Michael Sullivan - The Crown Tower

“No, but I’ll protect what could be an innocent man from a mindless mob. You’ve had it out for him since he came on board.”

“And what about Miss Vivian? Didn’t you promise her just yesterday that you would protect her?”

“I did and I will.” He looked directly at her. “I’ll keep you safe. I promise you that.”

“And what about us?” Samuel asked.

“I suggest you stay together. You said it yourself, about being vulnerable when alone. Don’t give him any opportunities, and I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“That won’t change anything. Can’t you see the danger we are all in? You’re blind and a fool!” Samuel said.

Hadrian laid a hand casually on the pommel of his short sword and Samuel stiffened. “I’ll add deaf to that list, but only this once,” Hadrian said softly.

He walked away, annoyed by the smallness of the boat and feeling Samuel’s glare on his back. Sebastian’s mood was harder to gauge. Hadrian thought it a fair bet that both merchants were displeased with him; whether that constituted a change in their opinion was difficult to tell.

From the high rail of the gunwale, Hadrian realized he could climb onto the top of the cabin area-a modestly sloped roof made from pitch-covered boards. In the direct sun the pitch was soft, but not tacky. He sat alone on what he realized was the highest point on the barge. From here, he had a clear view of the entire deck. At the stern, Eugene sat with his feet up, much the way Farlan had, and Hadrian hoped the old steersman had made it to shore. From the little interaction between them, he had liked the man. Below, Sebastian and Samuel continued to speak, but now in hushed whispers, huddled close together in their matching robes, Vivian at their sides. On the bow, the hooded man appeared oblivious as he stared out at the river.

Hadrian was back at his new favorite spot on top of the cabins, staring at the stars. With nothing to lean back against, it wasn’t as comfortable as sitting on deck, but the difficulty of reaching it-requiring a significant effort to climb-guaranteed privacy. None of the jewelers were going to scale the railing in their fancy, flowing robes, nor was Vivian. That left only the hooded man, and Hadrian doubted he would make an appearance.

The day had passed uneventfully. Without Farlan, they managed as best they could. Sebastian, Samuel, and Vivian had set out the midday meal as well as supper. Hadrian had served his time at the tiller after Eugene. Samuel took the duty next and Sebastian would take the last leg. Although whose turn it actually was would make little difference. All three merchants were gathered at the back of the boat, and Hadrian guessed none of them would sleep at all that night. They would keep each other awake, and safe, trading off as needed. The hooded man continued his vigil at the front of the boat, and Vivian had locked herself in her cabin for the duration.

The river continued to narrow and the canyon walls rose ever higher. Hadrian knew the navigable portion of the Bernum River ended at Amber Falls, just south of Colnora. He didn’t have a clue how he knew this, any more than he knew not to stick his hand in a fire or stand on a hill in a lightning storm. Someone must have told him, but he couldn’t remember who or when. A lot of his knowledge had been gained that way, and he guessed a good deal of it was wrong.

As a boy living in a small village, he had heard many stories delivered by visitors-tinkers mostly. They had been the only ones to enter the Hintindar Valley on a regular basis, and Hadrian suspected that little had changed since he had left. Usually it would be Packer the Red, who could be spotted a mile out by the sound of his rattling wagon and the sight of his flaming hair. When the sun was setting, it looked as if Packer’s head was literally on fire. The tinker sold and traded with practiced skill, but his stories had always been free, which granted him a welcomed place in everyone’s home.

Packer said he had traveled to the far reaches of the known world, from the deep forests near the Nidwalden-which he claimed marked the boundary with the ancient elven kingdom-to the immeasurably high towers of Drumindor, an ancient dwarven fortress that could spew molten stone hundreds of feet through the air. Everyone delighted in his tales, which usually featured Packer on lonely roads in the middle of the night. Most often he spun fantastical stories about encounters with ghosts, goblins, or faeries who attempted to lure him to an untimely death.

When Hadrian was young, one of his favorite tales was about Packer finding himself surrounded by a bunch of goblins. He had described them as little green men with pointed ears, bulbous eyes, and horns. Fastidious little folk who Packer declared wore formal coats and tall hats. They were dapper in the moonlight and spoke with Calian accents. The goblins had wanted to take Packer to their city to wed their queen, but the tinker outsmarted them. He convinced the goblins that a copper pot had magical properties and when worn on the head showed visions of the future. Packer’s grand tale had kept everyone in the village huddled at the hearth, riveted and squealing at every turn, Hadrian included. He had clearly imagined the goblins Packer described and believed every word. That was long before Hadrian had left Hintindar, before he had gone to Calis and seen a real goblin. By that time, Hadrian had already begun to doubt Packer’s worldliness, but he knew just how ridiculous the tinker’s stories had been the moment he entered the jungles and saw his first Ba Ran Ghazel. Packer had never seen a real goblin. If he had, he never would have lived to tell the tale.

Much of Hadrian’s education had been gained kneeling around various hearths in the winter or beneath shady trees in summer, told by people who never traveled more than a few miles from home. No one in Hintindar knew anything about what lay beyond the valley, except Lord Baldwin and his father.

Danbury Blackwater hadn’t been from Hintindar. His father had come to the village only a few years before his son’s birth, but he never spoke of the days of his youth. Presumably because there was nothing to tell. Danbury was a simple man, more concerned with creating a plowshare than adventuring. Hadrian resented his small-minded attitude, and it was just one of the reasons he had left home, anxious to find out more about the world.

Packer may have lied about his goblins, ghosts, faeries, and elves, but his geography was impeccable. The river would indeed end at Amber Falls near Apeladorn’s largest city-Colnora. Beyond that, the river would fracture into a handful of fast-flowing, rough cascades that came from the highlands where Hadrian had spent most of his soldiering years. In all that time, though, Hadrian had never set foot in the city.

He yawned, regretting the hours of lost sleep. His legs were stiff, and just as he stood up to stretch, the hooded man headed toward the cabin door. Hadrian moved quickly and climbed down. He entered the cabin area only to find Mr. Hood simply going to his room.

Hadrian headed for his own door, but his footsteps must have unnerved Vivian, who called out in a wavering voice, “Who is it? Who’s there?”

“Don’t worry, Miss Vivian. It’s just me, Hadrian.”

“Oh, thank Maribor. Can you please wait just a minute?”

Hadrian heard dragging noises, and after some fumbling with the lock, the door opened.

She waved him in, opening the door wider. “I need to give you back your cloak and want to ask you something.”

All the ship’s cabins were the same, except perhaps the one the merchants rented, which Hadrian expected was a double where Eugene probably was forced to sleep on the floor.-Vivian’s room was identical to his with one narrow bed and a trunk beside it that doubled as a table. A lantern hung from the ceiling, and Hadrian bumped it with his head just as he always did in his own room.