A Crown Imperiled (8 page)

‘Why don’t you wait until we’re done?’ asked one of the young men sitting at the tiny corner table. He was obviously a labourer of some kind, a stonemason’s apprentice, given his large arms and shoulders and the covering of stone dust on the apron he wore over his heavy woollen shirt. His three companions were likewise scruffy and ill-kempt; none of them appeared to have shaved in a week.

The woman laughed. ‘As crowded as it is, I might not get back here until an hour after you left.’

‘Where would we go?’ He waved towards the door. ‘We step outside and one of those watchmen will fetch us back.’

Trying to keep the tone light, the woman laughed again. ‘Those silly boys?’ Her expression turned serious. ‘I’m sorry, lads, but I have my instructions. Pay as you go.’

Miranda could smell trouble coming and glanced around the room. The bartender looked burly enough to handle two, even three of these boys, but he was on the other side of the room. She glanced at Nakor, who nodded. The room was packed with people who were tired, bored, irritable and drunk. It was ripe for a brawl or a full-on riot.

Miranda gently pushed the serving woman aside, leaned over and said, ‘Pay up, that’s a good fellow.’

‘I am not your good fellow, woman,’ said the young man with a defiant sneer. ‘I’m a mason from Natal trying to get home after a long job away. I’m a man whose ship was heading south before we reached this miserable city.’ His voice rose. ‘I’m a man who has been shut up in this inn since then, with no way to get home, and I’m in no mood to argue with whores!’ He took a drunken backhanded swing at the serving woman who nimbly stepped aside.

Her eyes widened and she shouted, ‘Whores!’

The man was half-out of his seat when Miranda reached out, put her hand on his shoulder, and shoved him back into his seat so hard he cried out in pain, the pop of his shoulder joint loud enough to be heard. She continued to squeeze and the effect was instant: his eyes widened and he opened his mouth, but was unable to make a sound save a slight whimper. Colour drained from his face and tears started streaming down his cheeks.

She released him and turned to the serving woman. ‘You all right?’

The dumbfounded woman could only nod, and the mason’s three companions backed their chairs against the walls in a futile attempt to put more space between themselves and this insane, but obviously powerful, woman.

Miranda stared at them, ‘Where do you idiots sleep?’

One of the gasping man’s companions said in a terrified whisper, ‘Basement.’

Miranda simply said, ‘Go!’

All four men struggled quickly to get out of their seats, two of them helping the injured man away. Nakor laughed as they vanished into the crowd. ‘Well, now we can sit down,’ he said.

As they did so, the serving woman said, ‘Thank you.’ She blinked for a moment like a barn owl caught in lantern-light, then her happy expression returned. ‘What can I get you?’

‘What have you to eat?’ asked Miranda as the famished Nakor nodded enthusiastically.

‘I’ve some mutton on the spit that’s edible. We’ve almost been eaten bare by this lot. It’s lovely to make coin, but when there’s nothing to buy . . .’

Miranda beckoned her closer, then spoke softly, ‘There’s a wagon train from LaMut parked outside the city walls waiting for someone to let them in. Good, fresh food, flour, butter, everything you need. You might want to tell your employer and have him send someone down there to make a deal before the other innkeepers in town find out.’

The woman brightened and said, ‘Thank you, I’ll tell him straight away!’ Then she leaned over. ‘Got some stew about to finish, and there are a few hot loaves of bread left.’ She gestured over her shoulder. ‘My dad is trying to keep ’em drunk enough to be happy, but not so drunk we can’t keep them in line. Those four from the Free Cities have been complaining all day and most of yesterday, like no one else here is suffering.’ Her smile returned. ‘Drink?’

‘Two of whatever you think is best,’ said Nakor.

‘Two dwarven ales it is, then,’ she said. ‘Back in a moment.’

As the serving woman vanished into the crowd a tall figure made his way through the press until he stood before their table. He was blond with pointed ears and broad shoulders and was clad in a dark brown leather tunic, trousers, and boots. He held a long bow which he now placed butt end on the floor in front of them. Smiling quizzically, he said, ‘You always did know how to make an entrance.’

Both Miranda and Nakor glanced up and then broke into broad smiles. Miranda said, ‘Calis!’

The son of the Elf Queen and Warleader Tomas of Elvandar leaned forward slightly and said in a lower voice. ‘Aren’t you two supposed to be dead?’

Nakor laughed, and Miranda motioned for Calis to sit. The blond half-elf, half-human, part-Valheru had been a close friend of both Nakor and Miranda, and for a time much more than friends with her. Nakor had sailed with Calis on a voyage to Novindus in the early stages of the Serpent War, the invasion of the Kingdom by the demon possessing the body of the Emerald Queen. In an odd twist of fate, the Emerald Queen had once been married to Nakor and later became Miranda’s mother.

Calis sat down and Miranda leaned over to give him a hug and a kiss on the cheek; then Nakor shook his hand.

The serving woman returned with two flagons of ale. ‘Sir?’ she asked Calis who shook his head.

When she had departed, Calis said, ‘A story, then?’

Miranda reached out and put her hand on his. ‘I am not who I appear to be.’ She felt a strong sense of affection for this being, and remembered that Miranda and Calis had been lovers for a time before she had met Pug.

She could feel his fingers tense ever so slightly under her hand, and pressed down lightly in a gesture of reassurance. ‘It is not deceit, nor trickery, but a strange twist of fate which brings us here.’ She glanced at Nakor who nodded.

‘If you are not two of my oldest and dearest friends, returned to me, then . . . ?’

‘It’s a long story and hard to believe,’ said Nakor. Grinning, he added, ‘Then again our little band of desperate men saw some things terrible and wondrous to behold on our travels, didn’t we?’

Calis nodded. He gave Miranda a pointed look. She returned a sad smile and said, ‘I remember everything.’ She gave his hand another slight squeeze. ‘But those memories are not mine.’

Calis said nothing.

Nakor asked, ‘When was the last time you saw Pug?’

‘A year or so ago. He came to visit my mother and Tomas.’ He looked at Miranda. ‘He was still saddened by your loss, as well as Caleb and Marie.’

Miranda couldn’t help but gasp, and tears gathered in her eyes. ‘Caleb? Marie?’ She tightened her grip on his hand; a lesser being would have endured broken fingers. Caleb had been Miranda’s youngest child and Marie, his wife.

Calis softly said, ‘In the attack that took you.’

Miranda looked away for a second, then finally she composed herself and asked, ‘The boys?’

Calis squeezed her hand in return and said, ‘Tad, Zane, and Jommy are well. There were other losses when the demons attacked your island, students and two of Pug’s teachers, but given the severity . . .’

‘I remember.’ She said nothing for a long moment, and then lowered her eyes. ‘I will tell you everything, but not now.’ A sad sound, barely a whisper of a breath, was followed by silence.

Nakor said, ‘Not that I’m unhappy to see you, old friend, but what coincidence brings you here on the very day we arrive?’

‘Not such a coincidence, I’m on an errand for my mother. I carry word to young Lord Martin that those sent to us from Crydee to care for are safe in Elvandar.’

Composing herself, Miranda asked, ‘Why come this way? Why not take the straighter course south across the River Boundary to Crydee?’

‘Because Martin is not in Crydee, he’s here in Ylith.’

‘They have kept you waiting here?’ She indicated the inn with a quick wave of her hand.

‘They haven’t,’ said Calis. ‘I saw Martin yesterday and paused here on my way north.’

Miranda said, ‘Because you had never spent a night in an overcrowded ale house with too many strangers who haven’t bathed in weeks?’

Calis grinned and Nakor laughed. The Prince of Elvandar said, ‘Whatever you may be now, some things about you are exactly as I remember them.’ He looked across the room to the far corner. Where the bar ended, a small additional room had once been added; there was a step leading down to a pair of tables that had been placed together for a large group. All of the chairs had been moved to allow a band of workers to sit together, save one. A figure wearing a dark cloak sat in the corner, his arms crossed over his chest, surveying the room. He was staring directly at Calis.

‘Ah,’ said Miranda taking in the figure’s hair and ears. ‘One of yours?’

‘Hardly,’ said Nakor. ‘So, you were curious about that dark elf and decided to linger?’

Calis nodded. ‘I was curious to see what a moredhel was doing in Ylith.’

‘And no doubt he’s curious to know what a prince of Elvandar is doing in Ylith,’ said Nakor.

Miranda glanced at the figure half-hidden in shadows and said, ‘How did you know he was moredhel?’

‘It’s in our nature to recognize our own kind, and those who are not. He travels as an ocedhel, one of the elves from across the sea, but his disguise is flawed.’

Nakor peered at the figure for a bit and sat back. ‘I can see nothing.’ He squinted, then shook his head. ‘Under the table?’

Calis nodded. ‘The boots.’

Nakor laughed. ‘Trust a moredhel to be unwilling to sacrifice his boots.’ Then the little man’s expression turned serious. ‘Or his sword, I expect. Though I wager you’ll have to kill him to get a good look at it.’

‘How do you know so much of dark elves?’ Miranda asked Nakor.

‘I travel,’ was his answer.

Again Miranda was struck by the absurdity of their two sets of memories. Belog had never travelled further than the distance from the archivists’ quarters to Dahun’s palace and back, until he had left the city and encountered Child. Nakor had travelled to every distant part of Midkemia and worlds beyond.

‘He does looks like a traveller from across the sea, like Calis’s wife,’ granted Nakor. Miranda had rescued Ellia and her sons during the war of the Emerald Queen, across the sea in Novindus and had taken them to Elvandar, where they had met Calis.

Calis said, ‘His tunic, trousers and cloak are simple enough, and he wears no armour, but that’s a bad bow: it’s cracked and has been re-glued and banded with leather, so he’s no archer. And he wears fine boots of a craft common to the Dark Brotherhood.’ He used the human name for the moredhel. ‘Those are unmistakable, and from what I can see, well-made. He’s important, perhaps even a clan chieftain.’

‘Well, that does raise the question of what he’s doing here,’ said Miranda.

‘Renegade?’ asked Nakor of Calis.

Calis shrugged. ‘Rare, but not unheard of, although they rarely venture this far south; there are too many places between here and the northland for a moredhel to die alone. The few who are expelled from their clans are usually found in the east, among humans who traffic in weapons, drugs, and slaves.’

‘A spy, then?’ said Miranda, obviously intrigued by the speculation.

‘If he is, he’s a bad one,’ said Nakor, standing up. ‘Well, the best thing to do is ask him.’

Before either Calis or Miranda could utter another word, Nakor had worked his way through the crowd to stand before the dark-haired elf in the corner. With as friendly an expression as the demon-in-human form could manage, he said, ‘Excuse me, but my friends and I were wondering what you are doing here?’

Dark eyes regarded Nakor for a long moment, before the dark elf spoke, not in the King’s tongue but in heavily accented Common Tongue, the trading language of Triagia. ‘Go away, little man.’

Nakor’s grin broadened even more. ‘We could have some fun. I could tell this crowd exactly what you are. Many are from the north and have no love for your people; and then we can see how long you survive. Or, you could simply answer my question.’

Lowering his voice so those at the next table couldn’t overhear, Arkan of the Ardanien said, ‘Or, I could simply ignore you until you go away!’

Nakor kept grinning. ‘I can be very persistent and patient.’

‘And annoying, apparently.’ Arkan stared Nakor in the eyes, then suddenly stood up and pressed past the little man. With no apology, the moredhel chieftain pushed his way through the crowd eliciting complaints and muttered threats.

Reaching Calis and Miranda, he spoke in a language only Miranda and Nakor could understand. It was High Elven, the common ancestor language of all branches of the elves. ‘Had you wished to know my reason for being here, Prince of Elvandar, you could have simply asked, rather than send over that annoying little human.’

Miranda tried not to chuckle.

Calis said, ‘You know me?’

‘By reputation,’ said Arkan. ‘You are eledhel, but you are not. There’s something about you that is . . . human.’ He said the last as if it was an insult. ‘There is only one being like that: the son of the Queen of Elvandar.’

Calis raised his eyebrows slightly and tilted his head, as if what he had heard was of little importance. ‘It is true, I was curious.’

‘Which is why you followed me into the inn when you were obviously about to depart this pest hole of a city.’

‘So, are you going to tell us why you’re here or do I send for the city watch and begin some carnage?’ asked Calis.

Arkan studied the Prince of Elvandar. Like others north of the Teeth of the World, he had heard of the bastard son of Aglaranna and that abomination in the garb of the Valheru. Yet Calis wasn’t anything like he had imagined him to be. Save for his ears, which were less pronounced, more human-like, and the faint sense of power that emanated from him, he seemed surprisingly ordinary. His plain garb was that of a hunter or traveller, his bow was superbly made, but otherwise of simple design, and he wore no jewellery or badges, no bracelets or hair ornaments. With his traditional grey armour and black cloak he could have passed for a member of one of the moredhels’ southern bands.