Leon returned Declan’s salute with his own lifted glass. Declan threw back the drink and swallowed it. He noticed a nutty aftertaste and said, ‘That’s different.’
Leon smiled and said, ‘You noticed! It’s a new distiller over on the Namoor frontier who set up shop a few years ago and this is his first shipment, and not only is he good, his prices are reasonable.’
Declan nodded as he let the flavour diminish. ‘I think this is the best one you’ve given me, Leon.’
‘Well, it’s still mostly ale, wine, and seasonal beers, and we do get a few that do with just water, but if I’m going to have whisky behind this bar, I’d rather it be the good ones …’ He lowered his voice. ‘Especially if they cost less.’ He laughed.
Gwen moved to stand close to Declan and said, ‘The dowry?’
Leon feigned surprise. ‘Dowry?’ Looking at Declan, he said, ‘Are you asking for a dowry, lad?’
Declan’s eyes widened and he was for a moment speechless.
Gwen’s expression instantly flashed anger and she took a step closer to her father, foreclosing any need for Declan to speak. ‘You’ll not be playing that with me, Da!’ She poked him hard in the chest with her right index finger. ‘Ma explained how it was when I was little, and I’ve never forgotten, and you’ll not be robbing me of my due and proper!’
Leon put up his hands in surrender, taking half a step back. ‘Wouldn’t think of it.’ He grinned. ‘Just having a bit of a tease with Declan.’
Further discussion was cut short by the sound of horsemen arriving outside, at least half a dozen from the sound.
‘Millie!’ shouted Leon, and the girl appeared through the kitchen door.
‘Yes?’
‘Horses,’ Leon said, indicating outside with a tilt of his head. ‘Tell Peter to be ready to stable them should we need to.’
‘Yes, Leon,’ she said, moving back into the kitchen.
Turning back to Gwen, Leon said, ‘We’ll have a lovely wedding. But you’re not yet married to this young lout, and we will soon have customers—’
Six armed men, dusty and tired from their appearance, entered the common room. ‘See what’s ready in the kitchen,’ finished Leon. Gwen was through the kitchen door before he’d even completed the sentence.
Declan was left to stand alone as Leon hurried to and from the storeroom to replenish the bottle he’d just emptied. Declan recognised the men as what the locals called lejats – swords for hire – as they moved past him to the bar. They were dressed in a variety of armour, none of it of high quality. Four of them wore cured leather over thick shirts, three sleeveless and the fourth sporting rivets on his shoulders and spaulders of darkly tarnished brass. The other two wore chain mail shirts.
Leon reappeared from the storeroom, holding two bottles in each hand. Putting them down behind the bar, he asked, ‘Stabling your horses?’
An older fighter shook his head and said, ‘We’ll ride on after we rest.’ One bumped into Declan, intentionally, and gave him a challenging stare. He was a young man with a thick dark thatch of unruly hair and dark eyes with a strange look to them, one that had Declan’s hand moving towards his sword hilt.
Before any words could be exchanged, another rider, an older fighter with grey in his hair and beard, grabbed the younger man and shoved him towards the bar. ‘Get your arse over there, Tyree. Trying to start trouble and you’re not even drunk yet? What is the matter with you?’
Declan felt a sense of danger he hadn’t experienced since the raid on Oncon. The manner of these men was different from that of most of the hired swords who rode through Beran’s Hill. These men were even harder looking than usual, faces worn by life outdoors for the most part, sleeping on the ground without even a tent to shelter in. They looked to be one step away from banditry, the sort that a sheriff or marshal would watch closely, or encourage to ride on.
Of all the larger towns within the borders of Marquensas, Beran’s Hill had no military or civil law. It was a place of rough justice, and the residents of Beran’s Hill had to protect themselves from predation. Esterly, half a day’s ride into Lord Dumarch’s territory, was the closest town with a garrison. Given these conditions, Declan knew that should trouble come, he and Leon would be among the first to answer. If all of the able men of Beran’s Hill responded, these six mercenaries could be dealt with, but a lot of blood would likely be shed.
Declan glanced at his future father-in-law and, after a moment, Leon returned his look, his expression conveying his gratitude that Declan remained. The young smith glanced around and noticed that the old man also watched the newcomers. He and Declan locked eyes for a brief moment, then the old man nodded slightly and returned to his meal.
Declan’s decision to stay a while longer had not been difficult; the forge was in good hands with Jusan, and should the need arise, his apprentice would fetch him. Otherwise, Jusan would assume that an impromptu party was under way, celebrating the betrothal.
The old man motioned for Declan to come over to his table, and curious, Declan went over and sat opposite him. ‘You expecting trouble?’ asked the stranger.
Declan nodded without speaking, not taking his eyes off the six men clustered around the bar. ‘It’s just a question of what kind of trouble, and when.’
The old man inclined his head slightly and said, ‘The old rooster barely keeps his young bird in check. Soon there will be a challenge and one of them will die. Hopefully, not today.’
‘As long as it happens after they’ve left Beran’s Hill,’ Declan agreed softly.
‘A man feels protective of his home,’ said the old man.
Declan nodded. ‘Especially now,’ he said, not taking his eyes off the six men at the bar drinking their first round of ale. ‘I care about these people. It is my home now.’
‘Not born here?’ asked the old man.
Declan turned to him and said, ‘No. I’m from the Covenant. A village called Oncon.’
The man inclined his head. ‘Ah, the Covenant. A wonderful notion, no longer, I’m afraid.’ He looked Declan in the eye and said, ‘Oncon? You survived the sacking?’
Declan felt the hair on his arms rise and felt a sinking in the pit of his stomach. ‘Sacking?’
‘Ah, you left before it happened.’ He carefully lifted a bit of bread and cheese to his mouth and began to chew. Declan said nothing. The old man swallowed, then said, ‘Slavers, so the story goes. Some time ago, they attempted to take some boys and girls and were repulsed. They returned a day or two later and burned the entire village to cinders and ash.’
‘The people?’
‘The tale is they had already fled, which is why the slavers acted with rage and destroyed everything.’
Declan let out a slow sigh. He hadn’t realised until this moment how deeply he had buried his concern for those he’d left behind. ‘So the villagers survived?’
‘One can assume so,’ said the old man. ‘Still, it marked the beginning of the end of the Covenant.’
‘How do you mean?’
The old man said, ‘I am called Bodai; I trade in horses.’
‘You’re the one who brought in the six horses for Tenda yesterday.’
‘This is true. We’ve done business before. He’s an honest trader.’
‘I’m Declan Smith. I reshod a pair of them this morning.’
Bodai fell silent, studying the younger man’s face.
‘The Covenant?’ asked Declan.
Bodai nodded slightly and returned to his narrative. ‘I travel. I hear many things. When the Five Kingdoms were at peace, the Covenant was as you remember. But since the fall of Ithrace, things have changed slowly, but changed …’ He paused and studied Declan’s face a moment, then continued, ‘… and now with the sacking of Oncon, it is clear the agreement that created the Covenant is over.’
‘Sandura,’ said Declan. ‘The men who raided the village wore badges of Sandura.’
Bodai shrugged. ‘That I did not know. You were there, then?�
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‘I was there when the slavers arrived. I fought. I departed with my apprentice before they returned.’
Bodai nodded. ‘Change is the nature of existence. There were warlords and kings before the Covenant, and will continue to be even as the Covenant fails, and long after. It is the way of things.’
Declan was silent, watching as Gwen emerged from the kitchen with a platter of hot bread and heavily salted butter for the newly arrived mercenaries. It was a ‘gift’ from Leon, who had learned that providing customers with something to nibble on tended to make them linger, and if there was extra salt in the butter, they purchased more drinks, and many stayed to eat a full meal.
Still, something about this band put Declan on edge, and it wasn’t just the aggressive Tyree who caused him concern. They might have acted like common caravan guards or roving mer-cenaries, but there was something different about them, and Declan couldn’t quite put his finger on what that was. He did know he wasn’t leaving Gwen and her father here alone with them.
The armed men at the bar made happy sounds and a few leered at Gwen, but they fell on the bread eagerly. Declan saw Tyree’s eyes following Gwen as she returned to the kitchen. The young smith felt the hair on his neck bristle and he tensed to act should the need arise. Tyree whispered something to one of his companions, who laughed, and the two men returned to the bread and ale.
Declan let out his breath slowly. Without a local garrison, sheriff, or even constabulary in Beran’s Hill, he had taken to wearing his sword when away from the forge, like many men in the town. Those who had no sword carried a dagger, a sap, or a cudgel. Most of the time it wasn’t necessary, but occasionally there came a need. Declan slowly shifted his weight to make his sword hilt more accessible if he had to rise from the table in a hurry. He settled in to watch.
A COUPLE OF HOURS LATER, Jusan showed up at the inn to find Declan still sitting at the table with Bodai. The young apprentice came over and was introduced, then sat with his master and the horse merchant.
Millie came out of the kitchen and, seeing Jusan, hurried over. From their smiles, Declan assumed they had taken some time to get to know one another while he was up in Copper Hills. ‘Jusan,’ she said shyly in a soft tone.
‘Work’s finished; your friar friend went off on some errand with Ratigan,’ said Jusan, ‘so I thought I’d come down and join the party, but apparently there isn’t one.’
‘We’ll have a proper party when it’s time,’ said Declan, keeping his eyes on the men at the bar.
Sensing something amiss, Jusan glanced over his shoulder and saw two of the mercenaries looking at Millie and whispering. One laughed, and something about their tone caused Jusan to stand. Declan grabbed his arm and forced him down. ‘Coarse insults are not worth shedding blood over,’ he said just loud enough to be heard at the table but not at the bar.
Bodai said, ‘You’re wiser than your years, young man.’
Millie said, ‘They’re no worse than others who’ve come by. It’ll be fine. They told Leon they’re not staying in town, but camping along the road somewhere. They’ll be gone soon.’
Jusan’s expression showed that he was not reassured. ‘I’ll stay for a bit,’ he offered.
Declan understood. Try as he might, his outward calm was only a façade. He was on edge, and it wasn’t just the usual annoyance he felt with other men paying too much attention to Gwen; this was something else.
The old man named Bodai said, ‘I’m bound for Pashtar. Any word of trouble between here and there?’
Declan kept his eyes on the men at the bar as he answered, ‘I just returned from Copper Hills. Jusan?’
‘There’s gossip that men and weapons are heading to Port Colos, on the other side of Pashtar. I’ve heard of no trouble, but it feels like it’s coming.’ He turned to look at Bodai. ‘What’s in Pashtar?’
‘A nephew. I am to care for him until he reaches Marquenet. He hasn’t quite reached manhood yet, and …’ The old man shrugged. ‘It’s a family thing.’
Jusan inclined his head, acknowledging Bodai’s words, but he also had his eyes on the men at the bar.
Suddenly the young fighter named Tyree said, ‘They’re looking at me!’
He took a full step towards the table where Declan and the others sat, and Declan reached for his sword, but before he had lifted the blade from its scabbard, the older fighter, the leader of the band, stepped in front of Tyree and pushed him back hard enough that he would have hit the floor if two men behind hadn’t caught him. ‘Now you’re drunk!’ he shouted at the troublemaker. ‘It’s time to leave!’ he commanded the others. With a nod and a look, he indicated that the two men who had caught the young drunk should hang on to him as they left the inn.
Tyree was intoxicated enough that his attention wandered as he attempted to salvage his pride; he glanced at Declan as they left the inn and continued his loud complaining outside: ‘But they were looking at me!’
His whining drew some response as the riders mounted, but Declan couldn’t make out what was said.
The old man said, ‘Well, that was … interesting.’
Declan watched the door as he said, ‘Our master, Edvalt, told us a story once …’
Jusan nodded as if he knew which story Declan referred to.
‘It’s a long one, but the point of it was that there is such a thing as a man who needs killing.’
Jusan said, ‘It’s like putting down a mad dog, Edvalt said.’
‘You think that man, Tyree, is such a man? One who needs killing?’
‘I’m not saying so,’ said Declan, ‘but let’s just say I wouldn’t be surprised to find out he was.’
Gwen came over and motioned to speak with Declan privately in the corner. When they were away, she kissed him lightly and said, ‘Thank you for staying, and thank Jusan too. I’ve not seen many like those, but the few I have …’ She looked down and said, ‘Father isn’t as young or as bold as he thinks he is, and … I’m glad you were here.’
‘I wasn’t going to leave you with that crew here,’ he said, trying to sound matter-of-fact.
‘Now go away so I can get ready for the evening business.’ She pulled away with mock disapproval. ‘Don’t you have any work to do, you layabout?’
He laughed. ‘More than I think I can handle, truth to tell. After I get Jusan started on some things, I need to take a trip down to Marquenet, and I think I’m going to need another apprentice.’
‘Another one?’ she said. ‘That forge is going to get crowded.’
Declan laughed. He hadn’t thought of it until this moment, but Gwen would be moving in after the wedding, which meant Jusan would be moving out. It would be back to sleeping in the forge for him.
‘I’ll stop by—’
‘No, get to sleep. You’ve been on the road and you’re about to travel again, so rest and I’ll see you tomorrow.’
He nodded and smiled. He motioned to Jusan to come with him and waved a friendly goodbye to the old man. As he walked back towards his smithy, he considered that this wouldn’t be the last time Gwen told him what to do.
• CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO •
Different Ideas and Hasty Decisions
The passage had been slow, as Captain Rawitch kept the Odalis on a course as far north as he could manage and still make westward progress. The majority of the ships they had sighted had been heading in the other direction, so unless their pursuers had some magic means by which to conjure an ambush in front of them, all those on the Odalis had to worry about was being overtaken from behind.
For the first three days after the attack, they had kept every weapon close at hand, and every man, and woman, had stood a watch on top of their usual duties. Even Reza spent hours aloft scanning the horizon for signs the attackers had found them again.
They slowed even more as they were approaching the Narrows, mindful of the subsurface rocks which waited too close to either shore. Lookouts were posted watching for signs in the water, shifts in current edd
ies and changes in colour indicating shallower waters close to the ship.
Hatu watched from the railing as they sailed the north side of the straits, under bluffs from which it would be easy to attack passing ships, raining arrows and boulders down upon them. Glancing to the south, he saw that even trying to sail dead centre through the Narrows would still keep a ship within range of catapults and ballistas from both sides. Anyone holding both sides of the Narrows would be in complete control of the passage.
The captain was taking a careful course, as while the straits were surprisingly free of rocks, nasty ones hid just below the surface close to the cliff faces. They were granite interspersed with hard chalk and flint, which gave them a mottled look. There was no beach to speak of, so Hatu expected that the strong currents swept away any silt that fell from the cliffs above. He wondered how this gap between the continents came to be, as it looked as if giant hands had pulled Tembria asunder to form the two continents and flood the path between them.
The prevailing winds and currents ran west to east, so on the south side of the Narrows ships moved briskly in roughly a straight line, while the Odalis and the other westbound ships tacked in closely, seeming to swing first left and then right, an odd dance of sails fore and aft. The constant need to shift yards and shorten or lengthen sheets had the crew close to exhaustion by sunset, but the need for control also forced those ships to heave to for the night. They had taken rests each night for a week, which was welcomed by the entire crew, and this would be the second-to-last night they would have to slow their progress, as once past the Narrows the channel quickly broadened so that ships heading westwards could sail through the night.
Hava came up on deck and stood at the rail next to him. Hatu assumed she had been talking to Reza. He was suddenly painfully aware of her being very close as she rested her elbows on the railing and he could feel her arm touch his; it took all his control to remain still. He wanted to put his arm around her but still couldn’t risk the crew’s seeing and saying something to Reza.
King of Ashes [Book One] Page 39