by Indi Martin
“He’s awfully well-spoken for a mercenary,” remarked Kyrri, popping a cube of beef into his mouth. “What’s his price?”
“Seriously?” exclaimed Gina, and cringed when the man looked curiously at her.
“My offer is serious, yes.”
“I wasn’t…” started Gina, but decided that ending that sentence with talking to you might raise more questions and waved it aside. “We’re not interested.”
“What? Ask him his price,” argued the Cat, stretching against the stones. “We could use the help.”
We just met him in a bar, she thought at him as hard as she could, but she knew it wasn’t getting through.
“We’re trying to get to…” she trailed off, searching her memory for the path Kyrri had laid for them.
“Gak,” murmured the Cat. “Just say Gak. It’s close.”
“Gak,” finished Gina lamely with a huff. “What’s your price?”
“One thousand dinieri,” answered the man with a wink. Kyrri choked on a piece of beef and spat it on the ground. “But I will guarantee the safety of both of you for as long as we travel.”
“Ridiculous,” hissed Kyrri, pushing his plate away.
Gina searched the man’s blue eyes and considered the conversation she’d had with Hammer, when Gavin Crowell had offered a thousand dinieri for passage. He knows we’re in trouble, she thought. He wouldn’t ask such an exorbitant price otherwise. “I think you’re a bit too rich for our blood,” she said slowly, but she wasn’t actually sure. They hadn’t counted through the wagon’s money; there might be a thousand, or even more, but Gina doubted she wanted to spend it on this man.
“My name is Agni, son of Skula. I assure you, I’m worth the price,” he replied easily, with a seated bow.
“That may be, but if I don’t have it, I don’t have it,” shrugged Gina. “Now, if you don’t mind, we’ve had a hard couple of days.” Gina stood and walked to the bar, having made up her mind. She needed a good night’s rest, or she feared for her sanity. She laid coins on the table and booked a room upstairs, feeling Kyrri’s warm form brush up beside her as she did so.
“Gina-Dreamer, I really don’t think we should stay,” mewed Kyrri, putting a paw against her leg.
“I need sleep, real sleep, Kyrri. If we go, we’re easy prey, like we were in the creek,” she explained in a low voice. “I know it’s dangerous, but how much ground are we really going to cover in what’s left of the day?”
“We could walk at night again,” explained Kyrri. “Safer.”
Exhaustion flooded Gina at the prospect. “Just one night, Kyrri. One night. And if there’s one mercenary here offering his services, maybe there’s others that are a little less expensive. You’re right - we could use some extra eyes.”
The Cat brightened at the idea of a hired bodyguard, but still looked less than sold on the idea of their staying in town even for the one night. The maid returned with a smile and pointed to the stairs. “Second room on the left,” she said.
“Thanks,” replied Gina as she hoisted their bags and walked up the staircase, hearing Kyrri’s leather armor whisper as he trotted behind her. She saw Agni, son of Skula’s eyes follow them until he disappeared from view, and exhaled heavily.
She turned the corner and walked to the second door on the left and opened it, ushering the Cat into the room. It was small, but the bed was good-sized, and that’s all she had eyes for. She slammed the deadbolt into place and dropped her bags in front of the door, walking forward and falling on the mattress with a contented sigh. Kyrri jumped up to join her, curling beside her. Whoever had cleaned him up - and brushed him! she smiled, thinking of his horror at the prospect - had done a fantastic job. He smelled vaguely of lavender and his fur was softer than anything she’d ever felt. He purred, an engine of heat generation, and Gina closed her eyes to sleep.
54
Adjusting his new tunic, Morgan looked up at the animal with trepidation. Toma stood beside him, and seemed equally concerned. The well-dressed caravaneer, who had introduced himself as Nikolai, stroked the horse’s nose and motioned for the second one, a giant draft horse whose shoulders Morgan couldn’t see over, to be led forward.
“You two have ridden before, yes?” asked Nikolai, stroking his impeccably-kept white beard.
“No,” admitted Toma, hesitantly taking the offered reins.
“Well, the main rule is to stay on,” replied Nikolai with a hearty lilt. “If you fall, try to be in the front of the pack so the men get a good laugh. Helps morale.” He chuckled.
“I’ve ridden a little, but it’s been years,” said Morgan, not bothering to add that the last time he was on a horse ended in a broken leg. Growing up in Oklahoma, he’d had ample opportunity to ride, and had several friends who kept or trained them. Some of them were better than others at training; the horse he’d been given for an outing was supposed to be broken, but spooked easily and bucked him off twice. He landed well the first time. The second, he didn’t.
“Great. Load your packs and get mounted, we’ll be leaving soon.” Nikolai extended his hand, and Morgan took it. “Welcome to the party, friends. You’ll be paid your remaining fee upon safe arrival in Kadatheron, and then we can discuss payment to Gak if you’re continuing with us.”
“Sounds fantastic,” said Morgan with what he hoped was a reassuring smile. Toma still clutched his reins tightly in his meaty paw, staring in abject horror at the massive equine that stared back at him placidly. “We’ll load up and be ready.”
Nikolai tipped a non-existent hat at them and strode away. Morgan began unpacking the heavy bags of provisions they’d bought the day before and sliding them into the bags and packs slung across the horse’s flanks. “Toma?” he ventured, and the man jumped, startled by his voice. “Are you going to be okay on that thing?”
“I didn’t realize he meant we’d be riding animals there,” explained Toma slowly, a pained expression on his face. “I thought he meant there’d be wagons for us to ride in or something.” They had met with the caravaneer the night before, on the fishmonger’s tip, in the feasting hall of the inn. Toma didn’t feel comfortable negotiating, but he advised Morgan ahead of time that he thought they should earn about 100 dinar each for the trip to Kadatheron. Morgan wasn’t worried about payment, only about getting further along the path. The money they’d received from the sea huss had been substantial enough that Morgan had not only been able to purchase fresh clothes, but there was a familiar weight on his hip that made him smile. There weren’t a lot of options in the market for firearms, certainly not ones he was super familiar with (and some that he barely recognized as guns at all), but they had enough for him to pick up a flintlock pistol that now hung in a holster from his new belt and pants. It would take practice to master the reload, but he was certain he’d have time on the journey. One shot was better than none, he figured.
Nikolai had done most of the talking during the brief hiring interview - it seemed clear he was accustomed to hiring people for his journeys, and he had noted the pistol at Morgan’s hip approvingly. He warned them that while the trip to Kadatheron wasn’t among the most dangerous, it would probably have its fair share of tense moments, and they may have to fight, or kill. Morgan had assumed that came with the territory as “hired muscle,” so he signed his name to the contract that Nikolai provided and watched as Toma uncertainly marked an “X” where the older man pointed. The well-dressed merchant had advised that they would be provided transportation, but hadn’t elaborated on that provision.
Morgan patted his horse on the neck and picked pieces of straw out of his tawny mane. Both horses seemed content to stand still while they were being loaded, and Morgan fished a small apple from one of his packs. “Here, Mati,” he said, addressing the horse by his name and placing the apple in front of his mouth. “We have a ways to go together, let’s try and get along.” He tossed a second apple to Toma and indicated that he should give it to his horse.
“What was my horse’s name?” hissed To
ma, his hand in front of his face as though he were afraid his horse would read his lips.
Morgan smiled. “Aleka,” he whispered back.
“Here, Aleka,” said Toma solemnly, presenting the apple to her in his flat palm. She took it and ate it. “Does that mean she likes me?”
“It means she likes apples,” offered Morgan, tying his gelding’s saddlebags shut. He reached up and swung himself into the saddle. Like riding a bike, he thought, if the bike were a giant living thing with a mind of its own.
Toma looked up at him, impressed. Then, he looked back at his own massive horse and scowled. “I’m going to fall off many times,” he whimpered.
“Maybe we can see if Nikolai will let you ride in one of the wagons,” replied Morgan, adjusting his stirrups slightly. His new leather belt sat on his hips, with the flintlock pistol he’d purchased hanging heavily in its holster. The weight of it was a reminder of a world he recognized. Sometimes the memories became too distant for his liking, and he welcomed the reminder with open arms.
Toma set his jaw and patted Aleka on the neck. “No. You are riding, I will ride.” He led Aleka to a stump and climbed gingerly on top of her.
“Don’t pull on her reins,” warned Morgan, as Aleka began to step backward and to the left.
Letting up on the reins, Toma wavered precariously on the back of the animal for a moment before finding his seat. Morgan eased Mati forward, and nodded at his responsiveness. “Find your stirrups, and just take a minute to get comfortable.”
“This isn’t too bad,” remarked Toma, reaching down and stuffing his large feet into the small straps of leather. Morgan doubted he’d still feel that way after a few days of riding, but talked him through his first steps encouragingly. Every step Aleka took gave Toma a little more confidence, and as a result, a bit better riding posture.
“We’d better get to the front,” said Morgan. “Think you’re ready?”
“Yeah,” replied Toma, scratching Aleka between the ears. “We’re good.”
“Okay, then give her a little speed, but remember to keep your knees soft…” started Morgan, but Toma had already given Aleka a hard nudge in the rib and she shot off into a fast trot. Morgan inhaled sharply as he saw Toma bouncing hard on the mare’s back, struggling to keep his seat and yanking on the reins. To the mare’s credit, she didn’t buck, but her head snapped to her side and Toma rolled off of her shoulders. He hit the ground hard, thankfully letting go of Aleka’s reins as he did so. Gales of laughter swept through the men and women putting last minute touches on their journey preparations, and several kids ran forward to get a better look at the giant who fell off of the draft horse. He sat up and waved to the crowd, grinning sheepishly.
“I’m okay!” he called. Morgan rode up and led Aleka back to him. “I’m okay, really,” repeated Toma, brushing himself off. His cheeks were bright red. “I’ll keep it slow, I think.”
“For now, maybe that might be best,” agreed Morgan, helping him back up on his mount. “If we get time, I can probably teach you a few things.”
“Great,” said Toma, gritting his teeth as he lowered his rump to the saddle again. Nikolai rode past, giving them a thumbs-up and a flashy grin as he passed.
The caravan was comprised of fourteen wagons, all covered in the same light tanned leather and dark bindings. Most were trade goods, Nikolai shared, but several were relocations, something he alone specialized in on this route. Moving away from Rinar was, after all, the hallmark dream of every Rinarian, he’d laughed. Morgan pumped him for information, but it was remarkably easy to get the man to continue talking, and he was an enjoyable listen. Morgan suspected that most of his stories were heavily embellished, but didn’t much care, as they helped pass the time. The caravan had hired on an additional ten hands for this leg, including Morgan and Toma, because there had been a recent rash of banditry along the main roads. The others were paired and staged at various spots along the caravan, but Nikolai had chosen them to be in front. He explained that someone Toma's size might frighten off trouble before it even happened, though Morgan guessed the reason they were in the front of the train was more because they were the last additions to the crew.
The homicide cop in Morgan reminded him of the myriad of ways a ranged attack could take them both out with virtually no warning, and he shoved the thoughts away.
The rest of the day was spent with the horses and wagons at a slow walk. The weather was beautiful, warm and sunny, and the smell wafting up from Mati reminded Morgan of younger, simpler days. Nikolai rode up and down the caravan, making small talk along the way. He had reappeared between them, picking up his story right where he left off. Morgan wondered if he had a dozen such stories on pause all the way down the caravan and listened as he regaled them with his latest tale of gluttony and splendor in some glittering city on distant shores. He stopped mid-sentence and pointed to a small wooden sign. “There,” he said, waving at the wagons behind him. “Our home for the night.”
Morgan and Toma led the caravan on the narrow trail branching away from the main path and about a mile down until they reached a clearing beside a roaring river. The clearing was well worn in, and it looked like it was a popular caravan stopping point. Morgan dismounted and took Mati by the reins, helping Toma clamber off of Aleka. Toma stumbled and tested his legs.
“Augh,” he grunted, massaging his rump. “Not so easy after all.” They led the horses to a grassy copse of trees and tied them for the night, but not before rewarding each with another apple.
The other new hires walked toward them, corralled by Nikolai. “Draw straws for watch,” he instructed. “Two at a time until morning. Everyone needs to be on hand at sunlight and ready to go. Dinner’s in an hour, get over to the chef wagon and help where you can.” He tipped his invisible hat and walked off.
“Bossy, iinit?” grumbled one of the men but grabbed a few stems and began cutting them to different lengths with a nasty looking blade.
“Rough looking crowd,” whispered Toma. Morgan looked around at the men, who were surveying one another while waiting. They remained paired in the groupings they were riding in.
“No more than us,” replied Morgan. They’d looked much worse for wear in Rinar, but after a change of clothing, a hot meal, and a good night’s sleep, they’d cleaned up pretty well. Excepting that everyone’s clothes looked a little more worn in than theirs did, he thought their bedraggled beards and tousled hair fit in pretty exactly, and Morgan wanted to keep it that way. Toma had wanted to tell Nikolai that Morgan was a Dreamer, but Morgan had asked him not to share that information with anyone. He would prefer to reach his destination largely unnoticed.
Toma took a straw from the man’s hand as he came around and winced. It was the third shortest straw of the five, which meant they’d have the middle shift. Morgan shook his head and clapped him on the shoulder, telling him not to worry about it. They walked toward the chef wagon with the crowd, each trying not to concentrate on how little sleep they’d get that night.
55
Gina rested fitfully, tossing and turning and sweating through the covers, until a scratching at the door roused her fully to consciousness. Adrenaline surged through her as she realized that someone was trying to get in the door, and she shook Kyrri awake beside her.
“Huh what?” He smacked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “It’s not morning.”
“Someone’s trying to get in,” she whispered, and he jumped to his feet, his fur splaying out in every direction as it stood on end.
“It’s deadbolted,” reminded Kyrri, jumping off the bed and inspecting the door.
“Doesn’t mean they’re not trying,” replied Gina pointedly.
A loud thump sounded, and Gina expected the door to come flying in, but the sound was followed by several other thumps and a strangled cry. She grabbed her dagger off of the end table, unsheathing it and throwing the leather belt on the bed, and slid up to the door, throwing the deadbolt open and opening the door. Two clo
aked men lay on the ground, dead or unconscious, Gina couldn’t tell at a glance. Agni, son of Skula, reclined against the wall opposite her door, chewing on a toothpick and watching her with laughing eyes.
“First night’s free,” he smirked. Gina gaped at him for a moment before collecting her expression into something more neutral.
“We don’t have…”
“I’ve decided to cut my fee to 500. You can pay me in the morning,” he interrupted smoothly. “I don’t like cultists,” he added, scowling at the prone men. “Keep your door bolted and try to get some sleep.” With that, the leather-armored man crouched to grab one sleeve of each man’s cloak and dragged them away down the hall, leaving Gina and Kyrri blinking in the doorway.
“We definitely have that,” mewed Kyrri, jumping back on the bed and curling into a tight ball.
Gina sighed. “Yeah, I guess.” She looked down at the dagger in her hand and retreated a few steps into the room, closing the door and sliding the bolt back into place. She took a quick look in the warped mirror hanging above the end table and snarled at her image; her strawberry hair was a frizzy mess, and the dark circles under her eyes had their own darker circles within them from prolonged poor sleep. She slid her dagger back into its sheath and placed the belt back on the table, sliding under the still slightly wet covers and trying to fluff her nearly flat pillow. Sleep came easily and quick, throwing her into dark and nameless dreams as soon as she slid her eyes closed.
The rest of the night passed without incident, and the sun was high in the sky by the time she stirred. Kyrri was stretched out across the bed in a sunbeam, his fluffy underbelly bright white in the light. Gina pushed herself up, sitting against the thick wooden headboard, and rubbing her eyes. She felt good, but then the memories of the night before came flooding back, and she felt some of that serenity ebb away. Glancing over at the bedside table, she passed over her knife and unfastened the two coin pouches attached to her belt, dumping the coins out in her lap and sorting through them with a sigh. She didn’t want to drop that much coin on someone she didn’t know - all of this time without the senses she relied on most for interpersonal interactions had made her easily suspicious. For all she knew, he could be allied with the cultists. Maybe it was a staged battle; she hadn’t exactly observed the scene very closely in her exhausted and confused state.