The Vagrant King

Chapter 25

Julian was too scared to return to the trail by the river, since Regulus had said it was frequented by his soldiers. If Berleant was north, he would head north.

As he stumbled through the dark woods, he tried not to panic. I'm not going to die in these woods, he told himself despite the gnawing hunger pains in his belly. He reached out his hands to the trees blindly to try not to run into anything in the near-darkness.

He reached a break in the woods where the moonlight shown down. He looked down at his arms, which were cut and bleeding by the bramble. A glimmer of light caught his eye, and he lifted his right hand. The ring from Regulus still sat on his finger. Regulus had mentioned it was pure gold. If Julian could find wealthy merchants, surely he could sell it for enough gold to pay his way across the border to Berleant.

Invigorated by this revelation, he walked until he felt he might collapse. Hours into the night, Julian stumbled across the town square of a village. A tavern sat in the middle of the town square, a oil lantern in each window. He could hear the sound of a string band through the windows. What luck.

Julian lifted his eyes to the sky and silently thanked his mother, who was surely looking out for him. He stayed in the shadows as he watched the tavern, observing the drunks and whores stumbling out together. He needed to find the men with the deepest pockets. After spending so much time with Regulus, he knew what to look for.

Near the doorway, two men stood under the swinging tavern sign, each holding a tankard of ale. They wore surcoats, one a dyed red and one a woolen brown. Their black boots were shiny and unscuffed, a sign that they rode horses rather than travelled on foot.

Julian twisted off the ring and held it tightly in his hand as he approached the tavern. The man in the red surcoat noticed him first. He was short and dark-haired, with large bushy eyebrows and dark eyes.

"Lad," The man in red called with a sardonic smile, his gaze travelling down Julian to take in the state of him. "Are you lost?"

Julian knew he looked like a lunatic. He didn't have boots and he wore torn, blooded stockings. His trousers and tunic were similarly muddied and torn. He ran his fingers through his hair to shake off any leaves and twigs.

"You buy and sell things?" Julian asked, ignoring the mocking question.

"Aye, we're merchants. We mostly trade in fabrics."  The merchant in red responded with a laugh. "You certainly look like you could some new clothes."

"I'm looking to sell, actually," Julian said, opening his palm to show the gold ring. The merchant in red's eyebrows raised and he stepped forward to get a better look. The merchant in brown looked at Julian instead. He had been silent and more focused on drinking his ale despite his comrade's teasing so far, but he studied Julian with interest now.

"You looking to sell this?" The merchant in red questioned. He reached for it but hesitated. "May I?"

Julian shrugged and let the man take the ring. Regulus did the same thing for his jewels to determine their value. Both of the men were drunker and at least twenty years older, so he didn't consider them much of a threat. The merchant lifted the ring to better look at it in the light of the tavern.

"Where are you running from?" The merchant in brown said, not unkindly. "Son, you're not even wearing shoes."

Julian searched his mind for a lie. His head had begun to ache, and he couldn't recall the name of a single town around the High Castle. If only he had eaten any of that goddamn food that the kitchens had prepared.

"Rothlow," Julian said finally, naming the Capital City that surrounded the High Castle. "I—I'm running from my father."

"Who's your father?" The merchant in brown asked curiously. He was tall and slender, and his hair was nearly entirely grey.