Elk nodded.
Inko stood on the other side of Sir Gavin’s bed, eyes wide as he took in the scene. “How is he being?”
“He has lost much blood.” Sparrow glanced up at the faces watching him. “Is anyone else wounded?”
“A bit scraped up,” Kurtz said. “We’ll manage, eh?”
Elk peeled off his guard’s fur cloak and slung it over an empty chair. “I was once a healer. Would you like assistance?”
“Have you ever removed a barbed arrowhead?”
Elk raised his dark eyebrows. “I have. Many times.”
Sparrow sighed. “Praise be to Arman, then, for I have only ever removed bodkin arrows.”
Elk tucked his beard into the neck of his shirt. “You are young to have accomplished such a feat.” He took a small bowl off the mantle. He dipped it in Achan’s basin of water and set it on the table, then plunged his hands in to wash them. “I shall need two small blades I can sterilize in the fire.”
“I’m having some in my pack.” Inko slipped past Achan and into the other room.
Sir Caleb burst through the door carrying a stack of white linens.
Elk took them from him. “All of you go into the other room to clean up. Allow us some room to work.”
Achan cast one more concerned glance at Sir Gavin’s leg and retreated with the others. Inko sat on the bed nearest the door. Sir Caleb sat on the edge of the other bed which Kurtz lay on. Achan squatted before the fireplace and held out his numb hands. He slapped at a twitch behind his ear and searched for the cursed mosquito. Wasn’t it too cold for mosquitoes?
“Whoo!” Kurtz screamed.
Achan spun around on his toes, still squatting.
Elk appeared in the adjoining doorway. “Do you mind?”
Kurtz turned on his side, head propped on one hand. “We’re free, Elk. Free, we are!”
“I realize that. Do try to keep it down.” He closed the door with a soft clump.
Kurtz sat up. “Going off that tower…thought I was dead. But then I flew, eh?”
“I thought I was dead when you dropped me,” Achan said. “Again when I hit the wall.”
“I could not stop myself either,” Sir Caleb said. “Perhaps the hooks did not need oil.”
They talked more about the rescue. Kurtz’s glowing rendition of Achan’s time in the Pit so enhanced the story it sounded like something a minstrel might turn into a song.
Kurtz jerked his head to the door. “Who’s the minnow, eh?”
“Vrell Sparrow joined us in Mahanaim,” Sir Caleb said. “He’s a bit of a healer.”
Kurtz’s brown eyes raked Achan up and down. “And you’re the mirrorglass image of your old man, you are. Couldn’t tell so much in the pit, but here…”
“Aye,” Sir Caleb paused to look at Achan. “I thought the same when I first saw him.”
Kurtz grinned and folded his arms across his broad chest. “I’m sure you’ve heard many tales of me, eh?”
Achan scratched behind his ear. “Nothing, actually.”
Kurtz clapped a hairy hand over his chest. “Caleb, you wound me. How could you not tell him of the Chazir, eh?”
“I didn’t want to give the lad nightmares.”
“Bah.” Kurtz stood. “I’m starved, I am. Let’s go down to the tavern, eh?”
“No, Kurtz,” Sir Caleb said. “There will be no tavern.”
“But tavern food is hot, it is. And I can dance while I wait.”
Achan scoffed. “I can’t imagine any woman would look at you. You look like a scavenger.”
Sir Kurtz clapped his hands. “The prince raises a good point, he does. We need water in here for a shave, eh?”
Sir Caleb walked to the door. “I’ll have some food brought here. After we eat, we’ll go to the bathhouse. No tavern.”
Achan went to check on Sir Gavin while Sir Caleb was gone, but Sir Eagan and Sparrow looked to be in deep concentration, so he left them to their work.
Sir Caleb returned with two serving girls dressed in white blouses and red skirts. One carried a smoking pot, which she hung on an iron hook above the fire. The other held a stack of wooden bowls. “Where’s your table?”
Inko took the bowls. “It’s being in the next room. We’ll be bringing it back before we are leaving.”
“Try these.” Sir Caleb handed a pair of brown leather boots to Achan. He turned to the girl at the door. “Might you bring up a bathing tub next?”
“Aye, but that’d be too much water to haul for all you men. Wouldn’t you rather use the bathhouse?”
“We will. But we have a sick man who’ll need a tub.”
Achan pulled on the boots. They didn’t fit as nicely as the pair Trajen had given him, but they would do. He wasn’t picky.
The women left and Sir Caleb dished up a bowl of stew for each of the men and set out a stack of clean clothing for Achan. After everyone ate, Kurtz, Sir Caleb, and Inko left to go down to the bathhouse. Achan, not permitted to leave the room, was to bathe in the tub as soon as it arrived.
Achan found Eagan’s Elk under Inko’s bed and started to polish it as Sir Caleb had taught him. He may as well return it to its owner in pristine condition.
The women delivered the tub and filled it with hot water. Once they had gone, Achan stripped off his clothes and inspected the scrapes on his knee from the dagfish hook. No more than cat scratches, really, but they stung when he settled his bruised body into the warm water. Dozens of mosquito bites peppered his chest and arms and itched something fierce. He was scrubbing his neck with a brick of honeysuckle soap when Sparrow opened the adjoining door.
Sparrow’s eyes popped wide and his cheeks flushed.
Achan asked, “How is Sir Gavin?” but Sparrow backed right out of the room. Odd duck.
Elk came through a moment later, face completely shaven. With his round face and dark hair, he looked no older than forty. “Everyone has gone?”
“To the bathhouse,” Achan said. “How is Sir Gavin?”
“Sleeping. We were able to extract the arrowhead and have wrapped the wound. I am confident he will make a full…” Elk’s gaze dropped to the floor beside the tub where Achan had shed his clothes. “Is that your sword?”
Achan scratched his shoulder. “I suspect it’s yours. Sir Gavin gave it to me. It’s called Eagan’s Elk.”
Elk pressed his lips in a straight line.
The door opened and Sir Caleb entered, followed by Kurtz and Inko. “I don’t care. The answer is no.”
“One hour, eh?” Kurtz had trimmed his scraggly beard short and combed his bushy hair into a tail. He looked twenty years younger, like a slender, blond version of Shung.
“No one goes out again tonight, Kurtz,” Sir Caleb said. “Esek’s men might be anywhere.”
The men resituated themselves on the pallets. Elk still stood staring at Achan’s sword.
“Eagan’s Elk is yours, isn’t it?” Achan asked. “Sir Gavin said it belonged to you.”
“Achan,” Sir Caleb said, “this is Sir Eagan Elk, former heir to the lordship of Zerah Rock.”
Achan straightened in the tub. “But…isn’t Elk a stray name? How could you have been heir to Zerah Rock? And why the dagfish? That’s Tsaftown’s crest.”
Sir Eagan’s brown knit. “A stray name?”
“Ten years ago, no such practice of naming strays existed,” Sir Caleb said. “Back then an animal surname labeled one disowned by his family. Eagan’s father—”
“My father did not approve of my serving the king as a soldier. He wanted me as Lord of Zerah Rock, nothing less. He did not understand. Rhomphaia originally belonged to one of Lord Livna’s uncles. I squired for him in my youth.”
“Rhomphaia.” Achan stared at the ivory pommel, wishing he weren’t in the tub so he could hand the blade over properly. His heart ached that he would have to give it up.
Sir Caleb jumped in with a change of subject. “Are you hungry, Eagan? We have stew.”
Sir Eagan called throu
gh the cracked door, “Boy, come have dinner,” then sat beside Kurtz on the bed nearest Achan.
Sparrow poked his head through the doorway, glanced over the room, and disappeared again.
Achan wished he’d bathed faster. How awkward to dress in front of so many spectators. He turned as he stood, facing the wall, water trickling into the tub. He stepped out, dried quickly, then pulled on his clean undershorts and trousers. He pulled his shirt over his head, and, finding nowhere to sit, slid down against the wall in the corner.
“What do we do next?” Achan asked.
“If Gavin is not up to it, I’ll go to Lytton Hall tomorrow, first thing,” Sir Caleb said. “He intended to officially ask for Tsaftown’s support. It’s my guess Lord Livna will throw a banquet in your honor tomorrow night. If I know Tsaftown, the celebration will last several days.”
Kurtz rubbed his hands together. “Excellent.”
Sparrow opened the door, peeked in, and entered fully. Sir Eagan dished the boy up a bowl of stew and handed it over.
Sparrow beamed. “Thank you, sir.”
Kurtz pointed at Sparrow. “You and the minnow have the same face, Elk.”
Sparrow paled and stared at Sir Eagan, who quirked an eyebrow at Kurtz. Sparrow and Sir Eagan stood awkwardly, glancing between one another.
Achan tipped his head to the side. Kurtz spoke truth. Sir Eagan and Sparrow both had round faces, thin lips, and fine, black hair. Easily mistaken for relatives.
“Do you know your father?” Achan asked Sparrow. Many strays knew the identity of one parent. Sparrow bloodvoiced his mother, but if he didn’t know his father’s identity…
Sparrow swallowed and croaked out, “I do.”
Sir Eagan chuckled. “I fathered no son, Kurtz, as you well know. And Rigil would be much older than this boy.”
“I’ve met Sir Rigil,” Achan said. “He’s a fine knight.”
Sir Eagan snorted. “Is he now? Last I saw him he was eleven and begging to be my page.”
“I hear he excels at the joust,” Achan said.
Sir Eagan snorted again. “That does not surprise me.”
“He swore fealty to Achan,” Sir Caleb said.
“Did he?” Sir Eagan slapped his arm, then scratched it.
“The mosquitoes got me bad, too,” Achan said.
Sir Eagan laughed. “Fleas, Your Highness.”
Blood seemed to slow in Achan’s veins. “Fleas?” He glanced at Sir Caleb. “From the furs on the sled?”
Sir Caleb wrinkled his nose. “So it would seem.”
“And from the squalor of the Pit, eh,” Kurtz said. “Fleas have been our companions these past years.”
Achan sighed and scratched a red bite on his arm. At least there were no women around to complain.
“What time do you suppose it is now, eh?” Kurtz asked.
“You’re not going to the tavern, Kurtz,” Sir Caleb said. “We cannot risk our king for a night of mead and dancing.”
“But we’ve been in prison thirteen years, we have. We’ve earned a night out, eh, Eagan?”
“Leave me out of your escapades, Kurtz,” Sir Eagan said. “I am enjoying the quiet.”
“But it’s just downstairs. And The Ivory Spit’s a classy tavern, it is. A tavern fit for a king.” Kurtz winked at Achan. “What say you, Highness, eh? Fancy a mug of mead?”
“Absolutely not!” Inko said. “He’s only being sixteen years of age and I—”
Kurtz puffed out his chest. “Sixteen’s a man, it is.”
“Being out gallivanting with you isn’t being fit behavior for a king.”
Kurtz swung his legs off the pallet. “What’s wrong with my behavior, eh?”
“I’m remembering a time when you were being thrown out of The Ivory Spit.”
“Once, when I first joined the Kingsguard.” Kurtz shrugged it off as if it were nothing. “They didn’t like me dancing on the tables.”
Achan stifled a laugh.
Inko glared at Kurtz. “Be imagining that.”
“Do you dance, Highness?” Kurtz asked.
Achan winced, recalling his awkwardness with Yumikak. “Not really, no.”
“That settles it, it does. You can’t introduce him at court if he can’t dance. What will the maidens think, eh?”
“Achan is a quick study,” Sir Caleb said. “And Tsaftown is hardly court.”
“Livna is a noble lord, he is. Sounds like court to me.”
“Enough, Kurtz,” Sir Eagan said. “We stay indoors tonight. Let us hear no more of it.”
“Bah!” Kurtz fell back onto the bed and tucked his arms behind his head.
* * *
“Vrell?” a voice whispered.
Vrell opened her eyes. A shadow crouched beside the bed she shared with Sir Gavin. In the pale glow from the coals in the fireplace, Sir Eagan’s face glowed.
The man’s familiarity unhinged her. And Kurtz’s pointing out their similar looks prayed on her mind. Darkness had no doubt been the cause. She should have stayed in the other room where the conversation would have distracted her mind.
“What time is it?” She sat up and glanced at Sir Gavin, whose breathing rumbled a steady snore.
“It is late. Kurtz snuck out to the tavern and took the prince with him.”
Vrell jumped out of bed. “What?”
“Shh.” Sir Eagan set a finger to his lips. “I do not want to wake everyone. I hoped you could help me convince him to come back to bed without a scene.”
“Achan is not a drinking man.” Vrell knew that much. But what could he be thinking? These men had sacrificed so much for him. He would endanger that for a night in a tavern?
Vrell snuck out of the room with Sir Eagan and down the interior steps. Voices grew as they descended, then music and laughter. As they neared the first floor, light spilled into the stairwell, shadows bobbing inside it.
Vrell followed Sir Eagan into a stifling room crowded with at least three dozen people. Worn square tables lined each wall. Those in the center had been pushed haphazardly into one another to create a small dancing area. The walls were paneled timber, decorated with antlers, carvings of fish, and various hooks and sconces. Iron candelabras with three fat candles each hung from the ceiling. In the far corner, a band played an upbeat tune. The band consisted of three men dressed in blue tunics. One played a lute, one played a flute, and the third beat on a tabor drum.
Those dancing were not behaving with any decorum whatsoever. Each couple danced in their own fashion, separate from the rest, not in a line as Vrell was used to. This was not a proper place for a lady to spend time, nor a prince.
She tore her eyes away from the tawdry display. “Do you see them?”
Sir Eagan pointed to a table before a frosty window. Achan and Kurtz sat alone, a large pitcher between them. Achan wore a burgundy head scarf over his hair like some sort of marauder. Kurtz wore one in navy blue.
Sir Kurtz met Vrell’s reprimanding stare and whispered in Achan’s ear. Achan looked up, a big grin on his face, and waved Vrell over.
Foolish boy.
Sir Eagan and Vrell wove around the tables, past the lively dancers, and stopped before the table.
“Kurtz, I see you have decided to disobey Caleb,” Sir Eagan said, “Not the best way to resume your service to the crown.”
Kurtz waved a hand to the two empty chairs at their table. “Join us, eh?”
Vrell rolled her eyes. “Achan, we must—”
“No,” Kurtz whispered. “I’m Hal Rackham, I am. Sailor aboard the Mirfak, just into port from Hamonah. And this here’s one of our oarsmen, Pacey.”
I’m an oarsman, Achan told Vrell. That means I row.
Oarsman. Really, Vrell scolded.
But Achan grinned so wide Vrell couldn’t help but smile.
Sir Eagan drew in a groaning breath and claimed the seat beside Kurtz. “You will finish your drink and we will go.”
“But we’ve already ordered more, we have,” Kurtz said. “Pie a
nd a dance.”
Vrell sat next to Achan. “You ordered a dance?”
“Two ladies,” Achan said in an amused tone.
Vrell cast a scathing glare at Kurtz.
Kurtz leaned across the table toward Vrell. “Barmaids, Minnow. Friendliest women in all Er’Rets, you wait and see. Told them we’re celebrating Pacey’s coming-of-age day.”
Achan winked at Vrell.
“What are you hoping to accomplish on this outing?” Vrell asked. “A chance to get drunk, or something more?”
“Blazes, boy! I’ve been in prison for thirteen years, I have. The prime of my life lost! I deserve some fun. Besides, our future king should see the master at work, eh? I’ll teach him a thing or two about attracting a female.”
Vrell gritted her teeth. As if Achan needed help with that. “Sir Eagan, you deem this noble behavior?”
Sir Eagan’s expression remained somber. “I do not.”
“Bah!” Kurtz leaned back in his chair and sighed heavily. “Well, Pacey, it seems Mother and Father found us, eh? What mischief can we get into while they’re watching?”
Vrell did not understand Kurtz’s motivation. “You claim to follow Arman, Kurtz? Can he possibly be pleased with your deceiving Sir Caleb and endangering Ach—Pacey?”
“I’m not in danger,” Achan said.
Kurtz leaned across the table, his sour breath wafting over Vrell’s face. “Me and Arman, we got us an understandin’, boy. I’m a work in progress, I am.”
“Thirteen years in prison and your work in progress has progressed little,” Sir Eagan said.
A barmaid stopped at the table and set two plates of a dark berry pie in front of Achan and Kurtz. She had long brown hair tied back in a long plait and a kind face. “There you are, boys.”
“Thank you, Darri.”
Vrell pursed her lips. Kurtz would already be on a first-name basis with the barmaid. Thankfully, the woman was old enough to be Achan’s mother. Round in all the right places for Kurtz’ attention, she wore a sleeveless corset top and a long red skirt.
Darri cast her brown eyes from Vrell to Sir Eagan. “And what can I get fer you two?”
Sir Eagan smiled. “Nothing, th—”
“Another round, eh?” Kurtz pushed the jug to the edge of the table.
To Darkness Fled (Blood of Kings, book 2) Page 35