The Outcast, page 40
part #2 of A Knight's Journey Series
Rowan bowed and Al’Rhun left him. He watched the merchant leave and then turned back towards the party. There were so many people. They huddled together in conversation and lounged in groups drinking wine and enjoying servant-supplied food. Smoke hung in the air, much thicker in places where the eldest men lounged and discussed politics. Many of the younger guests danced in the square as lively music played and drums banged in the background.
None of this interested Rowan. It was not what he was looking for—who he was looking for. He didn’t even know if Lord Evans had arrived, though he did know that the man would be coming at some point.
Rowan circled about the fringe of the party, continuing to seek his quarry. He wondered where the man would be, if he was present. Rowan glanced over his shoulder to where the couples danced. Not there. Perhaps one of the lounging areas? That would fit the man’s personality. Rowan began walking in that direction. The acrid smell of smoke nearly overpowered him. Rowan forced himself to focus instead on the enticing aromas of spiced meat on the grill and spilled wine.
He moved through several groups but saw no trace of the man. He turned to look elsewhere and that was when he spotted him. A short distance away, he saw Lord Evans making his way through the groups. Evans stood out in his bright silken robes that hugged his round body, his pale skin obvious in the night.
Rowan ducked his head but followed the man’s path with his eyes, waiting for more distance between them before moving to follow. Trailing him was easy but remaining unseen was more difficult. Lord Evans was both popular and sociable, so he stopped often to speak with others. Sometimes the conversations were nothing more than a short exchange of greetings and pleasantries, sometimes they lasted longer. Finding a way to stay nearby without appearing to linger was a challenge. People kept trying to talk with him.
Slowly but surely, Lord Evans made his way in the direction of the manor. He left the front lawn and walked around the side of the house, but not towards the gardens, which were meant as a secluded area for guests. Instead, he walked the path that was used by the servants. It was not an area meant for guests. And indeed, there were no guests on that side of the house. Only the occasional servant.
Rowan watched all this from a distance, without following behind. Without cover from the other guests, he risked being exposed. While he hadn’t been recognized before, he couldn’t be sure that the same would happen again. He could not risk Lord Evans knowing he was being followed.
A servant tapped Rowan on the shoulder, causing him to whirl about with a start. The man hesitantly proffered a tray filled with meat skewers. Rowan shook his head and turned away in annoyance. Lord Evans had escaped his line of sight. Rowan needed to follow him.
He waited until the servant had left before walking quickly away from the party and towards the house. The sound of a door swinging shut told him he’d need to go inside. He found the nearest door and entered into a well-lit room, an open doorway across the floor, leading to a hall. He followed the sound of footsteps fading into the distance.
Rowan moved forward swiftly but cautiously, following unseen behind Lord Evans. There were no others around. People were outside enjoying the party and the company of others. Only the servants had reason to be inside and their work took place in the kitchens. With only mild concern for being spotted, Rowan focused on remaining silent and making no noise.
Where is he going?
Ahead, his target turned another corner. Thirty seconds later, Rowan followed and found himself facing a long hallway that seemed to lead nowhere. He stopped, puzzled momentarily, before noticing the indistinct doorway that Evans must have used.
With silent steps, Rowan approached the door, wary of what might lay beyond. He heard voices from the other side. Leaning in and pressing his ear to the door, Rowan could just barely make out what was being said.
“I greet you, members of the Buhli’dazzi.”
That was Lord Evans’s voice. Rowan did not know who the Buhli’dazzi were, but focused his attention on Lord Evans. The man was still speaking, though quietly, making his voice difficult to hear.
“I have received word from my contacts in Estoria. The Lord Ruler Gannon has disappointing news regarding the princess.”
The princess! Rowan leaned in closer. He needed to hear this.
“Out with it! What has happened?” a voice called impatiently.
“She is no longer compliant.”
“Explain.”
“It is as it sounds. She was kept unaware and away from politics, drugged to remain infirm and indifferent. She has somehow managed to recover and confronted the Lord Commander, who has been forced to imprison her and remove her from the public eye. As such, we can no longer act through her directly.”
Rowan felt himself flush with anger as he listened. Any doubt that he’d harbored about Princess Eliza being alive was pushed aside. If Lord Evans said she was alive in private company, then it must be true. Rowan could not understand how it was. He’d seen Eliza’s dead body that night.
But not her face. I couldn’t bring myself to look at her face.
The revelation that Eliza was in fact alive made him want to smile, but it also weighed heavily upon him. It meant that he had abandoned her in time of greatest need. And now she was under Gannon’s control, being drugged and kept forcibly compliant. His anger turned to rage. Rage at Gannon. Rage at Lord Evans and the men in the room beyond. Rage at himself for his failures.
“This is absurd,” someone responded to Lord Evans. “The farce was already thin as it was.”
“Does it matter though?” asked another.
“Of course it matters. The people must be kept in check. She was a figurehead used to legitimize questionable actions.”
“I believe you underestimate the influence of the Lord Commander and the submission of the people,” Lord Evans said, quieting the voices. “This is an unfortunate loss, yes, but it has no significant impact and was bound to happen eventually.”
“Will the Lord Commander still be able to do all that he has promised?”
“Yes.”
“Then it is as you have said. Our plans remain unchanged, so long as you and yours continue to uphold what you have vowed. We will have war. It is known.”
“It is known,” a collective of voices intoned.
There was a moment of silence then. His ear was pressed to the door, but Rowan could hear nothing at all. Had they lowered their voices? Was that why he could no longer hear them? Or perhaps they weren’t talking at all. But if not, then what was happening?
Footsteps approached the door from the other side. They were close—very close. He fell backwards and glanced to the side. There was no time to run. And there was nowhere to hide. He was going to be discovered.
Rowan pressed himself against the wall next to the door and saw the handle turn, the door beginning to open. He braced himself, planning to ambush whoever emerged. His only hope was to grab the person and pull the door shut, silencing him before the disturbance was noticed.
“I must speak with you before you leave.”
A voice called out from the other side. There was a pause and then Lord Evans’s voice responded. “Here? Now?”
“Yes.”
“Very well.”
The door closed and Rowan moved without hesitatation. He slipped quietly down the hall and, when safe from notice, ran as quickly as he could, no longer worried about making noise. He retraced the path he had taken earlier and was soon back outside. The sounds of celebration washed over him like a wave, the sudden return of noise catching him by surprise.
He had to act calm. Running would attract attention. He had not been seen, and hopefully, his absence had not been noticed; unlikely, as he knew no one here other than Al’Rhun.
He heard the merchant’s voice and turned in the opposite direction. He could not be drawn into a conversation with Al’Rhun. It was time for him to leave.
Rowan wove through the crowd, heading towards the eastern edge of the manor and an infrequently used exit. He passed through the gardens, interrupting several younger couples and a pair of women arguing in hushed tones. They both glared at his intrusion, but Rowan had no time to stop and apologize. He hurried on and left the party and its guests behind.
Even beyond the palatial grounds, the noise remained loud. Bending over to catch his breath, Rowan stopped and took a moment to rest and collect himself.
“You!”
Rowan flinched, straightened up, and looked around. The voice sounded familiar, but he couldn’t place it. Had they been calling him? Had he been recognized?
From the shadows nearby, a man emerged with sword on his hip. Rowan recognized Daggett and could see that the man recognized him, as well. The man’s eye widened, then narrowed as he tensed, anger pervading his body. The bandit reached for his blade, pulled his sword from its housing and brandished it with malice.
“You!” Dagget growled again. This time, his words failed to carry over the music and the sounds of nearby revelry, but Rowan could read the man’s lips. He was lucky that the man’s shout had not alerted any others.
Rowan tensed, preparing himself for a fight. He glanced around quickly, looking for any of Dagget’s companions. He hadn’t seen any during their last encounter but couldn’t risk being ambushed. If Dagget was here, it made sense that his friends would be with him.
In that moment of distraction, Dagget attacked, lunging forward and thrusting with his blade.
The speed of Dagget’s attack caught Rowan off guard. He stumbled as he jumped back, narrowly avoiding the blow. Dagget swung again, forcing Rowan to further retreat. The man attacked wildly.
Rowan cursed as he dodged the blows. He’d left the party to avoid confronting Lord Evans, only to find this. Dagget was dangerous, but untrained. Rowan could have disarmed the man with ease if he’d only had his sword.
The next attack rang out as the blade struck stone. Rowan had been forced back almost to the wall. He needed to run. Escape.
Dagget growled as another of his blows missed the mark. He was quick to anger, which was favorable for Rowan. It made the man act impulsively, making him easy to manipulate. But he was also strong and fit. His breathing remained even. Dagget would not tire easily.
With escape no longer an option, Rowan shifted his stance, planting his feet and raising his fists. Seeing that he intended to fight, Dagget grinned.
“I will take my time killing you.”
“Shall I take your other eye?”
Dagget’s grin disappeared. Rowan moved forward, ducking to avoid Dagget’s sweeping blow and placing himself in the man’s blind spot. He was inside Dagget’s range now, nullifying the threat of his sword. Before his opponent could react, Rowan punched, aiming for Dagget’s eye.
Rowan reached to grab the man’s knife. Resisting his pull, Rowan tugged until it came free. He needed the weapon. He—
Dagget’s blade cut him. The man swung it wildly, stumbling back as he clutched his face, a trickle of blood coming from beneath his eyepatch. Stunned, Rowan was almost cut by a second blow, only narrowly avoiding it.
Rowan’s blade, however, did not miss. He cut Dagget’s arm and the man dropped his sword. Then he plunged the stolen knife into the mercenary’s thigh. It sank in deeply and hot blood sprayed onto Rowan’s hand.
Dagget cried out in pain. He left himself wide open. In that moment, Rowan could have killed the mercenary. It would have been a simple thing. Withdraw the knife, cut the throat. It would silence the cry and hide Rowan’s identity.
Instead, Rowan pulled away, leaving the blade where it was. He moved past Dagget and ran away. He heard shouting behind him, but knew Dagget was in no shape to follow.
He sprinted away from the manor, turning down the first street he found. He kept running, weaving a confusing path in case he was being followed.
Idiot. Stupid fool. Rowan cursed himself as he kept running. Even if I managed to observe Lord Evans without being noticed, it no longer mattered. Not now that I have encountered Dagget. The man will inform Lord Evans of my presence and I would now be hunted.
But perhaps it was time to change direction. Princess Eliza was alive and she needed him. He had abandoned his princess and his country, but there was still time to fix his mistake. He could return home and make things right.
* * *
The sounds of the party grew louder as Lord Evans strolled down the hallway. The buzz of conversation now overpowered the music.
He stopped for a moment before exiting the house. He’d dropped his mask while meeting with the buhli’dazzi and he needed a moment to put it back on—to return to his usual relaxed persona. It was a difficult shift, but the casual façade fit him like a second skin.
Evans breathed deeply, in and out. Then he grinned and stepped out onto the lawn, this time using the front door.
Such a simple thing it is, Evans mused, inserting himself into a conversation. They see only what I show them—what they expect to see—taking me at face value. I smile and wave and speak only of frivolous things, so they think me simple.
He took a skewer from a passing servant and took a bite. The meat was well-cooked but had too much salt for his taste. He waved for someone to bring him a drink, which he traded for the skewer.
While they plot amongst each other, I work to topple them all. And as I drive the knife home, they ignore me—even help me.
A tap on his shoulder got his attention. He turned to find the mercenary, Dagget.
“Need to speak with you. Alone.”
“I’m sure it can wait.”
“No.” The man glanced about. He had the gaze of a predator. “I found him. Tonight. Here— at this party.”
The man’s tone was harsh. There was annoyance—anger, even—in his words. Granted, his tone was always hard and angry, but this was different. Evans nodded towards a secluded area, indicating that Dagget should meet him there. He then turned back to his conversation.
No one had taken note of his absence. He’d kept to the edge of the conversation for this very reason—to easily extract himself if the need arose.
He waited an appropriate amount of time, then spoke up. “I must excuse myself now,” Evans said with a bow. “I beg your understanding.”
He did not wait for a response, though it was customary for one who was leaving to do so. He turned his back to them and moved towards the shadows, where Dagget waited.
“I hope this is important,” he said. “I was very much enjoying myself.”
He looked to the mercenary and for the first time noticed his disheveled appearance. A bruise was forming under the man’s chin and his clothing—a new ensemble bought with Evans’ money—was dirtied and torn.
“You’re bleeding. What happened?”
“I found him.”
“Be more specific.”
“The boy that took my eye,” Dagget growled. He seemed unsteady, and Evans wondered how much blood the man had lost. “The one you wanted.”
Evans’s mind raced as he finally understood. Rowan—Baird’s apprentice–was here, in the city. Had he followed them here? No. The border had been closed even before Evans made the crossing himself. Even if the boy had snuck through after him, the crossing could not be made alone. He would have required a party too large to escape notice.
But it could not be mere coincidence that had brought them together. So why was Rowan here— at the very event where he had planned to meet with the Buhli’dazzi?
The meeting! If he was listening…
Lord Evans whirled upon the mercenary. “Where is he? That boy MUST be found.”
“Got away from me. I caught ‘im leaving a quarter hour past. Got the drop on ‘im and had him cornered, but he fights like a wildling. Punched my eye then dropped me. I cut him tho—”
“A quarter hour ago?” Evans interrupted. That would have been just as the meeting was winding down, increasing his certainty that Rowan had come to spy on him.
“Why was I not told immediately? And why did your associates not help you to capture him?”
“Would’ve come to you, but you made such a point of stressing how important your meeting was. Figured you wouldn’t take kindly to being interrupted.”
“That was correct,” Evans admitted, though honestly, he wasn’t sure it was true. Finding Rowan was now a priority. He would need to send word to Gannon, but that would prove difficult with the borders closed. Indeed, his very purpose was to spark war, which would certainly affect communications.
If only he had known of this before his meeting. That would have made everything much easier. But that was not the way of things. Life was difficult. He would deal with it. Rowan was only a boy—one with no resources who posed little threat here in this country.
“Where are your men?”
“Standing by just outside the party, probably drinking. Are we to hunt the boy down immediately?” The mercenary appeared eager, despite the fact that he had just been bloodied. That enthusiasm was good, but not now.
“You are to tell them what happened. Together, you will find the boy and you will bring him to me.” Dagget turned away immediately, but Evans stopped him from leaving. He was not finished yet.
“You will bring him to me alive. I must question him.”
“So long as I get to kill him in the end.”
Evans nodded.
“Good. I want to cut out his eyes before I kill him. He will suffer for what he has done.”
He will suffer greatly, though it will not be at your hand, Evans thought. He knew that Gannon would wish to make an example of Rowan. The boy would be tortured, breaking both his body and mind. Followed by a public execution.
“You will be responsible for finding the boy, but you will have help. As it happens, there are others who are interested in Rowan. Ones who hate him even more than you do. And they have both power and influence.”
“Who is it?” Dagget asked. “I don’t work well with others. Especially dark-skins.”
“Well, you’ll need to deal with that bias. You will be working with High House Ishtar.”
Chapter 44: Eliza
