Dormancy

  DORMANCY

  EZEKIAL WOJTKOWIAK

  Copyright © 2019 Ezekial J. Wojtkowiak.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  ISBN: 9781070207322

  Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Names, characters, and places are products of the author’s imagination.

  Front cover image by @CariadArt.

  Printed by Kindle Direct Publishing.

  First printing edition 2019.

  www.twitter.com/thedrownedcity

  1

  Heavy tension settled in the atmosphere.

  Music and voices spilled out into the still, frozen air, carried on the wind as they slipped out from behind wooden walls. Shadows outlined in orange firelight danced on the trampled snow, painting scenes upon the road outside the windows. Out in the cold stood a small figure. He stood there, one hand pressed against the door, hesitating. He drew in a deep breath to steel his nerves.

  He leaned one shoulder against the door and shoved the heavy door. With some resistance and a loud protest from its hinges, it swung slowly inward. The figure stumbled within, nearly tripping over his own feet.

  Cold wind swept inside, eager to steal inside with the traveler. It tossed strands of unruly black hair over his face as he pulled down his hood, and he quickly brushed them back.

  The heavy scent of alcohol and the warmth of the fire washed over him, colliding with the frozen air in the entryway.

  Merchants and travelers filled the inn, their bodies crowding the floor and tables. As much as his stomach churned as his ears filled with the dull roar of conversation, this place was safe, and its walls held light and life within.

  As he shut the door firmly behind him and pushed until it latched, he scanned the room and spotted a familiar figure across the tavern floor. She sat straight and tall at the bar, nearly six feet in height with a form fit enough to toss a keg. Her hair had been shaved close against her head on one side; the rest hung loosely over her shoulder, down to the middle of her chest. A few braids tangled in among the orange mess, which she hardly seemed to manage for all its frizz. Freckles dotted her pale skin, a star map drawn across her cheeks. She wore the loose clothes of a traveler, her northern origins written into the smears of ash along her rolled-up sleeves and her dirt-stained knees.

  The traveler pushed his way through crowds of drunken merchants. His diminutive stature let him slip between them with little trouble, ducking underneath taller merchants and darting between waitresses. He gagged on the scent of ale and sweat that clung to many of them. Then he nervously cleared his throat, the sound almost lost among the noise and the bustle.

  The woman looked to her side immediately, smiling at the sight of the cloaked man. Her shoulders relaxed, rising and falling with the sigh of relief that parted her lips as he took the seat beside her.

  “Oi! I was startin’ to wonder where you were,” she said, her accent thick and rounded, her rs rolled slightly. An accent from Weyrite, the northern nation. “Got worried for a minute.”

  “I’ve met you just fine each time, Brun,” said the traveler, moving his hair off his ashy cheeks, brushing it behind rounded ears. He took particular care to set his small braid in place over his shoulder. “You don’t need to fret over me.”

  “I’d be a poor excuse for an older sibling if I didn’t,” said Brunhild, lifting her tankard for a drink.

  “You’re a poor excuse for one now,” he scoffed, shrugging off his coat and placing it in his lap. “I’m two years older than you.”

  “But you’re willing to dismiss the fact we don’t share parents,” she laughed. “Great choice of focus there, pal.”

  “Well, you cling to me damn near enough to merit being a member of the family.”

  “Oh, do I bother you?” she teased, leaning down to nudge his shoulder.

  “I think I’ve started to hear you talk in my sleep. You never stop,” the traveler said, chuckling. The ashy shade retreated from his cheeks as warmth returned to them, and he flushed a deep, natural shade of brown. He held hands close to his chest, fingers interlaced as he warmed himself.

  “Dream me’s probably reminding you to do basic shite. Like bathing.”

  “I’m not unclean,” he said, turning his chin up. “I bathe quite often, thank you.”

  “Sure thing, stinky,” Brunhild giggled. Her nose scrunched up when she laughed, her grin wide and cheeky. He sighed and rolled his eyes.

  “So,” the traveler said. “What business do you have in Lyon?”

  “The usual,” she set her tankard down. “Eywell needs a few shipments of ore. The local smiths are running low, so I’ve got to head down the road come morning and talk to ‘em.”

  “Is that all?” he asked. “Usually he would send a hawk.”

  “Well, there’s the banquet, too.” Brun shrugged. “Discussing details and all.”

  “Banquet…?”

  “Hm?” Brunhild looked down at him, brows knit in confusion. When he didn’t respond, she gently said his name. “Koh?”

  He glanced up, pulled from his thoughts by the sound of his name.

  “He’s hosting a celebration on the first day of Llamrei,” Brunhild continued. “Inviting damn near everyone. I’ve heard it’s mostly for politics, but free food is free food.”

  A sudden wave of cold washed over him as he paused to consider. The hair on his arms stood upon end and goosebumps rose along his skin. He crossed his arms to drive off the chill, shoulders raised up to his ears as he made himself small to hold in heat.

  “I haven’t received anything addressed from Eywell’s manor lately,” he said with a shudder. “First of the next month? Isn’t that a bit soon?”

  “Aye. Strange… Don’t see why he wouldn’t invite you, of all people.” Concern passed over the woman’s face for a moment. She raised a hand to place it on his shoulder to steady him.

  He paused, lips pursed and brows furrowed as he tried to come up with some reason he would have been overlooked. A hand raised to press fingers against his lips. Maybe the lord had finally gotten sick of explaining to other nobles why he’d gotten so attached to the smith. Maybe he intended to save the invitation for when Koh arrived the next day. Either option didn’t fully make sense for a dinner only nine days away.

  “Koh,” the woman said, shaking him gently. “You alright there?”

  “You’re certain you’ve got the date proper?” Koh asked, eyes refocusing on her as he snapped back into the moment.

  “It’s what my invitation said,” said Brunhild.

  “That’s… unusual,” Koh mused. “It’s a three-day journey home. Not much time to plan a new trip now…”

  A sudden chill traveled up Koh’s spine, the cold piercing deep. He trembled and felt his limbs go weak, ringing echoing loudly in his ears. He placed his hands on the bar, leaning against it heavily to steady himself. Brunhild leaned down from her seat to hold him tighter, grasping his arm.

  “You alright?” He could hear Brunhild’s voice again as the ringing quieted.

  He nodded weakly, then swallowed hard before he parted lips again to speak.

  “Just… spent too long out in the cold, I think. I left rather late…” His words trailed off.

  His vision had wandered, drawn unbidden to a figure seated in the far corner of the room. He leaned over the bar to get a better look, peering around the other patrons between them as the dark shape caught his eye
.

  She wore a black cloak and leather armor underneath. She leaned a bit far over the table, one hand wrapped around her side, a wad of bandages between her fingers. Just out of sight rested an emblem – one he nearly recognized, but he couldn’t quite get a good enough look at to know for sure. Two nigh-identical young men sat across from her. Nothing seemed outright suspicious about the brothers, but Koh couldn’t take his eyes from the woman. His head spun when he looked at her and his eyes unfocused again.

  “… Who is she?” He asked, gesturing to the woman.

  “Dunno. Never seen her here before. Probably just a traveler on her way north to Annwyn for the winter market.” Brunhild shrugged, letting go of Koh.

  He rubbed at his temples in frustration. Quiet buzzing echoed in the back of his head when he saw the stranger. He had no reason for suspicion, yet he couldn’t explain pressure slowly building up behind his eyes.

  “I’m going to go have a word with her,” said Koh as he pushed himself from the bar with both hands, leaving behind his coat. “Save my seat.”

  “Do whatever you want. Just don’t get murdered.” She offered him a two-fingered salute and returned to her drink.

  He swiftly crossed the floor and pulled up a chair. The three looked up at Koh as he sat and moved to give him space. The two men smiled to him, while the woman looked away.

  “I’m very sorry if I’ve interrupted,” he said. More humming in his ears. “I’ve got nothing better to do for the night, so I figured I’d come say hello. Pass the time, make some friends… you know.”

  He over-justified himself and stumbled over his own excuses. His tongue tied itself into knots as he tried to force it to form coherent sentences.

  The woman looked at him, and then back to the two men sitting on the opposite side of him. Koh vaguely recognized at least one of them in the same way one recognized a fleeting face in a crowd.

  “I’m Koh Volosson,” he said, extending a hand to the men.

  “I’ve heard of you from Lord Eywell’s staff,” said one of them, shaking his hand with an enthusiastic grin. “You’re his smith, aren’t you? The one who lives in Berdrin, up in the mountains.”

  “That’s me,” said Koh. He shrugged lightly, lips drawn together in a thin line. Damn Eywell – the old man never seemed to shut up about him. “You are?”

  “I’m Andras, and this is my cousin Emyl. We travel around quite a lot.”

  “What for?” asked Koh, leaning over the table with his hands clasped together to steady himself. Dizziness washed over him again and he sucked in a deep breath, doing his best to keep his struggle hidden.

  “We’re sellswords,” Andras said, motioning to the weapon on his hip: a short sword, its blade hidden in a battered old sheath stained with mud and scratched from years of use. “We protect caravans from bandits and wild animals, mostly.”

  Koh nodded weakly, trying to pull himself back into the moment. The brothers had warm, round faces he felt he could trust, both with wild and windswept hair. They had rather pretty faces, when he considered it. Not that he would voice such a thought.

  “So, how is it that you met…?” He motioned to the woman, trailing off.

  “Eir,” she said. Her voice lilted slightly, and she shifted with discomfort.

  “We found her injured on the road on our way here. Said she was attacked by bandits, so we offered to escort her here. We were on our way to meet with a group of merchants transporting wine to Lyon,” said Andras. The only difference between him and Emyl was that he had darker, chestnut hair, while Emyl’s appeared light and blonde.

  After coming close enough to see her in detail, Eir looked rather unwell, with dark circles underneath her eyes and pale, gaunt skin. Long, wavy black hair not unlike his own in texture hung down over her shoulders. Hooded eyes looked at him with clear distrust, and he wouldn’t blame her for it either.

  “You’re wounded?” asked Koh, eyeing her to search for the source of her discomfort. She gripped her side tight and bit her lower lip. “What from?”

  She deigned not to answer him, instead looking elsewhere. He followed her gaze down, and there it was. That symbol again. Koh nearly recognized it. A lightning-like emblem that had been burned into the leather pouch on her hip, struck through with a single line from top to bottom.

  “We thought it looked like a hawk attacked,” Emyl spoke up then.

  “A hawk? That’s unusual,” said Koh. The messenger hawks of Ochren didn’t often attack travelers unless they were being harried. To be attacked by one…

  The door swung open across the floor. A group of travelers in thick furs wandered in, squeezing in between bustling tavern crowd to find a place at the bar. Koh looked back to see a disapproving Brunhild place a foot on the stool beside her.

  Emyl tapped Andras’ shoulder, and the more talkative of the brothers looked up.

  “I’m sorry to up and leave like this, but I believe that’s our party,” he motioned to the newcomers. “This is where we part. Eir, I hope you find who you seek. Sir Volosson, good fortune to you in your travels.”

  “Good fortune to you as well,” said Koh. The two sellswords took their leave, and left Koh alone with Eir.

  “So…” He ventured, after a pause much too long to feel natural. “I’m assuming you aren’t from Ochren.”

  When she bristled, he pointed to her leather bag.

  “I don’t mean it poorly. I’ve been told I’m too curious for my own good sometimes,” he smiled and leaned back in his seat, crossing one leg over the other, bouncing both nervously. “I won’t judge. I don’t hold being from Dúin against you. That’s what the emblem on your bag is, isn’t it?”

  She placed her free hand over the symbol emblazoned on her pouch. That alone was enough to confirm his suspicions. His voice dropped low to avoid being overheard when she refused to answer.

  “I’m not going to just announce it for the whole world to hear. Please, I don’t want you to feel unwelcome,” said Koh. “You’re clearly out of place here, so I figured I could… help you feel a little safer in a crowd of Ochren-born merchants and mercenaries. I don’t know.”

  She looked up and past him before she could answer. Koh felt a hand on his shoulder and heard Brunhild’s voice.

  “Koh, are you bothering our guest? I think your social skills need some help more than she does.” He heard her laugh as she sat beside him. She placed her elbows on the table and offered a hand to Eir, leaning forward with a grin.

  “Name’s Brunhild. Don’t worry about me selling you out. I’m from Weyrite.” She motioned vaguely in a direction she assumed to be north. “Don’t give a shit about the war and all. I’ve been to both countries. Not half bad, Dúin. Real pretty cities.”

  After looking suspiciously between the two, Eir eventually offered a sigh of relief, visibly allowing herself to relax. She seemed more drawn to Brunhild. He didn’t blame her. Brunhild was more sociable – there was no question about that. She still refused to take Brunhild’s hand, so the Weyrite woman withdrew.

  “Yes, I’m from Dúin,” she said quietly. Her voice floated almost ethereally to both their ears. She was soft spoken, her accent sharp and unusual. Dark steel-gray eyes looked beyond a veil of raven hair at the smith and the merchant. “Does that satisfy you?”

  Koh parted lips to respond. Brunhild quickly cut him off.

  “It does,” said Brunhild. Koh closed his mouth. “Where are you going?”

  “… Caer Sidi,” she said. “I have to get a letter to someone I know, but I don’t have enough tailings for a hawk from here. It’s less expensive in the king’s city, isn’t it?”

  “That’s right,” Koh interjected before Brunhild could. He’d be relevant in this conversation even if it ended him. “It’s about a hundred tailings from the king’s city to send a letter to someone in Dúin. What is it you’re trying to send?”

  “Koh. Quit your prying,” Brunhild clapped a hand on the smith’s shoulder. He shrugged her off.

&nbs
p; Eir had already opened the leather satchel at her hip by then. She popped the clasp with deft fingers, and looked through what appeared to be several letters, all the same dimensions and thickness. Some of them bore rips and tears, and wrinkles from being shoved callously inside the traveler’s pack. Koh couldn’t see the names written on them from his seat. Then, the woman pulled out one from the others with talon marks gouged into the top half. She flipped it around and placed it upon the table.

  On the back read the name “Pendragon”, scrawled in Lord Eywell’s hand.

  It took every bit of self-restraint Koh had not to make a comment. He bit his tongue and eyed the letter with a pained hiss. He looked sideways to Brunhild, silently asking her why this woman had a letter addressed to him in Eywell’s handwriting. He could feel his heartbeat behind his eyes, pain flowering in his head.

  Brunhild, ever the resourceful one, leaned forward to inspect the beat-up envelope.

  “Pendragon. Like Glyn Pendragon? I didn’t know the family name still existed,” she said.

  “It’s a warning for a friend of mine,” the woman said. “There’s someone who wants to kill him in his neighboring town.”

  “… Interesting,” said Brunhild, lifting the letter idly from the table. She ran fingers over the folds where it had been torn from the messenger hawk’s talons. Koh wondered briefly if Eir had killed the poor creature in the process. “I’ll deliver this for you. I’ve got plenty of tailings.”

  Brunhild pulled her coat open and tucked the letter inside. The woman from Dúin shifted. It occurred a second late to Koh that he’d sat very close to Eir.

  Koh felt her hand grasp him by the arm and yank him toward her. He stumbled out of his seat. His leg twisted and gave out weakly, allowing the woman to lift him up and near to her. Cold steel pressed against his throat, just beneath his chin. He held his breath, hands up, still as stone. He pressed both feet to the floor, his left leg trembling with the pressure, threatening to give out beneath him. The blade pressed against his skin and he held dead still. Any shift would drive it further into his throat.