A Sellsword's Valor

by Jacob Peppers

  Kevlane’s eyes narrowed only a fraction but Caldwell, whose life depended on reading his master’s moods, dropped to his hands and knees, bowing before him. “Please, Master. I only wish to serve you, but I cannot lie to you, either.”

  The robed man considered him for a moment then a slow smile that was somehow terrifying eased onto his face. “A tournament, did you say?”

  “Yes, Master,” Caldwell said, rising once more. “The council member, Claudius, held a tournament when he took over the city after Prince Eladen’s death.”

  Kevlane was nodding before he was finished. “Very well. Arrange it then, Caldwell. I wish for a tournament to be held in the city as soon as possible.”

  “Of course, master. And…the prize?”

  Kevlane waved a dismissive hand, “Make it whatever you feel is necessary to draw in as many warriors as possible. A hundred gold pieces, a thousand, it makes little difference. After all, they will not have time to spend it, I think.”

  Caldwell shared his master’s grin. “Of course, Master.”

  “You may go now.” Kevlane glanced at the door to the adjoining room through which moans of horror and pain could be heard, “I will continue my work.”

  “Yes, Master,” Caldwell said, bowing low and starting for the door, relieved to be living for another day.

  “And Caldwell?”

  He paused, turning. “Master?”

  “If you fail me in this, it will be the last time.”

  CHAPTER

  SEVEN

  By the time Aaron finished with his preparations, the sun was low in the sky, and he made his way to the queen’s stable. Queen Isabelle had also had much to say on her thoughts of him going, telling him she believed it to be an unnecessary risk, but when she’d seen that he would not be swayed, she’d finally acquiesced, offering him one of her finest horses for the journey. Not that Aaron would have known the difference between a fine horse and an average one—four legs, a face, ill-tempered, they all seemed the same to him.

  The stableboy was waiting outside the queen’s stables, standing just in front of the two wide doors. His eyes grew large as he saw Aaron approaching, and he fell to one knee, bowing low and bringing his fist to his thin chest in salute. “General Envelar, sir,” he said, his voice high and squeaking with anxiety, “it’s an hon-honor to meet you, sir.”

  Aaron barely managed to repress a groan. If they weren’t telling him how stupid he was, they were busy bowing and scraping like he was some fat-assed king smelling of flowers and chicken grease. “Get up, lad,” he said, “I’m nobody worth bowing to. Anyway, I’d be real careful who you fall on your knees for, boy. Once you start kneeling, it gets harder and harder to stand up again.”

  “Yes sir,” the lad said, shooting to his feet as if Aaron had bared his sword and threatened him with his life. The boy looked up at him, and Aaron saw to his dismay that, if anything, the adoration in his eyes had only grown stronger.

  He sighed heavily, glancing around. “Where is everybody anyway? I can’t imagine the queen’s stables go unguarded.”

  The boy squirmed, obviously uncomfortable, “Shift change, General, sir. The new guard should be here any minute.”

  Aaron grunted at that. He’d have to have a word with Brandon or one of the other soldiers before he departed. Leaving the queen’s personal stables unguarded, even for a moment, was beyond foolish. “The queen said that she’d have a horse waiting?”

  “Yes, My Lord,” the boy said, bowing his head in a quick bob, “Thunder, he’s called, My Lord, and if you don’t mind me sayin’, he’s the best horse in Perennia. Maybe even all of Isalla.”

  Aaron nodded. “Show me.”

  The boy bowed again. Poor kid would have whiplash if Aaron hung around for much longer. “This way, My Lord,” he said, and Aaron followed after him. The stables were dark inside, the only light the wan illumination provided by the setting sun, and Aaron found himself squinting into the darkness at the vague shapes of horses standing in their stalls.

  “Is it always so damned dark in here?”

  “No, My Lord,” the kid said, and Aaron thought he heard nervousness in his voice. Most likely, it was from being in the presence of Aaron Envelar, leader of the Ghosts, who—according to the latest stories—had killed a thousand men with his bare hands, all while banging their wives and striking heroic poses. “This here’s Thunder.”

  The kid stopped abruptly in front of a stall, and Aaron nearly ran into him. Then he turned and studied the horse. The light was poor, but there was enough to see that the beast had a black coat, and he was able to make out its muscles shifting beneath its skin as it stomped one foot. “Thunder, is it?”

  A fine horse, Co said. Still, the boy is nervous.

  Yeah, he is, Aaron thought sourly, what else is a youth supposed to be when he’s in the presence of a hero?

  You really need to let that go, the Virtue said. You cannot keep people from being grateful. You saved their lives, after all.

  The army saved their lives, Aaron thought back. I was just one man among thousands.

  A man who killed more than any other ten men combined. But, then, she said, her tone smug, who’s counting?

  Aaron sighed, reaching out to pat the horse on its muzzle. A man shouldn’t be celebrated for being good at killing, firefly. Paid, maybe, but not celebrated. His hand had only just touched the horse’s snout when it suddenly let out a snort, twisted its head, snapped forward as it tried to take a bite out of Aaron’s hand. Aaron jerked his arm back, managing to get it out of the way just in time. “Well,” he said, “fucker’s got all his teeth, anyway.”

  Aaron was still looking at the horse when he realized the boy hadn’t responded. Frowning, he spun in time to see the stable doors closing shut behind him. “Son of a bitch,” he growled. He ran for the door, tried to push against it, but the boy had locked it from the outside, and the stout wood would not budge.

  Feeling the presence of someone behind him, Aaron turned, sidestepping away from the doors so that whoever it was wouldn’t be able to see his outline in the light that filtered through the cracks. He drew his sword and peered into the darkness, but he could make out nothing but the vague shapes of the stalls and the horses within them. He concentrated on listening, searching for any sound that might give away a man or woman sharing the stables with him, but he could hear nothing over the sound of the horses.

  “You can put the sword away,” came a woman’s voice from somewhere further in the darkness, “you won’t be needing it.”

  It took Aaron a moment to recognize the voice, and when he did his frown deepened. “Shit, I should have known. Tianya. As for the sword, I think I’ll keep it out for now, thanks.”

  “I don’t mean you any harm, Aaron Envelar,” she said, “far from it, in fact. I only wished to speak with you.”

  Aaron grunted. “I guess maybe you don’t get out a lot, Tianya, but people looking to have a conversation generally offer to buy one another drinks in a tavern, or maybe just ask to meet with them. What they don’t do, is ambush a man in the darkness. I’m guessing you’re the one behind the guards not being here, then? The reason why the boy was acting like he was about to piss himself?”

  “Don’t hold it against him,” she said, her tone amused, “Ian is a good boy, and he does his job well. He was not easy to convince, but then, I have had more experience in such things than most.”

  “That I don’t doubt,” Aaron said.

  “As for the guards,” Tianya went on as if he hadn’t spoken, “they were much easier. And, of course, I must apologize, Aaron. As you know, due to my particular gift, I cannot abide much light or noise. A tavern would be enough, I’m afraid, to drive me quite irrevocably insane.”

  “And I generally can’t abide being locked in against my will—I’d say ask the last guy that did it to me, but then, he’s not saying much of anything lately.”

  “I understand that you are upset,” Tianya said, “and I apologize.”


  “Upset?” Aaron said. The anger that always loomed so close to the surface threatened to turn into a blaze, but he pushed it back down with a will. “Not yet, but I promise you’ll know when it happens.”

  The leader of the Tenders sighed at that. “Please understand, Aaron, that even such a trip as this into the city has its own perils for me, and it will take me days, possibly weeks, to recover. I do not say this for sympathy, only to make you understand that I have not come lightly.”

  Aaron frowned. “That was your choice, lady, not mine. Now, why don’t you just tell me what you want, so I can get about my night, and you can go back to your cave? I’ve got things I need to be doing.”

  “It is precisely because of those ‘things’ as you call them, that I have come, General Envelar. I have come to ask you, to beg you. Please, reconsider. What you do now is beyond foolish. You will be leaving yourself—and the Virtues—open to not just Belgarin and the danger he poses, but also to Boyce Kevlane, who is much worse.”

  “Lady, Adina couldn’t talk me out of this. Shit, the queen herself couldn’t. If neither of them were able to convince me to stay, what chance do you think you have? I don’t even like you.”

  “I do not ask you to like me,” Tianya said, “that is not my concern. I ask you to think of yourself, of the danger you’re putting yourself in. And not just yourself, understand, but every living, breathing person in this world. That includes the queen and your princess.”

  Aaron snorted. “If I’ve got that kind of power, maybe they ought to make some shrines to me, after all.”

  “This is no joke, Aaron Envelar,” Tianya snapped, her composure finally breaking. “You know as well as I what Boyce Kevlane is capable of. You have seen it with your own eyes. You know, too, what it is that he seeks.”

  “After the last time I saw him,” Aaron said dismissively, “I suspect he’s seeking someone to pull my knife out of his back.” He sounded casual, unworried, but that couldn’t have been further from the truth. Aaron knew the danger the ancient wizard posed, knew that, if given the opportunity, the man would kill Aaron and everyone he cared about.

  “A knife,” Tianya said, her patience gone, “you speak to me of a knife? Such a thing is little more than a trifle to the enemy. He is out there, Aaron, he and those who serve him, and he will not stop until he has gathered the Seven. Once he’s done so, there will be nothing and no one that can stop him. He will bring the world to its knees, and the people you care about will suffer for your foolishness.”

  Aaron frowned. “Are we done?”

  “There is still time to avoid this folly,” Tianya said, her voice desperate now. “Come with me. Let me and my men protect you. That much is within my power. As dangerous as he is, Boyce Kevlane is only one man. He cannot be everywhere at once. We can hide you, keep you safe.”

  “Yeah?” Aaron said. “And maybe if I’m good, you’ll let me out of my cage for play time, is that it? A leash around my neck, three meals a day and a coffin to die in, is that what you’re offering me, Tianya?”

  “You damn fool,” she spat. “I’m offering you the chance to live to ensure that those you care about live as well. I’m offering you a chance of saving the world instead of damning it.”

  “I thought I told you before, Tianya,” Aaron said, “the world’s been damned for a long time.” He walked back to the door and knocked loudly. “Ian,” he yelled, “open this door, lad.”

  He heard the boy working the latch from the other side, and Tianya spoke once more. “Last chance, Aaron. Come with me, now. If you choose to continue this folly, I cannot guarantee your safety.”

  Aaron glanced back at the woman there in the darkness, her vague outline suddenly blazing magenta as his bond with Co did its work. “Safety is a thing that can never be guaranteed, Tianya. I’m surprised the years haven’t taught you that. And a man never wins a fight by running from it.”

  The door opened then, and Aaron stepped out of the stables, noting that night had come in full while he’d spoken with the leader of the Tenders. He turned to the boy who stared at him with terrified eyes, as if expecting to be killed outright for his deception, and suddenly Aaron felt very, very tired. “Bring the horse.”

  ***

  Gryle stood with his hands spread out at his sides, sweat running down his forehead, his jaw set in concentration. “Come on then,” he said, his gaze level and steady, his fingers fidgeting in anticipation.

  The woman reached down into her basket—in his darker moments, it seemed to him that it was an unending basket—and retrieved something from it. Her hand moved in a deceptively gentle way as she tossed the thing she’d withdrawn toward him. Gryle moved a step forward, thrusting his hand above his head, and snatched the egg out of the air. He had a brief feeling of victory before it shattered it in his grip and yolk splattered his hand, oozing into his hair and on his robe to mix with the remnants of the dozens of other failed attempts that had come before it.

  Gryle let out a sound of dismay as he stared down at his once fine tunic and pants, clothes fashioned by Queen Isabelle’s own tailor. “Ma’am, forgive me,” he said, holding his hands out and away from him as if they had been infected with some terrible plague, “but…is this truly necessary?”

  “Probably not,” Beth said, the old woman grinning widely, “but I enjoy it.”

  The boy, Michael, laughed from where he sat on the grass of the castle courtyard, watching. “You can do it, Gryle!” he yelled. “I believe in you!”

  Why? Gryle thought, but he resisted the urge to ask. He was no hero like Aaron, not clever like Leomin or determined and passionate like the princess. He was grossly overweight, he knew, and a displeasure to be around, yet for some reason the boy had taken to him, following him around as if he were some knight from the story books. At best, he thought, he was the bumbling squire that followed after the knight, cleaning his sword and washing his clothes. The thing was he didn’t mind being the bumbling squire. Most of the time, he even liked it. After all, somebody had to make sure that the knight was fed and his horse was well-groomed. Someone had to sharpen his sword for him. Not that Gryle had ever sharpened a sword, of course, as staying as far away from them and other instruments of war and death had been one of his life’s main goals. A goal that he had been succeeding at as well. That was, at least, until recent months.

  If Michael’s attentions weren’t awkward enough, Gryle found that the boy’s grandmother’s were far worse. Beth had—for reasons he couldn’t imagine or explain—decided that she would take on the role of being his teacher, showing him how to use his new strength. Which meant that, so far, she’d spent the last several mornings throwing eggs at him. At night, Gryle sat in his room, considering his ruined wardrobe—a wardrobe that he’d been incredibly excited to wear when one of the queen’s servants delivered it—and found himself wishing that he could somehow give the Virtue away. On such nights, he would sit and mourn for his clothes, grieve for his hair that seemed to smell of egg yolk no matter how many times he washed it. He didn’t weep though. Not quite.

  “Ma’am,” he said, as he wiped his hands daintily in the grass, “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, truly. But I am no warrior. I am a chamberlain, that’s all.”

  The old woman smiled. “No, you are not a warrior, Gryle. Not yet. Right now, you’re an egg juggler and a piss poor one at that.” Suddenly, there was another egg soaring through the air directly at Gryle’s face. He let out a yelp, throwing his hand up to catch the egg, but he missed and it struck him in the forehead, splattering yolk and pieces of shell on his face.

  Gryle spluttered and gagged, wiping the slimy yolk away with his hand. Finally, he sighed heavily, turning back to the old woman, “Ma’am, don’t you understand? This is pointless.”

  Beth cackled. “You missed a little something, chamberlain. Just there.” She waved her hand, indicating the entirety of him, and he sighed again. “And you’re wrong, you know. It’s not pointless. Me putting some noble’s
silk dress on these old bones and going to a ball with the intentions of finding some rich lord to pamper and coddle me, that would be pointless. This, chamberlain, is necessary. Or do you want to walk around for the rest of your life with your hands in your pockets for fear of breaking something or someone?”

  “You know I don’t.”

  “Besides,” Beth said, “I’ve got a feelin’ we’ll be needin’ that strength of yours in the days to come and better you learn now than when someone’s slingin’ a sword at you.”

  A cold shiver of fear ran up Gryle’s spine at the thought that he might find himself in a battle, but he was aware of the boy’s eyes on him. He was no hero, had not been born with courage and charisma, with cleverness or skill, but the boy watched him anyway, an expectant expression on his face. Gryle was no hero. But, for the boy, he would try. “Very well,” he said, bracing himself, “let’s go again.”

  ***

  As he led the horse through the city streets, Aaron found himself replaying Tianya’s words in his mind. It wasn’t that he was worried that she was right—he knew she wasn’t. A lifetime living in the Downs had taught him that hiding and running only worked for so long. Sooner or later, some battles had to be fought, whether you wanted to or not. Besides, running and hiding wasn’t a plan; it was what you did when the plan failed. Every moment a man spent cowering and running for his life, his enemies grew stronger, so that when the battle finally did come, he would find that all of that running and hiding had made him good at nothing but running and hiding.

  You know Tianya is going to be a problem, don’t you? Co asked.

  “Going to be?” Aaron muttered, “She already is a problem.” He still couldn’t believe the woman had locked him in the stables to speak with him. He didn’t hold it against the stable boy—a woman like Tianya would do what she had to if it got her what she wanted. The boy had never really stood a chance. Aaron had tried to tell him as much when he’d left, but the boy had still watched him with wide, frightened eyes as if Aaron was some vengeful god come to punish him.