It was Adina’s turn to hiss in frustration, “So what, then, Aaron? You want to quit, is that it? You want to run and hide with our tails between our legs, hoping that we can live a year, maybe two, before Belgarin’s men find us? We’re supposed to cower in some inn, afraid to walk out at night without covering our faces and count down the time to our own execution? I’d be a coward.”
“You’d be alive,” Aaron said, and something of his feelings must have come out in his words because the anger left her expression in an instant, and she put a hand on his face. The tenderness of that touch, the kindness in her gaze, stirred something in Aaron, and he forced his own fears and uncertainties about what he was becoming down, burying them beneath his need to protect her, to keep her safe. He didn’t know what was going to happen, or what he was becoming, and, just then, it didn’t seem to matter as much. If he was to be a monster, then he would be her monster. A monster to stand between her and all the other monsters in the world, one who would stand against any man, who would stand against the gods themselves, if that’s what it took to keep her safe. “Alright,” he said in a voice little more than a whisper then he cleared his throat and tried again, “Alright. I’ll help you in whatever way I can, though I’d be lying if I said I thought there was much we could do against your brother and his armies.”
“As for that,” Adina said, “let’s find Leomin and Darrell first. Then, I’ll tell you my plan.”
That sounded very much like trying to accomplish one impossible thing only to turn around and attempt another one to Aaron, but he didn’t bother saying so. He expected Co to have something to say about the conversation, but she remained silent, and though she did not speak, Aaron thought he could feel her, pulsing with concern and confusion and more than a little fear as she no doubt recalled what had happened at the tavern, what he—what they—had done. Aaron wanted to say something to comfort her, to reassure her, but he had no comfort to give, so he led Adina further into the city in silence, questions of what had happened at the tavern and what would happen in the coming days pushed aside by the immediate concern of putting distance between them and the dead men. Murder might not draw guards, not in the poor district of the city, but even a fool knew that blood always drew predators, and he had no wish to confront anymore just now, not with Adina beside him.
Suspecting that the bodies had to have been found by now, Aaron’s senses were keyed up, watching and listening for any hostile movement, any suspicious stares. It was an easy enough thing, then, to notice a shadow as it separated itself from the mouth of a side street they were walking past. Aaron’s sword was drawn and lashing out at an angle behind him, pausing inches from the figure’s throat before it had taken three steps. “I wouldn’t,” he said.
“Aaron, what—”Adina began, but he held a hand up, asking for silence. For its part, the figure froze, and he could see even in the poor morning light a quiver to its stance. Not a professional then, not one used to having sharp steel held against it.
“Step into the light,” Aaron said, motioning for the man to walk out of the shadowed alleyway and into the road. The few people in the streets gave them a wide birth, moving to the other side of the street as they made their way past, but Aaron noticed this only out of the corner of his vision as his gaze remained on the figure, waiting and watching for any sudden movement.
The figure did as it was told, stepping forward and into the light. For a moment, Aaron didn’t recognize the youth standing before him, but he grunted in surprise as he recalled the boy from the tavern, the tavernkeep’s nephew. “Jason, wasn’t it?”
Fear danced in the boy’s eyes, but his scowl was still well in place, and his hands were buried in his tunic. “It’s Janum,” he said, his eyes studying the sword at his throat.
“Right. Well, Janum, I can see you don’t like me very much and that’s okay—truth is, I don’t like myself very much. I’ve done a lot of things I’m not proud of, but if you pull that blade you’ve got hidden under your shirt, I’ll be doing one more very soon, you understand?”
The boy swallowed hard, and he took his hands out of his tunic, holding them up high. Aaron grunted, “Put ‘em down, boy. I’m not the constable, and I’m not here to arrest you. Now, what exactly did you aim to do with that blade, anyway?”
The boy let his hands drop to his side, “That’s not … I mean, that’s none of your business.” Trying for tough but not quite making it.
Aaron tilted his head at the youth, studying him. “You sure that’s the position you want to take here, son?”
“I’m not your son,” the boy spat, his anger finally working its way past his fear.
“No,” Aaron said, “and lucky me. The last thing I need is to be saddled with some ungrateful bastard thinks he’s the only one in the world’s got problems.”
The youth sputtered at that, “Ungrateful bastard … if I had a sword of my own, you wouldn’t dare to—”
Aaron cut the blade quickly to the left, so close that the youth had to have felt the wind of its passing, and Janum’s words cut off. “I don’t think a little shit like you could begin to comprehend the things I’d dare do,” Aaron said. “And if you want a word of advice, I’d watch that tongue of yours. Not everybody’s a troubled mother or a kind uncle trying to look after you—there’s plenty enough people that would be willing to knock your teeth down your throat for you, that’s what you’re looking for. You hearing me?”
The boy hesitated, glancing at the tip of the sword at his throat. Finally, “I hear you.”
“Good,” Aaron said, “now then, why have you come after me?”
The boy hesitated still, rubbing his hands together anxiously, and Aaron sighed. “Look, Janum. It’s been a long night with a long day coming, and I’m not the man you want to count on for patience right now. If I have to ask you again, your mother’s going to have a very different problem than having a bastard for a son.”
“Aaron,” Adina said, slapping him on the shoulder and moving to the boy before Aaron could grab her. “Look, Janum, we don’t want to hurt you, okay?” She said in that soothing voice that Aaron suspected would take the fight out of a pissed off bear. “Nobody’s going to hurt you. Forgive my … friend. He wasn’t lying when he said it’s been a long day. Now, please, tell us why you were following us.”
The youth stared at her with wide eyes, his mouth working. Poor fool, Aaron thought, fallen already and just how long was that? Five seconds? Ten?
Not much more than you, as I recall, Co said, though the humor sounded forced. Still, Aaron was happy enough to hear the Virtue talk that he didn’t bother with a retort.
“Yes ma’am,” the boy said, looking at Adina, “it’s just … at the bar,” he said, turning to Aaron, “I heard you talking to uncle about a man you were lookin’ for, a Parnen fella, one with bells in his hair that—”
“Shut the fuck up,” Aaron hissed, glancing around the street. The only people he saw were two women—whores if their revealing clothes were any indication—making their stumbling, drunken way down the opposite end of the street, far enough away so that they couldn’t have heard anything. Or so he hoped. “Get over here,” he said, grabbing the boy by the shoulder and pulling him into the alley.
Once they were there, Aaron checked to make sure the alley was empty before turning back to the youth. He saw to his surprise that tears—no doubt borne of fear—were winding their way down Janum’s cheeks. The youth must have seen him notice because he wiped at them angrily, clearly pissed off to be seen crying. He glanced at Adina and saw her scowling at him, an expression much more frightening than the youth’s had been. If looks could kill, he thought, Belgarin would have one less problem on his plate. He sighed and turned back to the youth, “Tears aren’t anything to be ashamed of, boy. It’s when they stop coming that you should be concerned. Means you still feel something and that’s a good thing. Now, tell me what you were saying.”
“He’s a nice man, mister,” the youth said, hi
s voice cracking, “was a lot nicer to me and my uncle than most, it’s why my uncle didn’t tell you anything. And he’s got a way with words too, says things that I’m not sure what he means, but they sound nice, and I like them anyway. He made uncle smile—seems to me sometimes that maybe he’s forgotten how, but the Parnen made him. Anyway, I wouldn’t see any harm come to him, neither would my uncle, that’s why he kept the Parnen’s secret.”
Aaron felt his heart speed up in his chest, “His secret. Alright, lad, I can understand you and your uncle not wanting to tell me. I know Leomin well enough, and if the man can do anything, he can talk.”
“But wait a minute,” Adina said, “if you wanted to keep Leomin’s secret, why did you follow us?”
“His reason,” Aaron said, his eyes not leaving the youth, “is tucked into his tunic there. Isn’t that right, Janum?”
The youth stared at his feet, his face growing red. “It’s just ….” He paused, withdrawing a small knife from his tunic. It was a crude, rusted thing with a worn, stained leather wrapped handle, the blade dull with several notches in its edge from hard use. It reminded Aaron of the type of knife sailors sometimes carried for working on ships. Certainly not one that he’d want to have in a fight—or to shave with, as far as that went. Janum tossed the blade so that it landed at Aaron’s feet. “Mister, I just didn’t want anything to happen to the Parnen. He’s … he’s a good man.”
Aaron considered that then reluctantly nodded, “Yeah,” he said, “yeah, I think he is. But I need you to understand, Janum, that we mean the Parnen no harm. Just the opposite, in fact.”
“Wait a minute,” the youth said, staring at him with wide, hopeful eyes, “Are you saying … is he a friend of yours?”
Aaron grimaced at that, “Well, thing is—”
“Yes, Janum,” Adina said, shooting Aaron a look, “Leomin is our friend. You have my word, we don’t want to hurt him. We want to help him.”
The youth glanced back to Aaron, apparently having decided that, of the two of them, he would be the one most likely to hurt someone. Which, Aaron supposed, was fair. “Is … is that true?”
Aaron glanced at Adina’s stern expression then bit back another sigh, “Fine, he’s our friend damnit,” he said, turning back to the youth but not quite fast enough to avoid seeing the smile on the princess’s face, “Now, tell us what you know.”
Janum glanced at them both once more then came to a decision and nodded. “Alright. The Parnen came by the tavern early last night, just after sundown. He talked for a while—told some really great stories about how he used to captain a whole fleet of ships, the biggest pirating operation the world had ever seen, he said. Said that he was known throughout the world as the world’s greatest smuggler and that in some places, kings and queens bowed to him. Said that—”
“Sure, sure, and in some places they worship him like a god and women beg him to bless their snot-nosed babies. Anyway, what happened then?”
“Well,” the youth said, nodding, “he told quite a few stories, said some things that I wouldn’t have believed coming from someone else—”
“Smartest thing you said yet,” Aaron muttered, but cut off when Adina cuffed him on the shoulder.
“Anyway,” Janum continued as if Aaron hadn’t spoken, “he was so good at it—tellin’ stories, I mean—that he had the whole place listenin’. So good that uncle asked him if he wouldn’t want to stay on, told him he’d pay him and everythin’. He said he couldn’t just now, said there were some men lookin’ for him, men with long swords and short tempers. Said that back when he was a captain of a pirate fleet, he’d always been charitable and that his soft heart caused him to rescue a great beauty, a singer, I think he said, and a homeless beggar who, he found out later, had a bounty on his head. The beggar, not the princess, of course. Said that, on account of his helpin’ the leper—”
“Wait a minute,” Aaron said, frowning as Adina giggled beside him, “was it a beggar or a leper?”
“Well,” the youth paused, thinking, “I’m pretty sure, it was both, mister. Wait a minute,” he said, his eyes widening as he turned to Adina, “You’re the great beauty, ain’t you?”
Adina started to speak, but Aaron cut her off, “Which makes me the leper beggar, yeah. Now go on. Tell me where he is.”
“Well, that’s the thing, mister,” Janum said taking a step back from Aaron, “he’s still at the tavern. Uncle took a likin’ to him and told him he could have a room for so long as he needed one—no charge, he said.”
Aaron shook his head in disbelief, “No charge? Do you mean to tell me that Leomin is back at the tavern that we just came from?”
“Why yes sir,” the youth said, nodding vigorously, “least ways, he was when I left.”
Aaron glanced at Adina, and they both shared the same worry in their eyes. Leomin was back at the tavern—back where they’d left at least one corpse, and if the others weren’t dead, they were damned sure pissed off. If the tavernkeeper linked those to Leomin, the Parnen could be in real danger. The tavern keeper was kind enough—truth was, Aaron found that he got along with most barmen, though he wondered if that had anything to do with the fact that they brought him ale—but corpses had a funny way of making people rethink their opinions. And, of course, there was always the chance that he’d call the guard. Poor district or not, sometimes the guard would get involved in such things and if they did….
“We have to go,” Adina said, echoing Aaron’s thoughts, “now.”
Aaron nodded, “Right, let’s go.” He grabbed the youth’s sleeve and then they were running.
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
They made it back to the tavern in less than half an hour. Aaron knew it was foolish to rush inside without scouting the place, without taking precautions, but he kept thinking of Leomin being taken, of the guards torturing or killing him. The Parnen was clever enough, but even he couldn’t talk his head back onto his shoulders if someone got it in their mind to swing a sword at it. The woman and her three companions had recognized Aaron, after all, and with his dark skin and long dark hair, bells hanging from it, Leomin wasn’t exactly unobtrusive. So, instead of checking the perimeter, or waiting for any sign of something amiss—all the things that, generally speaking, kept a man breathing—Aaron and the others rushed into the tavern.
They went straight for the bar ignoring the curious glances they received for their haste. The barkeep scowled at the youth as they approached. “Janum, boy, just where in the name of the gods did you get to? We’re damned near out of ale—much longer and our customers are gonna have to hope it starts rainin’ if they want a drink. That or they can lick it off the tables, I guess—there’s enough of it been spilled to get a horse drunk, I reckon.”
“Yes sir,” the youth said, nodding his head eagerly then he was off, rushing down the stairs behind the counter into the cellar.
The barman looked after him in wonder, “Sir, is it?” He said to no one in particular. Then he shook his head, turning back to Aaron and Adina, “Well if it ain’t the stranger and his missus. Thought for sure I’d seen the last of you when you lit out of here.”
“I thought you had too,” Aaron said honestly, “but your nephew there,” he said, nodding to the cellar, “he told me you might not have been completely truthful with me about the Parnen man I was looking for.”
The barman scowled and folded his massive arms across his chest, “Said that, did he?”
“He did.”
The two men studied each other for several seconds, and Adina rolled her eyes, stepping up to the counter, “Look, sir. I promise you, we mean Leomin no harm, and if what your nephew says is true, I don’t think you’d like to see any harm come to him either. We’re here to help.”
The big man considered Adina for a moment then glanced around the common room as if checking that anyone was listening. Just then, Janum was working his way back up from the cellar, grunting with the effort of lifting the cask of ale. The three of
them watched in silence as the youth removed the old one then hoisted the new one up into its place on the counter behind the bar. “There you are, uncle,” he said, his eyes on the floor as if trying to avoid the tavernkeeper’s gaze, “is there anything else I can do?”
The big man scowled for a second, his arms crossed. Finally, he sighed, “Yeah, lad, there is. Watch the bar for me for a few you minutes, will you? I’ve got some business with these two.”
The youth nodded, “Yes sir.”
The barman glanced at Aaron and raised an eyebrow, then motioned for him and Adina to follow. “Sir,” he said, incredulous as he led them up the stairs. Then he turned back to Aaron, “What did you say to him anyway?”
“I threatened to kill him.”
The barman considered that for a minute then nodded, “I suppose that’d do it. Thanks.” Then he turned back to the stairs, and Aaron and Adina shared a look before following after.
He led them to a room that was only two down from where Aaron had stayed, and Aaron stared at the door in wonder. The man had been right here, all along. The big innkeeper’s knock was surprisingly gentle for such a massive fist, as if he didn’t want to disturb the Parnen should he still be abed.
“As I told you before, Melinda,” came the call from the other side of the door, “Melinda, whose face is like the sun and eyes like garnet rocks—wait, no gems? Is it a rock or a gem? Stones? Yes, yes, as I told you before Melinda, full of beauty and grace, I will most certainly call upon your person on the ‘morrow, but for now, I’m afraid, there is not enough Leomin for the world. For the world has many hands and wants much, and I am spread then and wide upon it.”
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