Apprentice Swordceror Read online

  Marelle nodded, but kept silent.

  Keeping half of his life secret was wearing on Kevon. He took the opportunity to share more than usual. “One thing I do remember about him. I don’t know that he ever told me that he loved me. I don’t think I ever heard him tell my mom or sister either. But we all knew he did. The way that he acted, how hard he worked for the things we needed. It was almost as if it would have cheapened the work he did by saying the words.” Kevon sighed. “If my children know they’re loved half as much as I did, think even half as well of me as I did my father, I’ll count myself a success.”

  Under a nearby tree, Carlo stopped the mending he was doing on some of his gear. He put his work aside and stood. “Do you know what precinct your father was assigned to?” the mercenary asked.

  “No, he didn’t like to talk about it.” Kevon answered.

  “While I was in the Guard, I met a man who wanted to give it up and move back up North,” Carlo recounted. “The first time I saw him was at a protest over conscription for the war. The protest broke out into a riot. Guards from three precincts showed up to handle it. He’d fixed his shield, but hadn’t drawn steel. He waded through the crowd, and anyone that swung a club at him got a face full of reinforced leather and their club taken away. The rest of his unit poured in behind him. They split the crowd in half and broke the mob’s momentum. Saved a lot of lives.”

  Carlo walked over closer so that he could talk more easily with Kevon and Marelle. “I wanted to thank him, so I asked around to find out who he was. Turned out he was an unranked city guard. I put in the paperwork to get him a commendation, and sent him a letter to ask him if he was interested in Guild membership. He’d already collected his last wages and left for home.”

  “You saw him again, though?” Marelle asked. “You said that was the first time you saw him.”

  “Yeah,” Carlo nodded. “It must have been four years later when I saw him again. The conscripts from the cities were getting stretched pretty thin on the battle lines. They started pulling Guardsmen from duty and tracking down everyone they had records on to replace them. One night, we’d tracked a murderer into another precinct. The man we were chasing turned out to be a prominent member of the Thieves’ Guild, and was holed up in a safehouse. The local patrol came through and saw us, offered to help. Kohan was the subcaptain-”

  “Kohan?” Kevon exclaimed. “My father’s name was Kohan!”

  “As soon as I heard you talking about him just now, I could see the resemblance. I figured it was him,” Carlo agreed. “Your father was a good man. I wish I’d known him better. I was saddened to hear of his death at the siege of Alcron.”

  “Your father was at the siege of Alcron?” Marelle’s eyes widened.

  “No,” Kevon said, shaking his head. “My father died while on guard duty in Navlia.”

  “You were misinformed.” Carlo sighed. “I tried to get Kohan into the Guild after the raid on the safehouse. He told me he’d consider it, but would rather not live the rest of his life tied to a sword. Next thing I hear, he’d volunteered for the attack on Alcron and had already shipped out. His name’s carved in the monument at the palace in Navlia. I’ve touched it.” Carlo grasped Kevon’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, boy. But I thought you should know.”

  “Your father… My uncle…” Marelle whispered.

  “Were killed by the same man,” Kevon rasped, clutching at the sword in his lap so tightly that his knuckles appeared completely drained of blood.

  “The same Mage,” Marelle added, an unusual hardness edging her normally soothing voice.

  When Marelle first told Kevon the tale of the siege, and her uncle’s demise, Kevon felt quite a bit of sympathy. Silently, Kevon vowed to find and kill the Mage responsible for his father’s death. He was even more resolved to deal with Gurlin, and put an end to Holten’s treachery so that he could focus his attention on finding his father’s killer.

  Kevon let the wooden sword fall from his grasp, and as it clattered to the ground realized that he was standing. The world wobbled as Kevon’s vision blurred red.

  “Are you all right?” Marelle asked, draping an arm around Kevon’s neck, gently drawing him closer to give a degree of comfort.

  Forgetting himself, Kevon allowed the embrace and was instantly all too aware of his mistake. Now both of Marelle’s arms, like slender silken cords, held him firmly to her. His face rested in the curve of her neck where her braided hair wrapped around to dangle across her shoulder. The scents of lilac and honeysuckle mixed with another smell Kevon could not identify. The effect was intoxicating. His head spun, and Kevon put a hand on her waist to steady himself.

  Half a dozen breaths later Kevon was silently questioning his decision to avoid Marelle. If they were careful, they could make it work out.

  I could take another name, Kevon thought to himself. My appearance is already changing. We could still head south and live for a time among the iron miners. We could…

  “Time to start getting back on the road,” Rhulcan called from the other side of the wagon. “Marelle, would you help me with the horses?”

  Marelle released Kevon slowly, her fingers trailing lightly across the back of his neck and halfway down his arm. Despite the warm afternoon sun, Kevon fought the urge to shiver. Marelle started toward the wagon, keeping her gaze fixed on Kevon until she was nearly halfway there. “Coming, father,” she called, and hurried around to start helping.

  Kevon took a step and stumbled slightly, still dizzy.

  “Boy, I remember what that was like,” Carlo chuckled. “Hate to be in your boots right now, though.”

  “Hmm?” Kevon asked, struggling to regain his composure. “What? Why?”

  Carlo shook his head, grinning, and started gathering his things.

  Kevon stowed his practice sword in the back of the wagon and saddled the mare. When he finished, he approached the wagon to help finish harnessing the horses.

  Rhulcan moved to intercept him. “We’re almost done. Don’t worry. Maybe you should re-check your gear.” The Merchant’s suggestion was gruff at best.

  Kevon noted the stern set of Rhulcan’s jaw, the broad, square stance he had stepped into. He recognized it from the inn of the four brothers. Nodding, Kevon retreated to his mount and went through the motions of checking his gear over once more.

  Kevon realized what Carlo had been saying. Given enough time to think, Kevon would make the right choice and leave. What had happened just minutes ago would not change his mind. It would make the choice that much more painful.

  Soon, everyone was mounted up and ready to depart. Wanting to be alone with his thoughts, Kevon motioned to Carlo in the code that the mercenary had been teaching him. The brief hand signal that meant ‘I’ll take point’ was answered with a slight nod and a knowing smile. Both men urged their mounts into motion to take their places as the wagon clambered back onto the road.

  Kevon dug his heels into the mare’s flanks and began to distance himself from the wagon. He rode hard for a few minutes, then stopped until he could just hear the wagon approaching. He gave the mare some rein and she dropped into the familiar traveling pace without further instruction.

  They traveled until late in the evening. Every time Kevon saw a suitable campsite, he would slow after passing it to see if the wagon was going to stop. When it continued, he would distance himself again.

  Finally, just before twilight, Kevon rode over a hill and spotted an inn not half a mile away. Beyond that, small farmhouses dotted the countryside, and in the distance Kevon saw half a dozen reddish-white triangles catching the last rays of the evening sun. Squinting, he looked closer and saw that they were sails, all lined angling in the same direction. Following the line they drew toward shore, he spotted it.

  Eastport.

  Chapter 15

  “Very well, then. I shall pay for it myself.” Marelle said to the innkeeper. “I do have money of my own.” She shot a glare at Rhulcan.

  Kevon plopped his bedr
oll and saddlebags down on an empty table in the common room and edged closer to the fireplace.

  “You will do no such thing,” Rhulcan argued. “I won’t hear of it.”

  The innkeeper stood silently.

  “Father,” Marelle’s voice dropped into her practiced lecturing tone. “I enjoy making the trade routes with you. I’m fascinated by the business, and enjoy the scenery and people. But I’m tired of not having any privacy!”

  “We’ll be home tomorrow. You’ll have all the privacy you want then.” Rhulcan countered. “It’s just one more night. I don’t see the sense of it. Next time will be different. We’ll bring another tent, you can have your own room at every inn. All right?”

  “Father, it’s late. These good people don’t want to have to move beds to accommodate us when I’m willing to pay extra for another room that’s already prepared.”

  The prospect of more money for less effort prompted the innkeeper to speak up. “I’ve got a leg of lamb in the larder. If you’re all staying in separate rooms, I’ll have time to get it cooking and served up to you instead of the…” he lowered his voice. “…swill these other folks are eating.”

  Marelle’s face lit up and she began talking excitedly with the innkeeper, taking his arm and steering him toward the kitchen. She asked him a few quick questions about food preparation and thanked him, smiling as she propelled him from the common room.

  Rhulcan shook his head and sighed in defeat as Marelle turned to flash him a victorious smirk. He slid into a nearby chair and signaled a serving girl to bring him something to drink.

  Kevon pulled up a chair across the table from Rhulcan and sat down. He sat in silence, tracing his fingertip along the grain in the wooden table’s edge. He thanked the waitress as she delivered his mug of ale, grateful for something else to occupy his hands. Kevon lifted his mug toward his lips, but paused as he met Rhulcan’s icy gaze.

  Rhulcan bobbed his mug in a friendly gesture. “To women.”

  “Sir?” Kevon asked, a little confused.

  “Love them while you can,” he toasted, “For you never know when they’ll leave you.”

  “Leaving?” Kevon asked, glancing over at Marelle, who was gossiping with one of the barmaids.

  “Not all at once,” Rhulcan grumbled, staring into his mug. “Doesn’t hurt any less, though.” Seeing Kevon’s blank stare, he snickered softly. “Someday, if you’re lucky, you’ll understand.”

  Rhulcan caught the arm of another serving girl and pressed a silver piece into her hand. “We’re going to need a lot more ale.”

  Kevon was all for that, after the extended afternoon of riding, not to mention the last few weeks of travel and training. Nothing sounded better than drinking until everything was kind of fuzzy and then getting a good night’s sleep.

  “Carlo!” Rhulcan called as soon as he spotted the mercenary entering the inn. “Sit, grab a mug!”

  Carlo glanced about the room, and pointed to another table.

  Rhulcan laughed and got up to move. He stood aside as Carlo circled the table to place his back to the corner.

  Once the three men were situated, Carlo seemed to lighten up, and began drinking in earnest. An hour or so later, with half a dozen mugs emptied, he began to sing.

  The first song was a cheerful one about the joys of youth and a particularly fortunate lad’s experiences with them. When it was finished, the few other patrons broke into scattered applause and asked for another. Carlo nodded as he finished the mug of ale he’d been drinking between verses. The next song began quietly, and the interested listeners leaned forward or carefully moved closer to be able to hear better. The song, far more solemn sounding than the last, was called ‘The Ballad of Bartok Brokenblade”. Though Kevon had never heard it before, the understated force in Carlo’s gravelly voice was so powerful that he found himself mouthing the words by the third chorus.

  When the song was over, there were murmurs of appreciation, but no one cried out for more. The serving girls brought everyone more ale, and all drank in silence for a time.

  Marelle, not usually one to drink more than one mug at any given time, was halfway through her third. She seemed disinterested in any of the conversation around the table. She stifled a yawn and shook her head slowly. “That’s it for me,” she announced, speaking slowly to keep the slurring to a minimum. “Good night. I’m going to my room now.”

  Rhulcan, having emptied nearly as many mugs as Carlo, snorted and waved her off. He shoved another mug of ale in front of Kevon.

  Kevon was slightly beyond the point where everything was pleasantly fuzzy. His second trip to the outhouse had taken him a while because shrubs and rocks kept jumping into his way. He was reluctant to drink any faster because he knew he’d have to make the trip again soon. “I really shouldn’t,” he protested. “I’m really tired too. I’d better just go to…”

  “No!” Rhulcan slammed his mug down on the table. He looked toward the door Marelle was exiting through and then glared at Kevon. “You’re drinking until someone has to carry you to your room,” he hissed.

  “Aww,” groaned Carlo. “Do you really think that’s nesesh… neshesh…” the mercenary licked his lips. “Needed?”

  Rhulcan glared at Kevon for a while, until he lost his focus and his eyes began to glaze over. “I don’t know,” he whispered. “I just feel like I’m losing…”

  Kevon stood up shakily. “Nature…” he grumbled, motioning toward the exit, and headed outside.

  Carlo furrowed his brow and pressed a palm to his forehead for a moment, attempting to clear his mind a bit. “I’ve spoken to the boy about it,” he told Rhulcan. “He’ll do the right thing.” He swished his nearly empty mug around thoughtfully. “If I were his age you’d have good cause to worry. As things stand now…” Carlo drained his mug and pushed his chair away from the table. “We’ve all got more reason to fear the hangovers we’ll have come morning.”

  The Merchant sat a while longer, staring into his half empty mug. A barmaid, noticing he was alone, breezed by to ask him if he needed anything.

  “The drink’s not helping,” he lamented, as he stood and poured a small pile of coins onto the table. “Let’s hope time does the trick.”

  The barmaid flashed him a quizzical smile, and then began to clear the table as Rhulcan exited the common room to go to bed.

  Chapter 16

  Kevon would have preferred being beaten with a stick. A few times during his preparations for departure, he’d actually opened his eyes wider and looked around to make sure no one was beating him with a stick now.

  He was not quite sure what had happened after he’d left to use the privy the last time. He hoped no one had actually needed to carry him to his room. He decided that he would not be drinking that much anytime soon.

  Kevon opened the door to his room and peered out, squinting against the late morning sunshine that shone down the hallway from the commons. There was activity in that part of the inn, but he could not pick out familiar voices or see well enough to recognize anyone. Groaning softly, he shouldered his gear and trudged out.

  The rest of the group was up and gathered around a table. Kevon noted that for once, Carlo seemed to be in the best mood of any of them. Rhulcan was in about the same shape as Kevon, and Marelle just seemed bored and annoyed.

  Carlo pushed his cleaned plate away from him and leaned back in his chair with a smile. Rhulcan and Marelle’s meals had barely been touched, and Kevon did not know if he would fare any better.

  “So…” Carlo began, clearly amused at being the most chipper individual at the table. “When do you think we’ll be on our way?”

  “In a great hurry now, are you?” asked Rhulcan. “The trip you signed on for was more than twice as long as it’s turned out.”

  “And if you wish to leave immediately, I’ll stay on and agree to an extension, as well,” Carlo countered. “If not, I’ll take a fair percent and be on my way. I’ve no need of more than I earn.”

  Rh
ulcan nodded, still frowning. “As soon as we’re all done with breakfast, then.”

  Marelle stopped the halfhearted picking at her plate she’d been doing and pushed it forward by Carlo’s. “I’m done,” she said, yawning. “I’ll go have the team harnessed.”

  Carlo stood and followed her out, humming a tune Kevon half-remembered from the night before.

  A kitchen maid brought out a plate of food for Kevon and a large pitcher of water. Kevon sat and tried to eat quickly, knowing that he was the one the others were waiting for. The food looked good, but Kevon’s mouth was so dry that he had to drink several mouthfuls of water in between each tasteless bite.

  “We’ll be in town well before nightfall,” Rhulcan explained, abandoning his breakfast. “I’ll arrange a room at an inn near my home for the week. It shouldn’t take that long to settle affairs, but you never know.”

  Kevon could no longer expend the effort required to eat, and stood to collect his gear. “Might as well just get on with it,” he said.

  Rhulcan nodded and stood to follow Kevon out to the courtyard. The horses were saddled and ready to go. Marelle was tightening harness straps on the team, and Kevon strapped his gear into place behind the mare’s saddle.

  As soon as everyone was ready, they mounted up and departed with scarcely half a dozen words said between the four of them.

  The pace was unhurried, and they did not split up to scout ahead as they had done the previous days. They were in range of regular patrols from Eastport, so there was little chance of encountering the kind of ambush Carlo had fallen into. Conversation was even scarcer than it had been in the last few strained days of travel. Twice Kevon thought he saw Marelle’s head bob as if she were falling asleep in her seat on the wagon.

  As they neared Eastport houses became more frequent along the roadway. The larger farmhouses gave way to smaller dwellings that Kevon had not seen the like of outside a town.

  Most of the folk around the roadside houses paid the group little or no mind, but Kevon did have to slow several times to stay clear of excited but unattended youngsters who ran too close to the mare.