Iron and Shadow, page 23
part #3 of The Iron Kingdom Series
They had been married in a simple ceremony in the ancient church that sat on the cliffs overlooking the ocean. The priest was a good natured old man who smiled when he saw the chain of intertwined gold and silver on Naolin’s wrist. He commented on how happy it made him to see the old tradition of the lover’s bond kept alive in these modern times. They had asked a young couple that they had met in town to be witnesses and had pledged themselves to each other before them and the priest. When the old priest gave the final benediction and blessing before the goddess, Vis, Naolin felt a little thrill as Leith took her in his arms and they kissed as husband and wife for the first time. She had never been so happy.
As the days flew by, the newlyweds realized that they’d have to make plans for the future. The bard joked that they could stay here as long as they wanted, as he’d already made inquiries about entertaining at the inns and taverns within Berrajor. There were several of each, as the port was a stopover for merchants and sailors alike and Leith was well known. However, the princess hadn’t wanted their honeymoon to end and wouldn’t hear of him working yet. Finally, after a fortnight, he insisted that they at least talk about what they would do and Naolin relented.
The princess didn’t like the idea of Leith simply supporting them both and had made it plain that she would do her part as well. She was surprised at how old fashioned he was when he’d said that he wanted to take care of her but she refused the thought. They had talked of children but in truth, neither of them was particularly keen on the idea. They were simply in love with being in love with each other and that was enough. The bard had made the mistake of making a joke about what a pampered princess might do for a living and had soon regretted it when she’d demonstrated her knowledge in mercantile interests and trade in general. Leith had perhaps thought that, as a princess, she only knew about courtly things but found out quickly that when it came to making and managing money, his new bride’s abilities far outstripped his own. When Naolin had gotten into questioning him about his yearly income and where his money had gone, Leith surrendered laughingly. When she had shown him a plan for their future together and how she could make their coin into a small fortune he had been disbelieving, until she’d shown him the math. The bard began to realize what a lucky man he was all over again.
Before they went any further with any plans, thought, the princess determined that she wanted to hear news of the war. They had heard rumors while on the road but nothing that they knew to be certain. Naolin had hoped to also find out how the country was faring overall. She certainly wasn’t ready to return home and face her family and didn’t know when she would be ready for that but she still yearned to hear that things were going well and everyone was alright. Leith had warned her that there might be only a little news but when she persisted, told her that there was one tavern, in particular where the latest rumors and gossip could be heard. The bard had been insistent that she understand that much of it was idle chatter but truth and actual events could be found there as well.
An hour later, the couple was walking down to the docks. The sun was bright and the air warm. The smell of the ocean was strong but not unpleasant and the sounds of the surf and the cries of the gulls mixed with the low chatter of people on the streets. It all brought a smile to Naolin’s face but when she looked over at her husband, she saw a frown stamped there.
“You aren’t still worried are you?” She asked him lightly, determined not to have their first fight as a married couple.
The bard’s scowl deepened as he walked along not looking at her. “I told you that I would go and return with news.” His expression was grim. “This tavern is no place for you!” He didn’t quite raise his voice but practically growled in aggravation.
“Oh, come now!” Naolin said laughingly. “We’ve been to many taverns as we journeyed north! Why should this one be any different?”
Leith gave a most ungentlemanly snort. “Because, the Winsome Mermaid isn’t like those other places!” He stopped dead in the street. “Please, Na…” He stopped short of saying her real name and then continued, “Dania just wait back at the inn and I’ll return soon.”
“What is so wrong with this tavern?” The princess asked, still smiling.
Sighing heavily, the bard seemed at a loss for words for a moment, which only made his wife’s smile deepen. Finally, he spoke bluntly. “It’s the closest to the docks and has cheap drinks and cheaper whores.” When he saw that she didn’t recoil or gasp, he continued, his voice growing more and more exasperated. “That means that it’s a favorite among sailors and rogues and it is no place that I want you to even set foot in!”
Naolin laughed merrily. “I’ll be fine.” She promised and linked her arm in his. “Besides, you’ll be with me and no one would accost someone with such a fierce protector, husband.”
Ignoring the slow joy that spread through him as she called him her husband, Leith shot back, “You’d be surprised what people in this place will do, wife.”
The two argued no more about it but the bard was very alert as they arrived at the docks. The smell here wasn’t of a clean ocean breeze but the hard stench of brackish saltwater that moved sluggishly beneath their feet. The tavern was built right onto the docks and the reek made it clear that the waste went right into the water beneath it. Naolin tried and failed not to wrinkle her nose at the smell and Leith’s expression finally changed, his frown turning into a wicked smile.
Glancing up at the placard showing a mermaid with a saucy expression and little else, Leith said sarcastically, “Welcome to the Winsome Mermaid, princess!”
Refusing to let him see her hesitate, Naolin stepped boldly through the doorway, forcing him to follow, his smirk erased. Within, the tavern was, at least, solidly built, though it was clearly the dive that the bard had promised it to be. The princess was a little taken aback at the place when compared to the rest of the beautiful seaside village but remembered Leith telling her that every town had such places. The clientele were also what he had warned her and she forced herself not to stare at the drunken sailors, women in varying stages of undress and shady looking bravoes within. A few of them looked up as they entered and a couple leered at the beautiful princess but Leith’s forbidding stare kept them from looking for long.
Not wanting to linger near the door, the bard took his wife by the hand and led her over toward the bar. “Old Kelen will know of any news worth hearing.” He promised as they maneuvered through the tavern. It was midday, luckily and there weren’t too many people within and for this the bard was glad. He’d brook no insult to his bride but he knew how these types were. An affront to a sailor would often be taken up by his mates in short order. Leith got the bartender’s eye and nodded.
As the old man approached, Naolin forced herself not to stare. The man was fat but his arms were still strong and bore more tattoos that she’d ever seen. One eye was blind and filmy, seeming to stare up at the ceiling, while the other was a startling icy blue. The scar that ran down half his face and had ruined his eye was an ugly thing that seemed part of a network of similar scars on his face and arms. The tattoos obscured some of the scars and the princess realized that they’d been worked in and around them.
“Leith!” The man known as Old Kelen boomed cheerfully. “I haven’t seen you in an age!” The two men exchanged the customary clasping of forearms of arms in greeting. “Thought you’d given up entertaining in places like mine? If you’re looking for work, though, you always could fill a room…” He stopped when the bard shook his head.
“Sorry Kelen.” Leith said, grinning. “You’re right, I work a better class of tavern now not that I don’t have some fond memories from here, mind you!”
This remark earned a withering look from Naolin that both men noticed and Kelen smiled in appreciation. “Well now, who might this be?”
“Careful, Kelen.” Leith replied his voice not unfriendly but still warning. “This is my wife, Dania.”
“Your wife!?” Kelen said incredulously and then laughed uproariously. “I never thought that Leith of the honeyed voice would ever marry! My, how the women of the kingdom will mourn when they hear the news!”
The bard cleared his throat and glanced at his bride, who arched an eyebrow. “Now, Kelen…” He began but Naolin cut him off.
“You must have quite a few stories about my husband?” Naolin asked smiling.
Kelen laughed again, “Oh, lass, more than you’d believe!” His belly shook with his mirth. “We used to call him Leith the Lady Slayer, you know. Why, one time…”
“Kelen!” Leith interrupted warningly then.
With an apologetic glance back at the bard, Kelen winced and said. “But…well that was a long time ago wasn’t it, Leith?”
“Yes…” The bard replied, looking at his wife earnestly. “…a long time ago.”
Naolin smiled to show her husband that it was alright. She and Leith had told each other of their past and she really didn’t want to know any more details. She herself had been married and in love before and it was enough for her that Leith was her man now.
“Right then.” Leith said then. “Look Kelen, we’re here to see what news of the kingdom you might have, particularly of the war.” He glanced back at Naolin. “My wife has family in Vakiun and yearns for news.”
Kelen nodded and leaned forward on the bar intently. “Oh, there’s news alright!” He looked at them both. “The war’s over!”
“Over?” Naolin said then.
The barkeep nodded vigorously. “Yes ma’am, it’s over and we won!” He saw the smile on their faces then. “The king and the Iron Host done for them orcs, I can tell ya that!” Seeing that they really hadn’t heard about this, a questioning note entered his voice then. “You really have been out in the country for a while huh?”
Leith nodded, “We’ve been traveling from town to town. You know how it is.” He said and Kelen nodded, clearly aware of the bard’s lifestyle.
“It’s a shame though.” Old Kelen added. “It was a dear price we paid to stop them bloody orcs. Not just our boys but the dwarves as well.” The old man shook his head. “They say a lot of those brave soldiers won’t be coming back and the numbers of the dead still haven’t been properly tallied. Even the king’s own house wasn’t spared but we all know…”
“What are you saying?” Naolin snapped then, fear coursing through her.
Kelen looked at the woman apologetically. “Oh, you hadn’t heard then?” He frowned. “I would’ve thought that even the smallest villages would’ve known by now.”
Seeing the alarmed look on his wife’s face, Leith interjected, “Known what?” He demanded pointedly.
With a confused look on his face, the barkeep spoke slowly, looking back and forth between the two of them. “Why, known of the king’s son.”
Unable to contain herself, Naolin grasped the man’s meaty hand. “Which son? What happened?” Kelen saw the frightened look on the woman’s face and took in her fine attire and demeanor, which only added to the confusion. “Please, tell me!” The princess urged.
“Prince Valun…he died in battle.” Kelen finally said.
Naolin’s eyes went wide and she braced herself against the bar, looking down. She couldn’t think of anything to say, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t…
Leith’s strong voice spoke then. “Are you sure, Kelen?”
His words brought hope surging to Naolin and she looked at the old man again. “Yes, how do you know it isn’t some tale?”
Kelen’s words dashed her hopes, however. “I’m sorry, ma’am.” The barkeep said regretfully, realizing how upset she was, though not why. “But everyone knows about it. Why, the funeral is already done. They said it was…”
Naolin heard nothing else that the old man said but turned to Leith. “I have to go…”
The bard took her by the shoulders and thanked Kelen before she could say more. He then led his stunned wife from the tavern before more of a scene could be made. He thanked the gods that no one had taken note of their conversation. When she realized that they were outside, Naolin stopped and looked at the bard.
“I have to go home!” She practically shrieked.
Taking her in his arms, Leith answered, forgetting all about their ruse. “Naolin, we don’t know that this isn’t just gossip.”
The princess shook her head. “I have to go home, now!” She demanded and look so lost and forlorn that the bard hugged her more tightly.
“Alright.” He said softly into her hair. “We’ll return to the capitol. Just remember Naolin, Kelen could have just heard a rumor or maybe he was drunk.”
Naolin shook her head slowly, the tears beginning despite her best efforts. She didn’t want to believe it but the old man’s eyes had been steady and his tone sure. The princess had seen the nods of the men around them when the barkeep had mentioned the death of the prince. She didn’t want to believe it but in her heart, she knew it was true.
“I have to go home.” Naolin whispered again.
Leith nodded and led her back to their rooms at the inn. Within a short time, he’d gathered their things and they were back on the road, headed for Vakiun. Naolin said little else but did her best to fight against the tide of tears that seemed as implacable as the ocean they were leaving behind them.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
No guard challenged his approach and no warning horns sounded. The old path leading up to the Burning Skulls encampment should have been marked by watchers a half-mile away but now it seemed deserted. Rage battled glee in Morgall’s heart as he made his way to the entryway. Anger at the state of his ancestral tribe fought for position alongside the knowledge of how easy regaining entrance would be. If he was the chieftain here, there would be guards that would launch spears and arrows at anyone approaching that was not of the tribe. It wasn’t until he made his way to the gates, which had recently been repaired, that there was any sort of challenge at all.
An old orc with gray hair and a scarred face leaned on a spear by the entryway outside. The orc was swathed in ragged fur and leather and he was missing his left arm. Though bent, the old warrior still looked strong. “Who comes to the camp of the Burning Skulls?” The old orc demanded, trying to focus rheumy eyes on the interloper.
“Why do you stand guard alone here, Graymane?” Morgall replied.
With a sharp intake of breath, the old orc exclaimed, “I know that voice. It’s the voice of the one who first called me Graymane.” He said slowly then, stepping closer to the gate and peering closer. “Morgall!” He said in wonder.
The warlord had always respected Graymane, who was one of his early teachers. The old orc had been a wily warrior and a hunter without peer in his prime and while orcs aren’t known for nostalgia, it irked Morgall to see the old warrior stand this watch alone. “Answer me!” The massive orc’s demand was a growl. “Where are the other guards?”
Leaning back on his spear, Graymane shook his head. “There are no others.” His voice was mournful. “Many did not return from the war with the pink-skins. Those that did…” The old warrior trailed off.
“Who ordered you to stand guard alone?” Morgall demanded.
Standing as straight as he could, the gnarled hunter rapped his spear on the hard ground. “No one!” Now he growled back. “I stand here because I choose to and because no one else will!”
Frustration at the state of affairs with his tribe warred with admiration for the old orc’s grit. “Who leads here?” Morgall grated.
“Goraak Tall-Shield.” The old orc said, his voice dripping with contempt.
Morgall’s eyes widened. “Goraak leads?” He could not believe that such a one would be followed by anyone within his tribe. Tall-Shield had never been a great warrior or leader and Morgall had always suspected the orc of being a coward. When Graymane’s answering nod, showed the warlord that it was no jest, Morgall stepped forward to open the gates, he was surprised when the old orc stepped in front of him, gripping his spear tightly.
“Some believe that you have led us to ruin, Morgall.” Graymane stated. “They said you were dead, yet here you stand. Why have you returned?”
Both orcs knew that Morgall could easily kill the one-armed old orc and the savage killer inside the warlord clamored for it. Yet, he saw Graymane’s resolve and fearlessness and respected it. He knew that he would have to kill orcs to take his place back but Morgall had no intention of killing one of the few that he had any regard for.
“I have come back to lead the Burning Skulls again.” The warlord said, stepping forward until they stood tusk to tusk. “And I will slay any who stand in my way.” He growled warningly.
The threat didn’t ruffle Graymane in the least. “Why?” The old orc demanded. “You told our people that we would be the greatest tribe of all but we are a shadow of what we were.” His dark eyes flashed. “What will you lead us to now?”
“Revenge!” The warlord grated, deciding that, for all he respected Graymane, if the old orc would not move, he would cut him down.
“Revenge…” Graymane said the word almost lovingly. “Revenge on who?” He asked, either unaware or uncaring that he was pressing his luck with the dangerous warlord.
Baring his tusks, Morgall rumbled, “On them all!”
A wicked smile split Graymane’s lined visage then and he stepped back to open the flimsy gate. “Welcome home chieftain!”
Ignoring the joy in Graymane’s voice, Morgall stepped through the gates. “Take me to Goraak!”
Following the old orc through the huts and tents of his people, Morgall felt something that he’d never known before; shame. Part of him knew that he’d led his people to this state but he also knew that he’d been manipulated and lied to. The Hidden One had played him falsely from the beginning, he now knew. The warlord knew that none of his tribe would care for such excuses, however and bloodshed was the only way now. Graymane led Morgall exactly where he’d known he would, the center of the camp where the chief’s hut stood alone in a rough circle. It had been his once, Morgall thought savagely, it would be his again. Evening was settling in as the two orcs stood before the chieftain’s tent. Several torches had already been lit but there was little movement in the camp of the Burning Skulls. A few orc women and children peered from tent flaps as they passed but that was all.
