by Mark Eller
"There's seventeen daughters," she finally said,"and Jonathan. Eighteen heirs outside of Melna, along with eight wives and Papa--and then there's Jonathan's three wives, and a slew of grandchildren. That's a lot of splitting to do, so I hope you're bringing something to the table besides empty pockets. Melna's the youngest and the most difficult. She's helped the least, so to my way of thinking, not much should go to her."
"Mama Eustice says she should be disinherited," Jonathan added. "The way she catted around until she had to get married is disgraceful. Embarrassing to the family."
"This family is an embarrassment. " Melna did not bother to mutter,"but go ahead, keep attacking me. I'm used to it. Just lay off my husband."
"So," Neva said to Aaron, ignoring Melna entirely. "You got anything to your name besides those hand-me-downs you're wearing, or are you as broke as you look?"
So that was the way it was going to be. Ignoring the sandwich, he leaned back in his chair and folded his hands behind his head. His appetite was gone. "I'm doing pretty good," he admitted. "Got a couple silver and a few golds in my wallet. Got good luggage and a new wife with the cutest ass I ever saw. What more could a man ask for."
Beside him, Melna stiffened.
"A couple silver and a few gold," Neva said slowly while Jonathan failed to hide a giggle. "Along with being unforgivably crude, that's not even pocket change for us. What else do you bring to the table? Do you have any business acumen?"
"Managed a store once," Aaron admitted. "Never made much money at it, but I had fun."
"Oh, Gods. " Neva set her head in her hands, shook it, and then looked back toward Aaron. "Papa will have to start you from the beginning. It will be years before we can trust you with anything, and you'll likely lose half a fortune anyway. Well, I won't have it. Not here anyway. Melna, I don't want him anywhere near me. He's yours to deal with, so take him to one of the other wives."
Aaron turned to Melna and raised an eyebrow. "Our family has concerns all over," Melna explained. "Lots of different countries. Mama Horticee and Mama Paula planned it out decades ago. They each set up a business to run, then married Daddy to act as their go-between. Every time they felt a need to expand, they had Daddy marry somebody else and start a new business that complemented the others. Jonathan is carrying on the tradition with his three wives. Not one is less than twenty years older than him. It's a very practical arrangement, but it doesn't make for warm family relations. Most of us don't see each other but for a few weeks at a time. When we do, we usually don't get along."
"Apparently," Aaron agreed. Pushing back his chair, he stood. "I suspect I won't get along with your family well myself. It's early yet, but I'm tired, and I have things to do in the morning. Good evening."
Roger Linely entered the room as he was leaving. "Where are you going?" Linley demanded. "I want to talk to you about your weapon."
"I don't want to talk to you," Aaron told him and walked out.
* * *
Later, Melna crawled into bed with him. "You should have seen their faces," she giggled. "Daddy gave me hell for two hours, and the others want you tarred and feathered. Nobody talks to them that way. Ever. We're the Linley's. It's even worse coming from somebody like you."
"Like me?" Aaron asked.
She shrugged. "You know. Somebody poor. I don't mind. Between us, I'm sure I can work out a good living, but most of my family are snobs. Daddy's the only sort of normal one among them. I think that's why he chooses to travel so much. For his sanity."
"The best and most honest people I know are poor," Aaron told her. Rolling over, he went to sleep.
When Aaron woke the next morning, he rose, dressed, grabbed his duffel, and almost exited without an incident. Unfortunately, Mister Linley caught him as he opened the front door.
"Sneaking out before we have our talk?" Linley asked caustically.
"Meeting my travel companion," Aaron told him. "Apparently, you and I are traveling with the same caravan."
This man was his father-in-law. Aaron vowed not to lose his temper with Linley--again.
"After the circus you put on yesterday with my children, we need to talk about your future. I won't let you freeload off me or steal from them. You'll have to work and work hard, but it will be worth it in the end."
Aaron smiled thinly. "I'll take nothing off you. I won't work for a man who did to his daughter what you did. She told you the truth. Nothing happened except she saved my life from an assassin and then offered me a place to sleep. I had nothing to do with her state of undress."
Linley waved that concern away. "She's traveled the world with me. We've both seen plenty of bare skin. It means nothing. As for the other, I've serious doubts anyone would hire an assassin to kill somebody like you" Linley scowled. "Since that part is obviously a tale, the rest of your story can be nothing but a fabrication."
"The assassin might have been paid to keep me from speaking with Helmet Klein, the Chin Emperor," Aaron said. "I'm probably the closest thing Klein had to a son back home. I know he was the closest thing I had to a father, but you won't believe that either."
Linley's eyes narrowed.
"I'm staying with the military on the caravan," Aaron continued. "Melna already knows. One more thing. My name is Aaron. You can call me Aaron or you can call me Mister Turner. The choice is yours. You will never again call me boy."
Walking away, Aaron realized he had already broken one vow. He was very angry with his father-in-law.
* * *
The caravan had been created for speed more than comfort. Of the one hundred people traveling with it, thirty were military. The caravan possessed ten wagons and more than two hundred horses. Aaron wanted to kiss the major upon discovering she expected him to ride in the single military wagon. Apparently, she really had listened to his diatribes against horses.
The journey would be more than four hundred miles of relatively easy travel. They had no major rivers to cross, no mountains, and no paths without roads. Still, it would be a hard trip. Their shortest day would cover twenty miles.
Outside of military personnel, most of the travelers were merchants and tradesmen. Many of the wagons were filled with spice and amber, the cause for both the military escort and the rush. A single spice filled wagon represented two small fortunes. Half of one load belonged to Melna's family.
Melna and her father joined the caravan shortly after it began moving. Roger Linley rode a tall, powerful black gelding with long legs and a short stride. Melna's horse was a chestnut with a white blaze across its face. She called it Sweety.
Aaron spent two days jolting around in the wagon before deciding his ribs and bruises felt better. Hopping off the back, he walked with a quick stride for two hours before clambering back inside, wishing all the while he had thought to bring a runabout. Later in the day, he took another two hour walk. The next day he spent mostly on his feet. On several occasions people offered to catch him a spare horse. Aaron stubbornly declined. Walking tightened sore muscles, hurt his ribs, and made his feet ache, but he did not like horses and did need conditioning.
At night, he sat with the soldiers and listened to their tales. When ale came out during the first evening, he reluctantly accepted a cup. Before long, he was completely snookered. Afterward, Aaron separated himself from others when drinking started.
After the caravan stopped for the evening, Aaron practiced his forms, moving slow to protect his injuries. At first, several people stared at him like he was strange, but then the major asked permission to join him, and Melna asked if he would teach her.
Three days out they passed a village trying to put itself back together. Aaron was shocked to learn the village had been attacked by slavers. The other members of the caravan took the news as a simple matter of course. The captain of the military escort, after determining the local troops were in pursuit of the slavers, decided his soldiers could offer no real help.
The raided village helped Aaron made his own decision. He didn't want to be on
foot if serious trouble occurred. He got himself a horse and made a cloth holster to carry his shotgun beside the saddle.
Two days after Aaron started riding, the caravan halted. The horses needed rest and the wagons needed repair. Aaron was helping to rebind a wheel when he looked up to see Roger Linley standing over him, holding a bow and quiver in his hands. Linley gestured with a quick tilt of his head.
"I'm going after game. Care to come along? We still need to talk. I promise to be more polite about it this time."
"I suppose we should. Like it or not, we're family. Are we riding or walking?"
"Walking."
Aaron went to his supplies. Wishing he had brought a bow, he grabbed his shotgun along with a dozen shells and followed his father-in-law. Their first steps into woods were silent.
"I've never hunted anything without wings," Aaron finally supplied. "I've no idea what I'm doing."
Linley glanced at him. "Never thought you did. Few city people hunt."
They walked for a while longer before Linley spoke again.
"To you my name is Roger, and I'm sorry we got off on the wrong foot. I thought you were a scoundrel taking advantage of my favorite child. I thought she had chosen a money hunter. Two of my son-in-laws are exactly what I thought of you. My son is worse."
"We slept," Aaron said bitterly. "I was too beat up for anything more."
"I appreciate that now. I even knew it then, once I saw all those bruises. I was so mad I didn't care if I was right or wrong, and you were already married by the time I cooled down. I'll admit it now; I was wrong."
Stopping, Linley turned to face Aaron. "Listen, Melna's a tough girl and smart. Over the years, she's seen a lot of hard areas, and she's dealt with more than one sticky problem, but she's always had this huge blind spot about men. She wanted one of her own so badly she threw anything resembling reasoned judgment to the winds whenever somebody caught her eye. Most were put off by her boldness. Generally, they wanted a submissive woman who would do exactly as they were told."
He grinned. "You might have noticed Melna is anything but submissive. She's independent, and her independence chased away everyone except the treasure hunters."
Pausing, he looked long at Aaron. "I don't want her to be in need. Let me set the two of you up. Call it a loan. Be angry at me if you like. Continue hating me, but don't hurt Melna because of her father."
"I'll not hurt her," Aaron said, not sure how to take this new Linley.
"But you are hurting her," Linley continued. "The only time you talk to her is when you exercise. I've never seen you touch her. She's mad at you for ignoring her, but she's hurt, too. She likes you, Aaron, and unless you die you're the only man she will ever marry. My daughter is afraid I've made you so angry you'll walk away the first chance you get. I'm just asking you give yourselves a chance. I can't ask you to love her. I've never loved any of my own wives. All I ask is that you like and respect her and don't hold the actions of her father against her."
Aaron sighed. This was a side of Linley he had hoped not to see. The last thing he wanted was to feel sympathy for the man. "I never thought of how she might be taking this," he admitted. "I'm angry because I have a wife I never wanted. When I remember you poking me with your sword, I get angrier."
"I truly am sorry."
"All right. A truce between us, but I don't want your money. I may not be carrying much now, but I have my own funds. For one thing, I own the patent on the zipper Melna admires so much."
"For one thing?"
Aaron nodded. "I might own a factory here and there. Don't tell Melna. I'd rather she appreciates me for who I am, not because I have money. She isn't the only person beset by fortune hunters."
"Does your factory make those?" Linley pointed toward the shotgun. "I might be interested in selling a line of them."
"Nobody makes those," Aaron supplied. "I make the ammunition and powder, but I won't let anyone know how I do it. " Time to change the subject. "Teach me how to hunt."
Linley was a bad teacher. During the next several hours, they saw nothing. Aaron worried about getting lost, but Linley reassured Aaron he always knew exactly where he was. It wasn't a Talent, but a learned knack. After six hours, they finally gave up and headed back toward the camp. They were, perhaps, four miles from the road when Linley grabbed Aaron by the arm.
"Listen."
Aaron stopped. Straining, he heard a faint creaking in the distance. He looked at Linley.
"Doesn't sound like empty woods," Linley whispered. "Could be a herd over there. Walk quiet. Step where I do."
Aaron followed as quietly as he could. Linley made only a ghost of noise while Aaron often rustled leaves or snapped dry sticks beneath his feet. He admired the way Linley moved, using the cover offered by trees and finding only quiet places to step.
Drawing closer, a low moaning reached them and further rustling. Linley gestured for Aaron to split off. Aaron moved to the right, Linley to the left. Within seconds, Aaron lost sight of him. He barely reached the edge of a clearing when the low moan suddenly turned into a human scream followed by. "Shut the fuck up!"
Numb and nervous, Aaron peered past a branch and grew cold.
Before him was a clearing filled with naked people, ranging in age from children to young adults. Most were fastened to chains. Half-a-dozen people moved among the prisoners, four clothed men and two clothed women. Further away, a hard-faced woman held a large rod in her hands, the tip glowing faintly red from heat. At her feet lay a crying, naked woman. As Aaron watched, two men dragged the crying victim away and refastened her chains. The woman holding the heated iron placed its tip in the fire beside her.
When two different men walked through the prisoners, intent on bringing a girl child to the fire, Aaron finally saw what had attracted the eyes of so many. Staked to the ground, a young woman stared dully at the sky as yet another man violently raped her.
Nine. Nine slavers. Aaron's body flushed. Prickling nerves crawled across his skin.
The woman by the fire picked up the hot iron and smiled at the girl cowering in front of her. "Don't worry, honey. " Her voice was faint from distance. "This'll only hurt for a while. When we're finished, you'll belong to the Assassin's Guild, and then you get to make a choice. You can train to be one of us, or you can be someone we train on."
Buckshot would spread. Dropping his shotgun, Aaron walked forward. He felt numb, unthinking. The hard-faced woman's hand lowered. The young girl screamed as the iron seared into her shoulder. Several chained people saw him coming but said nothing. Perhaps they assumed he was a slaver fresh arrived. Maybe they didn't have enough strength, courage, or hope left to wonder at all. Aaron did not care. He only wanted them to make room so he could pass.
Aaron drew his pistol.
He heard a thud and a sigh. One of the women slavers lay on the ground with an arrow sticking out of her back. The rapist started to rise, but was too late. Aaron tapped his gun barrel on the rapist's bare shoulder. The man stared at Aaron in surprise and opened his mouth to shout.
From three inches away, Aaron shot him between the eyes.
Two men were in front of him. One screeched as an arrow entered his stomach. Aaron's gun fired. The other man fell back, a corkscrew shooting blood into the sky. One man pulled a fresh arrow from his quiver. Another drew a bead. Aaron pulled the trigger. He twisted sideways and crouched as an arrow flickered over his shoulder. A prisoner cried out when it struck her thigh. The loaded arrow released into the sky as the second man staggered back. The first clutched his throat, falling. The arrow he was trying to put to his string fell to the ground.
The man Aaron had already shot once straightened and pulled a fresh arrow free. Aaron deliberately lined up on him, but then dropped his aim as a small surge of chained people pulled the archer down. The man's scream was short.
Aaron looked around mechanically to see no slavers still stood. The woman with the branding iron lay half across the fire, one arrow sticking out of her leg,
another protruding from her chest. Watching dispassionately, Aaron saw her hair smolder and then burst into flame.
He put his hot pistol back into its holster and sat on the ground. The raped woman lay beside him. Fresh burns covered her naked shoulder, partially obliterating old scars of crossed swords. No tears marred her face, but blood ran from her mouth and ears.
The machine that was Aaron washed away. Sounds came to him. The smell of gunpowder and burning leather. The scent of burnt flesh and the sharp taint of blood. Aaron gazed at the dead, his dead. He wrapped his arms around his aching body while the raped woman stared at him with dispassionate eyes. Linley stood nearby.
Aaron looked at Linley and opened his mouth. At first the words would not come. They bound up in his throat. He closed his mouth, swallowed, and tried again. "I never wanted to kill again," he whispered. "Gods, I'm tired of killing people."
* * *
Roger Linley found the keys to the chains in a dead woman's pocket. He gave them to the prisoners. They freed themselves, leaving him with nothing to do but observe. Although the prisoners deferred to him as one of their rescuers, they did not depend on him for organization. They seemed to all know one another, which meant they were probably from the same village. Their existing leaders took charge.
Just as well they didn't need him. Of the thirty-seven prisoners, only two women and one man understood even a little Jut. The raped woman was the only one who was the least bit fluent, and it soon became apparent she was an outsider to this group.
Linley understood why the others didn't trust her. What he did not understand was why they allowed her to live. She had the same set of crossed swords on her shoulder as the others who had been branded, only hers had been set twice. The new burns were placed perpendicularly across years old scars.
The woman stood out in other ways. Close to five-feet-ten instead of the average of five-feet-two or three the other women owned, her bare limbs were muscular and solid, and yet flexible. Flat bellied and hard, her breasts were small where the other prisoners owned large breasts and softer bellies.