Jacob Gowans - A Tale of Light and Shadow

2014 Jacob Gowans.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without permission in writing from the publisher, Shadow Mountain. The views expressed herein are the responsibility of the author and do not necessarily represent the position of Shadow Mountain.

All characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Gowans, Jacob, author.

A tale of light and shadow / Jacob Gowans.

pages cm

ISBN 978-1-60907-872-0 (hardbound : alk. paper)

[1. LoveFiction. 2. Kings, queens, rulers, etc.Fiction. 3. Adventure and adventurersFiction.] I. Title.

PZ7.G7468Tal 2014

[Fic]dc232014000273

Printed in the United States of America

Publishers Printing

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

To Lily,

whose presence in my life is a constant light.

Prologue

The Old Man

Cant your horses go any faster? I begged the driver for the third time. My head stuck out the carriage window, and the chilled wind blew hard against my face, stinging my nose and ears enough to force me to withdraw back inside.

Im sorry, sir. The thick wool scarf wrapped around the drivers mouth muffled his husky voice. These arent the youngest horses in town, and Im afraid they tend to stiffen up in the cold.

I glanced at the sun, low on the cloudless, violet horizon and ready to disappear at any moment. One moon already shone high and bright. The other two could hardly be seen, but I found them after a brief search of the sky.

I cant lose this job. Id be hard-pressed to find much more in my line of work. With the last remaining sunlight, I opened my traveling bag and checked my supplies, counting everything for the last time.

Everythings here, I reassured myself, and that may be the only positive thing this whole evening.

Whats that, sir? my driver called out.

Nothing. I was only speaking to myself. I shivered and pulled my cloak tighter around my neck.

Were almost there, sir. Just passing onto the main road now. The inns just ahead.

I considered asking him if he could go even slightly faster, but decided against it. Fortunately for me, he was right. We arrived at the inn in moments, and no sooner had the carriage stopped than I let myself out, clutching my bags in one arm while my other hand searched my pockets.

I could have gotten that for you, sir, the carriage driver said. He was a heavy man with a thick brown beard that made his red nose appear like a small beet surrounded by dirt.

I replied with a weak smile as my searching became more frantic. Er, how much do I owe you? I asked, though I knew the amount.

Three silvers should do it, though I wouldnt say no to a gratuity! He guffawed at his own joke.

His answer bought me the time I needed, and there, in the deepest recess of my pocket, was the amount I had been certain I possessed. I paid him the three silvers, apologized that I couldnt pay more, and bade him a good night.

The inn was on a crowded street lined with shops, homes, empty market stalls, stables, and quite a few buildings I couldnt identify at sunset. Standing outside the inn, hearing the sounds and smelling the food, I could sense it was alive with business. My stomach gave an angry lurch, and I went straight in.

Bodies filled nearly every chair. Mugs and plates littered the tables. More food and drink poured out from the kitchen, served by beautiful women whose perfume mingled with the smell of herbs and meats to form a truly divine scent. Men played dice games in one corner and bet on ring tosses in another. The inn was a good one, better than most Id visited.

I spotted the man I was certain must be the owner. He stood not far from the kitchen, speaking to a table of well-dressed men. I made my way forward, noting his neat work clothes, the walking stick he didnt use, and his friendly habit of greeting everyone with an arm around the neck or a firm pat on the shoulders. When I got near enough to hear him, I noticed that he knew every customers name.

He caught my eye as I approached, probably identifying me as someone needing assistance, so he concluded his conversation and gave me his full attention.

Hello, young man. His voice was warm, and he offered me his hand. Benjamin Nugget, owner of the Silver Nugget. How can I help you?

Geoffrey Freeman, I said, shaking his hand with vigor. Just traveled up from Vistaville.

Youre here for tonights entertainment? His knack for listening made me feel as though the whole inn were as silent as a cemetery.

Yes, but I also need lodging.

I have plenty available. Almost everyone here is local. Do you plan to stay for more than a night?

I informed him that I did. Then, due to my own embarrassment, the conversation became awkward. You see, I used the last of my money to get herethe very last. However, Im here for work. I mean, I have work. This is my work. I opened the bag stuffed with writing supplies. I was hoping I might pay you at the end of my stay rather than at the beginning. I wont receive pay until after

So youre the scribe! Benjamin declared. Then he pointed at the bag I carried, filled with paper and ink and pens. I should have noticed it sooner. Yes, yes, dont worry about a thing. Id been told you were coming, but it slipped my mind. Im certain I even saved you a place to sit.

Without any trouble, he procured me half of one table all to myself. As I sat, I thanked him for his kindness. Outside the window, the sun had vanished. I searched in vain for a clock, though I knew it had to be nearly time for the entertainment to begin. I went about preparing the table for my task, stacking a sheaf of paper next to me and then arranging the feather pens and inkwells as I liked them. A loud shout startled me, nearly causing me to spill my ink.

Say, whens the storyteller getting here? a man sitting behind me called out. Should be near that time.

Any moment now, Benjamin responded smoothly. Have another drink. That brought several laughs and mutters. Benjamin returned to his duties, observing the women distributing his food and ale and checking on the cooks in the kitchen.

After several minutes of waiting, my papers were perfectly arranged, my quills lay ready, and Id set out a few candles to ensure myself enough light to see my notes. All I needed was someone to dictate.

Is everything all right, Mr. Freeman? Benjamin said to me as he passed by my table.

I could see sweat forming on his brow, and his eyes kept flitting to the door. I smiled sympathetically. Perhaps I should ask you the same thing.

He forced a small chuckle and looked around the tavern. In a few more minutes, Ill be handing out free rounds and apologizing for the absence of my distinguished guest. He took out a modest cloth from his pocket, wiped the perspiration from his forehead, and excused himself. He ran about offering apologies for the delay and trying to put off the moment of surrender as long as possible. Then several men who had been betting on dice stood and marched to the door.

Gentlemen, please! Nugget exclaimed.

The men stopped at the threshold as though they had walked into an invisible barrier. Most of the other patrons did not seem to notice this because the volume in the tavern was louder than ever. The men at the door parted to reveal a bent-over old man with long white hair and a clean-shaven face wearing a worn traveling cloak and magnificent riding boots. He might have been tall once, but he was so hunched over now that no one would ever guess.