth was a costly blue. Blue dye came from distant isles where mollusks leaked the color; Rune rarely saw blue fabric in Cadport. Kaelyn’s cloak had been through rough times—tatters, mud, and burns marred it—but it had once belonged to a noblewoman.

  So she’s a thief, Rune thought. She stole her cloak from a lady, then dragged it through the forest. She probably hopes to kidnap me for ransom. He sighed. If only she knew his father had no ransom money to pay.

  “Move!” she said and shoved him. “Go on, good boy—downstairs.”

  He grumbled under his breath, but he walked. The dagger poked his back; he thought it might have nicked his skin. Kaelyn kept pushing him forward. They left the room, crossed the hallway, and began walking downstairs.

  “Kaelyn,” he said, “will you please calm down and listen? If you’re after money, we have none. If you want a good meal and a bed, I—”

  “Keep walking!” she said and kept manhandling him downstairs. “And be silent. Bloody stars, they’re almost here.”

  “Who’s alm—”

  “Hush!”

  A thud filled the tavern—the front door slamming open. Boots thumped and the voices of soldiers cried out, demanding ale and food. Their armor clanked and their cries filled the tavern.

  “Bloody stars,” Kaelyn cursed. “Is there a backdoor to this place?”

  Rune looked over his shoulder at her. Her face was pale. She was chewing her lip and whipping her head from side to side, seeking an exit, even though they still stood in the stairwell.

  Rune thought of calling out. If he shouted, the guards would hear and rush onto the stairs.

  And… Kaelyn might stab me before they arrive.

  “Go on!” Kaelyn said. She pressed the dagger closer, close enough that now Rune was sure she nicked him. “There must be a backdoor for supplies; every tavern has one. Lead me there!” She snarled into his ear. “And if you lead us anywhere near the common room, this dagger goes right into your heart.”

  She gave his arm a twist, and he groaned.

  “All right!” he said. “All right, I’ll lead you there. Stop poking me.”

  He decided to humor her for a while. Sooner or later, she would tire of holding the dagger against his back. When that happened, he’d break free. The girl was just hungry, scared, and probably on the run from the Regime. Once she felt more comfortable and was far from these soldiers, she would let her guard down. He would flee her then. After all, she couldn’t keep her dagger pressed against him forever.

  “Come on,” he said with a grunt. “In here. We’ll sneak out through the kitchen.”

  They walked downstairs, moving close to the common room. Over the stairs’ bannister, Rune saw the shadows of the soldiers as they bustled about. A few were banging the tabletops and calling out for ale.

  “Rune!” Kaelyn warned. “If they see us…”

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “And stars, loosen your grip. You’re ripping my arm off.”

  The stairs led down to a hallway. To one side, casks of ale stood piled up; the shadows and sounds of the common room leaked from behind them. To the other side, the hallway curved toward the pantry and kitchen. Rune led them there, moving away from the common room and into a chamber stocked with sausages, flour, jars of preserves, bottles of spirits, and dried fruits.

  “Where’s the backdoor?” Kaelyn demanded.

  “Be patient!”

  They kept walking. Soon they entered the kitchen, where embers glowed in the hearth. Plates, mugs, and pots lay piled high on shelves. Beyond them a backdoor led into an alley.

  Scraggles lay on the floor, gnawing a bone. The black mutt raised his head and stared at Rune, then at Kaelyn. With a growl, the dog leaped to his feet. His tail straightened like a blade, and he began to bark wildly at Kaelyn.

  Behind in the common room, the soldiers fell silent and chairs creaked.

  “Oh bloody stars!” Kaelyn said. She shoved Rune forward and grunted. “Go, go!”

  She manhandled him around the dog, wrenched the door open, and shoved Rune into the alley. She hurried after him, dagger still pointed at his back, and slammed the door shut, sealing Scraggles indoors. She looked from side to side, cursed under her breath, and began pulling Rune down the alley.

  “Come on!” she said. “Move quickly and silently. You try to escape me, or you make a sound, and you’re dead. Trust me—that’s a better fate than what these soldiers would offer you. They’d make you wish you were dead.”

  They hurried down the alley, cloaks fluttering around them. Cold wind moaned, and behind them Rune could still hear Scraggles barking. The alley walls closed in around them; it was just wide enough for him to walk comfortably. At least, he would be comfortable if Kaelyn weren’t twisting his arm and goading him on.

  “You do realize,” Rune said as they walked, “that Cadport is swarming with hundreds of soldiers? They stand at every street corner—even on days without a recruitment. How are you going to avoid them? Or is your plan to just live in this alley for the rest of our lives?”

  They reached the alley’s end. Beyond two shops spread a wide road lined with homes.
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  Kaelyn tugged him back and positioned herself beside him, pressing her dagger against his waist. She gripped his arm and snarled at him.

  “All right, listen to me, boy,” she said. “You and I are nothing but a couple on a stroll, do you understand? I’ve hidden my dagger under my cloak’s sleeve, but don’t you doubt it—it’s still pressing against you, and if you try to escape, I’ll shove it into you.” Her voice softened and she sighed. “I’m doing this to save your life, you know. Well, you don’t know, but you will soon enough, Rune. Keep your hood low; these soldiers would kill you on sight.”

  Rune glared at her. “What’s going on here, Kaelyn? Who are you? Why do you think these soldiers want to kill me? I’ve spent eighteen years around soldiers, and—”

  “Not Princess Shari’s soldiers. Do you really think Shari herself, the daughter of Emperor Cadigus, would visit this backwater town for a mere recruitment? The recruitment is a facade. She’s here to find you, Rune, and to capture you. Her soldiers know your face. They know your name. They know to take you on sight. They weren’t just in your tavern for ale; they were there for you.” She looked at him strangely. “If they catch you, Rune, they will bring you to the capital. And they will torture you. They will break you upon the wheel, or disembowel you alive, or flay you, or quarter you. Do you know what quartering is? That’s when they tie bulls to your four limbs, then send each bull running a different direction. And finally, when you’ve screamed long enough, they will cut off your head and stick it upon the city walls.”

  Rune felt himself blanch. “Stars,” he whispered.

  “Am I scaring you?” Kaelyn asked and narrowed her eyes, scrutinizing him. “Good. Because I’m scared too. And I want you to be scared; fear will keep you silent and moving. You might think my dagger cruel; it’s nothing compared to what Shari would do to you. I’m taking you into the forest, and I’m going to bring you to the only man who can help you now.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “And who might that be?”

  Behind them, a door slammed open.

  The Old Wheel’s backdoor.

  Soldiers called for an innkeeper.