Kindle Edition
Amazon
Category:
Fantasy
ISBN-10: 1517777844
Type: Fiction
Pages: 356
Copyright: October 8,2015
ISBN-13: 9781517777845
Price: $0.99 (eBook)
Shadowthorn is about a man that is not a man and a sword that is not a swords, and dragons, lots of dragons, but it begins with a girl.
Rue Lampwick was a member of the Commoner’s Shipping and Trade Guild and was the adopted daughter of Jubal Lampwick, a trade foreman of the northeast side of Lindor. Jubal found her picking pockets on the wharfs several harvests ago. She had exceptional natural abilities when it came to lifting purses, fingers that moved like hummingbird wings. He had been compelled to take her in and teach her an honest trade.
Honest meant working for the trade guild which wasn’t really too much different from what she had been doing except that she wasn’t alone anymore. The trade guild was the public institution that fronted for the black market and thieves guild of Lindor. It was a thin veil at best. The trade guild paid “taxes” to the appropriate officials and agreed to restrict their ventures and acquisition of merchandise in certain venues. In return they had become a licensed institution.
Even though Jubal was a thief and self confessed pirate, he was a fair and even generous foreman. He had aged like a fine wine, growing even more charismatic and persuasive than in his youth. His trade crew boasted the fastest fingers, swiftest tongues and deadliest blades. He preferred to handle disagreements and acquisitions alike with a minimum of violence and was apt to refer to his traders as gentlemen bandits however a foreman did not ascend to his position without being willing to get his hands dirty and Jubal did what was necessary. Then Rue stole the ring and everything changed.
Excerpt
Chapter 1
Sighing, Rue stared at the ring. She had been enchanting Sala, the oldest son of Ina Tabor, a powerful Easterling merchant staying at the inn. She was charming after all. It wasn't because of how she looked although she was attractive enough. Her unruly scarlet hair and green eyes were memorable but otherwise she was a normal girl. Freckles, an upturned nose, a crooked grin. It was how she held herself, with unshakable confidence and insatiable curiosity, that made her breathtaking and unforgettable.
Sala was describing the alabaster towers and halls of his home city, Calistol, as they sat together near the cheery flames of the hearth fire. He was a good storyteller as well as handsome and she was enthralled as he told of the ancient tomes and scrolls of lost arts hidden away in the royal vaults of the Holy Overlord BinLa Aran IV, divine ruler of Calist and of his vast gardens with flowering trees filled with hundreds of brightly colored song birds. He had been mimicking one of the bird calls for her with such accuracy that she giggled and touched his hand. She had his ring secreted away in a belt pouch before she realized what she had done.
This type of acquisition was prohibited in The Serpent’s Claw, not because of the laws of Lindor, although they also prohibited such things, but because Jubal forbid it.
“It’s not smart to piss where you sleep,” he would say to Rue with a wink, “It’s too messy. No trading so close to home.”
To his other traders he was more firm.
“No trading at The Claw, you mangy dogs! Anyone that does answers to me and if your caught by the Red Guard, the Guild will disavow any knowledge of you and you’ll swing from the gallows like a no good freelancer.”
The edict did wonders for business as the quality security of The Serpent’s Claw Inn became well known. Kelly Turnbuckle, the owner and proprietor was eternally indebted to Jubal as Jubal relentlessly reminded him. Rue bit her lip as she pondered, tugging at an errant coil of hair. She could pawn the ring before it was missed but this was no trinket to be lost and forgotten. It was beautifully crafted, inlaid with countless jewels that blazed in the light. Even if she got away with it, the inn’s reputation would be muddied and Jubal’s authority would come into question.
She could tell Jubal. He had a way of smoothing things over. That would be the smart thing to do. He could present it to Master Tabor claiming it had been discovered by an honest scullery maid and returned to him as an investor of the inn. With his sly tongue he would probably come out of the fiasco smelling like a Lindorian lilac and with the merchant’s gratitude.
Yet Rue resisted. If she ran to her stepfather for help it would make her feel like a kid. She knew she was being vain. Jubal told his crew to avoid solo trade activity regardless of their age. It was hard enough to get thieves to overcome their greed long enough to work together without pride getting in the way too. Still she couldn’t bear the thought of asking for help. She sniffed. Perhaps she could return the ring herself.
Master Tabor had no reason to suspect Rue. He knew she was the daughter of a local merchant of some influence but nothing more. As long as she was nonchalant she could claim she found it on the floor by the hearth. She would have to feign ignorance, maybe act like a clueless debutante to avoid questions. Personally she could not see how a dazzling ring like that could be dropped and ever touch the floor before someone snatched it up.
“Thank goodness I was there!” she practiced with mock airiness. “I’m just glad I found it before someone less honest chanced upon it.”
She rolled her eyes but it would probably work. She was amazed at what people would believe out of convenience. She had to move quickly though. Every moment she waited made the story less plausible.
Idly she slipped the ring onto her finger as she prepared to rise. Her breath caught in her throat. The ring had stuck fast. She tried relaxing her hand and wiggling it back and forth but it refused to budge. A delay now could prove disastrous. She pulled on it harder but only managed to make her knuckle crack.
Her face flushed. Jubal always said it was amazing how boundless Rue’s fury could be considering the shortness of her temper. Breathing profanities, she stalked up to her room to find a pair of gloves. The culture of the Trading Guild had influenced the fashion trends of the city. A roguish, devil-may-care appearance allowing for clandestine necessities was common. Gloves would not be out of place. Once the ring was hidden from view Rue headed back down stairs to commandeer some butter.
Several maids scurried about the kitchen, chatting as they cleaned and prepared for the morning. They were immersed in a salacious bit of gossip about a local tax collector’s daughter and Kelly Turnbuckle’s youngest son, Kyle. The evening meal had already been served and there were remnants setting on the counter. Rue wrapped a dab of butter in a napkin. She also snatched a bright red apple from a basket that she had been eyeing all evening. Returning a wave from one of the maids, she slipped out the back door.
She sat on the back porch in the lantern light, wrapping her cloak about her shoulders to ward off the coolness of the evening. Removing her gloves, she smothered the offending jewelry with golden slipperiness, working the butter under and around it. Then once more she tried to reclaim her finger. The ring held tight. She could swear it actually tightened when she pulled like one of those irritating finger traps woven from wheat stalks that bards plagued children with in the town square. It was counter intuitive, requiring the captive to push their fingers together rather than pull away. Rue could confuse them without effort. She could actually relax her fingers in such a way that they seemed to lengthen and narrow until she could remove them without using the orthodox escape technique, simply drawing them out to the bard’s dismay, like the toy was broken.
She could do the same thing with more serious restraints too. Before Jubal had adopted her and while she was still learning how to avoid detection of her petty thefts she had been apprehended by the city guard. Momentarily. She found she was double jointed and the second the arresting guardsman glanced away she slipped from her manacles and vanished back into the crowded streets. She was not used to being trapped and the ring was not playing by her rules. It caused a claustrophobic sensation in her stomach for long moments until it was burned away by her simmering frustration.
Taking a savage bite of the apple she remained on the porch, deliberating. Maybe lamp oil would work better or lard, she thought, as she slowly wiped the remaining butter from her hand and replaced her gloves. She was preparing to go back inside when shouts echoed down the alleyway and boots clattered on the cobblestones. A merry bouncing light accompanied the patter of running feet and then a guard burst into view carrying a wildly careening lantern. His hand went to his sword when he saw Rue, then relaxed.
“Mistress Lampwick, you shouldn’t be outside the inn alone this time of night,” he chided. “No telling what may come upon you unawares.”
Rue ignored the friendly admonition. “What’s happened Wilam?” she said, fearing she already knew.
“One of the Easterling merchants has been robbed,” he replied glancing up the alley toward the shouting which had dulled to angry voices. “A street urchin brushed against him and then he noticed the ring was gone. By the sound of it though, they may have nicked the young scoundrel before he slipped away.”
“Perhaps I could accompany you?” Rue mimicked a nervous glance around for another devilish street child. “I suddenly prefer not to be alone.”
“Yes, please, Mistress. It would relieve me greatly if you would.”
Reluctantly Rue tossed away the apple then they hurried up the alley and onto the street where a cluster of men stood. One held a lantern aloft while another grasped the arm of a young boy. Two more stood by, menacingly, with hands near their sword hilts. The boy’s face was dirty and his bronze hair was a tangle of matted ringlets almost down to his shoulders but his eyes were a brilliant breathtaking blue. His eyes and the heart stopping smile he gave Rue when he spotted her made her gasp. At the sound the men looked about warily.
“Oh, Wilam and Mistress Lampwick,” said the man holding the other lantern. He was dressed in the livery of the inn’s watchmen like Wilam. Rue recognized him. His name was Tomlin. The other men, however were strangers. Judging by their scimitars, loose silk pantaloons and hardened leather breast pieces they were Master Tabor’s guards. “Is this the little thief?” Rue said, feeling an uncharacteristic twinge of guilt as the lie passed her lips. She absently brushed strands of hair from her face.
Those deep blue eyes held her mercilessly as the boy continued to stare at her, taking no offense at her words. The Easterling holding the boy said something in a fluid melodic tongue which Rue recognized as the Calistian High Speech. That meant that the guards were employed not just to a wealthy merchant but a noble house of Calist. If Inas and his family were Calistian nobility then the matter of the ring had just become serious. Rue felt her palms grow sweaty.
Another Calistian stepped forward and bowed. He wore a thin gold chain of office draped over his shoulders. A thin pointy black mustache protruded from under a thin pointy nose.
“A thousand apologies, my Lady,” he said. “It is trifle but, yes, this street urchin was seen at our Master’s elbow but moments before his ring disappeared and the boy ran when we called to him.”
“Did he have the ring?” Rue said in a sweet voice.
“Alas no, we believe he secreted the ring somewhere nearby before we could apprehend him.” The Calistian smiled but his dark eyes did not. “The ring itself is of no importance but the insult to my master’s family name is unforgivable.”
“But he is just a child,” Rue heard herself say.
The Calistian ignored her words. “We must request that the thief be turned over to us for punishment according to Calistian law. Is he a member of your house?” Again he smiled and bowed.
The boy couldn’t be more than five harvests old. He hung helplessly from his captor’s grip. She remembered bits of her own past. How cold the cobblestones grew at night when you didn’t have shoes. How empty your stomach felt all of the time. How hard it was to get even a short nap without being chased out of the doorway in which you had taken shelter. She was haunted by his eyes. His gaze seemed to hold her in adoration, as if he had finally found her.
She couldn’t bear to leave him. Her jaw tightened and suddenly she wasn’t worried about being discovered. She had made her decision and once she had it was written in stone. She didn’t look back. Not today at least. There was no time.
|
