The Eight Walls of Rogar: An Epic Fantasy Adventure Series! (The Lost Kingdoms of Laotswend Trilogy--Book One) (16 page)

“Now, isn’t this nice?” Trilla asked, glancing approvingly about the room.

It was a quiet place with low conversation and prompt service.  There was a large fire pit in the back, with what looked like the hindquarter of a hog turning above it.  The fellow doing the turning was a friendly sort with a big gut and a bulbous nose.

“Yes,” Trilla went on, “this will do nicely.”

Gaven rolled his eyes and gave Andaris a “we’re in for it now” look.

“My name is Lana,” the waitress said in a schoolmarm voice.  “May I get you something?”

They looked up and saw a pleasant, but remarkably plain woman, with mousy brown hair, pale skin, and small hazel eyes.

Definitely not a native
, Andaris thought.

“So, Lana,” Gaven inquired, “what kind of ale you got?”

“Only Tinar’s finest,” she replied amicably.

Gaven brightened.  “Well then,” he said, “we’ll have ale all around.”

Andaris nodded his agreement, surprised to hear no objection from Trilla. 
A princess who drinks ale
, he thought. 
Scandalous.

“So,” Gaven continued, “what’s good to eat?”

Lana smiled at him, a warm, genuine smile that almost made her pretty.  “I like Forgenian cake,” she said, winking at him “but they don’t serve that here.”

She’s flirting with him
, Andaris realized.

“Well, maybe when your shift’s over,” Gaven said, “you’ll let me buy you some.”

She looked quickly to her feet and giggled.  “I’d like that,” she admitted.  “Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” he said.

Trilla shook her head and nudged Gaven in the ribs.  “Uh…so, anyway,” he asked, “what do you recommend?  What’s your special today?”

Judging by the gleam in her eyes, she was about to reply with something clever.  But as she opened her mouth to speak, she spotted the proprietor glaring at her sharply from behind the bar, and was once again just a waitress.  “I recommend the margony steak with a side of winter potatoes,” she said.  “It’s really very good.”

“Oh, I’m sure it is,” Gaven agreed lustily.

Clearing her throat, she looked away and tried not to smile.  “Okay, one margony steak coming up.  And what about you two?”

“The same for me,” said Andaris.

Trilla just nodded and grinned.

“Oh, and do you think you could bring some scraps for our dog?” Andaris asked.

Jade whined pathetically from beneath the table.

Andaris rolled his eyes.  “Of course only the finest scraps will do.  Nothing secondhand for our Jade.”

“Oh, of course not,” said the waitress, her eyes lingering, smoldering and smoky on Gaven as she turned away.

When she was safely out of earshot, Andaris chuckled.

Trilla nudged Gaven in the ribs again.  “Just your type,” she said with a knowing smile.

A sly grin spread across Gaven’s face as, amidst the rising discord of clanking dishes and shouted orders, he watched Lana disappear into the kitchen.  “Yeah,” he confessed, eyes twinkling, “that she is.”

It was nearly dawn by the time Gaven came stumbling back into their room at the Golden Stag.  They had considered purchasing a separate room for Trilla, but eventually had agreed that the danger, not to mention expense, outweighed her desire for privacy.  Gaven mumbled something in drunk talk to Andaris, then collapsed onto the floor beside him, immediately beginning to snore.

Andaris envied him.  He’d been tossing and turning most of the night.  Gaven’s snoring didn’t help matters.  The main problem, however, was the throbbing in his back.  He had thought about waking Trilla, but ultimately had decided to wait and see if it would go away on its own.  He didn’t want to worry her needlessly.  She felt guilty enough as it was.  He would be fine.  He just needed some sleep.

Morning came all too soon for Andaris and Gaven.  Trilla was flitting about the place like a butterfly, as rested and cheerful as could be.  Gaven cracked open bloodshot eyes to stare at the source of the unwelcome noise.

Trilla caught him scowling at her.  “So,” she said, putting her hands on her hips, “you two were out all night drinking.”

Gaven stared at her as if she’d spoken in a foreign tongue.  Andaris didn’t bother to correct her.  He would let her believe what she wanted—better that than she know the truth.

“Well,” she continued, her tone leaving little room for debate, “we don’t have time for you ruffians to sleep it off.  I hope you still think it was worth it after a few hours in the saddle.”

Gaven’s luxurious grin suggested that it had been.

Trilla stood there, tried to look angry, then shook her head and smiled.  “Come on you two, let’s get something to eat.”

They breakfasted on krikken eggs and goat milk biscuits.  Andaris found the eggs delicious, especially considering their source.  While recalling his near-fatal run in with the krikkens, he took perverse pleasure in consuming, bite by delectable bite, their unhatched young.

When they’d finished eating, Trilla asked for directions to the nearest stables.  The innkeeper—a portly man with a bushy moustache and a bald head, told her of a place not far down the street.

As they approached the stables, Gaven leaned in close and, in a confidential whisper said, “Let me handle this.  I’ve had dealings with these sorts before.”  Trilla rolled her eyes, but didn’t argue.

The stables were large and well maintained.  A boy of about ten ran out to greet them, a scrappy youth who looked to have sworn an oath to defend his skin against the ravages of soap and water.  Squinting up at them, he combed back his disheveled hair with his fingers, and spat some tobacco juice into a tin cup.  “Name’s Puck,” he announced proudly, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth.  “Do ya wanna board, or do ya wanna buy?”

“Buy,” Gaven declared.  “Who do we talk to?”

Puck frowned and spat again.  “There’s no one but me,” he said.

“You?” Gaven asked.  “You run this place?”

Puck nodded his shaggy head.  “Ever since Mother died and Papa got sick.”

Gaven’s brows drew down.  “And how long has that been?”

Puck shrugged.  “I’m not sure, a few months maybe.  The only thing that helps him is the Black Cordone.  He needs three bottles a day just to stay awake.  It’s very expensive, so I have to keep working hard.”

Gaven nodded grimly, understanding all too well what sort of problem the boy’s father had.  “I drank some of the black fire last night,” the big man told him, glancing meaningfully at Trilla, “and no doubt a little nip would set me right today, but I’m not going to have any.  Do you know why?”

Puck just stared at him.

“Because it’s poison, that’s why.  Your Papa just tells you it’s his medicine because he’s hooked on it.”

“But…I….” Puck stuttered, “I’ve seen him.  If he doesn’t get it he starts going crazy and throwing everything up.”

“That’s just the withdrawals,” said Gaven, his eyes turning hard.  “I know something about that, too.  Now.  Tell me.  Where’s your Papa?”

Puck hesitated, biting his lower lip, his face drawn with uncertainty.

“Where?” Gaven asked again, his tone matching his eyes.

“He…he’s in the back, but he gets mad if anyone bothers him before lunchtime.”

Ignoring the warning, Gaven set his jaw, squared his shoulders, and walked towards the back.  Andaris glanced at Trilla with concern, his face a question mark.  She met his eyes.  Her lips, however, remained tightly pursed, un-parted by even a single syllable.

From the rear of the house, they heard some yelling, a loud crash, and the sound of breaking bottles.  The boy’s tough kid facade had already begun to lower.  Now it dropped entirely.  “He’s not hurting him,” he asked, tears welling in his eyes.  “Is he?”

Trilla wrapped him in her arms and said, “Oh, no, honey, Gaven wouldn’t do that.”  But her expression looked unsure.

When Gaven returned, his normally genial face was darkened by disgust.  “I think your papa will start to get better now,” he said, shrugging his badly tousled shirt back into place.  “He’s a good man.  He just went a little off track.  It happens.”  Exchanging another look with Trilla, Gaven got to one knee and put his hand on the boy’s shoulder.  “It’s very important that you don’t give him any more of the Black Cordone,” he continued, reaching up and wiping the tears from Puck’s cheeks.  “Your Papa promised he wouldn’t touch the stuff again.  But even so…he might try.”

Puck nodded, looking with obvious trepidation towards his father’s room.

“He has to have time to work it out of his system,” Gaven explained.  “He’ll be worse at first.  He’ll likely get angry with you.”

“I promise,” Puck blurted, now seeming younger than ten.  “I won’t give him any more.”

Gaven cleared his throat, brushing the bangs from Puck’s eyes.  “That’s a good lad.  Before you know it, your Papa will be back to new.  Now,” he said, getting to his feet, “how ‘bout those horses?”

“Follow me,” instructed the boy, raising his tough kid facade like a shield.  “I’ll show you where I keep the best ones.”

Gaven haggled briefly with Puck over the purchase of three horses, all of which were bandy legged and nearly as shaggy as their keeper.  The big man was impressed, after everything that had happened, how easily the boy slipped back into business mode.  Andaris found it sad that someone his age could be so calculating.  Sad, yet not wholly surprising.  The boy, like everyone else, was a product of his environment.  Gaven made a show of grumbling and shaking his head at the asked price, but in the end took pity on Puck and bought all three horses, paying almost twice what they were worth.

“I can see now that you are right,” Andaris said as they left the town behind.  “Truly, Gaven is a cunning businessman.”

Trilla laughed behind her hand.

“They might not be the swiftest,” Gaven argued, “but they’re stout enough.”

“Oh, I agree,” Andaris replied, trying not to smile.  “Mine’s nearly stout as a donkey, and twice as hairy.  In fact….” He leaned down and patted the side of his horse’s neck.  “I think I shall name you Del, in honor of my uncle.”

Trilla started to snicker.  Gaven began to say something in his defense, and then burst out laughing instead.  Soon all three were chuckling and smiling.

After the mirth subsided, Trilla peered at Gaven with a thoughtful look on her face, staring at him for several minutes, as though trying to come to a decision about something.

Andaris imagined a complex system of wheels and pulleys turning inside her head, the interlocking parts moving in concert with one another, yet in seemingly random, and ofttimes opposing directions, the discord of their machinations rising to a fevered pitch.  This was something Andaris frequently visualized when he delved too deep into the shifting labyrinth of the female mind; attempting, foolishly, to ascertain what
she
was thinking—
attempting
being the operative word.  After all, how could he understand what, at times, remained inscrutable even to her?

“It was a good thing you did back there,” Trilla finally told him.  “I’m proud of you.”

“I remember how it was with my father,” Gaven said in a husky voice.  “I had to at least try.”

She obviously wanted to say more, but for Gaven’s sake allowed the conversation to end there.  They listened instead to the whispering of the wind and steady clopping of hooves, the two combining, at length, to quiet their minds.  It was one of those rare instances when things felt just right, as though this was precisely where they should be and precisely what they should be doing at this exact moment in time.  And so on they rode, westward into the setting sun, the Sokerran grasslands stretching before them like brushed gold, the horizon glittering as if on fire.

The Amulet

T
he king leaned back in his desk chair and smiled, feeling more rested than he had in months.  The amulet had apparently worked, for his dreams the past couple of nights had been untroubled and blessedly mundane.  He wrapped his hand around the amulet and found, to his surprise, that it was warm to the touch.  He worried about this for a moment, and then decided it didn’t matter. 
As long as it works
, he thought.

Laris wasn’t quite ready to run a foot race, but was certainly much improved.  His head was clear and his joints no longer felt as if they’d been packed full of gravel.  As heartening as this was, however, his newfound verve also filled him with sorrow, for if one part of the dream was true, how could he deny the other?

One of his trusted advisors was a traitor.  He had to accept this. 
But which one?
he wondered. 
Who would have the access?  Who would have the motive?
If only there wasn’t the defense of the kingdom to worry with, he’d have more time to root the traitor out. 
Though if war comes….  When war comes,
he reminded himself,
whom can I trust? 
He just might have to take the time, whether he had it or not.

Nibbling on the corner of his lower lip, as he often did when he was brooding; Laris began to consider his suspects, shining the light of his scrutiny first on the wizard, Elkar.  The name came to his mind easily, and for good reason, mainly because he didn’t like the man.  There was something unwholesome about him—those too shrewd eyes and perpetually youthful appearance.  Just the thought of it made Laris frown.  It wasn’t right for a person to live so long, particularly without showing any outward signs of aging.  It wasn’t natural.

Laris shook his head, aware that he was allowing his emotions to cloud his judgment.
Must be logical about this,
he told himself.  His dislike for the man didn’t automatically make him a traitor. 
No, not Elkar
, he thought, brows drawing together. 
If he wanted me dead, I’d be dead
.  The wizard, despite his refusal to age, overblown ego, and lack of social niceties, had proved himself loyal a hundred times over.

So, if not Elkar, then who?
  Fenton, of course, was above reproach, which left Donaven, Jonar, and Lennay. 
Hmm,
let’s see now.  Of the three…who would gain the most from my death? 
With his daughter gone, there would be no clear heir to the throne.  He had been in such a stupor this past year that he hadn’t realized just how dire the situation had become.  Anyone with enough power and influence could attempt to claim the crown.  Whoever gained the most support would then be elevated by the council.

Which of the nobles is most popular right now?
  He didn’t know, but would clearly have to find out.  It had been a long time since the king had concerned himself with such things.  As a rule, he found the political maneuverings of the various houses to be about as interesting as watching paint dry.  He had never developed the stomach for the verbal sparring which came as naturally to most nobles as breathing, nor the skill, unless the winds of change blew hard enough, to sail his ship of reason across the endless, largely uncharted, seas of deception.

Perilous waters they were, to be sure, the currents of manipulation flowing just beneath the surface, masked by the calculated calm of false intentions, carrying all but the most gifted of sailors far off course. 
There should be maps to warn the unwary,
he thought.
  Danger.  Turn back.  Beyond this point monsters lie.

“What treachery,” Laris whispered, his eyes widening at the scope of it. 
And it almost worked, too.  Slowly poisoned until I lost my wits, my will, and my ability to lead.  Under those circumstances, death would have been a welcome escape.  It was just old age they would have said.  It was just the old man’s time. 
Laris ground his teeth together. 
How could I have been so blind?  With me out of the way, the people would have been easy to influence, eager for someone to step in and take control.  Whoever is behind this must be in league with the Lost One.  The timing is too convenient for it to be otherwise
. 
But who would do such a thing?
 
Not Donaven
. 
He’s so patriotic he probably sleeps in his armor
. 
Probably rather chop off his own legs than betray Rogar.

That left only Jonar and Lennay.  Of the two, Laris thought first of Lennay, his financial advisor.  He wouldn’t guess the man had the spine to orchestrate such a diabolical scheme.  He had a nervous nature, reserved and quiet. 
Though perhaps he has reason to be nervous
. 
Perhaps one of the nobles has promised him wealth and power should he secure him the throne
. 
They could both be in league with the Lost One, subverting the kingdom from within.

Laris didn’t enjoy entertaining such thoughts about a man who might very well be innocent, but as much as he tried, he could not dismiss Lennay as easily as the others.  There had always been something a little
off
about the man.  It was far too easy, for instance, to imagine him tearing the wings off of butterflies while sitting on the floor in the dark giggling to himself.  Indeed, now that Laris thought about it, he was fairly certain that Lennay, if not guilty of treason, was guilty of something.

And what of Jonar,
he wondered.  Jonar was the king’s foreign advisor, his diplomat, which meant he was both fair-faced and silver-tongued.  This alone, as far as Laris was concerned, was enough to make him a suspect.  When combined with the fact that he took frequent trips abroad, and had contacts in all four kingdoms, it was enough to make him the primary suspect.

Thoughts whirled through Laris’ head like a tempest.  Which one was it?  Jonar or Lennay?  Did the traitor work alone, reporting directly to the Lost One?  Or did he have an accomplice--or accomplices?  The king’s pulse quickened.
Why, there could be spies all around,
he thought.
  My own bed might be unsafe.
He closed his eyes and massaged his temples. 
Must remain calm,
he told himself. 
This is no time for dramatics.  Cool heads prevail.  Panic breeds travail. 

To catch the traitor, or traitors, he would have to be just as crafty as they were.  Craftier.  He would have to pretend he was still ill.  Maybe whoever was responsible, believing him befuddled and near death, would get careless.  A dirty little smile turned up the corners of Laris’ mouth
.  I might surprise them yet
, he thought.

Now that his list of suspects was shortened to two, he stood and walked from his chambers, remembering to shuffle and stoop as soon as he was out the door.  A stroll through the winding, flower-lined paths of the garden was just what he needed to clear his head.  Without a word, his guards bowed and fell in behind him.  He could tell Sergeant Strumbald was relieved to see him up and around, but knew the man was too well trained to speak unless spoken to.

Laris had to work to keep from chuckling as he imagined the various ways in which he would publicly humiliate and execute the traitorous vermin.
It will
have to be something especially horrid
, he thought,
to discourage future problems.
  He visualized heads on spikes surrounded by flocks of crows pecking out the eyes.  Forcing down another grin, he tried his best to look incompetent
.  There will be blood
, he thought as he shuffled. 
By Rodan there will!