Westhaven - Rowan Erlking (free e novels .txt) 📗

the rooms, from the general’s suite to the guest quarters, were empty. Key holstered his gun and walked back down, shaking his head.

“I don’t understand it,” he muttered as he reentered the foyer. Tiler had stayed down there, deciding not to ascend the stairs on his sore leg. “The general would not have fled, unless he has changed completely since the last time I saw him.”

“Well, it has been almost two years since Stiltson. A lot can happen in two years,” Tiler said.

With a grimace, Key almost agreed. Perhaps in his old age General Winstrong had finally learned fear. Though, Key had a hard time believing that demon general had become a coward in his old age. He had seemed like all the tough old men who just became more gnarly and leathery, more rooted to his ways than ever.

Taking in a breath of resignation, Key walked back into the study. He peered up the walls and then opened all the cupboards. Slamming the doors, he cursed.

“It’s not here.”

“What?” Tiler glanced around, wondering what it was that Key would even want to come back for besides to kill the general.

“My father’s sword.” Sighing, Key marched back into the foyer. “The general probably took it, though I still don’t believe that he’d just run off like the others. I guess I didn’t know him that well after all.”

“How did you imagine him?” Tiler stuffed his pistol back into his holster.

Walking back through the open front door, Key said, noticing that the taxi driver had waited for them on the curb, “I don’t know. I guess I expected him to barricade himself in his study or his room with the desk or bed over turned while he stacked up all his guns to fire at any and every person that came at him. And then, when he was out of ammunition, he would fight with a knife, or brazenly as he had with that Cordril, Yadis, use my father’s unfinished sword.”

“And you expected to find him alive?” Tiler nearly laughed as Key walked down the steps. “Such an act is suicide.”

Key merely shrugged, taking hold of the car door handle. “I know. But it was his nature. And maybe, I don’t know, I thought perhaps he might perhaps still be alive. He had a way that frightens even the most sensible and strong man—including the blue-eyes.”

“You really were his slave.” The taxi driver murmured. He opened his own car door once more for the two men. “Where to now?”

Giving another shrug, Key glanced to Tiler, holding the door for him as Tiler took off his sword belt once more. “What do you say, Tiler? We find an inn? Get some supper?”

Hobbling down the steps, Tiler nodded. “Yes. That sounds like a grand idea. Then after that, we ought to go to the telegraph station and let Lady Sadena know where we ended up. She may be calling a council meeting shortly, and I am sure she’ll want you to be there.”

“Are you someone important?” the taxi driver asked as both Key and Tiler climbed inside again with their swords on their laps.

Tiler passed Key a look to say that he wasn’t going to tell. Then he called up to the driver, “Yeah. We’re two paying customers. Bring us to the best inn with the best food in town. We’re both starved.”

Laughing, the driver nodded, turned the wheel, letting off the brake, and stepped on the gas. “I know just the place.”

*

“Give it up!” shouted the humans outside his doors.

Gailert had turned over the desk and made a barricade with it and all the other furniture of the Sky Lord’s abandoned office. When he had arrived, the human army was already within the city—and the Sky Lord with all his attendants had fled. The betrayal and abandonment of Westhaven was complete. All that was left to do was for its last Sky Child soldier to defend their position as the rightful rulers of the land. At least he would die with his honor intact. Perhaps when his people returned with better technology, bombs, and faster airplanes, wiping out the human insurgents in swoops of firepower, and reestablished themselves, they would discover his honorable end. Then they would remember that he had been one of the last great generals of their time who did his all to maintain their sovereignty.

“You’re the only one left!” The humans shouted at him.

Gailert fired several other rounds until those guns also ran out of ammunition. He tossed them to the side and picked up the unfinished sword he had claimed as a trophy from the old Bekir smith. He pushed up to stand. He was going to die killing them with the last breath he had in him.

The humans seemed to read that he was out of ammunition. They came charging in with their swords up to slash the old man through. Gailert blocked with that sword and tried to throw them off—but the blade was almost immediately torn from his aged hands and hit the wall. He felt five sword points set at his throat—yet they halted.

“Blast. It’s just an old man.” One of the humans said, lowering his sword. “And a brown-eye yet.”

“Not just any old man,” another murmured, keeping his sword incredibly close to Gailert’s throat. “Don’t you know the face of General Gole?”

Several of the men laughed and withdrew their swords also. Only two remained to keep him still.

“We should kill him right now,” one of them said, with a surly grin.

“But didn’t Key say he wanted to kill the general himself?”

“Where do you think Key is anyway?” the other answered with a casual chuckle.

“I don’t know. Last time I heard he was in Calcumum.”

“I heard he went to Roan.”

Sweating, thinking hard on how he could negotiate living just a bit longer, long enough to get his revenge, Gailert said, “None of you are worthy to kill me, you foul savages. If anyone is to kill me, it ought to be that great general of yours. That Key. Only he is worthy to face me.”

Several of the men snorted, looking down at him.

“Yeah,” one of them muttered. “Key really ought to do the honors, though I would have enjoyed it.”

“Tie him up,” the rough looking leader of the group ordered. He gestrued to the other men. “And take him into that big hall. You two watch him.”

“Where’s he gonna go?” one of them asked with a snort. Yet he already roughly grabbed Gailert, almost crushing his arms. “This old man’s not going to run far with everybody around here.”

All the same, they obeyed their leader and heaved Gailert up. They tied his hands behind his back, making him walk at sword point into the great receiving hall which opened out into the outside square. Here, Gailert saw several different kinds of humans from all over Westhaven. His suspicions over the years of a nationwide human alliance were visually confirmed as it ever could be. Several southerners looked up when his captors pushed him into the room. The heads of lake men turned. One of them looked as if he could be Key himself. He marched over at the sight of him, drawing his sword.  

One of the humans set to guard him stepped between them. “Loid, you can’t. We’re saving him for Key.”

The one called Loid peered around the guards at Gailert with a snarl, but he let his sword fall back into his scabbard. “Fine. Kemdin really ought to do it anyway. He has that right.”

Gailert peered up at the lake man as he turned, and stomped back to one of his other fellows, though the human cast dirty looks at the general as if he still wished to be the one to kill him. When the leader of the group that had captured him brought out the unfinished Bekir sword, even showing it to the man Loid, the lake man glanced at it and nodded, saying something in a low voice. There was something oddly familiar about that man. Perhaps it was his angry glare. Or maybe it reminded him of the men he had seen with his escaped slave in Stiltson.

It was hours before he heard anyone mention anything regarding that Key, whether they called him over or knew exactly where he was. Mostly, new people came in and left. The majority entered the hall with a look of disgust or anger at the captive general. Some spat on him when they saw him. Others kicked at him with hate that was as savage as their leers. It was well into the evening before any of them had a definite word on the location of that infamous deviant, but by that time Gailert’s insides gnawed on themselves and the humans were lighting the lamps for an evening gathering, perhaps in the kitchens to salvage food.

He said nothing as he watched more and more newcomers arrive—one of which looked like an aristocratic woman, with how she held herself and walked. Her hair was a rich, long, dark brown. Part of was it twisted up and pinned with a hair comb on the back of her head. The rest trailed down her back. Her gown was of the Wingsley style—blue and white in a mixture of silk and linen with long squared sleeves with traditional pockets inside. Despite that, her gown was worn, threads broken and frayed. Most of it was stitched to seal up holes worn or shot in them. She passed by the general, gazing down on him as if to assess some kind of report she had heard of his reputation. She spoke with a voice that was deep and ominous. “They must be keeping you alive for Key. Though I would love to kill you myself, no one has more right to end your life than he. Therefore, cherish the few hours you have left in this world.”

“Right?” Gailert growled. His emotions fumed inside. “How dare you speak of right!”

But she chuckled as she walked away. “How dare you speak to me at all?”

His guards jabbed him in the side while her attendants jogged up to her even as several others bowed and nodded. A man with a grinning smile approached her and clasped his hands over hers. Gailert recognized that man’s face as the one man from Wenden Village who had claimed to be the patriarch’s son. He still wore his flax suit with the blue vest and clogs, though there were now bloodstains on it. He looked dustier from the road. He also smelled of spices, revealing him to be a witch. He shot Gailert a look without even approaching him, speaking to the woman instead.

“So, you’ve arrived! Does this mean we are holding council up here?”

The woman nodded to the witch as if she did not giving Gailert another thought.

“Lady Sadena.” Another man approached her, his long sword flapping at his side as he strode across the floor in haste. “Have you heard from Key yet? He left Calcumum with Tiler a day ago by train, and from what I hear he was heading south.”

“Yes,” the woman replied with a graceful nod. Her deep voice took on a pleased lilt. “He and Tiler are in Roan. I sent them word to come to Danslik since what he is looking for is here.”

She cast Gailert a slight look. The well-armed man peered over at him, following her gaze. Seeing Gailert, he frowned.

“The old demon’s still alive?” The swordsman huffed irritably. He then lowered his voice so that he spoke more privately with her as if what he had to say was something the others could not hear.

The woman merely tilted her head in a refined expression to say ‘that is how it is’ without words. It wasn’t exactly a shrug.

The swordsman looked slightly put out, shaking his head with a sigh. “Fine. We’ll wait.”

As the hour grew towards nightfall, General Winstrong’s guards changed. By then the flow of people going out lessened as the flow in