Including the one he had wounded, there were four of them, all dressed identically. They were garbed in black from their soft leather boots and tight-fitting pants and shirts to the scarves wrapped around their lower faces and the skullcaps crowning their heads. In the poor light of the stable, they blended with the shadows. Two faced Sorial, brandishing knives as deadly as his. The injured one lay a short distance away, writhing in pain as he bled out his life on the straw. Sorial couldn’t tell where the man was cut, but the lucky blow had been mortal. The fourth attacker, standing a short distance behind the others, was calmly packing powder and a ball into the muzzle of a pistol.
When it came to fighting with weapons, Sorial lacked skill and training. In anything resembling a fair fight, he would lose, and do so quickly. His instincts told him that his only chance was to attempt the unexpected. The men didn’t yet realize his lack of proficiency and his success at felling their compatriot had made them wary. So Sorial did the most irrational thing that came to mind and took the offensive, charging directly at one of them.
The man was so surprised that he took a step backward. Then Sorial was upon him, swinging his dagger wildly, slicing the air with unpracticed but dangerous swipes. The attacker raised his knife in defense, fending off the frenzied blows, but he lost his footing and both of them tumbled to the ground, their blades finding simultaneous targets. Sorial’s encountered little resistance plunging into his opponent’s neck; the twinge in his left thigh told him where he had been hit. Next to him, his assailant gurgled out his last few breaths as a crimson foam bubbled from his mouth. Blood dripping from the leg wound, Sorial rose and assumed a crouch.
The report of a gunshot, unexpectedly loud within the confines of the stable, insured that Sorial would have no chance to engage either of the other attackers. Agony of a kind he had never experienced exploded in his side and he dropped as if poleaxed, the dagger slipping from senseless fingers. For a moment, there was an unnatural calm punctuated only by the screams of terrified horses, then chaos erupted around him, heralded by the clanging of blade against blade and the noise of men cursing and laboring in a skirmish. Sorial’s ears registered the sounds of his salvation, but only dimly, before everything went still and black.
* * *
Sorial’s return to consciousness was a slow, uncertain thing. The leg injury was minor but the gunshot to his stomach had appeared mortal. For the better part of two weeks, Sorial hovered between life and death, battling pain from the wounds and a fever that threatened to overcome him in spite of the liberal application of cold compresses and frequent bleedings. During this time, he regained consciousness for brief periods but was never lucid. It wasn’t until after the fever broke that his open eyes showed awareness.
At first, Sorial had no idea what had happened, where he was, or even who he was. A pretty girl with luminous blond hair was hovering over him, her features crinkled with concern. He closed his eyes to aid his concentration, then opened them when he divined her name.
“Welcome back, stableboy,” she said softly, crying and smiling at the same time. “We thought we lost you.”
Alertness returned in a rush. Sorial was lying on his bed in his room at The Wayfarer’s Comfort. The stale air smelled of sweat and blood and urine. His throat was parched and his head throbbed abominably, but those aches were nothing compared with the discomfort in his left thigh and stomach.
“What happened?” he tried to say, but the words came out as a rasp.
Alicia placed a wet rag to his lips so he could suck the water from it to moisten his mouth and throat. The first swallow was painful but it became easier after that.
“What happened?” he repeated, still softly but loud enough for her to understand.
“You were set upon by bandits in the stable. You killed two before you were shot. The Watch drove off the others. Everyone thought you’d die, including my father’s healer. But when the fever broke yesterday, he said your recovery made him believe the gods still held men in their favor.”
A sense of déjà vu enveloped Sorial. Another time, lying on this same bed in this same room. Only now it was Alicia by his side, not Annie.
“How long?”
“Fifteen days.” She pressed the rag to his lips again. He reached up with his right hand to hold it in place. Both arms felt weak.
“I have to get Warburm,” she said. “He asked to be told when you woke up.”
Sorial dozed. When he next opened his eyes, Alicia was gone, her fair features replaced by the craggy ones of the innkeeper.
“The gods must favor you, lad.” His voice sounded weary. “That be two attacks you survived. Both times, your death were written.”
“I thought the gods had turned their backs on men,” said Sorial.
“Prelate Ferguson could use you as a counter-example. Everyone thought you was finished. Everyone ’cept the duke’s daughter. She wouldn’t give up on you. She been here with you every day since it happened. Had to give her a room. For free.”
Sorial swallowed to keep his throat moist. “How bad was I hurt?”
“We had three healers here to look at you, including the duke’s personal one and one from the temple. They agreed you should be dead. But you ain’t. You overcame the blood poisoning caused by the ball, which were the main danger. Your thigh be healing well enough that you won’t have no limp. If your recovery dinna stall, you can be on your feet in a week or two and back to work afore the end of Winter.”
“And Visnisk?” asked Sorial, remembering the crumpled form.
“Dead. Throat slit from side to side. He never knew his hour were up. The second employee of this inn to be killed within a year. You might’ve been the third.”
“Send Alicia home. She ain’t safe here.”
“Easy, lad,” said Warburm. “There be no place safer for the Lady Alicia than in this building. Plus, she be with her big handler and a pair of the duke’s best personal guards. They be below us in the common room. Then there be the simple matter of telling her to leave. When I suggested it, she made it clear that though she got a dainty appearance, her tongue be honed to maim.”
“Why’s she here?” murmured Sorial, almost to himself.
“C’mon, lad!” scolded Warburm. “You know the way of the world as well as I. Don’t act the fool.”
“There’s no point to it. She’s wasting her time. She and I… there ain’t no future. She’s a duke’s daughter, already betrothed to a man she don’t know. I’m a stableboy. My best prospect is dead, her ashes scattered to the wind.”
“Listen to me, lad. I done seen stranger things than the likes of you two together, and I been to every city from Syre to Vantok. Before I bought this inn, I were a wanderer and adventurer and I done learned that when fate got its eye set on something, ordinary obstacles be swept aside. If that be for you two, nothing’ll keep you apart, least of all a class difference. There be ways around artificial barriers like that. I objected to your relationship with Annie because it didn’t feel right. She weren’t good enough for you. I’m sorry to speak ill of the dead, but that be the truth. The duke's daughter be altogether different. You and her...that be a match I could get behind. If the gods done turned their backs on us - or worse - it may not matter whose blood runs in our veins.”
It was the most remarkable speech Sorial had ever heard the taciturn innkeeper make. For the man who had dissuaded him from pursuing something permanent with Annie, a suitable partner, to encourage a liaison with Alicia… Sorial felt sure something was going on beyond simple “fatherly advice.” Warburm and Carannan knew one another. This couldn’t be idle counsel. Was it the innkeeper’s roundabout way of hinting that the duke might not block a seemingly impossible courtship?”
“Do you think… Would Duke Carannan object if I spent more time with Alicia?”
“Go gently, lad. Dinna rush things. The duke be a good man but even he canna toss aside propriety on a whim. You be young and she be younger. Time ain’t your enemy yet.”<
br />
So Warburm advised patience - an ally whose assistance Sorial rarely sought. It was something to ponder once his immediate concerns were resolved.
“The four that attacked me - were they bandits?”
Warburm frowned. “That be the official explanation, but I ain’t sure I agree. By their clothes, their means, and their weapons, they was more likely hired assassins, though the gods only know why such as them would be in my stable. They ain’t from this city and even the Temple’s diviners, who be experts at discovering the identities of the dead, ain’t been able to say nothing about who they be and who sent them.
“Your mother been here several times asking to see you. I let her to look in on you but didn't let her stay. I know things between you ain’t smooth, but her concern be real. If’n you got no objections, I’d like to send a messenger letting her know you be awake and on the way to recovery.”
Sorial nodded. He knew Kara loved him but it would be difficult facing her until she was forthcoming. Secrets formed the barrier between them and only she had the power to tear it down. What was it she had said? What you and I - and others - are involved in is in deadly earnest. Assassins in the stable? Perhaps there was cause to wonder whether the attack had been random…and reason to think it could happen again.
“Anyone else visit?”
“That friend of yours, the lad with the red hair. He seemed more interested in flirting with the Lady Alicia, though. She put him off as only she can. The duke were here on a daily basis of course. He sat in here with his daughter. Those two watchmen you be friendly with. They done blame themselves for what happened. They was on duty that night in this district and felt they should have stopped things. They was the ones who saved your life. They heard the commotion and got here before the survivors could finish you off. Most of the Watch put this down to general lawlessness, but those two took it personally. That be the kind of dedication we need more of. Men who serve out of a desire to protect not because they get a purse of brass studs every month.”
“They couldn’t have known,” said Sorial. “They said they’d keep an eye on me after the last attack, but that was years ago.”
“Get some rest, lad. I’ll send someone up with broth and ale. No doubt you be famished, not having had food for a couple weeks. You be starting to look scrawny ’neath those sheets. It’ll take a full season before you’ll be able to fork the hay with the same gusto.”
Warburm departed to be replaced by Alicia, who sat in the chair next to his bedside. He noticed how tired she looked. Her hair was drab and lifeless and there was pronounced bruising under her eyes.
“He said you’ve been here since it happened. It must have felt like a death watch at times.”
She smiled wanly. “I owe you, remember? Let’s call it even. I don’t like being in debt.”
“I appreciate it. It means a lot to me.” He paused, trying to figure out how to word the apology and explanation. “I’m sorry I ain’t visited you, but it’s taken me a long time to cope with Annie’s death. I weren’t prepared for what it would be like to lose someone that close. To finally let someone in only to have them taken away...”
“You and I are alike in that. Oh, I have my father and mother, but they see me more as a trophy than a daughter. I’m someone to treasure and protect, not love. I’m the fruit of their union, the means by which their mutual ancient bloodlines can continue. My father occasionally hugs me but I can’t remember the last time I had any contact with my mother. She’s rarely part of my life. You haven’t met her and you probably never will.” The trace of rancor in her voice was unmistakable. “Vagrum is kind and paternal, but he’s being paid a king’s ransom to suspend his life to care for me. You’re the only one who’s never expected anything from me, who’s never been intimidated by my rank. It was exasperating at first, but then it was refreshing: someone who didn’t give a shit that I have money, power, and connections. All you wanted to do was sneak a swim in the river. Vagrum told me your attitude meant I’d found a friend, not a hanger-on. I had trouble getting my head around that: a friend. I wanted to see you more, but it’s hard for the daughter of a duke to contrive ways to spend time with someone so far beneath her class.”
“And Annie?”
“I would have liked to have gotten to know her better. I think we could have been friends too, even though she was twice my age. I envied the simplicity of her life and what she had with you, and I’m not the sort of person who envies. Most of the time, I get what I want. It’s a defining characteristic of my existence. It has been since I was little. I’ve always known I was special and I’m duty-bound to marry a great man, and those are things I’ve clung to from childhood.”
“All these attacks…do you find them alarming? As if there’s a connection?”
“Considering how things are in the city now? No. I mean, Vagrum and I were set upon by footpads several streets over. We don’t know what happened to Annie, but it wasn’t near the inn. Random and senseless. That road isn’t the safest, especially for a woman on her own. If I’d been thinking, I would have sent one of the guards with her to see her safely back here. As for what happened here... horses are worth a lot and there are thieves who won’t hesitate to murder a stableboy or two to steal a few. No doubt they were unprepared for my gift. Instead of a pitchfork, you had one of the finest blades in the city.”
“It saved my life.” Sorial knew he had survived because they hadn’t expected him to be armed. They thought that he, like Visnisk, would be easy prey. But horse thieves? He didn’t think so. Maybe three years ago, but not now. Not after talking to Warburm. This was something else, something…sinister.
Still, the time to puzzle it out wasn’t now. His thoughts were becoming fuzzy, unfocused. Her face was swimming before his eyes.
“I need to sleep for a while. Warburm said he was sending up some food. I’ll eat later.”
“It’s okay. I’ll stay with you and be here when you wake up.”
And she was.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN: A NEW POST
By the time Winter blossomed into Planting and the harvesting of fields began, Sorial was walking without aid and approaching the day when he could return to duty. Soreness lingered, however, especially in the area where the ball had penetrated. Curiously, Warburm wasn’t pressing him about going back into the stables, perhaps showing more sensitivity than Sorial had previously given him credit for.
He missed Alicia more than he was willing to admit, even to himself. He had gotten used to her being around but, after it was clear the danger was past, her father became adamant that she return home. Since then, she had seen him once; Carannan no longer felt it was safe for her to be away from the ducal estate. The situation in the city was worsening with bandits openly flouting the law. There was widespread suspicion that factions of the Watch were colluding with the outlaws. The one time she had visited during his convalescence, she had been accompanied by Vagrum and four armed and armored guards.
Sorial occasionally spent time at the river, but Alicia was never there, and he didn’t feel right about approaching the house. That was another world - one where he didn’t belong. Despite Warburm’s hint that Carannan might not oppose a liaison between Sorial and Alicia, if such a thing was pursued tactfully, he didn’t feel comfortable making the attempt. It was one thing to daydream about being allowed to court Alicia but another to take the steps necessary to make it a reality. It was more likely that Carannan would forbid them ever to contact one another than cheerfully greet the prospect of his daughter consorting with a poor stableboy.
“You’re getting moody again,” said Rexall, playfully punching Sorial in the shoulder. The two were sitting on a bench in the marketplace, idly watching passers-by and sellers hawking their wares. The midday heat wasn’t yet stifling, but in another few weeks this place would be deserted until the evening hours. Vantok had acclimated as well as possible to the new weather patterns, but the criminal element was proving to be a greater challenge than t
he climate, especially for visiting merchants. Everyone expected the king to take steps to bolster the Watch and cull those within its ranks who were consorting with bandits but, thus far, he had done little beyond pleading with the populace to keep calm and trust in their faith. If Sorial had once accepted the existence of the gods, he no longer did. The Temple would brand him a heathen but that label no longer held the stigma it once had. Even within the brotherhood of clerics, there were men whose faith had withered.
“Lemme guess,” said Rexall. “The small blond with the tiny tits.”
“Hmm?” Sorial re-focused his attention on the here and now. “They ain’t that tiny.”
“I can tell when you’re thinking about her. You need to move on. There’s plenty of other girls out there who’ll do a lot more with you in the hay than a duke’s daughter will. It’s time for you to stop pining over what you can’t have.”
Rexall meant well, but his get-over-it message irritated Sorial. “Once your girl’s been killed and you’ve been shot and stabbed, maybe I’ll listen to you.”
“No need to snap at me. I’m just asking what it is about little Alicia that’s got you bewitched. Nice face, I admit, but tiny tits and a boy’s ass.”
Sorial didn’t understand it himself, never mind being able to convey it to Rexall. Why did he think of her so often? Alicia was brittle and soft at the same time, a conflicting mix of vinegar and vulnerability. At night, he imagined he could smell a faint vestige of her honeysuckle scent, either lingering in the air from her long stay in the room or in his memory - he couldn’t say which.
“She stayed with me, Rex. All those days and nights when everyone thought I was going to die. That’s got to mean something.”
“Maybe to you and her, but not to her father. Face it, Sorial, he’s a duke. A duke. Not a fuckin’ innkeeper, farmer, or merchant. He thinks of you the same way he does a favored hound. He’s kind to you, throws you scraps, and scratches you behind the ears but if you start sniffing around his daughter, he’ll have you put down. And let’s assume you get close enough to her for a tumble… How fun d’you think that’ll be? Ain’t no one plowed that field yet. That means blood, pain, and tears. Probably never even been kissed.”
The Last Whisper of the Gods Page 17