by AC Cobble
The wagon and barge traffic was heavy this time of year. It was harvest time in Sineook Valley. Wagons covered the road going into Kirksbane and barges clogged the river heading south toward Venmoor and the City.
“If we can attach ourselves to an empty wagon train, that may help us move through the Valley unnoticed,” muttered Ben. “Maybe we can pose as guards.”
“Yeah, but empty wagons don’t need guards,” remarked Amelie.
“Hmm. Then maybe we could be lovers eloping a step ahead of your angry father?” joked Ben.
Amelie rolled her eyes. “You had better stay a step ahead of my father if you want to be my lover,” quipped Amelie.
Want to be her…
“Come on,” continued Amelie. “Let’s go. We haven’t seen anything suspicious out here. They are either watching the roads or they are not. It’s been five weeks since we escaped. Not even the Sanctuary can have men guarding every road in every town between the City and Whitehall. We need information and this is the only way to get it.”
Ben hitched his pack higher on his shoulders and loosened his longsword in the scabbard. “As you command, my lady.”
Minutes later, Ben thought they’d made a horrible mistake. A pair of guards stopped them at the entrance to town. Both were dressed in long chainmail jerkins and carried sturdy-looking pikes with a short sword on their belts for good measure.
“Hold up there,” barked one of the guards.
Ben tensed, prepared to fight. He thought they might be able to take the two guards if they acted fast and surprised them, but they would have to flee quickly. If any of the guards in this town were mounted, they would have no chance of escape.
“It’s harvest time and the inns are almost full. Meaning, they’re all charging full fare,” growled the guard. “There’s no room in town for vagrants. We don’t need any wagon men and the barge jobs go to locals.”
“Vagrants?” mumbled Ben, confused.
“Son, you look like you’ve been living in the forest for a month.” The guard snorted mirthlessly. “If you don’t have two coins to rub together, then you’re best off turning around and going back to whatever hole you crawled out from.”
“Sir,” broke in Amelie, “we do have coin for an inn.”
The first guard eyed her up and down skeptically.
His companion took another look at her and licked his lips. “Lass, you look like you might clean up pretty. How about you come on back to my apartment? I’ll see you’re taken care of. You can share my bed as long as you like.”
Amelie blushed furiously. “That won’t be necessary.” She shook her belt pouch. The clink of coins was unmistakable.
The second guard continued to stare lasciviously, but the first eyed the pouch and allowed, “Very well. You two can come in, but be warned, we clear the streets every night. If you can’t find a bed, then out you go. And I’ll be very disappointed and not nearly so friendly if I’ve got to turn you out later.”
The man finished with a stone-faced stare. Ben and Amelie quickly scurried past the pair.
“I thought…” started Amelie.
“Me too,” groaned Ben. “I think we made a mistake coming here. We need information, but anyone here could be working for the Sanctuary. My heart is going to be in my throat until we can get back out and away from people.”
“Maybe you’re right.” Amelie sighed. “But we’re here now. Let’s find out what we can and leave quickly. If we finish before dark, we can fit in with the vagrants getting tossed out at night. You have to admit, that is good cover. People won’t expect me to be traveling so rough.”
Ben nodded. “We have half a day then. In the stories, people are always able to get information from talkative barkeeps. Should we try a tavern?”
“Yes,” she agreed, “but in the stories they always know the barkeep. Do you know anyone running a tavern here?”
“There’s the Curve…” started Ben before he realized that bringing up that particular tavern was probably a bad idea.
Amelie glared at him. “We are not going to the Curve.”
“Right, of course,” he said, red-faced. Stupid, he told himself. “There is another place I remember from last time. It was by the barge moorings. I remember it because it was separated down the middle. Half was river men and half was wagon drivers. Rhys said they kept them apart to prevent fights. If the Sanctuary has people here, they are probably watching the river, but we only need to know what is going on in Sineook Valley. If we stay on the wagon driver side, we could learn what we need and keep relatively safe. What do you think?”
“That’s a better idea,” Amelie said with a scowl, “but it doesn’t entirely make up for your first one.”
The incongruously named Plowman’s Rest was packed full of river men on one side and wagon drivers on the other, just as Ben recalled. Autumn, when they transported the bulk of Sineook Valley’s harvest, was the busy season for both groups, but no sane merchant was going to ask the men to skip a little bit of fun at the end of each haul.
The place was near overflowing. A wall of noise washed over Ben and Amelie as they walked inside. Rough benches and tables stretched the length of the room. Untouched platters heaped with stew and loaves of bread were surrounded by empty tankards of ale.
“I guess we just find a place to sit?” inquired Amelie.
She was used to classier places, realized Ben. The rough tradesmen filling the room weren’t too different than what Ben was used to back home or the taverns the guards favored in Whitehall. In the City, he’d usually sold his ale to nicer places than this, but he’d been in his fair share of dives.
“We order up there,” he said, nodding toward a busy bar. “Then find a place to sit.”
“There are no serving women?” asked Amelie, peevishly. She was eyeing the long line at the bar.
Ben gestured to the roaring and carousing crowd around them. “How many girls could you find willing to brave this pack? Imagine after night fall when it gets really wild.”
Amelie looped an arm around Ben’s and groused, “I’ll stay close to you then, tough guy. Let’s get something at the bar, so we fit in, and then try to find someone who has been through the valley recently.” She added after a pause, “And isn’t too drunk yet.”
They pushed and jostled their way through the crowd to the bar where Ben ordered two ales and two bowls of stew.
A harried serving man sloshed stew into the bowls and passed over two large tankards with foam spilling down the sides. Ben’s mouth watered.
In the back of the room, Ben found space on a bench that they were able to squeeze into side by side. Next to Amelie was a man lying face down on the table snoring. His companions were laughing uproariously around him. At a point earlier, someone had stacked a pile of upside down bowls on the man’s head. Gravy from the stew and globs of congealed fat dripped into his face and hair.
“I don’t think we’ll get much out of him,” whispered Amelie.
On Ben’s side sat a small, dark man who was involved in a contentious argument with a fellow across the table from him. Ben picked up that they were discussing where in the Sineook Valley they should go next. He gestured to Amelie that they should listen in.
Apparently, the men had assured a particular farmer they would return for his goods, but one of the men thought they could earn a better margin elsewhere.
Ben listened while he dug into his stew. It was lumpy and certainly not fresh, but after the four weeks in the woods since Free State, he devoured it. Stale ale washed it down. He glanced at Amelie to see if she was also following the conversation next to him.
Instead, he noticed she was leaning back, focused on a discussion behind them. He looked to see who she was listening to and saw a foppish man, likely a courtier in a minor court, who was expounding loudly to a merchant across from him.
“I tell you, Barnes, it’s the opportunity of a generation!” exclaimed the foppish man.
Barnes, the merchant, responde
d calmly in a voice that Ben could not pick up over the noise of the crowd.
“Argren doesn’t give a damn about them. He’s shown that,” insisted the courtier.
Ben’s ears perked up.
“You can’t get there anyway, so there are only two sides to play,” continued the courtier emphatically. “Northport or the Coalition.”
The merchant grunted a garbled response. Only one word was audible to Ben and Amelie—Issen. They glanced at each other.
“Your loyalty is admirable,” appeased the courtier. “But it gets you nowhere. Lord Gregor of Issen is in no position to pay you and Argren apparently doesn’t share your sense of honor. If you insist you are still Gregor’s vassal, then Northport is an option, of course. Rhymer has more gold than he knows what to do with and he has a small shred of decency. He knows what Coalition rule will do to him. He might make you whole just to keep it out of the Coalition’s hands, but why take that long journey and risk it?”
The courtier paused for effect. “You let me broker the deal now, and you’ve got your profit without having to travel to Northport. Don’t be foolish.”
The merchant was starting to raise his voice. Finally, his half of the conversation was loud enough to hear. “My deal was with Gregor. If he’s unavailable, I will rely on his liege to make me whole. I won’t go running to Northport to beg on that slob Rhymer’s doorstep, and I sure as shit won’t deal with a toad like you!” snarled the merchant.
“You’re making a mistake,” debated the courtier. His tone took on a snake-like smoothness. “Argren doesn’t believe the mages should be as big a source of power in Alcott as they are. He’s not going to funnel gold into their pockets no matter what is promised about the efficiency of the devices. Besides…” The man’s voice dripped with venom. “You’ll soon find the mages aren’t as supportive of Argren and his Alliance as you imagine they are.”
“What do you mean?” demanded the merchant. “The mages were at the signing of the Alliance. I have it on the best authority that they support Argren still. Lord Gregor’s daughter is one of them for goodness sakes! It’s well known all over Alcott.”
The courtier raised his hands in a defensive posture and tried to placate the merchant. “You’re right, that is known. I shouldn’t have said what I did. My point is valid though. You know Argren doesn’t believe in the mages like the rest of the lords do, and you can see by the way he is treating Issen what his honor is worth.”
“I don’t give a damn about his honor!” thundered the merchant. “It’s my honor I’m concerned about.”
“Hold on. Hold on. This isn’t a discussion to be had in public,” chided a new voice.
Ben risked a glance behind them and saw a soldier had arrived. The man was wearing a knee-length chainmail coat and had a heavy broadsword hanging from his belt. His linen tunic displayed a generic-looking coat of arms Ben did not recognize.
“Who are you?” challenged the merchant. “Another Coalition stooge?”
“I’m just trying to make my way in the world like everyone else,” snapped the soldier. “Let’s continue this elsewhere. There are too many ears in this place.”
The merchant stood from his bench and slapped his hands down on the table. “I won’t be told what to do by any Coalition bootlicker. I’m loyal to Lord Gregor and King Argren.”
“Your lord’s city is under siege, fool. No help is coming!” cried the courtier. “Lord Gregor will be licking our boots by next summer.”
Ben’s blood ran cold. He felt Amelie tightly grip his arm.
“Shut your mouth,” ordered the soldier. “This is not the time or the place. We have other concerns and this situation can be dealt with later,” he finished ominously.
“I don’t report to you,” retorted the courtier. “And I’ll decide when it’s the time or place.”
The dandy man leaned toward the merchant. “How about this offer. You sell me the devices right now, or I will take them! You and the rest of the sheep supporting Argren and his Alliance are finished. Issen is surrounded and no reinforcements are coming from Whitehall or anywhere else. Argren has abandoned Gregor. Everyone sees it. You think they will stick together after that? Change sides or I’ll be dancing on your grave a year from now!” howled the courtier.
The shouting was drawing the interest of the rest of the room. People were turning to see what the commotion was about.
“What did you say about the Coalition?” called a voice from two benches down.
The soldier realized they’d made a mistake and placed a hand on the courtier’s shoulder to warn him. The man was too excited to listen to reason though. Practically foaming at the mouth, he shouted, “What is it to you?”
The soldier looked to the door of the tavern and gestured frantically to someone out of view.
The merchant took the opportunity to garner support from the room. “These two are Coalition lackeys and they just threatened to rob me!”
Drunken men shifted in their seats. Several of them stood, facing the confrontation. Ben nudged Amelie and tried to subtlety push her toward the back of the room. She resisted and hissed, “We have to hear this. He’s talking about my father!”
Four more armed men entered the tavern. The merchant pointed and shrieked. “There, Coalition forces coming to rob and kill us all!”
The place exploded in violence.
The first solider, standing by the courtier and merchant, was prepared, but his companions didn’t realize what they’d walked into. He managed to pull his broadsword. His men were swarmed before they knew what was happening. Drunken wagon drivers crowded around, swinging balled fists and kicking with booted feet.
A drunken man grabbed the arm of the original soldier. The drunk paid the price for being first. The soldier swept him aside and his heavy blade followed. The drunk screamed in pain and collapsed into a tangle of his table mates, blood splashing across the room.
The soldier leapt onto the table and slashed wildly around him, trying to clear space. Chunks of body parts from unprepared patrons rained across the room.
Men scrambled fiercely to get away from his blade.
The courtier was too slow and the broadsword caught him square in the head, creating a gruesome display of brain matter as his body flew backward, crashing into Ben and Amelie. Shocked, they pushed the corpse away. Ben met the eyes of the soldier.
For a brief moment, the soldier paused with a stunned look, staring at Ben then Amelie. It was the beginning of his end. A bench smashed into his legs and Ben heard the sharp crack of broken bone. The soldier fell hard onto the table and a wagon driver jumped on top of him, fists flashing down into the fallen man’s face. The soldier wasn’t done yet though, and the wagon driver was thrown off, the bloody broadsword sticking into him.
The merchant, seeing his opportunity, yanked his belt knife out and charged the soldier. The military man drew his own dagger but was too late to prevent the merchant stabbing down into his unprotected neck. In his last breaths, the solider pulled the merchant close and punched his short blade into the other man’s stomach. The merchant smacked the soldier’s blade away, strings of blood flying behind it as it clattered to the ground.
Again and again, the merchant thrust his knife into the soldier’s neck. It was clear the fallen soldier wouldn’t be moving again. The merchant slumped back, falling off the table crashing against a nearby bench, clutching his profusely bleeding stomach.
The fight near the door had already finished. Ben could see the bodies of the other armed guards lying prostrate on the floor. Bloody-fisted wagon drivers mingled around them, almost unbelieving at how quickly their afternoon had been consumed by vicious violence.
From across the room, the barge men looked over a chest-high wall in confusion.
A shout of, “City watch!” got everyone moving again. The wagon drivers started rapidly disappearing. Even serving staff seemed to vanish behind the bar.
Amelie surged forward and scrambled across the table t
o get to the fallen merchant. Ben jumped across behind her and they knelt next to the injured man.
He was staring down at his crimson hand and the pool of blood forming around him.
“I think I’m finished,” he muttered to no one in particular.
“You work for Lord Gregor?” Amelie asked him.
The merchant stared back at her with glazed over eyes.
She shook his shoulder and tried again. “You work for Lord Gregor?”
“I used to.” The merchant coughed wetly, a trickle of blood leaking down his chin.
“We can help you, but first, you must tell me what you know about Issen. It is under siege? What is the status?” she urged.
“Issen is done. It’s just a matter of time now,” the man answered sorrowfully. “Banath was right. It is surrounded. The Coalition got there sooner than Gregor or Argren anticipated and with twice the men.”
“What is Argren doing about it?” implored Amelie, pain evident in her eyes.
“He’s fortifying what he can. He thinks it’s a trap and won’t send reinforcements to Issen.” The merchant’s voice was fading. One, maybe two minutes was all he had left, thought Ben. The clang of a bell out in the streets told him that they might not have more time than that before the city watch arrived. They couldn’t risk getting caught here standing over a pile of dead men.
“Amelie,” he said.
“No, I have to know more.” She met the merchant’s eyes. “Please, tell me anything else you know. Has the Coalition attacked yet? How much time is left?”
“They haven’t attacked, just cut off entry and exit from the city,” gurgled the man. Blood flowed freely down his chin now. “They’re waiting on something. A peaceful solution they say. Lord Jason is on a secret mission to do something to persuade Lord Gregor to surrender…”
Ben and Amelie looked at each other.
The merchant continued, unaware of the world around him. “That’s what Banath told me. He told me that as soon as word came back from Lord Jason, Issen would surrender, or the siege would begin. Everyone will be killed…”