Girl in the Shadows

Girl in the Shadows

By Brent Nichols

Copyright 2014 Brent Nichols

Smashwords Edition

This is a work of fiction. A novel. Totally made up. Any resemblance to actual persons, places, river pirates or skulking necromancers is purely coincidental.

Cover art courtesy of Deedee Davies at www.3dfantasyart.co.uk/.

Chapter 1

Alerak Chadkal opened the door of his rented room and stooped so he could enter the hallway. His chamber was a dismal afterthought in what had once been a grand mansion, accessed by a corridor with a ceiling barely higher than his shoulder. He felt ridiculous every single time he entered or left the room, and he was developing a kink in his back, but appearances had to be maintained.

It was easier, slightly, once he reached the stairs. He only had to lean his head to one side to navigate the curving stairwell. He soon reached the third-floor corridor, where he could finally stand upright. If tonight went according to plan, he might soon be free of this place. Whether things would get worse, of course, remained to be seen, but he was running out of choices.

Off to play cards, Al? The speaker was a man in his late middle years, his shirt an absurd explosion of lace spilling out across white silk.

Alerak gave him a mocking bow. Fencing lessons, Uncle Samtin. I'm a scion of Chadkal. What would people think if I spent my time playing cards?

Samtin chuckled. Off you go then, and keep the family honor burnished bright. Uncle was a courtesy title, though most of the noble families in Osard were inter-related. Samtin was likely a distant cousin.

Alerak made it to the stairs without needing to talk to anyone else. He loathed most of the tenants who shared his building. Samtin was one of his favorites, a man at least able to laugh at himself and his idle lifestyle. The others embraced their pretensions with a deadly seriousness and bristled at any hint of mockery.

There was plenty of time before his lesson, but Alerak hurried, wanting to discourage conversation and reach the street as quickly as possible. The honest smells of horse dung and garbage would be a balm to the senses after the stifling, perfumed air of the Addersley Estates. Overpriced and over-decorated, the Estates had only one allure that kept the tenants coming back. King Orek's grandfather had patronized the place, and that gave it prestige.

He made it to the ground floor without having to do more than nod to anyone. There were two people on duty in the opulent lobby, a thick-shouldered man ready to carry bags or toss out the riffraff, and a girl, slim and elegant, who had been a maid in some lord's manor and had the refined accent and polished manners to prove it. As he crossed the lobby she looked up and raised a finger. Master Chadkal?

Alerak paused at her desk, and she handed him an envelope made of thick, creamy paper. The seal bore the crest of House Chadkal, and he frowned. He was no favorite of the family. A letter from home could only be bad news. He nodded his thanks and walked out into the street, putting on his hat and checking that the feather plume was straight.

The Addersley Estates were on the side of what the locals called Money Hill. The view would have been spectacular if there hadn't been an equally tall building directly across the street. Every person in sight was expensively dressed, although very few were actually wealthy. There were servants on errands, dressed to enhance the prestige of their employers, and merchants or business people dressed to impress their clients. And Alerak, nearly penniless, investing what little he owned in keeping up appearances.

He headed down the street, pausing at a gap between buildings. It baffled him that no one else ever stopped to admire this view. He could see a long slice of the city falling away before him, a patchwork of rooftops with lines of smoke like the fingers of supplicants stretching toward heaven. One little curve of the river was in sight, a glittering bar of sapphire between the riverfront warehouses. Beyond that he could see the ocean.

The city of Irdan clung to the curve of a small bay that formed a protected harbor. Half a dozen ships were in port, adding to the bustle and clutter that made the city the most exciting place in the world. The smaller ships were nestled against piers. A couple of huge cargo vessels bobbed at anchor, and he could see small boats moving back and forth, ferrying cargo to shore.

Beyond that, the clutter and chaos of the city abruptly ended. Half of the bay was placid, empty water. He could see the headland that marked the edge of the bay, a promontory of land largely abandoned to trees and seabirds. The only mark of human activity was a squat stone tower on the tip of the headland.

Farther inland, he knew, were endless leagues of farms and orchards and pastures. Here on the coast, though, the ground was too rocky to farm. There wasn't even a fishing village for several leagues up and down the coast. There was wild forest not far beyond the city walls, only in a narrow strip along the coast, but wild just the same.

Civilization collided with wilderness in Irdan. Ocean collided with land. The regal court of the Endess kings came face to face with the unwashed mass of humanity. Exotic traders of every creed and color walked the streets of Irdan, dressed in everything from furs to feathers, speaking a babble of incomprehensible languages. This was the only part of the civilized world they would ever see. There were some who felt soiled by the contact, but not Alerak. He reveled in it. Irdan had to be the greatest city in the world.

A cart rumbled on the cobbles behind him, a hawker on his way up the hill with upscale wares to sell. The man seemed to be selling wooden puppets, carved with breathtaking skill, each one dressed as a tiny soldier or lord or sailor or priest. Alerak smiled in spite of himself. They might end up the neglected playthings of over-indulged children, but each puppet was a tiny work of art, and it was a pleasure just to see them all go rolling past.

He moved away from the gap between the buildings and strode downhill. The Path of the Whirling Eagle occupied a long building at the base of the hill. The fencing academy dealt in prestige as much as skills training, and it was located as close as possible to the pedigreed students it hoped to attract. Alerak paused in front of the school, admiring the whimsical wooden sign with its sword-wielding eagle. He could hear the distant peal of the clock in the tower by the palace, and he counted the chimes. He was early for his lesson.

A set of broad wooden steps led up to the academy entrance. Alerak took a seat on the steps and turned the envelope over in his hands, not wanting to open it. There was no one back home that he cared to hear from. It wasn't going to be a cheerful note asking him how he was enjoying city life. It was going to be bad.

Well, the fencing lesson would go badly if he went in distracted. He was supposed to be a senior student, and Master Sandoval was not above giving some quite sharp reminders to students who failed to meet his expectations. Whatever was in the envelope was best dealt with now. He sighed and used his thumb to crack the seal.

The paper inside was much cheaper than the envelope, and Alerak smiled in spite of himself. It wasn't just the seal that marked this letter as having come from House Chadkal. He unfolded the sheet, and his smile disappeared.

He knew his mother from the precise handwriting and the utter lack of warmth. The note was as brutal as it was succinct. The sale did not go through. Your allowance will be discontinued immediately.

That was all. There was no signature, and nothing of a personal nature. He folded the note carefully and tucked it back into the envelope, finding refuge in the distraction. After that, though, there was nothing for him to do. He put a hand on his churning stomach and used the other hand to turn the envelope over and over. It wasn't his mother's coldness that had him upset. He'd gotten over that long ago. He had! The foundations of his life had just been kicked out from under him, and fresh ramifications crowded in on him with every breath.

His room was paid up for three more nights. After that? He felt his shoulders slump. He had no idea what to do next.

A distant chime brought him to his feet. He just had time to change and stretch before his lesson. He walked into the academy, and a young woman in a padded jacket bowed slightly. Master Chadkal? Remember, your tuition is due.

Alerak put a hand to his pocket. He had the week's tuition, but it was very nearly all that he had. I'll pay shortly, he said, and she smiled and walked off. He saw no suspicion in her eyes. It would be unthinkable to her that a man of his station wouldn't pay.

His thoughts churned as he walked deeper into the academy. The shame of his position was unendurable. Kicked out for not being able to pay his tuition! He would walk away before they kicked him out, but everyone would know the truth.

Maybe he could pretend to be angry about something. He could stomp away in a fury, vowing never to come back. Master Sandoval would be disgusted, and the other students would think him spoiled and foolish, but anything would be less shameful than admitting he was broke. He shook his head. The problem was, he loved the academy, and everyone knew it. If he turned his back on the Path of the Whirling Eagle, everyone who knew him would see it for the childish ploy that it was.

What's the matter, Alerak? Did one of your rich widows serve you cold shoulder?

Alerak's head snapped up. He had walked into the coat room blindly. There were four men present, hanging up cloaks or jackets or changing into reinforced fencing gear. The speaker was Alerak's least-favorite student, a sneering young man named Ingery Ostend. He wore a tiny little beard and mustache, trimmed with absurd precision, and an earring with a ruby in it. His grandfather held the family title and was still going strong, and his father was hale and fit. Ingery wouldn't be Lord of Ostend for another forty years in all likelihood, but he was in the direct line for a title, and in his eyes that made him better than Alerak.

Even his use of Alerak's first name was a calculated insult, an implication that, as a younger son, Alerak wasn't a true Chadkal. On most days Alerak either ignored his jabs or gave back a few barbed words of his own, but today he grinned. Today, he realized, he was done with Ingery and his insults.

Ingery, he said, and watched a smile bloom on the man's face. Alerak was finally rising to the bait, and Ingery was delighted. Alerak smiled back. Why don't you shut your slack mouth before I shut it for you?

Ingery's smile disappeared. This was supposed to be a game of words, of status, and Alerak was breaking the rules.

Tell me, Ingery, did you walk in here yourself, or did someone track you in on their boot? Alerak's voice was mild, amused. He wrinkled his nose. I thought I caught a whiff of you as I came in. I think it's time to improve the air in this place. I think it's time someone threw you out.

A red flush rose on Ingery's neck and spread across his face. His hand went to the sword belt hanging beside his coat on an ornate hook. His fingers closed around the jeweled hilt of his fashionable rapier.

Take your hand off that toy, little boy, or I'll have to give you a spanking.

Ingery froze, his knuckles white on the hilt, his face dark with blood. He was furious, but he couldn't quite bring himself to take the next step. You better shut your mouth, he snarled, or you'll regret it.

Alerak snickered, and watched Ingery's face go even darker. I see I've frightened you, he said, and stepped to the side, clearing the doorway. There. Now you can run away.

That was all it took. With a wordless cry, Ingery dragged his rapier out of the sheath. The others scrambled back as Alerak drew his own sword. A voice in the back of Alerak's mind jabbered away at him, telling him that he could still pull back from the brink. He ignored the voice. It was too late.

Both of them had been students for several years, and they were closely matched in skills, but Ingery never fenced well when he was upset. He charged at Alerak like he meant to trample him, only remembering at the last instant to extend his blade. Alerak sprang to the side, and Ingery had to put a hand up to keep from barreling into the wall.

I should have engaged him there. He was completely out of control. I won't have an opportunity like that again. Ingery whirled to face him, and Alerak moved back, weight on the balls of his feet, knees slightly bent. He was annoyed to see the sword trembling in his hand. It was the first time he'd fought with a real blade, against an opponent who wanted to do him real harm. His blood seemed to surge with fire, images of dying on the point of Ingery's blade dancing through his mind.

Alerak shook his head, trying to regain his usual focus. The only advantage he had over Ingery was the fact that the man was an oaf, excitable and foolish when his blood was up. I need to calm down, or my advantage is gone.

Ingery advanced, more cautiously now. His lips were pulled back from his teeth in a snarl, but his training was asserting itself, and he moved forward in a proper fencing pose, poised and ready to move in any direction. He was at his most dangerous now, too angry for restraint but not angry enough for stupid mistakes.

Well, that could be rectified. Alerak took a step back, straightened up, and lowered his sword. This is pathetic, he said, forcing a chuckle. I need a real man to fight.

Ingery bellowed and charged. Alerak stepped forward, the blood pounding in his ears, and swept his sword across his body, knocking Ingery's blade aside. Alerak continued the movement, leaning in, driving his shoulder into Ingery's chest. Ingery's nose hit the side of Alerak's head, and Alerak's shoulder slammed into Ingery's breastbone with enough force to jar Alerak to his heels.

The blow rattled Alerak, but it was devastating for Ingery. Alerak felt a rush of air against the side of his face as the breath left the other man's lungs, and Ingery staggered backward, his mouth open, his eyes wide. His sword hung slack in his hand, and Alerak brought his own blade up. A quick twist of his wrist sent the end of Ingery's mustache flying. Ingery yelped as the tip of Alerak's sword cut his lip, and he sprang backward, clapping a hand to his mouth. His feet tangled and he crashed down on his backside, dropping his sword with a clatter.

There was a blur of movement in the corner of Alerak's eye, and then an explosion of pain in his back. He heard his own sword hit the floor. He blinked and shook his head, and found himself looking up at a wizened brown man with a shaved scalp. Why am I on the floor?

For an endless moment the two men locked eyes. There was fury in Master Sandoval's gaze. That was to be expected, but much worse was the disappointment and the contempt. The blade master's voice had the dry sound of feet shuffling across sand. You have shamed me, he said. You are not fit to be my student. Leave this place, and never return.

It was exactly what Alerak had wanted, but the words still hit him like a blow from an axe. The fury in those tired brown eyes was fading, replaced by a sadness that hurt far worse than the pain in Alerak's back. He lowered his eyes, stood, and picked up his sword. He wiped the tip of the blade on the dark lining of his jacket, sheathed it, stepped over Ingery's legs, and walked out.

The air seemed colder in the street outside the academy. It hadn't quite sunk in that he would never again smell the mix of sandalwood and liniment, steel and sweat, that he found inside the Path of the Whirling Eagle.

He forced himself to grin. I made it out with reputation and purse intact. The memory of Master Sandoval's eyes, though, robbed the moment of any triumph. Even if his fortunes changed, he could never go back. Something precious was gone forever. Ingery would have a scar and would be an enemy for life. The only thing Alerak had achieved was to hide the truth.

Chapter 2

Alerak trudged downhill, pushing thoughts of the academy out of his mind, trying to think about the future. Things had to be pretty bad at home if they were cutting him loose. After all, penury on Alerak's part would reflect badly on House Chadkal.

He knew the sale his mother had referred to in the letter. The family estates had been crumbling away over the years, sold off a few acres at a time to cover emergency expenses, eroding the rental incomes that formed the foundation of the family's wealth. There had been one card left to play, only one. His mother claimed partial ownership of the home she'd grown up in, the Averley estate. Her younger brother was the current Lord Averley and the rightful owner, but Mother had put forward the claim that, as eldest child, she should inherit. Then she had quietly offered to relinquish her claim by selling her share of the estate to her brother for an extravagant sum.

Uncle Cerno had, apparently, declined.

Alerak sighed. This was what his family had been reduced to, trying to sell what they didn't own, and they had failed even at that. He had a window of opportunity to save himself with a strategic marriage, but that window was closing rapidly. The façade of wealth surrounding House Chadkal was going to crumble quickly. He needed to be engaged, and preferably married, before the whole illusion collapsed. Once he hit bottom, there was no coming back up.

His feet took him lower and lower, following the slope of the hill toward the waterfront. The city grew poorer with every cross street, the people more roughly dressed. He put a hand on his sword hilt and shook off the gloom of his thoughts, recovering his alertness. He dangled over the abyss of poverty by a thread. A simple robbery would be a disaster from which he would not recover.

He had a rendezvous in the afternoon with the Widow Arina of House Landon. The Landons had lost almost everything but their name a couple of generations back, and had been reduced to the status of merchants. They owned hardly any land, but they had a dozen warehouses along the harbor, and in the last twenty years they had become quite rich. Lady Arina had married a commoner and gained financial security. Now he hoped to persuade her to marry a Chadkal, and get back some of her family's prestige.

She was fourteen years older than he was, a hard-faced woman who ran her House with an iron fist. Alerak sometimes woke up in the night drenched in cold sweat from a nightmare in which he was already married to her. Still, the nightmares of poverty were worse. He would win her hand if he could, either by charm or negotiation.

He'd never seen her smile. It would be her brain that would bring her into wedlock with him, not her heart. All he had to do was keep his name unsullied for a little while longer.

Mira Orlana was his backup plan. She was seventeen, giggled a lot, and mocked him every time she saw him. Still, she would marry him if her parents told her to. She was the fifth child of the brother of the current Lord Orlana, so she wouldn't enrich him as much as Arina Landon would. Still, she would likely be more pliable than the old widow, and if she was shallow and flighty and, to be perfectly honest, quite stupid, well, those were traits she might yet outgrow.

He only had the two targets. You couldn't chase after too many skirts without appearing desperate, after all. He had barely met Mira's parents, so that was a fish that would take a long time to net. Too long, with House Chadkal circling the drain and his allowance cut off. So it would have to be Lady Arina.

There were hours yet until his rendezvous with the widow. He could take a little time for himself. The twin blows of the letter and his expulsion from the academy had left him feeling hollow and shaky, and he craved the balm of a real friend, someone who wasn't trying to play him, someone he wasn't trying to play. He straightened the plume on his hat and headed for Eel Street, the last respectable street before the waterfront.

The Laughing Seal had standards. You didn't need a family name to get in the door, but shirtless oafs, prostitutes, and drunks would be turned away. It was respectable enough that Alerak could go in without embarrassment, but not so exclusive that he wouldn't want to.

The Seal was a card-playing club. It would be busy in the evening, but now, barely past noon, there was only one game in progress. He would be able to sit and relax without spending any money, as if waiting for friends.

Best of all, Essaline would not be busy.

She was heading toward his table by the time he sat down, and he smiled, watching her cross the room. Any day where he got to see Essa was a good day. She was smiling, and not the rote smile she gave to every customer, either. She genuinely liked him, despite the fact that she knew him all too well. He smiled back, feeling some of the day's tension melt away. She was slim and pretty, with a white apron tied over a dress of pink and blue, the colors of the Laughing Seal.

Hello, Essa.

Hello yourself. She dropped into a chair across from him. What brings you here on a sunny afternoon?

Only you, darling. Only you. Was that a hint of sadness in her smile? Girls could be funny about flirting, even when they didn't want you, or knew they couldn't have you. He wasn't sure which category Essa fit into.

Do you want anything?

Maybe some water, he said. I'll get it myself, later. There was always a pitcher on a table at the back of the room, cooling under a damp cloth. How have you been?

She shrugged. It's dull in here, and then it's too busy, and then it's dull again. How about you, Al? I haven't seen you in a few days.

He opened his mouth to give a glib reply, but a lump seemed to rise in his throat, choking him. Essa deserved the truth, and he felt a sudden, urgent need to tell her. There was no one else he could tell, and the bitter truth was, there was no one else who would care.

Al? There was concern in her eyes, and it warmed him. Al, what's wrong? Well, there had never been much chance of keeping the truth from her. He wore many masks for many different occasions, but Essa saw right through every one.

Well, he said, I got a letter today.

That was as far as he got. The door to the club swung open and a man of about thirty came in. He wore an embroidered pelisse over a silk shirt, and he took off an elaborate leather hat as he came through the door. He was short and stocky with a round face that was normally cheerful, but worry creased his forehead as he scanned the room. There was