THREE

In Darkness

Wens needed a drink.

He had been wandering aimlessly now for a over an hour. The adrenaline was gone. Weariness was setting in. He was lost. He needed to find somewhere safe to hole up, get his bearings, and think. Unfortunately, he was still in Whitehill Ward so two out of three wasn’t bad. Safety would have to wait.

Up ahead, Wens saw a tavern that looked less questionable than the rest of the run-down buildings. It was at the end of the street and on the corner. The place had a sign hanging out front with a depiction of a jester’s bell cap and the large goblet. The sign read The Fool and Goblet.

It seemed as good a place as any this late at night, so Wens stomped up the planks leading to the door. He was tired. That explained how he didn’t notice the other man. The man appeared next to him and reached for the door handle at the same time.

Wens was used to other people deferring to him and kept reaching regardless. The stranger evidently had the same experience.

Their hands collided on the door handle in the dark. He looked up into the eyes of the older, grizzled man and saw no humor.

Wens flinched and yanked his hand back from the door, remembering his disguise.

“Pardon me, sir.”

“I’m no sir, boy. But I’ll be goin’ in before you nonetheless.”

“Age before beauty after all,” said Wens before he could stop himself. Whoops.

The older man stopped, half-stepped into the doorway, turned his head, and stared straight into Wens’ soul. The fiery light from inside The Fool and Goblet poured out around his broad silhouette. Wens managed an awkward smile. He needed to figure out how to better interact with these common folk or he was going to die. Painfully.

The gruff old man turned and entered the tavern. Wens whisked in behind him.

The old man clomped over and boomed a greeting to a table of patrons. Wens made the decision to head the other direction and sit at the bar.

There were a couple tables with patrons, but for the most part, the tavern was as deserted as one would imagine this late at night. Even the table where the old man had gone was muted now. Wens smiled. It was perfect for a quiet drink.

Wens picked out one of the half-dozen stools. He sat down, and leaned on the long, empty bar. He looked at the bartender.

“A mug of bitter ale, please,” said Wens.

“Are you trying to say there’s ale in my barrels that’s not bitter?” asked the portly, bald, and growly barkeep.

“Yes?”

The large man behind the bar grunted. He reached under the back of the bar and grabbed a mug. After wiping it off, he filled it from a large barrel and set it down in front of Wens.

Then he did the same thing again.

Wens had the first mug halfway to his lips when the second one hit the bar top in front of him. He paused his sip and lifted an eyebrow at the bartender.

“It’s not yours.”

Wens set his mug back down and opened his mouth to ask the obvious question.

“You look familiar,” came a deep, pitted voice from behind him.

Wens’ heart skipped a beat. He’d been discovered. He was never going to be able to move among the commoners at this rate. He’d have to start wearing one of those itchy false noses or something.

“Do I know…,” Wens started as he turned around. It was the old man he’d wrestled with at the door. Now that he was up close in the light, he didn’t look that old. Wens tried to hide the relief coloring his face.

“Oh. Hello,” he said instead.

“You’re in my seat, boy.”

Again with the boy? Wens couldn’t have been more than a dozen years younger than this man even though he appeared far more worn. Wens looked to his left at the empty stools. Then, he made a show of turning his entire body and looked to his right. His was still the only stool occupied. Really? Commoners!

“Oh,” he repeated. “Sorry, let me move over.”

Wens picked his mug up and moved down one spot to the right. It would be awkward, not to mention showing too much deference to move farther down. The not-so-old man took Wens’ old seat.

“Thanks for keepin’ it warm for me.”

“You’re welcome,” said Wens. He took his first sip of the ale. It was indeed bitter.

The man wrapped a huge, scarred hand around his mug and took a long pull of his own ale. When he placed it back on the bar, he had a bit of foam in his whiskers. He lifted his other, equally scarred hand and wiped the froth from his stubble with his knuckles.

“What are you lookin’ at, boy?”

“Boy? You mean me?” Wens was suddenly very interested in the quiet, boring table of patrons across the room. “Nothing.”

Wens was able to get a good look at the man’s hands. They were each a giant mass of burn scars. It looked as if he’d put his hands in a campfire and let them roast for a while.

The older man grunted and sipped from his mug. Wens tried to turn his thoughts back to defusing the Amon’s blackmail attempt.

“How’s Ellie?” The barkeep pierced the silence. He was wiping out some empty mugs. They didn’t look any cleaner for it.

“She’s good.” The older man was stretching his hands out in front of him. He gripped and flexed them as if working some stiffness out. “She came in with a rat half her size yesterday. Damn girl is goin’ to be eaten herself some day.”

Wens was drawn back to the man’s hands. How did that happen? It was a distasteful mental image, but shouldn’t the flesh have melted off? And how was it the rest of him was not burned at all.

“I pity the rat that eventually eats her.” The barkeep chuckled, making his shoulders and belly bobble up and down, slightly out of sync. “In fact, I pity the rats, the people, and all the buildings in the whole ward.”

The older man let a wide smile onto his face. “Aye. She’s my girl, for sure. What do you think about that, boy?”

Wens snapped his eyes up to the man’s face. He’d been listening to them and staring at his scarred hands this entire time.

“What happened to your hands?” He couldn’t help it.

The bartender took that moment to find a section of bar to wipe down. It was at the far, far end of the bar.

“What do you mean?” The man lifted his disfigured hand, holding it flat and rotating it in the lamplight. A smooth, gold and ruby ring encircled the smallest finger of the hand. It caught the flicker of the light and seemed to pulse with warmth. In contrast, the jagged white ridges of the burn scars looked tight and painful.

“How did you get the scars?”

“Ahh… Yes.” He put his hands on the bar out in front of him, the fingers of both spread wide. “There’s quite a story to that. Do you have time?”

“I do.” Wens’ curiosity was piqued now. He didn’t have time for his curiosity to be piqued.

To make himself feel better, he decided this was good practice for relating to common people. He was going to listen to the story and make the appropriate noises and nods. He had common empathy. He was one of them.

It wasn’t at all because he was genuinely curious.

“Well, okay. But, you’ve got to promise to keep it to yourself.” The man looked over his shoulder at the table where he’d been talking earlier. They seemed to be intent on their own small conversation. “It’s kind of a private story.”

“Sure. I can keep a secret,” Wens whispered. This was going to be good.

The man leaned in, ready to conspire. Wens leaned in, ready to encourage.

“I burned ‘em!” the man shouted in Wens’ ear. Loud. It was a stone-cracking bellow.

Wens shrank back, face crinkled, and snatched his head away. His left ear was ringing. He was pretty sure he was going to lose the hearing in it. Well, probably not, but that was awfully loud.

He cracked open an eyelid and peered over his left shoulder at the old man. Wens could now hear his great big belly laugh amidst the ringing in his ear.

His whole body was quaking as peals of laughter erupted throughout the rest of the room. The bartender was leaning heavily on the bar, his elbows supporting his convulsing girth. It looked to Wens like the man was crying. The patrons by the door were pounding the table and slapping each others’ backs.

Apparently, this wasn’t the first time a stranger had asked about his hands.

Wens took a deep breath as the ringing began to subside. He straightened, faced the old man, then cocked his head to the side.

“Well, you know what they say.” Wens bobbed his chin.

“And what’s that, boy?” The man was wiping tears from his cheeks, elbows out to each side, with the backs of both his burned hands.

The room was quiet. Expectant.

“Build a man a fire, and he’ll be warm for a day,” Wens said as he set his mug down on the bar. He looked straight into the man’s eyes and finished loud enough for the whole room to hear. “However, throw the man into that fire, and he’ll be warm for the rest of his life.”

After a long pause, the entire room erupted with laughter. The old man laughed hardest of all. He rocked back on his stool and clapped Wens on the back. It hurt.

Wens let out a long breath and lifted his close-to-empty mug to the barkeep who was laughing along with the rest of them. Wens had passed the test. He knew he could relate to these folks.

The chuckles eventually faded and the older man wiped away his tears once again.

“The name’s Eluan.”

“Wens. Wens Darktooth.”

Eluan choked, spluttered, and snorted into his new mug of ale but didn’t drown. He did, however, explode foam all over the bar in front of him. He coughed.

“Darktooth? Really?” Eluan grimaced.

“Yes, sir.” Wens hadn’t meant to frighten the old man with his name.

“Wens Darktooth it is then.” Eluan wiped up the foam with his sleeve. “Can I buy you another pint, son?”

“I’d love one.” It was late. Wens was tired. He was feeling accepted — And it felt wonderful. It had been so long since he’d had honest camaraderie, unaffected by his rank or family. He’d forgotten how it felt. It was exquisite.

The next two hours blinked by.

It was truly late. Almost sunrise. No matter how much Wens was enjoying Eluan’s stories, he wasn’t making progress. He was going to lose his position with King Egan. And he was sitting, drinking in a tavern.

There was a lull in the conversation and Wens leaned forward, his hands wrapping around both sides of his sixth or seventh pint. The smooth wood was cold and slick. He had to get moving.

“What’s the matter, Wens?”

“What? No ‘boy’? No ‘son’?” Wens looked back up at Eluan.

“You seemed so serious all of a sudden. What’s the problem you’re chewin’ on?”

Wens shook his head and went back to staring into his ale. “It’s just that I don’t even know where to start. …”

“How about the beginnin’?”

“It’s not that easy. There’s a man trying to destroy me. Normally, I would just take it upon myself to crush him first, but there’s a woman who is complicating things.”

Eluan chuckled. “They always do.”

Wens didn’t even notice Eluan had spoken. “Not to mention, if I do nothing, we could go to war.”

He inhaled a short, surprised breath and glanced over at Eluan. Wens was deep in his own head now and wasn’t paying attention. He shouldn’t have mentioned war.

“A war? Son, war is when our Kingdom marches against the Sush. It’s not when you and some turd fight about a girl.”

Did Eluan just call Viscount Amon Mantisarr a turd? At least he took Wens’ words to mean a fight between a couple spurned suitors.

“It’s slightly more … political than us simply fighting over a girl.”

“I doubt the King of Agon or the Margrave of Rainn would go to war over anythin’ you’ve done. Or anythin’ that was done to you,” Eluan continued. “I’ll tell you what, as soon as my brother gets back, I can get you in to speak with him.”

Eluan took a small sip of his ale, a soft and proud smile playing across his lips. Wens assumed it was because Eluan loved his brother deeply. It was a nice thought.

“He married well for himself. Found himself the daughter of a minor noble, he did,” said Eluan with a curt nod that confirmed Wens’ suspicion.

“He’s even made a name for himself recently, workin’ for a high lord, I think. He won’t tell me who. Says it was a secret, but I would bet a ten-span of mortar it’s a Viscount. Maybe even the Margrave himself.”

Wens nodded, trying not to look doubtful. A newly minted noble, even a minor one, might recognize him from court. It was best he stay away him. Especially if his brother was sharp enough of eye and mind to be spying around with the different factions. He might even be working for Amon.

Yes, it would be in his best interest if Eluan forgot the offer altogether. Wens lifted his mug, mind chasing a polite way to rebuff his new friend’s offer of help.

“I’m sure Jylai has earned some powerful respect. If there’s a merchant botherin’…”

Wens stopped in mid-sip, “Did you say Jylai? Jylai Derr?”

“What? Aye. I’m Eluan Derr. Do you know my brother?” asked Eluan.

Wens sat up straight, turned and met the older man’s eyes evenly. “Eluan, I shouldn’t be the one to tell you this, but your brother is dead.”

Eluan could have been a statue.

He sat there, staring through Wens, the only sign of life was a fiery intensity blazing in his eyes. Wens was suddenly very glad he had nothing to do with the death of the man’s younger brother.

“How?”

“Murdered. I have no proof, but I know it was Viscount Amon Mantisarr and his henchman, Thred Angum.”

“Aye. I’ve run into Thred Angum.” Eluan was gripping his iron mug in his right hand. It hovered, unsteady beneath his unshaven chin. A trick of the tavern’s light combined with Wens’ exhaustion made it look as though tendrils of steam were rising from the liquid.

Eluan put the steaming mug down on the top of the bar. He shifted in his stool away from Wens to face the large barrel of ale which had been filling their mugs all night.

“Let’s just say Thred and I have always been on opposite sides of the fence.” He glanced down at his hands laying on the bar. “And, I have the scars to prove it.”

Eluan turned and glared under his brows and over his right shoulder at Wens. “How do you know, boy? And you shouldn’t lie to me. Not now.”

Wens swallowed.

Was he wrong? The man who had been like a gruff but jovial grandfather was absolutely terrifying right now. And yes, that pint on the bar was steaming heavily now. It was no trick of the light. No wonder Eluan’s hands were burned. Holding scalding metal mugs hot enough to steam liquid would do that.

Wens glanced at the barkeep. He was sweating. Nervous and gulping, he kept looking over at the two of them.

Eluan’s friends over at the table were all silently staring at him now. They looked nervous. A couple of them decided it was time to go home. A third was loosening the laces at his throat. They were all sweating as much as the bartender.

It wasn’t hot in the tavern. That meant everyone who knew Eluan was extremely nervous right now. That meant Wens should have kept his mouth shut.

Eluan leaned and whispered. “Well?” There was silence in the room. A bead of sweat trickled down the side of Eluan’s grim face.

Wens was right. Amon and Thred killed Jylai. They had to have. All of the facts he knew pointed that direction. Amon despised Cyriac. Jylai was a retainer of Cyriac’s. Jylai was a spy. Amon was making a huge play for power. Jylai was dead.

“I saw Thred stick a knife in him,” he lied.

“I was digging around out behind the stables of Stormhall.” Wens gestured to his itchy stableman’s coat. “There’s a pond, a deep one. It’s where the horses often drink. I saw a boot sticking up out of the mud. I pulled on it. Jylai and a bunch of rocks were wrapped in a canvas sheet.”

“How did you know it was him?” Eluan’s mug was starting to bubble. His eyes were death.

“I’d helped him with his horse before,” he lied again. “He was friendly.”

“Aye. He was.” Something relaxed in the old man. It seemed to have a physical effect on the room. Everyone else in the tavern caught their breath all at once. The bartender let out the long, slow sigh of relief he’d been holding in.

Eluan sat but did not touch his drink. His face sagged with sadness. Without looking at Wens, he said, “It’s best if you leave, son.”

The barkeeper gave Wens a nod towards the door and turned back to Eluan. “Here, I’ll get some breakfast started for you. You’re going to be hungry.”

Wens climbed off his stool and reached into a pouch hanging at his waist. He pulled out a handful of coins, hopefully enough to cover most of their drinks, and dropped them on the bar.

He gave the grieving man a last look, “I’m sorry for your loss, Eluan. Truly, I am sorry.”

Wens walked over the door, opened it, and left. For the first time tonight, he knew exactly what he needed to do. He needed to get some sleep because he was going to visit Cyriac Edos’s estate himself.

---

Moments after Wens closed the tavern door behind himself, Eluan stood and walked to the back corner of the room. There was a heavy oak door with a small, silver shield worked into the knocker. Eluan banged it once.

After a moment, the door opened a crack. Light shone through.

“Yes?”

“I have bad news,” said Eluan.