The Ragged Man

by Lloyd, Tom

  CHAPTER 6

  Camatayl Castle stood south of the eastern end of the Blue Hills, which stretched between Narkang and Aroth. Camatayl, an unlovely and unloved structure that looked increasingly grim with every passing year, had been built by one of the more effective warlords in that area, but it now occupied a part of Emin Thonal’s kingdom that had no need of such a fortress. By contrast Kamfer’s Ford, a prosperous market town, flourished half a mile to the north, on the lower ground, where the King’s Highway met the river.

  The castle comprised a main square tower, built on the highest point for miles around, with walls as thick as one might expect of a castle that had survived two hundred years in troubled parts, and a much smaller tower beside the single gate. The steward lived in the smaller tower with his family and a handful of retainers. While useless for defending King Emin’s new nation, he recognised that Camatayl would be a fine base for anyone plotting insurrection, so the royal warrant had been given to a loyal knight rather than the local suzerain. However proud the man was of his new appointment as Steward of Camatayl, he knew the king expected of him first and foremost a visible lack of ambition, and he was careful to ensure he had nothing to fear from the King’s Men who regularly passed through Kamfer’s Ford. The main tower was used only by the royal couple on their travels; the rest of the time it remained a brooding reminder of unhappy times past.

  Legana and her two companions arrived at Kamfer’s Ford just as evening settled in, and their first thought was to find the inn recommended by another traveller along the way. They were an unusual trio to be travelling alone, but it didn’t take them long to realise the odd looks they were receiving were not just curiosity: there was a strange air in the town’s streets.

  At the door of the inn, Ardela laid a hand on Legana’s arm to catch her attention. ‘Wait; let me check the bar first,’ she said quietly.

  Legana looked at her, then past Ardela and up the street, head tilted. Ardela was beginning to recognise that pose - she had as fine a nose for trouble as any devotee of the Lady, but Legana possessed some sixth sense now, a divine form of a dog’s ability to smell fear.

  ‘I’m not sure the bar will be any different to the street,’ Legana said into the mind of her companions.

  ‘There’ll be more drunks there, that’s for damn sure,’ Ardela replied. Cardinal Certinse’s former agent was trying hard to change her ways, but she was still a belligerent young woman, and muscular, too. If there was any fighting to be done, Ardela intended to do it herself rather than allow Legana to put herself at risk.

  ‘But they’ll be locals and I like a good bar fight as much as the next girl.’ Legana looked at Ardela and smiled in her otherworldly way.

  That smile always made the newer of her followers, a young devotee called Shanas, shiver slightly.

  ‘When the next girl’s you, at any rate. We’d hear if there were soldiers inside looking to cause trouble - all we’ll find in here is farmers and traders and if any of them need a lesson about bothering strange blind women, so be it.’

  Legana had put her blindfold on again, deciding it was better to look like a helpless blind and dumb woman than making everyone nervous by appearing to stare into their souls. She wore a scarf tied around her throat to cover the shadowy handprint there but she was otherwise dressed just like her companions, a long cloak covering manly tunics and breeches and a variety of weapons. She was about to reach for the door handle when she suddenly stopped. She cocked her head, looking slightly to one side of the door, and gave a small smile.

  ‘Perhaps you should go first,’ she said, patting Ardela’s forearm and urging her forward. Ardela shrugged and gave the door a push just as it was opened fully by a fat man sporting a greasy moustache and an entirely false expression of surprise.

  ‘Ah, good evening!’ he said in the overly slow voice of a man talking to a foreigner. He wasn’t quite able to hide the nervousness on his face.

  ‘He was waiting behind the door,’ Legana explained. ‘Someone must have seen us coming. He doesn’t want us inside.’

  ‘Hello,’ Ardela said awkwardly in the local dialect, ‘ah, speak Farlan?’

  ‘Of course, mistress,’ he replied, not moving from the doorway but looking from one woman to the other, as though unsure who he was really addressing. ‘You go to the tower?’

  Ardela gave Legana a puzzled glance. ‘Eh, the tower? No, why?’

  Relief flooded over the innkeeper’s face. ‘My apology, you are strangers; that is all.’

  ‘Do all strangers go to the tower?’

  ‘No one,’ he said with curious finality, ‘no one goes to the tower, but now...’

  He tailed off and pointed to Camatayl Castle, where the tower was barely visible against the dark sky. Light shone from half a dozen of the windows. Just looking at the tower brought back the innkeeper’s apprehension. ‘I have a man, inside. He drinks and asks of the castle.’

  ‘We wanted a room for the night,’ Ardela explained with an impatient sniff. ‘We were recommended.’

  ‘But now I want a drink,’ Legana announced firmly in Ardela’s mind.

  Ardela’s shoulders slumped momentarily, but she knew Legana would not be swayed. It was a similar whim that had led them to find the meek Shanas. She was no more than seventeen summers of age, and she had been taken in by a farmer after collapsing as the Lady was killed. When she had recovered enough to start the journey back to her temple there’d seemed little point. Legana and Ardela had found her, still in shock, and with no idea what she should be doing.

  ‘But a drink first,’ Ardela added, at which the man stepped back and ushered them in.

  Ardela led the way, followed by Legana, who was ostensibly being helped by Shanas - though a careful observer would have noticed little actual assistance being given or taken. The bar was low-ceilinged, and all three women had to walk carefully, to avoid catching their heads on the bowed beams crossing the room. A pleasantly pungent wood burned in the central fireplace, giving the room a welcoming feel, but despite that the place was less than half-full. The patrons - who looked to be locals - were all, with the exception of one man, squeezed around the tables on the far side of the fire.

  That single drinker sat at the near end of the bar with his back to them. It was immediately obvious that he was the reason they were all keeping their distance: the man was massive, as broad as a Chetse, even without the bulky sheepskin coat he wore. What grabbed Ardela’s attention even more than the large man was the huge crescent-bladed axe propped up against the bar within easy reach. It looked to be made of black-iron, with a brass-capped, forward-curved handle, and it had spikes on the reverse and top. This was neither a forester’s axe, nor even that of a professional soldier.

  ‘If we’re lucky he’s a mercenary, and one who takes his trade seriously,’ she thought, catching Legana’s attention.

  As the Mortal-Aspect of the Lady looked around the bar through her blindfold, the mercenary stiffened. He turned to face them, one hand slipping to his axe handle.

  ‘Here to start a fight?’ he called, using Farlan but in a rough accent Ardela couldn’t place. ‘If so, that’s your hard luck.’ His cropped hair was shot through with grey, and his face was weatherbeaten and wrinkled. He bore a distinctive curved scar on his cheek. And he was a white-eye.

  ‘Bugger, a Raylin.’

  ‘Just passing through,’ Ardela replied in what she hoped was a placatory voice, ‘but I hear the tower’s the place to be tonight.’

  ‘Mebbe,’ he said, curious now. ‘Doubt you’ll be welcome without an invite.’ He reached behind him and grabbed his mug, and downed the rest of his beer, his eyes never leaving Legana. ‘About time I headed off there. Can tag along if you want.’

  He plucked the huge axe from the floor like it was a twig and slipped from his stool, giving the three women a wide grin. The innkeeper rushed out of a door at the end of the bar, presumably to have the man’s horse fetched.

  Adding to Ardela’s confusi
on, the white-eye carefully fished out a copper coin and deposited it on the bar before heading towards them. Men who looked like him rarely paid for their drinks - they knew full well they wouldn’t be challenged over a single pint. Innkeepers were normally pleased to see them leaving without blood being spilled; a pint was a small price to pay for peace.

  ‘What’s your name?’ Ardela found herself asking without thinking.

  He stopped and looked her up and down, grinning. ‘I got lots o’ names.’ He pointed at Legana. ‘You tell me her story and I’ll give you one.’

  Without waiting for a reply he continued to the door.

  Shanas had to hop out of the way rather than be knocked over. Ardela stared after him, until she realised Legana still wore her small smile.

  ‘Luck is a choice taken,’ Legana said to her companions, a phrase each had heard often as novices of the Lady.

  Ardela sighed, recognising from Legana’s expression that, once again, chance favoured Fate’s Mortal-Aspect, and followed him out.

  Outside they were greeted by the sound of hooves as a stablehand brought over the mercenary’s horse. Again the Raylin image didn’t quite fit. The horse, though an ugly-looking beast, looked impeccably cared for, and yellow and blue ribbons were threaded through its braided mane.

  The white-eye set off in the direction of the castle, leading his horse, giving no sign that he was even aware of the three women trailing along behind until they reached the edge of the town, where he turned and called out, ‘Whole town’s shitting themselves. No lord of the castle, just a steward who don’t use the tower, and all the townsfolk are scared of the place.’ He gave a loud laugh. ‘When the tower’s all lit up, men like me come - the stories they tell of it might be right.’

  And having said his piece, he moved on, making no effort to slow his pace for the blind woman’s comfort.

  The road to the castle led off from the highway some fifty yards after the last house on that side of the river. It was overgrown, clearly seldom used, and led to a bare, windswept hill, but Ardela hardly noticed; a woman who’d travelled the wilds up and down the Land wasn’t bothered by this sort of thing.

  Unbidden, a memory rose in her mind, of one castle that had truly frightened her - or at least, would have, had she not swallowed down a concoction brewed specifically to numb such thoughts. The great fortress deep in the forests northeast of Lomin had been abandoned until Cordein Malich discovered it. More than once she’d found herself waking screaming when she’d dreamed of the place and the horrors it contained. That was a castle to fear.

  As though she could sense what was going through Ardela’s mind, Legana shifted her grip, slipping her arm through Ardela’s and wrapping her hand around the woman’s closed fist. Ardela felt a pang of gratitude for the comforting gesture and relaxed her fist, interlocking her fingers with Legana’s and giving a squeeze of thanks.

  When they were close enough to be seen from the castle walls someone hailed them all from above the gate, shouting, ‘Come no further, identify yourselves.’

  The white-eye spat on the ground. ‘I got invited here an’ I don’t like to be kept waiting. Open that sally-port window and I’ll show you,’ he said, pointing with his axe towards an iron grille set into the main gate.

  ‘And the rest?’

  Them?’ the white-eye said before Ardela could respond, ‘dunno, but they’re interesting enough to let in.’

  He walked up to the gate as a small hatch opened at head-height behind the grille. He raised the butt of his axe and pushed the brass cap of the handle between the bars for the man to look at. Whatever was embossed seemed to do the trick and seconds later they heard the bolts being pulled back.

  As the four of them entered the castle, Ardela and Shanas looked around the courtyard in curiosity while Legana stared straight at the great tower opposite them. The small tower was a good size in its own right, big enough for a decent household and staff, with a large barracks and a long wooden stable - the latter currently full to bursting, judging from the restless clatter of hooves coming from it.

  ‘Stable my horse,’ the white-eye called to one of the men who’d opened the gates, carelessly tossing him the reins and heading on across the courtyard. He glanced back at Legana and laughed cruelly. ‘Good luck persuadin’ these boys they should let you in!’

  The gatekeeper looked more like a knight on campaign to Ardela, dressed in functional fighting clothes with a crest on his collars and a sword on his hips, but the man just gave a wolfish grin and led the horse away to the stable. One of the remaining men nodded to his companion and headed back up the ladder to the lookout position; the other walked over to face the three women.

  ‘So, who are you?’ he asked in Farlan, the dialect the white-eye had used. ‘There’s no open invite to this party and anyone he thinks interesting means trouble to my mind.’

  ‘Who the buggery was he?’ Ardela demanded.

  The soldier laughed. ‘You don’t know? Piss and daemons! And you still followed him here?’ He paused and stepped closer to Legana, prompting Ardela to close in protectively, until Legana raised a hand, calming her.

  ‘You look familiar,’ the man mused, stepping back a few seconds later. ‘I’ve seen you before.’ His voice was less than friendly.

  Legana shrugged and tugged the blindfold down from her eyes. The only men from these parts she’d met, mercenaries aside, were King Emin’s bodyguards in Scree. Either he was one of those, or she’d be fighting her way out soon enough.

  ‘Fate’s eyes,’ the man breathed, peering at her, ‘you’ve changed a lot since then.’

  Legana ignored the fact that his hand had moved to his hilt and lifted her slate to write on it. - When?

  ‘When? Just the summer, and considering the company you kept back then I’m not sure I like the fact you’re changed.’

  — Your Brother.

  The man shook his head. ‘He weren’t the one I was thinking of.’ He stepped back again, aware Ardela was poised to draw her sword. ‘But I heard some strange things in recent times; sounds like you deserve condolences for more than one reason.’

  Legana dipped her head in acknowledgment. There was a moment’s silence before the soldier cleared his throat.

  ‘Right, well . . . Best get you inside with the others and fed.’

  He set off without waiting and after a brief hesitation the three devotees followed along, Legana voicing for their benefit the question they were all thinking. ‘Others?’

  The ‘others’ turned out to be two women and a mismatched collection of men. The majority were like the soldiers manning the gate - Ardela realised there were too many for them all to be titled. When she got close enough to one to inspect the crest they all bore on their collars, she realised she was looking at King Emin’s bee symbol.

  King’s Men then, she thought, returning the stares she was getting from all around.

  Ardela hadn’t come into contact with King Emin’s personal agents before, but she’d heard enough to respect them, and she guessed that the two dozen men assembled here comprised a significant proportion of the force. They had been ushered into a large square hall on the ground floor of the tower. The room itself lacked any decoration beyond the flags of the nation. The most significant feature was a huge cauldron, smelling of stew, simmering away at the far end in a massive fireplace. A balcony jutted out over the hall and a wide stone staircase ran up the left-hand wall.

  Two King’s Men got up without a word and abandoned their table to make space for Legana. She didn’t need to be guided towards it, but sat with the caution of the blind. Once comfortable, Legana looked slowly around the room, pausing at each knot of people in the big hall. More than one man flinched under her gaze and Ardela couldn’t help but wonder what Legana was seeing with her shining emerald eyes.

  Devotees were trained to assess people at a glance; even someone like Ardela, who had strayed from the path, did so by instinct. The King’s Men occupied the left-hand wall, and sit
ting with them were two mages who seemed together to average each other out: one was a shrunken little worm of a man, the other oversized, like a white-eye who’d done nothing but eat for months on end.

  Sitting close by, but not quite included, were the only other women present. They sat together, and were obviously wary of everyone, despite the fact one was most likely a battle-mage. She wore her dark hair as short as a boy’s, and her leaf-brown padded tunic was adorned with a crisscrossed network of silver chain and crystal shards.

  The other’s trade was harder to discern. A long scar down her right cheek showed she hadn’t spent her life closeted away, but she carried no obvious weapons and she was dressed in normal travelling clothes, which made her stand out in this crowd.

  The rest were an ugly bunch. Four dark-skinned, tattoo-covered mercenaries from the south were sitting with a shaven-headed man who sported bronze earrings in his left ear and had a sheathed pair of scimitars slung over his shoulder. A second battle-mage, who looked, judging by his clothes, as if he’d fallen on hard time, loitered in the corner. He was biting his nails and eying his more reputable colleagues across the room.