The Forgotten Lord: Tales of Misbelief I Page 4

  “Promise me,” I said.

  Slowly, she took both items. “I promise.”

  I nearly flinched at the dread in her voice.

  But I didn’t wait. Turning, I fled the manor and hurried back to the landing. Cooper and both his hired men were waiting for me, and they had a set of mules hooked up.

  As I reached the landing, Cooper’s eyes searched my face.

  “You mean to do this?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  He reached out with one hand, “Careful stepping on.”

  I looked at his outstretched hand. Then I took it.

  · · · · ·

  I was almost ashamed of the quiet peace that settled over me during the following two days. One of Cooper’s barbs back home had been the truth: I had never set foot outside of Pudúrlatsat, and as a result, I expected to feel somewhat daunted on the entire journey up the river.

  But it wasn’t like that.

  I felt safe on the barge with the world drifting by. The mules pulled us at a steady pace, as one of the hired men led them while Cooper and his other man stayed on the barge using long poles to steer us away from the bank, but Cooper also acted as my caretaker and guide, pointing out spots of interest along the way. I had never thought him capable of so many words. He took care of everything, and fed me meals of fruit and dried fish. At night, he made a private little tent for me at the back of the barge, and he produced several warm blankets. It felt foreign to have someone else taking care of me.

  Still, I was relieved after two days when he pointed ahead and said, “See up there. We’re nearing the west entrance of Kéonsk.”

  As we drew closer, the anxiety I’d been expecting to feel rose up in full force. Kéonsk was the largest and oldest city in Droevinka, and I knew some of its history.

  The politics of here were different from other nations. Rather than being ruled by a hereditary king, Droevinka was a land of many princes, each one the head of a noble house that ruled multiple fiefdoms. But they all served a single grand prince, and a new one was elected every nine years by the gathered heads of the noble houses. At present, Prince Rodêk of the Äntes was in rule.

  However, the unlanded house of Väränj was a notable exception to the other houses who all had a chance to place the head of their house as grand prince. Descended of mercenary horsemen in service to the first invaders of this region, the Väränj served as the royal guard and city contingent for whoever held the throne—and they protected the castle located in Kéonsk. In turn, they were denied the opportunity to put their “prince” on the throne or establish a province of their own.

  The Väränj alone served as the law and the peacekeepers in Kéonsk—serving whatever prince happened to currently hold the throne there. This gave them a kind of power awarded to no other noble house.

  Cooper guided the barge up to the busy docks, among other barges, and I readied myself to step off onto the landing. I had come this far, and Stefan had already been alone for two days. I would waste no time.

  Half turning, I looked at Cooper, feeling more gratitude than I could express. “I don’t know how to thank you enough for all your kindness.”

  He seemed taken aback and unable to answer.

  “Are you sure you won’t take any money?” I asked. “Even a few coins to pay for the food I’ve eaten?”

  For some reason, that was wrong thing to say, and his face closed up. “Keep your money.” Then he handed me a large, empty basket. “Take this. You’ll need it to get into the city.”

  Confused by both his manner and his offering, I simply took the basket, thanked him again, and stepped off onto the landing.

  A short path led straight forward to the huge arch and rounded wooden gates of Kéonsk’s west entrance. Guards in varied light armor manned the entrance, but they all wore the bright red tabards of the Väränj, marked with the black silhouette of a rearing stallion.

  I walked up to the gates, uncertain what would happen next.

  A young guard with a shaved head and no helmet raised his hand to stop me, but it seemed a casual gesture of protocol and no more. Then, he took a better look at my face, and like most men, his manner changed. He became more interested.

  “Your business, miss?” he asked.

  My business? Did I need to give a reason for entering the city? Then I realized why Cooper had handed me the basket, and I held it up.

  “Just here to visit the market. Gathering supplies I cannot get at home.”

  He didn’t motion me past. Instead, he stepped closer. “Home? Where would that be?”

  I didn’t see why he needed to know this, but I couldn’t risk being rude. I did need him to let me inside the city. “Pudúrlatsat.”

  “Pudúrlatsat?” he repeated in surprise. “That’s two days west. What’s a little thing like you doing traveling alone?”

  My anxiety grew. Was he going to keep me standing out here?

  “She’s not alone,” said a deep voice from behind, and I turned to see Cooper walking up. I was ashamed at my relief at the sight of him.

  “Cooper?” the guard said. “Is she with you?”

  It seemed reasonable that they knew each other—as often as Cooper traded goods here.

  The guard glanced down at me and then up at Cooper again. “You must be doing a better business than I realized.”

  “Just let her pass,” Cooper growled, and finally, the guard stepped aside.

  I didn’t hesitate and hurried forward, with Cooper walking beside me.

  Now that we were inside the archway, I suddenly resented having required his assistance, although I wasn’t sure why I was so bothered. “You didn’t need to do that. I could have gotten past him.”

  “Yes, I could see how well you were doing,” he answered dryly, and I fell silent.

  We entered an open cobblestoned market area. It was noisy and bustling, with scores of booths and carts selling everything from endless variety of foods to brightly colored cloth to beeswax candles.

  The press of people began to unsettle me, and I moved closer to Cooper.

  “Grab the back of my shirt,” he said as he stepped slightly in front and made a path for us. I clutched a handful of his faded blue shirt.

  “Where to?” he asked.

  I could see the towers of the castle from where we now walked. “I think there,” I answered, pointing. “The domin said that she and Master Favel were here to help catalogue some recently found documents, so I assume such important papers would be kept at the castle.”

  We passed beyond the market and entered a district of inns and taverns, and I tightened my grip on Cooper’s shirt. In spite of the mass of merchants and bargemen and city dwellers, to me, it seemed the most common inhabitants moving in the streets were soldiers. Most were small patrols of Väränj, but there were occasional groups wearing the light yellow tabards of the Äntes.

  I would not ever wish to live in such a place, and I felt an unwanted stab of homesickness.

  Cooper led me directly toward the city center and the gates of the castle. While the gates were open, a dozen Väränj soldiers in red tabards blocked the courtyard’s entryway, and more of them patrolled the ramparts and walls.

  Now this I had anticipated. While I had not expected to be challenged at the gates of the city, I knew the castle would be guarded, and I had rehearsed a short speech over and over in my mind. I walked right up to the nearest guard.

  “Pardon me.”

  He looked down, and this one did not seem remotely affected by my face—which was both a relief and a mild concern.

  “I have a message from Enêmûsk for the sages who arrived several days ago,” I said quickly. “Might I be escorted inside to speak to one of them?”

  He frowned. “From Enêmûsk? Who sent the message?”

  “I cannot say, only that it is important.”

  This was risky, but Enêmûsk was the home city of the Äntes, and the sages were here organizing state documents. After a moment, the soldier
glanced over at a younger man standing just inside the courtyard, and he nodded once. The young guard turned and trotted off toward the castle.

  I nearly panicked. I’d expected to be escorted inside where I might have a chance to speak to Journeyor Quentin in a more isolated setting. What if the young guard was going to fetch one of the sages… and he brought back Domin Miderra or Master Favel? Would I be expected to speak to them out here? Either of them would recognize me, and I certainly had no message from Enêmûsk.

  However, even while worrying, I remained acutely aware of Cooper standing behind me. He’d gone far beyond the call of duty in getting me this far, and I felt compelled to let him get back to his life. Turning around, I saw him watching me with narrowed eyes, and I stepped closer to him.

  Before I could speak, he said quietly, “You handled that guard better than the one at the front gates. I’d no idea you were such a skilled liar.”

  For some reason, his words stung. “That’s because I expected to have to lie my way into the castle.” Then I stopped myself. I did not need to explain myself to him. “You should get back to your barge. I can’t begin to thank you for all the help, but I can find my way from here.”

  He glanced up at the courtyard and all the Väränj soldiers milling around. “I can wait.”

  I breathed out through my nose. Really… he was the most difficult man to manage that I’d ever met.

  Footsteps sounded, and I turned to see the young guard coming back. He was alone, but he said to the older guard, “Captain says it’s all right.” Motioning me forward, he said, “This way.”

  The tension in my shoulders eased slightly. “I’ve no idea how long I’ll be,” I whispered to Cooper.

  “I’ll wait.”

  With little choice, I left him there and followed the younger guard through the courtyard and then into the castle. At least I’d been brought inside.

  A few steps into the entryway, he made things even easier by asking, “Which one of the sages do you want to see?”

  “Journeyor Quentin, if possible.”

  “Which one is that?”

  “The youngest one, with the white hair and blue robe.”

  The guard nodded. Apparently, I did not strike him as a threat to castle security because he led me onward without hesitation, down the right-side passage. We passed servants and other guards, and he took me into a stairwell leading down.

  One floor below, he stepped out into another passage with numerous open archways that appeared to be cellar storage rooms. Walking down the passage, he peered into a few archways before stopping at one. “Messenger for you.”

  I walked over and stood behind the guard, looking into a room filled with boxes and a table turned into a makeshift desk. A glowing crystal inside of a glass lantern provided light. Journeyor Quentin sat behind the desk. He stared out at me. “You?”

  I shook my head at him once in warning.

  At first he said nothing. Then he stood up. “Thank you, guardsman. I’ll take it from here.”

  The guard nodded and walked away. I waited until he reached the stairs.

  Journeyor Quentin stood by the desk. His blue robe was somewhat wrinkled, as if he hadn’t taken it off for days. “You have a message for me?”

  He looked exactly as I remembered. His facial structure was different from Vordana; though his features were narrow, they were less angular, and his eyes were not as deeply set. But his build and hair were strikingly similar. I wondered why he was alone in here, and where Domin Miderra and Master Favel were working.

  Suddenly, after coming all this way, I was at a loss.

  “No… I’ve no message,” I stammered. “I came for… I need your help.”

  He frowned. “My help?”

  I was so afraid that he was about to send me away that I stepped through the archway into the cluttered room and launched into my story. I told him everything… well, almost everything. I told him what he needed to know about Vordana’s first death, the curse on the village, the curse placed on Stefan… and the aftermath.

  He listened with an unreadable expression until I reached the part with Wynn Hygeorht, and then he came closer to me, his interest becoming intense. Even while talking, I remembered that he hadn’t noticed me back in Pudúrlatsat until I’d mentioned her name. Something about this was important. I simply hadn’t figure out what yet.

  When I finished, I was breathless, and I looked at him in wild hope. “My lord is a man who needs the outdoors, who needs to be in charge of his own lands, who must see the sky above and feel the ground under his feet. He is losing himself locked away behind the same walls.”

  Quentin appeared uninterested in this final impassioned speech. “You say that it was Journeyor Hygeorht who destroyed Vordana in the end?”

  Again… he was back to Wynn. “Yes,” I said quickly. “Vordana wore a brass urn around his neck, some kind of arcane device, and she managed to tear it off him and throw it into the coals at the smithy.”

  He turned away from me. “She is a legend,” he whispered.

  “A legend?”

  He nodded. “She has traveled all over this continent, and now gone back to our own. She has been to the Elven territories here and up to the mountains of the Pock Peaks, where she carried out texts that were centuries old, maybe older.”

  I needed to bring his attention back to him giving me some information to help Stefan, but my instincts told me to stay with the topic of Wynn Hygeorht as well. “In describing the curse, she used the words ‘Tôlealhân’ and ‘will craft,’ that Vordana had placed a hàs upon Stefan. Do those words mean anything to you?”

  “A hàs?” he repeated, and his brow furrowed. “Yes… it means this Vordana had power. A hàs is a command buried deeply in the victim’s unconscious mind until the person believes that the effects of disobedience are true.”

  “She also said that because a sorcerer laid the curse, only another sorcerer could lift it.”

  To my astonishment, he shook his head. “No, she’s not completely correct in that. The only way to remove a hàs is to make the victim believe that it has been lifted. If he or she utterly believes the hàs is gone, as much and as deeply as the victim believed it was real, then it will have no effect.”

  I stiffened. “So, if I make Stefan believe the curse is gone… then it will be?”

  He breathed out through his nose. “If your lord lost his hand, this hàs is buried deep. Something drastic, something shocking would need to occur to convince him on the level of which I speak.”

  Standing there, taking in the sight of his hair, his slender build, his intense expression… I suddenly knew what had to be done. I knew how to lift the curse, and a rapid plan formed in my mind.

  After only a moment or two of formulation, I told him what I was thinking, what the two of us might do, and then it was his turn to go stiff.

  “No,” he answered. “If we do this your way, no one can ever know. It would need to remain a secret… lest your lord hear whispers of the truth and begin to doubt.”

  I wanted to scream at his selfishness. He wanted fame. He wanted to be a legend like Wynn Hygeorht. But I kept my temper and asked calmly, “Can you think of another way?”

  He was silent for a moment and then shook his head. “No.”

  “Then we must try my plan!” I had not come all this way for nothing, and now that I was so close, I would not give up. “Do you think Journeyor Hygeorht became a legend by only attempting tasks that would bring her fame? No! She helped my village for no other reason than to help it. That is how one becomes a legend. If you follow in her ways, if you travel and accept any challenge, any adventure that finds you, that is how your name will become known.”

  His eyes were locked on my face, considering my words, and then he glanced at the makeshift desk. A piece of paper, halfway filled with words lay there, but the ink was already dry, as if he’d given up writing well before my arrival—as if the task held no interest for him.

  A seco
nd realization hit me. He was bored.

  He was not the same type of scholar as the other two.

  “Where are Domin Miderra and Master Favel?” I asked, changing the subject abruptly.

  “Upstairs. Cataloging the important documents. I was writing… or trying to write a report for Domin Tilswith, the head of the annex in Bela.”

  “So, you have few duties here now that your superiors have a hundred guards for protection?”

  He didn’t answer—and I wondered again what sort of protection he was capable of offering.

  I leaned forward. “Come with me. Take up this challenge. You may not be able to speak or write of it here, but you can once you get back to Belaski. No word would ever reach my lord from there. Please… Quentin. You are out in the world now, away from the guild, with adventures awaiting you. Don’t waste this chance.”

  Something in his expression changed, and I knew I had him. He looked at the glowing crystal on his desk. “I’ll need to gain leave for a few days from the domin, and your plan is more complicated than you think. We’ll need to purchase several items, and a good umber robe with a scarlet cord won’t be cheap.”

  “I have money.”

  He strode to the desk and took the crystal from the lantern. “I’ll need to gather some alchemical components from my room. We’ll need to make this a good show… a show that your lord will believe, but you’ll be the one who has to convince him it is real. Can you do that?”

  “I can do anything you tell me.”

  · · · · ·

  By evening, we were on the barge, moving downstream back toward Pudúrlatsat. On one level, the ride back was far less pleasant than the ride up, as Cooper had not been pleased when I emerged from the castle with a blue-robed sage and then told him that Quentin was coming with us—after he and I completed a few errands.

  Cooper had nothing to complain about. He’d known from the beginning that I was going to Kéonsk to speak to the sages. He should hardly have been surprised that I was bringing one back with me. Still, he fell back into his previous stoic self and barely said a word on the journey down river other than to give his two men orders.