Within

by Aaron Bunce

  Roman fiddled with his coin purse while he waited. He untied it, squeezed it, and then shook it nervously. He tied it back onto his belt, only to pull it off and start all over. He continued with that unbreakable routine until the clouds rumbled loudly overhead. Everyone in the line looked skyward, grumbling loudly at the threat of rain.

  Roman tried to strike up a conversation with the woman in front of him, but her attention went to her two restless babies. Roman didn’t even bother trying to talk to the old man behind him. A profound scowl creased his face, and he continuously smacked his toothless gums in irritation.

  He resigned himself to stand idle, nervously fiddling with his coin bag. He counted them in his head repeatedly, hoping desperately that it was enough.

  “Gonna wear a hole in that if yer not careful,” the sour-faced old man growled. Roman hastily stuffed the bag into his pocket.

  He turned a sour eye skyward as rain started to fall. At first, it was just a gentle spattering of fat droplets, but then a blinding crack of lightning split the sky, and the clouds opened up in a torrent. Most of the people in line scurried away, pulling jackets or cloaks over their heads for cover.

  Finally, after being soaked through and chilled to the bone, Roman pushed through the door and stepped inside. The large oblong fireplace burned brightly, the warmth working to drive away the chill from the cold rain.

  The caravan had done little to clean up the White Crow. They turned over tables and chairs but left the dust and cobwebs covering almost every surface. The former innkeeper’s counter and guest book sat to his right. A guard now sat on the rickety stool, picking at his teeth with the old quill.

  The queue of people extended all the way across the inn, to a solitary table by the back wall. Men huddled around the table, pouring over a large book. Frenin paced behind the men, monitoring the coin changing hands. Roman tried to get his attention, but he was too focused on the tax exchange.

  Someone walked past, their elbow clipping his arm. Dennah turned, flashing him a crooked smile before continuing towards the collection table, a small chest in hand.

  He took a deep breath, bolstered by the knowledge that he had a friend in the crowd. Slowly but surely Roman worked his way up to the front of the queue until he stepped before the squat table and massive leather bound book.

  “Hello, Roman. It is good to see you,” Frenin said with a smile, but his face grew tight as a man cut in.

  “Next,” the man said loudly, not bothering to look up from the page of the book before him. His voice was dry, his tone abrupt. Roman stepped forward and cleared his throat nervously.

  “Name…age, please.” The man sounded bored and impatient. Roman’s mind went blank and he looked to each of the faces before him in turn, finally settling on Frenin in a panic.

  “He said name, dolt! Are you dumb?” the shorter man next to the Elder spat.

  “Roman,” he said, his voice cracking. The bald man behind the book dipped the quill into his ink and started scratching noisily upon the parchment.

  “What was yer father’s name, place of birth?” the large man asked next.

  “Erland was my father, and I was born here, in Bardstown.”

  “Roman, son of Erland of Bardstown,” the bald man mumbled as he wrote, the quill scratching noisily. Roman didn’t remember the room being so quiet before. He felt everyone’s eyes on him. The old, puckered man crowded in behind him, pushing and shoving for his turn.

  “What is your age?” the bald man asked.

  “Sixteen.”

  “And has your father paid his tax yet?” the guard asked. He leaned forward expectantly. Roman became aware of every noise, from the creak of the man’s leather armor to the groan of the table under his weight.

  “He is dead, three winters now.” Frenin said before Roman could speak. The Elder leaned over the bald man’s shoulder, watching as the other man scribbled.

  “Very well.” The guard did not move, save to turn his head and look to Frenin, before unrolling a coil of parchment. It became clear that the man had already recited the document’s contents many times by now, yet he still struggled through his recitation.

  Roman heard only every other word as he locked his gaze on the stained parchment. Then abruptly it coiled back up. It all sounded so official, large words that Roman hardly understood.

  “The tax is five gold to Lord Thatcher, one gold tribute for the Council’s highway tax…” the man said loudly, rambling on in a lengthy string of financial obligations.

  Roman’s heart raced, and his face grew uncomfortably warm. His fingers felt numb as he fumbled for his coin purse. He started rummaging through the coins after finally managing to prize the bag open. Meanwhile, the guard recounted further taxes.

  Roman’s head grew fuzzy, and his knees shook as he struggled to count. In truth, he didn’t even hear the final count, and every time he started counting, he messed up, and had to start again.

  “Did you hear me…hello?” the man barked. “I said twenty gold pieces, now pay or let someone else forward for a turn.”

  Roman’s fingers felt like blocks of stone as he fumbled with his handful of coins. The large bald man exhaled deeply, trumpeting his impatience. The short, sallow-faced man lingering behind him clicked his tongue irritably and then slurped from a dingy wine goblet.

  The old man crowded in behind him, the people in line shoving forward, eager to finish their business. Roman dumped his handful of coins onto the table after giving up trying to count them out.

  “Is that it?” the smaller man said amidst a mouthful of wine, but Frenin cut him off, leaning in to separate the copper, silver and gold. He counted slowly, moving coins into small piles as they rounded out and then whispered into the large man’s ear.

  “Ten gold, ten silver, and twenty copper tributes,” Frenin said finally and looked up from the pile. Roman looked between the elder to the large bald man, and then finally the smaller greasy haired man drinking wine.

  Roman knew how many coins he had before Frenin said it, but for some reason, it still surprised him.

  “You’re six gold short,” the bald man stated bluntly.

  “Wait, I have these,” Roman said, setting the bundle of pelts onto the large book.

  The man looked at Roman and the bundle of furs, smiling crookedly. “No goods for tax, only coin. Now you have it, or you don’t.”

  Roman instantly started to pat down his shirt and pants, searching for more money and trying to keep the panic from showing on his face. He knew he wouldn’t find any, but he made the show to buy time to think.

  Roman heard the people behind him murmuring, the ruffling of their clothes, and scuffing of their feet against the floor. Frenin gave an uncomfortable cough and straightened up, the guards standing around him growing restless.

  Roman felt someone crowd in behind him. He felt their body heat and breath on his neck. He reached around to the pockets on the back of his trousers, but someone grabbed ahold of his wrist. They jammed something into his palm and let go. Roman pulled his hand forward and let the contents spill out onto the table. He watched the gold coins spin and roll, gleaming in the dancing candle light.

  “That should do it I would think,” Frenin said.

  “Paid in full…next,” the bald man growled, slamming his palm down onto the gold before Frenin could scoop them up.

  “Thank you, you can go now…get out,” the short, sallow-faced guard added.

  “Thank you,” Roman said, turning to consider the toothless old man in line behind him. The old codger’s face instantly screwed up into a scowl, and he pushed his way forward to stand before the small table and take his turn. Roman stumbled awkwardly but then turned and left.

  “Given name and age,” he heard the bald man drawl behind him.

  Dennah sat behind the small counter as Roman approached the door. She took a bite from an apple, juice dripping down her chin from a poorly suppressed smirk. Roman leaned in against the counter and exhaled deeply,
running his hands through his hair.

  “What? What is so funny?” he asked as she chuckled.

  Dennah shook her head, taking another bite and chewing it noisily. She nodded back towards the line and mumbled something through a mouthful of apple.

  “What?” Roman asked confusedly.

  Dennah nodded back towards the line again, swallowing her bite. “See, you had nothing to worry about.”

  “Yeah…” Roman said absently, thinking back to the toothless old man behind him in line. Then it struck him. “Wait, that was you, wasn’t it?”

  Dennah just nodded and took another bite of her apple.

  “You didn’t have to,” Roman started to say, but the short, sallow-faced man from the collection table pushed by him and dropped several large bags of coin down onto the counter.

  “Put these with the others,” he said, glaring at Roman. Dennah slid off of the stool, her smile vanishing. She hoisted the heavy bags and disappeared into the crowd.

  “Think you ought to be on yer way, boy,” the greasy-haired man said with a sneer. Roman nodded and looked away. There was something about the man’s stare that made him uncomfortable.

  Roman pushed through the door and stepped out into the rain. He stood for several long moments, transfixed by the drenching sheets cascading over the town.

  The gentle rush of water and wind provided Roman with a quiet moment to reflect. He thanked his luck for Dennah and realized that he had a long way to go to pay back her generosity.

  “I owe you,” he said, expressing what he had been unable to say inside.

  Why would she do that for me? Roman tried to decipher any angles or motives behind her generosity, but none came to mind. The idea of her helping him without asking for anything in return seemed foreign to him. But as he stood there, looking down at Tusk, drenched and sitting in a large pool of water, he realized the truth of it.

  “That’s what friends do. They help each other,” he said to himself with a smile.

  People stepped in and tried to fill the void after his father passed. But it was normally out of pity, and never out of a genuine desire for simple friendship. So he pulled away.

  Roman could count the special people in his life on one hand. Each had left him, in one way or another. It felt like a curse. Dennah would leave too, in her own way. It was inevitable. At least she would be leaving on her terms, and it was by no means forever.

  The thought of someone going out of their way to help him, to sacrifice what little they had filled Roman with warmth he hadn’t felt in a long time.

  He stood there for a time, watching the rainfall while subconsciously rubbing the bandage on his side. He realized that he would have a decision to make soon.

  Say goodbye, or? With thoughts pressing down on him, Roman set off into the rain.

  Part 3

  Darkness Spreads

  Chapter 20

  Loose ends

  “I cannot hide it forever. Many have seen it. They ask questions…and I have no answers,” Lord Arigosa said, his voice bent with desperation.

  “Your uncle has placed a great responsibility on your shoulders. Your family took a great risk with this charge. There is so much to lose if this is handled improperly,” Balin replied offhandedly. He shifted upon the heavy chair, already bored by the conversation.

  “What, you don’t think I understand that?” Lord Arigosa hissed. “The Council has taken great pains since the beginning to ensure secrecy, but it appears to have all been fleeting. The security we have felt these past winter thaws was false.”

  “Then perhaps your men made some mistake…with the loading, or maybe the counting, perhaps?” Balin offered.

  Lord Arigosa, who had barely seen his twentieth name day, looked significantly older. His face was drawn and haggard from indulgence and stress. He closed his blue eyes and slammed his fist down on the desk.

  Balin shifted slightly in his chair. The movement had not registered with the two guards standing at the door, but it had been more than enough to slide his hand to his dagger.

  “My most trusted men load that boat. Just as they have done each and every time. There was no mistake. Even the sailors don’t know the true nature or purpose of their cargo. The less they know, the better,” Arigosa said, letting his hand slide off of the desk. He slumped back in the chair and swept his thinning blond hair out of his face.

  Balin’s hand relaxed off of the handle of his blade, although it did not move far.

  “Your uncle wants this mess sorted out.” Balin paused, leaning forward to run his finger along the dusty edge of the large writing desk, “quickly and quietly.”

  Lord Arigosa leaned forward suddenly, his cheeks turning a stark crimson. “So, did my uncle send his rogue to clean up my embarrassing mess, or his assassin to tend to me? His shame that he bore no sons of his own, we all know that he takes bedmates as often as most men change britches. Well, is that why you came, to put a dagger in my heart? On the other hand, would you be more comfortable if I turned my back? I know your lot doesn’t like to look people in the eyes as they do their work.”

  “Easy my Earl,” Balin said with humor. He always enjoyed the entertainment from the flamboyant, and highly unstable young noble, but he knew he didn’t necessarily have time for his usual games. “You are his favorite nephew. If my lord Gladeus wanted you dead, it would be news to me. Besides, if he did, I’m sure you would be the last to know, trust me. Can we return to the unpleasantness at hand? The brine is already rotting away at me as we speak…the air here does not agree with me.”

  “You are bold…too bold, Balin. I hope, and trust, that when your business in my city is completed, you will have a safe trip back to my uncle in Ban Turin. The roads…they are so dangerous after all,” Lord Tomas said, quietly playing with a small statue on his desk.

  Balin chuckled and simply bowed, he could feel the young Earl’s hatred boring clear through him. He understood that it was more than just an idle threat.

  “This man you say, he was the only one left alive on the ship? How did he say he sailed the vessel all by himself?” Balin asked. From Lord Tomas’ expression, Balin could tell that the Earl had not considered this. Judging from the size of the sailing vessel, Balin figured it would take no less than a handful of men just to tend its rigging and sails, and another handful for steerage and navigation.

  “Is this man secure, are you holding him somewhere?” Balin asked, continuing as the Earl grew sullen.

  “We kept him hidden, but he escaped…he had help. Brigands attacked my guards, and the sailor disappeared. We think he hired them through a group of local thieves. They have many connections on the docks.”

  “So, one of select men…sent on a secret and vital errand, the only one, in fact, that returned and had not been butchered into little bits of meat and stuffed into barrels, was taken, held, and then lost? I need not remind you what this could mean for Barden’s Reach and the implications of your lofty station here in your uncle’s house,” Balin stated calmly.

  “I understand,” Tomas said growling. “You speak as if I am ignorant of the dangers. We are all in danger now…don’t you see that? If not for my uncle’s greed and insatiable lust for wine, gold, and girls, he could handle these matters for himself. No, he tosses this responsibility into my lap, his nephew. Am I to rule over this city and this whole territory?

  “My uncle and the other crusted, dirty old men in the council would not live long if the people found out how much of their gold they wile away. On the other hand, how would they react if they knew that the gold lining the belly of my ships was to pacify the Ishmandi? This sailor, this lone survivor, was stricken with madness. He ranted on and on as we tortured him. Do you want to know what he told us when the pain finally broke him? Do you rogue? He said that he saw Marstus in the flesh. That the warlord still lives,” Tomas finished, his face ashen and drawn.

  “Marstus the Blooded!” Balin roared, rocking back in his chair, “Lord of Tulibal and Chief
tain of the Ishmandi tribes? What do you take me for? That would make him what, over two hundred and fifty winter thaws old? Perhaps you had too much wine and heard him wrong, or your wet nurse told you too many stories.”

  “I do not jest!” Tomas screamed and slammed his fists down on the desk with a crash.

  Balin jumped to his feet, his hand wrapped tightly around his dagger handle. The guards, standing on either side of the door, almost fell over as they dashed forward, coming to a stop on either side of Balin, their swords pulled half-free from their scabbards.

  Balin didn’t have to look to know the men were there. He could hear them breathing, hear the rattle of their armor with each fidgety movement.

  “I will deal with it tonight, at the moon’s peak. Have your men empty the docks for one hour. After that, this ship will be little more than a fading memory,” Balin said evenly. Beneath his robes, his hand didn’t leave the handle of his dagger.

  Lord Tomas didn’t look up from his desk. Instead, he simply flicked his hand at Balin, gesturing for him to leave. Balin turned with a swish of his cloak. He passed between the two guards and reached for the handle of the door as the young Earl cleared his throat loudly.

  “You will tend to the sailor as well?” Lord Arigosa asked, trying hard to make his question sound more like a command.

  “Rest easy, I will see to him as well.” Balin swept out through the door, prepared to hunt.

  * * * *

  Balin had little trouble gathering the supplies he needed. It was amazing how much loyalty the Councilman’s gold could buy him on the streets of Laniel. He watched the dirty beggars load the last of the barrels into his cart and promptly tossed them a gold tribute each. The last man, sully faced and covered in manure, bit the gold coin with his only tooth and then hastily stowed it in his trousers.

  After a sidelong glance, Balin crawled up into the cart and proceeded down the winding lane towards the docks. The buildings looming over him were not the sullen gray granite monstrosities like in Ban Turin but built out of the rose-colored stone of the coast. Stained glass adorned windows, and massive balconies opened up to the harbor, accepting in the salty belch of the ocean’s vigorous breeze.