The Lords of Valdeon (19 page)

"If you have grown weary of playing with small boys and unarmed islanders, perhaps you would like to play with me, yes?" Firm lips turned into a slow grin.

"No, sir."

A slight tremble had crept into Tubs's voice. He and the rest of his mob eased their hands carefully away from their weapons. Curious, Seth turned back to the table. He stared at the man running his fingertip along the cool blade. Deadly confidence hovered about him. His hands were steady as he laughed at the room full of men.

Seth — in contrast — couldn’t keep his own hands from shaking. The angry power had left him the moment he'd sniffed the citrus perfume. His knees shook, threatening to give way any moment. This was a golden opportunity to hurry from the middle of the confrontation and find Paddy's musket. Yet, he couldn’t look away from the fingertip as it ran up and down the steel.

"I've no beef with you, sir. It's between me and the farmer."

"I choose to make it my beef as you say." The finger finally stopped upon the blade and tapped it. "My blade has grown restless aboard ship. It wants movement."

Raw fear was on the brute's face now. Seth had no idea who this Valdeonian might be, but Tubs and his friends seemed to know him. They were terrified.

"Stand down, the lot of you!" Paddy stormed up with his musket loaded and ready. "I’ll have no trouble from you in my pub. Get back to your ship and good riddance."

His loaded musket broke the spell over the common room. Tubs and his mob backed away from the Valdeonian. Heading toward the door, each of them glared at Seth on their way out. The rest of the pub’s patrons went back to their drink while Seth leaned on his chair to steady his shaking knees. If not for the two hooded men, he would have been a bloody mess. He swiveled around to thank them, but found empty chairs and two full tankards instead. The two Valdeonian men had vanished as silently as they'd appeared.

"Are you well, Seth? What do you think you're about staying out so late?" Paddy cradled the musket in his arms, still watching the door. "You'd better stay here for a time until those drunken fools get to their ship."

A haggard old sailor approached them, his knit cap held in his hands. He rested tentative fingers upon the cabin boy's head. Cracked lips offered the boy a smile full of helpless pity.

"I’ll take the boy to the ship’s doctor. Tubs is a killer, though no man would dare try to prove it. I thank you just the same."

"You can’t take the boy back to your ship. What if they try to hurt him again?"

The older sailor shook his head at Seth and gripped the cabin boy’s slumped shoulders. "Don’t have a choice. The boy’s indentured to the Captain."

"He’s a slave you mean."

"Some aren't as lucky in our life situations as you are, son. He has to go back. Got his Mum and other little ones to think of."

They made their way slowly out of the common room back to their ship. Seth was helpless to stop them. For all the troubles he had in his own life, he'd met someone worse off. It was his mother's war cry against poverty. Seth understood what she'd meant a little better after tonight. He'd been such a fool charging like a madman into a fight he couldn’t win. Seth was no warrior, not like the two Valdeonian men.

"Paddy?" Seth touched his shoulder. "Those two cloaked men. Have you seen them before?"

"They came looking for rooms a few minutes after you arrived. I’m surprised you didn’t run into them on your way from town. Forget them. Listen, Seth, you better have a care until those ships leave. It might be a good idea if you spent the night in the back room. I can drive you home in the morning."

Seth heard snickering from the corner and turned to glare at the group of sailors sipping their tankards. They turned back to their drinks again.

Paddy pulled him roughly to the bar. "Are you so certain those sailors just happened by? I told you not to mention Pavel Sandor’s name."

"I’m sorry I did."

"So is the old sea dog. The militia found him hanging by his jaw on one of the docks. Someone had relieved him of his heart. Sergeant Gunn and Constable McTavish are calling it a drunken brawl, but we know otherwise, don’t we?"

Seth stared at Paddy as the words sunk in. He'd been so certain the Tslavian had been Sandor. The evidence, his nationality, and his familiarity with the D’Antoiné family had been simple coincidence. Their clumsy attempts to investigate had gotten an innocent man killed. Well, perhaps not quite so innocent. One thing was certain, Pavel Sandor was still on Marianna and very close.

"Have a care. I plan to take this with me when I’m out in the open." He patted the musket.

"I’m not afraid. Let him face me. Sandor is going to pay for what he did to my mother."

Paddy rolled his eyes and threw up his hands. "Sit down, boy. I have mutton stew in the pot. Eat slowly. Hopefully those drunken bums will be well aboard their ship by the time you finish."

Three bowls of stew and a few hours later, his pride was satisfied enough time had passed. In the darkest time of night — just before the sun's rays began to penetrate the black — he stepped onto the front steps of the inn. No sign of anyone waiting out in the darkness as far as he could see. Those sailors were probably sleeping off their drink by now.

He slipped quietly down the steps and onto the Main Row. Stopping under the comforting glow of Paddy’s hanging lanterns, he looked again into the trees where he and Riley had hidden earlier. Still no sign of movement. Now he was just being foolish. It was getting close to the dawn. Emma would be waiting to scold him as it was. He'd better not show his face after she had started the breakfast.

Hands grabbed him from behind and dragged him toward the darkness. The stench of stale brew and old fish stuffed his nostrils. Rough hands covered his mouth and held down his arms against his body.

"This don't seem like such a good idea to me. You know who was onboard ship with us. He seemed interested in this boy."

Tubs's friend, the lanky man from the common room, held up a small ship's lantern before Seth's face. Yellow teeth chattered in the chilly air. A dirtied leather eye patch covered heaven only knew, while the other eye darted wildly about them.

"He's no concern of ours." Tubs! His rough voice was one Seth would well recognize for a long time.

"Are you, barmy? Missing all this time and he just happens to pick Marianna as a vacation spot?"

"Shut it." Tubs pressed chapped lips against Seth's ear. "Your people won’t recognize you when I'm done, farmer."

A rock solid fist thrust into Seth’s abdomen, knocking the air out of his lungs. Eyes watering, he collapsed toward the ground. Several arms held him in place. Another strike hit his face with an explosion of pain. Laughter buzzed in his ears like a swarm of angry wasps. He began to wonder if he'd breathed his last.

Someone grunted close to his face. Thud. The many pairs of hands holding him suddenly let go of their grip. Seth fell to the ground, trying to get his breath back. He was alone beside the back wall of Paddy's. The group of mischief makers stood in a circle several feet away from him.

"Mercy!"

The call started from one sailor and was quickly taken up by the rest. Then a shadow moved through his attackers, deadly and swift. His movements were graceful and perfectly executed. Each raised fists sent another man to his back in a flash of movement. Seth had never seen anyone move so fast! He shivered, realizing the sailors could have been killed as quickly. One would not be joining his friends when they woke. Tubs's lifeless eyes stared up at the morning star.

A form approached him. It wasn't a shadow or some warring angel from the beyond. The cloaked man from the tavern reached a hand out to Seth. He took it and was pulled to his feet as if he were a sack of yarn. Strong arms helped Seth under a small circle of light from one of the pub’s lanterns.

"Beware the anger of fools, my young friend."

Though the man spoke in the common tongue, his words were accented by the musical tones of his people. He held Seth’s face up to the light and chuckled at the cuts. His laughter was warm, not unkind. The bandaged hand pulled the hood from his head, revealing a handsome face. His hair was a fading chestnut overtaken by gray. A wave of citrus and exotic spices floated about him. Remarkable though the man may be, his eyes captured Seth’s attention. They were a deep brown with specks of amber in them. A strange sort of power held Seth in their gaze.

Those dark eyes moistened as they scanned every feature of Seth’s face. Gentle fingers smoothed around the bruises, stopping to cup his chin. The Valdeonian took a sharp breath and swallowed hard.

"His eyes do not lie, my lord." The other Valdeonian came to stand beside them.

"Have a care, Dante. Do not forget why we’ve come," his rescuer rebuked in the musical language.

"You have fire, my young friend. What is your name?"

"I'm Seth McCloud, sir."

He answered in the common tongue. Perhaps it was wrong, but a new instinct for mistrust made Seth hold back. He didn't want to let them know he spoke their language quite yet. The other man, Dante, may yet slip to reveal who they were. He was intrigued by the man standing before him. Why would such a cunning and skilled warrior be visiting Marianna? According to Tubs and his friends, this man wasn't here by chance.

"Well, Seth McCloud. You are safe now. Those men will not harm you again."

The two Valdeonians climbed the stairs, leaving him to go on his way. They reached the tavern door before Seth had the sense of mind to call after them.

"Sir! Do I know you?"

The warrior's eyes grew sad once more. He looked down at Seth for a long time, before answering.

"No. But you may call me Leo."

The Valdeonian entered Paddy’s, leaving Seth staring after him in the dark. The scent of citrus and spices remained in the early morning air. He took one last sniff and turned toward Haven Bay.

Chapter Fourteen

San Leonora, City of Kings and capital of Valdeon, glistened in the afternoon sun like a treasure trove waiting to be seized. Beneath their descending vessel, merchants haggled with their customers. Young horses kicked against the corrals separating them from freedom. This deafening boom was the music of commerce. It heralded the Prince of Valdeon home.

Julian turned away from the bustling streets and markets. Waiting breathlessly for just the right angle, he marveled as the sun sent its beams in a halo around The Palace of Kings. Towering above the city, it rose like mighty peaks of stone and glass. Tiles of brilliant gold blanketed the roof. Endless mosaic arches formed supports to lift its massive structure. It was his childhood home and, as such, remained very dear to him.

A rotunda, built centuries before by the Ancients, stood at the southeast corner of the palace. Formed with rare white stone from their distant country, the very nature of the stone had been infused with the Jalora's magic. Andara’s greatest treasure and symbol of power — the Altar of Providence — was kept within, safe from invaders. It was said that even the most powerful cannon could not blast through the walls of the mighty Lion’s Den. Julian's lips formed the tiniest of smiles. The Altar could not be taken by force. This treasure must be won by other means.

"It is a great city, perhaps a little too flamboyant for my tastes."

The changeling, ever at his side, took delight in provoking Julian's anger. He wouldn't succumb to the creature's game this time. His temper, already strained from another failure to recover the Lion Ring, was close to breaking free. This creature was waiting to report every misstep, every moment of weakness to Gorman. Soon Julian would arrange an unfortunate accident for his annoying new companion. Perhaps someone would expose its true nature to the Lords of Valdeon. They were the great champions of the Jalora, after all. In his eagerness to defend its honor, the changeling's life would be forfeited at the Wolf's blade. Lord Gorman couldn't blame Julian for such a loss. No one could stand against a ranger.

"You will find the Palace of Kings distasteful then, Changeling. Please allow me to show you its every corridor."

The Great Inland Wall cast shadows upon them as they walked down the ramp of the airship port. Thousands of stone lion heads were carved across the top of the wall, teeth bared in warning. Running across the stretch of land between Lake Leonora and the Leonora River, it had protected San Leonora for centuries against invaders. His new allies, however, could not be thwarted by mere walls. He scanned the massive base for signs of the Dirge. They'd already dissolved into its shadows.

Marcellus De Costa stood awaiting Julian. He was a thick young man, built for battle and hungry for killing. A scar stretched from his right eye to the indentation in his cheek where a stone had pulverized the bone. He'd been caught indulging in his favorite gruesome pastime. Dissection of human bodies wasn't a crime unless those humans had been alive during the procedure. The villagers and his own father had found Marcellus too homicidal for prison. Putting this killer to death had been their best option. Julian tended to agree, though he'd never let Marcellus see his revulsion. The Sarcion had coerced Julian into rescuing Marcellus from the stoning. It assured him the madman would be of great value one day.

"Welcome home, my lord prince." Marcellus bowed low, eyes twitching in constant reminder of the damage his face had endured.

"You are a welcome sight, my dear friend." Julian forced his hand to remain steady as Marcellus took it up and pressed his lips against the glove.

Fevered eyes shifted to the changeling. "You've brought someone back with you, my prince."

"This is Armando, my new valet."

The changeling flashed an angry glare at them. Evidently it had expected to be treated as an equal. Marcellus noticed the look. He straightened and returned the sentiment with a hate-filled look of his own. A brief fluttering of hope came to Julian as his two irritating burdens sized each other up. Perhaps he could be rid of both of them as he played the two against each other.

"Fetch my luggage, Armando." Julian waved a dismissive hand to the changeling. "The other servants can guide you to my chambers when you're done."