The Heir of Gorradan (Chronicles of Faerowyn Book 2) Page 4

  A blow struck her back. She staggered forward and the knife that had been thrown into her back dropped to the ground. The man who had thrown it, one of the two who had been knocked over, stood in disbelief. It should have killed her. Faer gritted her teeth, picked up the knife, and sent it hurtling back. It impacted on his shoulder and he fell back with a scream.

  The last man got to his feet and grabbed his sword. Faer came at him, both hands gripping her sword. Two clashes of blades and the broadsword shattered, splintering into three. Faer pressed her blade against his throat and took hold of his hair. “Yield.”

  He nodded, eyes wild.

  She stepped back and surveyed the yard. Two were on their feet, the other three kneeling or sat down. She sheathed her sword and looked at the general. “You were saying, General?”

  Baskel shook his head. “I do not believe my eyes. What are you?”

  “A mercenary. Nothing more, General.”

  Baskel smiled ruefully. “No, Miss Blade, mercenaries do not combine sword skills with magic. You are something else, something much more. Not only a sword that holds great power – I see that when you use it – but you have power within yourself. Hmmm.”

  “What is it you are thinking of, General? I believe you invited me here for reasons other than mere courtesy.”

  Baskel said nothing for a moment, then waved to Seth. “Help the injured; make sure they are all seen by the healer.” He waited until the last of the walking wounded had left and then looked around. Many of the windows that looked out onto the yard had men staring down at them. “This is too public, Miss Blade. I think we should continue our talk in my room.”

  Faer nodded and allowed the general to lead her back into the building and along to his room. There, the general made sure the door was shut before making his way to his usual seat. He sat down with a sigh. “When I heard of a young mercenary who had disposed of the bandits plaguing this town, I was naturally curious as to your skills and in fact in you, too. Imagine my surprise at seeing a girl barely into adulthood! Not only that but one with elf blood, and skin the colour of tree bark.”

  “You didn’t believe I could be the one who had done the deed, General.”

  Baskel nodded. “Therefore I had to see for myself. Your sword was the first thing that caught my attention. It is something I have never seen before; elf-made, superb quality. It is a weapon to fear. The shattering of that army sword out there was testament to that. But that chain armour you wear – it stopped that knife throw without any trouble.”

  “Also elf-made. Why did you order your men to try to kill me?”

  “Because I didn’t think they would be able to do so. We have magicians in the employ of the king, and there are others who live in the big cities and out in the wilds wherever they can find peace of mind to create their potions and what have you, but none are also warriors. You are, in my experience, unique. I am fascinated by you.”

  Faer folded her arms and stared down at him. “I’m flattered, but I’m on my way to the coast via Gorradan. I am trying to find a friend who came back this way two years ago and hoped to find some trace of him.”

  “I understand – you are on a journey. I would like to bring you to the attention of the king, however.”

  “Why?” Faer was genuinely surprised. “Am I a threat to him? I do not wish to take any side in any kingdom’s problems – they do not concern me. If someone wants Jerethal out of the way, then that is their affair; not mine.”

  Baskel waved his hands dismissively. “No, no no. You misunderstand me, young lady. I wish you to go to King Jerethal who is, so I understand, looking for someone to help him.”

  “Help him? With what?”

  “Alas, I am not privy to what exactly, but I have been asked to advise him of any proficient warrior or mercenary who I hear of, and send them to the palace in the capital. I would be grateful if you did agree to this. You would be well rewarded.”

  “A king asking me for help?” She was intrigued. Perhaps this offered an opening for her to learn more about the kingdom. “I was last here just before the decisive battle that brought Portris to the forces of Jerethal. What happened to those in Gorradan when it fell?”

  “Oh; Jerethal executed all those of the royal line, and naturally this made his coronation uncontested. Any of the late king’s senior advisors and officers were also executed or imprisoned, so I understand. I was here in Portris, guarding the southern borderlands, so the fine details I was unaware of.”

  Faer asked a few more questions. Gorradan was firmly in the hands of the new king and his rule extended throughout nearly all of the kingdom. Only in a few places were those loyal to the former ruler defied him. Mountains and deep forests contained the remnants of those who opposed Jerethal. “So I would be shown to the king who would ask me to undertake a task on his behalf?”

  “That is my belief, yes. I think your talents would be greatly of benefit to whatever mission he offers you. I have the impression he is keen for someone to take up this task sooner rather than later.”

  Faer paced back and forth. “I think I could go to the palace and hear what he has to say; it is on my way to my destination in any case. Being on a royal summons would also make my journey there quicker and easier.”

  Baskel agreed. “I would give you a Royal Pass. You could make your way to the city without hindrance. Once there you would be best advised to present yourself to the palace as promptly as possible.”

  Faer nodded. “Very well, General. Write me that Pass and I shall set out for Gorradan tomorrow.”

  Baskel beamed. “Excellent. I shall have your Pass ready by the time dinner is served. In the meantime, please go rest in your room; I suspect you need to unwind after today’s exertions.”

  She nodded and left. The general gazed at the empty door for a while, then reached for his ink and quill, and a sheaf of parchments. He would indeed write her a Pass, but he would also write to the king and get that sent by messenger that very night. Jerethal would need to know about her and her amazing powers immediately.

  THREE

  Faer’s journey to Gorradan was uneventful. With the confidence of having General Baskel’s Royal Pass in her possession, she rode along the road close to the river northwards. She didn’t want to go by boat – her memories of the journey up had left a bad taste in her mouth and besides, she had a horse now so didn’t need to go by river.

  She encountered two patrols in the three days it took her and each time the Pass was honoured and she was allowed to continue on her way. The walls of the capital came into view late on the third day and she smiled with relief. Hopefully someone there might know what had happened to Markus. She really hoped the young man had somehow managed to stay clear of trouble and make it back. Her return to Selanic might not be so easy if he was not there.

  The gates were being locked when she arrived and only the production of the Pass got her in – otherwise she would have been told to wait outside until the morrow. She slowly made her way through the streets, looking at the darkening buildings as night cloaked the city. People hurried towards their homes, one or two casting curious looks in her direction, but most of them were just glad to be on their way.

  She turned the corner of Parade Street by the temple and walked her horse the few houses to that of the Lace’s. The house was dark and only one faint light could be seen shining deep within. She dismounted and knocked on the door. A few shadows straightened on the corner to look at her with interest.

  There came the sound of someone on the other side and then a shutter slid back behind the grille set in the centre of the door. “Who is it?”

  “A friend of the Lace’s, come to visit and say hello.”

  “We have no friends,” came the reply. “All have gone. Who are you?”

  Faer looked the face behind the grille firmly in the eye. “Now, Mrs. Balkan, don’t you recognise me?”

  The elderly woman started, surprised, then her eyes widened. “Oh, upon my soul! The e
lf girl! Oh my! And you have a horse? Oh, walk round the block and there’s a small street that goes to the backs of these houses. Wait at the grey set of doors and I’ll open it for you.”

  Faer stepped back and the shutter slid shut. She carried on past the house and came to the next junction and turned right. After a short distance there came a side street, a narrow one, and she went down this. After a little distance there came a big set of double doors and although colour was indistinct, it might be grey – but there again it might not. She waited, and soon there came the sound of bolts being scraped back and the door opened a crack. “Are you there, my dear?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Balkan.” She was hurried in; the door being shut the moment the horse was in.

  The woman came up to her and to Faer’s surprise, hugged her. “Oh it’s so wonderful to see you again, child! It’s been simply dreadful these past couple of years, what with the siege and the short supply of food, and poor Captain Lace…oh but that’s not for me to say, I’ll let the Lady tell you about that. Oh what a beautiful creature,” she said, looking at the mare. “Where did you get it? No doubt you’ll tell us over dinner. I will stable this beautiful thing – what’s his or her name?”

  “It’s a she, and I’ve called her Smoke.”

  “Oh, after her colouration? Lovely name,” Mrs. Balkan agreed, nodding. Faer remembered the housekeeper loved to talk. “I’ll go stable Smoke and put the tack and harness to one side. We don’t have anyone else here other than the Lady and myself now – oh it’s such a sad story – but there I go again, wittering away while you stand here in the cold. Go inside, child, Lady Lace is awaiting you in the study. I’ve told her you’re here. She’s so looking forward to seeing you again! It’s such a wonderful change to see a friendly face after what has happened to us all. Oh,” she wiped an imaginary tear from the corner of her eye, “such a sad tale indeed.”

  Faer thanked her. She would get a much more coherent story from Lady Lace. It seemed Captain Lace was no longer around. She hoped he was a prisoner rather than dead. She found her way into the study, after taking one wrong turn. Her memories of the house were hazy – it had been a while since she had been here and she had only been a guest for two or three days.

  Lady Lace was sitting quietly in the study, the curtains drawn. It was gloomy and only the poor light filtering in through the open doorway offered any illumination. Faer was not bothered; her eyesight worked perfectly well whatever the degree of light. Lady Lace stood up with a gasp of relief and spread her arms wide.

  Faer was engulfed in a hug that surprised her. Lady Lace hadn’t shown that kind of emotion previously, and Faer guessed she was feeling lonely and isolated. Any friend was like a breath of life to her.

  “You don’t know how pleased I am to see you again, Faerowyn,” she said, her voice catching with emotion.

  “Lady Lace, I had to come to thank you for your kindness – but I hear the Captain is no longer here? Is there any news of him?”

  They both sat down. Lady Lace composed herself and looked steadily at the half elf. “My husband was taken prisoner when the city fell; I didn’t know of his fate until we were visited by the new rulers. Since Captain Lace was a senior official in the royal army, we were worth special attention.”

  Faer looked on sympathetically.

  “I was informed, most smugly if I may say so, by the new king’s advisor, an odious man called Capel. He told me right here in this room that the Captain was now a prisoner. He is somewhere being held prisoner along with all the others taken when the city fell.”

  “That’s terrible. Do you know where exactly?”

  Lady Lace shook her head. “I am not given any of that kind of information. All our servants except Mrs. Balkan left because our income suddenly fell to nothing. Mrs. Balkan remains due to loyalty. If she were not here I don’t know what I would do. We’re reduced to penury and even food is hard to come by. Nobody is willing to sell us food as we are tainted with being on the former king’s side. I can’t even buy any new clothes and have to repair everything now. Luckily I am skilled as a seamstress.”

  Faer leaned back and scowled. “Could Jerethal pardon your husband?”

  Lady Lace paused as Mrs. Balkan came in. Then she replied. “That is for the new king to decide; he’s not the forgiving type from what I hear. Even if the Captain is released, I doubt we would ever be allowed to live in peace.”

  Faer pondered on the matter. “Let me see if I can do anything for you. I am in debt to you and I cannot sit by here while he is in prison.”

  “Oh, Faerowyn, it is too dangerous – to defy King Jerethal is not a sensible idea!”

  Faer smiled without humour. “I have a debt of kindness to repay and I shall do what I can to find him and bring him back to you. But first I can do something about the lack of food here. Did I notice a small vegetable garden out the back?”

  “You did. Mrs. Balkan here grows a fine selection of herbs and vegetables, but not enough to keep us fed the year round, and of course being winter there are few things that grow now, except the brassicas. Are you serious about finding my husband?”

  Faer assured her she was, and Lady Lace thanked her in a soft and grateful voice. Faer guessed the woman was fighting hard to keep back tears, something that would not do given her social position in front of her servant.

  The new day brought Faer and Mrs. Balkan to the market. The night had been one of comfort and Faer had slept in the same bed she had done on her journey to Blade Mountain. She had also told the two women to address her as Dark Blade now; she told them that as a mercenary for hire she was using her new professional name and Faerowyn was a name she no longer wished to be identified by. Both women accepted it without question. To them the school at Kaltinar was some strange far-off half legendary place that people never returned from.

  The fact the half elf had come back was a miracle. They told her that neither had either seen or heard of Markus but it was at a time of the fall of the city, there were other things they were more concerned about. Faer accepted that; it had only been a forlorn hope. Markus seemed to have vanished.

  The market was in the city square. Mrs. Balkan kept up a dialogue as they walked there, pointing out the main places of interest and a potted history. Faer was exhausted by the time they got there as the servant hardly drew breath.

  There were the usual collection of stalls under the canopy of the guild building that stood in the centre of the square. Each stallholder could only trade if they paid the guild a sum for their pitch. Faer had a small bag of coins on her. It had been there to last her for her journey but she hadn’t spent any of it, and in fact had added to her pile from the loot garnered from the dead bandits.

  She pointed to a stall selling pickled goods. “Those could be useful. We had lots of them in Kaltinar. Do you preserve food?”

  “Oh, we used to, child, believe me, but now we hardly have enough to feed us in summer and autumn. There simply isn’t enough to use for preserves. And these look so pricey, too.”

  “After effects of war, Mrs. Balkan. I would wager that these prices will fall next year.” She looked at the bartering going on. This was something she had no experience of so she sidled up to the stall and made a show of examining the jars and pots on show. The seller was haggling with a buyer and she heard how they were countering with ludicrous excuses. Mrs. Balkan was next. She pointed to three jars, one of tomatoes, one of onions and one of something Faer didn’t recognise.

  The seller shook his head and folded his arms. “Told you ‘afore, madam, I ain’t sellin’ to thee. King Jerethal don’t like thee so I ain’t gonna risk ‘is ire by sellin’ to thee or Lady Lace. Sorry.”

  “What about me?” Faer said from the side. “I have coin.”

  “You?” the seller regarded her. “And what are you?”

  “A buyer,” she responded. “Who wants those three jars just pointed out.”

  “You with her? In that case I ain’t sellin’. Don’t like no elf anyho
ws – they lie.”

  Faer raised an eyebrow. “I’m only half elf, so I’m only half lying.”

  The seller snorted. “Funny, ain’t ya? No sellin’.”

  Faer held up two coins. “More than they’re worth but take them. Sure you won’t be struck down by pestilence.”

  “I fears the city guard more than pestilence. No.”

  Faer shut her eyes. She brought up from her lungs a suppressed ball of air and directed through her arms, her veins swelling. She hadn’t done this for a little while but she felt it time to teach the obdurate merchant a lesson. He squawked as his feet left the ground and he rose up, arms flailing. “Hey! What you doin’? Put me down!”

  Faer opened her eyes. The man was three feet off the ground. “As you wish,” and cut the concentration. The man plunged to the ground and fell into a heap. Mrs. Balkan stared, her mouth open wide, and the others nearby all goggled in amazement. Faer leaned over the stall and picked up the three jars. She handed them to Mrs. Balkan and held out the two coins to the merchant who was getting to his feet somewhat shakily. “Take it or have your entire stall thrown up into the air and smashed.”

  “You won’t get away with this, mark my words! King Jerethal don’t like strangers comin’ ‘ere and causing trouble.” He snatched the coins and glared at the two. Faer led Mrs. Balkan away, a smile playing across her face.

  “How did you do that, child!” the servant asked, amazed.

  “I learned this at Blade Mountain,” Faer said honestly. She didn’t expand on it and Mrs. Balkan wasn’t going to ask. “Three jars should help for a while.”

  “Oh they will – Lady Lace will be so pleased! Thank you, Blade, you certainly taught that man a less-“ She stopped in mid-sentence, for coming towards them were four armed men and an officer leading them. They were staring right at Faer.