TST (44 page)

“Excuse me, folks, but my friends and I have a wager between us that we needs ya ta settle iff’n you would be so kind,” the biggest of the bunch said as he addressed Miranda directly.

Miranda flashed one of her dazzlingly friendly smiles. “I will help if I may. What is it you gentlemen need from us?”

Azerick was surprised, not only that a noblewoman had deigned to speak to the rugged common men, but actually treated them with courtesy and respect.

The speaker of the group swiped the knit hat from his head and began wringing it in his huge hands as he cleared his throat to talk. “Are you Lady Miranda of North Haven?”

“Why yes I am. How do you do, gentlemen?” she inquired politely.

The big farmer turned to his friends. “Ya see, I told ya! I seen her last winter fair lookin’ like the goddess o’ winter herself!” The excited man turned back around to face Miranda. “Milady, may I touch yer hand, like a gentleman don’t ya know?” he asked red faced.

Miranda laughed loudly, got up from her chair, stood on her tiptoes, and gave the man a peck on the cheek. For a moment, Azerick actually thought the man was going to faint and fall atop their table but he locked his knees before they gave way completely and stuttered his sincerest thanks before he and his friends returned to their own table talking excitedly about the encounter.

Azerick was absolutely stunned. Never had he seen a person of wealth, much less nobility, treat a person of such low status so kindly. The friendliest thing a nobleman had every done for him was to aim for the legs instead of the head when he tried to whip him for being in the way.

“You seem to be very popular amongst your people,” Azerick said as she took her seat once more.

“It is easy to be gracious when you have such wonderful people around you,” she replied with an earnest that earned her several smiles from nearby tables.

“I am afraid that growing up in Southport did not leave me with a very good impression of nobles. I am glad to see that not all are greedy, maligned scum who care only about their own ambitions and nothing for the people that they are supposed to protect and serve,” Azerick said acerbically.

“Does that imply your impression of all nobles or are there some in particular that you personally detest, such as Southport’s own duke?”

“Nearly all nobles that I have encountered fit rather well into that mold. It would probably be best for me not to speak out openly against the duke. I understand that you have a certain political decorum to maintain.”

“Perhaps more than I show, but my mother certainly does. I personally think that Duke Ulric is a selfish, treasonous pig of a man that will either one day be king or find his head on a pike. I personally hope for the latter,” Miranda stated unequivocally.

Azerick’s opinion for this noble-born woman increased even further while the other three at their table gave her imploring looks not to speak so openly. The inn’s door opened as another local customer came in. Before the man pushed the door shut, Azerick heard the unmistakable cry of a wolf.

“Was that a wolf I heard?” Miranda asked more excited than concerned.

“I’m sure it was, but it is highly unusual for wolves to be this far south and near the coast,” Otis answered.

“I hope it is not a large pack or the ranchers and farmers could be severely hurt by their predation,” Miranda said with concern for both the wolves and the welfare of livestock owners.

Just one—make that two,
Azerick thought to himself.

The two women retired for the evening and bid everyone a good night as Captain Brague escorted them upstairs. Azerick got up from the table after the captain and the women went upstairs and made his way to the kitchen. He paid the kitchen staff for a heavy plate of food and any bone scraps they might have.

He took the sack of discarded bones, wrapped the plate of food in a towel, and ducked out the back door. He waited several minutes before hearing Ghost’s howl quickly followed by the higher pitched howl of Wolf.

Azerick walked out into the night in the direction he had heard the calls. He crossed the road that ran through the center of the town and into the woods that started about two hundred yards from the edge of town, the trees having been cut back decades ago for building materials.

Azerick walked only a few paces into the woods before setting the plate of food on a stump and setting the sack of bones and discarded cuts of meat and fat next to it. He looked around for a second and thought that he saw a brief glint of golden eyes in the pale moonlight. Satisfied, he turned around and walked back to the inn.

Otis was gone from the table by the time he stepped back into the inn and went upstairs himself. He entered the only other room that the innkeeper had available and saw Otis sitting on a narrow bunk set against on wall. Azerick’s eyes quickly settled on Captain Brague as the man took two steps across the floor and stopped directly in front of Azerick, jabbing a finger into his chest.

“I don’t know what kind of game you are playing, wizard, nor do I see why someone like Lady Miranda treats the likes of you as if you were even close to being an equal. But do not mistake her friendliness and good nature as anything other than being polite. Do not encourage her or pursue her. I guarantee you that once we reach North Haven you will have enjoyed the last of her company. I know a miscreant when I see one. Despite your little conjuror’s tricks, that is what you are and lowlife peasants do not mix with nobility!” the captain insisted, emphasizing each of his last words by poking Azerick in the chest.

If Azerick had been the least bit offended or outraged at the captain’s behavior, not one trace of it showed on his face or in his reaction and anyone with any ability to read a dangerous man would know that that was when they were the closest to lashing out.

“You should know, Captain, I killed the last person that called me a peasant,” Azerick replied emotionlessly.

“Are you threatening me?” Captain Brague asked, pushing his thick-jawed face to within inches of Azerick’s.

 An maligned grin spread across the sorcerer’s young face. “I am just letting you know that the largest piece that remained of him would have fit inside that metal brain bucket you call a helmet with plenty of room to spare. Now, if you are quite finished trying to see who has got the bigger
sword
, I am going to get some sleep.”

Azerick cast a glance at the terrified driver who was certain he was about to get caught up in the middle of a vicious battle between two men who each held a great deal of power in their own right. Otis let out a deep breath when the sorcerer and the warrior both stripped down to their small clothes and crawled into their own beds, not once taking their hate-filled eyes off each other.

The night passed and the morning came with neither man attempting to kill the other in their sleep. After a warm breakfast, the party saddled up and resumed their journey north. Captain Brague had offered to commandeer a coach for Miranda and her maid but the noblewoman refused, insisting that she would rather ride. They made better time by leaving all but the three horses that they used to carry baggage and provisions back in the small town.

Miranda continued to make small talk while Azerick provided even shorter answers and Captain Brague tried to burn holes through the sorcerer’s back and out his chest with his eyes.

Azerick answered Miranda’s questions about Southport, his family, and the Academy without actually talking about himself or revealing much beyond generic information. He parried and deflected her seemingly endless queries with vague answers as a master fencer parries the blade of an opponent.

They spent a second night at another inn at what was little more than a way station for travelers. The few patrons that were there also knew Lady Miranda and treated her with fondness. To Miranda’s credit, she never refused to shake hands or speak with anyone and always treated everyone with a courtesy rarely displayed between noble and commoner.

Azerick was relieved when it became apparent that the captain felt no need to renew any of his previous threats and settled for ignoring the sorcerer’s presence for the most part. Otis rarely spoke to Azerick though he felt it was more a matter of the stigma associated with spell casters and not due to dislike or unfriendliness.

Lady Miranda was even more cheerful and chatty as they rode further north than she had been before. So warm and welcoming was her personality that even Azerick was having a hard time not opening up to her and divulging all the personal memories he kept locked up tightly inside him.

The only time that Miranda let up was when she asked if he were married or had anyone special. The look of pain and loss she saw in his eyes at the question instantly made her lose her desire for further conversation. She spent the next two hours studying the countryside and occasionally pointing out areas of interest to Azerick, but not once did she resume asking him about his past for which he was extremely grateful.

Just after noon, the small party crested a long slow hill and saw the city of North Haven nestled in its protective bay far below and in the distance. Azerick thought it was one of the most beautiful sites he had ever seen. The cobbled road descended into a small valley where the city lay at one end and spread outward from the crescent shape of the bay’s shoreline. White sails and wooden ships bobbed peacefully in the calm waters of the bay. Some were tied to long, floating docks while others lay anchored hundreds of yards off shore.

Beyond the protective waters of the harbor, more sails of fishing vessels and larger cargo carriers dotted the open ocean. For a moment, Azerick let himself imagine his father aboard one of his ships sailing into North Haven to sell his rare cargo from Lazuul. He imagined himself at the helm, guiding the large four-masted ship into the bay under his proud father’s tutelage. Azerick quickly wiped the pleasant fantasy from his mind knowing that could never be. Instead, he wondered if any of the ships he could see belonged to Zeb.

Miranda caught the smile creep onto Azerick’s face. “It is a lovely city don’t you think?” she asked, smiling at the dour sorcerer’s obvious enjoyment of the view.

“It is. You must be very proud of it.”

“We are. My mother and I both work very hard to keep North Haven the polished jewel that my father helped to create.”

“How did your father die?” Azerick asked, taking the offensive in the question asking for once.

 In the sudden turn of events, Miranda’s eye’s now took on a distant lonely look. “The healers say it was a heart attack, and father did enjoy his drink more than some, but he was always very healthy. He could ride, fight, and hunt with any man. It is hard for me to accept that there was any such weakness inside him that could bring him down so quickly.”

“Was he a good ruler? Did the people like and respect him like they seem to do you?”

Her smile quickly lit up her face once more. “Oh yes. The people loved my father a great deal. I said he liked to drink and he did much of it at the various inns throughout the city. He always told me that if I wanted to know how people truly felt about their lords and their troubles, just go to an inn or a tavern, have a drink, and listen to them. He said that if the people were happy then their lord was doing a good job but if they were not then it was likely that the lord was not providing for his people and deserved to be replaced.”

Azerick looked thoughtful for a moment. “He certainly sounds like a rare man. I have met few if any nobles that would share his view.”

“He learned that from his father who learned it from his father who was the one that turned North Haven from a small trading port into the wonderful city it is now.”

“What about your mother? Does she rule in much the same way?”

Miranda sighed and thought about the question before answering. “Mother loves her people and the city. She rules justly but she is not as open as father was even before he died. After father died, she walled up her emotions. She sort of reminds me of a certain wizard I know,” she said mischievously.

“I am a Sorcerer not a wizard,” came Azerick’s usual quick correction.

“Who said I was talking about you?” Miranda asked coyly. “It is funny how one immediately picks up on the negative and associates it with themselves. I find that people who do such wear that negativity as a façade to conceal their true nature and to avoid more pain.”