The Knife's Edge (14 page)

“I suppose I was mistaken,” the guard said at last. “You see and hear strange things at this hour. The darkness plays tricks on you. What’s your name, brother?”

“You may call me, Erebos,” said the merchant.

“Was the road difficult?” the guard asked.

Erebos snorted. “I did not travel from the lands to the east, moving day and night to exchange pleasantries.”

“Whatever you say,” said the guard. “So it is time then?”

“Soon enough. We must prepare for their arrival. Are any suspicious?”

“None yet. However, there is a new presence in town giving orders.”

“Who is it?” Erebos asked.

“I’m not sure. They arrived just recently. I heard it is a woman. The watch has been doubled already. It is only a matter of time until someone suspects. I’m not sure if I can wait any longer.”

“Steel your nerves,” the merchant commanded under his breath, “The reward is well worth the wait.” A straw pricked Gray’s ear, and another tickled his nose. The desire to itch made his skin crawl, and he struggled for a breath in the stale air.

“What’s in the cart?” the guard asked abruptly, moving closer, so close Gray smelled the guard’s breath that stank of ale. If he wanted, he could reach out and grab the man’s sword from his sheath. The guard pushed at the straw with his gloved hand.

“No use looking back there, just hay,” Erebos said. “I stole the cart on my way here, and killed the man who owned it. I saw no use emptying it. It proved useful and aroused less suspicion. Now if you don’t mind, the last thing I want is to be sitting in the cold and jabbering with you. Direct me to the nearest hovel and I’ll be on my way.”

“The Golden Horn is our best inn,” said the guard, “Talk to Mishif. He knows everyone and everything that goes on within Lakewood. He’ll set you up. Till next I see you, brother.”

Erebos grumbled something in reply, and Gray heard the horse nicker as the merchant flicked his reins. The cart rumbled through the gate, and he glimpsed the tall stone walls, and the cobblestone road.

As soon as he entered the town, and got a fair distance from the gates, he slipped out the back of the cart, and rolled to the street. He ducked into the shadows of a nearby roof and caught his breath, brushing hay from his clothes.

Beyond he heard sounds of laughter and cheer. He saw colorful displays of tents. Delicious smells hit his nose and made him groan. A festival? It’s as good a place as any to look for Mura. He headed towards the lights as a round of explosions lit up the night sky.

Lakewood

F
IREWORKS EXPLODED IN THE NIGHT SKY.

“Come join us, Darius!” a group of girls called in unison.

With a smile and a bow, Darius declined, for something more interesting caught his attention. A laugh rose above the others. Cari stood behind the counter of a nearby apple stand.

Darius dodged through the crowd, and with a nimble twist ended up right in front of the stand. He rested an elbow on the counter and added a wink.

“Happy harvest, Darius,” she said shyly, but her light blue eyes were not shy.

“Evening, Cari.” She looked sweet, but somehow different. Her heart-shaped face was framed by dark wavy hair. He liked how she wore it down and loose, unlike the others girls who pulled their hair back. He realized in that moment that she was no longer a girl.

“What can I get you?” she asked.

Darius looked back. He eyed her until she blushed, then he laughed and she did the same. Appearing out of nowhere, a batch of girls swarmed in from all sides. They tugged at Cari, giggling and coaxing her to join them.

Darius turned on his most charming smile. “Evening ladies.”

“Darius,” Vivian said as she arched an eyebrow. “What sort of trouble are you causing tonight? Come, Cari,” she said, and before he knew it they had linked arms and were tugging her away.

He sighed, snatched an apple off the counter, and tossed a copper onto the empty stand. Turning, he moved into the crowd when he was hit hard. Knocked from his feet, he landed in the dirt.

Dazed, he shook his head as a hand extended before his face. He looked up into the face of a young man roughly his own age. His disheveled dark hair matched his brows, and his angular face was smudged with a thin layer of dirt and a weeks’ worth of unshaven stubble—not much more than I can grow, Darius conceded in the back of his mind.

The man’s deep-set, green eyes were the only clear feature. “Are you all right?”

Darius took the hand and stood. With his other hand, he deftly checked to make sure his bag of coins was still there. Cutpurses were rare in Lakewood, but they were not unknown.

“Quite all right,” Darius replied, brushing himself off and taking another sidelong look at the young man. “You look a bit travel worn,” he said, and thought it an understatement. He bowed. “Darius is my name. What’s yours?”

“What does that matter?”

Darius shrugged. “I just want to know, that’s all. Not many visitors to Lakewood. Don’t get your hackles up.”

The stranger looked embarrassed. “Gray,” he said, shaking his hand.

“Good,” said Darius, “Now that we have that settled, what brings you to town?”

“A friend. I’m looking for him.” Gray ran a hand through his hair, as if nervous.

“Is he a newcomer?”

“Yes, I was told to talk with a man named Mishif? Can you direct me?”

“Bah,” said Darius. “You don’t need to talk to Mishif.” He put a hand on his shoulder, drawing him in. He noticed Gray’s tattered gray cloak and its insignia of two crossed swords. “First off, he’ll talk your ear off, and go on about regulations so long that you’ll realize you’ve spent a month standing in the same spot, and your friend has off and left town. And second, because I know everyone in Lakewood, including the newcomers.”

Gray looked relieved. “That’s excellent! So then, you know a man named Mura?”

“Hm,” Darius paused, finger to his lips. “Nope.”

“But you just said…”

“I never said I was good with names,” Darius replied, raising his hands defensively. “But if you give me a description, I’d be glad to oblige.”

Gray narrowed his gaze. “All right, he’s probably a hand shorter than you.”

“Good start,” said Darius nodding.

“…And he dresses in gray and black, and he will likely be worn from travel. He will be unshaven, and he wears his gray hair pulled back loosely in a knot.”

“And he looks like he can chew leather and clean his teeth with sharp steel?”

Gray’s eyes brightened. “Yes!” he said and then paused. “Well, I suppose that sounds like him.”

“Don’t know him,” said Darius as he cuffed Gray’s arm. “Just sounded like a good description.” Gray looked as if he were ready to hit Darius in the jaw. He laughed, shaking Gray’s shoulder to ease the tension. “Hey, come on, relax.”

“I don’t need to relax, I need to find this man,” he said and turned away, once more looking over the heads of the crowd. “It’s important.”

“Hey you, stop!” A voice cut through and Darius looked up as a guard’s helmet bobbed over the heads of the crowd. The guard pressed his way through the throng of revelers, causing a commotion. He was heading straight for them.

Darius spoke quickly, watching the guard’s approach over Gray’s shoulder, “Sorry, my friend, but this is where we part. I wish you the best of luck in Lakewood and for the record, I meant no harm.”

“What are you talking about? Where are you going?”

The guard broke through the last set of men and women. Darius twisted, his fingers dangling at his side anxiously. He looked for a way out but saw none. The guard was tall and would surely see his departure. Suddenly, there was a scuffle and a man tripped, falling into the guard’s path and slowing his advance.

Now’s my chance. He gave Gray’s shoulder a parting grasp, and then slipped away, ducking through a gap in the crowds. Thanking Lokai for saving him yet again, he hurried away. But curious, he paused before he had gone too far, and looked back.

The guard grabbed Gray by the arm, and pointed angrily to his sword. Gray fought but the guard hauled him away. What? He wasn’t after me, he was after him.

Who was his new friend?

The Courtyard

T
HE GUARD PULLED
G
RAY TO A
halt.

They were on the keep upon the hill, and had taken a circuitous route through various courtyards and hallways to get here. Ahead, a series of stairs led to a training yard open to the bright night sky. It was filled with men and women in rings. In one, a man instructed while others sparred. On the far side of the yard, men faced stacks of hay with bow and arrow. Despite the time of night, the grounds were alive with energy, and shouts filled the air. A full moon and orange paper-lanterns lit the scene.

“She’s waiting for you, over there,” said the guard, pointing.

“Are you going to give me my sword back?” He eyed Morrowil, which the guard held in one meaty fist. The fool had no idea what he held.

“No. Swords are forbidden in Lakewood. It will be kept in the Tower until you leave our walls. Besides, you’ll have no need for it. Lakewood is a safe town. We make sure troublemakers like you don’t stay long.”

“We’ll see about that,” Gray said. He turned as a female’s voice, full of power and grace, cut through the din of battle. Now loose from the guard’s grip, Gray debated running. But his curiosity was too great, and he followed the voice.

As he moved through the combatants, he noticed the skill of two men who clashed in the center of a circle. Too wide a stance, he remarked as the smaller of the two retreated under a flurry of blows. Gray saw the small man’s face break out in sweat, furiously parrying. The tall man pressed the clear advantage, ready to win.

The small man will win, a voice said. He squinted, curious where the thought came from, but it was clear it was his own voice. At last the small man cried out, smoothly side stepping a thrust from the tall man and smashing down with his sword. He stopped a sliver away from the tall man’s neck. His opponent wore a look of disbelief as a round of applause erupted from the circle. Gray smiled and continued, maneuvering his way through the combatants until he came to the stand of willowy yen trees from where the voice carried.

Guards conversed over long tables with scrolls spread across their surface, while couriers in black and red livery rushed to and fro. To their right, more men and women stood in congregation. They were dressed in fine silks of rich purples and blues.

Gray heard the woman’s voice again.

“You will not see them because they do not want you to see them. Not until it is too late. Only then will they strike.

“This meeting was called for one purpose only—to discuss the future of this land, and the lives of your people. Why we are here is to piece together the truth from the rumors and decide on the path for survival.” A round of unruly voices sounded from her last word. Her voice overrode it. Gray ducked and dodged to get closer, “It is now no longer a matter of fighting and winning, you must get that through your heads this instant, or leave and fall to the coming darkness. To understand this you must understand the enemy. They are from an age where magic reigned supreme, a time with kingdoms and armies dwarfing everything you know. Even then, as you have heard from your stories, the great armies failed against them. They wield powers that you cannot begin to fathom. We have only one option, we must find safety. We must go north.”

“Run? To where?” voices broke out.

“No! We must fight!”

“You speak only of rumors!”

The woman paused, as the quarreling of voices continued. Turning slightly, her eyes locked with Gray, and he froze. She said something he couldn’t hear, and the others turned to one another, conversing heatedly as she left the circle. She approached, and Gray held his ground. She wore white silk from head to toe with a scarlet red cloak upon her shoulders—the cowl of which was pulled far forward. A tall, broad-shouldered man in green, cloaked and hooded as well, walked at her side. More like stalked, he corrected.

“So this is him,” the tall man said as if it were a long awaited announcement. Beware this man, Gray’s internal voice cautioned, eyeing the sword at the man’s side. The woman watched him.

Gray’s gaze shuffled between the two. Though he could not see their faces clearly from within their hoods, he felt their stares. They eyed him like a piece of steel before the forge. “Sorry, do I know you?” he asked.

As if waking from a spell, the woman laughed. “Forgive me,” she said. “It is one thing to hear about you, and to know you exist, and another entirely to see you in person.” She bowed. “My name is Karil, and this is Rydel,” she said with a wave of a hand. “It is truly a pleasure to meet you. Mura has told me much about you.”

He moved to grab her arm, but immediately thought better of it. “He’s all right then?”

“Mura seems to think very highly of you. I am glad to see that his admiration is not one sided. And yes, he is alive and well,” she answered, touching his hand kindly. Her touch was warm.

“Where is he? Can I see him?”