Aaro didn’t answer. He’d taken the job as another chance to get close to Ormand, to kill him or to learn his plans, whichever came first. The more opportunities he had for being in his cousin’s presence, the sooner he’d get the chance to kill him. But he could hardly tell the captain that.
“I might be able to guess,” Alonso said after a moment. He glanced around quickly, double-checking that they were alone. “I’ve seen my share of mercenaries. I know what kind of men they are. You’re not that kind.”
Aaro looked at him, waiting, holding his gaze through the eyeholes of the mask.
“You disguised your voice when you spoke to the king,” Alonso said. “I have to ask myself why? If you were a stranger, it would hardly matter what you sounded like. So you must be someone the king knows. You aren’t like any assassin I’ve ever met, so you’ve got something driving you other than money.” He shifted, turning his eyes away as though suddenly nervous, but went on. “Back at the tavern I saw how the girl threw herself at you. You never so much as flirted. So you’re a man of honor, who probably has, or had, a girl of your own.
“Now, if I put all that together, I might be able to guess at a few things. I might be wrong, of course. But I might not. I don’t think anyone hired you to kill Ormand’s people. I don’t think you’re keeping anyone’s secrets—except your own. You’re the kind that would kill for honor, not money. So you’ve got some grievance against the king. Something, possibly, to do with a woman.”
Aaro watched him, creeping his hand toward one of the daggers in his belt. Alonso didn’t move. Only his eyes, wandering around the room, occasionally flickered back to Aaro.
“There was an incident, a few years back.” Alonso spoke haltingly now, openly nervous. “Rumors, mostly. That Ormand was all set to name his new queen. Then his cousin jumped in and eloped with the girl the very same day. Now I don’t know, but maybe you’ve got a similar story. Maybe you’ve just been waiting for a chance to get close to the king.”
“That’s an awful lot of maybe’s,” Aaro said.
Alonso nodded. “That’s so. That girl that got killed though, the one the king was going to marry. I used to be a good friend of her cousin. Worked on his ranch before I came here. I had an eye on that girl myself. She was something. Red hair brighter than sunset, most as tall as some men, and just as sharp as they come…” His voice trailed off.
Aaro felt like someone had twisted a dagger in his heart. Unconsciously his hand moved from the dagger on his belt to rub a spot on his chest. He could see Rowan as though she stood before him now, picturing her as she’d been that night, all curves under a silk garment as thin and translucent as frost. He could feel her kisses, and hear her heartbeat.
“I see my guesses weren’t too far off,” Alonso said quietly.
Aaro jerked back to the present, his hand returning to his dagger. “And what do you want with so many guesses?” he growled. “Too many could be bad for a man’s health.”
“A better question, Aaro D’Araines, is whether you really want to throw your life away on revenge, or if you could do more good by fighting for us. Ormand is building an army. He plans on going to war.”
After a silence that stretched into minutes Aaro said, “The best thing for West Talva would be for Ormand to die.”
“But not murdered at the hand of the man they would flock to as a hero and a martyr—if they knew he was alive.”
“I have no desire to be a hero. All I wish is to avenge my wife and my people.”
“Perhaps you will change your mind. If you do, remember that you have allies. Both here and throughout the country.
Aaro eyed him, scrutinizing his expression, his voice, his words. He’d had suspicions about Aaro’s identity, yet did not accuse him to the king. Slowly he nodded. “I will remember.”
* * * * *
The weather warmed back up, thankfully, as Aaro travelled north toward Silver Rock. A reprieve before the full force of winter hit. But by the time he reached the town, ten days later, his bedding and spare clothes had all succumbed to the damp from melting snow and dripping trees. He and his horse were both caked with mud that never seemed to dry, and neither of them had been in a good mood since they left the palace. During that last day, the weather had grown cold again, and snow flurries swirled.
They plodded down the muddy street, past a bank, a mercantile, an office building for the mining company, several weathered-looking cabins, and finally a tavern advertising rooms. At the end of the street he glimpsed the stockade surrounding Ormand’s garrison.
Aaro dismounted and led the horse through the gate into the tavern’s muddy, trampled yard. He flipped the gawking stable boy a coin to take care of his horse, grabbed his gear, and headed inside. After a week and a half of travel in the cold, walking into the common room felt like stepping into an oven. It was late afternoon, and the place was mostly empty. The innkeeper came out of the back, took one look at Aaro’s mask, and shook his head.
“You’ll take that off if you know what’s good for you,” he said. “This town isn’t fond of strangers to begin with. Especially not when they wear masks. We’ll have some of King Ormand’s men in here tonight, and they’re like as not to rough you up.”
“Thanks for the warning. I need a room.”
“Sure. But just you mind what I say. I don’t want my place destroyed when you get into it with someone.” He led Aaro past the door leading to the kitchen, through another open doorway, and into a hall running the length of the building. Half a dozen doors led off to the right. The innkeeper, who introduced himself as Kinnly, opened the first door and waved Aaro in. “It’s late in the year to be getting travelers. You going to be wintering in the area?”
“I truly hope not.”
Kinnly laughed. “Don’t blame you. I’d move to more civilized regions myself, but business is good here. At least for the tavern.”
“I’m looking for information,” Aaro said. “What do you know of the Shonnowa?”
The man’s face fell. “Well now…what might you be looking to find out?”
“Their whereabouts. And anything else useful. I have business with them.”
“What sort of business?” Kinnly asked, still looking doubtful. “Mostly they’re folk I’d rather not have dealings with. I reckon they aren’t all bad. There’s a few that come from the village once in a while, and they seemed decent enough, until they started bringing that wolf with them. Beast is huge—most the size of a full-grown man. Like to make my skin crawl every time I see it.”
Aaro kept his mouth flat, the rest of his face hidden by the mask. Kinnly likely didn’t realize just how much information he’d given. “This village—have you ever been there?”
Kinnly shook his head. “Not me. Two or three of the soldiers have been down there. It’s small. No more than a couple dozen people, they say.”
Aaro settled his saddlebags and bedroll on the floor inside the doorway. “I hear there’s more than one kind of Shonnowa. The nation is divided.”
“That’s true enough.” The innkeeper nodded, leaning against the wall, and picking at a splinter in the rough wood of the doorframe. He seemed happy to talk, and more useful than Aaro had hoped, though innkeepers were bound to hear more gossip than most. “The nation divided generations ago, so I’ve heard,” he went on. “And each side thinks they were in the right, so they still both refer to themselves as Shonnowa—‘People of the Gift.’ It’s blasted confusing, if you ask me. But there’s a marked difference. We get some of each in here, and you never know whether they’re the decent kind, or the more feral variety, until your purse is gone, or your dog is cursed, or your neighbor’s daughter is missing. Get my meaning? If you have dealings with them, be wary.”
“Again, thank you,” Aaro said. “Do know where the place is for these other Shonnowa—the ‘feral’ ones?”
Kinnly shook his head. “No, and I don’t want to. Talk to Robbel, the captain of the garrison out here. Maybe he could tell y
ou. But for mercy’s sake, take the mask off!”
Once Kinnly had left, Aaro shook out his blankets and draped them over the bed posts and bathing screen to dry out. His spare clothes got hung over the chair and dresser. There was a basin of water, which he used to wash up and then shave, checking the lock on the door and the window first, before he took the mask off.
His face tingled with magic and the rush of cool air against his skin. In the warped and scratched mirror, the upper half of his face looked unnaturally white, while the lower part maintained a decent tan underneath the stubble. His eyes were empty. They might as well belong to a stranger.
When he’d finished shaving he re-tied his hair back out of the way and replaced his mask and hat. This was a view of himself he’d become much more used to, and the eye-holes of the mask shadowed the deadness of his eyes. He left the room.
Already a crowd began to gather in the common room. He found a table in the corner and sat down with his back to the wall, ignoring the suspicious, angry glances. Kinnly spotted him and shook his head, scowling.
Aaro didn’t have long to wait before several soldiers came in, off-duty and ready for a wild night. They headed to the bar, their voices the loudest in the room. They didn’t spot Aaro right away, which was fine by him as he sat and watched, biding his time. He hadn’t expected as many people from such a tiny town, but then, what else was there to do on a winter’s night besides drink their money away.
Kinnly came around to his table. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he said. “Are you going to want something stronger than coffee?”
“Not tonight.”
Another group of soldiers came in while Kinnly was refilling his mug. The innkeeper glanced at them and said, “There’s your man Robbel.”
This new group were officers, and more observant than their underlings. They spotted Aaro right away, their expressions going sour. Aaro allowed a small smile as he lifted a hand and beckoned them over. They looked surprised.
Aaro pulled the letter signed by Ormand out of his pocket and handed it to the captain when they stopped at the table. Robbel looked even more surprised as he read it. He folded it slowly and handed it back to Aaro.
“It’s Shonnowa you’re looking for, huh? Well, I wish you good hunting, but I don’t envy you. My advice is, grow a pair of eyes in the back of your head. Don’t let them touch you. If one starts dancing or singing, or talking funny, get out of there.” He shook his head, sizing Aaro up. His lip curled. “Good to know our king is hiring mercenaries now. But better your kind tromping through the wilderness than one of us.”
“Can’t imagine what King Ormand wants with the Shonnowa,” said one of Robbel’s men.
Robbel shrugged. “I’d say he’s a fool, if it wasn’t a hanging offence. Sure, they’d be useful, if you could control them. He’s playing with forces he doesn’t know a thing about… unless he’s managed to learn something, sitting down there in his comfy palace, that we don’t know.”
The other man snorted.
“Where can I find them?” Aaro asked.
“Who knows?” Robbel turned to look as the door opened, and waved a dismissive hand toward the man who came in. “Why don’t you follow one and find out.”
The newcomer had dark, wary eyes, and a face that managed to look tan and peaked at the same time. He sat down, stiff as a scarecrow, at an empty table. Already Aaro was considering doing exactly what Robbel suggested. Following the Shonnowan man. But he wasn’t done asking questions, either.
“There’s a village here, somewhere,” he said. “How can I find it?”
Robbel waved the question off. “Those aren’t the ones you’re looking for. They’re outcasts.” He nodded toward the Shonnowan man sitting at the table sipping a drink while watching the room warily. “But he’s not.” He turned back, headed to the bar, calling over his shoulder, “Good hunting.”
Aaro watched him walk away, feeling frustration boiling inside. Now what? He had more questions, and not all of them were directly related to carrying out Ormand’s orders. The beginning of a plan had begun to form, but he needed more answers.
Before the meal was done he slipped back to his room and packed his things, taking only what he could carry on his back. A few days’ rations, his bedroll, his weapons. He left them packed and ready at the door, then returned to the common room, pulling Kinnly aside. He pressed a few coins into his hand.
“I’m leaving tonight. Keep my horse, and the rest of my things, till I get back.”
Kinnly raised his eyebrows. “And when you don’t come back?”
“Then put them to use,” Aaro growled. “But give me three weeks.”
“Alright,” Kinnly said, still with his eyebrows up, sounding unconvinced.
Aaro slipped back into his place in the corner and waited. When the Shonnowa man at last got up to leave, Aaro slipped back into his room, quickly putting his coat, scarf, and gloves back on, and grabbed his things. The box with the medallion he slid inside his coat before he went out. He detested having the thing on his person. Whenever he touched it he could feel the tingles of magic from inside.
On the street, he caught sight of the Shonnowan man a moment before he disappeared between two of the building, and followed, keeping well back and going quietly. The man had had a few drinks, and he swayed as he walked, muttering under his breath. He never bothered to look around him.
Aaro hoped the man would lead him back to the rest of the Shonnowa. But he hadn’t decided what to do when he got there. He wished there was some way to know what Ormand’s medallion was capable of, and what kind of people these other Shonnowa truly were. If he could, he would see where their town was, then try and find the smaller village. The people Kinnly had thought were decent. Perchance they might be able to give him some answers. If not, there was still the matter of the wolf.
They walked for hours. The moon had risen a couple of hours past sunset, and now rode high in the sky, blotted out occasionally by the clouds, or hidden as they walked beneath the trees. They were headed west, more or less, through a gap in the hills, following the northern bank of a stream. The man never turned around once, but still Aaro remained cautious, keeping well back. He neither saw nor heard any sign of trouble until a blow to his shoulder and sudden pain sent him stumbling forward.
He had just enough time to register that he’d been shot with an arrow, before the Shonnowan man in front of him cried out and fell, the moonlight shining along the arrow shaft embedded in his neck.
Aaro dropped to the ground, gun already in hand, searching the trees and hills that rose on either side of the stream. No sign of anyone. But he could hear voices now, speaking a language he didn’t know, what sounded like arguing. He scooted on his belly over to a group of boulders, dropped his pack, then slowly got his feet under him, crouching between the rocks. He could feel hot blood trickling down his shoulder blade, sticking to his shirt. Reaching over his shoulder, he snapped the arrow shaft, flinging it aside.
The voices drew closer. He dared a peek over the boulder, and saw half a dozen men standing around the fallen Shonnowan. Two of them argued, while the other four spread out, looking for Aaro.
He drew the hammer back on his revolver, pausing. Once he fired, they would know where he was. He steadied the gun against the rock, waited a beat, then fired. The man closest to him went down, missing half his brain. He pulled the hammer back again, but they were running now, scattering into the trees and circling back toward him. All he had were flying shadows to aim at. He fired again, heard a cry, and was ready for the next shot, only now he didn’t have a target at all.
The next arrow came out of nowhere, striking his gun, sending it flying out of his hand, and slicing the flesh between his thumb and index finger. He grabbed his wrist out of reflex, and when he looked up again, a Shonnowan man stood before him, holding a sword in front of his face.
The sword point described little circles in the air in front of Aaro’s nose. Its wielder tapped it agai
nst Aaro’s mask, then used it to try and pry it off. When that didn’t work, he drew nearer, reaching a hand to grasp its edge. Meanwhile, Aaro had found his left-hand dagger and drew it suddenly, swiping the sword aside. He lunged forward and slammed his mask into his enemy’s face.
The man stumbled backward, holding on to a gushing nose, and Aaro followed him with the dagger, sliding it into his stomach and upward.
A third arrow took him above the knee as he turned. His world shattered as the point drove into the bone, and he staggered to his knees with a scream, blinded for a moment by agony.
“If I wanted to kill you, I could,” someone said from above him.
It was all Aaro could do to raise his head and open his eyes. This man didn’t make the mistake of coming too close. He stood a couple yards away, an arrow nocked to the bowstring, ready to pull back and shoot in the fraction of a second.
“Why were you following one of my people?” he asked.
“Why did you kill one of your people?” Aaro ground out through clenched teeth.
“Because he was a drunken fool and allowed himself to be followed,” the Shonnowan replied coolly. His remaining three companions stepped out of the trees, drawing closer, one of them cradling an arm black with blood in the moonlight. “Why were you following him?” the leader asked again.
“Was sent…” He gasped for a breath past the pain. “King Ormand seeks to… negotiate with your king. Sent a token.” With his good hand he touched his coat where the box with the medallion and its accompanying disks waited in an inside pocket.
“Our people stand alone. Our king does not barter favors.” He nodded to one of his men, who stepped forward and ripped Aaro’s coat open, pulling out the box. He showed it to the leader, who asked, “What are these?”
Aaro blinked, trying to work his way through an answer. “I don’t know. Some kind of magic. Made by one of your own people.”
The man scoffed. “What do we want with it then?”
Aaro’s thoughts kept scattering like leaves in the wind, while blood pumped around the slender cedar shaft in his thigh. He muttered under his breath.
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