Chapter Six

Lightning flashed followed quickly by the booming thunder as two figures walked into the small town near Nizacas Manor. The shorter figure walked straight towards the local tavern with the taller feminine figure following behind. They entered the tavern with rain sheeting off of their cloaks. The man quickly removed his cloak and hung it on the rack conveniently located by the door. He turned to help his taller statuesque female companion remove her heavy rain soaked cloak and hung it beside his.

“Keepa,” he bellowed above the din of the village men gathered at the tavern bar. A tall balding man bustled over the couple. “A table me and me lady. Two tankards of cider and whatevah’s in the pot.” The man slipped a piece of silver into the keeper’s hand.

“Of course, sir.” The balding man ushered the pair over to a table in the corner. The short man pulled out a chair for the woman before sitting in the other chair. The tavern keeper rushed to the kitchen bellowing for two bowls of pease porridge. The balding man quickly returned with two tankards of warmed spiced cider and thumped them down, barely keeping the contents from sloshing over onto the table. “We have pease porridge that will be out shortly. Will there be anything else, sir?”

The shorter man shook his head. “No tha’ ‘ill be all.”

As soon as the tavern keeper left, the woman started to laugh softly. “Ye really know ‘ow to cow them, don’ ya, ‘Vincent.’” She stressed his name grinning quite manically.

“Hush, woman. Don’ ya know ‘ow to keep quiet.” He sent her a mock glare. This sent her into peals of laughter. The men at the bar turned to look at them. ‘Vincent’ sent them a menacing glare. “Min’ yer own business.” The men quickly bent over their tankards and resumed their low conversation.

“Cenell, I’ve told ya not to draw attention to yersef.” The man cast a stern eye on the tall woman.

“O’ course, Vincent,” said Cenell, the manic grin gracing her full lips. She wrapped well manicured hands around to warm tankard, chasing away the chill. “But we made quite the entrance when we walked in.” A barmaid approached carrying bowls of porridge. She set them down before the unusual couple before scampering back to the bar to tend the men calling for more ale.

“Ye’re incorrigible.” He quickly scanned the tavern, seeing nothing out of place. “We’re here for a reason; I don’t wanna be ‘ere any longer than necessary.” He took a swig of the cider and set the tankard down with a soft thump.

“I understan’ quite perfectly what we are doin’ ‘ere. I wanna get this ove’ wi’ quickly an’ get back to me hearth in Alconion.” She grimaced at the taste of the rather thin pease porridge. Cenell grew serious as she looked around the quaint little tavern. “This place gives me a strange feelin.’ ‘Tis almost malevolent.”

“Aye, ‘tis quite different then the last time I was ‘ere.” Vincent spooned up a bit of the porridge frowning his displeasure. “At least, ta cider is good.”

“Aye, ‘tis passable, but nottin’ like Annalissa makes ‘ack ‘ome.” She washed down the porridge with a mouth full cider.

“True, but diffren’ spices make diffren’ tastes.” He glanced up as the door to the tavern opened to admit another patron.

The old man that entered place his rain soaked cloak on to rack. He tiredly shuffled over to the bar and promptly handed a warm tankard of ale. “Evening, Elder,” the barkeep greeted the elderly man warmly. “You want any porridge? We’ve got plenty.” The elder shook his head but took a grateful swallow of the warmed drink.

“No need, Zachary.” The elder glanced quickly around the tavern. “Lana and Skylar have supper waiting. Just came to talk a moment.”

“Those girls will surely spoil you, Elder Malkin.” The barkeeper leaned on the bar.

“I took those girls in when they lost their parents to the Nizacas. They figure it’s the least they could do for me.” The elder took another swallow of ale.

“Elder, what are we going to do about the Nizacas? They’ve got Trina again and now those Sacazins are staying at the manor.” Zachary brow furrowed with worry. “And now the storms are starting up again.”

“I’m not entirely sure. I tried to get Trina to contact her brother before things went so terribly wrong, but she was convinced that she could handle things.” The elder gave a weary sigh. “Nicholas was always a bone of contention ever since he disappeared with Mikal and Viola.”

“I never understood why they left.” The barkeep grabbed a rag from a bucket of water and started to wipe down the slightly sticky bar. “Sebastian Nizacas wasn’t nearly as bad back then, but ever since they left things have slowly gotten worse for the village.”

“I’m quite aware of that, Zachary.” Malkin lifted the mug to his lips for another swallow. “Those two young Sacazins might be able to help, but they are now at the manor. Who knows what Sebastian has planned for them?”

“Did old Thomas deliver that message to them to beware?” The barkeep asked softly.

“Yes, he had a grand old time of it,” the elder chuckled lowly. “I think he secretly enjoys pulling disappearing acts.” Malkin turned serious. “I just wish there could be a better way to stop what Sebastian is doing to Trina.”

“Yeah, ever since her last visit to the manor to stop Sebastian Trina hasn’t been the same.” Zachary scrubbed vigorously at an especially sticky spot. “What did that Nizacas do to her?”

“I wish I knew, Zachary.” Elder Malkin took a moment to sip from his tankard and glanced around the tavern. His gaze stopped on the middle age couple seated at one of the tables. “Who are the strangers?”

“Not sure, Elder,” the barkeep said shrugging his shoulders. “They came in soaking wet just a bit before you entered. Guess they’re travelers and stepped in to escape the storm.” The barmaid came by with a steaming pitcher of ale and topped off the elder’s tankard.

“Bethany,” called the barkeep as she turned to leave. “You know anything about our visitors?”

“Well, there isn’t much to tell, Zachy,” she said giving the barkeep a seductive smile. “Their names are Vincent and Cenell. She’s complained about your cider. Said it isn’t as good as somebody called Annalissa makes. Their accent makes it a bit hard to understand at times. They also mentioned Alconion. Think it might be their home.”

“Alconion?” Malkin raised a speculative eyebrow.

“Elder,” asked the barmaid, “is that important?”

“Could be.” He swallowed a mouthful of ale. “Bethany, keep listening but don’t be intrusive.”

“Sure thing, Elder.” She laid a kiss on the old man’s cheek. Winking at the barkeep, she turned to wend her way amongst the tables. “You’ll get yours later, Zachy,” she saucily called over her shoulder.

Cenell brushed irritably at her damp hair clinging to the side of her face. “I donna ‘ike ‘is weder, Vincent.”

“I know, Cenell.” Her shorter companion rummaged through his travel kit before pulling out parchment and charcoal stick. He placed them on the small table of the room they managed to rent for the night.

Cenell pulled a brush from her own travel bag and started undoing her braided coil of hair. Her raven locks fell about her shoulders in a wild mass of thick waves and curls. Slowly she brushed out the waves of hair.

Vincent took up the charcoal stick and jotted a quick set of marks. Cenell moved to see what he wrote as he quickly began to remove his sodden leather boots.

“I ‘ope the storm pass soon.” He placed his boots next to the chimney that bisected one of the walls of their small room.

“Aye, ‘tis quite unusual. I’ came up so sudly.” She continued to brush her hair as she read what was on the parchment. The barmaid is listening at the door.

“‘Ere let me hep ya wi’ yer boots, Cenell.” She moved to sit on the single chair. Vincent efficiently untied the leather laces and eased the boots from her cold feet.

“Oh, tha’ feels wonderful.” She wiggled her toes. Cenell placed the brush down and deftly plaited her hair into a single long braid.

Vincent placed her boots next to his. “Thar’s ‘ome pegs ‘ere, Cenell.” He pointed to the set of wooden pegs mounted in the wall. The short man then whipped his tunic over his head and hung it on one of the pegs. He went back to the table and wrote again on the parchment.

We need a spell to deal with our eavesdropper. Cenell glanced over at the door before taking up the charcoal stick from Vincent.

Sleep spell, she wrote with a flourish.

“I’m a bi’ drowsy meself, Cenell.” Vincent nodded towards the door.

The woman raised an elegant hand toward the door. She spread her fingers as though she was giving them a cursory inspection. Softly, she spoke words of arcane origins. A faint white wisp of power flowed from her outstretched hand. It drifted lazily toward the door and out through the keyhole.

The pale wisp emerged on the other side where is curled about the barmaids neck. Slowly, is drifted up as she inhaled. It danced upon her lips, before flowing in as she breathed. She released a jaw-popping yawn and slowly closed her eyes. Her breathing slowed as she slumped against the wall.

Cenell clenched her bottom lip between her teeth as sweat formed on her forehead. Slowly, she released the breath she was holding.

“She ‘leeps, Nicholas,” she whispered.

“Thank you, Callista.” He turned to the door as his features melted and blended while his hair faded from salt and pepper to a silvery blond. Cracking the door open, he checked the hallway for any other potential eavesdroppers. Nodding with satisfaction, he closed and locked the door.

Nicholas walked to Callista. She sat bonelessly on the chair. Her head laid resting on the back of the chair, eyes barely cracked open.

“Callista,” he said, gently touching her hand. She forced her eyes fully open and dragged her body more upright. “Go on and rest.” He looked into her eyes, reading the exhaustion reflecting there. “I can visit Malkin by myself.”

“Yer sure, Nicholas?” she asked softly.

“You’re too exhausted, Callista.” He took her hand in his. “And I know how you feel about using senta.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “I’ll be fine.”

“Ay came ta ‘elp me son an’ nephew an’ Ay aim ta do so.” The steely edge to her voice came through despite the softness of her tone.

Nicholas shook his head then ran his fingers through his hair. “I’m here for the same reason.” He walked over to the small shuttered window. “Mikal would skin me alive if I let you burn yourself up. And I’d rather not face Viola’s tender care.”

“‘Ery well. Ay ‘ill ‘ave ye from yer wife’s cooking.” She gave Nicholas a small smile.

He returned her smile before carefully opening the shutters. He peered out into the gloomy mist that shrouded the town. “The storm seems to have passed,” he commented. Nicholas grabbed a fresh tunic from his travel sack and slipped it on over his head.

“I’ll return shortly, Callista,” he said before slipping on his still damp boots and exiting through the open window.