***
Seth stepped out on to the open expanse of cobbles that marked Dunethport’s heart – the Great Square. Tall, narrow buildings housing taverns, brothels and alehouses ringed the wide space. Figures huddled in hooded cloaks and greatcoats milled around the entrances. In good weather, the Great Square was a place to linger and watch street performers, bards and jugglers. Yet, the sight that Seth missed this eve was that of the whores, leaning, bare breasted, out of windows on the upper stories of the brothels. Like sirens, they would call to passersby and beckon them inside. Seth rarely had enough money for one of them, normally having spent most of his paltry wage on ale in Weatherbay. Matilde on the other hand did not charge for her services, even if she was not as exciting as a Dunethport whore. Seth’s casual relationship with Matilde suited him; he had just passed his thirtieth winter and had no desire for anything serious at this stage of his life.
Their destination tonight was the Golden Galleon. Squeezed in between two rowdy brothels, the tavern was a tall, timbered building that appeared to lurch out over the square. A sign, of a golden ship cresting a wave, hung above the entrance and dripped water on their heads as they pushed their way inside.
They had not even managed to cross the threshold when a drunk lurched towards them. Cursing, the huge man barrelled into Seth, and would have knocked him flat if Kal had not broken his fall.
Seth recovered his balance and dropped his shoulder. He jammed it into the drunk’s chest, slamming the man back against the doorframe.
With this obstacle removed, Seth stepped past the drunk and gave him a dark look.
“Sorry mate,” the drunk muttered.
The tavern was heaving. Still, they managed to jostle themselves into position at a table, next to where two pipers belted out a rousing tune. Elbow to elbow, they ordered tankards of ale and a steak and onion pie each, from a willowy girl with soft brown eyes and a mass of blonde curls. The ale arrived, warm and frothy, and the pies shortly after. The pies were the size of small pumpkins with a crisp buttery pastry and rich filling. The three hungry men took huge bites and sighed in contentment as they ate.
They needed a few more ales to wash down their fare, and after the third, the troubles of the day were little more than a hazy afterthought. When the pretty blonde serving wench brought their fourth round of ale, Seth flashed a smile, and was rewarded with a delightful blush.
All three men watched her go, admiring her shapely rear as she did so, before Darin pulled out a pouch of knuckle bones.
“Fancy a game boys?”
“Go on then,” Seth grinned taking a gulp from his tankard, “twill distract me from pretty wenches!”
A short while later, a peddler elbowed his way through the crowd and dumped his basket of trinkets down on their table.
He was a small, birdlike man dressed in a colourful, patched cloak. He appeared oblivious to the fact that they were absorbed in their game of knucklebones
“Off you go,” Darin said, without bothering to glance the peddler’s way, “take your baubles to another table.”
Ignoring Darin, and obviously used to being given the brush off, the peddler began digging around in his basket.
“Good evening my good fellows,” he produced a large black feather and waved it under Seth’s nose, “how about a Harlet feather for luck? I can let you have one of these rare feathers for just one silver drac!”
“That’s a Harlet feather?” Seth frowned, “looks a bit small to me.”
“I’d say it came from a turkey,” Darin added as he took his turn to throw the knucklebones and catch them on the back of his hand, “I told you, we’re not interested – push off!”
Unfazed by their lack of interest, the peddler produced a handful of gleaming white stones. “How about these Malwagen charms – they ward off the evil eye. Times like these, you need all the protection and good fortune you can get!”
“We make our own luck. I can’t believe you sell any of this rubbish,” Seth replied.
“Even strong men like yourselves need protection from the forces of darkness and evil,” the peddler replied cryptically, his beady eyes gleaming, “there’s an eclipse coming and tis an ill omen for us all. My brother is a soothsayer and he has foreseen it. Such events bring forth great change, and the war to the south is but a sign of what is to come...” As he spoke, the peddler reached into his bag.
“Look!” he exclaimed, producing a small, stoppered bottle, “I have a special draught, made by one of the Sisters of Sial. Twill give you the strength and potency of ten men!”
“Enough,” Seth was struggling to keep a straight face as he picked up the peddler’s basket and handed it back to him, “sell your trinkets and spread your nonsense about eclipses and dark times elsewhere. We’re busy.”
“Very well,” the peddler replied meekly, grasping his basket to his chest, “I wish you all a fine evening.”
The peddler moved on to the next table and Seth heard him begin his patter once again.
“Good evening my good fellows. How about a Harlet feather for luck?”
Kal watched him go and raised an eyebrow. “What a life. Suddenly, our profession doesn’t seem so onerous.”
“Well enjoy the security while it lasts,” Seth replied as he took his turn at throwing the knucklebones, “for that could be you in a few months time!”
The evening wore on and the Golden Galleon pulsed with music and laughter. The three companions played a few more games of knucklebones and discussed the day’s events. Eventually, his bladder full of ale, Seth left his friends to finish the last game on their own and pushed his way towards the privy. Unsteady on his feet, Seth shoved his way past the revellers. A long day, combined with copious amounts of ale, had made him tired.
It was an effort to cleave a path through the packed tavern, and Seth had almost reached the privy when he collided with a woman.
She was attractive: tall and well built with wavy brown hair and laughing blue eyes.
“Well hello, my lovely,” he put his hands on her hips, as if trying to move her out of the way, but instead his touch lingered. It was then he noticed that she wore blue robes and a silver-star pendant around her neck. The fact that he was fondling one of the Sisters of Sial would have put Seth off had he been sober. Many men believed that to touch a Sister brought a lifetime of impotency upon you. Yet, few of the Sisters were as attractive as this one. She was about his age, with full lips and a swelling bosom that pressed up against his chest as the crowd jostled them.
“Hello yourself, handsome,” she replied with a knowing smile, running her hands across his chest in admiration, “tis not often a comely man such as yourself throws himself into my arms.”
“I can do much more than that if you’re willing,” Seth replied, letting his own hands wander over the curve of her hips and the swell of her bottom.
Her smile widened at his suggestion, but then froze on her lips.
Surprised, Seth followed the direction of her gaze to where his shirt gaped open. Her fingers had fastened around an amulet that he wore around his neck.
“Where did you get this?”
The sultry temptress had disappeared, and a shrewd witch had replaced her. Her gaze never left his amulet.
“My pendant?” Seth let go of the woman and stepped backwards, tearing the amulet from her grasp, “I’ve always worn it. My mother gave one to me, and to each of my brothers.”
They both looked at the amulet that now lay against Seth’s skin. It was tear-drop shaped and jet black, although its surface flickered as if a flame danced across it.
“Do you know what this is?” the woman tore her gaze from the amulet and scrutinised Seth’s face.
Seth shrugged. The witch was starting to irritate him. He tucked the amulet back inside his shirt and turned to continue on his way.
“Wait!” the woman grabbed his arm and hauled him back. She was strong. Her fingers bit into his skin through his shirt. “Since you obviously do
n’t know or don’t care, I shall tell you.” Her face was fierce.
“Only the Sentorân possessed these charms,” she continued, holding his gaze in a snare, “who was your mother?”
Seth shook her off. “Enough witch! Tis none of your business who my mother was – and as for your waffle about the Sentorân, I care not – they are all dead and buried.”
“That may be so,” the Sister replied, her blue eyes snaring him, “but heed my words. That is no pretty necklace you wear. Tis a Sentorân charm stone, designed to protect its wearer. Such a charm is not given lightly. I’d wager you and your brothers are in danger, and if I were you I’d watch my step.”
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About the Author
Sam J. Charlton is an author of epic fantasy adventures. Her novels are character-driven, coming of age stories that take place in richly drawn fantasy worlds. Fast-paced, and full of epic adventure and memorable characters, her books are for anyone who loves traditional epic fantasy.
Two of Sam's novels: Journey of Shadows, and The Children of Isador, were shortlisted for the Sir Julius Vogel Awards.
PUBLISHED WORKS:
The Palâdnith Chronicles:
Deep-Spire (Prequel novella)
Journey of Shadows (Book 1)
The Citadel of Lies (Book 2)
The Well of Secrets (Book 3 - available late 2015)
The Children of Isador
Sam lives in New Zealand's South Island, where she works as a freelance copy writer.
Website: www.samjcharlton.com
Blog: www.samanthacharlton.com
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