The Unseen, Page 3

  These two weren’t quite the same as the patrons that surrounded them in the bar for the sole reason that brought them here, and that reason was the mission. It was a mission shroud in secrecy, orders so secret, in fact, that neither of them had any idea as to what they were. All they knew was they were to rendezvous with the high king’s forces a hundred miles to the south.

  The aged commander signaled once to the barkeep before he turned back to his newest lieutenant, and asked, “Oh, don’t be such a cur. What’s the rush? I’m just starting to get a feel for the place. Take off that unsightly coif and kick up your feet. I plan to stay awhile.”

  No sooner than the words had left the commander’s lips did he come to regret what had just been said. The doors to the Giant’s Horn swung open to allow its newest patron inside. The woman who sauntered in was a ravishing beauty with the fairest skin, hair the color of the chestnut, and an exquisite silken dress that shouted high society to all within. And despite a bosom that heaved up from its tight confines, there wasn’t a man in the Giant’s Horn that gave her a second glance.

  “I’ll be damned,” Jaric said.

  “Know the woman?”

  “Unfortunately,” the commander answered. “Now you will, too.”

  The woman didn’t stop until she reached the bar counter, where she placed her hands upon her svelte hips and looked down her nose at the two soldiers. “Are we going to have a problem?”

  “Only if you’ve brought it with you,” Cylena said as she rose from her stool. She moved to take a step forward, but a firm hand from her commander brought a halt to her advance.

  “Watch your tongue,” Jaric whispered.

  Cylena was fiery and often quick to aggression, but above all she was a good soldier. Born into the home of a handmaiden and her doting grandparents, Cylena wasn’t afforded the finer things in life, such as a weighted coin purse, healthy diet, or any sort of education. She left that home in Ausland at a young age, determined to make rank in the high king’s armies. It wasn’t an easy task before her. She had seen many men pass by her, lesser men, all because she wasn’t the correct sex. Unfettered by the blatant discrimination she fought, and overcame, all to land her in these lands tonight.

  She owed Jaric Goldrun a great deal, so she backed off the woman in crimson silk and crushed velvet. She sat down on her stool, spun back around to order another drink, and said, “It’d be my pleasure.”

  “Glad to see your mongrel can at least take an order,” said the woman dryly. “My name is Isla Elfslayer. I’m the duchess of all that touches ground in Wailwood, and if you knew a damn about me, you would’ve consulted me before you planned to move thousands of men through my borders!”

  “Is that so?” asked Jaric, nearing the end of his patience. “I wasn’t aware a high king has to ask permission from a duchess.”

  As if the duchess could sense the smirk of a young female lieutenant she scowled at the two soldiers and quickly recanted her statement. “Of course the high king doesn’t need to consult with those beneath his station. Those under his command, however, would be wise to listen to what I have to speak and the maps I posses.”

  “I hear you loud and clear, duchess,” said Jaric with a roll of his bloodshot eyes. “How much do you want?”

  Isla Elfslayer’s demeanor changed without delay and her sour face washed away the moment the chance for gold was brought to the table. While she had more than most in the world, one of her stature couldn’t rightly pass up the opportunity for more; even if she had to step on her own people to do it.

  “That’ll be a hundred golden ones,” said the duchess, salivating at the thought. “Double if you want the routes not to take—.”

  Cylena Barst tried her best to hold her tongue but this shakedown reached her limit and was about to shout from the top of her lungs, “There’s not a chance in the nether that we’ll pay that bribe!” when her commander hopped off his stool and spoke the words that she could not.

  “I think not,” said Jaric, shaking his head. “We have maps supplied by the tower of the magi. Maps that were not so easily procured, I might add.”

  Yes,” said the duchess with a wily smirk, “you’ll take them right into an elven ambush. My people know the elves, and more importantly, they know how to avoid them.”

  The aged commander turned from the duchess to his lieutenant and offered her a gloved hand. “You’ll have to forgive the two of us. We’ve got a long road ahead of us and not much time to get there.”

  Cylena Barst couldn’t help but notice the sanctimonious glower upon the face of Isla Elfslayer as the two soldiers passed her by. A better soldier would’ve put it out of their minds and continued to the doorway, but at this moment she wasn’t a better soldier. Cylena was a tired, hungry soldier that now had to face the prospect of another hundred miles on the road, so she made a farewell gesture to the duchess, a wave goodbye with a sole finger up on each hand.

  “You’ll be sorry!” Isla bellowed as the two soldiers walked out of her tavern. “You’ll all be sorry! The elves will eat you alive!”

  Chapter Four

  Shadow Brokers

  Gregory Blackman

  The Shift of the Eyes

  The group of four was never more at home than when they were on the seldom traveled road. There, Korine could let what hair she had down, Axel could remove the fake chains that bound his wrists, and the diminutive Finley could unbutton his many overcoats, let his fur fly free with no other humans in sight. Only Dashe proved impervious to the stares the towns of man offered, though that fact seemed to bother him more than it did his peers.

  With the Watchtower far behind them, their destination was the nonaligned nations. That meant taking the Iron March to Kaffrika, a land not known for its hospitality or morality, but rather, a place where objects could be moved without worry of an empire intrusion. There, the group would find the value of their troubles, or their valuables would find them cut down in some back alley. It was as dodgy a chance as one could take in the world of Amor, but those were the only chances worth taking anymore.

  The South Halls would be home for the next stretch of days, a small track of land that prospered greatly from its proximity to the Iron March, though little of that prosperity seemed to trickle down to the citizens of the South Halls. Located at the tip of the Cordisan Bay, there wasn’t a single town of merit along its winding length, no matter how much was trafficked on its main road.

  They rode their horses ragged in their getaway, but that time had come and passed. Now they needed to slow their pace, survey the situation before them, and figure the best course of action for all. That meant a warm bed and a stout mug, more than a few as far as Axel Thorogard was concerned. They were tired, hungry, and in need of a stiff drink. That wasn’t far from the norm for this group, but now they could add four horses, each with those very needs.

  It would turn out that luck befell the bold not once, but twice these last few days, and when the dishonest adventurers needed it the most, the sights and sounds of life were provided to them as they rounded the mountain bend.

  “Rahgul,” said Finley, his head titled sideways to read a crooked signpost and dismount his horse at first opportunity. “Nasty name, isn’t it? It just rolls off the tongue wrong; like the sounds Dashe makes when he eats some of Axel’s food by mistake. I wonder where that kind of horrid name comes. Do you know, Korine? You seem to know everything.”

  “What?” said Korine, taken aback by the question with her gaze still shifted to the town down the path. “Oh, knock it off, fur ball. You’re not getting a shiny out of me.”

  “I know where it comes from,” Axel, slow to pipe up but quick to furl his brow in aggravation. “It is ancient dwarvish.”

  His companions took note of his foul mood, all but the smallest who jumped right in with, “What does it say?”

  “I’d of told you if I I knew now wouldn’t I?” Axel spewed as he jumped from his horse. When it seemed as though he was ready to strike
Finley, he stopped in his track, bent over, and rifled through his knapsack. It was at the very bottom of the sack Axel found what he sought and he pulled them out with a bizarre sense of enthusiasm.

  “You see these?” Axel shoved the iron shackles in Finley’s face. “I’m a slave dwarf. So are you supposed to be, although not very good. You want to know ancient dwarvish, find a free dwarf. Good luck on that one, because I’m nearly certain the last one died a thousand cycles ago.”

  “But y-you’re free,” stammered Finley, stricken with panic and looking desperately for some light at the end of the tunnel, “and I’m free.”

  “Yeah,” said the dwarf as he shackled his own wrists then moved to do the same to the beastkind, “real free.”

  Finley turned a deathly pale the moment the binds touched his skin. His teeth began to chatter and his hands clammed up. He looked back to his leader, not more than five paces away, and said, “I-I don’t want to go.”

  “Then stay back,” Axel said as he turned towards the small mountainside town. “You don’t get in the way of a dwarf and a full belly and live to… well… by Odum’s Gate, I don’t know. You just don’t do it, okay?”

  “You see how the hunger afflicts me?” Axel pumped his fists into the air and said to the dwarf gods high above; the ones that abandoned his people when the humans came from the northern lands, the ones that abandoned them every day since. “I’m a babbling fool, just like the… well… just like the fur ball!”

  Axel Thorogard stomped the ground and swung his fists around like a drunken sailor, but it was to no avail. Finley moved like the wind. He complained, moaned, and made lewd remarks, but once he got it all out of his system he began his journey for shelter and drink. Then he remembered the horse he left behind.

  Dashe Kol wasn’t one for stepping into the middle of an altercation, whether it between friends or heated enemies. They were always the messiest of affairs and the ones best avoided if opportunity presented itself. This time Dashe had no such luck and was pulled into the feud he wanted desperately to evade.

  “Make sure those two don’t tip everyone off.” Korine said to him. “We don’t want a repeat of what happened in Kasuga.”

  “Say no more,” replied Dashe, stepping to his trusted leader’s command. He turned his horse and moved towards the dwarf, who was neither far, nor in any sort of hurry. He was forever the loyal soldier, friend, and brother, even if that loyalty was to a bloody, treasonous fault.

  He remembered well the sight of a hundred Han soldiers, and a hundred Zanto soldiers, armed with razor sharp swords and all of them aimed towards the fleeing group of four. They barely escaped with their lives, all because a dwarf wanted to see if he could cross blades with the reigning champion of the arena. It turned out Axel Thorogard could not, in fact, cross blades with a samurai of that ilk, but he could blind the man with some sand he had in his pocket and make off with the winner’s purse in one fell swoop.

  It turned out that the ancient rivalry between Han and Zanto still ran deep within the veins of the attending champions, and soon the group found themselves in full sprint from a mob of the unlikeliest sort. It wouldn’t be until they reached the borders of Consorta, however, that the group would learn that it wasn’t the stolen gold the champions hoped to attain, but instead the honor taken from them when their sacrificial tournament had been tainted by poor sportsmanship. It wasn’t Axel’s finest hour, nor was it his lowest, but the group ate for months afterwards and for that they could thank him. But not before they cursed him for good measure.

  One couldn’t blame the dwarf for his lack of civility and downright ill temper. Axel Thorogard had been a slave his entire life, and while that might not have meant much to the likes of Finley Mudbottom, that meant over one hundred cycles bound to serve the people that enslaved his race. Korine might have saved his life. He might have saved hers. Whatever happened that night they found each other, it never left the grisly, old dwarf.

  One didn’t often play the game of poor souls in the group of four, for each of them had half their hand in the bag before the game got underway. Axel Thorogard was a slave dwarf of honor. Korine Dorset was a subclass of human, female, relegated to the home and refused the opportunity to take up the blade, the vote, and the rights to land ownership. Dashe Kol was a fugitive in his own lands, cursed by his own brother, and forbidden from a home that had loved and nurtured him. There was only one of them that refused to take part in the game, and in many ways he had the most claim to the title of poor soul.

  Finley Mudbottom was a man, if one could call him that, aged eleven by best estimates and born into the wilds of Kaffrika. It was a miracle he survived, even more so that he evaded capture and imprisonment. Every day the furred, awkward beastkind walked among men he risked his life, but to do anything less wouldn’t be living. Not for Finley who looked back at the world with the youthful outlook and exuberance of a child.

  It was nothing many overcoats and a beard of Axel’s back hair affixed to his face couldn’t solve, but if anyone gave him a close enough look the group would be half a kingdom away by nightfall. His safety they took seriously. Their safety they took even more seriously, and right now, their leader couldn’t risk letting a beleaguered Finley Mudbottom upon this unsuspecting town.

  “Are you going to be okay?” Korine asked with tender eyes reserved solely for a distressed kaern.

  Finley knew that when his leader’s gaze turned from steel to soft he had her baited. Now he just needed the hook. His demeanor shifted from sour to sweet at the drop of a cloak. He arched his back to look up at his leader with big, brown eyes not easy to turn from, and asked, “Shiny?”

  “Blast it,” said a begrudged Korine as she cursed her dumb luck. “You can have your shiny.”

  With newfound enthusiasm for their destination, Finley Mudbottom and his atypical leader made their way down the mountain path. The town they looked down upon couldn’t have been home to more than a few hundred, but the billowing smokestacks from more than a few longhouses afforded ample opportunity that one of those fires was home to an inn and tavern. Everything about the town, from its shoddy, weathered construction to its disheveled signage and beaten path, appeared as though its townsfolk had either given up hope, or given up on the responsibilities of land ownership. The Kingdom of Haroden didn’t seem bothered in the least by its town’s desolate condition. Why should its citizens?

  Rahgul was even more miserable up close than it was from the distance, where a plethora of problems could not be concealed by perspective. Korine watched as Dashe passed through while his dwarf slave was hassled. Still, Korine couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief at the sight of her companions getting through without public incident. Now it was their turn to cross that great divide.

  “Be cool,” Korine whispered as they neared the two guards that stood watch over the road. “You can put up with a little shame if it gets your damned shiny. Can’t you?”

  “Uh huh,” Finley said.

  Korine Dorset and her close-at-hand companion walked towards the guards at the gate, ever fearful that this would be the end of their travels together. Those dark feelings festered deep within the pit of their stomachs each time this scenario would play out, and while the group would always seem to pass relatively unharmed there was always that doubt in the back of their minds that next time they wouldn’t be so lucky.

  “Hold up,” said one of the guards at the gate.

  Korine looked to the small, ramshackle stable to their left where both Dashe and Axel’s horses waited in the cramped confines of their temporary home. She dismounted; made sure Finley did the same, and guided the two horses by the reins into the guard’s plated hands.

  His cohort in stained steel took a step forward and gave both Korine and Finley a good once over. He was brutish and thickskulled, but he was thorough in his examination and when his eyes moved to the beastkind they stayed there.

  “That’s the oddest damned dwarf I’ve ever done seen,” he sai
d finally.

  “Spooked upon first sight,” Korine whispered into her tunic, “better not get too comfortable tonight.”

  Korine saw the guard motion for his partner to come take a closer look. She knew it was only a matter of time until they discovered the rouse, or the rouse remembered that his shame did have limits.

  “Forgive me,” she interrupted with as rugged a voice she could muster and moved between Finley and the guards, “but I wouldn’t get too close my slave. He’s sick and I heard there’s a slave doctor in Rahgul that’ll patch him up for a fraction what it’ll cost me in Haven. I know what you’re thinking, but I’ve got keep this one alive. He ain’t much to look at, but he’s smarter than the average slave and his stock seems better equipped to handle the fields.”

  “What’s he got?” the brutish guard asked.

  “Oh,” said a surprised Korine as she tried her best to come up with a diagnosis, “that would be the furballian drip. It’s not deadly, but damn near impossible to get rid of. The wife’s afraid it’ll spread. Gotta keep the misses happy, am I right?”

  Korine wasn’t foolish enough to believe a deeper voice and halfcocked excuse would get her to the other side of the gate. She approached one of the guards, and just when it seemed as though she would stick him with a blade, she placed several coins into his waiting hands.

  “I’ll get him off your streets quick,” Korine said as she left their horses with the guards and dragged her companion through the open gate.

  “That’s right you will,” said the first guard.

  “Get outta here,” the other guard added.

  The two of them didn’t look back at the icy stares of the guards. They walked hastily down the street, past stalls of snake oil merchants and their overpriced wares. They could see Dashe and the dwarf a few streets ahead as they moved along looking for some sense of order amongst the chaos, no different than before.