Regret's Shadow (Sins of Earth Trilogy) Read online

  “Young master!” He winced as he heard her approach.

  Colius was taking his sweet time getting situated, releasing an odious belch as he fumbled with the reigns. Dramus knew they wouldn’t be moving again in time to avoid the sales pitch of the old woman. He turned and forced a smile.

  “You’ll be needin’ somethin’ nice for yer lady friend,” the crone said. She was right next to the wagon now, carrying several bracelets and a few rings cupped in her wrinkled hands. The jewelry clinked as she reached out, surprisingly deft, and gripped Dramus’s hand, hoping to slip on a bracelet or ring.

  Something completely different greeted her touch. Immediately she jerked, eyes widening. Dramus looked on in alarm as she dropped her baubles and her bulging eyes began to cloud over. He tried to recoil, but her grip had become like a vice.

  “I see doom hover near you,” her voice was steely, strong – not the voice of an old lady, but that of a strong woman in her prime. It sent gooseflesh rippling along Dramus’s skin.

  “Fire will come for you. Death. A nightmare from the past wings toward the now.”

  Blood began to ooze from her nose, and Dramus gasped, again trying to pull away to no avail. Behind him, he heard the headmaster call his name.

  “The sins of the crown will be levied against the Realm!” this she shrieked, her eyes nearly solid white orbs.

  The wagon jerked as the horses began to canter, and for a moment Dramus was afraid he would be pulled from the bench.

  “You have the gift! Read the text in all men’s words!” was the last of her rant before her hand slipped from his arm, leaving read finger marks in his flesh. Dramus breathed heavily and turned away, gripping the bench to steady himself.

  He looked to Colius, and the man regarded him with heavy-lidded eyes. As Dramus sat straighter, he looked away from the man’s disturbing expression and back to the old lady.

  She stood alone in the street, trinkets forgotten at her feet. People were giving her a wide berth, unconsciously keeping her in a pocket of open cobblestones. Her face was hidden in her hands. Dramus was overcome with a sense of foreboding and turned back to stare ahead of the cart.

  What was that about? Did the woman have a gift? Could she see the future? It certainly seemed that way from the exchange, but Dramus was too shaken from the encounter to make sense of it. For several minutes the world passed by in a haze as the old woman’s worlds replayed in his mind.

  “We’re here.”

  Dramus started and looked around. He’d been so absorbed in his thoughts that he hadn’t noticed the cart come to a stop. He rubbernecked, taking in the immediate surroundings.

  They were in a common-looking district. The cart was parked in front of an inn, the Lamprey’s Lure. Dramus thought the name strange and a little disturbing. The façade of the building seemed well maintained, and its sign depicting an angler’s lure with a snake-like fish entwined through it was colorful. He could hear the sounds of music and laughter from within, which helped to dispel some of his doubt.

  The street lay in the shadow of the palace, its bulk rising up behind the inn to blot out the mid-morning sun. Its walls were painted a creamy white, which contrasted nicely with the blazing orange of the roof shingles. Flags depicting the Royal Seal, as well as several local pennants snapped in the wind.

  “Wait with the cart. I’ll go and secure our lodging,” Colius commanded. The wagon swayed as he dismounted. Erick immediately joined Dramus on the bench, and for a moment they two just took in the sights.

  People walked around them constantly. They both were taken aback by the sheer amount of ever-present humanity. The buildings here were crammed close in together, some of brick, some of plaster, some of wood grayed by the salt air.

  Dramus noticed more refuse along the sides of the street here, but the sea breeze actually managed to waft weakly along the street, as close as they were to the docks.

  “I can’t believe we’re here…actually here in Galloway,” Erick breathed.

  “I know,” Dramus responded.

  The two of them gawked, under the city’s spell, until Colius emerged from the inn and waddled over.

  “Snap out of it, you two bumpkins,” he said. When they turned to regard him, pulled from their sightseeing, he jabbed a finger toward an alley just past the inn.

  “Pull the wagon around to the stables in back. Our rooms are on the top floor, and there is a back stairway that will get you to them. You’ve got a lot of work to get done before dinner. I suggest you hurry.”

  With that, the rotund man put his back to them and re-entered the Lamprey’s Lure. The duo watched him go, before turning back to their rubbernecking.

  “I wonder how much gold and silver you could find all through that place,” Erick said, pointing to the palace.

  Dramus grabbed the reigns, “I don’t know, but I bet we’ll never see. I don’t think the Hogmaster is going to be keen on letting us do any sightseeing.”

  As he guided the wagon into the alley, tensing at the narrowness, Erick grinned.

  “If he’s passed-out drunk, how will he say no?”

  The sun was westering by the time the two men, sweaty and sore, joined their headmaster in the common room.

  Colius was, unsurprisingly, well in his cups by this point, and actually smiled and waved them over to his table. He’d picked a spot near to a small raised area that was used as a stage by a trio of minstrels. As they made their way through the crowded supper throng, Dramus took in the décor.

  The walls were paneled in dark wood and bedecked with many framed paintings depicting sea life, or galleons at war. The roof was low, adding to the slight sense of claustrophobia. There was no bar, only a smattering of large, round tables crowded with folk.

  Lanterns lit the center of each table, and a few hung from beams above. There was a small cast-iron stove in a corner that threw some heat, but it was largely unneeded due to the body head permeating the room.

  The headmaster was working on his supper, a plate of some kind of meatloaf, with mushrooms and dark gravy. Dramus’s stomach rumbled as he sat. Colius raised his hand again and beckoned one of the agile serving maids that wove through the crowd.

  “Bring these boys some food, would you, Girty?” Dramus and Erick were surprised by the headmaster’s gregarious tone. They were absolutely shocked when, as she turned to retrieve their meals, Colius slapped her on her ample rump. She merely turned her head and gave him a mocking smile while she disappeared through the kitchen doors.

  “Haha, I think she’s got it for me,” he said, grinning while he resumed his assault on his dinner.

  The duo said nothing, incredulous. They’d come to see a completely different side to the headmaster since they’d been on the road, but this was almost too much. He seemed more in his element in this crush of humanity than he’d ever been at the temple. Would this day never cease to amaze?

  Their supper passed in conversation, more than they’d shared in the two weeks on the road. Colius was animated as he described his meeting with the monks from the Hilltop Library, where they’d make their trades. He seemed to think that he’d get them well and truly frothing at the mouth over the titles he intended to trade to them. On the morrow they’d make the trip up the Palace Row and see what they could see.

  For their part, Dramus and Erick took advantage of the headmaster’s mood, and even partook of some of the local brew. Neither man was a drinker, mostly due to the bitter and weak nature of the beer that was made back in their temple.

  The deep, full flavor of the lager that the ‘Lure offered was enjoyable, and it was surprisingly strong. Aching muscles began to relax.

  About an hour after the young men had first sat down, two men seated near the stove rose from their table. They wore black cloaks, trimmed with red, and even in the dim light kept their hoods close.

  They made a final note of the trio from the temple, before making for the exit. As the door opened, a gust moved aside the lead man’s cloak and, h
ad they been paying attention, one of the monks might have noticed the livery of Lockhaven on his tabard before the door closed behind the two men.

  Chapter 21

  As the Barnacle pulled into the Bay of Eels, Jericho Darkcloak strode from the crew’s quarters up onto the deck.

  He made sure and keep his distance from the bow, where he knew that Lady Renmoth liked to spend her mornings. He’d managed to avoid her notice during the entire trip from Freehold, and it wouldn’t do to expose himself just an hour or so before they disembarked.

  He moved up just behind the main mast, leaning against a massive coil of rope. Vedra stood upon the raised bow, her attendant nearby. The lady braced herself against the railing, taking in the sun and the sea spray that shot up from where the Barnacle chopped through the small swells. Dressed all in white, with her red hair pulled in a bun, Jericho noted, not for the first time, her beauty.

  “Feelin’ melancholy?” The captain’s jovial voice startled him.

  He turned to watch the thick man approach. He was showing a gap-toothed grin through his wiry black beard.

  “Sad your lady friend will be departing soon?”

  Jericho couldn’t help but chuckle. Captain Zebulon was not the most refined of men, but he was loyal to the crown, and that counted highly in the Shadow’s estimation.

  When he’d come to the royal palace to inform the king that Renmoth’s servant had begun making inquiries regarding passage to Galloway, he hadn’t asked for compensation, only the king’s gratitude.

  He hadn’t been thrilled, however, when Remiel had demanded that not only was he to take the Lady Renmoth at a discounted rate, so as to assure her passage on the Barnacle, but that Jericho was to go along as a member of the crew.

  Of course, the fact that the dock master would look the other way when the Barnacle took on her cargo had helped his disposition greatly. He’d even opened up his cabin to the lady and her servant. He didn’t mind bunking with the crew anyway; he had a habit of winning at dice.

  The trip from the capital had taken a week, over rough seas. Spring storms were common along the coast, and while it hadn’t been pleasant, luck had been with them. No one had been lost, and the ship had come through intact.

  As they neared Galloway, the storms had eased and the ocean calmed. All in all, Jericho had enjoyed the trip.

  “You know me, Zeb,” he returned the man’s smile, “Love struck.”

  The captain joined him at the mast, and the two of them turned to regard the noblewoman, while Zebulon peeled off chunks of a potato and popped them into his mouth.

  “Ye’ll be leavin’ as well, eh.” It wasn’t a question.

  Jericho nodded. In fact, as the spires of the palace loomed higher in their view, his thoughts turned to getting ready. He turned, patted the captain on his shoulder and moved to descend into the hold.

  An hour later the first mate informed him that the lady had disembarked. He made his way to the deck, garbed in his more traditional black cloak and charcoal tunic. The captain met him at the gangplank.

  “She’s made for a less-than-reputable district, my friend.”

  Jericho frowned. He looked down the length of the captain’s pointing arm. Rather than higher up the slope to cleanlier and more affluent areas, he indicated further down the bay, toward a warehouse district. He wasn’t aware of the lady having any relatives or business contacts in the seedier sections of Galloway, although he had to admit he wasn’t exactly a scholar on all of her contacts.

  “Well that’s unexpected, but irrelevant to my duties.” He turned and extended his hand to Zebulon, “Thanks for the pleasant voyage, Captain. I’ve enjoyed our talks.”

  Zeb shook Darkcloak’s hand vigorously, “As have I. I trust ye’ll be makin’ a favorable report to yer king when you return?”

  With that, he winked and slapped the other man on the back, sending him on his way down the plank.

  Jericho grinned as he gained the dock, pulling his hood up out of habit. He began to stroll along the way, following after the Lady Renmoth.

  After a few blocks he picked her out from the throngs of dockworkers and fishermen, a white blaze among the dull mass.

  He fell into his routine easily enough after ten years as the king’s Shadow. At one point, he noticed that the lady’s servant, a tall, lanky man in his later years, standing among a stack of barrels, searching the crowd.

  The man had been wise to look for any unwanted attention, but Jericho was an old hat at the cat-and-mouse game. After five minutes, the attendant gave up and followed after his mistress.

  Jericho waited for him to disappear among the throng again before slipping from his hiding spot to pick up the tail.

  Twenty minutes later found them deep in the warehouse district. The strong smell of fish had receded from nauseating to merely uncomfortable, and had been joined by smells of garbage and rotten wood. While the sun still shone overhead, there was a gloominess about the place that dimmed its light.

  Jericho was fine with the ambiance. He was accustomed to working at night, and being out in the open during the day was less than ideal. He watched the servant lurk about the opening to an alley, while he crouched among some piled refuse. After a few moments, the man faded into the shadows.

  He took a circuitous route to loop around the block, coming at the other end of the alley from the west. He was just in time to see the lanky aide slip into a decrepit warehouse.

  Minutes slipped by as he patiently watched the entrance. Nothing stirred. He found a barrel in a nearby alley and used it to gain the rooftops. He circled the target warehouse, ensuring that no one was guarding any of the exits on the outside.

  He had decided that he would return under the cover of darkness, to use his gift to see the activity surrounding the place, when two men in dark cloaks emerged from the direction of a nearby thoroughfare. He crouched low as they made their way through the alley.

  They arrived at the exit, and paused. Jericho smirked as they looked up and down the street, in an obvious display of ill intent. For a moment, he worried that these men were there to do something nefarious to the Lady Renmoth, but as they entered the warehouse, he caught the symbol of Lockhaven on one tabard as he adjusted his scabbard to get through the door.

  His suspicions confirmed, he quit the rooftops and made his way out of the warehouse district, hoping to find an inn that wasn’t infested with fleas.

  Chapter 22

  Hade watched the trees pass by below. It was a sensation that was both thrilling and terrifying. The wind tossed his hair wildly, and he realized why they’d been instructed to leave their cloaks in the cabin.

  High above the forest, the airship Fancy soared. It was a marvel of magical experimentation, and when they’d first seen it, the group’s estimation of Osric Glenshadow had risen considerably.

  Constructed using the hull of a single masted schooner, the sleek craft had no sails; the mast had been removed. Two wings made with canvas stretched between wooden framework angled down and to the side amidships. A large fin of the same construction bisected the rear cabin vertically, replacing the normal rudder.

  Two large globes made of white quartz protruded from the bottom of the hull on either side of the keel. They glowed with a soft rose light, as the magic the three apprentices managed coursed through them.

  The lord mages had laughed at Osric’s designs, telling him it was a flight of fancy to convert a schooner into a flying vessel. He’d been pleased to name the craft in their “honor”.

  On the deck with Hade stood Ethelrynne, Heldvir, Veld, and Tinder. They had split the group at Vizerburg, hoping to help the city’s garrison prepare for the coming assault.

  Chazmyr and Brendle would remain in the city, while Leaf would make haste to return to the Arbor and inform the king of what was transpiring. Mayhap he would find his concern for his daughter outweighed his pride.

  Enella Rowe had brought them to Osric’s tower, where they were forced to inform the four appre
ntices that lived there of their master’s decision to stay behind. They were clearly upset, but somehow unsurprised by their master’s actions; Osric was known as a deeply altruistic man.

  “He wouldn’t have stayed if he didn’t honestly believe he could help,” a young man named Dillon had said at the time.

  “Master Osric has always been willing to give you the shirt of his back, if he thought it would help.” This came from a middle-aged woman with brown hair and striking grey eyes who went by the name Ms. Willow. She seemed to be the leader of the small band of budding wizards.

  She stood now behind the airship’s ornate helm, guiding their flight with subtle moves of the massive wheel. Her eyes glowed with silver brilliance as she exerted her will over the Arcane.

  Ms. Willow had been the one to take them to the airship where it was berthed in a hangar carved from the side of the gorge in Vizerburg. Hade and his group had been more than a little dubious as she’d described the operation of the machine, but they had little choice.

  Freehold was a thousand miles to the west, as the crow flies. If they were going to make it in time to make a real difference for the eastern frontier, they were going to need to rely on desperate measures.

  There had been some initial panic as the ship hovered over the eastern half of the city, rising ever-so-slowly to emerge over the lip of the gorge and point west to begin their journey. In the hours since, however, trepidation had been replaced by wonder.

  The elves were especially enamored with the craft. They had spoken to Hade about elf magic, different from that of humans in that they harnessed what they called the Will of Valia to shape wood, glamour weapons and tools, and heal the sick and wounded.

  None of the group possessed such skill, but having seen the princess’s magical bow, Hade didn’t doubt the potency of the magic.

  The ability to let such a group feel what birds must feel as they soared among the clouds was beyond all but the most gifted of elven druids. Even then, those wizened souls could transform themselves into avians, but not other people. The rangers had spent the first hour in silent wonder, with glowing grins upon their faces.