The Runaway King

He frowned. “What’s your name?”



“You don’t need it.”



The bartender took offense at that. “I’m doin’ you a favor, boy. You could be more friendly about things.” He passed a drink across the counter to me. “Here.”



The drink was dark brown and frothy and smelled like a stable floor. I pushed it back to him. “Not for me.”



“Just a sip. I’m sure you’re thirsty. Besides, it’s a new batch and I want to know if it’s any good.”



“I can tell you from here that it’s not.” And if this place was what I suspected, the drink also contained the same powder I’d used to put Mott to sleep, or worse. I turned around. “Where’s the room?”



He nodded to a flight of stairs. “First door on the right. Sleep as long as you want and maybe you’ll work for me later on.”



No, I wouldn’t.



Room eleven was unmarked as such, and the furnishings inside were simple, with nothing but a mattress stuffed with pine needles and moss. It was flat on the floor and had a thin blanket for a covering. I didn’t care. I sank onto the mattress, ignored the ends of the needles that pricked through the fabric, and fell asleep immediately.



Some time later, something creaked in the hallway and my eyes flipped open. The room was very dark, but I remembered seeing a candle in the corner. I started to roll toward it, then froze, certain I heard footsteps on the stairs.



My initial thought was that the tavern owner was finally going to bed, which signaled the time for me to have a good look around before deciding whether to stay, as Fink had suggested. But as I listened, it clearly wasn’t the owner, who was a large man and would have heavier, less cautious footsteps.



And more than one was out there. I lay still on the floor. My hand was inches away from my knife, but I didn’t reach for it.



In the hallway, I heard the hiss of the tavern owner, saying, “Yeah, that room. But be quiet. He didn’t take the drink.”



Everything fell silent. Waiting there, knowing what was coming, was torturous. But it had to happen.



The door creaked open, letting in only a sliver of light from the hallway. I could feel them around me, like snakes slithering into a room. One was near my head, and I wasn’t sure how many were behind me, maybe four or five.



I’m not sure what the signal was, but they moved on me in unison. I grunted as one stuffed a gag in my mouth. As soon as it was tied, a canvas bag went over my head, then a drawstring pulled tight at the end of it. Another bound my wrists behind me, and it took two of them to clamp down my legs to tie them. Someone took the knife at my waist and placed it at my neck.



“Give me a reason to use this and I will,” a man growled, his face near mine.



I nodded, very slowly, then a large man picked me up and threw me over his shoulder to haul me out of the tavern.



Wherever Fink thought I belonged, that was where we were going.



They laid me across the back of a horse and we rode out of Dichell. Once the roads became more pitted and uneven, I knew we’d left the city limits. And I doubted we were on a main trail because I felt tree branches occasionally brush against either side of me.



Other than that, I had no idea where we were going.



There was little conversation, and when someone spoke, it was almost always the man who had threatened me inside the tavern, so it was impossible to tell how many men were in our group. At least a half dozen, I guessed, but maybe a couple more. It didn’t really matter.



The knots around my wrists wouldn’t have been too difficult to untie, but this time, escape wasn’t in my plans. All I could hope was that they gave me a chance to speak before they killed me. Although as I thought about it, it was usually only after I began speaking that most people felt like murdering me.



I did manage to work the gag out of my mouth. I wasn’t going to yell and there wouldn’t have been much point in attempting it anyway, but the gag made it hard to breathe, especially because I was being carried facedown on the horse so my lungs were already compressed.



There were campfires wherever we stopped some time later. I heard the fires pop when they hit moist wood and I could dimly see their light from behind the canvas bag. Whoever rode with me did the disservice of pushing me off the horse with his hand. I landed on my feet, but since they were tied up I crumpled straight to the ground.



“What’ve we got here?” someone asked.



“That boy who was asking about Devlin.”



“Fink said this boy was upset when he heard what Devlin did to the priest.”



The fact that Fink had spoken to these men was not a surprise. I knew he was connected to higher powers somehow, likely as a runner for supplies or to gather information in town. That had always been obvious since the only thing Fink wore that fit him were his shoes. They would have been provided to him by these men to ensure he could carry out their tasks.



I had to admire him for having already talked to them. Fink worked fast.



They propped me against a tree, fastened a chain to the rope around my wrists, tethering me to the trunk, then pulled the canvas bag off my head.



It was a simple thieves’ camp, with tents randomly sprung up wherever they fit between trees, and no visible discrimination in the darkness between cooking, sleeping, and latrine areas. Still, by the look of things, this camp had been here for some time.



A man crouched down beside me for a better look. He was in his early forties with broad shoulders and a slightly hunched back. His thin hair was cut short and probably used to be redder. Still, his eyes were intelligent and his face was marked with premature lines. He wasn’t likely to have great tolerance for me.



“Didn’t like that gag?” he asked, untying it.



“It tasted bad,” I said, still using the Avenian accent. “Are you sure you used a clean cloth?”



He chuckled, then slapped me. Not too hard, though, and I appreciated that. “That’s for being mouthy. I’m Erick Loman. I’m in charge around here. What’s your name?”



I hesitated, then with a loud huff said, “Sage.”



“That’s it?”



“You think someone like me is gonna have more than one name?”



Erick smiled. “I’m surprised anyone even bothered to give you a name at all.”



My expression mirrored his. “They didn’t. I gave myself this name.”



And that was the end of the smiling. With introductions out of the way, Erick got down to the business of having abducted me.



“Why were you asking Fink about the priest?”



“I have some sins to confess,” I said. “For ruining the life of the last man to kidnap me.”



His second slap was less kind. “Fink said you’re trying to find Devlin.”



“I’m trying to find the pirates. I have a job and need their help.”



“I’ve worked with them for years, boy. Pirates don’t help anyone but themselves.”



“This job will help them plenty.”



He frowned, then refastened the gag around my mouth. “Spit this out again and I’ll carve out your tongue. Got it?” He didn’t wait for an answer before the canvas bag went back over my head.



They left me that way and soon everything went quiet. Once I was certain they were asleep, I undid the knots that tied my hands, then removed the gag and the canvas bag. After untying the rope around my feet, I lay down to sleep as well, using the bag as a thin layer of padding between my head and my arm.