Chapter 1: Information
Branches rustled as a light wind breezed through the forest. The road through the forest was empty but for a lone rider who sat as though born in the saddle. The horse was a bit large for a commoner, about the side of a knight's charger; then again, the rider was a rather large man. With a long, dust brown cloak that covered most of his large frame, the hood shading his face from view. The horse whickered softly and the rider leaned down and patted its neck, the horse calming under its riders touch. Looking up, the man tossed back the cowl of his cloak with one smooth motion. He had a stern but sensual mouth set in a hard face that revealed very little about his thoughts. With a heavy brow, high cheek bones and a straight nose, he had a face that looked as if it had been sculpted by a very talented god. He had a strong jaw and a stubborn chin that was covered in a slight 5 o-clock shadow, as if he hadn't bothered shaving that morning. His smoky brown hair was cut in a very unconventional style; instead of the long wavy locks that most men had, his hair was short. He glanced around and racked a hand through his soft hair, tousling it by accident though he didn't bother fixing it. His hand, which he then returned to the pommel of his worn leather saddle, was strong and calloused, signs of a working man. Besides his hands and odd hairstyle, there were plenty of other ways to tell that this man was not a noble. His clothes, for instance; white shirt, the laced ties at the neck open and undone, brown breeches and black boots that had seen many trails. Though his clothing was not extremely dirty or old, they were not of the same fine make as a nobleman's wardrobe. He also had a black leather jacket tossed across the saddle in front of him. A noise sounded on the road behind him and, not wanting to take any chances, he spurred his bay into action and galloped toward the town ahead.
The town was noisy and loud, piercing his ears like a knife. He growled at a merchant who shoved fish in his face. The man gulped and stepped back, moving on to the next person seconds later. Lucas was a mercenary, a former soldier who needed a job. Looking around over the tops of peoples head, he was three inches over six feet; he spotted a tavern and started towards it with swift steps, leading his horse behind him. He handed the reins to a stable boy, tossing the boy a coin before entering the noisy tavern. The sounds and smells were always like a slap in the face to him after many nights on the road and this time was no different, they hit him hard as soon as he stepped through the door. Immediately following the shock of the yells and stink, a busty redhead sidled up to Lucas and glanced at him sidelong. Flower Sellers, that was the street name for prostitutes, and this girl was the perfect example. Slim around the waist with a bosom that probably wasn't as large as it appeared. Her hair was long, falling in swirling ringlets over her breasts about halfway to her waist. And it was a rich auburn red. She winked at him, "Heya stranger," she said, using the crowd to draw him close to her as she whispered into his face. Her voice was husky but feminine, "You looking for a guide?" He cleared his throat and raised his eyebrows, using his forearm to gently push her away. She gave him a pouty look before slipping away to the next man.
Shaking his head, Lucas shoved his way to the counter, sliding a coin across the counter. The barkeep nodded and slammed a mug of ale in front of him. Lucas sipped as he observed the raucous men and women of the tavern. Hard working men who, after a hard day's work, wanted nothing more than to drown their sorrow in drink. He couldn't blame them though; the kingdom wasn't doing so well especially after the war and without a good crop it spelled bad news for any farmers and dock workers.
Lucas sighed and took a long drink from his mug as two muscled men entered the bar and sat near him. They looked like trouble but Lucas wasn't going to say anything, especially when he noticed the barkeep touch the dagger at his waist. He grinned at the barkeep and glanced at the men. One of them, the one closest to Lucas, was bald and had a long, thick scar on his cheek. He had a mean face and large hands that were clenched into fists.
"…those sodding bastards at th' docks." That was from the smaller one, a younger man with black hair and icy eyes, the precise color of which couldn't be determined in the faded, smoky light of the tavern. "They don't know who they be messin' with. Eh Joren? No one mess wi' me'n my boys." He looked around nervously. "That stupid man at th' docks refusin' to pay us right n' fair, it ain't right! We done a full, fair day o' work and he think he can jus' go'n refuse t' pay us! It jus' ain't right!" He pounded his fist on the counter but the effect of the sound was lost in the noisy room. The bigger man, obviously called Joren, nodded.
"But we aren't going to need his dirty money after we find the princess and collect the reward, Dre. We'll be rich beyond your wildest dreams," he said soothingly. Lucas was surprised to hear that his speech was educated and cultured. Even more interesting was the news about the princess. Lucas scooted a tiny bit closer and tuned his ears to listen. "That runaway princess can't have gone far. Finding her should be a synch. And the king promised gold, lands and a title to the men who return her," he continued, looking into the distance as he imagined the possibilities.
"But I don' care 'bout no title," Dre, the younger man said. "What's title gotta do wi' th' likes o' us Joren?"
"Idiot!" Joren said, slamming his own giant fist on the table with a thud. "Title and lands mean power!" He hissed.
A slow, wicked grin spread across Dre's angular face. "Power…" he mulled it over, and then nodded excitedly.
Lucas also mulled it over in his mind. Power, title, lands, money. Money. He needed money, and a title wouldn't be too bad either. He grinned to himself and glanced over at his unsuspecting informants. Bring back the runaway princess; it would be even better if he got the kings permission to search. Yes, he nodded to himself absently. He would leave first thing in the morning and ride up to the castle that sat astride the hill above the town. He'd speak to the king and bring back the princess and collect his money and never have to worry about jobs ever again. He grinned to himself once more and tossed the barkeep another coin. Standing from his seat he left the tavern. He'd have to use the last of his money to buy a room in town and stable his horse, but it'd be worth it.
The next morning dawned bright and early for Lucas. He rolled out of bed and rubbed his face, raking his fingers back through his tousled hair, somehow styling it perfectly. Swinging his legs over the bed he tugged on his boots and hightailed it out of the lower city, trotting toward the Golden Gates of the palace. Because he used to be a soldier, Lucas had been to the palace before; he'd even spoken to the king, so he wasn't nervous.
He looked around as he rode steadily up the road, looking at the houses that lined the streets, much better than the ones in the lower city. The Upper City had its own markets and was home to rich merchants and lesser nobles. The Upper City was separated from the Palace by a great Golden Gate. Behind the gate, winding its way up to the palace was the Palace Road. This was Lucas' destination and he wanted to get there before the sun rose too far into the sky.
He was lucky; the gates were just opening when he arrived. The guards at the gate sniffed in unison at his dusty leather jacket, which pulled a chuckled out of him. But they recognized his sword belted at his waist as that of a soldier and waved him through the gates.
With newfound purpose, Lucas rode up to the palace, the sun shining its first morning rays down on him as if urging him onward. He smiled slightly and tilted his face toward the warmth of those rays, feeling peaceful.