K. Taylor - The Shadow's heir

Laela straightened up. “He ain’t no lord an’ everyone knows it, Gower, so let me through.”

“You got a fine tongue on yer for a peasant,” the guard muttered, but he knew better than to pick a fight, and went on more moderately. “What’s it regardin’?”

“I’m here t’talk to him about the rent,” said Laela. “Dad sent me.”

Gower nodded. “Right then,” he said. “May as well let yer in. How’s yer dad, by the way?”

“Much better today,” Laela mumbled, and went in.

She had been in this building before, when Bran went there on official business, and she found Kendrick’s office easily enough. She knocked on the door.

“Come in.”

Laela obeyed.

Kendrick, a pasty-faced middle-aged man, squinted at her. “Oh, it’s you,” he said. “What d’you want? Why are you carrying all that, may I ask?”

Laela dumped her possessions on the floor but kept the sword. “Just wanted a quick word with yeh, sir.”

“If it’s quick,” he said, in rather ungracious tones. “What’s the problem? How’s your father, by the way?”

“He’s dead, sir,” said Laela.

He started at that. “Oh. I didn’t. . uh, I’m sorry to hear it.”

Laela knew he wasn’t. “I’m leavin’, sir,” she said. “Dad’s dead, so I’m gettin’ out of this bloody place while I can an’ before people know about it.”

“I see. So why are you telling me this?”

“I won’t need my Dad’s house no more,” said Laela. “So I’m sellin’ it back to yeh.”

Kendrick gave her a look. “I’m afraid it’s not as simple as-”

“I ain’t interested in no arguin’,” said Laela. “I know how much my dad paid yeh in rent, an’ I know what the property’s worth. So I want two hundred oblong.”

“You want-” Kendrick controlled himself. “You don’t seem to understand,” he said in patronising tones, as if he were speaking to a small child. “Your father didn’t own the house, he rented it from me. Therefore, you can’t sell it.”

“Fine,” said Laela. “But my dad paid rent in advance for this whole month comin’, an’ this whole month just started today. So give me the money back, an’ I’ll get goin’.”

“Well.” He softened. “There’s no need to be so hasty-”

“Yeah, there is,” Laela snapped. “An’ I don’t need any of yer blather about paperwork an’ all the rest of that nonsense. Yeh don’t want no stinkin’ half-breed hangin’ about the place, so just give me the damn money, an’ I’ll be out of yer hair.”

“I’ll give you a hundred and fifty oblong,” said Kendrick.

“Two hundred.”

“Young lady, this is not marketplace bartering,” said Kendrick. “I’m offering you a hundred and fifty oblong, and that’s final.”

“Two hundred,” Laela repeated in a flat voice. “Two hundred, an’ I’m gone.”

He threw up his hands. “Why should I be giving you money at all? You weren’t the one who paid the rent. It’s not even your money to take.”

“My dad didn’t have no other family,” said Laela. “Just me. An’ I was here when he told yeh I’d get everythin’ he owned after he died, see? I inherit everythin’. So hand it over.”

He glared at her.

She glared back.

Finally, Kendrick threw up his hands. “All right, fine. It’s not as if it’s my money anyway. Show this piece of paper to the treasurer, and she’ll give you what you’re after. I suggest you take it and go.”

Laela waited until he had finished scribbling down the order and calmly took it from him. “See yeh.”

“Laela?”

She paused in the doorway and looked back. “What?”

Kendrick had stood up. “Where are you going to go?” he asked, almost gently.

Laela stared coldly at him. “I’m gonna take the advice people’ve bin yellin’ at me in the street for years. I’m goin’ North.”

Kendrick stared at her. “What? Laela Redguard, you can’t be serious! The North. .?”

“I am serious,” she said. She sneered at him. “Where else is a half-breed gonna go?”

He paused briefly, and then sat down again. “You’ll be killed,” he said bluntly. “The instant you set foot in darkman territory. .”

“What, they’ll treat me worse than you would’ve?” said Laela. She spat. “I ain’t known nothin’ but prejudice from anyone here ’cept Dad. Maybe a blackrobe would understand that. It’s a hope, an’ I’m takin’ it.”

She walked out of the office.

At noon that day, she left the village, too, with a bag of gold oblong, her sword, supplies for a few days, and faint hope wavering in her chest.

Laela had never left the village before in her life, and she did so very nervously now. She followed the main road on foot until she managed to beg a ride on a vegetable cart heading for the next village. It arrived after nightfall, and once she had disembarked, she snuck into a barn and slept hidden behind a pile of hay.

She woke up at dawn and slipped out before anyone found her.

In the marketplace, she bought some food, careful to keep her hair covered by a hood as she had since leaving home, and went on her way.

And that was how she travelled: sometimes on foot, sometimes on a cart or with a group of other travellers, never exchanging more than a few words with anyone. She kept her money well hidden and her sword not so well hidden, and most of the time, people left her alone. It was a hard life, and lonely, but she held up well enough, and after a few days, she began to feel a sense of freedom, and even excitement, through the cloud of misery that had been hanging over her head ever since her father’s death.

Toward the end of her second week on the road, she had fallen in with a group of traders who had let her ride on the back of a cart in exchange for a few oblong. One of them, walking behind it, had been watching her curiously, and now he took a few long strides to catch up with the cart.

“Hullo,” he said.

Laela woke up from her daydream and looked at him. “Yeah?”

“Just wanted someone t’talk to,” said the man.

Laela yawned. “All right.”

“So, where are yer goin’? I got to say, it’s not that often yer find a woman travelling alone.”

“I ain’t goin’ anywhere in particular,” said Laela.

“Well,” said the man, “yer gonna have to pick a destination soon, ’cause we’re gonna be enterin’ the Northgates pretty soon.”

Laela started at that. “How soon?”

He squinted ahead. “I’d say the next day or so by my reckonin’. But y’wanna be on yer way before that happens.”

“Why would yeh be goin’ into the Northgates?” said Laela. “Yeh ain’t goin’ into the North, are yeh?”

“’Course not,” said the traveller. “Use yer brain, girl. There’s not a Southerner in Cymria would go there , not for love or money.”

Laela sat back and thought. It had been a long time since any Southerner had gone North, that was very true. Once upon a time, the North had been Cymrian territory-ruled over by griffiners. The lords of the land, given power by their partnership with griffins. They had conquered the North centuries ago, and its inhabitants had become either slaves or vassals.

But that was before what was now referred to as the Dark War, or the War of the Darkmen. That had been before Lord Arenadd Taranisaii, a renegade Northerner, had allied himself with an extremely powerful griffin and led a rebellion against the griffiners. Together, the man Southerners called the Dark Lord Arenadd and the griffin, simply called “the dark griffin,” had ruthlessly slaughtered and burned their way through the griffiner cities in the North. Any Southerner living there had been killed or driven out, and in the end, the rebels had captured Malvern, the capital city, and massacred its inhabitants.