Champion of the Scarlet Wolf Book 1, page 1
part #1 of Champion of the Scarlet Wolf Series
Blind Eye Books
blindeyebooks.com
Champion of the Scarlet Wolf
Book 1
By Ginn Hale
Published by:
BLIND EYE BOOKS
1141 Grant Street
Bellingham, WA 98225
blindeyebooks.com
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission of the publisher except for the purpose of reviews.
Edited by Nicole Kimberling
Cover Art by John Coulthart
Interior Art by Dawn Kimberling
This is a work of fiction. All characters places and events are fictional and any resemblances to actual people, places or events are coincidental.
First digital release October 2014
Copyright © Ginn Hale
Digital ISBN 978-1-935560-33-3
Print ISBN 978-1-935560-32-6
This book is dedicated to all the readers who supported the series and waited so long. Thank you!
—Ginn
Chapter One
Shadows flooded past the heavy iron bars of the cell as the light from a distant lamp guttered out. Elezar swore softly into the darkness. The enveloping black unnerved him far more than waking, half drunk, to find himself in irons again. Slowly, his eyes adjusted and the agitated rhythm of his heart steadied. The demon-haunted Sorrowlands hadn’t reclaimed him yet. This was only another jail.
He drew in a deep breath and regretted it. The damp air reeked of sour sweat, moldering straw and piss. His stomach rolled with dull nausea, but then settled as if resigned. Over the past five years, he’d awakened in worse surroundings than this. He’d slept more than a few evenings in assorted jails, while local sheriffs investigated the legality of his duels, or awaited the arrival of their bribes. At least this evening he shared his prison with nothing more offensive than fetid straw rather than a herd of ergot-addled swine.
Something about the space of the cell and the feel of the stone walls made Elezar feel certain that he’d been held in this place before—though not this particular cell.
Shouts and wails of other men imprisoned in the warren of chambers both above and beyond his own cell drifted to Elezar. Most sounded drunk and furious, ranting the long strings of eastern obscenities so commonly heard in the capital.
Elezar felt certain he now resided in one of Cieloalta’s three city jails. The fact that he’d merited his own cell assured him that he’d once again been deemed a murderer.
He rose and paced the confines of his cell in the slow, short steps his shackles allowed. The ache of a grazed forearm flared through him, but the wound felt neither deep nor dangerous. If he needed to, he could still put up a fight despite the torpid, sloshing sensation inside his skull.
As he moved, he caught a strong whiff of blood and another of floral cologne. The heavy odor of blood rose from his clothes but certainly that pungent perfume did not.
“Atreau?” Elezar called out to a dark form sprawled in the cell across from his own. A moan rose in response. Elezar scooped up a wet tangle of straw and hurled it across the short space.
This time the responding cry sounded far more awake and peeved.
“Are you in one piece?” Elezar demanded.
“I think so. God, my head feels like it might split of its own accord.” Atreau didn’t rise from where he lay, though one of his legs twitched. “What is that smell? Did you douse me in rose oil?”
“Lord Reollos hurled you through your cologne cabinet,” Elezar replied.
“Ah, yes… I think I remember that… He caught me with a woman, didn’t he?”
“His wife, actually.” Elezar reached his cell door and tested the lock with a hard shake. The iron held. Still, it never hurt to try.
“Wife…” Atreau seemed to contemplate that—or perhaps he’d lapsed back into unconsciousness. “Yes, I remember now…the lovely, dark-eyed lady and her coy little maid. I sang for them in the morning and had them in my bed by noon.”
Elezar continued to inspect the strength of each of the cell bars. It seemed that his jailors had not only paid him the compliment of shackling his ankles but had also secured him in an exceptionally sturdy cell. He hadn’t put up much of a fight when they’d arrested him, but his harsh features and long, powerful build often inspired more fear than his actions merited. Of course, he’d also been the only man standing in a blood-spattered room when they’d found him, and at twenty-four he’d already earned a reputation as a frequent, merciless duelist.
Perhaps he deserved the shackles after all.
“If you’re going to break the door down could you do it a little more quietly? Oh God, my head...” Atreau clambered up to a sitting position, groaning as if it were a nearly impossible feat. Straw matted his dark hair and clung to his velvet doublet. “We were the ones set upon. Reollos’ pretty ass ought to be locked in this prison cell. Why exactly are we locked up, do you know?”
“Because we—I—may have killed him,” Elezar replied as calmly as he could. “Reollos, that is.”
In the cell across from him Atreau looked suddenly sick.
“I don’t remember that,” he whispered.
“You wouldn’t. You were laid out limp as an eel by the time Reollos decided to skewer you.”
“He tried to murder me?” Atreau didn’t sound so much shocked as hurt by the thought and Elezar knew why.
“You charmed your way into his household then took his wife to bed. What did you expect him to do when he discovered you?” Elezar demanded in whisper.
Atreau went quiet, bowing his handsome head against his knees. Elezar wasn’t sure if remorse or his pounding headache had inspired the forlorn slump.
The distant echo of boot heels striking hard stone filled the silence. Elezar thought he heard men whispering as well, but couldn’t understand their words. For an instant he considered what hushed accusations other prisoners were exchanging and he wondered how closely the jailors might be listening.
He shouldn’t have spoken so freely.
But the folly of the entire affair infuriated Elezar. He had to grind his jaw to keep silent and recapture his calm. For Atreau, the brief dalliance with Lord Reollos had been little more than a curiosity—a queer diversion he could boast of in the drunken company of his favorite whores once the thrill of forbidden flirtation dulled. But Lord Reollos hadn’t shared Atreau’s casual ease.
Doubtless the few teasing glances and the quick kisses that Atreau had so thoughtlessly bestowed upon the other man had touched Reollos to the very heart. Atreau with his charm and beauty had altered Reollos’ whole life—promised him a paradise that he had never dared to dream of. And then, with a drunken laugh, Atreau had destroyed it all. Too clearly, Elezar recalled the raw anguish in Reollos’ pale face as the man confirmed Atreau’s infidelity.
“You didn’t actually kill him, did you?” Atreau asked.
Elezar prayed that he had not, but Reollos had fought him with utter abandon—like a man who felt no pain, and feared no death because there was no reason left to keep living.
Elezar well understood the agony and rage of being scorned in love.
“He meant to murder you.” Elezar kept his tone flat. “I couldn’t have stayed my blade and kept you alive.”
Again Atreau fell silent.
The sound of footsteps grew more distinct. A door nearby scraped open and golden lamplight flared through the chamber, illuminating both Atreau and himself in their narrow cells.
Through the blaze of light, Elezar picked out the dark forms of three men. From their bulky shapes he guessed that two were guards dressed in heavy byrnies. The third man stood taller than the others and offered a more refined and elegant silhouette. He took the lamp and turned to his companions.
“Leave us, will you?”
The guards bowed and withdrew. Elezar squinted into the glare. He recognized the voice as belonging to Fedeles Quemanor, the duke of Rauma and his lifelong friend. But Fedeles should have set sail for Labara hours ago. His spirits sank even lower as Elezar realized that Fedeles must be missing the tide to come search for him.
“Fedeles!” Atreau found the strength to rise to his feet.
“Indeed.” Fedeles hung the lamp from an iron peg and drew near their cells. Deep shadows clung to his black hair and silken raiment, contrasting the natural fairness of his skin and lending him a ghostly pallor. Signet rings gleamed on his fingers. A gold collar proclaiming his appointment to Prince Sevanyo’s cabinet hung around his neck. For all Fedeles’ finery, Elezar still caught the scent of horses and saddle leather on him. Bright flecks of straw speckled the hem of his cloak. Duke or not, no one could keep Fedeles out of the stable.
Under other circumstances Elezar would have teased him for that and Fedeles would have laughed and asked after Elezar’s own stallion, Cobre.
But this evening Fedeles appeared to be in no mood for any sort of humor.
“I would greet you with a good evening, but clearly it is not.” Fedeles glowered at them. Despite his youth he looked every inch the condemning duke. “Are either of you sober enough to know what you’ve done?”
Atreau nodded, his full mouth drawn down in obvious misery.
“Is Reollos dead?” Elezar asked.
Fedeles lifted his head to meet Elezar’s gaze, and his harsh expression softened. He was afraid, Elezar realized, more afraid than Elezar himself.
“Not yet,” Fedeles replied. “But his physician doubts he will last another day.”
Elezar didn’t flinch but simply drew in a long breath, forcing himself to remain stoic despite the fate he now faced. In the five years since he’d left the Sagrada Academy he’d killed more than a dozen men. But he’d always ensured that he fought other noblemen in sanctioned duels. The bandits and highwaymen he’d slain had waylaid him as he traveled. More often than not their demises had won him rewards. But tonight he’d run Reollos through in a rented room, far from any dueling ring. He’d towered over the slim, fair-haired man, outmatching him in both reach and experience. And Elezar couldn’t even claim he’d been forced to battle for his own life. Rather, he’d been defending Atreau Vediya, a notorious libertine, from the wrath of a cuckholded husband.
No, this time he’d gone too far. He’d murdered a fellow nobleman and could be lawfully hanged.
“I thought you’d be on your way to Labara.” Elezar found some pride in the fact that his voice still sounded relaxed given that he now faced the possibility of the gallows.
“And I thought you were going to join me. Your horse and trunks are stowed and waiting,” Fedeles countered.
“I was delayed.” For an instant Elezar wholeheartedly regretted his decision to bid Atreau a last farewell. If he hadn’t gone to Atreau’s cheap rooms he would never have seen Lord Reollos storming up the stairs and wouldn’t have raced after the man to keep Atreau from harm.
But then Atreau certainly would have died, and Elezar couldn’t wish for that either. Atreau had been a friend to him and his family for far too long.
“Elezar came to visit me, and well...” Atreau trailed off with a sheepish shrug.
“Yes, you’re becoming somewhat renowned for your knack at entangling other people in your troubles.” Fedeles scowled at Atreau with the expression of a disappointed father. In truth, the three of them were of an age—twenty-four this year; Fedeles simply wore his responsibilities more heavily.
“I’m the only one to blame,” Elezar admitted. “Atreau was hardly conscious when Reollos and I fought.”
“The man’s wife was conscious enough, though,” Fedeles responded. “She was overheard telling the physician that her husband went mad with jealousy and would have murdered Atreau if you hadn’t interceded.”
Elezar nodded but the knowledge did little to ease his guilt. He hadn’t known Reollos well—and that seemed a shame now. They might have found something in each other, if they’d only had the chance. Instead he’d killed the man.
“Then she can testify before the king’s court. Elezar and I both should go free. Or at worse perhaps pay a blood fine.” Atreau brightened a little though his complexion still looked sickly gray.
Fedeles shook his head.
“She’s the duke of Gavado’s daughter and his allies are no friends of Prince Sevanyo. She isn’t a foolish woman and I imagine as soon as she recovers from the shock of seeing her husband run through, she’ll realize how greatly it would delight the royal bishop to do away with two of Sevanyo’s loyalists—particularly two who aided Javier Tornesal in making the royal bishop look a fraud.”
“Do you really think she would demand that Atreau and I both die just to better her father’s standing?” Elezar had never cared for the intrigues of court and the current rivalry between the royal bishop and his brother, Crown Prince Sevanyo, struck him as more petty and vicious than usual. Five years ago machinations between the princes had resulted in his best friend Javier’s exile. Elezar had lost the truest friend he’d ever known. Now he stood to lose his life.
“No. As I said, Lady Oasia Reollos isn’t a fool.” Fedeles spoke harshly but his expression was pensive. “I think that even now she’s taking steps to keep the sordid details of this entire affair from being aired in trial before the king and his courtiers.”
“There has to be a trial,” Atreau objected. “Even as the fourth son of a baron I’m still a nobleman and Elezar is heir to an earldom, for God’s sake!”
“Dead men don’t stand for trial, regardless of title,” Fedeles said. “This little jail won’t offer much resistance against Lady Reollos’ men-at-arms when she sends them for you.”
“She wouldn’t…”Atreau swayed on his feet and then bolted back into the shadows of his cell and vomited.
Fedeles frowned after him then looked back to Elezar.
“I thought you were done with your days of being Javier’s Hellion,” Fedeles commented under his breath. “You told me you were finished with drinking and dueling.”
“Between Lady Reollos’ men and the hangman’s noose I definitely will be soon enough.” Elezar didn’t have it in him to tell Fedeles that he’d been sober as a stone these last three months. Only after he’d known there would be no escaping from his own actions—after the lady, her maid and both Reollos’ pages fled, abandoning Elezar to the company of Atreau’s battered, limp form and Lord Reollos’ bloody dying body—had he taken up Atreau’s open bottle of white ruin and drunk deeply of what respite it could offer.
“You’re idiots,” Fedeles ground out. “Both of you.”
“But idiots you’re fond of, yes?” Atreau staggered back to the bars of his cell. “You can’t have come just to recriminate us and let us die, Fedeles. Five years ago we risked our lives to free you—”
“I am very aware of my debt.”
“I was at sea for six months and sick the entire time and Elezar was wounded—nearly died—and suffered fines for the three men he slew in combat—”
“I’m not going to let you die.” Fedeles cut him off with an annoyed flick of his hand. “But don’t dream that it’s because I feel I still owe you anything. My debt to you is well past paid, Atreau. I’ve emptied a small treasury keeping you safe, fed, and housed these past five years. If I intercede here and now, it will be you who owes me. Do you understand?”
Atreau closed his mouth and simply nodded.
Just then the door behind Fedeles swung open and the lamp flickered low, almost plunging them into darkness. Then the flame lit back up. A guard rushed in and made a quick nod of his obligatory bow to Fedeles. From the silver insignia embroidered over the breast of his cloak, Elezar guessed he was the captain of the night watch. He looked worried and somewhat young for his responsibilities.
“My lord, it is as you said,” the captain told Fedeles. “A lady and her maids are at the door with a full company of men-at-arms behind them. They are too many for my own men to hold off.”
“You shouldn’t need to hold them off at all, my good man.” Fedeles offered the guard an assured smile. “Only give me the keys to these cells and this man’s shackles. I will take these two into my custody. Once that is done you only need invite the lady and a small escort in to see that she has come too late. She will see for herself that the prisoners she seeks have been taken from you.”
Elezar watched as the young captain considered the proposition. He seemed to take confidence just resting his gaze on the symbols of authority engraved across Fedeles’ gold collar.
“Your carriage is waiting at the rear gate, my lord.” The captain took two keys from the heavy ring at his hip and placed them, with great reverence, in Fedeles’ outstretched hand.
“Thank you,” Fedeles said. “I will not forget the service you’ve rendered this evening.”
The captain bowed deeply and then took his leave. The lamp’s flame leapt and spat at the breeze created by the closing door. Fedeles unlocked Elezar’s cell and removed his shackles. Then he freed Atreau. Though Elezar’s left forearm still bled and his bruises ached, he was in far better condition than Atreau. Up close Elezar saw the long, deep gash where his scalp had split open almost to the bone. Blood and straw matted his black hair and dark bruises colored the swollen skin around his split lip.
“Where will we go?” Atreau managed a few steps toward the door but then lurched as his balance failed him. Elezar caught him and easily took his weight.
“The ship bound for the north of Labara?” Elezar guessed. He all but carried Atreau, while Fedeles took the lamp and led their way through the dank stone corridors of the jail.
“Yes, the capital city, Milmuraille.” Fedeles spared a quick glance over his shoulder at them and then continued, “There you will remain until I send word that it is safe for you to return home.”
