Iron Paladin

by Max Irons

  Corinna frowned. “You’re a sell-sword, yet you speak of the royal family as if you were one of them.”

  He shrugged. “I was an informer during the war, and you know what I just finished doing. Princess Arlana directed the informers and shadestalkers for a while, and I happened to fall under her command.” He glanced around. “Where did Iven run off to?”

  “He’s plying his trade at one of the taverns,” she said, sniffing heavily.

  That might mean he was looking for work, as taverns were a good place to hire a sell-sword who didn’t ask questions, or maybe he was out chasing women again. Corinna didn’t think there was much difference. Galeron thanked her and let himself out, shuddering as he closed the door behind him. That hadn’t been fun, and, with luck, he wouldn’t have to deliver news like that any time soon.

  He maneuvered his way through the dwindling crowds outside the naval yard and went in search of a tavern. He avoided ones with large crowds or raucous music and dancing. Iven wouldn’t be caught dead in any of them. Too much time at war brought such suspicions.

  As Galeron worked his way to the poorer parts of town, the streets narrowed, and the buildings gained more wood in their construction. Second and third floors protruded in large overhangs, giving the area a vice-grip feel.

  The sun had vanished behind the structures, making the gray-stoned bases glow orange, as if just pulled from a kiln. Galeron spotted a sign for an establishment called the Drinking Hole.

  Subtle.

  Galeron looked the building’s face over, its windows sporting cheap, frosted glass flush with yellow lantern light. A merchant sailor, distinguished by the emblem of a whale tattooed on his arm, slumped in a chair on the tavern’s outer deck, his tankard leaking mulled mead across the wooden boards. Galeron sniffed as he stepped toward the door. Spicy, with a hint of apples and something else he couldn’t place. The sailor probably spent good coin on it.

  He opened the door and strode in. With luck, he would find Iven, commiserate over drinks, and likely plan their next bout of treason.

  Sometimes, once just wasn’t enough.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Galeron affixed a scowl to his face as he strode through the tavern door. Deep shadows lay over the patrons seated at wooden trestle tables. He straightened his shoulders as he passed a group of heavily bearded and grungy merchantmen. They eyed him but looked away when he met their gaze. A few barmaids wandered about in brown dresses with tankards in hand or trays of food balanced on their heads.

  Iven sat at one of the counters closest to the mead barrels, mug in one hand and hood pulled up over his long face. Galeron sat on a stool next to him. Iven frowned, but his gaze softened when he registered who it was.

  “Take it there’s a problem?” asked Galeron. “Stealing my look.”

  Iven snorted. “My face isn’t all scarred, and it looks better for it.”

  Galeron rubbed one of the healing burns. “It’s not that bad.”

  “Aye, if we’re comparing you to a leper,” he said.

  Galeron nudged him. “What’s bothering you?”

  Iven raised his mug, and one of the barmaids refilled it with an amber liquid.

  “Anything for you, sir?” she asked.

  “Lemon drink, if you’ve got it,” he said.

  She raised an eyebrow but nodded. “Coming up.”

  Iven shook his head. “Still can’t hold your drink.”

  “Told you, I like being in control,” he said.

  “You have control issues.”

  Galeron shrugged. “It’s a failing.”

  “So is finding work,” Iven said. “I’ve been in four taverns today and not a single person’s been interested in hiring.” He took a long draught from his mug. “If you’d let me use the Deathstalker pitch, we’d—”

  “No,” Galeron said. “We’re not getting work off of some fool bard.”

  Iven groaned and dropped his head on the counter. “Why not? It’d get us coin, and we could get out of Azura.”

  “We aren’t leaving any time soon,” he said.

  “I knew that,” Iven grunted, his large chin rubbing against the wood grain.

  “Soren just ran off with Lonni,” Galeron said. No use avoiding the subject.

  Iven sat up and pulled his hood off. “What?” Galeron filled him in, and he just sat there, blinking with his mouth agape. “That weaselly, tightfisted, little—”

  “Not helping,” Galeron said, glancing around. Soren had left the king’s guard, and he hadn’t noticed for a month. It wouldn’t surprise him if he also had spies in the local taverns. He was suspicious enough to do it.

  “Still,” Iven said. He squinted at him. “You better not be blaming yourself for this madness.”

  That archer knew him too well. “It pretty much—”

  “No, it’s not, and you know it,” Iven said. “His petulant majesty does what he pleases, all in the name of making Broton safe.” He took another drink. “You didn’t encourage Soren to take her, so stop acting like you stamped the order.”

  Galeron glared at him but said nothing. He was right, of course. Iven usually was when it came to him, likely a product of years on the road.

  “The better question,” Iven said, “is what we’re going to do about it.”

  Galeron raised an eyebrow. Easy for him to say. Iven had no allegiance to King Soren, being of Rayan birth. If they did anything…questionable, Iven could always go home and avoid further trouble. Broton was Galeron’s home, and, despite his lack of permanent residence, he preferred to stay in his native land.

  “I’m going to have a nice long talk with Lattimer when he gets in tomorrow,” Galeron said.

  “That’s going to go over well,” Iven said.

  “What’s gotten into you?”

  “Rumor’s flying around that Soren’s grown more fearful since that kidnapping. Lattimer doesn’t even go to the privy without at least two armed guards.”

  The barmaid returned with a mug of lemon drink. Galeron fished a copper coin from his satchel and handed it to her. He took a sip, and his lips puckered. She’d either forgotten to add the honey, or this tavern just didn’t have any. Either way, the liquid was nearly straight lemon.

  “Told you.” Iven’s head bobbed up and down with a feigned, sagely expression. “Might as well suck on a lemon if you want the taste.”

  Galeron scowled and poked him in the shoulder. “At least I won’t be waking up with a skull-splitting headache.”

  “You’ve the temperament of an old man, Galeron,” Iven mumbled. “Back to the question, while I’m still sober. What are we going to do about Lonni?”

  “How would I know? All I can do is talk to the prince.” His words rang hollow. Despite his best efforts, his mind had already begun forming a plan, one involving a lot of night dust and ships.

  Iven finished off the drink and pushed the mug aside. “Try it again.”

  Galeron sighed. “We got into trouble last time.”

  “Since when has that ever stopped us?”

  Fair point. “I’m going to give talking a chance. If that doesn’t work, then…”

  “You’ve got a plan.” Iven grinned.

  He nodded. “I’ve got a plan.” He took another drink, shuddered, and bit his lip. “They’re holding Lonni in the keep, but it’s not that tall.”

  Iven frowned. “It’s five floors.”

  “It’s not that bad, and we’ve climbed higher,” Galeron said.

  Iven shuddered and pulled his cloak around him. “Don’t remind me.”

  “We can scale it with rope and get to whichever room they’ve housed her in.” Galeron started tracing a small map in counter’s dust. “With a bit of luck and a distraction, we can get her out in an hour.”

  Iven shook his head. “This is going to demand a lot of scouting. We need to know where everything is, where the guards patrol, and what floor Lonni’s on. What’s more, this distraction of yours has to be earthshaking to hold the guards’ attent
ion for longer than a few minutes.”

  Galeron nodded. “We might have to take a few lessons from Atreus.”

  “Starting to look like it.”

  “At least we’re rescuing this time.”

  “That’s good, I think,” Iven said. “We’ve got a hole in the plan. How are we getting out?”

  Galeron winced. That was the harder part. “The only thing I know of is to book passage on a merchant ship. We’ll run for the docks once we get her out.”

  “Where are we going after that?”

  “Hoping you knew.”

  Iven grumbled something under his breath. “We’re not going to Soterios. They’ve got this thing about slaves and getting new ones before the winter storms.” His mouth shifted from side to side. “Han Empire’s too far…forget Azizi…did that…”

  “Is there a reason you’re not mentioning Raya?” asked Galeron. Some days Iven wouldn’t stay silent about his native land.

  “The skylands are nice this time of year,” Iven said.

  “You don’t want to go to Raya, but you’ll sail for the skylands?” Galeron scowled at him. “That’s nearly as far as the Han, and there’s no work out there.”

  “Don’t like cattle herding?” asked Iven.

  “I was hoping we could go to Raya,” Galeron said, ignoring the question. “You know your way around down there.”

  Iven gave him a noncommittal grunt and shifted positions on the stool. “In a manner of speaking.”

  Galeron’s eyes narrowed. “Something you want to share?”

  “No.” Iven lifted his mug to his lips. “Oh, right. Empty.”

  “Something wrong with Raya?”

  “It’s a fine place to visit.”

  A twist of fire surged in Galeron’s gut. “Out with it. Why don’t you want to go?”

  “Let’s just say I’m not on the best terms with my family,” he said.

  That was it? That’s what all his fuss was about? “So don’t visit them.” Galeron spread his arms. “What’s the big deal?”

  Iven sulked and said nothing.

  “Since you seem to have dived down some dark and angry hole, we should get you back to Rand’s shop,” he said.

  “I’ll be along when I’m good and ready,” Iven said.

  Galeron sighed. There were two kinds of drunks in his experience: happy ones and grumpy ones. Iven was definitely the latter, and there was no point in arguing with him after his third mug of mead. Judging by his sullen expression and sunken blue eyes, he was there.

  “On your own head be it,” Galeron said.

  He drained the last of his lemon drink, puckered his lips for good measure, and walked out of the tavern. Twilight had given way to first watch’s darkness. The occasional lantern light from a window or torch of a night watchman lit small sections of the street. Being a port city, Azura never truly slept, with cargo ships frequently coming into port well after dark.

  Galeron rested a hand on his sword hilt and headed back up the road, boots thudding against the paving stones. Clouds obscured the moon and stars, making the trek back to Rand’s shop like a sunken cavern. Shadows and pools of outright black covered vast sections of alleyways, and no breeze stirred the air. Galeron was the only person out on the road.

  So why was the hair on the back of his neck standing on end?

  He squinted and looked around slowly as he walked. If someone watched him, or even followed him, he’d not be able to pick him out by whirling about. Besides, he hadn’t been attacked yet. It might be some drunk thrown out early.

  But drunks weren’t that sneaky.

  He swallowed and eased his sword out of its sheath. Well-oiled, and with the scabbard’s lack of metal-rimmed mouth, the blade glided into the open air. A wry smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. Any bandit hoping to catch him unaware would never see it coming. Scorched black by a necromancer’s magic, Galeron’s arming sword was the perfect weapon for night fighting.

  Something flickered in the corner of his eye. He glanced toward it but didn’t move his head. Whoever this was assumed he couldn’t be seen. Best to keep him thinking that. Galeron opened his ears. Light footsteps, almost imperceptible, to his back and left. He walked forward.

  Sell the illusion. Pretend to hear nothing.

  Someone laid a trap for an unsuspecting passerby. Next move? Spring the trap.

  Sword in one hand, Galeron kept his steps even and steady.

  A blow took him in the small of the back and drove him to the ground. Galeron hit the pavement and rolled, surging up and holding his sword at the ready. His left hand tingled. He still hadn’t bought a new shield, either. Whoever struck him had moved. No clashing shades of black stood out in his vision as he turned in place.

  Flesh thudded against flesh. Galeron whipped about. A dark blob twisted and writhed a good distance away. Grunts and heavy breathing accompanied the pounding, and something rose from the pile, tall and man-shaped.

  His face stung, as if a hornet had struck his cheek, and a pungent, metallic scent reached his nose. He coughed as it tore at his lungs, but he couldn’t expel it. The smell grew stronger, and his face boiled from the repeated hacking. Galeron tried to inhale, but more of the scent went into his mouth, further clouding his breathing. His vision grew fuzzy. The black sword fell from limp hands, and he collapsed to the ground, head smacking the road.

  Sound faded from his senses, and the last vestiges of light went with it.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Cold iron bit at his wrists. Galeron’s eyelids fluttered open, but it took great effort to raise them, as if someone had tied dozens of tiny weights to his eyelashes. Soft candlelight filled the corners of his eyes, and he drew his head up from its slumped position. Galeron shifted, but his arms and legs refused to move. His struggles drew a chorus of chattering links.

  He looked down. Iron manacles held his arms behind him and his ankles pressed together, hog-tying him to the wooden chair he sat in. Galeron glanced about. What happened? He swam back through his memories, but it was like trying to find a single seashell in the midst of rough surf. He’d spoken with Iven at a tavern, and then he’d left. What happened next?

  Galeron’s vision shimmered, as if through a heat haze. He grunted and squinted. Had to stay focused. The room that held him was a simple sort. A firmly built bed stood across from him, sheets and covers neatly pressed and tucked. A candle flickered on a nightstand beside it, and, off to one side of the room, sat a simple chest of drawers, one partially opened. A window, shutters closed, was to his right, and the door to his left. No guards. Maybe that was a good thing. If street rovers captured him, they might underestimate him.

  He could only hope. He twisted his wrists in the manacles, but they didn’t budge. Professionals. They’d locked it tight enough to prevent any play in the binding. Perhaps these weren’t just street rovers, or if they were, they were a lot smarter than the normal brood.

  The door squeaked, and Galeron jerked, craning his neck. A pair of golden legs, smooth, finely toned, and sporting a hint of muscular contours, strode through the doorway. His heart pounded. Only one woman was that bold. He supposed the Princess Arlana must be somewhere on top of them but couldn’t quite bring himself to look up. Galeron swallowed and clenched his jaw. Trouble never looked so…

  Galeron mentally slapped himself. Control yourself. If he didn’t recognize her by the walk and the tight red riding dress cut away at mid-thigh, her pristine oval face and dark smoldering eyes left no doubt. What was she doing here?

  “Arlana,” he said, pointedly ignoring the surge of heat in his face as her dark eyes met his.

  A wicked smile played across her lips. “Galeron, I’m glad my associates didn’t rough you up too much,” she said, her voice rolling in a musky wave. The princess Arlana sat on the edge of the bed, stretching one long leg out. “I’m not sure anyone would notice, though. Is that a new scar?”

  A war of ice and fire raged inside him. She was doing this deliberately. He’
d seen the act on prisoners several times, but her presence, unannounced and following Lonni’s forced visit to the keep, sent an icy chill up his back.

  “You’ll have to be more specific,” Galeron said, keeping his voice flat and even. “I’ve gotten quite a few new ones.”

  Arlana pursed her lips. “Mmm…the one on your arm looks fresh and gruesome. How did you come by that?”

  Galeron shuddered as a brief flash of a cracked shield and the kick of pounding crossbow bolts surged in his memory. He slapped it down and shrugged as best he could. “A Drake crossbowman pinned a shield to my arm. I had to rip it out in the middle of a fight.”

  “Lucky you didn’t lose that limb,” she said.

  “So they tell me.” He frowned at her. “Why am I in chains?”

  Arlana laughed. “You’d never accept an invitation to visit from me.”

  “I wonder why.”

  “Please, Galeron, as much as I’d like to make this a social call, there’s something else we need to talk about,” she said. “I’m not actually here.”

  Galeron scowled. “I hate word games. Just spit it out.”

  Arlana crossed her legs. “Blunt, refreshingly blunt. I’ve missed working with you. Officially, I’m still another day and a half away from Azura. Unofficially, I’ve got a problem I was hoping you could solve.”

  Of course she had a problem, and that issue, whatever it was, likely had at least three or four other layers on top of it. She always liked her plans to be complex.

  “Refusing is probably out of the question,” Galeron said.

  “Oh, no. I wouldn’t dream of pressing you into service,” she said. “The chains make sure I can give my best effort to persuade you, but if you still say no, then I’ll release you.”

  There was a rat involved somewhere. What was her angle? Hear her out, and then I can make that call. “What do you want?”

  Arlana smiled, white and even teeth gleaming in the flickering light. “I knew I could count on you. Have you heard any news from Raya recently?”

  Galeron shook his head. “Can’t say I have.”