Chapter 12

The Broken Shield

The Broken Shield was an inn and tavern on the outer ring of Rubastre. The hanging sign was a depiction of a shield with a large crack down the middle. It was ironic that the sign itself was also broken, it dangled lopsided from one hinge, the other looked to have rusted and crumbled years ago. It squeaked an unharmonious song in the night along the quiet backstreet as the frigid breeze kissed it with each passing of the street.

The Broken Shield was a favourite of Rowan Shydran’s and he would stay there each time his work forced him on the path to Rubastre. Being so far from the main thoroughfare meant that there were no crowds of highborn or similar wealthy folk cavorting late into the night. The patronage of the Broken Shield were not unlike Rowan himself; travellers and caravan guards who typically spent most of their time on the road. Cities like Rubastre and Garronforn tended to be their destinations, but their lives were mostly spent between those places and it was where they were most comfortable. The city was an unsettling place for people like him; far too many people for comfort, and most of them always wanted something. The poor wanted gold, and the rich wanted your time. Both were resources Rowan preferred to spend anywhere but Rubastre.

It was late—or early depending on how you looked at it. Mixing with the orange light of the gaslamps, the early morning sky was murky purple. Frost was climbing at the window that Rowan looked out from. Two cloaked and hooded men on horseback were the only figures in the street.

“They say who they were?” Rowan asked, his voice croaky having just been woken.

“No, they didn’t. Couldn’t get a look at their faces neither. Real shady folk, if you ask me. Callin’ in at this hour. What company you been keepin’, Rowan?” Ger—the innkeeper—accused.

Rowan didn’t respond, instead he pulled on his shirt of interlocking metal rings over his linens and strapped on his large sword. He took his dark green cloak from the hook. A good cloak that. It was thick cloth and treated with dragon-oil to repel the wet. He’d known a runewielder once who had commissioned waterstones with specialised runes woven into the fabric of his cloak to repel moisture, the thing had cost him a small fortune. Rowan saw that same runewielder dead on the road a few days later, his cloak and coin pouch gone.

“There’s not goin’ be no trouble here, is there?” Ger asked worriedly as he watched Rowan clip on his cloak over the chainmail, pulling the hood up over his red braids.

“No trouble,” he grumbled, brushing past the man and making his way down to the inn's common room. Unlike the taverns in the center of the city, the Broken Shield tended to close up not long after midnight which meant the place was eerily quiet but for wooden floorboards groaning under Rowan’s boots, and Ger scuffling behind him.

He opened the door to the street and was greeted by the pleasantly crisp and clear breath of early morning. One of the riders pulled back his hood to reveal a face almost identical to Rowan’s own although his hair was blond and unbraided.

“I thought you didn’t have the time to visit me,” Rowan said to his brother.

“I need your help,” Tan said without preamble.

“It’s nice to see you too, little brother,” Rowan started, “the journey was to be as expected, although there were bandits on the road—nothing new there, s’pose. Mother is well, as are Marie and the boys. I didn’t see Bo—”

“—ok, I get it. I’m sorry,” Tan apologised, “It’s good to see you but I’m on urgent business, I need to leave the city—tonight,” he said, scratching the side of his neck. Rowan suspected he was embarrassed with what he was about to ask, and then Tan grudgingly got to his point, “I need your help getting where I need to go.”

“And where’s that?” Tan glanced at Ger who was still standing a foot back however the portly innkeeper had visibly relaxed once he realised that there wasn’t going to be any fighting.

“Can we get some privacy?” Tan rudely asked Ger, who then looked at Rowan with insult.

“We’ll speak outside,” Rowan said.

“No,” Tan replied, his gaze darting up and down the empty street, “I can’t speak out in the open.”

“This is Ger’s inn and it’s late,” Rowan chastised Tan, “Pretty rude to just barge in here and tell him to bugger off, don’t you think?”

“S’alright Rowan, I take no offence,” Ger sassed, clearly offended. Rowan nodded his thanks, and beckoned for Tan and his hooded companion to enter. They dismounted and hurried inside, they were both twitchy, the companion’s face was dark and Rowan noted how he held himself awkwardly. He was tall, perhaps a bit taller than Rowan himself which was rare. The sat at a table and waiting for Ger to move into the back room.

“I need to travel up past the Nortara Sheet,” Tan said, steely determination in his blue eyes, “You’ve been up that way a lot more than I have the past few years.”

“Ten years,” Rowan corrected him.

“—ten years,” Tan acknowledged.

“You’re not with the Archduke anymore?” Rowan probed with concern. Knowing his little brother had a safe, reliable position in the Dukesguard was a comfort for Rowan, even if it was in Rubastre.

“This is a mission for the Duke,” Tan admitted, “but I can’t give any more details than that. I need you to swear that you won’t speak even that much of it.”

“You’ve my word, of course. It’ll be a hard passage over the Sheet this time of year. Most of the roads will be completely frozen over. And you’ll have to go on foot in a lot of parts,” Rowan advised, not that any of that would deter Rowan, but Tan had never really enjoyed the wilds as much.

“On foot?” the taller man squawked, “in the snow?”

“Aye,” Rowan said, “it’ll be tough going and there’s not much past Twin Garde, where are you even headed?”

“Shrydan Forest, for now,” Tan said, offering no more, “will you help us?” he asked, there was pleading in his eyes that Rowan was unsure he could refuse.

“I was headed back to Garronforn tomorrow,” Rowan said, “Marie won’t be happy if I take a contract headed all that way north. She was expecting me home for the season.”

“I’ll pay you two gold marks for the trip there,” Tan explained, “and another for the journey back when it comes to that.”

“Three gold marks,” Rowan choked, “where you getting that kind of money to be squandering.”

“Like I said, this is a mission for the Duke,” Tan said, looking nervously about the room. The other man still hadn’t pulled back his cloak or said anything of note since arriving.

“And what’s your deal?” Rowan asked the stranger, not attempting to hide his scrutiny.

“He’s just a merchant, heading north—prospecting,” Tan fumbled, clearly lying but Rowan let it go.

“And we leave tonight… if you can still call it that,” Rowan mused to which Tan nodded in response. Rowan remained silent for a few moments, considering the offer. He had to admit three gold marks was more than he would make across two seasons. Marie would be furious, but he could promise her the entire Spring and Summer at home. He enjoyed the road more in Summer but spending the time with Marie and the boys would be a welcome change in pace for a while. And he had to admit, a deep part of him yearned to leap at the chance to head back up past the sheet. He wasn’t a young adventurer anymore but his days trekking along the mountain ridges with his father and brother forced their way into his mind with a powerful and overwhelming nostalgia.

He slapped both hands on the surface of the table, a grin breaking across his face. He pushed himself up, “I guess, I’ll go get my pack,” Rowan accepted.

***

Daegan shuffled uncomfortably on the hard leather of the saddle. The sobering events of the previous night still played in his mind as he settled into his new reality. Ferath couldn’t have betrayed him. He hadn’t had the mental capacity over the night to truly process that or to even start running through the list of potential reasons.

“Are we certain this is the right course of action?” Daegan asked Tanlor.

“I do not question Duke Edmund’s wisdom,” Tanlor replied, simply.

“That’s because you’re in his guard…” Daegan replied, his face scrunching, “you’re not supposed to question him. But this plan…” the harsh reality of being out in the wilderness in the snow did not sound like something Daegan would enjoy, “I’m not sure if it’s the best thing to do, perhaps we should return to the Palace and think it through?”

“I know men like Ferath,” Tanlor replied, “he’s a hunter… he will not stop hunting you if that is his goal.” Daegan had trouble believing that. A part of him still refused to accept that Ferath had tried to kill him at all… But he had. He couldn’t deny that cold, emotionless face.

“Ferath’s resolve aside—” Daegan began to argue.

“—There is no putting Ferath aside,” Tanlor cut him off, “not until he’s captured or killed.”

“I fail to think of a worse course of action than what we’re currently taking. What’s the worst that could happen if we were to head back to the Palace?”

“Ferath would kill you—and me for being in the way.”

Ah. That was worse, I do enjoy being alive.

Since becoming an adult, Daegan had always had the constant reassurance of his guard, any dangers he had faced had always been superficial; damages to his reputation or his political interests. There was a very tangible difference between damage to his family’s prestige and his own person. He hadn’t felt that sense of helplessness in a very long time. Not since he was a child. He rubbed consciously against his throat, frost had crusted the fingers of his leather gloves and the sharp sting of the ice distracted him from the phantom tightening at his larynx.

“Your neck cold?” Rowan asked him, astride his own horse. Tanlor and Rowan were unmistakably related. They had the same strong square features, the most obvious difference between them was their hair colour but Daegan noted that Rowan had the face of a man who’s weathered a lifetime of storms.

“It’s fine,” Daegan dismissed.

“It’s going to get colder farther we go into the hills, if you need more layers we should stop in the next town,” Rowan advised.

“I said I’m fine,” Daegan replied, firmly. The sun had risen a few hours before as they had ridden out of the city of Rubastre. They had moved quickly in the early morning through the outer villages but the effort and the sun hadn’t brought much warmth to him.

“Right so,” Rowan said, not seeming like he was going to drop the subject, “we should make it to Edas in a few days. There’s a few more villages along the way where we can pick up basic supplies. But if you need any new gear you’d be better off waiting until Edas. We’ll get you proper gear for the northlands,” Rowan informed, and then plucking at Daaegan’s cloak, “cotton kills,” he made a tsk’ing sound.

The villages they’d passed through already had been small clusters of wooden houses that looked like ships turned upside, nestled in the snow. Much like in Rubastre, Daegan was surprised with the amount of structures made of wood. Having grown up in Reldon where almost everything was made of stone as wood was harder to work with than stone so only the wealthy could afford both the material and the craftsmanship.

“We’re not going through Edas,” Tanlor called up from the rear, bodyguards always liked hanging out behind you.

“The main road passes right through,” Rowan argued, “we’d be just as quick going through Edas as we would taking the mining routes. The cliff road to Garronforn as far as the River Cress would be the safest road and from there, we can follow the river north to the Nortara Sheet.”

“The backroads are a more direct route,” Tanlor defended.

“But we’ll be travelling slower on them,” Rowan rebuked, “some of the roads are little more than farmer’s trails.”

“Backroads only,” Tanlor insisted.

“Half of ‘em will be impassable in the snow,” Rowan scoffed, “doesn’t make any sense.”

“We have to keep off the main road,” Tanlor emphasised, shooting glances at Daegan. Rowan didn’t press the issue further, although it was clear he was disgruntled about it.

He was a gruff man, his voice was gravelly, his words crunched like horseshoes on frost. Like Tanlor, he had a heavy build and Daegan didn’t doubt he was well capable of using the sword at his hip. Unlike Tanlor’s ridiculous greatsword, Rowan’s sword was smaller and more akin to the slender blades of his own people but without the gentle curve of the blade. Strapped to his horse was also a small armoury; he had a great double-axe, a bow and what looked to be at least a dozen knives and daggers in various hilts on his saddle. He had a round bronze shield with a green tree painted on it. By comparison, Daegan himself was only armed with his revolver, still empty from the previous night.

“I don’t recognise that sigil,” Daegan commented on the shield, assuming it to be the house crest of some lord. The paintwork had been heavily chipped with use, but it looked strong.

“House Shrydan,” Rowan said, winking. He didn’t say it with the smug pride that Daegan was accustomed to when highborn spoke of their houses, but then again nothing about Rowan was very highborn.

He’s not really highborn anyway. Daegan thought to himself but probably best to keep that remark to himself. Right now, the Shrydan brothers were his only protection, better to not belittle their family’s significance. “I suppose I’ve never seen you wear anything but the Archduke’s colours, Tanlor,” Daegan called back to him. Tanlor trotted his horse up in between Daegan and Rowan, his eyes darting about. “We have to be careful, my lord,” he said in a hushed tone so as to not be overheard by the wood pigeons, “I am not Tanlor of the Dukesguard, I’m just Tanlor—a simple bodyguard—and you are just Desmond, my employer.”

“You know calling him ‘my lord’ doesn’t help convince anyone he's just a merchant, Tan,” Rowan contested.

“He has a point,” Daegan agreed.

“Also—a prospecting merchant?” Rowan gave a raucous laugh, “what’s there to prospect out past the sheet, eh? It’s against the law to trade with Rakmen and besides they’d be more likely to skin you than trade with you. If you’re going to lie about who you are, might as well make it a believable one, eh, Dessie?”

“And what would you suggest, Rowan?” Tanlor accused, “what else would someone like him be at up here?”

“What do you mean someone like me?” Daegan said defensively, pulling on his reins in offence.

“I didn’t mean it like that, my lo—Desmond,” Tanlor stammered, awkwardly, “What I meant, not because you’re—y-you know—it’s just that you’re not a northerner, you’re not even Rubanian. Folk up these parts rarely go a few miles from their homes… half of them would think Reldon is some magical kingdom from the stories. Tales of Elyina the Earthmage and Ayden Lionheart are nothing more than stories to these people… and Highborn folk, they don’t go where we’re going,”

“I’ve done a few escort contracts for Ironworks prospectors before but never past the Nortara—mind you—but close enough,” Rowan offered, “it’s a more believable story.”

“No,” Daegan growled, bitterly, “fuck the Ironworks guild.” his hand touched against his revolver in a hilt at his hip, for him it wasn’t a sign of aggression just a reminder of where it came from. He kicked his heels into his horse, moving past the two, “I’ll think of something else.”

Rowan raised an eyebrow at Tanlor. “Don’t ask,” he said in response, and urged his horse to follow after Daegan.