The Price of Nobility: The Historian Tales, #2

Praise for The Price of Creation,

first book of The Historian Tales:

T his author deserves to be read...

-Tracy Hickman

New York Times Bestselling Author

Inspiring...

-John Forsythe

Original and refreshing...

-Robyn Anderson

An incredible and enthralling read...

-Arianne Clare

Bookworm on the Loose (blog)

One of the most original stories I have read in years...

-Jamie Jensen

I easily stepped into this world with the Historian as my guide and storyteller...

-Carol Stowe

The following is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed herein are the invention of a brilliant creative mind, any similarity to any real persons or occurrences is purely coincidental. More or less.

The Price of Nobility

Copyright © 2014 by Dawn Star Press

All rights reserved, including reproduction of this book or any portion herein.

Cover art by Noel Sellon

ISBN: 978-0-9910230-3-5

Digital/Smashwords Edition

Published in the United States of America

For my son,

who gives me hope

Chapter 1

Iam the Historian , I am immortal, I am ageless, I am nameless. I am carried by my own feet through times and worlds to witness great stories

This is one such story.

I felt colder than you can possibly imagine.

Somehow the forces that hold death at bay for me welcome the elements with open arms. I have been in situations where I envied people who had frozen to death, as their suffering had an end to it.

I could be frozen to the core, every normal sensation numb from cold, and yet the urge to move on would be as strong as ever.

Lacking a great story, I was cold enough that anything indoors would have been more than enough temptation to hold me for the night. Winter was coming to an end in the land I walked, but the night was cold and the wind was strong.

At that moment, as numbness crept up my arms and legs, I would have settled for a cave or a fallen tree if nothing more hospitable could be found.

To my surprise and delight, a city opened up beneath me over the next hill. In the distance, a broad castle sat over the city like a brooding hen. My luck held and the first building I could see on the outskirts of the city was obviously an inn.

I quickened my pace. I felt like running, but even half-frozen, I still couldn't go scampering off over the country. The dignity of my office, or something like that. I can't honestly say I understand everything I do.

I stepped through the doors into a wall of stuffy warmth and the smell of stale sweat. I moved quickly to the side, hoping the innkeeper wouldn't notice me for a while.

For someone who walks endlessly, money is a pointless burden. One society's valuables are another society's trash, and all of it eventually becomes dead weight.

However, my lifestyle seems to be the polar opposite of innkeepers’, who stay in one place their entire life and try to acquire as much of all types of money as possible.

Innkeepers and I have never been able to reconcile this extreme philosophical difference. So most innkeepers simply did not want me around once they discovered I had no money, nor had any ambitions to acquire any. Some got downright rude about it.

As luck would have it, this innkeeper was quite busy harvesting money from a large group of men. They were all dressed the same and had swords hung at their belts. It didn’t take much to see that this was a soldiers' bar.

I successfully worked my way to a corner table that was still hidden in shadow, in spite of the bright fire and several lamps around the room. I slid into the chair, my eyes on the innkeeper. My luck held and his attention was completely focused on the soldiers pressing about the bar.

Any reason you don't want to be seen?

I jumped. Not very dignified, being startled like that, but even a Historian can be surprised. I had been so intent on the innkeeper, I had not noticed that the table in the dark already had two silent occupants. The lights of the room flickered in their eyes as they studied me. The first one spoke again.

In my experience, people who don't want to be seen are either sneaking up or sneaking away, which are you?

I smiled sheepishly.

I am part of a special third group of very cold people; the kind who don't have any money and don't want the innkeeper to ask them to leave before they can enjoy the fire for a while.

The man grunted.

I suppose it doesn't matter either way, we were about done here. You are welcome to the table and the fire. Everyone else is here for the grog.

The two men had started to retrieve their cloaks from the backs of their chairs when loud voices rang out from the bar. An especially drunk man had lifted his mug above his head, heedless of the pungent ale that sloshed down his arm.

And this drink, this drink I'm drinking to the health of our dear King Tibian!

Even in the dim light at the table, I could see my new companions tense as the drunkard continued his toast.

May he live long, or at least long enough for someone to drag him down from his pillows and wine and bleed him like he has bled us!

Several voices cheered loudly, but most of the men had gone quiet. I knew nothing of the political situation in this land, but to hear a soldier talking about his king that way could easily be taken as treason. The fact that so many still cheered told me that things were not all right in this kingdom.

The man I had been talking to rose and moved around the table like a cat stalking its prey. His eyes were fixed on the drunk man who was now doing his best to keep his feet beneath him as he drank even more.

The men surrounding the drunk fell silent and moved away as the man from the table approached. They had been cheering right along, nearly as drunk as their friend, but they sobered quickly under the fiery glare of my new acquaintance. The drunk saw him as he approached and began a feeble explanation.

Now, Captain, all I...

The drunkard's attempt at justification gurgled to a halt as the Captain's hand snaked out, the web of his hand striking the man's throat. A harder blow could have killed the man. I was certain the restraint was intentional.

As it was, the man fell to his knees, suddenly sober as he grabbed at his throat and gasped for wisps of air through his bruised windpipe. His eyes were pleading as he looked up at his Captain, expecting a finishing blow.

None came. Instead the Captain's gaze fell on each of the men around him in turn. Each looked down or away under the intensity of his stare. The room had fallen completely silent; so when he spoke, barely above a whisper, he could be heard clearly throughout the room.

Guard your tongues, men. I will not stand for such a gross breach of discipline from any under my command. Is that clear?

No response was expected. None came.

Innkeeper, the bar is closed for the rest of the night. The men will return to their barracks.

I leaned forward. They called him Captain, but the man spoke with all the authority of a general. Every last man in the inn moved to obey, even those who weren’t soldiers. Such authority did not come from position. This was a man of personal power.

Men shuffled out of the inn, avoiding eye contact with anyone else. The Captain walked back to the table, his stride unchanged by the tide of men around him. They flowed around him like a river around a boulder. He turned to me as the two of them finished putting on their cloaks.

Well, stranger, I'm afraid I have cost you your fire. I am truly sorry about that. I hate to see a man put out in the cold if he has nowhere to go. If you don't mind a bit of a walk, you can come with us.

I have never minded a walk.

Chapter 2

All feel justified . To find truth, a man must consider the possibility that he is wrong.

-Musings of the Historian

SO THEN, TRAVELER, what should we call you?

Call me whatever you wish, I responded. I immediately regretted my quick response as the Captain glanced over at me, suspicion and irritation in his eyes.

You moved into that inn like you were trying to avoid someone. Now you won't tell me your name? You don't strike me as a criminal or a spy, but you aren't giving me much reason to trust you. Perhaps we should be taking a walk to the blockhouse instead of a warm hearth.

You see... My mind raced through possible explanations. Each one died on my lips as I met his eyes.

They were a pale blue and focused like lightning. This was not a man I could lie to. He saw too much and thought too deeply. In the end, after stammering for a moment, I decided to try the truth, some of it, anyway.

You see, the fact is, I don't actually know my name. People have usually given me a name wherever I went and that suits me fine.

The Captain scowled at this, searching my face for any kind of deception. The hard lines in his face softened a little as a bit of pity entered his eyes. The suspicion remained, but it was tempered with the thought that perhaps I was in greater need than he had known.

What do you remember of your younger days? Did you have a family? Were you abandoned?

I shook my head.

I cannot say with any surety. I remember nothing of my childhood. Still, I do not believe that I was abandoned. Sometimes, when I dream, I feel the love and warmth of family. I think I must have known it once.

This was only partly a lie. I never actually slept, so I never actually dreamed. However, when out wandering, when time got fuzzy and the horizons shifted, I would get the faintest glimmers of lost emotions and memories. They were never anything I could piece together into a full image, just scraps.

I have known men who became addled after a strong blow to the head or having too much to drink, but they all recovered their wits and their memories after a good night's sleep. Have you really lost so much of your life?

Not remembering it, I have no idea what I have lost, I smiled. I have been wandering for as long as I can remember, I have no other life to compare it to but what I see in my travels.

How does a man live without a name? It was the younger man who spoke now for the first time. I looked to him, trying to study out his features by moonlight.

He was several years younger than the other man, but only slightly shorter. His face held confusion and suspicion, but they were clearly not natural emotions for him. His face was built for smiling, though he was making a direct effort to look as serious as his companion.

Past these simple observations, one thing became clear: these men were brothers. I hadn’t noticed the family resemblance during the confusion at the inn. When he spoke, however, the voices were practically identical. They also had the same shape of face and brow, though the older one had darker hair, almost black.

The younger one had seemed content to let his older brother handle the situation up to this point. Apparently, he could keep quiet no longer. He pressed his question.

I mean, a man lives to bring honor to his name, to his family. What do you do if you don't even have a name to bring honor to?

His older brother, the Captain, gave him a withering look. The younger man melted under the scorching gaze, suddenly realizing how rude his question had been.

I'm sorry, I just meant... he stammered. I spoke quickly to rescue him.

"It's fine, I have often asked myself the same question. All men have different roles. Surely a farmer or a blacksmith could argue that their role in society is more vital than another.

"Each would be right in their own way. The blacksmith would starve without the farmer’s produce; and the farmer’s land would be much harder to work without the tools the blacksmith makes.

"When all is said and done, each man has to use the gifts he's been given. We would waste our lives if we only looked to what we don't have.

As for me, my role is an observer, a storyteller. After all, what use is a smith's blade, a farmer's fresh bread, or a soldier's quiet sacrifice, if none remember it? That is my role. I see what men do with the time they are given. I remember them.

Do you judge them, traveler? It was the Captain who spoke now. His voice was as intense as ever, but out of nowhere there was a tone of desperation. The man who commanded with such confidence suddenly seemed unsure of himself. I was equally unsure how to respond.

Something I had said had struck a deep chord in the quiet military man.

Umm, I suppose that would depend on how you see judgment, I stalled. "The limitations of time force me to judge who and what I should stay around to witness.

However, I don't believe any man can know the end from the beginning. Only a man himself knows what is in his heart.

It was a cliché bit of fluff. The captain waved it away with irritation. He had been walking slightly ahead of our group as we walked, leading the party. He rounded on me, stopping our little party just outside the city.

His face, barely visible under a waning moon, was deadly serious. He locked onto my eyes and I knew that he would know any lie I attempted. I resolved to tell the truth and see where it led. The questions came rapid fire.

Are you from this land?

No.

Do you know anything about us or our people?

No.

Have you seen other lands, other peoples?

Many.

Have you seen good men?

Few.

Have you seen evil men?

More.

Do you believe that man has a soul?

I know it.

Would you always tell me the truth?

No.

This last answer brought him up short. I still don't know what he wanted from me, but it was important to him. I had seen men before who looked like the Captain did at that moment.

It was the look of a man trapped, forced into a corner and facing defeat. Such men were capable of terrible things. What the Captain wanted, I didn’t know, but I knew he wanted it more than anything.

Are you saying you would lie to me? he continued after pausing for a moment to absorb my last response.

Now then, if I were going to lie to you, that would have been a good time to do it, wouldn't it? I simply meant that not all truths are yours. I will not answer a question you have no right to ask of me. Some truths are mine alone.

He paused again, his eyes searching mine. Finally he nodded, more to himself than to me. Something had satisfied him and his confident manner fell back around him like a cloak.

I can respect that, traveler. I would like you to come with us. I will tell you up front that I would like you to learn of us and my people. Once you have done so to your satisfaction, I want you to judge me.

Simeon! You can't...! His younger brother protested, the Captain raised a hand to silence him.

Even criminals feel they are justified in their actions. How can we be so sure of ourselves?

But you can't... The brother grasped for words, trying to voice some valid argument. There is too much at stake!

The Captain nodded.

That is exactly why we must question ourselves, Joseph. However, if it will ease your mind, if at any time this traveler seems like he will betray us, you may kill him yourself. Would that pacify you?

The younger man's face paled, but he nodded weakly. The Captain then turned to me.

"You must understand right now what you would be getting into. As Joseph has already made clear, we face a matter of life and death. Honestly, my reasons for including you are purely selfish.

"If you would like out of this, say so now and we will speak no more of it. I will see to it that you are back on your way warm and fed. Perhaps I could even get you to tell me a story or two before you go.

But if you agree to come with us, it must be a complete commitment. Once you have heard our story, I must insist that you remain with us until the end. What do you say?

I am not ashamed to say I felt downright giddy. Any historian who would pass up such an intrigue was no historian at all. I kept my emotions reined in and nodded solemnly, as befitted the situation.

I will make my place with yours until your story is done. I hope you will appreciate that I cannot offer judgment until I feel that the story has played out completely.

Of course.

We shook hands in the old style, clasping forearms, to seal the deal. The rest of the walk passed in silence, each man lost in his own musings, until