The Forgotten King (Korin's Journal) Read online

  Speaking of which, having been so close to Max divulging his secrets only to have them swept away with his abduction frustrated me beyond words. He’d at last been ready to reveal what he knew about my parents. About the prophecy that supposedly concerned me. About Raijom.

  But now, here I was, simply hoping that Max would remain safe and unharmed until I could find him. It was hard to care about anything else. Well, except Sal’, of course.

  Though a warm meal and a soft bed was an inviting prospect, we steered away from the city. With Estus being so large, much larger than Byweather or Geeron, we would’ve easily lost precious hours just trying to find an inn with available rooms. Besides, there’d undoubtedly be smaller towns nearby, ones sustained by the commerce coming and going from the capital city. We’d be able to find a room and restock our supplies more quickly and easily in one of them.

  ****

  By the light of the next night’s full moon, we arrived at the small town of Laurlan. Laurlan’s thatch-roofed houses were arranged in a circle around a large clearing. The unpaved road running through the center of the town was thick with mud from a violent rain that had ended shortly before our arrival. There were no street lamps; the only light came from the moon above and the few lit windows throughout the town.

  Til’ and I headed for the town’s only two-story building, assuming it to be an inn. Soft golden light spilled from the lower floor’s windows, casting yellow swaths across the ground. A wooden sign dangled from an overhang that stretched the length of the walkway lining the building’s front. I couldn’t read the sign in the dark, but I was certain we’d found what was likely the town’s only inn.

  With no stable in sight, we tied our horses to two of the evenly spaced hitching posts along the walkway. The horses immediately went for the full water barrel and the half-empty rack of hay that now rested between them. Hoping the inn had a vacancy or two, I walked up the door and pulled it open.

  I was greeted by silence from a near-empty room. Four tables were placed rather asymmetrically upon the room’s bare-wood floor. Along the opposite wall stretched a mahogany bar with three stools spaced down its front, only one of them occupied. Burning oil lamps rested on each table, bathing the room with dim illumination.

  The man sitting on the middle barstool turned to us with heavy-lidded eyes. His long brown hair was tucked behind his ears, his beard unkempt. He raised a wooden mug with one hand, splashing amber liquid over its lip, and gave us a smile that creased the corners of his bloodshot eyes.

  “Good eve’n to ya, gents,” he slurred. “Welcome ta tha Ol’ Homestead. Ant’s in tha rear cleanin’ up fer tha night. Got hur jus’ in time, fellas. Ant’ll be back an’ can get ya a drink or two, though he ain’t much for lettin’ kids sip tha drink. Take a seat a’fore they’s all taken.” He ended his greeting with a muddled laugh and turned back to his drink.

  “Um, thanks,” I said as Til’ shut the door behind us. I automatically pegged the seated man as the town drunk. There’s one in every small town. Three in Huran, where I was from.

  Til’ and I took seats at the closest table, draping our sodden cloaks over the backs of our chairs and dropping our backpacks to the floor. There was no fire in the room’s hearth, leaving it feeling cold and lifeless. With mid-fall hinting at an early winter, I was thankful that Til’ and I had invested in the thick woolen shirts we were wearing. They itched something fierce, but they helped make up for the cold of the season, as well as the cold of the inn.

  Til’ looked up at me, his eyes wide. “He didn’t recognize I was a Kolarin,” he whispered. “I’d rather keep it that way. It’s nice to go somewhere without everyone staring at me like I’ve got an arm growing out of my forehead.”

  With a chuckle, I clapped a hand on Til’s shoulder. Til’s usual exuberance always gave way to discomfiture whenever he was among strangers who viewed him as a novelty. The Kolari aren’t known to leave their home kingdom of Isaeron, so when one shows up elsewhere in Amirand, people are less than covert with their curiosity.

  “I’m serious,” he insisted in a petulant tone.

  Before I could reply, a lanky man with red curls hanging down to his ears entered the room from a doorway behind the bar. His pasty skin stood out even in the dim light. He gave us a tired smile. I assumed this was Ant. With Laurlan being such a small town, he likely ran the inn by himself, putting in long hours and hard labor.

  The man stepped around the bar and approached our table, wiping his hands with a dirty white cloth as he did. “Welcome to the Old Homestead, strangers,” he greeted with a friendly voice. “Name’s Ant. I hope yer lookin’ for a room. I’m about to lock up for the night, and the stove’s ’ready been quenched. If y’all want a drink or some cold lamb stew, I’ll still be here for a bit longer.” His attention dropped to Til’, his hazel eyes widening. “Well, by Ritis’s blood, if it ain’t one of the Kolari. I never met one of yer kind ’fore.” Ritis is the god of chance.

  The man at the bar suddenly turned, leaning forward as if to get a better look at us. He came within a hair of toppling off his stool. Til’ sighed in resignation.

  “We’d love a couple of rooms, and some cold lamb stew sounds wonderful,” I said before Ant could make Til’ any more uncomfortable. “I’ll take a house ale with that.”

  “The stew and a cider, if you have it,” Til’ requested.

  As if just realizing he was staring at Til’ with wide eyes and a half-open mouth, Ant shook his head. “Sure thing, strangers. I only got two rooms, though, and one’s taken. Mind sharin’?”

  “That’ll be fine,” I answered, though I was slightly disappointed. After nearly a week of traveling alone with the ever-talkative Til’, my ears could’ve done with a night alone. “Is there soap and water in the room?”

  “Sure is,” Ant answered. “I’d draw you up a hot bath, but as I said, the stove’s been quenched, so there’s no heatin’ water tonight. I can get an extra wash bowl and towels, though, since there’s the two of y’all.”

  “That’d be nice. Thank you,” I replied. Ant nodded and, with one last curious glance towards Til’, headed behind the bar and into the back room again.

  “So much for not being gawked at,” Til’ muttered, crossing his arms over his chest and sticking out his lower lip. He looked like a pouty child.

  “Well, it could be worse,” I teased. “You really could have an arm growing out of your forehead.” I gave him a goofy grin, hoping to pull him out of his sulk.

  “If I did have one, I’d use it to smack you right now,” Til’ responded curtly. We both shared a long laugh, having to wipe tears from our eyes when Ant returned to our table with a tray bearing two heaping bowls of stew and our drinks.

  “That’ll be three copper rounds and another four for the room,” he announced as he set down the tray. “You can just pay me in the mornin’.”

  It was actually refreshing not having to pay up front. There’s a lot to say about the level of trust and hospitality found in small towns.

  “Your room’s up the stairs, first door on the left,” Ant explained, pointing at the staircase in the back corner of the room. “I’ll get it unlocked and set up for y’all while you eat. Will you be needin’ anything else now?”

  “No, thank you,” I answered with a gracious smile.

  As soon as Ant started towards the stairs, Til’ and I dug voraciously into our bowls of stew. Even cold, it was delicious enough to keep us from speaking until we were scraping out the last bits with our spoons.

  “Do you think they’re okay?” Til’ asked between sips of cider. He didn’t have to say who, and apparently, I didn’t have to answer. “I’m sure they are. We’ll save them. I bet Max will get away on his own. He’ll probably find us before we find him and ask us what took us so long.”

  I couldn’t help but smile at that. Til’ had grown to know my sarcastic friend pretty well, it seemed.

  “Maybe he’ll even bring us Xalis. You don’t think the wizards wou
ld hurt them, do you? I wonder if Sal’s going to tell her father about the hole in the Snowy Waste’s barrier. This cider’s good. Have I ever told you about my grandmother’s cider? She always knew how to . . .”

  I let my mind wander as Til’ talked. He must’ve noticed my vacant stare at some point, cutting off sharply from his rambling. “You okay, Korin?”

  I blinked away my reverie. “Yeah, just thinking about Sal’,” I replied without even thinking.

  Til’s mouth curved into a knowing grin. “No surprise there.”

  With an exasperated huff that would’ve made Max proud, I narrowed my eyes.

  “What?” he asked innocently. “It’s kind of obvious with you two.”

  “Were we really that transparent?” I asked, my face heating.

  Til’ nodded with a big grin. “Well, yeah, with the kissing and all. I have to say I was a little disappointed at first, though. She’s pretty and smart, and I thought I could’ve . . .” His eyes widened. “I’m sorry. That’s inappropriate, isn’t it?”

  I found myself laughing again. “Don’t worry about it. I’m just worried about her, Til’.” I paused, looking down into my ale. “I can’t believe I’m telling you this, but . . . I think I love her.”

  Til’s smile widened even further. “Ooooh . . . you should’ve told her, you know. There was this one time I thought I loved this girl, Isil Insir, but I could never work up the nerve to tell her. I decided that maybe I could get her a present instead that would let her know how I felt. She got all mad, though, and quit talking to me.”

  “That doesn’t make sense,” I said, confused. “What did you get her?”

  “Flowers.”

  “Flowers?”

  “Yeah, and from her own garden, too, so she should’ve liked ’em,” Til’ finished.

  I burst into a rich belly laugh.

  “What?”

  I laughed even harder at his obliviousness.

  Til’ still looked confused by my amusement, but before he could question me further, the drunken man from the bar suddenly plopped down into one of the empty chairs at our table. Amber liquid spilled from his mug onto my left hand. The man turned his attention to Til’.

  “Ne’er saw a K’larin a’fore,” he stated almost unintelligibly. “It true ’bout yer wood skills?”

  Til’ nodded his head and put on a smile, though I could tell the man was making him uneasy. “Uh-huh.”

  “Prove it,” the man slurred. With that, he kicked down on the horizontal peg between the front legs of his chair, snapping it off despite the fact that it wasn’t his chair to break. He nearly fell to the floor trying to retrieve the splintered piece of wood.

  Til’ sighed and pulled his carving tools from his backpack. As he set to work, the bearded man turned to me. “So what brings y’all ter Laurlan?”

  “Just passing through,” I answered vaguely, wiping my wettened hand on my pants.

  “Not headin’ east, I ’ope,” he said, lifting his mug back to his lips.

  “Why’s that?” I asked, my curiosity piqued.

  “Gualain’s goin’ to war,” he answered drunkenly.

  “Yeah, we’ve heard about that.” I doubted the man was going to be able to tell us anything we didn’t already know. I was wrong.

  “Yeh, but did ya’ hur that thur army is large ’nough to rival any two armies in tha kingdoms?” he asked.

  “Seems unlikely,” I replied. Gualain was much too small a kingdom for such a rumor to be true.

  The drunken man just shook his head. “Nah, it’s the truth. They says Gualain’s army increased tenfold o’ernight. No ’un knows nothin’ ’bout whur the new uns came from.”

  The man’s words stole Til’s attention away from his work on the broken peg.

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  The man smiled, putting all of his crooked yellow teeth on display. “They says that new ’cruits are jus’ showin’ up every day outta nowhere. Army jus’ keeps growin’.”

  He took another swig of ale, his expression turning serious as he lowered his mug to the table. “Tha’s not even the worst of it. They says the dead roam the kingdom, that they’s gots glowin’ green lights in their chests.” His brow dropped. If nothing else, he at least believed he was telling the truth. “They says their’s a new king there, jus’ lets it happen.”

  I had to stifle a laugh with a clearing of my throat to keep from offending the man. First of all, he was so drunk, I could barely understand him. I was pretty sure that I ran the risk of becoming inebriated from his breath alone. Second, what he was saying made no sense. “And where did you hear this?” I questioned, hoping that I was able to hide my sarcasm.

  He gestured towards the stairs with his mug. “Man an’ his girl showed up this mornin’. They’s upstairs in the otha’ room. They says they come from out that way. Man says he saw the dead fer himself. Says his wife done been killed by ’em. Poor bastard.”

  My memory flashed back to the eldrhim that Sal’ had initially claimed to be a zombie—the dead come back to life. Could Raijom or Prexwin have been summoning eldrhims in Gualain that people were confusing with the walking dead? The possibilities starting to form in my head set my heart to speeding.

  “Well, thanks for the warning,” I said, noting the unease in my voice. I couldn’t believe I was actually beginning to believe the drunken man.

  By this time, Til’ had finished his work on the broken peg. He’d carved Nalis’s sigil into its center, the remaining surface covered with intricate swirls. Nalis is the goddess of spirits, and by spirits, I’m not talking about ghosts or souls. Let’s just say it was fitting for this man. It wasn’t Til’s best work, but it was enough to satisfy the slovenly drunk.

  “By my own flesh an’ blood,” the man laughed as he snatched the peg from Til’s hand. “This is perty good, lil’ feller.” He slapped his hand against Til’s back. “Guess what they says is true. Well, I better stagger on home now. Don’ wanna anger tha missus.” He stood up from the table, barely keeping on his feet. Instead of going out the door, however, he went back to the bar and, with a solid thunk, dropped his head down onto it.

  Til’ rolled his eyes and looked back to me. “And that’s why Kolari don’t drink. You don’t think what he said is true, do you? You know, about the zombies. I don’t think I’d want to see the dead come back to life.” Til’ shuddered.

  I fought not to shudder myself. “He was drunk, Til’. I doubt his words were anything more than embellished rumor.” I let out a deep breath. “Still, rumors are usually based on some shred of truth. If Raijom’s involved with the mess in Gualain, maybe eldrhims are the real problem.”

  “That’d be even worse,” Til’ muttered, wrapping his arms around his body as if chilled.

  “True,” I agreed. “We have more pressing matters, though. Max, Sal’, and Xalis are our only concerns for now. We’re not leaving them to the whims of the Wizard Academy. Gualain’s going to have to wait, no matter what’s going on out there. Besides, it’s going take a lot more than the two us to stop the war.”

  “Yeah, we’ve got to save them first,” Til approved.

  I stretched my arms, yawning. I’d only drank half of my ale, but it was stout enough that I was starting to feel relaxed. “It’ll be nice to get cleaned up and have a real bed to sleep in. We’ll need to get an early start tomorrow.

  “Bill!” Til’ called out loudly.

  “Ant said we could pay him in the morning,” I replied tiredly through another yawn.

  “No, Bill!” Til’ urged, tugging my sleeve and pointing towards one of the front windows.

  Sure enough, the tattooed, shaved-head brute from Galius’s basement was outside, hitching what looked like a warhorse next to our mares. Needless to say, our plans for a comfortable night’s sleep were ruined.

  Chapter 6

  Ignoring the Gut

  Bill showing up at the Old Homestead did not bode well for us. It appeared that he hadn’t been released from
his Activated Contract with Galius after all. Stupid Julan Bertal.

  A cursory glance at the entry door revealed it to have both a metal latch and a key lock above its handle. I quickly jumped from my chair and darted to the door, slamming down the latch. Taking a cue from my actions, Til’ ran to the windows and closed the shutters.

  “What should we do?” Til’ asked shrilly. “We could take him, right? I mean, we’ve taken on worse.”

  Til’ had a point, but I wasn’t about to willingly jump into a fight with the muscular Holder. For the most part, any person using a Contract to make a living is tough, clever, adept, and a little crazy. A Holder’s skills and smarts are all they have to protect themselves from lifelong servitude to a Setter. Those attributes have to be sharp as a sword, or the Holder’s life is forfeit. Basically, I wasn’t going to confront Bill unless I had to.

  “We’re not even going let them know we’re here,” I replied. I grabbed Til’s arm and started for the doorway behind the bar, hoping to find a rear exit. “That bastard Julan must not have forced Galius to cancel his Contract Terms with Bill. Why else would Bill be after us?”

  “But he can’t even hurt you, can he?” Til’ questioned.

  Pausing, I looked back at Til’. He was technically correct. I’d forgotten all about Galius’s order for Bill and his fellow thugs to kill me. The magic of my prior Activated Contract with Galius would’ve protected me from physical harm at Bill’s hands. However, I couldn’t be sure if Bill had planned for that or not.

  “No, but he can still hurt you. We’re not taking any chances. Our friends’ lives are too important to put ourselves at risk right now.” My explanation silenced the Kolarin, and we continued on through the doorway.

  The back room had no windows or lamps, but I could faintly make out a door on the rear wall. The soft glow from the doorway behind us kept me from running into tables and food-lined shelving. When I reached the door, I found it to be locked.