Terry W. Ervin (18 page)

“Some,” I said. “My father taught me. Probably not the book on dragons you have, but enough to sell crops and sign agreements for livestock on his behalf. He taught my mother and sisters too.” I recalled my father explaining letters and scratching words in the dirt with sticks near our well.

Road Toad rested a hand on my shoulder. “Your father’s a wise man to educate his family.” We neared the tunnel’s entrance. “I saw you watched your coin pouch.”

“My father taught me that lesson as well. I’ve little to take, and can spare none.”

“Same here,” he laughed. “Ah, the city has changed, but the best and cheapest meals have always been down on the shorefront.”

Bored guards, one on each side of the rectangular tunnel entrance, signaled with their spears. When they relaxed their arms, tipping their spears toward the tunnel entrance, traffic stopped. When they drew their spears back, laborers, sailors and scattered merchants moved forward.

The guards stopped us after allowing a crew of laborers to pass. I stared into the torch-lit tunnel. It was wide enough for four men to walk abreast. But if they did, only the middle two could take the stairs. The outer edge consisted of worn gray stone. The ceiling was low enough to jump and touch.

“Seen any combat, Mercenary?” asked one of the guards, gruffly. He wasn’t quite as old as Road Toad, but his armor showed combat wear. The deep scar across the right side of his chin added to his hardened look. The question had been directed at Road Toad, so I let him answer.

“Some,” said Road Toad, meeting the guard’s eyes.

Before allowing us to pass, the scarred guard grunted, evaluating mended armor, and arm bands bearing the king’s colors. “Watch yourselves,” he warned with a crooked a grin.

The tunnel was damp and sparsely lit with torches. The whispers of travelers echoed, so I kept quiet, watched my step, and listened. Mostly I heard laborers complain about the weight of their burden.

Midway, Road Toad pointed out a guard standing in an alcove next to a stout wooden post. It was hard to tell, but the post, and one recessed in the wall across from the guard, appeared to hold up a slab of stone that extended into the ceiling. As we passed, the smell of oil soaked into the wood caught my attention. Ten yards further down, I spotted the points of a portcullis hanging from within a slit in the ceiling. They matched a row of holes in the floor directly below.

I caught Road Toad’s smile in the torchlight. “Twice in the two centuries,” he said, “an invader captured the port, but failed in reaching the main city.”

When we emerged I squinted into the light of the late afternoon sun. Road Toad grabbed my arm, directing me to the right. “Best not to block the exit.”

I turned and looked up the two-hundred foot cliff face, and then at a dragon flying overhead, out to sea. “Patrol?” I asked.

Road Toad nodded and then with a tip of his head, added, “Let’s visit the wharves, see the sites.”

We made our way past squat limestone shops built in front of wooden warehouses three times the size of most barns. The wood of the warehouses and every other structure was grayed by age and the elements. I observed lines of the poorest serfs in thread-bare sackcloth and tattered russet tunics. Baring sunken faces, their callused hands carried baskets filled with silver fish, or wooden cages crawling with giant crayfish. The smell of the serfs’ sweat and baskets of fish overpowered the salt-laden ocean air. Not one of the lowest of laborers met our eyes as they trod past us.

Road Toad studied my expression. “Life is a desperate struggle for some, even in the King’s City,” he observed. “After we have a look around, we’ll get a bite to eat. I know just the place, the One-Eyed Pelican.” He frowned. “If Sullen Saul still runs it.”

We passed weavers of nets and makers of rope with their geared, twisting contraptions. The closer we got to the sea, the more we encountered loud, boisterous sailors with sandaled feet, wearing wool breeches and vests. Each was armed with a club or dagger. They eyed us with curiosity, and acknowledged the swords at our sides.

“In time of war,” explained Road Toad as we stopped to allow a string of mules pass, “mercenaries serving the royal house are normally in the field, not wandering the city.” He led me to the nearest three-masted galley and began to tell me of his grandfather who served as first mate on the Royal Flagship, Evanescent Thunder.

We eventually ended up at the One-Eyed Pelican, a series of four ancient wooden shacks, each one extending the size of the establishment from the original.

Beyond the thick-armed bouncer, and his pot-bellied partner, I wasn’t sure what Road Toad saw in this place. The chime and drum musicians played loud and repetitive music, smoke of cheap herbs and tobacco filled the air, and rats boldly roamed the overhead rafters. But the worst was the watery fish soup.

I picked another fish bone from my teeth before forcing down another greasy spoonful of the heavily salted swill. I leaned close to Road Toad and spoke over the nearby table’s raucous laughter. “Hungry as I am, this stuff is horrible.” From our corner table I again surveyed the tavern’s interior. “And this place?”

Road Toad grinned and shook his head. “Guess it’s an acquired taste. Sullen Saul’s son, Sam, hasn’t changed the place much.” He swirled the remaining broth in the bottom of his bowl before drinking it down. “I’ll have to admit, though, this ale is better suited for a bucket to clean floors, not to wash down a meal.” He took his battered tankard, and grimaced before, during, and after his drink.

Having swallowed a mouthful of the bitter ale, I had to agree; even the fish soup deserved a better companion. I reached for my pouch to leave the bone-thin serving maid a copper or two. “Time to go?”

“No, Flank Hawk.” Road Toad looked about and shook his head. “Time to talk.” He leaned close. “Best aspect about this place, it’s loud and people intentionally avoid listening in.”

It took effort to hear Road Toad over the din, so I nodded in agreement. “Talk about what?”

“What happened and what’s coming.”

Good, I thought. I’d wanted to ask Road Toad some questions but hadn’t gotten the chance. I looked around to see that nobody was listening before leaning close and asking, “Did the imperial seer use your memories to show officers and wizards the enemy’s weapons?”

“No,” said Road Toad. “And I’m sorry to say yours was at my suggestion.” A low but quick wave of his hand signaled for me to let him finish. “What the imperial seer did takes a lot of energy. I’ve seen master seers strain to perform such a spell for twenty minutes. You were in there hours.

“The king and his war council needed the best intelligence available, and it was either you or me who would’ve been sent to the seer. Now, you’re wondering why I suggested you?”

I nodded, annoyed at not being asked, but still curious.

“You and I were together during most of the fighting,” said Road Toad. “We saw the same thing. What the seer could draw from either of our memories would be essentially the same. But, while you were with the seer, I was being questioned by military advisors. My training and knowledge of tactics both on the ground and in the air far surpasses yours. You wouldn’t have been able to answer their questions.”

He leaned back a bit, grabbed his ale but thought better of it and pushed the tankard away. “The imperial seer will not be able to do such a spell for at least a day, maybe longer. Even so, a lesser seer can recall the visions from the bowl for others to see. They’ll be able to correlate my tactical explanation with your vision of events.” He grimaced and took a drink anyway. “Even as we dine the king’s war council meets.”

I didn’t consider our meal, or any meal, at the One-Eyed Pelican as dining. “What’s going to happen?” I asked.

“I don’t know. There were two Crusader officers at my debriefing. They didn’t ask any questions, but their presence there, and the company that died rescuing Prince Reveron, tells me that they’re joining us in this war.”

“There weren’t any in the seer’s chamber with me,” I said. “I’ve heard they’re immune to magics.”

“Most,” said Road Toad. “And the prince informed me that he intends to see me reinstated as a serpent cavalry officer.”

That statement sent me leaning back in my chair. Here I was, in the King’s City. A mercenary who didn’t really know much about fighting or being a mercenary. I knew no one but Road Toad, and he was going to return to his old life. “Oh,” I said. “What about Prince Halgadin, the king’s eldest son? I thought he wants you dead?”

“Time of war, remember?” Road Toad saw that I wasn’t convinced. “It’s up to King Tobias, but Prince Reveron said the Crusaders at my debriefing knew who I was—what I’d done for their countrymen years before. If we’re allies now, with the Crusaders, my exile for saving some of their soldiers from the Necromancer King’s forces…”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I know being a serpent cavalryman is what you want. But my father told me what happens to people who cross noblemen.”

“I was a major,” he said, with a raised eyebrow, “and would be again.”

“No, I don’t mean it that way. I just mean, I know what a lord can do to someone who crosses him. What can a crown prince do, even to a major?”

“True, Flank Hawk. I’ve considered that. But if it’s offered to me, I’ll take it.” He strummed his fingers on the table with a smile. “And I intend to request you to be my aft-guard.”

“Me?” I asked, louder than I should have.

“Why not?” He began ticking points away on his fingers as he said, “You’re a natural with a crossbow. You don’t get sick in flight. You’re steady under fire.” He grinned. “And if there’s any trouble to come of my recommissioning, I know I can trust you more than any other man.”

“But I’ve no military training. Not formal at least. Not on dragons.”

“Prince Reveron speaks well of you. If we’re in his bevy, there will be no questions. You’ve faced panzers and Stukas. Word of your standing up to a bone golem’s hellcry will get around.” He patted me on the shoulder. “Even if I have to help it along.”

“I don’t know, Road Toad.”

“Ha, Flank Hawk. What better way to fight the Necromancer King? Besides, remember Lesser Seer B’down, the Prince’s seer?”

“Yes,” I said. “He made the enchanted circle in the pavilion that allowed the prince to speak unheard by the enemy’s spies and magics.” Having recently relived the escape from the ogres and near drowning in the river, and all the other close calls, I wasn’t sure I wanted to go into combat again. Or at least not right away.

Road Toad said, “I recall part of the conversation Prince Reveron had with his seer. It seemed the lesser seer anticipated the prince rescuing and returning with us.” Road Toad rubbed his chin in thought. “I wouldn’t be surprised if there wasn’t more to that seer’s vision.”

I looked straight into Road Toad’s eyes. “I also recall the prince saying to his seer that he trusted you more than he did him.”

He shrugged. “He trusts me. I trust you.”

“And I trust you.”

We laughed and even drank the bitter ale to our little circle of trust.

Road Toad and I shared a loaf of hard bread and a bottle of weak cherry wine. While we ate and drank, Road Toad explained the responsibilities of an aft-guard and speculated on what the war would bring. It was difficult to tell how long the sun had been down from within the One-Eyed Pelican, but we both knew it was time to get back.

We stepped out onto the narrow, dirt-packed lane in front of the rundown tavern. A drizzle had just started. Road Toad looked at the cloud-covered sky extending over the sea. “We’re gonna get wet.”

I shrugged and followed him as he headed toward the cliff. “But we’ll have a warm bed,” I said. “Better than under a tent with leaves and a blanket.”

It couldn’t have been more than an hour after sundown. The only men we saw were sailors heading to the various taverns to drink, gamble and whatever else the shorefront offered. Twice I spotted individuals lurking in the shadows, but none bothered us. Still, I watched for any threat that might appear from alley, alcove or even roof.

“The tunnels will be closed for the night,” said Road Toad. “We’ll take the north stair up.” He walked, alert like me, as if on night patrol. Then he made turns that I didn’t expect. I stayed close, but allowed ample room to draw our swords. The rain came down a little faster, making the packed dirt slick.

I was out of my element in the city. Road Toad wasn’t and his alert observations and determined stride told me trouble was on our tail. It had to be more than a lurker or two from the shadows. The muffled rattle of gear and splash of footsteps kept pace a ways behind us. I wondered why Road Toad didn’t want to turn and face those following us. I figured he was trying to lose them or find the right place to slip behind them.

I was wrong. We came down the main road and took the branch that led to the north stairs. The rain was steady now, and I wondered how slippery the thick wooden stair-planks would be. Heights didn’t bother me and, although the stairs narrowed where they twice doubled back as they climbed the cliff face, a sturdy railing ensured even the most clumsy wouldn’t fall.

I’d have felt better with my crossbow or spear instead of a sword. At least on the stairs, especially if those following outnumbered us, it would be to our advantage—unless they had javelins or bows.