Sovereign's Wake Page 7

Discerning the edge in Berault’s voice, Garreth decided to proceed with his pressing concerns.

  “The Blackwoods came into the Kingswood with axes to harvest its bounty. They stalked us on the highway and threatened our lives. They extort and steal from the people with no remorse,” Garreth continued on, each condemnation matching his comrade’s dire tone.

  “With their callous demands and abhorrent taxes, the Blackwoods have killed my father and left the Southbriar Crossroads in stagnation,” Kayten chimed in, a familiar anger creeping into her voice.

  Novas formed a hard look on his face, absorbing the animosity and the hatred that filled the room, and tried to comprehend the plights of his company and the reasoning of their aggressors. Berault’s brow furrowed as the company recounted their journey thus far.

  “This is nothing out of the ordinary for the Blackwoods as of late,” Berault informed as he kneaded his hands together, trying to contain a frustration that had plagued him for months now.

  “Where do I start?” he questioned himself.

  “The King’s death was a shock to the entire city. When the black smoke rose from the palace and the bells rang with abandon, the people were raised from their sleep alarmed and bewildered, but soon their questions turned to sorrow. Word spread from the Royal Palace, through the Upper Quarter, and to all parts of the city, and his subjects wept unreservedly when the King had failed to wake that day. The entire city moaned in a manner that overpowered the regular clamour of the busy market, a dull roar of anguish and tears.

  “As part of the Crown Aegis, the other guards and I had stormed the palace in search of answers but were turned away from the royal chambers by the Queen and the royal physicians. As man-at-arms, I grilled the guards who were on duty, but they could tell me only that the chamber had been undisturbed for the entirety of the night. The lack of the answers we desired left many woe-be-gone and disheartened, but a few of the guards were rife with temper and suspicion. The King was still too young and too alive to be taken in that manner, and the Aegis, seeing the fervent nature of the King on a daily basis, knew this to be true. We suspected that the King had been killed.

  “We wished to bring our questions and theories before the Queen, but her attendants disallowed us access to her presence again and again, claiming she was burdened with a heavy grief. As much as we empathized with her, and surely the kingdom did, the Aegis needed to find justice and resolution. The further investigations brought us nowhere as the physicians told us that the King’s health was a private and sensitive matter that only concerned the Queen. It was soon after the Royal Funeral that the Queen was escorted by Lord Vyse and his Blackwoods armed guards, which was the first appearance of the company’s militant division outside of the lord’s estate,” Berault explained as he weaved his fingers together.

  The trio sat spellbound and hungry to hear more about the latest chronicle of their kingdom. As Novas had never been privy to the royal sphere, he imagined encounters and actions so grandeur and dramatic that his heart pounded akin to being in danger. He felt as if this great drama of the kingdom was the same force that propelled him away from his home to where he was sitting now, and it was as if he was being woven into the tapestry of its history.

  “The people blamed the Crown Aegis for failing to protect the King. When we couldn’t come up with any conclusive evidence, wild theories began to arise about assassins flying through the windows with poison darts and gas. The Queen did not rise to protect the name of the Crown Aegis and stood in silence behind Lord Vyse and his advisors. Our continued investigation into the King’s death brought affront to the Queen as if we did not trust the physician’s diagnosis. When most of the men and women that made up the Crown Aegis refused to collect new, expensive taxes to facilitate the King’s funeral or the ‘necessary’ expansions of the city, we were disbanded entirely. Our barracks were given to the Blackwoods, or should I say, ‘the new Queen’s Aegis’, and many of us were left without work, unless we wanted to rejoin under less ethical management… some did, and some had no other choice,” Berault concluded and grit his teeth.

  Berault sighed long while his tan tabard of the Crown Aegis swayed like a flag in the breeze. Perturbed by the account, Garreth rose from the chair and walked over to the window overlooking the street below. He stared down into the way where people came and went from the tavern, and the denizens of Amatharsus continued about their business in the crowded streets. Garreth turned away, folded his arms, and leaned against a divider in the window.

  “Surely, times cannot have become that bad for all of Amatharsus? I’ll admit I was skeptical in my journey towards the city, for I found an unavoidable sense of abandonment and disrepair. The city, however, continues to be just as alive, although more chaotic, then when I had last set foot here,” Garreth conferred from his findings so far.

  “I find this to be an artful illusion that the Blackwoods have been more than happy to maintain since their occupation. Perhaps, I am grim over the recent and radical changes, but it seems the people move more vigorously from fear than enthusiasm and are more worried about escape than destination. Finding safety and survival for themselves and their families is a chief concern, I think. As if it was rarity in such place,” Berault explained in turn.

  Garreth nodded in response and returned his eyes to the streets. He could not shake the feeling that something had changed in the Lower Quarter that went beyond mere appearance. He hoped that it was not his perspective that caused this discrepancy, but Berault’s testimony had encouraged him otherwise. A long silence was about to overtake the room when a voice arose from the bench.

  “Do you have any news about the Queen? Is it possible to seek an audience with her as the people once did with the King?” Kayten asked, her patience being tried as the conversation seemed to pander on the past and nostalgia.

  “Access to the Royal Palace, where the audience was held, has been restricted since not long after the passing of the King. The Queen has not addressed the public in person since then either. Instead, she has her proclamations decreed by Blackwoods crier or billboard poster. There is a building in the Upper Quarter where citizens may file an address with her advisors. While the legitimacy of this civic service may be questionable because of Blackwoods influence, it may be the best place to reach the Queen directly,” Berault explained and then waved Kayten over to the map on his desk.

  “Here. Right here. I believe ‘the Admonition Alcove’ is the name,” Berault relayed as he stuck his finger to the map.

  Kayten leaned over, tried to memorize the location, met Berault’s gaze, and then nodded.

  “I must appeal to them as soon as I can. I am here to avenge my father, not a King or an entire city,” Kayten stated and returned to her full height before glancing around at the three men.

  Berault shot Kayten a surprised look but then soon found amusement in the gravity of her statement and began to laugh. Shortly after, Garreth began to chuckle and Novas could only smile. Kayten began to turn a few shades of red darker, but Berault rose before anything else could be said.

  “Come now! You have travelled far enough and deserve some rest. Let us go find some drinks while I talk to Tummas about a room for you,” Berault said with a clap of his hands and a gesture towards the door.

  A few minutes later, Novas, Kayten, and Garreth were packed into a small booth in the Salty Dog and were trying to rest, be patient, and enjoy their mead and ciders. If the local sailors could walk and talk, then they could drink, and the Salty Dog enjoyed a lively patronage from sunrise until deep into the night. The tavern’s moniker did not only pay tribute to the homeless mutts who had once frequented the busy wharfs, but the smell of oceans that clung to its seafaring patrons. While the scent had been enough to drive less loyal customers away, to those who were fragrant with it, it was a badge of honour. A swinging sea shanty had developed amongst the barflies closest to the ale drums when Berault shuffled towards their table from behind the bar.

  “Well,
you’re in luck. There’s one room that Tummas can let go lightly. He’s had trouble renting it out lately, but I figured you wouldn’t mind too much,” Berault informed as he tossed the key ring onto the table.

  “Don’t worry about the pay for now. We’ve found a way for you to earn your keep, and I don’t think you’ll mind at all,” Berault continued as he leaned and balanced on his cane.

  The three patrons finished their drinks and followed Berault back up towards the rooms. They returned to the sunlit corridor, and Berault stopped after the second door on the left and motioned towards it. Garreth took the key ring, slid the rusted key into the hole, and opened the solid lock. The door creaked upon and led to a hall not much wider than the door itself. At the end of the hall, there was a window that faced the solid wall of the building next door and looked down upon a less than clean alleyway. To the left of the hallway, there was a small common room with a table, desk, bench, and a set of chairs and shelves. To the right, there were two separate doors with two separate bedrooms of equal size. The travelling trio moved their gear from Berault’s room nearby and filed into the other room. Kayten placed her things in the room closest to the hallway, and the two men deposited their gear in the other. They all returned to the hall where Berault was waiting at the door.

  “I never had a room to myself. This place isn’t all that bad, I think,” Kayten mused.

  “No, I don’t think so, either. But you wait until it rains and you have to shut the window… Tummas tells me the smell of death was far too hard to get out without tearing the place apart,” Berault explained.

  The new occupants stood agape and transfixed, looked around, and smelled the air in attempts to detect its presence. Berault let out a single, loud laugh.

  “Well! Get settled and have some rest. Come see me later, Garreth,” Berault stated, and then he shut the door and was heard hobbling down the hall.

  After the sun had fallen behind the sea, Novas was sitting outside the Salty Dog on an overturned bucket, watching the patrons come to and fro. He had never seen such a diversity of character before. There were not only locals or sailors that night, but also travellers who had recently arrived from the harbour. The numerous fish vendors, unable to store their wares after a day of hot sun, tossed their stinking fish into the alleyways to be devoured by bilge rats, stray cats, and all manner of sewer insect. The traffic on the streets had died down and continued to decrease as the night went on. As the city’s denizens returned to their beds, the inner lights of their homes went out, extinguishing the illumination of the cobbled night streets. The city’s southwest watchtower stood not far from the docks and served as the harbour lighthouse. Like an ancient, rustic torch, the wide spread of its bright glare cast a layer of light upon the western side of the Lower Quarter. Without that light, the streets of Lower Quarter would be pitch black because the streetlights were no longer maintained and the moon was concealed by cloud.

  For the first time in many days, Novas felt bored. Within the confines of the city, he could no longer practice hunting or archery and felt that it would be safest not to unsheathe his blade in public. Still, he palmed the hilt of his hunting knife as it hung under his tunic. The boy was teetering on the bucket when he heard a noise from behind him. From the direction and strangeness of the sound, it came as such a startle that he almost lost his balance. He looked behind him into the blackened alley where only strips of dim light from windows above cut through the long length of darkness. Novas’ fear was soon overcome by his boredom and unbroken daring, and he stood up and crept as soft as he could down the alleyway.

  The stretch parallel to the Salty Dog remained undisturbed, but the rustling of movement drew Novas to the back alley where a dirty storm drain served as a divider between city blocks. Novas tiptoed past the offal and filth of the alleyway, which seeped away into the cities sewers. In the alley behind the tavern, thin slices of the lighthouse rays pierced into the way, but shadow remained dominant closest to the building. It was in one of these dark recesses that the black-garbed emerged. An arm fell out of the darkness and lay still as two shadows approached towards Novas with disjointed pacing. As a liquid of bold and ruby hue ran down the arm and pooled in the street, the dim light reflected an ominous colour; Novas recognized the feasting of hunters.

  “A witness,” the voice hissed behind the black façade.

  Novas’ knife flashed in the dim light as he realized he was on the wrong side of the hunter’s game. A fist flew through the division of dark and light and landed square upon Novas’ left eyebrow, toppling him and throwing him backwards, but not before Novas had plunged the blade deep. As he looked up, the shadows started to close in, and fear gripped Novas. With teeth grit and breath held tight, Novas rolled back onto his knees, dove back into the direction of the alleyway, and rushed to the safety in the streams of light. Wincing with one eye swollen and splashed with blood, Novas stared back down the alley and waited for his attackers to rush through the shining bands. For a while, his breaths were heavy, and he could not move. The boy tried to shake off the disorientation as he brought himself up the stairs and back into safety behind a locked door.

  Garreth spun around as he heard a door slam nearby, which sounded to him to be within the direction of his room, and then turned back to face his mentor without disturbance or hesitation. Berault sat at his desk where an oil burning lamp illuminated the parchment that he scrawled upon.

  “What’s the matter?” Berault questioned, looking up at Garreth who had suddenly stopped from his pacing.

  “Nothing, nothing,” Garreth dismissed and returned to his thoughts and his back-and-forth repose.

  Berault nodded and returned his gaze to his papers, shuffling through them to find a specific document. As the hearth in Berault’s room crackled on into the night, the two conversed little and were entirely consumed by their own thoughts.

  “The Blackwoods really have wormed their way into the kingdom, haven’t they?” Garreth asked, breaking the silence that had been building there and daring to ask the question outside the hearing of more youthful ears.

  “The Crown Aegis is all but remnant of the past. The few who remain in the city spend their days in the old courtyard, hoping for change and preparing others for the future. The Blackwoods have taken up their stead as protectors of this city. However, instead of defending the people, they seek to preserve their profits and power,” Berault explained, setting his quill inside the inken well and folding his hands.

  “It is not hard to see, I’ve run into them in the Kingswood, on the Great South Road, at the Southbriar Crossroads, at the Woodreach Bridge. It seems our opposition is many and ever-present. Dealing with them goes beyond the extent of my power, I am afraid,” Garreth admitted, kicking at dust on the floor.

  “We’re all afraid, Garreth. But to let that fear control us… that would be the ultimate defeat. There are those who stand beside me in the courtyard, unwilling to give into that crippling fear, who are our best chance for freedom. Tomorrow, you will meet them, but I must ask of you another favor before,” Berault explained.

  “Which is?” Garreth questioned, arching a curious brow.

  “As fierce as my beliefs or my speech maybe, I am still wearied by time. Soon, there will come a time when those men and women will need a leader who is not me, someone who can stand beside them in the very fires of conflict and on the bleeding edge of battle. When word spreads of the return of the King’s defender, there will be those who will seek you… some to follow and some to end you,” Berault began, but was interrupted by Garreth as he put his fists upon the desk.

  “Me? A leader? Save such folly for better men, for I have never filled such a position nor desired to fill one. I have seen the corruption power inflicts and wish none of either. I am a farmer’s son. I have spent many years content with being a Malquian apart. My arrival has not changed that,” Garreth interjected.

  “Our King is dead. There are no better men left, Garreth. And it matters not wha
t you were borne, what you have done, or where you have hidden, but the fact that your heart brought you back to this city will be enough. You will need others to stop the Blackwoods, and in turn they will need you,” Berault explained, and let out a long sigh before he looked up into Garreth’s eyes.

  Garreth recoiled at Berault’s expression. It was a rarely seen plea of emotion from the grizzled and hardened veteran of the Crown Aegis. His words fell as heavy as his fate had.

  “We will see,” Garreth concluded, and with a loose wave, turned away and left the room.

  Chapter Ten

  The sun had risen and poured through the window of the common room where Garreth sat beside his injured son. Beyond his tightened face and brow, the only thing that kept Garreth’s frustration in check was his sense of relief. Blushing red, his son sat embarrassed at his own lack of foresight.

  “You’re lucky, you know,” Garreth said as he handed a cold cloth to his son.

  “Too lucky,” Garreth continued as Novas lay on a bench and relented to his father’s wise chidings.

  “I’ve seen much worse things happen in the alleyways of this city. I only wish I had time to warn you before you went and did something so… dangerous,” he continued as he rummaged through the pouches of herbs.

  “I heard something. I thought someone might have needed help,” Novas said to excuse himself from his oversight.

  “There’s always someone who needs help in this city, Novas. It’s a hard truth that we cannot help all of them. We must do our best and stay alive. That starts with the Queen and the Blackwoods and not dying in some filthy alleyway,” his father explained.

  Novas swallowed hard at his foolishness, but in his heart, he refused to believe he could not help them all.

  “Press this into your cut and eat this for the swelling,” Garreth commanded as he passed over some herbs to Novas.