Dormancy Page 2

  Their table sat tucked far enough out of the way that no patrons could see them immediately. No one came rushing to their aid.

  “Return the letter or I cut this one’s throat.”

  “Tell me why it’s so important you do it yourself,” Brunhild said calmly. She showed no outward sign of tension, though Koh could tell she roiled in anger inside. Her voice remained low, quiet enough the other patrons couldn’t hear.

  “The red knight will kill the white king,” the Dúinite woman said. “My prince’s life is in danger if he comes to meet him without knowing he lives.”

  The knife adjusted slightly against Koh’s skin. He held his breath.

  “The white king… your prince… that’s this Pendragon character?” Brunhild asked evenly.

  “No,” said Eir, voice hardly above a whisper.

  “Is he the red knight, then?”

  “I don’t need to explain to you when there are lives at stake,” she hissed. “Everything depends on this Pendragon figure being gone.”

  The pain in Koh’s head had steadily grown worse. As they spoke, he closed his eyes tightly and breathed in through clenched teeth. Brunhild looked up to him, masking well the fear that twisted in her chest. He felt Eir adjust behind him. The swirling air inside the inn had started to feel warm, and he shifted slightly in discomfort. It was too hot in here.

  “Can you please let me go?” He asked softly, voice wavering in fear. He spoke just a touch too loud over the ringing in his ears. He heard voices and shouting from across the floor. The distinctive draw of steel followed.

  Gripped by instinct, he flung his body back, his right leg pushing hard against the floor. He felt the back of his skull collide with Eir’s nose and heard a definitive crack. She cursed loudly. The knife pulled away from his skin and hands shoved him forwards, onto the floor. He gasped and crumpled to the ground. He saw the woman stand from her seat and turn to flee, only to come face to face with Andras and Emyl. As his vision blurred and the edges darkened, he watched Brunhild stand from her seat and grab a bottle of wine from the next table over. Shouting ensued and the pounding in Koh’s head grew stronger. Brunhild pulled her arm back and swung full force at the thief’s head. The bottle shattered against her, and she toppled over beside the smith.

  The next thing he knew, he looked up at the ceiling, Brunhild’s arms underneath him. They’d been surrounded by concerned patrons that leaned over one another to get a look at the two of them. It felt as if no time had passed at all. He’d simply blinked and found himself here. Eir had disappeared entirely, and not even a body laid nearby.

  “Oh, dear…” Koh breathed in through his teeth. The back of his head ached, but the throbbing in his skull had gone.

  “Stay down,” Brunhild said firmly. “You won’t help anything right now by pushing yourself.”

  “You’ve just killed someone, haven’t you?” Said Koh. “I… she’s dead, isn’t she? That hit…”

  “She was a thief, a spy for Dúin, and she wanted to kill you. Don’t try and justify her life.”

  “I…”

  “… She managed to crawl away,” Brunhild sighed. “But I did hit the bitch hard. Wouldn’t be surprised if she never showed her face again. I’ll let Eywell know tomorrow and he’ll have a reward put out for her head.”

  Koh breathed out and laid back against the floor, feeling the strength drain from his limbs.

  “Suppose we know now where your invitation went,” said Brunhild, reaching into her coat to pull out the letter with the name Pendragon on the back.

  Koh chuckled and reached to take it in his own hands.

  “Do you think he’ll stop putting my mother’s surname on my mail after I tell him of this?”

  “He thinks it’s novel,” Brunhild laughed and offered a gentle shake of her head. “I don’t think he’ll ever change.”

  He smiled weakly, laying in her arms and staring up at the ceiling as his thoughts wandered and he regained his bearings.

  Still, the events confused him. How did he know the woman would be carrying his invitation? Who did she mean by the red knight? Surely, she couldn’t mean she believed Koh would kill a prince.

  2

  Forty-one inches for the chest, thirty-nine for the waist; the same measurements Lord Eywell always had. Koh could never fathom why the aging man kept calling him back to Lyon each time he wanted to commission a new piece. He’d arrive in the morning hours, spend some time socializing with the palace servants until the lord’s responsibilities were finished, and then spend several hours discussing the details of Eywell’s newest ideas. Each time, they went through the same worn-out routine.

  “You know,” said the smith, folding up his measuring tape. “I don’t know why you keep making me take the same exact measurements.”

  “I’m going to start shrinking sooner or later. I’m finally getting past my peak years!” The older man said, clapping Koh on the shoulder as he turned to leave. The smith stumbled a few steps, struggling to get his footing again.

  “I don’t think those old bones of yours would support a suit of armor at that point,” Koh scolded quietly as he seated himself at Eywell’s desk.

  “Perhaps a shirt of mail to wear when I become bedridden from my own old age, then,” Eywell said.

  “You have plenty. Wear one I’ve already made you.” Koh rolled his eyes and stooped to pull a pad of paper and stick of charcoal from his pack. The torn letter shifted beside them and he eyed it for a moment, before thinking better of it.

  “Then I would never hear from you again.” Eywell’s face pulled into an almost offended expression. All in jest, of course, as old men were wont to act.

  As Koh began sketching out designs, Eywell stood across the room and admired his shirtless torso in the mirror, posing and pursing his lips like some sort of model. His high hips and wide waist made it hard for him to find other men to give his armor to, thus his collection didn’t ever seem to shrink. Koh couldn’t find a reason he kept being called back to Lyon except for that the aging man simply wanted to see him and regale him with his escapades.

  Koh sat cross-legged on the cushioned seat, his stick of charcoal already rolling idly between his fingers, poking at his lips in consideration. He gave an amused snort as Eywell postured, moving to brush back a strand of unruly black hair from his face. He left a smear of charcoal by mistake across his dark cheek and didn’t seem to notice.

  “How did your discussions with Lady Cadi go? You’ve just come back from Annwyn, haven’t you?”

  “Lady Cadi is just as concerned as I am for winter’s onset,” said Lord Eywell, tone becoming grim. “We may need to reach out to Caer Sidi for rations. It’ll empty our pockets a good deal, but we have to keep our people fed once Llamrei’s snows begin.”

  “I heard the harvest had to be cut short this year, after the frosts set in early.” Koh affirmed. He’d begun to make sweeping lines and curling scales. “Have you considered asking Berdrin for aid? We’ve always been alright in the worst months.”

  “I sent a messenger hawk to each province. It seems as if almost all of them will struggle as much as Lyon this year.”

  “Is Lyon more or less well off than Annwyn?”

  “More, I think,” said Lord Eywell. He’d moved from his mirror to admire a painting of himself. “We’ll have to see once the harvest ends.”

  “Will you open the castle grounds again this year to the hunters of Lyon?” Koh asked. The beasts he had drawn on the pages of his sketchbook began to look recognizable.

  Lord Eywell sighed and moved to lay across a chair turned around from his desk on the far side of his chambers. He stretched his legs out and let his head loll back. He hardly let himself sit with company near, let alone to sprawl out across his space. Koh bit nervously at his lip as he watched Eywell go limp.

  “I’ll have to. If we don’t have the capacity to carry Lyon and Annwyn through the winter month, I’ll have to open my personal hunting grounds. Truly, I should be doi
ng more,” said Eywell.

  “I think you’re awfully generous as is, Lord Eywell,” Koh said, finally lifting his gaze from his sketches. “You’ve been a loyal patron to my family for sixteen years.”

  Koh bit back a comment that he felt the last seven of those were fueled by guilt.

  “I’d be a fool not to give my patronage to a man with the name Pendragon,” Eywell laughed from his seat. “If I had more faith in the old stories, I would give you my entire castle and parade you around Caer Sidi.”

  “You know it’s merely coincidence, Lord Eywell,” said Koh, returning to his sketches to avoid looking at the man. A knot tied in his gut as his heritage again became Eywell’s focus. He eyed his open pack, and the letter addressed there to that name.

  “I know. But could you imagine if it weren’t? We would finally have reason to take the thrones at Stoven Keep, if we could put a king on them,” Eywell gestured tiredly.

  “… Eywell,” Koh said.

  “Yes?”

  “Have you ever heard of a red knight…?” He ventured, placing a hand on the drawstring of his bag. He poised, ready to reach for the letter should he need it.

  “Never in my life,” said Eywell, offering the smith a shrug. “Is it something important?”

  “… No, not at all,” Koh shook his head briefly, then pulled his hand back up to his pad of paper. “Speaking of the Keep, how has it been? Has there been any news from the front?”

  The smith had long since made it clear his interest in the war was feigned, but he’d receive an answer regardless. Eywell never seemed to tire of the sound of his own voice.

  “I received a hawk three days ago. It’s been quiet since Aur.”

  “Wasn’t there an attack recently?” asked Koh.

  “Hm,” Eywell grunted. “I’ve been told a roc rider attacked. If those bastards have learned to tame rocs, we have much to fear. Though, I’m certain rocs don’t live in the southern countries.”

  “Roc or not, is it true a whole company burned?”

  “Only one man survived. He insisted in his report it was a roc. So… suppose it must be a roc.” Eywell tossed his hands up in defeat and fell silent. The conversation had run its course.

  Koh nodded, biting at his lips and peeling away the dry skin there as he returned to his sketches. Lord Eywell stood and swept across the room, leaning over Koh’s shoulder to see what he had drawn with hands folded neatly behind his back.

  “Dragons, hm?”

  “Huh?” Koh looked down at what he had drawn on the breastplate.

  Winding dragons, breathing flames that wrapped around their bodies and spreading their ribbed wings. Their maws opened wide, teeth bared, faces twisted with rage. Claws extended toward one another and interlocked, two twin dragons faced off in battle. A story of conquest to be written out in steel.

  “That’s worth nearly twice what I offered, Pendragon. Are you sure you can manage that level of detail?” Eywell asked, stroking his beard thoughtfully.

  “I… well… My apologies, my lord. I’ll fix it…” Koh stuttered and moved to smear away his drawings, embarrassed. Eywell placed a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

  “I like the idea. Leave it. I’ll send you home with a few extra coltans,” said Lord Eywell.

  The lord then reached down and ruffled the younger man’s hair then left to cross the room. He lifted a loose blouse from the back of his chair, shrugging it on over his shoulders. Eywell tied his long white hair back and flicked it over his shoulder, then took a moment to step in front of the mirror to make sure he looked presentable. He tucked the blouse into the waist of his pants, speaking as he tidied himself.

  “Ask Enid about your payment. Tell her to give you fifty coltans, by my orders. If she gives you any trouble, let me know and I’ll have the little beast scrubbing twice the dishes she usually does.”

  Koh bowed his head, picking up his sketchbook and charcoal. He stood from the lord’s desk, taking a moment to get his feet about him. The smith nearly toppled over in the first few seconds, before steadying himself with one hand on the chair.

  Koh tucked the sketch pad neatly underneath his arm, then placed the stick of charcoal behind his ear. The charcoal nearly disappeared against his dark hair, an indistinguishable shape among it in the dim castle lights. The sun had begun to slip below the trees in the west, and Eywell’s castle existed in the space between day and night. The hour of twilight, where the sun’s last rays fade and die before they can light the land, but the light of the lamps still pales against its radiance, and everything appears dark in even the most brightly lit places. Some people believed this to be the hour in which the twin gods had once breathed their last.

  “I’ll see you again in a few weeks then, Lord Eywell,” Koh said curtly. He offered the man a brief bow, which Eywell dismissed with a wave. He’d long since given up on trying to tell Koh that formalities were unnecessary.

  Eywell guided Koh to the door of his chambers, opening it for him. Creases etched into his face by age folded as the man smiled. Koh knew his company brought Eywell no small degree of comfort.

  “Ah, I forgot to ask! Would you have that done by the banquet, son?” Eywell nearly jumped at the realization that he’d forgotten to mention their next meeting.

  “I can certainly do my best,” Koh said curtly. A tall order, to finish a decorative cuirass in only a few days.

  “I assume my letter arrived safely, then?”

  Koh placed his hand over his messenger bag, covering the top opening. He’d refrain from showing the lord the hawk-torn envelope – Eywell didn’t need any more reason to stress over his smith.

  “It has,” he said.

  “Safe travels then, Pendragon.”

  “I’ll see you in Llamrei,” said Koh.

  He pulled the door closed behind him and heard the lock quietly latch.

  The front of the castle never failed to impress Koh, no matter how many times he’d seen it already. It opened into a large room lit by an exorbitant chandelier hung from a painted chapel ceiling. Red carpet lined the floors, off-white walls and arching ceilings reflecting the light well. Warmth gathered in the entryway and light filled even the darkest corners; the thick stone kept the winter’s howling winds at bay, and the lamplight drove out the shadows. Yet for all the warmth in this room, little of it came from the bodies of people. Such a large castle certainly had servants, but they scarcely roamed its winding halls. They often carried out their tasks elsewhere, keeping the place running in the kitchens, in the laundry room, in the gardens and the stable, and in the vaults.

  Koh much preferred simpler styles of living. He preferred his own, small home filled with the scent of candles and pine and old fur coats, petrichor soaked deep into the logs.

  He picked a slim-fitting jacket from a coat rack beside the door. Fur-lined leather had become popular in recent years, produced by one of the larger trade companies of Albion, warm inside and fashionable as well. Koh pulled it around his shoulders tightly, and it warmed his chest and smelled of tanned fur.

  A voice interrupted his momentary appreciation of warmth, and he looked down to see a small, feline figure.

  A common house brownie stood beneath him, no larger than two feet tall, arms crossed and eyes narrowed at Koh. She had a good deal of grey fur shocked through her orange pelt, and an attitude to match her old age. Brownies were fey creatures, bound by contract to serve the lord or lady they had been called out of the forest by. The ones most people knew of had been employed to clean the homes of nobles, deliver messages, or carry out errands.

  “Has Eywell decided to tip you again, then?” She asked, tapping one foot impatiently against the ground. Brownies had something between human feet and feline paws for hindquarters. Koh found it a little unsettling at times that they so closely resembled housecats. Not to mention the terribly persistent urge to pet them.

  “He has,” he said. “Fifty coltans total.”

  “Bastard,” the brownie growled in the ton
e of an inconvenienced grandmother. “Someday I’ll string him up by his smallclothes and leave him to dry above the castle parapet, and I’ll only let him down when he learns how to manage his money!”

  She sighed, and despite her words she reached into a pouch tied around her belt to pull out a few coins.

  “Five ten-coltan pieces will do it for you, I’m guessing?”

  “A ten-coltan piece is a lot for an innkeep to break, Enid. It’s only going to cost me one for a stay overnight.”

  The brownie didn’t have excellent money management skills, either, for all she berated Eywell for it. Brownies usually lived in small colonies on the fringes of society, in the woods and in the mountains, bartering animal bones and pelts for craft. Enid had never been in the service of another except for Lord Eywell, and while she enjoyed his company, she had a mind like his when it came to trade.

  “Then I’ll give you five single pieces, a five, and four tens.” She shook her head, ears waving with the motion. Koh suppressed the urge to reach down and pet them.

  She reached into her pouch again and dug around for the appropriate coins to hand to Koh.

  “Thank you, Enid. Lord Eywell should be thankful to have you.”

  “He’d better thank me enough to make up the gap in my salary and the servants’, and no more.” She scoffed. If the contract-holder thanked her for her work, it would imply she’d done more than she agreed to and had been taken advantage of. At least, that was how Koh had been told to understand the strange workings of the house brownies.

  The first lesson of a contract with a house brownie: never give them anything that can be interpreted as pity. Their services must be directly compensated, else they take great offense. Thus, they are never to be given gifts or extra pay. Koh found them strange for such things – he greatly enjoyed gifts.

  “Then I’ll thank you for carrying out his will for me,” said Koh. He’d been told his thanks were acceptable, as Enid wasn’t in Koh’s personal employ.