Reyr the Gold (Dragonwall Series # 2)

Chapter 12 - The Watcher

Kastali Dun

Eagle stalked Lady Claire and her entourage as they enjoyed the market, keeping a safe distance. She and her ladies strolled from stall to stall, browsing through goods, giggling, and chatting happily. The guards that trailed behind the entourage left him frowning; they were far too restless. Each time he got a good look at them, he noticed their darting eyes. The king's Shield was the most vigilant of them all.

Side-stepping a puddle, he pulled his wide brimmed hat lower over his eyes. His contractor had not been entirely forthcoming. Kidnapping a royal? It wouldn't be easy. Should he have been surprised? Hardly!

As he trailed behind her, observing her progress, he sighed. No matter how badly he wished for this job to be over, he would not capture her today. It wasn't a total loss, however. He would use this excursion to his benefit; he would learn as much as possible about her.

As he watched his prize, he grew more disgruntled. His contractor should have been more truthful. He might have been better prepared. Then again, it was no wonder he had volunteered so little information. Eagle would have refused the job had he known the truth, but...he was here now. He wasn't one to waste an opportunity.

When he set out on his mission, it took him nearly two weeks on horseback to travel from Eagle Lake to Kastali Dun. He traveled alone, leaving his associates behind. Here in the capital he planned to make new connections. His pockets had gold dragons enough for that, thanks to the handsome deposit he received.

Upon his arrival the previous day, it took no time whatsoever to learn more about Lady Claire. The city was bursting with gossip about this outsider—how she had come from a land beyond the Gate, the strange powers she possessed, and the titles the king had bestowed upon her. She was a royal now, a position that only came with blood or marriage.

His plan of capture would be elaborate if he was to succeed. Fortunately, he already had some idea of his applicant pool; he needed men willing to do what others might consider unthinkable. He spent the previous night moving from one drinking establishment to another, all in search of prospective accomplices. Oftentimes he worked alone, but not this time. At minimum, he needed a place to work from—a hideout. This would be where he stored Lady Claire after he had her captured, just in case leaving immediately wasn't an option. If all went well, he would take her and be gone, slipping out of the gates with the large crowd that often moved through the city.

He continued through the market; his gaze never left his prey. Each time she and the others stopped, he swooped into the nearest stall. Regardless of what it was, he showed a great deal of interest in anything from fruits, to jewelry, to leather satchels. These were items he would never take a second look at, but it was a good way to keep out of sight.

As her entourage progressed, Eagle rarely heard what they discussed. Their voices were nothing more than quiet murmurs by the time the sounds reached him. Their laughter, however, was another matter. It permeated the air. Moreover, they laughed often and without restraint, sometimes roaring out loudly if something particularly funny was said. In a way, they reminded him of hens. He chuckled at the thought.

When Claire's party entered an especially large merchant's tent, he decided to follow them in, noting that two of the four armored guards remained outside to keep watch. He glanced at the sign outside; it was a tent full of writing supplies. When he entered, he found quills, ink pots, books—some empty, others filled with writing—stacks of parchment, wax, seals, and the like. Feigning interest in a display of quills on his left, he watched the activity in the tent.

The three ladies did a great deal of chatting. "Tell us again how Commander Daxton proposed?" one of them said. This topic seemed to excite the women, sending them down a path of never ending natter. It was all he could do to keep from rolling his eyes. At least they were oblivious to his presence. It was all the better for him, although the Drengr in their company had noticed him; he felt the Shield's gaze more than once.

"Can I help you, sir?" A voice sounded behind him.

He turned and came face to face with the tent merchant. "Greetings, kind sir," he said, giving the man a quick bow of his head. "I was wondering about the price of these quills and perhaps an ink pot to go along with them. I have several letters to write."

At that moment, Lady Claire made her way over to where he stood and began shopping for quills. "Pardon me," she said, reaching around him for a dark brown, feathered plume. Her arm brushed his, but only barely, as the fabric of her gown rubbed against that of his tunic. She paid him little mind otherwise as she removed a quill from its holder, studying it. He clenched his jaw and looked away from her. So close yet so far...

"The quills here are five steelys each, mister," replied the merchant, gazing expectantly at him. The merchant then pointed at the upper row of writing devices. "These on the top are of higher quality, they are two silvers each. Depending on the ink pot that interests you, they start at a single silver and range up to five silvers for the larger sizes."

"Pardon me, sir, but why are these more expensive?" Lady Claire interrupted the merchant, pointing to the larger quills.

The merchant looked at her with a wide smile. "My lady," he said, removing one of the more expensive products from its holder and rotating it between his index finger and thumb. "These are made from larger feathers, particularly swans' feathers. And they have nib attachments which are gold."

What a farce! Who needed a gold nib on a quill?

"Of course," she replied making a grab for one of the nicer quills. This time he stepped out of her way, moving aside to get a better look at her. She was rather tall for a woman; the top of her head reached his nose. Her hair was as golden as the sun, cascading down her back. The gown she wore must have cost a steep price. It was all frills and fabric.

The merchant watched her for several moments before turning back to him. Quickly, he removed one of the cheap, black-feathered options, and asked for an ink pot as well. After paying for both, he retreated from the tent. Spending too much time in the lady's company was dangerous. If he was suspected, his mission would be at an end.

Placing his wares into his side satchel, he made his way to a booth across the lane. This one served ale. Stalking was thirsty work, so he ordered a tankard and sat to watch the folks going about their business.

It was a while before Lady Claire and her entourage emerged from the tent. The ladies in attendance were all smiles, chatting enthusiastically and throwing their heads back in laughter. Claire looked happy. He wondered why his contractor was so interested in kidnapping her. A secret love interest perhaps? There was no denying her beauty. She had charm. Given her rise to fame, it seemed a likely scenario.

He turned his thoughts elsewhere. Like every job, it was not his business to meddle. He'd killed many without a second thought. Asking questions was dangerous business—it could get one into trouble. A man needed to make a living, so he completed his missions without hesitation. As long as there was gold enough to pay him, there was work enough to be done.

His scrutiny followed his prey until Lady Claire rounded a bend and continued out of sight. He was unable to do anything. If it came to it, sneaking into the keep might be his only option. For now, he would bide his time.

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