Westhaven by Rowan Erlking (best sci fi novels of all time TXT) 📕

Gailert’s chest rose staring at him. “What did this Key look like? Was he bald?”

“He wore a fur hat, so I cannot say,” the soldier replied. “But he was tall, muscular, but lean. There was something very elegant about him, the way he fought. It almost seemed a shame to kill him, but we tried our best. But the man has quite an aim with a gun, and his eye was sharp.”

Eyes had turned to the general. The rumor that this Key hunted him had already spread.

“Key made a shrieking bird call. Then the army that was hiding in the trees around us came out,” the soldier said in a mournful voice. “They all had guns. And they fired on our men as if they were ducks in a small pond. We realized then that we were all doomed, so we put the auto in reverse, figuring it was better to get out than have us all killed.”

The soldier then braced for chastisement, sure of his own cowardice in the act.

“Can you identify the faces of the three men you stopped in Wingsley, the one posing as merchants?” the Sky Lord asked.

Someone else took out the three posters calling for Key, Tiler and that bearded fellow’s heads. Each held out for inspection, the soldier who had seen Key up close peered hard at it. He then shook his head.

“None of them. That one that says it is Key looks nothing like him.”

Gailert leaned back, cringing. With a groan, he asked, “Could you possibly pass the memory to an artist for an accurate picture of Key?”

Pausing first the soldier then shook his head. “No, sir. I don’t recall much of his face. He is young. Perhaps in his twenties. His eyes are intense, not as angry as you see here. And I do believe I did see some hair on his head. He also wore a hat in town. But I am sure he had the same old brown hair sticking out under it, though it was a bit reddish, now that I think of it.”

“Reddish brown hair, intense eyes,” Gailert murmured. He then pointed to the drawing they had issued of Key. “What about his jaw? The shape of his nose.”

Shrugging, the soldier just shook his head. “Sorry. I don’t remember. I just remember that he was young, yet sober. Too serious for a man that age. He had all his teeth, so I had taken him for someone affluent. But now that I think about it, the lieutenant did say the man had a lake manner.”

“Wait. Reddish hair, clean teeth, and you said the lieutenant had first seen him acting as a lake minstrel?” Things, motivations, details were now coming together to make sense for Gailert. Of course. A lake man would have a personal vendetta against him. He had suppressed the insurgents in the lake most successfully. Only the tiny hamlets were left at the lakes. Most of the displaced lake men traveled Westhaven as entertainers or as coastal sailors. He nodded to himself. “Key is a lake man.”

“What difference does that make?” the Sky Lord snapped. “We lost part of our army, and we still have to suppress the humans that have risen up in the mountains. But you are still going on about this lousy human, Key.”

Galert shared a knowing smile with the leader of his nation and the entire room. “My lord, if you please. Key is so aptly named. If we seize this one human, the things in his strategic mind, the mind that vanquished that army with the perfect trap…the things in his mind would be ours, and he could unlock the door to the end of human insurgency once and for all.”

For several minutes the Sky Lord regarded Gailert silently. Then he said, “Alright. General Winstrong. I hereby declare your retirement, once again, over. You have authority to send out search parties for this Key. And when you find him, bring him to me.”

“How much is it this time?” Key asked as Tiler read the poster that was stuck to the public bulletin in the town of Tobi.

Tilting his head, Tiler frowned hard. “Oh…just a bit more in gold, though this time I think it may work.”

“How?” Key walked over to look at it.

There was no real image of a man’s face. Just a basic description: tall, healthy build, reddish brown hair, and intense eyes of brownish color, master of disguise. It then mentioned that he has been seen traveling as a merchant and as a lake minstrel who dances. Key frowned at it also. It was the best description of him yet. He’d never be able to wear his Bekir hat again, not with Loid and Telerd at least.

“I think I’m changing your name to Kerl. Though I suppose when we leave Tobi, I ought to just call you Kemdin,” Tiler said and pulled Key along.

They had been heading to Madame Olisa Filianna’s home at the time. Both were dressed as fishmongers from the southeast river. They had planned to meet up with Sadena, but they had stopped when they had seen the notice.

Edman had returned to Yarrding with the survivors of the battle. Unfortunately there had been other skirmishes between Dalis’s men and the Sky Children in the mountains since then. The camp near Yarrding moved further west into the hills beyond the village of Hinze. Traveling between towns along the roads had also become nearly impossible. Tiler and Key had to cut through the hills and sneak into town within a cart full of bean barrels, paying the driver double the cost of one of the barrels for their safe arrival. Inside the town walls, the Sky Children were only a little less nervous than outside them. It had forced Key to hide his shipment of swords in a pack of ice fishing equipment that he had been carrying.

At first glance, they could see that Madame Olisa’s family home was just as opulent as Pattron Huldrid’s. A member of a high aristocratic family, she was much like the other foppish northerners. Her love to party was almost equaled to her love for extravagance. They had learned that in her late thirties Madame Olisa was the catch of the town. Though, from the view Key and Tiler had of her, she was also a shrewd businesswoman. Her housemaids let them in the back gate as if to keep the exchange of their money private. No one in the neighborhood looked to see if they came out again. Most people in Tobi minded their own business.

“Ah…Oh, you have not changed out of your rustic attire.” Madame Olisa reached out to them when they walked into the parlor, stopping short of touching them. They were just barely removing their winter coats. Immediately she flicked her hands to shoo them away. “Go upstairs and take a bath. You both smell so fishy. Dinner is at five. I expect to see you both washed and looking dignified.”

Glancing at one another, both Tiler and Key shrugged and did as she told them. They turned right around and headed upstairs.

They set their clothes aside on the washstand, scrubbed their bodies down and dressed in the clean clothes that had been laid out in place of them. They were silk shirts, woolen slacks, and socks. There were even shiny new shoes set out in estimable size for their feet. The only thing lacking was a hat for Key’s head. Tiler went downstairs to ask for one.

“A hat? Well, goodness me, whatever for? We’re indoors.” Madame Olisa gazed at him with a somewhat air-headed blink. though behind her eyes was hidden amusement at such a request.

Tiler looked annoyed. “You should know full well my friend does not go anywhere without a hat.”

Returning the perturbed look, Madame Olisa swished her skirts over to a cupboard and found a small black cap not unlike the lake cut hat, though this one was made of sealskin. Handing it to him, she said, “Really. Of all the vanity. I don’t care if his hair is patchy. It gives him charm.”

Taking it, Tiler exhaled, already tired of her antics. “Madame, he does not wear the hat for vanity. It is to keep him forgettable.”

“Not possible,” Madame Olisa replied with a smirk. She turned with a full swish of her skirts once more. “A man that charming is unforgettable. I’m sure all the ladies of your organization are just fighting for his eye on them, if only he’d take off his swords once in a while.”

Rolling his eyes, Tiler decided not to respond. He walked back up the stairs to deliver the hat.

They did not return downstairs until Key had made sure all his white hairs were well tucked in. The hat was a mite small in comparison to his Bekir hat, and it was more rigid, so it took some time.

“Welcome, gentlemen,” Madame Olisa said when they entered the dining hall well after five.

They noticed Sadena sitting in the chair to their hostess’s left. Callen, dressed in a nice suit with his beard trimmed more like a civilized gentleman, sat at Sadena’s right—the seat next to the empty chair alongside Madame Olisa’s seat. The rest of the seats contained people Key did not know, and their attire was mixed from Kolden styles to the rich clothing of Wimanus. For a brief moment, Key fought the urge to reach for his sword.

“Please sit. The main course has yet to be served. But the soup is already here.” She waved a graceful hand over to the far seat that remained empty. “That one is yours, Tiler.”

The group murmured some, staring at Tiler’s face and whispering that it didn’t look anything like the poster.

She patted the seat next to her. “And this one would be yours, Kemdin Smith.”

The group did not blink at that name, though perhaps they puzzled over why Madame Olisa had taken a fancy to a man as low as a smith.

Tiler exchanged a look with Key as they both took their respective chairs, though Tiler also glanced to Callen as if to say it was his job now to protect Key.

That was when his eyes fell on the morose expression on Callen’s face. So he then turned to Sadena who was also looking grim. Her swollen belly was also no longer there. He looked about to ask the question on his lips—but he immediately stopped it. His thoughts turned introspective.

Key sat down with the same looks on his face. He said as he lifted his eyes to Sadena, “I’m sorry for your loss. Is there anything that I can do for you?”

Sadena returned a weak smile. “No, thank you. That is enough.”

He nodded and sighed. He looked now to Callen then Madame Olisa. The lady of the house was already sipping her soup from her silver spoon. It was not like the feast Bredin Sefesher had served them. This was much more elegant, slowly paced, and obviously a more expensive fare. In fact, Key peered at the utensils and started to wonder how he ought to use them, as lake men mostly ate with a pair of straight sticks and their hands. Besides, in all the years he