“We could make inquiries about the family crest as well,” suggested Soth. “Never know, in a town such as this they may have a trading concern of one kind or another.”
Riyan nodded. “You may be right.”
Around back at the stable, they were greeted by a stableboy who aided them in settling in their horses. “Who is Phillip the Vanquished?” Seth asked the boy as he was helping him remove the tack from his horse.
“Was, you mean,” the boy replied.
Seth gave the boy an annoyed look at correcting him. Where did a stableboy come off having such an attitude? He was about to teach the boy a lesson in manners when he caught sight of his brother’s grin. Deciding it wasn’t worth the trouble, he finished removing his saddle and placed it on the shelf at the rear of the stall.
“He was a noble hereabouts a century or so ago,” the boy replied. “As the story goes, he and another minor noble by the name of Lord Tillen, were rivals for a lady’s affection. For seven months, each man courted the fair Charmaine.”
As the boy related the story, the others finished with their horses and gathered round to listen.
“Each month, their rivalry grew more intense. By the second month, the betting houses around the city got wind of what was going on and began placing odds on who was going to win. It became quite the spectacle, though I’m sure the lords in question didn’t care that their endeavors were becoming public knowledge.”
“But the notoriety only seemed to fuel each lord’s determination to win the fair Charmaine.” He picked up a brush and began currying Seth’s horse. The boy glanced around at his audience listening to his narration and inwardly grinned. It wasn’t everyday a stableboy was the center of attention like this.
“What happened?” asked Chyfe. “I take it Lord Tillen won?”
“Yes he did,” the boy replied. “But for a while the odds were going in Phillip’s favor. You see he had lavished her with expensive jewels acquired from down south. It was a necklace made with those rare, pink diamonds that are so highly sought after. The whole town thought for sure that Lord Tillen had lost.”
“From that time on, she spent all but a small portion of her time with Phillip.” Glancing again at his audience, he could see that he had them. They were hanging onto his every word. “They would be seen walking arm in arm, her head lying on his shoulder. Whenever she was with Lord Tillen they walked at arms length and barely spoke to one another.”
“Finally, the seventh month came. Rumors began to emerge that the time was near and that she would be announcing her choice. People ran to make last minute bets but the betting houses had made the odds such that to bet on Phillip would barely earn you anything in return.”
“Speculation continues to this day as to why she chose Lord Tillen over Phillip,” the stableboy said. “But when it came time to choose, she spurned the man whom everyone thought was a sure thing and chose the lord from a minor house.”
“Why in the world would she do that?” questioned Chad. “Spend all your time with one only to chose the other?”
Bart could see there was more to the story. “Why did she choose Lord Tillen?” he asked.
The boy shrugged. “No one knows for certain,” he admitted. “But several of the betting houses went out of business shortly after this. Seems that in the last few weeks before she made her choice, several rather large wagers had been placed on Lord Tillen. Some say she had spent so much time with Phillip just to improve the odds for Lord Tillen. Then she had an agent make the bets on her behalf.”
“There’s also another story which states that someone forced her to make the choice she did so they could win. But whatever the reason, Phillip was heart broken. He left town the day she spurned him and never returned.”
“What about the statue?” asked Kevik. “Who had it built?”
“No one knows,” he replied. “A year later to the day of when she made her announcement, a wagon rolled through town.” The boy pointed off in the general direction of the cross street where the statue stood. “It came to a stop at the crossing of streets back there and four workers riding in the wagon erected the statue, then departed. After they left, townsfolk came to look at the statue and saw the name ‘Phillip the Vanquished’ engraved at the base.”
“Most of the town stands divided as to who built it,” the stableboy explained. “Some believe it to be the Lady Charmaine and her lord, while others believe it to be Phillip himself.”
“Why would he build the statue commemorating his loss?” Riyan asked.
Again, the boy shrugged. “Don’t know.”
“Interesting,” Chyfe said. “How do you know so much about it?”
“With the statue not two streets down,” he replied, “travelers such as yourselves ask about it all the time.”
Riyan reached into his pouch and gave the boy two coppers. “Thank you,” he said. “It was a good tale.” As the boy took the coins, he asked, “By the way, do you know of a wine merchant nearby?”
“The closest one is Filgrit’s over on Cobble,” he said. “Follow the street toward the center of town and look for a sign with a bottle that has a vine around it.”
“Appreciate it,” Riyan said. Then he and the others left the boy to his work and headed over to the inn.
“Wonder where the statue actually came from?” questioned Chad.
“I would think it was Lord Tillen,” offered Seth. “That’s the sort of thing you would expect from a lord.”
“Maybe,” replied Soth.
Once back at the inn, they deposited their equipment and packs in their rooms before going in search of the wine merchant whom the boy had mentioned. Following the lad’s directions, they walked down the street toward the center of town and scanned the buildings abutting the street. Several blocks down they saw a sign depicting a bottle with a vine coiling its way around to the top.
“That’s it,” Riyan announced when he saw it.
Bart nodded agreement and made for the front door. Sitting along the front wall of the shop were six empty barrels, three on either side of the door. Bart glanced into them just before opening the door and found nothing of interest. Then he opened the door and walked in.
Shelves lined the walls of the shop, most of them held stacks of wine bottles while others bore various paraphernalia one would expect in such a place. A counter ran the length of the room, separating the outer area from a smaller area that held two desks. The wall behind the desks had a single door that was slightly ajar, through which voices could be heard.
Bart and the others moved to the counter where he said, “Hello?”
The voices in the back immediately silenced. A moment later a middle aged man standing no more than five foot emerged with a smile on his face. “Can I help you gentlemen?” he asked.
“Are you Filgrit the wine merchant?” Bart asked.
“I am he,” the man said.
“We were told you were the man to see,” Bart stated.
Beaming, the man’s chest seemed to puff out slightly. “I am the foremost wine merchant in Kendruck,” he said. “None other has the stock on hand, nor the ability to acquire the rarest of
wines, as do I.”
Riyan set his pack on the counter. “That’s what we heard. A friend of ours recently came into possession of a bottle of wine,” he explained as he drew the wine bottle from his pack. Setting it down before the man, he added, “We would dearly like to learn more about it.”
The man’s eyes widened slightly when he saw the bottle. That he recognized it was clear. He reached out and took the bottle and held it up. Then he turned it around to inspect it in its entirety before setting it back down on the table. “Where did you get this?” he asked.
Before Riyan could reply, Bart asked, “Why?” He glanced at Riyan and shook his head slightly. Riyan understood and nodded.
Tapping the top of the bottle he said, “This isn’t widely circulated. In fact, it’s rarely seen this side of the border.”
“Like we said,” Bart explained, “a friend of ours was given this by a merchant here in Kendruck. The merchant said that he was looking to see if there would be a market for it in Byrdlon.”
“Do you sell it?” asked Chyfe.
Filgrit shook his head. “No,” he replied. “But I can get my hands on some if needed.” He looked to Bart. “Are
