The Warder

by D K Williamson

  . . .

  Dech made his way to an inn Leophric and Ives recommended. At the quiet mention of their names, the innkeeper smiled and acted as if the warder was an old friend. “Your coin’s not worth a thing here, good sir,” he said. “Stay as you need. Your food, drink, stabling, and hostelry are the least we can provide.”

  Dech found the second story room provided to him fit for one far above his station and he shuddered to think what it might cost if it came from his purse. He placed his meager baggage in the room and chose to forgo his shield, helm, kettle hat, and even his mail hood while traveling in the city. Leaving his horses at the inn’s stable as well, he walked toward the section of the city where Brewster lived, one of the oldest but certainly not revered portions.

  He pulled the information brokers’ note from a pouch and looked at the instructions once he found the correct intersection. With no street markers of any sort in the area, it would be easy to become lost in such a place. ALLEY TO THE LEFT PAST THE FOURTH EAST-WEST STREET, FIFTH DOOR DOWN ON RIGHT, read Ives’ precise writing.

  Ancient stonework made up most of the structures in the area, and very few were more than one story. Heavily weathered, but still sound, it seemed to Dech very few of the buildings were ever intended for human residence though most were used for that very thing.

  Few people walked the streets and other than furtive peeks from behind curtains, there was little activity visible inside the buildings. It took little time to find the location he sought.

  The alley was dark, the space above covered in tattered and filthy cloth that blocked most of the light. Equally spaced between each doorway were recesses a pace deep and two wide with remnants of the same cloth as above dangling at each opening. The first recess had an unconscious man tucked into one corner with his head lolled onto a shoulder and a black bottle tucked in the crotch of his legs. The others held refuse of varying forms within them, mostly rags, empty bottles, broken pottery, and residue from rushes used to cover floors.

  Dech arrived at the fifth door and paused to listen before knocking. Hearing movement within, he tapped on the wood surface with his knuckles.

  “Who is it?” a gruff voice yelled.

  “An acquaintance of your friends in Drumming,” Dech replied quietly.

  The door swung open revealing a short, portly man with dagger in hand. “They are not friends,” he said with venom. “They are leeches and the sooner I’m free of them the better.” He looked Dech from head to toe and lowered the blade. “A knight? They never sent one of your sort this way before. Come in, but mind your head.”

  Dech followed the man inside, ducking under the low doorframe and saw him toss the dagger onto a narrow bed against the back wall. Windowless, but lit by two small glass lanterns, there was ample light to see a sparse but neat arrangement.

  “Didn’t used t’live like this, but life takes you places you don’t want t’go sometimes,” the man said as he took a seat beside a small table covered in papers. “I’m Brewster, but you likely know that. Before we get t’business, how is it you know those… wretched men that sent you?”

  “We’ve traded information and favors for some time.”

  Brewster looked at Dech and expected more, but the warder said nothing.

  “I’ll need a bit more, knight.”

  “I know,” Dech said. He drew the letter Leophric and Ives provided from a pouch and passed it to Brewster.

  The man held it close to the lantern on the table and examined it before opening. Breaking the seal, he unfolded it and read with a foul expression on his face. When he was finished, he folded the paper and glared at Dech. “I’m t’disclose whatever information you need provided I know it, but we’ll not do it here. Thin walls, big ears, and a rotten atmosphere don’t make for good business. Let me dress and we’ll go where we can talk freely and imbibe in spirits like proper deals require.”

  Dech nodded. “I’ll wait for you at the end of the passage.”

  “It’s an alley, knight. No need t’spare my feelings. I know where I am.”

  Dech exited and walked to the street and leaned against the far wall in the sunlight. The drunk in the alley crawled out a short time later and looked at the warder through nearly closed eyes.

  “You real?” he asked in a slurred voice.

  “As far as you know,” Dech replied.

  “Real ‘nough then. Too bright and this idn’t even my alley,” he said as he managed to get to his feet. “Nights’re better.”

  The man staggered down the street and disappeared into the next alley.

  A few minutes later Brewster kicked an empty black bottle from the alley as he stepped into the sun. Lifting the bottle, he tossed it onto the roof over Dech’s head. “Drunks,” he grumbled. “Let’s go.”

  The two followed a zigzagging course through alleys and walkways until they reached the next street north.

  Stopping there, Brewster said, “We’re going t’a place where we can talk. There’s people always watching everywhere in this city. We go in separate, they have t’come in t’see if we’re talking. If that happens, we know and they know we know.”

  Dech sighed in irritation. “Fine. Where is this place?”

  “Next street east. You’ll see the sign. The Wagon and Bale. A public house.”

  Brewster went north. Dech watched him until he turned east and walked from sight behind a building. Going east as well, Dech stopped and watched the area he had just covered for any sign of surveillance. Seeing nothing, he made his way to the next street.

  A short distance north was a small market area with several stalls selling food and clothing. A sizable crowd moved through the space. Not far beyond was the public house Brewster mentioned. Dech passed through the crowd and made his way to the doors. Pausing before he entered, he looked up and down the street and saw nothing that indicated he had a tail. Noting the openings that once held glazed panels on the façade of the Wagon and Bale were now filled in with stonework, he understood why Brewster might favor the place for meetings such as theirs.

  Dech pushed the doors open. Loosely hung on failing leather hinges, the panels were prone to rake across the worn wooden floor. Based on the arcing marks in the wood, the doors had been in such a state for some time.

  Looking over the few people who were in the place, he didn’t see Brewster. The dirty skylights above provided minimal illumination, but enough to see the entire area. A few glances were cast Dech’s way, but no one looked at him directly. After ordering a clay mug of beer, he walked to the back of the room and sat with his back to the wall.

  A quick examination of the décor told Dech the seedy place might have actually been a nice establishment once upon a time, but those days were gone and not likely coming back.

  Several minutes later, Brewster entered and acknowledged Dech with a jut of his chin before ordering a large mug of some thick brown liquid the man at the counter slopped from a bucket.

  Crossing the room, Brewster sat across from the warder. After taking a long pull from his mug, he wiped his mouth and leaned across the table.

  “Brock,” he said quietly. “He’s who you’re here about. That’s not his real name, but no one knows what his true identity is. I might be able to direct you t’where he is. I say might ‘cause he could be gone from there already. That be the case, good fortune t’you. Brunly, that’s where he was headed. Just over the border in Marador. It’s said he’s from Byrmont originally, but lives in Marador. A man with his coin can live where he pleases.”

  “His dealings? What do you know of them? Our friends in Drumming were inclined to think you’d know.”

  “They would. You know how they are, difficult. They think they know things, but they’ve never been here. Look where I am. I hear things, that’s all. This Brock is a big merchant. Travels the Southerlies and beyond in style and comfort befitting a man of his wealth. What am I t’do? Walk into some posh place and chat him up? Had I the coin t’dress the part, I wouldn’t be livi
ng where I am. You got all the knowing I got.”

  “You’re sure of that?”

  “I might be low in the order of men, knight, but I’m more honest than most. If I had more, I’d be asking for a coin or two in the chance you’d give it, but you got all I have. Would I lie t’one such as you?”

  “That remains to be seen. If I find you did mislead me, you’ll see me again.” Dech said in earnest before he stood, leaving the beer untouched.

  Brewster wiped his nose with the back of his hand before pointing to the back of the public house. “Best leave the back way, just in case. Somebody might have followed you or me coming here. Best not make it easy for them.”

  Dech’s face revealed nothing, but he was sure the man fell short of disclosing everything. The suggestion he leave through the rear rang hollow and odd as well. The fact Brewster brought him to the Wagon and Bale to relay so little information put him on his guard.

  “Leave that way if you wish. I came from the south arriving here. I’ll go north upon leaving. I have business that direction and am confident I can spot someone following me. I thank you for the suggestion though and will tell our friends in Drummer of your aid.”

  Brewster’s face betrayed a sign of disappointment, but he nodded and said, “Do that and fair travels t’you.”

  Dech walked to the front door and glanced back at Brewster as he opened it. He tilted his head in farewell and closed the door behind him as he left. Hitting the steps running, he moved south as fast as he could, slowing fifty or sixty paces before coming to a walk and moving into the crowd near the stalls he had passed just a short while before.

  Less than two minutes later, Brewster led a quartet of men into the intersection north of the public house. He sent two men up the street and the other pair west while he looked around the area with an angry expression and hands on his hips.

  After glaring at the man from the cover of the market, Dech moved through the crowd and swiftly made for Brewster’s hovel.

  Stepping from the bright light of the street, he stood in shadow long enough to let his eyes adjust to the darkness in the narrow alley. Moving quietly, he made his way down the passage until he came to one of the recesses on the right that suited his purpose. Stepping inside he kicked refuse toward the alley to obscure his boots and placed himself where the remains of the hanging cloth masked his form.

  Sword in hand, Dech waited in silence for nearly half an hour before he heard closing footsteps. Watching through the tattered cloth, he saw it was Brewster. The moment the man was past, Dech moved, the cloth rippling as he stepped clear. Brewster spun to face the noise as he drew his short blade, but a vice-like grip forced the blade from his hand as he was pressed against the wall, sword at his neck.

  “Brewster, nice to see you,” the warder said quietly. “I worried when I saw your encounter with the men from the alley you wanted me to meet. Odd, but it seemed as if they knew you, answered to you. You either make friends quickly or were sending me into a trap.”

  Brewster was scared, that much was obvious, but he didn’t panic. “No games, knight. It’s just the way it works here. You beat us. We got nothing and I have a blade at my neck. I told you all I know and it cost you nothing. That means you got more than I did.”

  “You know more than you told me.”

  “That so? Because the two bastards in Drumming said so, that makes it true? They lie. They buy lies, sell lies, and make men like us gather more lies. We’re much the same you and I. I seen the emblem on your sword. Contrition knight. Run afoul of the law and become a sell-sword for the church. I run afoul too, but I have t’answer t’the bastards in Drumming.”

  “Do not presume too much, Brewster. Leophric and Ives have never lied to me save for those of omission. That’s more than I can say for you.”

  “I told you everything.”

  “You told me all you know? Well, that places you in a very poor bargaining position then. I was willing to trade your body parts for the rest of the information, but if parts are all you have, parts I’ll take.”

  “Now let’s not be hasty!” he blurted. “You have roused my memory. I may recall certain things said.”

  “May? We’re past the bargaining stage.”

  Brewster’s jaw clenched. “At least take the sword from my throat. I’d think more clearly.”

  “What did I just say? You’re still bargaining.”

  Brewster grimaced and let out a loud breath. “Brock met with a man. I followed him from the inn where he stayed. They exchanged items, but I wasn’t near enough t’see what it was.”

  “Go on.”

  “I spoke true of where Brock was headed. Heard him say so. I followed the other man when they parted. He had half a dozen knights waiting for him nearby and they went t’an inn over near Festig’s Bazaar. Fixed up their horses and left.”

  “And who was this man? You asked, I know. Did they depart by the southeastern gate?”

  “They must’ve. He didn’t give his real name, but a woman I know in the tavern said they called him Loring. Aratainians, all of’em.”

  “Let’s return to Brock. What else do you know?”

  “Not much. He has a place near Lond that’s said t’be where he lives. That be in Marador. Southwest of the city in an area they call Parfin.”

  “What other dealings did Brock have here? You have people who work for you. What did they tell you?”

  Brewster’s eyes narrowed in anger. “He met with another shortly after and exchanged items. This new man rode south, but his identity is a mystery. Why don’t you go ask Brock? Hold a blade t’his neck.”

  “I suspect he is more straightforward than you.”

  “I doubt it. Are we finished?”

  “You should hope so.” Dech lowered his sword and slid it into its scabbard. “Do not forget your dagger,” he said turning away and walking toward the street.

  The man spat after Dech. “Gelded whoreson! Tell Leophric and Ives I’m through with them. I regret ever dealing with them. Whatever our agreement, it is no longer. Tell them that!”

  Dech stopped at the end of the alley. “I’m not your messenger,” he called over his shoulder, “but I’m sure they’ll learn of your decision soon enough. You may find regrets are the least of your problems.”

  Dech followed a circuitous route back to the inn to ensure no one followed. Asking the innkeeper if he had any knowledge of the city of Lond, he found the man knew little but could refer him to one that did, a Maradoran expatriate called Bayanard.

  “He sups here most evenings,” the innkeeper said. “I’ll send him to you when he shows.”

  Dech decided to eat and took a seat at a table along the back wall of the tavern. After ordering, he sat for several minutes before he saw a man of middle age crossing the room toward him.

  “Mattias says you need use of my meager knowledge,” the man said as he pulled a chair out from the opposite side of Dech.

  “Mattias? You must be Bayanard.”

  “I am,” he said as he took his seat. “Mattias said you are a good friend yet you know not his name. It is one of those friendships. Not at all uncommon in cities like this. Allies of allies, enemies of enemies, all make for friendships of varying cordiality. What do you wish to know of Lond? A wretched place within a wretched land. Best never to venture there.”

  “I must.”

  “Of course.”

  “I need to visit a man in the area called Parfin southwest of Lond.”

  “That—”

  The two stopped talking as a girl brought Dech’s meal to the table.

  As she walked away, Bayanard began anew. “Parfin. Ah, you will prowl amongst wealth and power then. One needs much gold to live in such a place. Large manses on sculpted land. Hedges, trees, statuary, exotic animals to roam fenced ground, and more. All trying to make their neighbors jealous and all close enough to see each other and envy or quietly gloat depending on current fashion. I can draw you a crude map that will serve you. It is not
a hard locale to navigate. They’re not shy about proclaiming who they are with plaques and signage.”

  “I appreciate your aid.”

  “And I appreciate your brevity, sir,” he said as he slid his chair out. “I will leave you to your meal lest someone thinks we are friends. No offense, but should you find trouble in Marador, I prefer it not track to me. I did not leave the place on good terms. I will give Mattias the map and notes before I depart. I wish you a fine evening.”

  “I wish you the same. Thank you.”

  Bayanard smiled and dipped his head sharply before crossing to the other side of the tavern.

  Dech consumed his meal and sought the innkeeper to inform him he would be leaving early in the morning.

  . . .

  Up before dawn and having readied his gear for travel the night before, Dech went downstairs to prepare his horses and found Mattias awaiting him. True to his word, Bayanard’s map and notes were given to him by the innkeeper before he departed.

  After thanking Mattias for his aid, Dech was on the road before the sun was fully above the horizon. Barring any delays or detours, following the old trade route that led an easterly course would have the warder in Lond by nightfall.

  . . .

  Chapter 17

  The crossing at the Byrmont-Marador border was a busy one with most traffic simply waved through except for large cargo wagons requiring inspection.

  Two men-at-arms sat atop horses just past the guard posts, mounted sergeants from the look of them. Inquiring about Brock, Dech learned the two had never heard of him, but they did advise of a possible source of delay.

  “Up near Brunly there’s trouble brewing,” one of them said. “An uppity baron or two bucking their liege lord for some reason. A fight is likely, forces moving in from the north, mercs flocking in at the smell of blood and coin. You don’t have the look of a sell-sword, but if you are, best make haste.”