A Sellsword's Will, page 24
part #5 of Seven Virtues Series
“Bastard fell like a chopped tree.”
“Damn near knocked me off my feet,” the second agreed.
“Well,” the first said, eyeing the unconscious man at his feet, “best go get Jansen. I don’t mean to throw my back out lugging this big fucker around.”
***
Three men stood in the shadows, staring at the inn. It had only just been reopened after the bodies had been carted off, the blood cleaned from the floors as well as it could be, and what would not wash away…well, most taverns had a little blood on the floor, and that was alright. The inn was dark now, as those who would normally be drinking and partying within it had left to take part in the night’s revel instead. Any who were left were most likely sleeping.
One of the men spat. “Can’t say as I like this much, snatchin’ a kid up like some bogeyman out of the stories. Shit, it’s one thing to roll a drunk or a fool, but this…”
“…Is our job,” one of the others said. “No one said you had to like it, did they? Now, quit your bitchin’, and let’s get the thing done before my pecker frosts over and falls off. Damn these northerners and their weather anyway.”
“You heard the boss,” the third man agreed, “the boy’s…what do you call it, collateral, like. Make sure the others stand in line, if there’s any problems. And anyway, you ought to be glad you didn’t get the assignment some of those other poor bastards did. That Envelar is a son of a bitch, but he ain’t one I’d like to walk up on with murder on his mind just the same.”
The first man sighed, but did not argue, setting off after the other two as they stalked toward the tavern door.
***
“Thank you, friend Everett,” Leomin said, raising his mug to the barkeep, who grinned and nodded in turn before heading farther down the bar. He produced a rag from his back pocket and began to wipe down the counter.
A good time to clean, Leomin supposed, as there were no customers in the inn save for himself. They were all out drinking and whoring at the revel, a place where, normally, Leomin would have been, but he had not felt like going and so he had stayed at the inn, enjoying the solitude. Or so he told himself. The truth was, he missed Seline. Her absence, he found, was much like the sores a man sometimes got in his mouth, the ones he could not help running his tongue over and never mind the pain it caused. The ones that, he thought, would heal, if only the man would only let them, if only he would let them. Yet he was no more capable of doing so than any other, and so he felt over her absence, explored the bitter ache it caused in him, as he sat and drank.
Of course, Aliandra said, most men are fools.
Leomin did not argue, for there was really no argument to be made, and his mind was elsewhere anyway. It had been nearly a week now since Seline had met him in the storehouse and assisted him in counting the tally for May. They talked and laughed, and from time to time Leomin got the feeling she actually liked him, that he was slowly chipping away at her armor. Near the end of the tally, he was feeling better about things with her than he could have hoped, feeling that, just maybe, she might not vanish again like some fey creature upon the sun’s rising.
With these comforting, exciting thoughts in mind, he bent to the last barrel, removing the top and looking inside at the carrots that filled it. “And that does it,” he said, relieved as he screwed the top back on. “Thank you for not disappearing again.” He turned back only to sigh as he realized that was exactly what she had done.
He contemplated going after her. After all, she could not have gone far, for she had been talking only moments before. Finally, though, he decided against it. She had chosen to leave, for it to end there for the time being, and she would offer him no thanks should he hunt her down against her wishes.
He’d spent the last week at various taverns throughout the city, not really searching for her, as he had come to realize that doing such was a futile endeavor. As always, she would find him when—if some dark part of his mind thought—she wanted to. Instead, he had focused his energy on making himself as easy to find as possible, slowly making a circuit of the city’s many taverns. He’d even gone so far as to return to the storehouse again. He’d made it halfway through recounting the supplies before he decided she was not coming, not that night, at least.
And what if she never comes again? he asked himself. What will you do then?
I imagine, Aliandra said, that your heart will continue to beat, and the breath will not leave your body. Gods, Leomin, but I have told you countless times, never fall in love. Tragedies are made from such things.
“Lives are made from such things,” Leomin muttered.
“What’s that?”
He looked up to the barkeep. “Forgive me,” he said, “I was talking to myself.”
The man grunted and went on about wiping the counter as Leomin took another drink of his ale. Truly, Leomin, Aliandra said, do you really like this woman so much?
I do, Leomin thought back.
The Virtue sighed in his mind. Well, I expect she will return soon enough. For reasons beyond my understanding, she seems to find you charming. The gods, it seems, possess an odd sense of humor.
“Charming?” Leomin whispered, a smile creeping onto his face.
I said she finds you charming, the Virtue said. I find you infuriating.
Leomin nodded, the smile widening on his face as he rose from the stool. “Thank you again for the drink, friend Everett. I believe that I will go to the revel, after all.”
He tossed a coin onto the counter and headed for the door, his steps feeling lighter than they had in days. If Seline was searching for him, it only stood to reason that she would search for him there, among the party. He had only stepped out into the street when a man ran up to him. “Forgive me, sir, are you Leomin?”
The Parnen frowned, his mind drifting back to the assassination attempts when he and the others had been targeted. Still, those creatures had not spoken, could not speak, so far as Leomin could see, and there was nothing strange about this man, no twisting of his features, no unnaturally long arms. The fact that he wasn’t brandishing a sword was also comforting. “I am he.”
“I’ve been sent to get you,” the man said, “there’s a woman paid me a gold to do it.”
“Oh?” Leomin said, doing his best to keep his features calm as his heart leapt excitedly in his chest. He very nearly told the man to lead on at a run, but he thought that, given the dangers of late, a little caution would be wise. “What does she look like?”
The man’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Look like, sir?”
“Yes,” Leomin said. “Short, tall, skinny, fat, you know. How does she look?”
“She looks…fine,” the man said, “good, even. Nearly as tall as you, I’d guess, and thin.”
The Parnen nodded slowly. He wanted more than anything to go to her, for the woman must surely be Seline, yet something about the way the man acted gave him pause. There was an almost desperate quality to the stranger’s words, never mind the way he fidgeted…as if he were nervous. “And her nose?” Leomin asked. “How was it?”
“Her nose? Oh, well, it’s a fine nose, it is. Quite fine.”
Leomin frowned, studying the man before risking a glance at the tavern door. Only a few steps away. Surely, he could make it before the man was on him, could bar the door and—
“That is,” the man said, “so long as you don’t mind them bein’ a bit crooked.”
Leomin turned back, “What’s that?”
“Her nose,” the man said, “it’s a mite crooked, is all. Seems to me she must have had it broken at one time or another.”
Leomin breathed a heavy sigh of relief. “Forgive me for my questions, sir. Please. Lead on.”
The man nodded, and Leomin followed him off of the city’s main thoroughfare down an alley so dark that the Parnen could not see to the other side. Gods, but has night always been so dark? he wondered.
I do not like this, Leomin, Aliandra said. Something seems…off. Why would the man just not tell you where she is? Why must he lead you to her?
I am sure I do not know, Leomin responded, but, then, who can question the doings of one such as her? You know as well as I, dear Aliandra, that she has the fey about her.
And you have the stupid about you, Leomin, the Virtue snapped back. At least question the man further.
Leomin sighed. “Tell me, friend, what is the woman’s name, again?”
The stranger glanced back, and the Parnen almost thought he imagined a look of impatience before the man gave him a grin. “You know, I’m afraid she didn’t offer it.”
You see? Aliandra said. Why would she not tell him her name?
She did not tell me either, dear Aliandra, Leomin reasoned, not, at least, without cost. She is a private one, our dear Seline, that is all.
Still, he thought that a bit more questioning might very well be in order. “Did she seem excited, would you say?” he asked.
“Oh yeah,” the man said, nodding, “damn excited, she seemed.”
Leomin nodded, pleased. There, dear Aliandra. Are you now satisfied?
Hardly.
As they walked, Leomin felt his spirits rise, his mood lightening at the prospect of seeing his love again, and he began recounting some of the more interesting anecdotes he knew to the stranger who nodded and grunted in the appropriate places. They’d been traveling for fifteen minutes when the man paused in the center of yet another alleyway, turning to Leomin. “Over here,” he called.
Leomin stared down the alley, his eyes squinted in an effort to see through the darkness, and finally he was able to discern two forms moving toward them from the opposite end of the alleyway. “Friends of yours?”
“Yeah,” the man said, “something like that.”
“I do not mean to alarm you, sir,” the Parnen said, frowning, “but they seem to be carrying weapons.”
“Yeah,” the man said again, “me too.”
Leomin had only managed to turn halfway around when the stout piece of wood struck him in the back of the head, and he collapsed to the ground.
“Thank the gods for that,” the man who’d struck him said. “You sons of bitches took your time getting here.”
“Well, we had to make sure no one was around, didn’t we?” one of the others asked defensively. “Wouldn’t do no good to have the guard called down on us.”
“I’d almost prefer the headsman take his due than listen to this bastard blather for another moment,” the first said, kicking the unconscious man lying at his feet. “Gods, but I thought he would never shut up.”
“Well,” one of the others said as they walked up, regarding the Parnen’s form, “he seems to have quieted well enough now, so why don’t you leave off your bitchin’ and get his arms.”
The first man spat, “Fine, but if he wakes up before we get there, I’m going to drag my dagger across my own throat, and you bastards can listen to his damn stories.”
***
Aaron sighed heavily, leaning back in his chair and rubbing a hand across his eyes. He huddled with Captain Gant and General Yalleck around a table in his office at the barracks. Maps of the countryside in and around Baresh, as well as of the city itself—maps drawn in painstaking detail by Caleb from memory—lay scattered across the table. But no matter how good the maps, they would not solve their problem for them. “I just don’t think it’s possible,” he said finally.
There was a weariness in the slumped shoulders of his companions to match his own. They’d been looking over the maps and reports, trying to find some weakness in the city’s defenses, some opportunity they could exploit to get inside without being forced to endanger the lives of the innocents living in Baresh. After all, it wasn’t as if those living there knew they were being led by a monster.
They’d been at it for hours, and he expected they would be at it for hours more before they found an answer. If, that was, they ever did.
You will find a way, Co said, there has to be one. The gods would not—
Not now, Firefly, Aaron thought back, weary and angry all at once. Don’t talk to me about the gods—if they are so concerned then they should come down themselves and help, but they won’t, and I think we both know that.
Very well, the Virtue said. He could tell she wanted to say more, but she must have felt his exhaustion and despair through the bond and chose instead to leave it. Still, you will find a way, Aaron.
Maybe, Aaron thought back, but without much hope. But not tonight. “Why don’t you two take a break? Go have an ale, enjoy the party. We’ll get back together tomorrow.”
He could see the yearning for it in their eyes, but Brandon Gant cleared his throat. “Aaron, the march is only a few days away. Surely, we can keep looking. There must be something we missed or—”
“You know there’s not,” Aaron said, his voice quiet, and he saw the truth of the thing in the faces of his companions. “And, as you say, we march in a few days, and you’ll be no good to anyone if you’re too exhausted to stand, let alone walk. Now, both of you, take a break. Go have some fun, maybe play some cards and lose some money, or find a woman to warm your bed. Morning will come soon enough, and our problems will still be here when it does.”
The two men hesitated, but finally they nodded and rose, each clasping Aaron’s hand before shuffling out. Once they were gone, he turned back to the maps and reports spread out on the desk before him. His vision was blurry from hours spent huddled over the table, and a dull ache throbbed in his temple, but he began sifting through the papers nonetheless.
It was good advice you gave them, the Virtue said.
“Thanks,” Aaron muttered distractedly as he picked up one of Caleb’s maps, this one showing the western gate of the city in detail and describing the mechanism used to open and close it.
Good advice for you as well, Co said.
Aaron laid the map down and picked up another paper, a sketch Caleb had done of the eastern gate of the city, this one facing the wide expanse of the ocean. He studied it, looking for some inspiration but finding none, then finally he set it down beside the others. He decided that he would have the boy come and look at the maps himself. Perhaps he could find some means of entering the city without risking the lives of all of its citizens. The truth was, Aaron should have asked for his help long before now, but he’d been loathe to put the youth under such stress so soon after Beth’s death, just when some of the pain of the loss had only just begun to leave his face and eyes.
Aaron leaned his head back, closing his eyes in thought. A moment later, he jerked awake.
Aaron, need I remind you again what you told the others? You will be no use to anyone, if you exhaust yourself. You need rest.
It was true, and he knew it. He was tired, and it was an exhaustion that stretched down into his very soul. But more than sleep, he needed Adina. Her presence always served to calm him, to give him hope. She would be out there, he knew, walking among the tents with her guards as she had done the last several days, speaking to the soldiers of the various armies, asking after them and their families or sharing a joke, and leaving them smiling like poleaxed fools in her wake. Aaron had told her it was foolish to walk among the troops trusting only four guards to keep her safe. After all, there were thousands of men gathered and any of them might have been an assassin sent to kill her. But she would hear none of it. “You wished for a leader,” she’d said, “and I will be one, Aaron. But I cannot lead while hiding underneath my bed or locked away in a castle room. And I would not, even if I could.”
They had been brave words, wise ones, and, so far at least, they had been justified. There had been no attempts on her life, and there had been a noticeable change in the demeanor of the soldiers since she began her daily visits. She had taken an army of grim-faced men set on a task they knew to be hopeless and had changed them. Their task was the same, the probability of success still as small, but Aaron knew it wasn’t his imagination that the men walked taller now, smiled and laughed more as if maybe, just maybe, they might survive what was coming. She had done for them, he knew, what she had done for him so many times. She’d given them hope.
And right now, I could use some hope. He pulled on his cloak and strapped his sword across his back, then headed out into the night. Even here, in the city itself, Aaron could hear the sounds of laughter and singing coming from the army’s camp outside the walls. He could make out no distinct sounds so far away, but he was reminded of the susurration of the ocean, the steady droning, eternal sound of it, and he found himself smiling as he started in the direction of the camp.
This late at night, the city’s streets were empty and quiet as those who would have normally crowded them were either asleep or, more likely, seeking what pleasure they could in the throng of people camped outside of it.
Turning down an alleyway that would serve as a shortcut to the gate, Aaron reached out with the power of the bond, feeling the emotions of those gathered thousands washing over him. There was fear, true, but there was also courage. There was despair, but there was also joy and, stronger than all the rest, hope. But there was something else too, something coming not from the gathered thousands but from closer, much closer, and Aaron frowned.
Aaron, it—
I know, Firefly. I know. He was approaching the end of the alley when the first man stepped out of the darkness around the corner of the alley’s mouth. The man was fast, and he’d been well-hidden, but through the bond, Aaron had known he was coming, had known the exact moment he would step out. Before the man could swing the club he carried, Aaron lunged forward, grabbing a fistful of the stranger’s hair and slamming his head into the stone wall. Then he let the man go, and his attacker collapsed on the ground at his feet.
He hesitated then, closing his eyes and calling on the power of his bond. When he opened them again, he could see the vague, magenta outlines of bodies, the way people always looked like when seen through the bond. Four in all, waiting in the street beyond the alley’s mouth. He looked back and saw four more about to turn down the other end of the alleyway, blocking the direction he’d come. No choice then. He drew his sword and stepped out into the street.
