by J. S. Morin
Just as Brannis was about to regain his feet, another body slammed into his, bowling him over. The second man ended up atop him. He more heard footsteps rushing his way. Brannis wiped his hand across the back of one of his gauntlets, causing spikes to rise up from the magical metal. The decorum of wearing armor in polite society had caused him to keep the spikes retracted since he had discovered the trick. He managed to keep his wits about him to repeat the process on the other glove and even up the forearm of his left arm.
"Don't let 'im draw his blade," one of the attackers called out. It had been said in a low shout meant to carry just the length of the brawl, and not quite to the ears of any roaming constables that might have been about.
"Bugger's tougher 'n a mule fer beatin'," another complained.
Brannis lashed out, catching one with the armor spikes and sending him cursing. The thought of drawing Avalanche seemed a good one if he could manage it. It was an unbefitting weapon for a brawl, but outnumbered against armed opponents, it was forgivable. He tried to reach across his body, but there were now at least three attackers pinning him to the ground. He tried to call out for help but someone put a hand over his mouth.
"Hey, what are—" the voice was cut off. The soldier in Brannis knew the sound of a blade driving into flesh. He heard a body slump to the ground.
"Somebody st—" another attacker's words were lost in a pained cry. Brannis felt the bodies shift atop him. He thrashed free of one grasp raking backhand with his gauntlet spikes. It bought him enough time to pull Avalanche free of its sheath. Brannis levered one assailant away and flung him like a horseshoe. The man landed across the road on the angled roof of a warehouse, where he slid to an edge and fell.
At last Brannis was able to gain his feet. To his surprise, his rescuer had not been Soria as he had initially guessed. Rakashi stood three paces away, his half-spear stained with blood in the lamplight. There were a dozen or so men still standing, fumbling about to draw bladed weapons as they dropped their clubs and drew back from the Takalish scholar.
"We can solve this without further bloodshed. Please leave us," Rakashi said. Brannis turned to look at him. The choice of words sounded odd. He and Rakashi had just slain three of their opponents, yet by his words Rakashi made them seem the weaker side. Brannis had not been the only one to gather that impression either, as the men fanned out to surround them. Rakashi took a step closer to Brannis and turned to keep eyes to all directions, though Brannis knew that Rakashi's patched eye saw the aether and needed no aid in seeing all around.
"Put that there sword down an walk away, mister," one of the assailants told them. "Ain't no trunch comin' tonight to pull your arse out safe. We're takin' this one alive but we ain't paid to keep your guts in ya."
Rakashi lowered his half-spear until the tip touched the cobbles and bowed his head. Brannis realized his game. He wants to lure them in. Deception in the cause of combat. The honor of a warrior, not a knight: "Win, then tell the tale how you like."
Brannis lowered Avalanche, careful to keep the tip from driving into the street like a dragon's claw should he mimic Rakashi's stance.
"What do you want with me?" Brannis called out to them. From the corner of his eye he saw a figure lurking in the doorway of Dogger's Shack. He fought back a smile as Soria slipped unnoticed behind the circling thugs.
"Come with us and we won't hurt ya more'n we have to," the apparent leader called back. They backed Brannis and Rakashi toward a warehouse wall with no door. Brannis was careful to keep any of them from circling around to where they would spot Soria. He caught Rakashi's gaze and the two of them shared a small nod. They waited.
Soria's blades took two thugs in the back before they knew that they had been trapped. As the would-be hunters became aware that their status had changed to "prey," they panicked. Backing away from Soria led them straight into the waiting blades of Rakashi and Brannis.
The short swords and daggers the men had carried as secondary weapons proved too short to threaten the reach of Avalanche or Rakashi's half-spear. Brannis waved Avalanche back and forth to keep the men at bay but Rakashi was not so reserved. He fell upon them with brutal efficiency. The thugs were unskilled combatants and simple feints opened their defenses entirely as they danced to Rakashi's lead. Two strokes seemed his preference, one to the gut—a fatal wound but a slow one—and one to the neck. Heads rolled free of bodies as he finished off one adversary after another.
After her first two kills, Soria eschewed the use of her daggers. Brannis winced as she narrowly avoided vicious swipes of dagger and sword. He knew her shielding spell ought to protect her but could not help himself. Her opponents were not so well protected from her attacks. Bone crunched audibly with each of her strikes. She played no games with her enemies, crushing ribs and skulls.
Brannis held two at bay, uncertain how best to end a fight without getting soaked in blood. His attackers decided for him. Seeing their companions die and a clear path behind them, they turned and ran. Brannis was not inclined to chase them down snow-covered streets. He was less fleet afoot in his armor, and the thugs' sudden flight caught him off guard to their advantage of several paces.
A pair of daggers ended their escape before they had managed to round the nearest corner. One each to the back and both men fell to the ground, moaning in agony. Soria jogged over to retrieve her weapons from the fallen men. Brannis grimaced and looked away just in time to hear the cracking necks as she finished them off.
"We need to get away from here," Brannis said as she came back. "We cannot afford to be delayed by the city guardsmen who come to investigate."
"One of them implied that the guardsmen were bribed away," Rakashi said.
Further discussion was interrupted by clapping. The three of them turned to see a giant Kheshi with a single-bladed war axe tucked in the crook of his arm. He was bare-chested in spite of the freezing air, and looked not the least bit concerned by it. He stood at the head of a group of ten or so other Kheshis, all armed with hand axes.
"It seems we arrive too late for save you," the mountainous Kheshi said to them, his accent thick. "I am Captain Jhorn Kaisson of Poet's Hammer. We hear fighting and come. I think it is our passengers, maybe, and I am right."
"Captain Kaisson," Brannis called out as he sheathed Avalanche and walked toward the man. "I am sorry for the inconvenience. I suspect this matter will detain us here a while."
"No time for that," Captain Kaisson replied. "Get you things and get aboard." He turned to his men and gave them instructions in Kheshi. They moved at once for the bodies.
"What did he say?" Brannis asked Soria quietly.
"They're going to drag the bodies into the harbor. With the snow I think it might serve to buy us time before anyone realizes what went on ... well, anyone important at least. I'm sure there are plenty of folk about tonight who are very carefully not seeing what's going on right now. They'll have stories to tell years from now, but be dumb as a feathered hat if anyone comes asking later today."
Brannis took the handcart and pulled their belongings down to Poet's Hammer's berth. Sailors met them there and carried their belongings aboard without question. A few of the sailors were from Mongrel Khesh: smaller, thinner, and darker-skinned than the rest, from blood that had been mixed more times than anyone bothered to count. The Mongrel Kheshi, those from the north of the empire, were the ones more often seen outside its borders. The remainder of the crew was bigger, more muscular, and fairer-skinned. The southern Kheshi kept more to themselves and took pride in their purity of bloodlines. Like the sorcerers of Kadrin, pure blood paid dividends in producing more extreme traits—in this case, size. The southerners also seemed more inclined to forego precautions against the Acardian weather.
Captain Kaisson returned as Brannis and Soria were settling in. Rakashi had come aboard as well along with a heavy pack filled with his belongings, but he was not yet
officially a passenger. Brannis meant to remedy that.
"Captain,
thank you for all your help," Brannis greeted the man. "I understand our passage was already arranged but I would like to add one more."
"The Takalishman? If he pays, he sails. Good fighters always welcome. Make up mind fast though, we do not wait to seven bells to leave or even five. We sail now. I can find my way across harbor even with the half tide," Captain Kaisson said.
"We'll pay, just get us under sail. Actually, I want to know how much Lord Harwick is paying you," Soria said. She took up a position between Brannis and the captain. Acardians might expect a woman to be subservient to her man but the Kheshi captain seemed nonplussed. "I intend to buy you away from him."
Captain Kaisson laughed. "This trip makes me a rich man. Twice I get a new price, better than the last. I picked the time to be in Scar Harbor, yes?"
"Someone hired you before Lord Harwick?" Brannis asked. He moved up to stand beside Soria. He was not quite prepared to cede leadership to her entirely.
Kaisson nodded. "For a price I will even tell you who. While at sea, you have no fear someone else will pay me more."
The captain had a disarming smile for such a large man. He piloted them through the sand bars that guarded Scar Harbor at low tide, and out into the open Katamic. No harbormaster had given them leave to go, but there were no ships in port that seemed inclined to chase them. All the while, sailors kept about the deck, sweeping it clear of snow as it fell from a storm that could not tell it was still only autumn.
Safely out to sea, the crew began to settle into a routine and one of the mates took over at the helm. As the passengers went to see about their accommodations, Captain Kaisson pulled Brannis aside.
"Your girl, she is Acardia?" the captain asked, putting a hand on his shoulder. Despite the cold, the man was sweating and stank of ale. Only the copious fresh air kept the reek from being unbearable in the close quarters.
"Yes, but Kheshi raised," Brannis confirmed.
"Ah, I hear it in her voice. I hear too that she is Tezuan. Is that true also?"
"Yes. I think your men saw some of her handiwork. The ones who died with no great gash out of them and with their heads attached, those were her doing," Brannis said.
"Good. We find pirates, I know I have three more warriors on my ship," Kaisson said. The captain looked about with a paranoid glance before leaning in closer and lowering his voice. "I have one more question. I must know one way or two way: are you Acardians from Kadrin or Azzat?"
Brannis tensed. If Jhorn Kaisson was twinborn, he was likely Ghelkan. If he did not know whether Brannis and Soria were Kadrin or Azzatian, he certainly had not been told their identities. Same plan as with Rashan ...
"Kadrin. Is that a problem?" Brannis asked. He disliked his odds against the massive Kheshi in a wrestling match but there were two companions he could fall back on in case of violence. There was no upside to be had in lying and being thought Azzatian. Worse, it was implausible that anyone would go to the trouble of starting a bidding war over the fate of an Azzatian twinborn.
"You had the chance of lie, Kadrin. You did not. I might have job for you one day. Maybe." Captain Kaisson shrugged. "Knowing Kadrins might be good idea."
Eyes inside Ghelk? I could pay you a great deal if there is a traitor behind that shaggy blond beard of yours, Captain.
* * * * * * * *
A white stone monolith, blocky and little adorned, was stationed at one side of the plaza. The only windows it had were high above the ground and mere slits, too small for even a child to squeeze through. Most of those who came and went by the wide stone stairs were well-dressed Takalish natives bearing parcels. The lettering above the entrance was foreign, but it did not take any knowledge of Takalish to puzzle out that it was a bank.
Tanner's emergence was enough to warrant a second look from passersby. He was grubby and travel-stained, white-skinned, and carrying himself with a swagger unbefitting a gentleman. Had he gone in armed as was his habit, he would have caused more than a fair stir among the bank's guards and likely would have landed himself in jail. He quickstepped down the stairs to where Stalyart stood waiting with his gear.
"Have we delayed our task quite long enough?" Stalyart asked as he handed Tanner his sword belt. "These moneylenders put us half a day’s ride out of our way."
"Worth every minute," Tanner replied. He buckled on his sword and felt all the safer for it. "Besides, I think we're going to find that we're ahead of the game. I got the kid to tell me where they were heading before your friend kidnapped us ... well me, I guess the boy was going with him either way."
"A precaution. Captain Zayne wished to ensure you held to your end of the bargain. He always holds to his," Stalyart said. He handed Tanner his Errol-made pistol and the leather sash that held his spare bullets.
"Don't mind me being skeptical of liars vouching for one another. You pirates have reputations too, you know. He'd have been better off taking the deal as I presented it to Kyrus. Give him the staff, and I think he'd have a good chance of beating Rashan in a fight." Tanner slung the sash crosswise over his shoulder and tucked the pistol into his pants.
"Yes, perhaps. Then we would have Kyrus and the Staff of Gehlen instead of a demon. Better. Still not good. I place my wager on Jinzan Fehr because, should I bet against him, I lose either way," Stalyart reasoned. "As for you, I had not expected you were the type to patronize banks. It seems a gamble in itself to one who flouts laws with such abandon as you."
"Hey, keep that quiet," Tanner replied. "It's not like we're the only ones around who can speak Acardian. As for my gamble, banks provide a few services you can't get anywhere else. For instance, I can leave them names of associates who can draw on my deposit, in case I die with my money in their hands. Let's just say I don't have a real good feeling about this whole venture."
Their horses were hitched at the far side of the plaza. Once they had retrieved the animals, they departed the city, heading west. It would be days still before they caught up with Jadon Zayne's path even if the boy's guardians kept to it.
They rode together across the silent, icy landscape. Stalyart broke the silence in mid-afternoon with a few quips about the locals but Tanner answered with nothing but a sidelong glare. Tales of his adventures at sea were interesting but Tanner managed to keep from showing interest.
"You ever live on a farm, Stalyart?" Tanner asked in response to an unrelated query about card games.
"Interesting choice to break your silence with. No, I grew up with boats and fishing. I had sea legs before I could walk on land," Stalyart replied. He brought his horse to within an arm's reach of Tanner's as the promise of engaging in conversation loomed.
"Well, neither have I, but I've met a lot of farm folk in my time—army attracts them like crows. They taught me about the animals they raise, how they have to avoid ... you know ..." Tanner trailed off.
"Is this some jest about improprieties with the animals?" Stalyart asked, clearly confused.
Tanner snapped his head to face Stalyart directly. "No, brine-brain. I'm trying to say I might need to kill you and I'm not in the habit of killing friends. Keep that in mind if it ever comes down to a choice of what happens to me in Veydrus. Maybe you get the chance to slip me loose, maybe you hear about the order to kill me and do something about it. I can see that you come out ahead here. I've got more coin than Zayne if that's what you're after. Play it the other way, gambling man, and you'll lose." Tanner unlimbered his sword in its sheath, but did not take it in hand. He gave Stalyart one more look before returning his attention to the road. Stalyart took heed and moved his horse out of sword's reach.
"Mr. Tanner, I do think you must have been piecing those words together in your head for hours. Bravo! This is more like what I expected from a nefarious coinblade when I agreed to accompany one. You have me out of my element—now is the time to press an advantage. Of course, you assume that I would not best you with swords or simply slit your throat in the night. I am, after all, a pirate." Stalyart spread his arms wide at the astonishing
admission.
"I sleep lighter than you might think, and you wouldn't want to be on the wrong side of my blade," Tanner replied. "Maybe you're some slick-oiled blade with the dregs you sail with, but you're just a sailor at heart. Pick a navy ship out there, there's as good a chance as not they've got a man your equal with a saber. Me? In the whole Kadrin Empire when they have a knight they need taught sword fighting, they send him to me. I wouldn't be winded by the time you bled your last."
"I ... I am having difficulty with something. I cannot tell if you are just acting the braggart for your own pride or if you are trying to goad me to challenge you. I think I will take my time to think for now," Stalyart said.
"When the time comes, pirate, just moo. So long as your friends keep me locked up, I'm ready to butcher you."
With Tanner's threat casting a pall over the ride, they managed to pass the hours in silence. They ate in the saddle without slowing their pace. The only hint of a break in their standoff was when Tanner turned them southwest at a crossroads. Stalyart had seemed ready to comment, but a stern glare from Tanner forestalled him. As evening approached, they came upon a tiny village—a dozen buildings clustered around a crossroads, with a cobbled town square where the roads met.
"You knew this was here?" Stalyart inquired. It was the first words either of them had spoken since Tanner's final threat.
"Yeah. I know this part of Takalia a bit," Tanner said. He climbed from his horse and shook loose stiff muscles that fought to continue forming the shape of a horse's back. There was a hitching post in front of an inn, the largest structure in the village with no close second. Tanner tied his mare to it and walked around to the side of the building rather than approaching the entrance. Stalyart followed suit once his own gelding had been hitched.
"What is this?" Stalyart asked. There was a small area tucked between the inn and the dry goods store next door where there was a square of flagstones laid out, perhaps four paces across. It met with neither the road nor either building. At each corner, just off the edge of the square, was an iron pot. Nearby on the wall of the inn, there was a rack of wooden swords under a small awning. "A shrine of some kind?"