Apprentice Swordceror Read online

  Twice the group passed local patrols. Each time, two of the four men in a patrol touched their left hands to their right shoulders as they rode by, and Carlo did the same. Kevon decided he would ask the mercenary what it meant later.

  Evening approached as they crossed the bridge into Eastport. The small river that meandered over the plain from the northwest was channeled into cut stone canals that ran around and into the city. The wagon was stopped, and one of the officers from the guard post watched carefully as two guards inspected the cargo.

  “Ahem. Rhulcan?” one of the guards asked, pulling the sword that Kevon had nearly forgotten about from the wagon. “Have you any weapons to declare?”

  “It’s the boy’s,” Carlo rumbled, flipping a silver to the officer, who caught it with a smile. “That should cover the tax?”

  “Certainly.” The officer motioned to the guard, who replaced the blade.

  Carlo edged his stallion closer to Kevon and the mare as they passed through the checkpoint and the guards waved the wagon on behind them. “Most blades are taxed when you carry them from one district to the next,” he told Kevon. “We’ll have to see what we can do about yours.”

  Kevon nodded slightly, but the full force of the largest port city in the Realm had stolen most of his attention. The salt breeze pushed against his face as they pressed inward, his eyes watering and nose wrinkling at the unfamiliar sensory assault. The scenery was unlike anything he’d seen before. The buildings were taller, packed more closely together, and crowded with so many people that Kevon was unsure how they all lived here. Most of the first and second stories of the structures were mortared brick or stone, but as far as he could see down the narrow plaza, the tops of all of the buildings were wooden.

  The main street was just wide enough for two wagons to pass each other, allowing space for pedestrians if they were careful. The cramped side alleys were barely wide enough to admit one wagon.

  As they passed further into the city, shadows lengthened and the streets darkened. Structures here seemed sturdier; most were completely made of stone, brick, or wood, rather than the mismatched buildings they had passed earlier.

  Just about the time a patrol rode through to light torches that hung ensconced over the street, the wagon stopped in front of a rather nice looking inn.

  “The Maiden of the Bay,” remarked Rhulcan, pointing to the plaque hanging out over the street from above the door. It featured a creature that was part woman, part fish, which Kevon recognized as a mermaid. Rhulcan tossed Kevon a pouch full of coins. “A week’s lodging. We’ll contact you sometime tomorrow.” He flicked the reins and the wagon started to move again. “Sleep well!” the Merchant called as he turned the team to round the corner.

  Kevon opened his mouth to say something, but there was hardly time. Marelle’s eyes locked him in her gaze for a long moment as the wagon slid out of sight. With the wagon’s wheels clattering against the street’s cobblestones fading, Kevon became aware of the other noises the city offered. Hawkers, fewer in number and better dressed than their counterparts in the outlying areas, called out occasionally. They were less concerned about making sales than they were about gathering up their wares and bantering with nearby associates. Mothers peered out from doorways and summoned their children from the mischievous looking packs that rambled around the streets.

  He dismounted and handed the mare’s reins to a waiting groom. He unfastened his gear and was about to sling it across his shoulder when another youth in identical dress reached across to take it for him. Kevon was about to protest when the young man started for the inn’s entrance, but turned and waited for him to follow.

  Kevon thought that the stonework on the outside of the inn was nice, but was totally unprepared for the interior of the building. Intricately carved pillars depicting merfolk engaged in various activities flowed upward into stone archways. The ceiling, barely visible in the torchlight, seemed made from the same material as the floor, which Kevon examined more carefully. At first glance it looked wet, but Kevon decided that the seasoned planks must have been coated with a hardened waxy substance.

  The young man carrying Kevon’s things waited patiently at a counter to the side of the entrance. An older man behind the counter cleared his throat.

  As Kevon approached the counter, the young man spoke. “A friend of Trader Rhulcan, Mister…”

  “Kevon.” Kevon supplied.

  “Kevon…?” The older man asked slowly, perhaps waiting for a title.

  “Just Kevon.”

  “Very well. Mister Kevon, how long will you be staying with us?” the innkeeper asked.

  “A week.” Kevon answered. When the innkeeper calculated the bill, Kevon dug through the coin pouch and paid the amount without comment. A season ago, Kevon would not have thought he’d ever see that much coin in his lifetime. Now, it was enough for a week’s lodging and a little extra for fun.

  Kevon thanked the innkeeper and followed his gear up to the third floor.

  “Would you like anything from the kitchen?” the youth asked Kevon after depositing his things on a bench in his room.

  Kevon thought for a moment. It was late, but he hadn’t eaten since noon, and not much then. “Sure. Just grab anything that looks good.” Kevon handed the young man three of his remaining silvers.

  “Meals are included…” the youth said, staring at the coins in his open hand.

  “Oh.” Kevon said, realizing that was probably part of the reason a week’s lodging was so expensive. “Well, that’s for you, then, for having to pack my gear all this way… what was your name?”

  “Bertus.” The young man grinned and pocketed one of the coins. He dropped the other two on the small table near the bed and added, “You’re going to be here a whole week. I’ll get those two soon enough, and feel better about it when I do.”

  Kevon smiled and patted Bertus on the back as he exited the room. While he waited, he took time to examine the room in the glow of the tallow candle Bertus had left lit on the bedside stand. The room was larger than any he had stayed in yet, and was the only one so far to have a window. Since it was the only room he’d ever stayed in above ground floor, he supposed it made sense. The single portal was circular, framed by a round of wood, the glass far thicker than any Kevon had ever seen. What little he could see in the deepening evening was distorted by the sturdy pane. The east-facing window looked out over many of the surrounding buildings, but the bay was not visible now even in the light of the nearly full moon.

  Kevon removed his outer cloak and rinsed his hands and face in the washbasin near the door. He pulled Gurlin’s book from a saddlebag and had just sat down on the edge of the bed to read when Bertus knocked on the door with his food.

  Bertus walked carefully into the room balancing a large wooden tray laden with food. He set it carefully on the small table by the bed, and then knelt down to reach underneath the bed. He pulled a strange looking item from its hiding place, and with a few practiced movements that Kevon did not quite follow, surprised Kevon with another small table that was just the right height for eating. The tabletop was slightly larger than the tray, and looked as if it would seat two comfortably.

  Bertus wiped down the tabletop with a damp cloth from the tray he’d brought, and swiftly transferred the food to the table. There was half a leg of lamb in a light looking gravy. Two medium sized potatoes roasted in corn husks and a small loaf of bread steamed next to a dish of butter. A mug of cider, a mug of ale, and a large pitcher of water were the last items moved to the table.

  Bertus scooped up the tray to carry it under one arm, and as he was halfway out the door asked if Kevon would need anything else. When Kevon shook his head, the young servant nodded curtly, closed the door, and was gone.

  Kevon was not sure if he imagined the flash of a grin on Bertus’ face as the door closed. He thought about it for a moment and dismissed it as absurd. He had just pulled his chair up to the folding table and sat down when there was another knock at the doo
r. Mildly annoyed, he rose to answer it. “What do you need Bert-”

  Kevon stopped the door in mid-swing as well as mid-sentence.

  “May I come in?” Marelle asked quietly.

  “Of… course.” Kevon was unable to mask his surprise at seeing her. He opened the door the rest of the way and gestured for her to enter. “Have you eaten?” he asked, indicating the set table with more than enough food for two.

  “I haven’t, thank you,” she answered, moving over to the table and lifting the top plate off to put on the other side of the table.

  Marelle quickly made herself at home, scooting another chair over, seating herself, and moving the mug of ale closer to her side of the table. “Are you joining me?” she asked, taking one of the baked potatoes.

  “Yes, I…” Kevon took his seat, confused by Marelle’s sudden appearance and nearly wanton familiarity at this late hour. “Why are you here? Not… that I mind, really, but it doesn’t…”

  “Seem proper?” Marelle smiled at Kevon over her mug and then drank deeply.

  “I was going to say ‘make sense’, but yes, ‘seem proper’ works just as nicely.” Kevon sighed and took the other potato. “Your father said you would be contacting me sometime tomorrow.”

  “Oh, that,” Marelle said dismissively. “We chanced upon the Myrnar liaison between here and the house. Our meeting with them is at lunchtime tomorrow. I’ll send a messenger over tomorrow morning to tell you that, and I’ll be over midmorning to pick you up for the meeting.”

  “Messenger?” Kevon asked, puzzled. “But you already told…”

  Kevon’s mouth went suddenly dry and he took a swig of cider. “Your father didn’t send you to tell me about the meeting, did he?”

  Marelle’s eyes widened in an expression of feigned innocence. “I’m at home, sound asleep.” Her eyes narrowed and she began to smile. The muted glow of the candle made the green in her eyes seem to dance. Kevon felt the blood drain from his face.

  “Well,” Kevon said weakly, “I’m glad you came to have dinner with me. I’ve grown used to taking meals with you… It’ll be disappointing when it ends.”

  “I’m not particularly hungry,” Marelle commented, and took another drink of her ale.

  “Is there something I need to know about the meeting tomorrow? How I should act or anything?” Kevon asked hopefully.

  “Nothing we can’t discuss on the ride from here to there,” Marelle answered, clearly amused.

  “All right.” Kevon put his fork down and looked Marelle square in the eyes. “Just so we’re clear, why are you here?”

  A hurt look began spreading across Marelle’s face. “If you need to ask…” She turned away.

  “I don’t need to ask. I have to know!” Kevon responded, his voice cracking.

  Marelle turned back and leaned slightly over the table, reaching out and taking Kevon’s hand. “But you do know.”

  Kevon looked down at their hands, unable to face Marelle. “I… don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “Then don’t hurt me,” Marelle laughed.

  “No, that’s not what I…” Kevon looked up to see Marelle grinning mischievously at him. “There are at least two Mages I have to see dead before I feel safe. I have to live with that.” He pulled his hand free from Marelle’s grasp. “You don’t.”

  Marelle’s grin faded and her gaze lowered to her empty hand lying on the table. She sighed deeply and Kevon could see her eyes glistening with as-yet unformed tears.

  Unwilling to watch, Kevon looked down and away, covering his eyes and resting his head on his hand, struggling to remain in control of himself. He saw bits of movement, heard Marelle rise and walk around the table and toward the door. Kevon forced himself to remain still. He was afraid that if he stood out of courtesy, he would be unable to keep himself from asking her to stay.

  Kevon jumped slightly as he felt Marelle’s arms circle around beneath his from behind. He shivered a bit when her unbound hair trailed across the back of his neck as she leaned in close to his ear.

  “Tell me to leave,” Marelle whispered softly, her lips brushing against Kevon’s earlobe as she spoke. “And I will.”

  Kevon remained immobilized as Marelle’s hands clasped together on his chest and she drew herself tighter to him. Three large, warm tears fell onto his neck and his resolve shattered. With one hand, he covered hers on his chest. With the other, he reached up to cradle the side of her face as she nestled into his.

  “I may have to run,” he said, easing his head back to catch a glimpse of her, “But I could never send you away.”

  Marelle began disentangling her arms and drew Kevon up and around into her embrace.

  Chapter 17

  Kevon woke late the next morning to a loud knock on the door. Panicked, he reached for Marelle, but she was not there. A folded sheet of paper lay on the bedside table. Kevon ignored it for the moment and threw on his trousers and under-tunic before rushing to the door.

  “Bertus?” he asked as he opened the door a crack.

  “Unhappily, yes, it is I.” The attendant winked at Kevon. “I do have food, though.”

  Kevon opened the door and Bertus whisked in with breakfast. Kevon was more than slightly disappointed to see there was only enough for one.

  Bertus swiftly exchanged the dishes from the tray with the used ones on the table, humming a merry tune under his breath. When he turned to go, Kevon handed him two of the silvers from the bedside table. Bertus grinned, nodded, and exited quietly.

  Kevon sat to eat. He took a few bites of everything, but it was all still very hot. He rested his chin on his upturned palms and started waiting for the food to cool.

  Images, flashes of memory and ghostly sensations began intruding on his silent meditation. The night had been full of softness and warmth, exploration and enthusiasm. Kevon remembered one thing more clearly than any of the delightfully hazy others. Several times, he had felt the same kind of calm, clear assurance that he had only ever felt before when completing a spell.

  Kevon sighed loudly, and picked the paper up from the table. He unfolded the note and smiled as he read it.

  Until you secure my hand

  Be content with my heart

  Marelle

  Kevon traced a few letters with the tip of his finger. Marelle’s handwriting was small and neat, well-practiced from writing in business ledgers and such, no doubt. He rubbed his eyes self-consciously for a few moments before folding the note and slipping it into a pocket. He sniffed, still smiling, and started eating again. Pushing all thought of Marelle aside for a moment, he started planning. If things went well today, the next few days would be full of frantic activity. He would have to get re-provisioned for the trip to the Inner Cities. Kevon could think of at least half a dozen things he would need immediately, and there were probably more that he would need eventually.

  Kevon turned his thoughts to the upcoming trade negotiation. Rhulcan would undoubtedly be there. He wondered if he would have any chances to spend even a moment alone with Marelle. The prospect of holding her hand or stealing a kiss was far more exciting than the fortune that would soon be his. Kevon shook himself out of his all-too-pleasant daydreams and finished his breakfast.

  After using the washbasin to clean himself up a bit, he finished dressing and stowed his extra belongings in the chest at the foot of the bed. He took only his spare coins, the pouch with the pearl, and as an afterthought fastened the pewter amulet around his neck as a reminder of his quest.

  Kevon left the room and wandered downstairs to wait.

  By the time he reached the front desk, the messenger from Marelle was already arriving. Kevon identified himself, received the message he already knew, and tipped the runner a silver.

  The meeting was two hours away. Figuring time for the ride and a little more to be safe, Kevon supposed he had about an hour to explore. He opened the door and followed the messenger out into the bustling streets of Eastport.

  The streets were considera
bly louder than when they had arrived last evening. Most of the street vendors had younger assistants extolling the virtues of their wares for all to hear.

  Kevon walked up the street until the inn’s sign was almost out of sight, and then ducked into the nearest shop to get away from the crowds.

  The counter that separated him from the rest of the shop was two paces from the front wall, chest high, and ran the entire width of the room. Behind it were racks of displayed weapons, tools, and accessories. Kevon could not help but smile.

  A grim looking man with a scar that puckered its way across his nose and halfway down his cheek strode up to the counter across from Kevon. “What do you want?” the man asked, eyeing Kevon critically.

  “Well, I might need a sword later, but I suppose I could use a good knife in the meantime,” Kevon answered.

  The man turned to gesture at a display of assorted knives, and Kevon noticed that half of the man’s right ear was missing. “These over here are about all I can sell you that won’t be taxed,” he said. “Anything bigger, you’ll pay about what it cost you every year if you travel much. That is, unless you’re a Guildsman…” the man turned to look more closely at Kevon. “Which I’m sure you ain’t.”

  “You’re right, I’m not,” Kevon nodded. “I will be traveling quite a bit very soon though. I could use something for dressing out game, and if it would come in handy in a fight as well… all the better.”

  The man smiled, and took the knife Kevon had been glancing at off its hanging pegs. It was similar to the sword that Kevon had taken from the fallen Warrior. The blade was nearly eight inches long, and it was wider than most of the other knives in the display. The back edge was unusually thick, and the hilt was wrapped in the same fashion.

  “Do you know where this came from?” Kevon asked.

  “It’s a sturdy blade, if that’s what you’re asking,” the man grumbled.