Reign of Madness (Revised Edition) (31 page)

Shiela had little in common with anyone onboard, and refused
to lower herself to speak freely with Frisha or Reaylin. Those men who were not
related to the frustrating lady tended to avoid her. The noble woman finally
found herself a seat that was mostly blocked from the breeze so her parasol
would not blow away and took up her needlepoint. The lady had been appalled
that the other women did not possess the skill and insisted that Frisha must
learn if she was ever to be included in any sewing circles. Frisha just rolled
her eyes and walked away.

The captain informed the passengers that they would be
pulling into Port Manai right at the dinner hour, and the travelers decided to
take their meal at an inn or tavern rather than suffer the ship’s cuisine
needlessly. The food was not particularly bad. It just had little variety. The
first few days were always the best when the cook had fresh meat and vegetables
to serve; but afterward, most meals consisted of salted pork, fish, beans and
potatoes.

The ship was staying in port for two nights to resupply and
collect any messages that were to be delivered to Skutton. Rezkin had selected
a ship offering passage across the open waters to the island, so they did not
have to change vessels. After offloading the cantankerous creature he called Pride,
the young warrior joined the others at the end of the pier. With overnight bags
in hand, or in their servants’ hands, as the case was, the traveling companions
left the ship as quickly as possible. No one was looking forward to boarding
again two days hence.

Lord Nasque was familiar with Port Manai, having traveled to
the city on many occasions. He led the nobles to the fairer part of town
visited by the more affluent patrons. Rezkin knew of several nice, affordable
inns closer to the market district. Although he could afford to stay in the
nicer inns, he knew that most of his companions would feel more comfortable
staying amongst their peers. It also placed them closer to the shops in case
anyone needed to obtain supplies.

Rezkin managed to secure four rooms at one of the larger
inns for the nine people in his party. Kai, however, stated that he could find
his own lodgings but promised to meet them for breakfast in the morning.
Several of the Jebai and Nasque guards also accompanied Rezkin’s group since
they would be staying in the more affordable district. The guards worked in
shifts through the night so they did not all need to accompany the lords at the
same time.

The strangest sight in the city, so far, was the unusually
high number of scruffy young men carrying travel packs. Even though most of the
young men appeared to be travelers, they were not taking up residence in the
inns. After a few inquiries, it became apparent that these young men were
reporting for the king’s muster. A new military post had been constructed just
outside the city, and both new recruits and trained infantry had been passing
through in a constant stream.

One of the other inn patrons boasted of the amazing meal he
had enjoyed at a tavern less than a block away, so the companions opted to dine
out. The Kettle’s Bottom Kitchen was popular with the locals, and it was some
time before the serving staff were able to clear enough tables to seat the
party of eight. Everyone was surprised when only a few minutes after they had
been seated, Palis, Brandt, and Waylen joined them. Apparently, one of the
Jebai guards told the young nobles where the travelers could be found. A flurry
of activity ensued as the servers managed to collect three more chairs to
squeeze into the cramped space around their tables.

The tavern guests stared at the eclectic group. It was
obvious from their dress that they were of a variety of backgrounds –
commoners, nobles, soldiers, and a mage – all partaking of a meal
together
.
Even Rezkin found it odd that the nobles had deigned to join them. For his
part, Rezkin had forgone the uncomfortable doublet and breeches and wore a well
made, high-quality shirt and pants. He still felt uncomfortable going without
his armor among so many people, but it would have garnered too much of the
wrong kind of attention.

The establishment was sizeable by tavern standards, sporting
at least fifteen tables large enough to hold four to six people and a few
smaller ones. A long bar surrounded by tall stools ran along one wall. Behind the
bar, a number of tapped kegs were lined up along a tall bench, and between the
kegs was a tall rack holding an assortment of shiny bottles filled with various
colored liquids. Where the bar met the front wall was another rack containing
bottles of wine imported from around the world. Some were made of glass, others
clay or even wood.

“I’m sorry to inform ye that we can no longer serve beef or
northern bison since it’s no longer available in this region,” the hostess
stated as they arranged themselves.

“What? But you are on the main trade route,” Palis protested
with surprise.

“Aye, we are, me lord” she said with a slight lilt typical
of the isles, “but none of it makes it to Port Manai anymore. Traders say most
of it’s gettin’ requisitioned by the army and what’s not is taxed so high they
can’t be sendin’ it off to distant cities. The meat be not the only thing not
makin’ it out of Ashai, now. Traders been sayin’ their stock is cut short by
near a quarter and they’re havin’ a hard time sellin’ what they bring in.
People aren’t partin’ with their coppers with so few to spare. We’re lucky
we’re on the sea, I suppose, since we can at least partake of the ocean’s
bounty. Some places here in the south aren’t so lucky.”

“The profits, the tariffs and levies lost! The kingdom will
go broke,” Palis stammered.

“I don’t know anythin’ about that kind of thing,” the woman
said, “but I’ll tell ye we’re servin’ glazed fish with clam sauce and herb
roasted chicken seasoned with chessery. The fish is amazin’, but I’d go with
the chicken since this’ll probably be the last shipment of chessery we get in
Ashai.”

Waylen furrowed his brows and remarked, “But, chessery is
not expensive, and it is not even grown in Ashai. I do not believe it is something
the army would bother to requisition.”

“No, that’s the problem, though. We don’t grow it here. It
only comes from Verril, and since the traders aren’t bringing them any more
great horn wool and padrion dye, they’re refusin’ to trade with us – or so
I’ve been told. I’m no merchant. What will ye have?”

The large group went about ordering their meals and drinks
amidst the growing din of the crowded tavern. Rezkin’s tables had been pushed
together to form one long one toward the back of the tavern with the young
warrior at its head. Along the back wall was a raised stage, which was
currently occupied by an attractive middle-aged female singer accompanied by a
gangly teenage boy playing a lute. The musicians were quite talented, and
Rezkin found that he was enjoying the entertainment.

Rezkin’s masters had insisted that in certain countries
anyone of notable status was expected to be able to sing and perform on a
variety of instruments. In the distant southern Kingdom of Penoi along the
Ulukan Sea, musical talent was often used to determine one’s social status
among one’s peers in much the same way as was performance in dueling
competitions in Ashai. Needless to say, Rezkin learned to sing
and
play
several instruments, a few of which would probably never even been seen or
heard in his own land. At times, he had been instructed to sing while
performing his other training exercises, which was more exhausting than one
might expect.

Rezkin’s musical upbringing had been technical, educational.
It lacked the emotional value and simple relaxing pleasure of the performances
he had witnessed since leaving the fortress. Most of his music instructors had
been passionate men who purported the necessity to infuse the music with one’s
feelings, but Rezkin had never understood. Now that he was gaining experience
with outworlder relationships, he began to appreciate the music in a new way.
Where before he would have set his mind to identifying the rifts and key
changes and analyzing the woman’s rhythm, tone and delivery as she sang of her
lost love, he now wondered,
What happened to the man
and
Why does she
care so much
?

When the song finished, the woman and young man collected
their belongings and left the stage. An older man entered and was introduced as
a bard of some repute. The man set up an assortment of instruments to one side
of the stage. He selected the lute and began singing of some past battle where
the hero defeated a hoard of barbarians and then fell to a rock thrown by a
small boy.

“So, Rezkin,” Brandt called, breaking the warrior out of his
musings of musical appreciation, “is that your given name or one you chose for
yourself? I had not thought to ever hear of a woman naming her babe after the
Rez.”

“I do not get your meaning. It is a name like any other,”
Rezkin stated with confusion. He had no idea why people were always remarking
on his name.

“It was most likely given by his father. I doubt a woman
would give such a name, although I suppose the Rez does have a certain
following of adventurous admirers,” Palis remarked. “You know, the kind who
have an unhealthy fixation with the dark and mysterious. Perhaps our dear
cousin even had designs on the antihero,” Palis teased.

Frisha blushed and said, “I admit some of the stories are
exciting, but such a man would frighten me. No, the Shadow Knight was always
Tam’s fascination.”

Rezkin glanced back and forth between the companions but had
no idea what they were talking about, and nothing they said lent any clues. Tam
noted Rezkin’s perplexed expression and said, “Rezkin doesn’t know the story of
the Shadow Knight. He doesn’t know what you’re talking about.”

The young lords and pretty much everyone else at the tables
stared at Rezkin in shock. “How can you
not
know the story of the Shadow
Knight?
Everyone
knows about the Rez, the Shadow Knight, the King’s Dark
Tidings,” Brandt protested.

“The character had to have been your namesake,” Palis
commented.

“He is not a character,” Brandt argued. “The man actually
existed, even if his deeds have been compounded and exaggerated.”

“Do you really think so, Lord Brandt?” Tam piped up with
excitement. “Do you think the Shadow Knight was real?”

Brandt huffed. “Of course he was real. The stories came from
somewhere, and it is not difficult to believe the kings of old employed their own
assassins of extraordinary skill. I mean, the king has every resource in the
kingdom. He could choose anyone from the best of warriors,” the young man
remarked.

“Or train his own,” Jimson interjected.

“Too right,” Brandt said with a firm nod. “The kings could
have trained a small army of Shadow Knights.”

“I am pretty sure they did, and they are called strikers,”
Palis commented.

Brandt scowled and said, “It is not the same.” Palis only
shrugged.

“So, this Shadow Knight was an assassin for the king?” Rezkin
inquired, interrupting the interplay. Now, he was very curious, indeed.

“The stories were passed down by the bards, but I doubt
anyone knows when they actually began,” Brandt offered. “According to the
stories, he was officially called the Rez, but the people sometimes call him
the Shadow Knight. The Rez was a secret assassin for the king. It was said that
if the Rez ever appeared saying that he bore the
King’s Dark Tidings
, it
meant he was about to kill you on behalf of the king. Because of that, the phrase
‘
dark tidings’
is used regularly as a euphemism for assassination. But,
he was more than a mere man and more than an assassin. He was trained in all
manner of combat and weapons and had knowledge enough to infiltrate any faction
of society whether common, noble, foreign or domestic,” Brandt explained. The
noble stopped to take a swig of ale, and Tam picked up the story excitedly.

“Someone collected a number of the stories and put them
together into the book you asked me about,” Tam informed. “It is said that the
Rez had knowledge of
everything
. He could become anyone and do almost
anything. In one story, he pretends to be an apothecary and brews a poison
instead of a cure. His skill is so great, though, that the poison actually
cures the man of the ailment before killing him a week later. No one knew it
had been the supposed apothecary who poisoned the man.”

Palis took up the story saying, “In another, he acts as a
visiting dignitary from Torrel so that he can spy on the activities of an
Ashaiian duke who was thought to harbor issue with the reigning king. When the
Torreli ambassador shows up unexpectedly, the ambassador is convinced the Rez
truly is a dignitary from Torrel. He is so impressed with the Rez, that he
insists the assassin negotiate an important trade agreement between the two
kingdoms on behalf of Torrel! Of course, the agreement worked out in Ashai’s
favor.”

Rezkin’s eyes left Palis and turned back to Tam. “These
stories are in your book?”

Tam grinned animatedly, “Oh, yes, those and more! There are
a lot more stories of the Rez that either haven’t been recorded or are in other
books, though.”

Rezkin cocked his head and asked, “If the man was real and
such a secret, how did anyone know of him, and how do they know the stories?”

“Exactly, which is why most people believe them to be mere
fantasy,” Palis asserted. “At one time, some bard made his name by inventing
exciting, dark stories.”

“It is an old argument,” Brandt said dismissively. “And,
only
some
people believe the stories are fantasy. Most think they are
real. There are several ideas about how the stories spread. A common one is
that the Rez fell in love and told his stories to his lover. I do not care for
that one since it makes him sound weak, and I do not believe he would be so
careless. Another is that, upon his deathbed, he confessed his sins to a priest
of the Maker. I, personally, favor the one where the king wanted to intimidate
the nobles and impress upon them his power so he had the stories spread
intentionally.”