A Sellsword's Wrath

by Jacob Peppers

  CHAPTER

  SEVEN

  The others sat in silence, their expressions troubled, and Adina knew well enough what they must be thinking. What would this captain turn out to be? The sword or the savior, death or deliverance? The thought that they might have come so far, have suffered so much, only to be cornered on this ship and murdered was a dark one, one that made her skin grow cold.

  She glanced at Aaron, looking for reassurance. The sellsword’s gaze was unfocused as if he looked at something only he could see, and his expression was grim, his jaw clenched as if straining under some great weight. She wondered what he planned. Even if, despite the danger, the captain did agree to take them with him—an outcome that seemed more and more unlikely with each passing moment—where did Aaron intend to take them? Where could they go that would be safe from a man who—if left unchallenged—would soon rule the entire kingdom? A man who, all knew, would stop at nothing to get what he wanted.

  No, she knew Belgarin better than that—he was nothing if not thorough. No matter how well they hid, how fast they ran, he would find them. Sooner or later, he would find them. After all, as long as Adina drew breath, his rule would be in question. Not until all of the other royal seven were killed would he be able to claim the uncontested right to rule. Their only chance was to resist, to fight. She was just turning to Aaron to say as much when he suddenly stiffened, his hand going to the sword at his back. He took a step toward the door and turned to the others, “Get behind me. They’re coming.”

  ***

  There was no sound to announce their approach, nothing to interrupt the normal sounds of sailors preparing to debark, and that was alright, for Aaron needed no sound. The door was closed, the walls of the ship blocking his sight and that was alright too, for Aaron needed no sight. He did not see, nor hear, but feel. He felt each footstep on the dock, felt the intent with which they approached. One set of steps that must be the captain’s, carrying in them a barely contained anger, yet a lust for life that bespoke a man of large appetites and large emotions, the second set hesitant, worried, and something about their feel was familiar. Aaron knew also to whom these must belong. Thom.

  The cause of the worry the old man felt, that seemed to writhe and pulse in him like some foul, slithering creature, did not remain a mystery for long. Aaron strained his senses, sweat beading on his forehead despite the coolness of the cabin, the hand not holding his sword clenched into a fist at his side. Seven more sets of footsteps, seven more to feel, to understand. Six were easy enough to know, their hearts mostly filled with boredom, boredom covered with an anxiety that bespoke not of fear, but of a readiness for action should the need arise. A soldier’s readiness.

  Aaron bared his teeth, closing his eyes and cocking his head to the side in an effort to feel the other stranger better. A man who was unsure of himself, but who hid his uncertainty even from himself, buried it beneath tasks that must be done, duties that must be accomplished, and overlaying it all a sense of arrogance that served less as a true part of his nature, but as a shield, one more barrier between himself and himself. Here, too, an anxiety, so deeply rooted that the man himself most likely did not know it was there. An anxiety that he would be found out, that he would find himself out.

  Aaron released the bond, gasping for breath as sensations that had been dulled suddenly rushed back into him. He staggered on shaky legs, but a hand caught him, and he turned to see Adina staring at him with worried eyes. “Are you okay?”

  Aaron took a deep, steadying breath, feeling somehow wrung out, used up, like a piece of fabric stretched to tearing, but he nodded slowly, meeting her eyes. “I’m alright,” he said. He wanted to say more, to tell her how he felt so that, should things go badly, it would not have gone unsaid. But just then the door creaked, and he spun, his sword lashing out even as he pushed her behind him.

  The man who opened the door was shorter than Aaron, about the height of Adina. He seemed to be very wide and heavy-set, but Aaron couldn’t be sure of that as the man wore what had to have been at least half a dozen shirts as well as a thick fur coat. His face was a bright red, matching the color of his unruly hair and a thick, unkempt beard that reached nearly to his waist. If he was frightened or alarmed by the tip of the sword that hovered only inches from his throat, he didn’t show it. “By the gods, but it’s as cold as Sheza’s holy tits, and that’s a fact!” He pushed the sword away with a bare hand as he stomped into the room, apparently oblivious of how close Aaron had come to killing him. “The northerners can have their fucking fairs and their contests all they want. As for me, I want to get out of this damned place while I can still feel my stones. Thom!”

  He growled, “Damnit where is that useless son of a bitch, Thom!”

  Thom, who’d followed the captain into the cabin and was even now standing right beside him ducked his head, clearing his throat, “I’m right here, captain.”

  Festa turned to his side and narrowed his eyes at the gray-haired man, “Well just what in the fuck are you doing skulking around here anyway? You tryin’ to make a fool of me, Thom? That it?”

  The first mate was shaking his head before the captain was finished speaking, “No sir, wouldn’t dream of it.”

  The captain studied him for a moment then grinned, his mood changing with what appeared to be incredible swiftness as he clapped his first mate on the back hard enough to send the other man staggering. “Old Thom!” He bellowed—it seemed to Aaron that this man did very little else—” why I don’t know what I’d do without you. Well, go on then, friend, tell the boys to get the Lady ready, won’t ya before my rod freezes off, and we have to throw it over the side for fish food.” He frowned, “Not that the missus would notice, the damned cold-hearted bitch. You’d think her clam was made of gold, the way she guards the thing.”

  Thom chose—wisely, Aaron thought—to ignore this last bit and nodded instead, “Yes sir, captain. I’ll get them ready.”

  The first mate disappeared out of the door and, in another moment, two soldiers wearing Belgarin’s colors walked in followed by a balding man so thin that Aaron thought if the man stepped wrong he’d fall through one of the cracks in the ship’s floor and be taking a swim in the ocean. Aaron watched the two soldiers warily. Apparently, the other two had stayed on the deck to make sure the rest of the crew didn’t cause any trouble. Something to be thankful for, at least.

  The captain frowned at the thin man, his thick, pudgy hands on his hips, “Now, just what in the fuck are you doing stepping into my cabin? I thought I told you before, I ain’t interested in paying no more taxes! Why, I’ve been paying the same docking and unloading fees for ten years now, and I don’t aim to change it just because some sniveling little bastard—no offense meant—decides he wants to retire early. You get me?”

  The man drew himself up as tall as he could, his nose tilted into the air, “Nevertheless, the taxes will be paid, Captain Festa. Or else, this ship—if you can call it that,” he sneered, “as well as all of its contents will be seized and you—along with all of your crew—” he paused a moment, glancing around suspiciously at Aaron and his companions before continuing, “will be arrested by order of his Majesty Belgarin himself. And you will not mock me again. You may call me, Mr. Zake, and as secretary of shipping, it is my duty and right to oversee such transactions as well as taking the necessary steps to procure payment.”

  Aaron wouldn’t have thought it possible a moment before, but the captain’s face grew even redder at the other man’s words. “What did you say about my ship?”

  The thin man wasn’t listening. Instead, he was staring at Aaron and his companions, a frown on his face. “You all seem familiar to me. Why might that be?”

  Aaron’s hand clenched tighter around the handle of his sword. He didn’t expect the thin man would put up much of a fight, but the two soldiers—along with the other two currently up top—would be a problem in such close quarters. Still, he didn’t have much choice. He was just about to bring his sword
up to act when Festa stepped between him and the thin man, “Oh, don’t mind him, that’s just my nephew.” He turned to Aaron, a scolding look on his face, “I told you, boy, to put that damned sword away and stop playing at being a pirate. My luck, you’ll poke your damned eye out, and your mom’ll kill me.” He turned back to the thin man, sighing, “The boy’s my nephew, and I love him as much as a man aught, but he’s no scholar, if you catch my meanin.’”

  The thin man seemed to consider this for a moment then finally turned back to the captain. “Very well, now, as I was saying, captain. I will have your taxes, or I will have your ship. Your ch—”. He cut off looking at May, his eyes narrowing. Then he glanced around at the rest of them, “Red hair ….” He looked at Adina, “a young, pretty woman and three men….” Suddenly, his eyes went wide with realization. “It’s them! Kill the—”

  Aaron was moving before the man’s words were out of his mouth. He rushed the closest soldier, barreling into him shoulder first and slamming him against the wall. Then he lunged forward, lashing out with his sword at the second soldier. The second man screamed as the blade cut a bloody path down his face, dropping his own sword, his hands going to the wound.

  Before the man could recover, Aaron grabbed him by the shoulder and rammed his sword through the man’s gut. The soldier let out a gasp that quickly turned into a bloody, angry snarl as his hands clamped around Aaron’s throat and began to squeeze. Aaron gasped, struggling to rip the man’s hands free with one hand even as the other plunged the sword into the man’s stomach again, and again. Blood, warm and slick, coated Aaron’s sword arm, yet still the man’s grip didn’t weaken.

  Spots began to dance in the sellsword’s eyes, and he could feel the strength leaving his limbs, but he gritted his teeth and plunged the blade into the man again, angling it up and into his chest. The man’s eyes went wide as the sword struck home, and the grip around Aaron’s neck finally loosened as the soldier stumbled backward and fell to the ground, dead.

  Aaron’s legs wobbled beneath him, and he fell to one knee, gasping for breath. He was still struggling to get his breathing under control past a throat that felt raw and chafed when a feeling of alarm sounded in his head. It wasn’t just that he knew the strike was coming—although he did. It was that he knew exactly what shape it would take. In that instant, it seemed as if he knew everything there was to know about the remaining soldier. Knew, for instance, that when the soldier had been trained in the sword, he’d had a habit of holding the grip too tight. An affectation of many men when first learning to use a blade and one the guard captain who’d trained the man had—Aaron knew this, too—scolded the man about again and again.

  It was a small thing, really. The type of thing that could be passed over nine out of ten times on the training ground, the type of thing that wouldn’t keep a man from being a competent swordsman—although it would keep him from being a great one. A sword held too tightly loses its fluidity, its grace and, most importantly, loses much of its ability to react quickly.

  Aaron felt the blade coming and ducked his head. Six inches, no more than that, enough that he could feel the wind of the blade’s passing on the back of his neck then, half turning, his own sword struck, finding its home in the man’s throat. The soldier let out a surprised gurgle before crumpling to the ground beside his dead companion. Each breath a torture, Aaron scanned the room and saw the others looking at him. Adina stood only a few steps away. She somehow had found a kitchen knife, and Aaron saw with surprise that there was blood on it, as well as on her mouth from where the soldier had apparently struck her.

  Gryle stood holding the broken remains of a chair in his hands, his eyes wide with shock and surprise. May and Balen stood pressed against the door, their faces tight with strain, and for the first time Aaron noticed the shouts and thumps from the other side of the door as someone tried to force their way in.

  In another moment, Adina was at his side, helping him to his feet, “By the gods, Aaron, are you okay?”

  “Sure,” he rasped, rubbing where the man’s hands had been, “who needs a throat anyway?”

  A loud thump from inside the cabin drew Aaron’s attention, and he looked up to see Festa slamming the thin man’s head into the pocked wooden surface of the table. Ah, he thought, another dent to add to the collection.

  “What. Did you say. About my ship!?” Festa roared as he brought the unfortunate man’s head down again. Judging by the bloody mess of the man’s face—barely a man’s face at all now, really, but the broken, battered features of some cruel child’s doll—the captain had been at it for a while.

  “He’s dead,” Aaron wheezed.

  Festa ignored him, growling like an animal as he brought the man’s face down again and again, blood splattering with each impact, “Talk about my ship, you sniveling, no good son of a bit—”

  “Festa, he’s dead,” Aaron said, stepping forward and grabbing the man’s wrists. The captain looked at him with wild eyes as if he planned on going for Aaron next. “What do you mean to do, kill him twice? If it’s an answer you’re looking for,” he nodded his head at the man’s ruined face still clutched in the captain’s blood-soaked hands, “that’s the only one you’re likely to get. Unless you know some magic that’ll make a dead man say sorry. If so, go on beating him, but otherwise,” he pointed at the door where May and Balen were barely managing to keep it shut, bouncing and stumbling with each loud impact from the other side, “we’ve got more important things to worry about just now.”

  The captain stared at Aaron for a second longer then at the mangled features of the man he held. He recoiled as if just realizing what he’d done and let the man drop before turning back to Aaron, a grudgingly embarrassed expression on his face, “It’s a good ship, that’s all.”

  “Sure it is,” Aaron said, feeling like a fool trying to talk a bear out of eating him, “I wonder who they’ll give it to once Belgarin’s headsman finishes with you. Someone like that one there, you think?” He asked, indicating the secretary.

  Festa’s eyes went wide with disbelief at that then his expression twisted with rage, “By the Pit they will,” he growled, “I’ll kill every whore’s son among them before I’ll let some bureaucratic piece of shit take the Lady.”

  “Well,” Aaron said in as reasonable of a tone as he could manage, “if we don’t do something—and quick—I suspect that you’ll have your chance. How long, do you think, before Belgarin’s soldiers come in force? A scrap like this won’t go unnoticed on the docks. Think, captain, how long before the entire might of Belgarin’s army is marching onto this ship?”

  “And what do you think I’ll do, leave? Sail away with my tail between my legs? And with a bunch of damned extra baggage,” the captain said, gesturing to Aaron and his companions, “that, for all I know, are spies of Belgarin himself, never mind what Thom says. Shit, for all I know, you deserve what’s coming your way. “

  “Oh, I do,” Aaron said, “more than you could believe. But they don’t.” He stared at the man for another moment then turned, rubbing at his throat as he moved toward the door and the struggling May and Balen. “When I say, open it.”

  The two of them nodded, grunting as another blow struck the door. “One ….” Aaron said, readying his sword, “ two….” Before he could say three, the knocks and shouts from the outside of the door abruptly cut off.

  He frowned, waiting, then Thom spoke from the other side of the door, “Would it be too much trouble to ask one of you to kindly open the door?”

  May smiled wide, swinging the door open before Aaron could so much as caution her against it. The gray-haired man stood outside of it with three other sailors, each with short, stout lengths of wood in their hands, the surfaces of which were red with blood. Two soldiers dressed the same as those inside the cabin lay on the ground unmoving. Before the older man could react, May pulled him into the room in a massive embrace and planted a kiss on Thom with such force that Aaron felt sure the man would have a sore neck i
n the morning.

  Finally, May released him, and if the gray-haired man minded the club owner’s attentions it didn’t show as his smile stretched from ear to ear. “Well, I’ll be damned…” he breathed.

  “Not yet,” The club owner said, winking, “But maybe later, if you’re lucky.” Thom’s face went crimson at her words, and he ducked his head, but not so far that Aaron couldn’t still see the smile well in place.

  “That’ll do,” Festa said, “Thom, you do what you want with your own time, but for now we’ve got a ship to run.”

  The first mate cleared his throat and nodded, “Of course, sir.”

  Festa grunted, eyeing May and then Thom, “Alright. Show me the deck—let’s check on the damage.”

  “Of course, sir,” Thom nodded, leading the way.

  Aaron and the others followed Thom and the captain up onto the deck where sailors were busy about their tasks, and Aaron glanced around, surprised not to see any signs that fighting was, or had, recently taken place. Two in the cabin, two more outside, in the hall, meant that there were still two soldiers unaccounted for.

  Festa, too, seemed taken aback. “Well?” He shouted, “Where are the soldiers? I know there had to be more of the sons of bitches. I want every last one of ‘em dead, do you hear me?” The sailors worked on in silence until one’s errands took him a bit too close, and Festa grabbed hold of his shirt, “Well man? Where are they all?”

  The man’s eyes went wide, a rat caught underneath a cat’s paw, but he motioned to the side of the ship with his head. Aaron and the others looked where the man had indicated in time to see several of the sailors dumping the bodies of the soldiers from below decks over the side. Festa frowned and turned back to the man, “How many of them were there?”

  “Four in all, captain,” Thom spoke from behind him, “but it’s been dealt with.”