The big man’s eyes went wide at that, a feral fear coming in them as, Adina thought, he remembered the sounds his friends had made. He grabbed the club from where it had fallen near him and lurched to his feet, his eyes wild. “Come on then, you fucker,” he said, “come on and let’s get it done.”
Adina could see little of Aaron’s face with the hood that covered it and the ruddy, orange light, but she saw enough to see his mouth twist into a wide smile. He started forward then, and Adina watched the short exchange in amazement and something very much like horror. The bearded man swung his club wildly, shouting with the effort, and Aaron darted to the side, almost too fast to see, the club whistling by his face even as his blade reached out almost casually and slid through the flesh of the bigger man’s calf.
Rhett screamed again, swinging his club again, desperate now, and Aaron was little more than a blur as he sidestepped, his foot lashing out and catching the bigger man in the midriff. Rhett fell backward, landing on his back on the small table. He tried to rise, but before he could move, Aaron was there. It seemed to Adina as if the bigger man was moving in slow motion, and he’d barely even begun to rise before Aaron was on him. Aaron punched him in the face, stunning him, as his other hand reached beneath his cloak and came out with a short, cruel-looking knife. Before the bearded man could recover, Aaron stretched one of the man’s hands out so that it lay flat against the table and with one quick, savage motion, he drove the blade down into the flesh of the big man’s palm, pinning it to the table.
Aaron’s back was to Adina now, but he stared at the pinned hand for several seconds while Rhett screamed as if studying it and deciding whether or not it was to his satisfaction, oblivious or unmoved by the big man’s distress. Finally, he nodded slowly then turned back to meet the big man’s face.
“You and your friends, you took something that’s mine,” Aaron said in that not-Aaron voice again.
“M-mister,” The bearded man stammered, and Adina saw that his lower lip was trembling as if at any moment he would break into weeping, “I’m … I’m sorry, okay? Look man, we didn’t know. Shit,” he said, gasping in pain, “Gods, I’m hurtin’ here, man.”
Aaron cocked his head, turning it enough that Adina could see one side of his face. By some trick of the orange, flickering light, what bit of his face she could see seemed almost demonic, and she felt fear rising in her. Fear for herself but also fear for Aaron, for what he might do. “Hurting?” Aaron said in the voice that was not his own, “You think this is pain?” He shook his head slowly, “No. You know nothing of pain. But you will. Before we’re done, you will.”
The big man’s face was a mask of terror, and he grunted as he swung his free arm at Aaron. Aaron didn’t bother turning as he caught the arm and slammed it down on the table. He produced a second knife from behind his cloak and drove it into the man’s hand, pinning it to the table as he had the first.
Then he took a step back, an artist examining his work. “Your friends,” He said, oblivious of the bearded man’s screams, “should have taken better care of their blades.” He nodded his head at one of the knives. “The damp works on the blade, if it isn’t cleaned and treated. Gets in to it, makes it lose its edge, makes it rust.” He considered that for a moment then shrugged, “Doesn’t matter. The blades are poor quality, but they will serve.”
Adina found that she couldn’t watch anymore. She opened her mouth to say something, to get Aaron’s attention, but found, to her surprise, that for a moment words wouldn’t come. It was as if she was scared to speak, scared to draw his attention. Stupid, of course. This was Aaron, after all. Whatever else they were to each other, they were friends, that at least. The man had saved her life on more occasions than she could easily count, had risked his own to do it, had nearly died doing it, in fact. Why, then, did she find it so hard to make the words come?
“Alright then,” Aaron was saying. “Let’s get started.” Without any hesitation, his sword moved in a blur, too fast for Adina to follow, returning to hang down by his side so quickly that she was almost convinced that he hadn’t moved at all.
At least, that was, until she heard the big man bellow in pain, her eyes going wide as she saw his dismembered foot lying on the ground. Gods, she thought, that’s not—how did he—her thoughts cut off, her mind not knowing how to finish them. Rhett screamed, and Aaron laughed, loud, body-shaking laughs, and Adina stared in shock, her mouth moving soundlessly.
Then the sword flashed again, and the bearded man’s other foot fell to the ground beside the first in a shower of blood. Spittle flew from Rhett’s mouth as he screamed and whimpered, and Aaron glanced down, studying the two feet. “Going to make walking damn tough,” Aaron said, a dark amusement in his tone. “Well, never mind. You won’t be needing them anyway. See what you shouldn’t have done, you shouldn’t have taken them. They were mine, friend,” he said, pacing back and forth in front of the bearded man, his hands clasped behind his back, his sword at an angle to the floor. “And you know as well as I, a man has to protect what’s his. Doesn’t he?”
Rhett, apparently too far gone in pain, gave no answer but his gasping, choked screams.
“Ah well,” Aaron said, moving toward him once again and bringing his sword out from behind his back.
Adina knew she couldn’t watch anymore, couldn’t see this happen, and she managed to finally find her voice, “Aaron, no,” she said. It came out as little more than a croak, but he spun with incredible swiftness and, in an instant, he was looking down at her. Adina swallowed hard, suddenly wishing she’d said nothing as she stared at the cruelty, the hate that seemed big enough to encompass the entire world, swimming in his gaze. For a moment, she was sure that he was going to attack her, was going to do to her what he’d done to the bearded man.
Then, in an instant, the anger and hate left his eyes, the thing that had been lurking there vanishing or, at least, gone back into hiding, and Aaron was staring at her, a dawning shame and horror creeping onto his face as he stared at her then looked down at his bloody hands. He looked back up at her, an expression of confusion and fear on his face that she’d never seen on the usually self-assured, confident sellsword. “Adina?” He asked.
“Yes, Aaron,” she said, swallowing hard as she looked up at him, “it’s me.”
“I’ll get you out,” he said, starting to bend down, but she shook her head.
“No, Aaron, please. Check Leomin first. He hasn’t moved and I’m afraid....”
“Okay,” he said, his voice shaky, “alright.” He turned and made his way to the Parnen, putting two fingers to the man’s throat. He waited for several moments then nodded, “He has a strong heartbeat,” he said, turning back to Adina, “they must have just hit him a good one to the head. He’ll be up and about before long.”
Then he was down beside her, untying the rope, “Ah, gods, your wrists.”
Adina, suddenly anxious to have Aaron so close to her, glanced at the man that still whimpered on the table, blood pouring freely from the two stumps where his feet had once been. “It … could be worse.”
Then he was helping her up, pulling her to her feet. Once there, his expression of relief vanished, turning into one of shame again, and he jerked his hands away from her. For a moment, they only stood staring at each other, neither sure of what to say.
But as Adina looked at him, she knew that this, for now, was the Aaron she knew. The one who’d been willing to give his life for her and others on so many occasions, the man whom she’d grown to care for. To care deeply for and, if she was being honest, quite a bit more than that. In another moment, she was wrapping her arms around him, holding him tight against her.
“Thank the gods you’re okay,” he said.
She laughed, a short, breathy, nervous laugh. “I thought you didn’t like the gods.”
“Well,” he said, leaning his head against her shoulder, “Thank them anyway.”
In that embrace, Adina could almost forget the sight of him stan
ding over the helpless man, reveling in his pain and fear. Almost. She pulled him closer, as if by doing so she could somehow deny or forget the darkness she’d seen in his eyes. “Rhett,” a voice hissed, and suddenly the young man was pushing his way inside the tent, “we’ve got to get the fuck ou—” He cut off, noticing Aaron and Adina standing there. His eyes went wide and wild with terror as he glanced at his friend lying on the table, now dead, before looking back at Aaron. “Oh gods, no,” he said, “no, no, please….”
Adina held her breath, glancing at Aaron, but he only stared at the boy, an amused expression on his face, as if he recognized him but couldn’t remember from where.
Satisfied that Aaron remained Aaron, she turned back to the boy and gasped as she saw him more clearly in the candle light. He was shaking heavily as he stood staring at Aaron with wild eyes. The youth’s shirt was ragged and torn, and he bled from several cuts, two of which looked dangerously deep.
Aaron continued to watch the youth with that confused expression on his face, the look of a man who’d just realized that what he’d taken for a dream was reality in truth. He didn’t move even when the kid rushed forward and threw the tarp on the cage up, drawing a rusty knife and holding it against the throat of the figure inside. “Not one step closer. One step closer, and I’ll slit her fuckin’ throat, I swear by the gods I will, mister.”
“Do I know you?” Aaron asked, and Adina felt her heart go out at the confusion and uncertainty in the sellsword’s voice.
The youth looked close to tears, and he held the knife closer to the figure’s throat, his hand shaking, “Don’t, don’t play with me, man. It was you did this,” he said, glancing at the cuts all over his chest and arms, “now I swear it, come any closer and she dies.”
“She?” Aaron asked, frowning as he stared past the youth to the figure in the cage. Adina followed his gaze, frowning herself. It took her a moment to be sure, the light as poor as it was, but there was no question that the figure inside of the cage wasn’t a woman at all but a man. He was thin, nearly to the point of emaciation, and wore no shirt. He stared at the knife at his throat as if frozen, his blue eyes sparkling in the lantern light.
“Wait,” Aaron said, his words coming out in a whisper, “it can’t be. Owen? Is that you?”
The youth, uncertain, turned and glanced back, recoiling and letting out a cry of surprise. “What the fuck? Who are you? What happened to the—” He would have no doubt said more but just then the man in the cage snatched the knife from his hand and buried it in the youth’s neck.
The slaver grunted in surprise, stumbling away, his hands going to his neck where jets of crimson shot out in bursts. He tried to speak, but his words came out as wet, gurgling, unintelligible sounds and in another moment he crumpled to the ground and was still.
Adina stared in shock at the dead man then at the man inside of the cage who stared at her calmly, his hands gripping two of the bars, his dark brown eyes meeting her own before turning to Owen. Wait a minute, Adina thought, feeling confused and out of sorts herself now, the man’s eyes had been blue. She’d been sure of it. Now, though, they appeared to be a brown so dark as to be almost black. She blinked, squinting in the candle light, but the man’s eyes remained that dark shade of brown.
“Owen?” Aaron said again, and before she could catch him, he collapsed to his knees, his shoulders slumping. “It can’t be.”
Adina dropped down beside him, grabbing him in her arms, “Aaron, what’s wrong?” She let out a gasp as she noted that the front of him was covered in blood. He’d been turned with his back to the light before, and she hadn’t been able to see it. Now, though, she glanced down and saw a slender length of wood protruding from his stomach. It took her a moment, so unsuspected the sight was, before she realized that it must be an arrow, the end of which he’d broken off.
“Aaron,” she said, “oh no, you’ve been shot.”
Aaron glanced down at the arrow sticking out of him as if he had no idea of how it had gotten there. Then he met her eyes, his gaze troubled. “I … I don’t remember.”
***
Aaron felt light headed, wrong somehow, as if he’d been used up, stretched thin. The last hour or two felt like a dream he’d had, one that he’d forgotten upon waking. He remembered finding what had been Leomin’s guard post, remembered finding the blood from where the man had obviously been injured and that was all. The rest was nothing more than vague, confusing flashes of darkness and the shapes of the trees around him, of men brandishing weapons at him. Nothing that told him what had happened.
He glanced over at the man in the cage and felt goose bumps rise on his skin. “Owe—” he started, then the darkness that had been lurking at the corner of his vision surged forward, pushing its way into his thoughts and mind. He turned to Adina, knowing he had little time. He was either dying or losing consciousness and from the way he felt, it could go either way. “Horses ….” He said “Out back, behind the tent. Twenty yards, no more than thirty.”
She nodded, swallowing hard, and he saw tears of concern and worry winding their way down her face. No, he thought, don’t cry. Not for me. Still, there was something else in her blue eyed gaze too. Something, he thought, like fear. Fear of him, maybe. He turned once more to the man in the cage and saw the face of his friend from so many years ago, a friend he’d been sure had been killed. That face looked back at him, devoid of any expression, the eyes dark brown like he’d remembered, but giving nothing away. In his blurry vision and coupled with the poor light of the candle, the man’s face almost seemed to writhe in the undulating shadows like a thing alive. It was a dark, disturbing image, and it was the one he carried with him, into the darkness.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO
“But the men, sire—”
“I will not hear another word about it, Caldwell,” Belgarin said. “Or has your arrogance grown so great that you suppose you possess knowledge even he does not?” Belgarin immediately regretted the slip as those seated at the table shared curious glances. As powerful as those seated around him were, they knew nothing of the Knower, the creature who was no doubt even now poisoning and twisting the mind of the little girl tending to him, and Belgarin intended to keep it that way.
For his part, the advisor lowered his bald head, taking a moment to grab a silver pitcher from the table and refill Belgarin’s wine cup. Belgarin frowned at the man, but he took a big drink of the wine anyway, liking the way the drink soothed his throat at first and his mind at last. He’d been drinking a lot of late and no true wonder, that. Even the best men could find themselves, at times, overwhelmed by such scheming and betrayal as he had been forced to endure over the last few years.
“I only seek to advise you, your Majesty,” Caldwell said, “as is my duty.”
Belgarin grunted at that and reclined back in his chair at the head of the dining table, taking another drink and glowering at those seated around him. Five men and a woman and not one he could trust.
To his right, Claudius, the highest ranking noble in Baresh and once regent until handing the kingdom over after Eladen’s unfortunate accident, wiped pastry crumbs from his ample chin. “Your Majesty,” he said, his voice a high shrill that always set Belgarin’s teeth on edge, “I do not wish to overstep,” Yet you will, Belgarin thought, “but I must admit that I find myself in agreement with your advisor.”
That I do not doubt, Belgarin thought. Glancing between the fat man and Caldwell, and just what was the cost of your agreement, I wonder? “Oh?” He said aloud, and some of his buried anger must have come out in his tone for the others gathered at the table shared nervous looks, the fat man himself swallowing hard and refusing to meet Belgarin’s angry stare. “Do tell, Claudius,” he said, “I do so appreciate your counsel.”
“Yes, well,” the fat man said, rubbing his hands together, though whether in anxiety or an effort to rid himself of pastry crumbs, Belgarin could not have said for sure. “That is, I believe it may be wise for y
ou to consolidate your position here in Baresh for a time. The guilds truly are quite remarkable, and I think there is much benefit and profit we can gain. I spoke to your brother, Eladen, about this once before, but he would not hear reason. If we were to take a year, perhaps two—”
“Benefit,” Belgarin spat, “Profit. You are a fat man, Claudius, and you have a fat man’s thoughts. Wars are won with men and steel and courage. Not profit, and you will not speak of my brother again.”
“Forgive me, my king,” the only woman at the table said and all eyes turned to look at her—though most didn’t have to turn far. Maladine Caulia was a beautiful woman; there was no denying that. “But as the representative of The Golden Oars bank, I feel that it is my duty to interject here, if I may.”
Belgarin sighed heavily. Representative, indeed, he thought. Beautiful, alright. Beautiful and imperious and cold. He’d had occasion to learn as much the one time he’d bedded her. Not the most pleasant bedding he’d had despite the woman’s beauty. She was all business, participating in the act of lovemaking like it was some transaction to be finished as efficiently and quickly as possible. A cold beauty, sure, as cold and hard as the coins her bank supplied and just as alluring. If he needed any proof of that, he could find it easily enough in the eyes of the men at the table as they watched her.
“Very well, Maladine,” he said, “let us hear your side of it, though I think I might know it just as well without you speaking. As for being a representative,” he grunted, “perhaps. Though I find it as likely that you own the damn bank, everyone in it too, no doubt.”
The woman put a thin-fingered hand to her ample chest, shaking her head with a small smile, the kind of smile that always put Belgarin in the mind of some masterpiece. Not only that it was nice—though it was—but that it was cold and distant. A thing belonging to a painting, not a person. “My king does me too much service, I’m afraid,” she said, “I am not worthy of such a post, of course, my masters far wiser and more intelligent than I.”
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