A Sellsword's Hope

by Jacob Peppers

  Nathan cut off as a man walked up out of the crowd and put his hand on the innkeeper’s shoulder, whispering in his ear. The innkeeper listened, frowning as he did. “Right.” He turned back to Aaron. “Here I am flappin’ my gums like a fool with those soldiers out searchin’. Even here, in the sewers, you can’t be too careful, and it’s best not to stay in the same place for long. Those creatures of Kevlane’s ain’t the prettiest things, but they got some mighty keen ears on ‘em. Somethin’ we learned to our grief a while back. There used to be more of us than there are now. Anyway, come on—I’ll show you where we been stayin’.”

  “Thing is, Nathan,” Aaron said, “we’re in a bit of a hurry.”

  “Oh?” the man asked grinning. “S’pose that’s why you all were runnin’ like Salen himself was after you.”

  “Right,” the sellsword answered, thinking of the army camped outside Baresh. “Anyway, we don’t have a lot of time. We have to get to the castle as quickly as we can.”

  The innkeeper nodded. “Mean to cut the snake’s head off before he can bite anyone else, do you?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Well, as to that, I might just have a way of helpin’ you to get there without you havin’ to get cut up into small pieces by the city guard.” He glanced at Aaron, raising an eyebrow. “Or, if what I’ve seen is true, maybe cuttin’ them up into small pieces. But even if you all manage to survive, such a fight will cost you more time than I’m thinkin’ you want to spend.”

  “And you’ve got another way?”

  The innkeeper winked. “Come on.” He set off at a walk, Janum following and pausing to bow deeply to Leomin before hurrying after along with the rest of the rebellion.

  “I believe he is right,” Caleb said. “Should we take to the surface once more, we will almost certainly be forced to fight. I calculate the odds at twenty to one, based on the number of troops we’ve seen. Worse, of course, if they realize where we are heading, and it seems all too likely that they will soon, if they haven’t already.”

  Aaron nodded. “Anyone else?” He looked at Gryle, but the chamberlain didn’t seem to be paying attention at all. The heavy-set man was too busy staring in horror at the river of murky water in which unidentifiable debris floated, reminding Aaron that, though men may change, there is always some bit of them left behind when they do. For her part, Tianya only shrugged, and Seline turned to look at Leomin, a question in her eyes.

  Bastion stepped forward from where he stood with the only other remaining Ghost, and Aaron had a moment of shame and anger at the reminder that only two of their number had made it this far, then bowed his head. “General, wherever you lead, we’ll follow.”

  The other Ghost nodded, and Aaron grunted, swallowing the lump in his throat as he turned back to Leomin. The Parnen noticed everyone looking at him and fidgeted nervously. “I might echo young Bastion’s sentiments, Aaron. Besides, as Caleb has so cleverly pointed out, our destination must appear obvious enough to those soldiers, and it would be no surprise if they chose to head to the castle instead and just wait for us there. I do not know what Nathan has in mind, but surely it can be no worse than what we already face.”

  “Alright then,” Aaron nodded. “Let’s go.”

  Nathan and the others waited a short distance ahead. As he and his companions followed the innkeeper through the sewers, Aaron fought to contain his impatience, begrudging each minute that passed.

  They moved in silence, the only sound the murky water rushing past, and their soft, almost imperceptible footfalls on the stone walkway. They’d been traveling for about half an hour, and Aaron was just about ready to take their chances in the street when they came to an intersection where four waterways connected. The walkway was broader here, allowing them to stand in a semi-circle as Nathan raised his hands to either side like a man showing off his new castle. “Welcome to paradise.”

  “Paradise” consisted of a few dozen sleeping bags scattered haphazardly on all four of the corners of the intersection. Planks lay across each channel, granting access between the four corners, and here the sound of the onrushing water was so loud as to drown out nearly all other sounds.

  There were a few modest tents among the sleeping bags, and scattered around them were small, contained fires at which sat a few older women and more than one child. Seeing the children’s ragged clothes and dirt-smeared faces, Aaron felt a fresh wave of anger at Kevlane. The mage’s evil had caused harm of which even he was unaware.

  Nathan followed his gaze and stepped close, having to shout to be heard over the torrent. “I know what you’re thinkin’—what kind of fool brings a kid to a place like this? But there wasn’t any choice. Their parents were targeted, you see, and they had to be hidden.” His face twisted with anger. “We didn’t manage to save all the parents, but the kids were left orphaned with nowhere to go, so we took ‘em in. We care for ‘em the best we can. Not ideal, I know, but we didn’t have a lot of other options.”

  “No,” Aaron said, “not ideal. But you’re doing a good thing. Now, Nathan, I don’t mean to rush you, but you were saying something about having a way to get us to the castle without going into the streets?”

  The innkeeper nodded. “That’s right. Or, maybe it’s more right to say that Willard knows a way.”

  “Willard?” Aaron asked. “Where is he?”

  Nathan grinned. “Oh, you ought to know ‘em. You two have already met, after all. Leastways,” he shrugged, “after a fashion.” He turned, cupping his hands to his mouth. “Hey, Willard!” he shouted. “Come here a minute, would you?”

  A man from a nearby tent approached. As he drew closer, Aaron noted the rag—now coated in blood—the man held to his nose, as well as the scowl on his face. Aaron sighed. Of course it would be him.

  The man drew close, eyeing Aaron warily as he did. “Yeah, boss?”

  “These folks here are lookin’ to get into the castle, Will. I thought maybe you’d be able to help ‘em out with that.”

  “Maybe,” the man grumbled, “if’n, that is, that one keeps his elbows to himself. I won’t say it’s the first time my nose has been broken, but that don’t make it fun, neither.”

  Aaron winced. “Sorry about that. I didn’t know who you were or what was going on. Still, I appreciate the offer, but how exactly are you going to be able to get us into the castle?”

  “Won’t be by my good looks, I can tell you that much,” the man said. “Feels like my nose is about three times bigger’n usual.”

  “Oh, stop your grousin’ will ya?” Nathan said. “He said he’s sorry, didn’t he?” He turned to Aaron. “You’ll have to forgive Willard. The man loves to complain, and I imagine we’ll all be hearin’ about this one for weeks.” He frowned. “Assumin’, of course, any of us got weeks left. Anyway, you remember those teams I was tellin’ you about, the ones that used to get sent down in the sewers?”

  “Sure,” Aaron said, nodding slowly, “to maintain them and make sure everything ran right.”

  “That’s it,” Nathan confirmed. “Well, Willard here used to supervise those teams—did it for years. Yeah, I reckon he knows just about every inch of these sewers—shit, it’s thanks to him we didn’t all end up gettin’ lost down here in the first place.”

  “But it’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Aaron asked. “Are you sure you still know them as well as you once did?”

  The man snorted, then cut off, closing his eyes and pressing his hand against his nose. “Look, fella. I know these sewers better than I know my wife—”

  “—That much I don’t doubt,” Nathan interrupted, but if the man noticed he gave no sign.

  “Shit, if this Kevlane you’re talkin’ about really is in the castle, well, I imagine I could damn near set you down in his lap, if you had a mind. Get you close enough to kiss him, if that’s what you’re lookin’ for.”

  Or stick a blade in him, Aaron thought. Of course, if his past experiences fighting the mage were anything to go by, it wou
ld take a lot more than that to stop him. Still, he decided he would worry about that when the time came. He had to get there first. “That sounds good. But if these sewers were as widely used as you say they were, then surely there are others who know them, others who might have told Kevlane about them. For all we know, he might have guards stationed there even now.”

  “Sure,” the man grumbled, “and maybe the rats’ll get tired of bein’ dinner and band together, form their own army and run us out of here. All I can tell you is that if those things ain’t found us down here yet, it’s on account of they ain’t been lookin’. As for what’s waitin’ at the castle, well, that’s your affair, ain’t it? Now, do you want me to show you the way or not?”

  Aaron raised an eyebrow, glancing at Nathan who gave him an apologetic look, shrugging. “And what will you do?” he asked.

  The innkeeper smiled. “Oh, what we can, Aaron. We’ll do what we can.”

  Aaron grunted, turning back to Willard. “Alright. Show us.”

  CHAPTER

  FORTY-TWO

  The dead animal lay in the middle of the street. Balen thought it was a dog, but he couldn’t be sure, as flies were swarming around the corpse in a thick cloud, obscuring most of it from view—a thing for which he was thankful. Still, enough of the beast was visible to make his gorge rise in his throat. Balen swallowed the sour saliva flooding his mouth and finally managed to pull his eyes away from the grizzly sight, focusing on the band of criminals walking the street with him instead.

  They’d fled the guards at the port, Urek leading them into the city, down first one alleyway then another, seemingly at random. By the time they lost their pursuers, Balen’s breath was coming in ragged gasps. Still, the crime boss refused to slow, pushing farther into the city. Balen followed, doing his best to ignore the increasingly painful stitch rising in his side.

  Finally, just when Balen was beginning to think that being cut down with a sword might be preferable to forcing his exhausted body any further, Urek slowed their pace. The first mate suspected he was the reason for that as the band of criminals barely seemed winded at all. Between bouts of envy and annoyance, Balen consoled himself with the fact that running from guards was a regular activity for them and, so far as he was concerned, they could keep it.

  In truth, he was just glad to have put some distance between themselves and the guards chasing them. Or, at least, he had been. Now, he wasn’t so sure. Despite his exhaustion, Balen was beginning to notice his surroundings more. The dead dog—if it had been a dog—was the first of it, but now that he was no longer struggling just to breathe, he saw that the houses they passed were little more than crude shacks, and that wasn’t all. The streets were empty, seemingly abandoned, yet he couldn’t shake the feeling they were being watched.

  Balen’s unease grew, and he moved up to walk beside Urek. “I think something’s wrong here,” he said.

  “Oh?” the crime boss asked, turning to him. “And what’s that?”

  Balen struggled to find the words to communicate the feeling of dread sitting in his stomach like a stone. For several seconds, nothing would come. Then, almost desperate, he said, “A dog. There was a dead dog back there.”

  “Sure,” the big man said, nodding. “I saw it. What’s your point?”

  Balen was suddenly overcome with the feeling—the certainty—that they were being followed, that if he looked back, he would see someone or something following silently in their wake. The feeling was so strong that he spun, his breath catching in his throat, but there was nothing there. Only the street, and the sullen, menacing silence filling the air so thickly he thought he might choke. He licked his lips, turning back to the other man. “Well, I mean…shouldn’t someone have picked it up, or…?” He trailed off, not sure how to finish.

  Urek grunted what might have been a laugh. “Oh, they wouldn’t do that, first mate,” he said in a quiet voice. “That dog was put there for a reason. As a warning.”

  Balen didn’t like the sound of that, not at all, and despite the coolness of the air, his forehead broke out in sweat. “Um…warning? A warning about what?”

  “To not come this way,” the other man said, as if it were obvious.

  Balen felt a tingling between his shoulder blades and couldn’t resist the urge to glance behind him again. Nothing. No one. Or, at least, if someone was there, they were staying well hidden. As soon as the thought occurred, he felt sure it must be true, and it did little to comfort him. After all, why would their followers need to hide? Try as he might, he couldn’t think of a single answer to that question that didn’t end in blood. “So…” He paused, glancing at the other criminals, but they were all looking ahead, their expressions stern, serious, but not scared. Or, if they felt any fear, they hid it better than he did. “So…why are we coming this way? And…so far as that goes, couldn’t they have just put up a sign?”

  Urek flashed his teeth at him in a humorless grin. “This is the poor quarter, first mate. Few enough are those here who can read and, even if they could, you have to admit, a dead animal has a certain…effect.”

  Balen swallowed. Oh, it had had an effect alright, there was no denying that. “I think…we should probably get out of here.” He cleared his throat. “I mean, that is, they may need our help at the western gate.”

  The crime boss nodded solemnly. “Probably they do.”

  Balen waited, but the man offered nothing more, so he decided to try again, struggling to keep his voice from cracking with the fear building in him. “So…can we go then? Don’t you think it would be wise to get out of here before whoever put that warning there finds us?”

  Urek grunted, coming to an abrupt halt. “Too late for that, first mate. Been too late for a while now, I expect.”

  Balen was about to ask the man what he meant when a dozen men and women seemed to appear in the street in front of them, gliding silently to block their way. Their clothes were little more than rags, their faces haggard and weary, and they had an underfed, malnourished look. Yet, the swords and knives they held were more than sharp enough to get the job done. He spun, meaning to retreat down the street, only to find another group—this one larger than the first—standing behind them. Several of these held crossbows and looked as if they had the skill and inclination to use them.

  The first mate reached for the knife at his belt, knowing it was useless but refusing to go down without a fight, but the big man caught his wrist in an iron grip and gave his head a single shake. “Wait, first mate,” he said, his voice without emotion, his eyes never leaving the group in front of them. “I know they might not look like much, but this lot here’s grown used to violence.”

  So Balen did. His hands sweating, his breathing uneven and shallow, he waited. A second later, one of the men stepped forward, motioning with a finger for him and the others to follow. “W-what does he want from us?”

  The big man glanced at Balen. “Seems to me he wants us to follow him.”

  “R-right but…what do we do?”

  Another humorless grin. “I’d say we follow.”

  They were led down the street in a grim procession, no one speaking, and Balen asked himself, not for the first time, why he’d ever set foot on shore. He was a sailor, by the gods, meant to be on the sea, and he couldn’t help being surprised that this was how it would end. Out of all the dangers he’d fretted over in his life (many over the past few months) he’d never thought he’d be killed by criminals in a strange city for no reason other than a dead dog in the street.

  He looked at his companions, and though none of them looked afraid, their expressions were all dark. Save, perhaps, for the one called Shadow, who was even now holding a knife in his hands, admiring the blade, a small smile on his face. Balen was overcome with a sudden urge to slap the man—not that he ever would, of course. There were more pleasant ways to die than that one, and he’d seen the hawk-nosed man at his work enough to know he’d stand little chance. But why were they all so damned calm? Oh, you’r
e a sailor alright, Balen Blunderfoot, he thought despairingly, and a fool to boot. Why else would you let yourself get caught up with this lot?

  They didn’t have to wait long, and Balen was still trying to decide whether that was a good thing or not when he and the others were led to the front of a tavern. The group they’d been following went inside, and Balen and his companions were ushered in after them. The common room was packed with people, the noise almost a living thing as they all laughed and shouted and spoke, seeming to take no notice of Balen and the others, as if a group of people being forced into the tavern at the ends of swords was a common occurrence.

  Then a man sitting near the back rose. He was an older man with short gray hair, and a patch over one eye. He was short, with a noticeable paunch, and wore clothes at least as unassuming as the rest. But the moment he stood, the commotion in the common room cut off immediately, and those who had been deep in conversation only seconds before turned on their stools and chairs to regard Balen and the others.

  For a time, no one spoke, and the silence grew thicker and thicker, heavier, until Balen felt as if he would be crushed under the weight of it. Then the small old man walked toward them, several others rising from the crowd to flank him. “Interesting,” the old man mused. “I heard there was a group of people traveling my streets, but at first, I didn’t believe it. After all, who could be so foolish as to walk into a man’s home uninvited?” He gave a smile that held no humor. “Surely, I have met many fools in my day, but few as foolish as that. Imagine my surprise, then, when I realize that they have indeed trespassed and, what’s more, I recognize some of their number.”

  He came to stand in front of Urek, six men on either side now, blades in their hands. He studied the big man for several seconds. “Urek.”

  The big man nodded his head once, grimly. “Eyes.”