This was precisely why she had taken extra pains to stay hidden. Unfortunately, just because she wedged herself into some out of the way corner did not mean she had had a single restful night. Word had spread like wildfire. Growing and twisting with every retelling, it quickly grew ungainly and monstrous.
No longer were a pair of Shadows running thirty paces through a street and turning into a slender, starving girl and her equally scrawny pet draven. Now, an entire army of Shadows was flooding over the walls, destroying and killing as they rampaged through the city unchecked. Why, half the bloody city even claimed to have seen them with their own two eyes.
A number of Nameless’ more fanatical followers stood perched on the street corners proclaiming at the top of their lungs that the end of the world was nigh. Rickon would have joined them if he had still been at the stables. It definitely did not help that wispy black Shades roved through the streets, surrounded by entire companies of soldiers at all hours of the day and night.
The Voices had even made an appearance. First, they had announced—on Nameless’ behalf, of course—an immediate redoubling of tithes. Cries of woe had abounded at that; already pushed to their limits, no one could give another copper and still afford to feed themselves. The Voices had immediately silenced the commoners with their second announcement: a one hundred gold reward for information that led to the killing of any Shadows. Everyone promptly forgot about the increased tithes and shouted that they had exactly the information required at the top of their lungs.
Aeryn did not remember the vast majority of the shouts, but two stuck out. The first, “They’re hiding in the darkness,” had caused her to see if the yeller actually had a brain in his head. The second, “It’s those bloody street urchins; always taking coin from us honest merchants,” had made her want to find and remove the man’s brain. As if any merchant was honest. They stole more from their customers in the course of a day from their absurd prices than Aeryn did in ten years. In short, Maerilin had turned into a madhouse.
“Well. . .” Ty harrumphed and twisted his face up in thought when Aeryn finished. “I. . . I don’t know what to say. I mean, I heard what was going on, but. . .did you really start it?”
“Yes.”
“Are you really a Shadow?”
“Yes.”
“Really?”
“Gods. Yes!” Aeryn said, raising her voice.
“But Shadows are evil, vile things that murder babies and rape women and girls. There is no way you are one of them!”
Aeryn shrugged. “Just because most draven would rip your hands off rather than let you pet them doesn’t mean that all are like that. Look at Jynx for example.” She paced the shop, picking up and looking at random bits of Ty’s ironwork. “Honestly,” she said, examining a tangled mess of horseshoes, “I’m starting to think that Shadows are a catch all for Nameless’ disciples. Something they can heap all the blame onto so it seems like they are on top of things. When was the last time you saw one anyway?”
“Huh,” Ty said. “Never thought of it like that before. It does make sense though. Aside from you, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a Shadow before. Shades, sure, but a Shadow?” He shook his head.
“Now how are those things I ask you for coming along?”
“I’ve only had time to finish one, so I started with the one I thought most important,” Ty said as he combed through a table piled high with scraps of raw iron, steel, half-finished pieces, and mounds of nails and horseshoes.
“Made a few nails, eh?” Aeryn asked. She picked one out from the edge of the pile. Apparently the one she removed had been the lynch pin. A few hundred cascaded and crashed to the floor.
“Here it is.” Ty return and set a sheathed dagger in front of Aeryn. He grabbed a shovel and in three heavily laden scoops, deposited the mess of nails into a barrel that held thousands more. “Sorry. Without handing over a month of my coin to a leatherworker for a sheath, that was all I could find that lying around that fit.”
“It’s wonderful.” Aeryn turned the dagger over in her hands. “The blade, I mean. I couldn’t care less about the sheath so long as it does its job.”
Its blade a foot long and coming to a sharp point at the end, its cross guard simple catches three-fingers wide, and its hilt smooth oak, the dagger was exceptionally plain and quite well made. Not a single spot of rust blemished the surface, nor did a crack mar the folded steel.
“Since when did you become a master blacksmith?” she asked.
Ty flushed. “It’s not that good. As you can see,” he swept his arms wide, “Master Luggard has had me making nails and horseshoes, hay forks, hinges, and kettles. You know; all the things he doesn’t want to do. I’m sorry it took so long, and I still haven’t started on the other thing you asked for.”
Aeryn jumped from her chair and wrapped the muscular apprentice in a hug. “I love it. Thank you.”
Cheeks solid red when she pulled back, Ty looked everywhere but at Aeryn. “What are you going to do?”
“About what?”
“The Shado— I mean, Shades.”
“Oh.” Aeryn narrowed her eyebrows. “That. Well, as long as I don’t Drift where they can see—that’s what it’s called, by the way, Drifting—I should be fine. I’m actually more worried about Jins.”
Ty borrowed Aeryn’s narrowed eyes. “What did you do to him? That boy and his gang are nasty.”
“You’re telling me.” She filled him in quickly.
Ty whistled and shook his head. “Who else have you pissed off?”
“Well, I already told you about Rickon.” Ty nodded. “Let’s see who else. There’s this woman, Lady Mareen. Oh, and Merek’s chamberlain, Reeve, and I don’t think Melanie, the serving woman that tried to dress me, or her daughter, Annette, really like me, and I know that. . .”
“Ok, ok.” Ty held up his hands. “I get it. No one likes you.”
“Hey! You like me. . . don’t you?” Aeryn put on her best pouting face. Ty recoiled. Apparently it was more of a crooked grimace.
“Well of course I like you, but I don’t count.”
“Lady Alys likes me,” Aeryn retorted. “At least, I think she does. It’s hard to tell with Lords and Ladies, all wrapped up in their plots and schemes.”
“You’re getting pretty good at them yourself. You still haven’t told me what you are going to do.”
Aeryn chuckled, despite her stomach twisting inside. There was only thing she could do: keep moving forward, even if it meant running from place to place, hiding like a rat after catching the scent of a draven on the prowl.
That was exactly how she felt after scurrying out of Ty’s workshop the second Master Luggard arrived and threatened to bodily throw her out. She could only think of one place where she would not run into either Jins and his gang, or Lady Mareen and her schemes: the cheap, seedy, refuse-strewn taverns by the docks.
Flush with more gold and silver than brains, Jins and his gang would each be nestled in bed with a lady of the evening, their bellies full of ale. As for Lady Mareen. . .well, she was a Lady, after all. A single whiff of the mingled smells of tar, refuse, sick-up, and sea salt, not to mention the creative tongues of sailors on shore leave would have her fainting straightaway.
A positive, though unintended, side effect of the gag-worthy smell of the docks was that it finally forced Jynx to leave her side for the first time in the better part of a week. Aeryn would have liked nothing more than to join the draven while he hunted for what meager fares he could find, but the chance at a restful sleep without her eyes snapping open at every footfall was too seductive.
With all the good—as if the word applied to a single square inch of the docks—places taken by others seeking to be unnoticed, same as her, Aeryn was forced to lie down against the back wall of a tavern. A tavern whose weathered and cracked sign showed naught but a pair of faded beige pillars spread out invitingly.
Too late, she remembered why she rarely came down this close to the water’s ed
ge. Drunk sailors were loud. A tavern full of them, with one of their lot tossed into the street every few minutes by a mountainous strongarm, was downright deafening. That was without considering the near-constant shouting and brawling.
When the sun finally rose, its light stabbed against Aeryn’s already pounding head. She was so bleary eyed she might as well have slept in a kettledrum. Even moving a dozen times, each time hoping the new location would be quieter than the last, had not helped in the end; the drunks had been simply too, well, drunk. She had finally ended up in a crevice between two warehouses outside a broken down inn that went by the extraordinarily unimaginative name, The Harlot’s Haven. Proving his instincts better than Aeryn’s, Jynx had wisely slept elsewhere.
As the last few drunkards stumbled through the streets, grumbling about the hours of work ahead of them, peace and quiet finally reigned. But for the occasional creaking of doors, beyond which the steady clinking of coins filtered out, and the shouted curses at the water’s edge, all was still. At long last, Aeryn floated off to sleep.
“What do you mean there is nothing left?” came a roar.
Aeryn’s eyes snapped open at the intrusion. Her dreams had been blissfully empty. There had been no running, no fighting, no hidden potholes or traps, no Lords, Ladies, or street thugs, just deep, calm, blackness.
“Like I said, there ain’t nothing left. I checked it six times.”
“There has to be. How am I supposed to get rid of this bloody pain in my head if I can’t buy a drink? You’re wrong,” the man said, his voice dripping with scorn. “Check it again.”
The voice sounded familiar. While her sleep-fogged mind tried to conjure up a name, Aeryn pushed herself to her feet. She was not surprised to find the sun floating high overhead. It had been a long night.
“He said ‘there ain’t nothing left,’ and I for one believe him. You spent it all on that hussy Marilyn. Don’t you go blaming me. It weren’t my fault she charged you double after you went and slapped her.”
Marilyn. Clarity came in an instant. That meant the voices belonged to Hal, Brys. . .Jins. Aeryn dashed forward and peeked around the corner. It was Jins and his gang alright, now one member short. She had cut Mic’s throat open. She doubted the three would be forgiving her for that anytime soon.
“What about me? I never got—“
“Oh shut it, Brys. No one gives a whore’s little toe about you.” Jins said. Hefting his cudgel, he looked into the sooted windows. “Come on, maybe we can persuade the barkeep to give us a tankard or two.”
“You mean three? I—“
“Shut up Brys,” Jins hollered. He pushed his way inside. The other two boys followed on his heels.
Not about to stay and let Jins find her, Aeryn walked quickly into the street and strode away from the docks. Half way to the intersection, the echoing crack of a door slamming open reach her ears. Aeryn looked over her shoulder.
“. . .lucky my head is bloody pounding or I’d bash yours—“ Jins cut off. His eyes locked with Aeryn’s.
Time seemed frozen, even as the tavern’s doorman, a grizzly fellow with a chipped and nicked short sword in his hand, spoke. “Yeah, yeah. We’re closed. Now get lost or I’ll carve you up like a rat.”
Aeryn ran.
“Hal, take the right, Brys, the left; I’ll stay on her,” Jins shouted. “Get me that girl!”
Bloody fish guts! I have to lose them!
Aeryn quickly went over her options as she darted through the streets, ducking into one alley after another, turning down street after side street and squeezing between buildings in an attempt to throw her pursuers. The sun was too high for Drifting. Even if she found a suitably darkened alley, if she did not have a chance to catch her breath, they would hear her as easily as a wagon rolling through the cobbled streets at night. Worse, there were three of them to one of her, which also ruled out standing her ground and fighting. That left running and praying their hangovers were bad enough to slow them down.
Aeryn picked up her pace. Only, every time she thought she had lost them, one of the trio always managed to head her off. It seemed they wanted to catch her every bit as much as she wanted to get away.
She dashed deeper into the city toward the commotion of the markets beyond. Hopefully the thickening crowd would provide cover. If not, she would have to come up with something else. What, she did not know. If she could gather her breath for even half a minute, she might stand a chance to sneak away. At this point it was her only hope.
A pair of burly soldiers clad in boiled leather tunics, swords strapped to their waists, loomed up in her path. Out of long-ingrained habit, Aeryn slid to a halt. She whirled around.
“Why are you running? We don’t want to hurt you,” Jins said. Fifty feet away, he had slowed to a self-satisfied saunter.
“We don’t?” Brys asked as he strode in from the left.
Hal came from the right. “What about what she did to Mic?”
“Oh, she’ll pay for that alright,” Jins said. “But I think a little softening up is in order first, eh boys?” All three sneered as they came forward, boxing Aeryn in against the soldiers.
“Can I go first?” Brys asked, tongue wetting his lips.
Aeryn stole a glance over her shoulder. Some soldiers they were. Normally they never passed an opportunity to put the flats of their blades to use with impunity against any street urchin in their way. A beating would be leagues better than what the trio had planned.
“Sure,” Jins said, “why not. After all, there won’t be much of her left once I get through with her.” Brys grinned wickedly.
Aeryn froze. Since when were soldiers allowed out of uniform? Since when were they not clad in metal armor? Since when did they stand facing away from a crowded market?
It hit her. They were not soldiers, but sellswords hired to prevent street urchins like her from entering the markets frequented by the nobles. There might just be hope yet. It was not like she had anything to lose at this point. She turned and ran straight toward them.
“No!” Jins shouted. “Stop her.” Hal and Brys’ casual saunter turned to a sprint. The four of them raced to see who could reach the sellswords first.
Aeryn won by scant inches. One of the pair of sellswords grabbed her while the other crouched to firm up his stance. A heartbeat later, Jins, Brys, and Hal barreled into and over them like a runaway wagon. All six of them sprawled to the ground in a tangle of limbs and flesh.
Aeryn felt a hand close on her ankle. Another shackled about her wrist. She had to get out! Twisting and turning, kicking and biting, Aeryn flailed about with all her strength. A bellowing yet somehow whimpering curse sounded as her foot met the soft spot between someone’s legs.
She felt the hands loosen their grip. She thrashed and felt her hips slam into the cartilage of someone else’s nose. The hands lessened further.
Thankful for her slender frame, she ripped her limbs free. Like a crab, she scrambled backwards, trying to put distance between herself and the wrestling match.
“Get her!” Jins shouted. “Get—“ A fist from one of the sellswords unhinged his jaw.
“Bloody bastards,” came Hal’s voice. Managing to free his sword arm, he awkwardly swung at the man beneath him, who rolled aside just in time for the blade to spark as it hit the cobbles.
Still crawling back, Aeryn rolled to her stomach then jumped to her feet. At the face of the crowd gathered to watch the five men wrestling as if they were jugglers and acrobats, she stole a quick glace back.
“No,” said Brys, his nose a concave pool of blood. He clawed out toward Aeryn as he watched his prize disappear.
Teeth clenched, Jins put his man in a headlock even as the other sellsword kicked Hal in the gut, causing another strike to strike and spark against the cobbles.
Once more, Aeryn ran. A thought came to her, one she desperately wished that had occurred a minute ago: if she was recognized by any of the Lords or Ladies, word would reach Merek’s ears. With his prowess at
Drifting, the ease at which he turned the tables on her before, ensnared her into his schemes, she would be lucky if he did not kill her himself. She had to get out of here before the more guards converged on her.
Pushing and shoving as often as she nimbly threaded between a fat Lord or richly dressed Lady, Aeryn worked inward, eyes fixed dead ahead. Behind, Jins, Hal and Mic seemed to be gaining the upper hand. She had to make the far side of the market before they worked their way free or before more sellswords caught up. She would not be hiding in this market anytime soon; the upraised arms and shrieks that followed in her wake pointed straight to her like an arrow to its target.
“Move damn you, move!”
“Where’d she go?”
“I said MOVE!”
Aeryn looked up and back at the rumbling voices. The indignant shouts of nobles getting their toes stepped on by common sellswords said volumes; reinforcements had arrived.
She was out of time; she had to get free. In front, a pair of porters carrying wrapped bundles stepped aside. She dashed into the void they left. A wagon reared up in its place.
Moving too fast to change directions, Aeryn ran right into its side. Like a spring, the impact bounced her backward and to the ground.
Rolling over, head spinning from the blow, Aeryn realized it had not been a wagon, but the prodigious girth of a woman as round as she was tall. Lady Mareen. As if that was not bad enough, a pair of the Lady’s personal guards loomed overhead before she could regain her feet. A trio of sellswords added to their numbers a moment later.
“You’re coming with us, girl,” said the leftmost sellsword. Fixing his gaze sternly on Aeryn, he leaned down and hauled her to her feet. His hand held her arm in a vice-like grip she would not soon break.
Aeryn caught bits and pieces of the crowd murmuring to one another, everything from whispered questions of “what happened?” and “how did she get past the guards?” to exclamations calling to “throw her in the stocks!” and “you have a sword; use it!”
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