A Gathering of Fools (Vensille Saga Book 1)

by James Evans

  Krant looked doubtful for a moment but then he yawned and picked up his unfinished bowl of stew.

  “Maybe you are right. Maybe first thing in the morning would be best, although I’m not sure I’ll be able to sleep.” He worked his way through the rest of the stew and ate some of the bread then lay back on the bed and pulled the sheets up to his chin. Within moments he was asleep.

  Gavelis finished his own stew and packed the bread and cheese in his bags. He spent an hour exercising, working through fist and foot fighting movements in a choreographed style taught to him as a child, then he checked and honed his blades. Finally, he checked and stowed his shock cannon and his other charms, arranging them so that they would be close to hand in the morning but out of sight and away from prying eyes. Preparations complete, he lay down on his bed and stared at the ceiling for a while before drifting off to sleep.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  KRANT WOKE WITH a start to find Gavelis shaking him gently. The room was dimly lit by a very small flame from Gavelis’ fire charm. Krant squirmed under the blankets then remembered why they were waking so early and hurriedly pushed them back. He sat up and swung his feet to the floor, sitting with his head in his hands for a few moments as Gavelis fussed with his pack, then he dressed and stuffed his things into his own bag.

  He was pulling on a boot when Gavelis hissed at him and shook his head. Sighing gently, Krant put on his cloak and threw his pack over his shoulder then, boots in hand, followed Gavelis carefully out of the room and down the stairs.

  At the door to the yard Gavelis extinguished his charm and they both put on their boots. The stable door was bolted but it slid easily and within a few minutes they had their horses saddled and the packhorse loaded and ready to go. As dawn broke and the first rays of sunlight danced across the rooftops, Krant and Gavelis led their horses out of the inn’s yard and through the quiet town toward the west gate.

  A few minutes later they reached the west gate only to find that it was still closed and barred. A bored watchman stood in front of the gate, leaning on his pikestaff and yawning; he had clearly been there for some time but he straightened up as Krant and Gavelis approached.

  “Gate’s closed,” he said when they reached him, “by order of the town council. Can’t leave till they’ve spoken to you.”

  Krant bristled and looked at Gavelis but said nothing. Gavelis leaned forward in his saddle and Krant could feel him focussing power into a charm on his finger.

  “We have already spoken to the council. My lord is in a hurry and we have permission to leave Rayvale; you can open the gate for us.” Krant frowned, not sure what Gavelis was doing, then his eyes went wide Gavelis tried to coerce the watchman, focussing power through a small charm disguised as a ring on his left hand. Krant snapped his head forward to stare at the watchman, trying to put a stern, lordly look on his face.

  “Yes, yes, I see. Sorry m’lord, didn’t know.” The man bumbled around, dropping his pikestaff as he fumbled the bar of the gate. Gavelis jumped down from his horse.

  “Here, let me help with that.”

  Together the two men lifted the heavy bar and laid it to one side. Then the watchman pulled open the gate and waved them through.

  “Go in peace,” said the watchman as Krant and Gavelis rode carefully out of the town, then he closed the gate behind them.

  Twenty yards beyond the gate Krant hissed at Gavelis.

  “What the hell did you do? Coercing a watchman; are you mad?”

  The punishment for coercion was severe if the victim was only a lowly peasant but the punishments grew rapidly worse as you climbed the social scale. Coercing watchmen could get you hanged, or worse.

  “Just keep going,” said Gavelis through gritted teeth, “before they work out what,” he paused, listening to the sounds of raised voices from behind the gate; clearly something wasn’t right.

  “Go!” said Gavelis, kicking his own horse forward and dragging the packhorse behind him as fast as it would go. Krant stared briefly at Gavelis’ retreating back, then looked back at the gatehouse as someone came out, shouting. More watchmen appeared in the dim shadows and Krant quickly whipped his horse into a gallop, chasing Gavelis through the gloom, not daring to look back again.

  Krant caught up with Gavelis a few hundred yards down the road, where he had stopped and was hurriedly pulling things from the bags on the packhorse. He stuffed some into his own pack and threw a few shirts at Krant.

  “Pack those in your bag. You’re carrying all your valuables, yes?” Krant nodded, slightly unsure. Gavelis finished re-packing and strapped a sword to his side. Krant hadn’t even known that he had been carrying a sword and was about to ask a question when Gavelis spoke.

  “We’re dumping the packhorse. It’s too slow and we can manage without it.”

  Gavelis threw the rest of the bags into the bushes at the side of the road and set fire to them with a great spurt of flame from his charm. Krant’s horse stepped backward in alarm before settling down a little as Krant patted his neck. Gavelis led the packhorse to the side of the road and pointed it northward then slapped its rump as hard as he could, setting it running across the fields.

  “Maybe that’ll confuse them if they’re looking for two men with three horses,” said Gavelis as he climbed back into the saddle, “but probably not. Now we ride fast and hope to lose ourselves in the traffic on the road before they get any ideas about chasing us.”

  He kicked his horse forward and together they galloped west through the quickening dawn.

  Sometime later as the sun rose to warm their backs Gavelis slowed his horse to a walk and then stopped to stow his cloak. They had seen no sign of pursuit since leaving Rayvale but their headlong flight along the road would have kept them ahead of their pursuers in any case. Gavelis said as much to Krant, who grunted as he too folded his cloak.

  “We probably have better horses than the Rayvale town watch but I think we’ll moderate our pace somewhat. No point killing the horses a few miles down the road.”

  Krant grunted again. His ribs were aching and he really wasn’t ready for this sort of exercise or in the mood to talk.

  A little later as they cantered gently along, they pulled over to the roadside verge to allow a small caravan of traders heading the other way to squeeze past.

  “Good morning,” said Gavelis, raising a friendly smile to driver of the cart leading the caravan, “how far do you think it is to the next town?”

  The man looked up from the road, reins of his cart horses in his hands, but he didn’t slow or stop.

  “Next village is over t’hill,” he said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder, “that’s where we stayed last night. Next town, Stagford, is further on, maybe fifteen mile.”

  “Right, thanks.”

  The man looked back over his shoulder at Gavelis as the cart rumbled on down the road.

  “Heard there was bandits on the road, mind. Stay safe.”

  Gavelis and Krant sat watching as the caravan pulled past them, sixteen carts in total with three armed men on horseback, then they rode on down the road, hurrying to stay ahead of the Watch and looking around for bandits as they went.

  “Bandits, eh?” said Krant a little while later as they cantered along the road toward Stagford. They wove past farmers and drovers and people walking to market.

  “Outlaws ahead, Watch behind, dangerous traitor at the end of the road.”

  He looked sideways at Gavelis.

  “Maybe we could save everyone a lot of trouble by just slitting our own throats. If we stand at the edge of the road and lean backwards as we do it we should just fall neatly into the ditch.”

  Gavelis laughed grimly.

  “I can’t say I’ve ever found a problem for which that was an attractive solution.”

  “Maybe you just haven’t looked hard enough,” said Krant. That seemed to kill the conversation and they rode in silence for the next mile or so.

  “If we do meet outlaws are you likely to be
any use?” asked Gavelis suddenly, breaking the silence.

  “I could give them a lengthy exposition on the merits of proper filing in the context of a civil administration, if that would help?”

  “Hmm. Worth a try if things go badly wrong, I suppose. Maybe you can encourage them to do the trick with the ditch and the throat slitting. Are you any good with a fire charm?”

  “I can do a pretty neat trick with a cigar and a glass of brandy,” he said eventually, “goes down a treat at parties.”

  Gavelis raised his eyebrow, looking over at Krant as they bobbed up and down on their horses.

  “A cigar? Truly?”

  “A cigar. Or a cigarillo, at a push. I can produce enough flame to light one from, maybe, three feet away, but that’s about it.”

  Gavelis shook his head.

  “That’ll have to do, I suppose. You have a charm?”

  “In my pack,” said Krant.

  Gavelis slowed his horse to a walk and Krant followed suit.

  “Get it out then. It won’t do us any good while it’s lost at the bottom of your pack.”

  Krant fished awkwardly in his pack until he found the charm. It was old and cheap, a crude and ugly piece of work that Krant held on to for vague, sentimental reasons. Gavelis, also rummaging through his bag and guiding his horse with his knees, produced a short length of leather cord.

  “Tie one end to the charm and the other to your arm, then you can hide the charm in your sleeve and flick it forward into your hand when you need it. Not perfect but it’ll give you a chance to surprise someone if you strike at the right time.”

  Krant nodded and tied the charm as instructed. He spent the next few minutes fumbling around with his sleeve, trying to get the charm to stay put when it should be hidden and pop out when it was needed.

  “Yes, well. It’s the sort of thing that improves with practice,” said Gavelis with mild exasperation, “just remember to use it if you get the chance and to use it decisively. Don’t mess around, don’t try to be nice, don’t aim to scare or intimidate, just power up and set fire to someone.”

  Krant looked at him aghast.

  “Set fire to someone? I couldn’t do that!”

  Gavelis looked straight at him.

  “The man in the alley, the one who gave you a kicking. Could you have sprayed him with a burst of flame? Could you have set him alight while he was smashing your ribs? What about afterwards, when the pain was so bad you passed out and almost died?”

  Krant opened his mouth then closed it again.

  “Remember the pain. Imagine, if the need arises, that it’s your life or theirs. You don’t have to like it or enjoy it, you just have to do what it takes to survive.”

  Gavelis slapped him on the back.

  “Cheer up. We might never meet an outlaw,” Gavelis grinned at him as Krant looked back, his face ashen, “but right now we need to pick up the pace if we are to reach Stagford before noon.”

  He kicked his horse to a canter and Krant followed suit.

  Adrava woke with a start, suddenly alert but confused about where she was. She sat up in bed, the unfamiliar sounds of a new town filling the room, then she remembered where she was; Riverbridge, waiting for a barge to Vensille. She lay back in her bed, staring at the ceiling, and relaxed a little. A day in Riverbridge, another night in the Bargeman, then a few hours of waiting tomorrow until she could board. If she stayed out of sight and kept to herself she shouldn’t attract any undue attention even if the men who were following her, and she was sure it was one of them that she had seen the day before talking to the dock master, were in the town.

  Eventually she got up, washed and dressed. She stayed in the room for as long as she could but with nothing to read and nobody to talk to her range of diversions was limited and she quickly grew tired of meditation and talent exercises. Finally, with her stomach growling, she checked her charms and purse and went downstairs in search of food and gossip.

  The common room was mostly empty. The people of Riverbridge, it seemed, didn’t frequent inns during the middle of the day so Adrava was able to eat her meal in peace. Outside on the docks it was a different matter. Even through the inn’s small grimy windows she could see that the river was alive with boats and people and goods. She sat at a table near the windows, staring out at the docks until by early-afternoon the activity began to die down and people started to come into the inn. When the inn’s common room began to fill, she moved to a quiet table in a corner, as far from the door as she could get. There she sat in shadow, drinking tea, watching the rest of the room.

  People came and went but as the day wore on people came more than they left and by mid-afternoon the room was almost full. The dockers who had started work at dawn had finished for the day and were eating hearty meals of fish casserole with great thick slices of bread. Travellers newly arrived, some hoping to take passage downstream or along the coast, swapped tales of sea-sickness and piracy with those heading upstream.

  And then the door opened to admit two roughly dressed men carrying swords. They didn’t look out of place - nobody in the inn was finely dressed and many people were armed with long knives or short swords - and nobody else in the inn gave them a second glance but they stood just inside the door looking around until one of them saw Adrava and nudged his friend. They both looked at her for a few seconds then one ducked back out through the door while the other took a seat and ordered beer. He sat near the door, watching, and Adrava could feel his eyes on her.

  She looked across at him and he stared defiantly back at her, his face red with anger. Then he stood up, knocking over the table and pointed at her.

  “Murderer!” he screamed, spittle flying from his mouth, “Murderer!”

  The room fell silent as everyone turned to watch. Even Adrava was taken aback, surprised that someone should make such brazen accusations in quite such a public fashion. She looked over her shoulder to see if there was anyone behind her.

  “Don’t look away from me, whore!” said the man, taking two steps toward her, still pointing, his finger quivering with rage, “You murdered my friends, bitch, and I’ll see justice done.”

  Adrava looked at him, allowing shock and horror to show on her face. The atmosphere in the inn was tense but nobody moved. Even the innkeeper, veteran of many years serving ale to drunkards, seemed unsure of what to do. Adrava looked around, a little frantically, then snapped her eyes back to the man as he took another step toward her.

  “Where’s the magistrate in this town? Where’s the justice?”

  Adrava stood, shakily.

  “You wrong me, Sir. Why do you accuse me so?”

  Over by the counter one of the patrons said, not quietly enough, “Bit too much beer, if you ask me.” There were some sniggers and a couple of people turned away, hunching over their mugs to hide their faces.

  The bandit turned away from Adrava.

  “Beer?” he screamed, “My friends are dead and you blame beer? It was her,” he said pointing again at Adrava, “she killed them and I want justice.”

  He took another step forward but suddenly found the innkeeper blocking his way, a long cudgel dangling from one hand.

  “I think you’ve had enough, sir,” he said, calmly, “probably best to leave.”

  The man goggled at him then snarled and tried to push past the innkeeper.

  “I’ll go ’n take ‘er with me, straight to the magistrate.”

  “I don’t think so, son,” said the innkeeper, his hand resting on the man’s chest, “just go home and sleep it off. Where’s your friend, the one you came in with?”

  “Friend? What friend?” shouted the man, “My friends are dead, out there in the woods where she left them, bodies mutilated and burned. She needs hanging and if you won’t help I’ll see to it myself.” He dropped his hand to his side, took a step back to clear some space and pulled out his sword, none too steadily.

  There was an immediate change in the temper of the room as people pushed back their
chairs to get away from the man and clear of his sword. Angry drunks were one thing - they’d all seen plenty of those - but angry drunks with drawn swords were quite another. Nobody wanted to get sliced or stabbed.

  The innkeeper also backed away a few steps but he raised his cudgel as well, eyes on the waving tip of the sword.

  “Put the sword away son, before someone gets hurt. You’ll do your friends no good like this.”

  The man pointed the sword at the innkeeper, swinging it away from Adrava.

  “It’s not your fight, old man, so fuck off.”

  He swung back to face Adrava, face contorted with rage, then he darted forward toward her, sword raised, only to trip over an inconvenient foot stuck out by one of the other patrons. He fell flat on his face, sword falling from his hand and sliding away across the boards, then the innkeeper stepped forward and struck him hard across the shoulders as he struggled to rise, knocking him back down. Another patron swung round on his chair and put his boot on the man’s shoulder then leant down to speak to him.

  “Just you stay down there, mate, maybe calm down a bit. Do you a world of good.”

  The seated man leant forward so that his weight pressed down on the bandit, then he looked over at the Adrava and winked.

  The innkeeper signalled to a couple of his lads who came forward and picked the man up under the shoulders, dragging him backwards to the door before throwing him out on the street, then he went over to Adrava's table where she was still standing, shaking, white faced.

  “Sorry about that, miss. Don’t normally get that sort of thing in here, ’tis early to be so drunk. You sit back down and we’ll get you some more food and a glass of something to settle your nerves, on the house. And the boys’ll make sure he don’t come back to bother you no more.”

  Adrava looked up at the man and smiled lopsidedly.

  “Thank you. Poor man, so confused, so desperate.”