Son of Avonar

by Carol Berg

  The sheriff took my arm firmly and propelled me backward into the shadowed alcove between the outer door, the staircase, and the wide entrance to the common room.

  “Release me at once. You’ve no cause to hold me,” I said, in a furious whisper.

  “I’ve every right to investigate suspicious behavior, and I find your presence here extremely suspicious.” Rowan spoke quietly also, in tones that brooked no dispute.

  “You have no jurisdiction here, Sheriff. If I should scream that I’m being brutalized, you would have no more rights than any other bully.”

  His sober expression did not change, though the sun lines at the corners of his eyes crinkled a bit. “I disagree. Barnard, the local sheriff, knows me quite well. He would most likely be interested in the activities of known lawbreakers in his town.”

  “You wouldn’t!”

  “Test me. Or would you rather tell me what you’re doing here? I know there are few things that pain you more than having a word with me, but I really must know what’s brought you here.”

  And this, of course, was where I was out of words. I couldn’t think fast enough. The long day’s journey, the terrible doings in the forest, the odd little man running away . . . “Can we step outside, Sheriff?”

  “As you wish.”

  Beggars, carters, and drunkards crowded the torch-lit lane, but the stranger was nowhere in sight. Curse the man! “Have you nothing better to do than bother honest citizens, Sheriff? You should leave me alone and clean up your own district. Take care of the murderous highwaymen that prey on travelers.” To my dismay, my voice faltered a bit as I recalled the brutal scene in During Forest.

  If there was any lack of will on Rowan’s part to pursue our confrontation, he dismissed it instantly. The pious mark on his brow glared at me like a third eye. “Madam, what do you know of highwaymen?”

  Cursing my loose tongue, I folded my arms and looked away.

  “Blessed Annadis, give me patience!” he said. “How do you propose I take care of my district if every person in it is so high and mighty as you?”

  “Perhaps your district would be better off without a sheriff’s care.”

  His face flamed, but he gritted his teeth and kept his voice down. Once could not mistake his sincerity. “Five men were slain in During Forest today. They were no ordinary highwaymen, but the most ruthless that ever plagued this road. They’ve survived for twenty years and were cut down in an afternoon. It’s something I must understand. If you refuse to speak what you know, then you’ve no right to demand anything of me. I ask you again, madam, what do you know of highwaymen?” I had never heard so many words from him all at once.

  My distaste for the upright sheriff and my revulsion at his past did not entirely cloud my perceptions. As Jacopo often reminded me, Rowan was neither excessively brutal nor grasping in his day-to-day duties, as were so many of his ilk. And if his unquestioning adherence to a flawed notion of law set him at odds with the ruthless travelers I had seen in the forest, I would not argue. However uncomfortable it might feel for me, reason was on his side. After all, the priests might have nothing to do with Aeren. Perhaps the almond-eyed man’s fear of the three had its origin, as mine did, in their handiwork of the day.

  “You’re right,” I said. What was pride but another garment to be discarded when you had grown past its use? “Not about everything . . . but about this. Yes. I witnessed what happened in During Forest. Quite by chance.”

  “And will you tell me of it?”

  I glanced about the dark lane. “Can we walk away from here just a little?” Rowan started to protest, but I interrupted. “I promise, I’ll tell you why.”

  Just down the lane two empty crates sat outside a poulterer’s shop. My feet felt as if someone had taken a hammer to them. Making sure I could still see the door of the inn, I sat on one of the crates and propped my heavy boots on the other, leaving Rowan to decide whether to sit on the filthy ground or remain standing, unable to see my face. He squatted, looking uncomfortable.

  “I was on my way to Grenatte on private business,” I began, and without mentioning Paulo, I recounted what I had witnessed that afternoon.

  “And these priests are in the Green Lion?”

  “That’s why I was leaving in a hurry,” I said. “They unnerved me, though I don’t believe they saw me in the forest, and though one could say they were entirely in the right in the matter. How can I explain it?”

  He nodded thoughtfully. “The kill was not cleanly done. Yet, as you say, it’s not against the law to be good at defending oneself. But any who can take such men down easily are worth my attention, for rarely are they less dangerous in their turn.”

  “So what will you do?”

  “I’ll speak to these priests and see what they’re about.”

  “You’ll not tell them who you are?”

  “Surely this is no concern for my welfare?” he said.

  Graeme Rowan’s welfare was his own concern. “It just occurred to me that a casual encounter might be less risky than telling them you’re a sheriff. In fact”—a scheme began taking shape—“to make things easier, I’d be willing to accompany you while you speak to them. We could say we are cousins.”

  “I see no purpose in deception. In this matter, at least, they’ve no reason to fear me.” He straightened to his full height, looking down at me quizzically. “But if, for whatever reason, you’d like to be present when I interview them, I’ll not prevent it. I certainly don’t intend for you to leave Grenatte until we can discuss other matters . . . such as what you’re doing here.”

  I bridled. “There’s no need to assume that because I answered a few of your questions, I’ll allow you to question me on my private business.”

  “Madam, I would never presume to expect anything from you.”

  I did not respond to his goading. I was already planning what to say to the priests.

  As soon as Rowan and I entered the inn, the landlord bustled up to us, eyeing the sheriff suspiciously. “Is the gentleman bothering you, madam?”

  “No. Not at all, Goodman Bartolome. Thank you.” I would not allow Rowan to control the situation. “In fact, this is my cousin, Graeme, come unexpectedly to meet me.” I ignored the sheriff’s darkening brow. “Can you tell us, innkeeper—there’s a gentleman in your common room, one who wears the robes of a priest—do you know his name, sir? He looks quite like the priest who wed my sister Catherine to her man, but I’d feel quite foolish asking if it were not the same priest.”

  “The fellow’s name slips my mind,” said the innkeeper, “but the three of them come from a temple school in Valleor. Don’t know much else.”

  Through the door of the brightly lit common room I could see the priests seated at a table near the center of the room. “That could well be the same Pere Franze, don’t you think, Graeme?” I said, indicating the three. “I believe he’d be interested to know Catherine has produced five healthy boys in five years. His offering of Mana’s blessing was most efficacious!” Producing the Twins was Mana’s only role in our holy legends, and the First God’s wife was interested only in sons.

  The sheriff peered through the opening and then dragged me back into the shadows. “I think you should come away immediately,” he said in a tight whisper.

  “What think you, innkeeper?” I said, paying Rowan no more heed than a doorstop. “Should I speak to them?”

  “Well, now, they seem right enough fellows,” said the innkeeper, shrugging his massive shoulders.

  “I can’t imagine they’d have an interest in such trifles,” said the furious sheriff. “You—”

  “My cousin always thinks I am too forward.”

  Rowan tugged my arm so forcefully, it was difficult to hold my ground. “And so you are. You should not bother either the priests or our host with your foolishness.”

  Bartolome thoughtfully scratched the hairy chest bulging above his apron. “Well, I can’t see as how it would hurt to ask. I always take it fair when
someone says I’ve done a decent job, even if I’m not the one as done it.”

  “Exactly!” I said, and I yanked my arm out of Rowan’s grip and marched through the doorway and across the smoky, crowded room. “Excuse me, Your Honor, sir. Might I have a word?”

  When the man I had seen slit two throats and pierce a man’s heart with skill and relish turned to look at me, it took all my resolution not to step away. There could be no soul in him. Neither beauty nor life had ever graced those pale eyes, nor had any human feeling with which I had kinship. I quickly averted my gaze.

  “How may I help you, madam?” His voice was coolly friendly, not at all like his eyes.

  “It’s most likely foolish, sir, but my cousin and I have had a disagreement, and the only way to resolve it is to speak up. I say that you are the very most honored Pere Franze that has wed my sister Catherine and her husband David in Deshiva these five years past, and that it is my duty to tell you of the most efficacious blessing of Mana you performed on that happy occasion, being as Catherine and David have five healthy sons in five years”—I spoke much too fast, trying to bolster my faltering resolve—“but my cousin, who lurks in yonder shadows with our worthy innkeeper, says I should not bother a weary traveler with such trifles, though to my mind such a blessing that gets five healthy sons is no trifle!”

  Though a smile played on the thin lips, it did not warm his emptiness. “Much as I would like to lay claim to such a success, I cannot. I’ve never traveled to Deshiva. Giano is my name.”

  “My apologies for disturbing you then, Your Honor. I was so hoping you might be Pere Franze, for I was thinking of asking Annadis’s warding for our travels back to Deshiva. After what we saw today . . .” I shuddered.

  “And what was that?” Early frost enfolded the summer night.

  “Oh, sir, I’d not wish to offend you with the description of it while you’re at table.”

  “Travelers should share their wisdom and experience, madam, so as to ease the road for their fellows,” he said coolly. “I think it imperative. Don’t you agree?”

  I wasn’t sure I would have been able to disagree. Though not invited to do so, I drew up an extra chair, sat down, and leaned across their table. To avoid his eyes, I kept my own focused on the gold earring he wore in his right ear. “True enough, sir. Indeed it was the most dreadful sight that ever I hope to see. Five dead men, brutally cut down and left to lie on the road through During Forest. Highwaymen, so I’ve heard, and so better dead, but a fearsome sight nonetheless. I feel quite faint when I think of continuing our journey tomorrow.”

  Pere Giano’s slender fingers lay quiet on the table, one hand upon the other, no residue of blood on the pale skin. “We’ve heard of this discovery, also, and are shocked by it. We’ve been sent to Leire to build a school to teach young warriors the service of Annadis, but such doings might hasten us back to our quiet temple life.”

  So they were going to lie about it. No surprise.

  “It would be a great honor to have a temple school in western Leire.” No student of my acquaintance would be sent to such a tutor.

  “Unfortunately, our plans have been upset,” he said, leaning closer, his words slithering their way into my head. “Thieves are not always found in the forest, but often in the very bosom of one’s family. A faithless servant has absconded with the small endowment with which we were to build.”

  And there it was . . . the connection. Though I dared not allow him to note my satisfaction, my heart quickened its pace. “Have you notified the authorities? Perhaps my cousin should summon Barnard, the local sheriff, so your servant may receive just treatment from the law.” A faithless servant . . . Were these men, too, seeking an ‘addled groom’?

  “It’s against our custom to bring down the law on our servants, but we’ve seen nothing of him in a fortnight. We believe that if we could but find the youth, we could persuade him to rethink his wayward behavior.”

  What persuasions might be imposed by a man with no soul? Enough to chase a man out of his clothes? Out of his voice? Out of his mind?

  “My cousin travels widely in his business, your honor. Why, he’s most likely visited every hostelry and inn in five districts in the past month, as well as having wide acquaintance. Can you describe this fiend who is so wanting in decency as to steal from the Swordsman’s holy servants? Perhaps my cousin has taken note of him.”

  “A young man. Tall and light-haired, fairly made, but wicked and hasty in temper, and weak in the mind, full of grandiose delusions. I think the gods have sent him this weakness to make him humble, but alas, though we at the temple have nurtured the boy since childhood, our care seems to have gone for naught.”

  “A sad story,” I said. He was so smug in his lies. “All too common among those who depend on the charity of holy institutions. I’ll ask my cousin if he’s seen anything likely. I’ve neither seen nor heard of anything myself.”

  “Even so.” The priest picked up his wine cup and leaned back in his chair. He was done with me.

  I craved to wheedle something more from him—a name, a province—or some hint of whether he knew of his “faithless servant’s” talent for sorcery. But I had lived enough years to know when I had pushed my luck as far as was profitable. “I’ll bid you and your companions a good night, sir. My cousin is known for being sometimes too free in his ingestion of spirits in such a friendly house as this. I wish him to be alert on the morrow!”

  The man in black nodded and turned back to his silent, hooded companions. I believed I saw the trace of impatience on his narrow face, but I couldn’t bear to look at him long enough to be sure.

  I left the common room sedately, slipping past the shadowed foyer and up the first flight of stairs. But no sooner had I got out of sight of the common room and bolted for the second landing, than Rowan stepped out in front of me, grim as a headsman. “That was very foolish.”

  “But revealing, don’t you think? Did you listen? The poor servants of the Swordsman whose money has been stolen, though they wear gold worth an earldom at their necks. Not a word about the events in the forest.” And such a strange story about their missing servant.

  “You’re fortunate. These men are clearly not to be trifled—”

  “I thought you might have more mettle than to eavesdrop from the stairs like a scullery maid. Quite a man of the world is my cousin Graeme.”

  “A little forewarning might have helped.” Was he more annoyed with my interference, or that it was I who had done the interfering?

  “I didn’t think it necessary. Did I not play it quite well?”

  “I’m surprised you’d think of it as play, having seen what you did in the forest today. Were all your questions answered satisfactorily? Perhaps you’ll condescend to enlighten me as to your purpose in the matter and what else you might know of these people.”

  “We should not discuss this in the passageway of an inn.”

  “I suppose there’s no question of a cousinly chat in your room or a walk in the evening air?”

  “I’m asleep standing, Sheriff. And, of course, I’ve no interest in this matter. I was curious because of what I saw, and willing to help you, because . . . you were right that I should. Good night.”

  Rowan bowed stiffly. “I’ll remind you that the conditions of your parole require your obedience to the command of any sheriff, and the nature of your crimes makes me responsible for your actions. We have not finished our business, my lady. You’re not to leave your room, and you’ll have no commerce with anyone until I give you leave. I’ll see you first thing in the morning.” The insufferable prig started down the passage, and, to my chagrin, I could not think of hateful enough words to throw back at him. As he disappeared down the stair landing, he called over his shoulder. “And you may tell Paulo that his sneaking about has left his gram half-frantic with worry, and that if he doesn’t get himself wrung out by highwaymen or conspiratorial women, then it will most likely be by me.”

  As well he turned a c
orner just then and that my knife was tucked away under my skirt.

  Rowan would have been well satisfied had he been able to read my thoughts in the next hour. As the exhilaration of the evening’s encounter wore away, I started shaking, almost sick as I thought of the slaughter I had witnessed and the empty eyes and pale hands of the one who had worked it. What was I doing? I had no business there. Only after I had made a vow to scoop up Paulo at first light and run as fast as I could back to Dunfarrie was my tired body able to sink into sleep.

  Sometime in the hours after midnight, a scraping noise across the dark room brought me abruptly awake. I slipped my knife from the sheath under my pillow and held still until a freckled face rose above the windowsill like a grubby moon.

  “Paulo!” I pulled him through the window, and he landed on the floor in a disheveled, ripe-smelling lump. “What are you doing here?”

  “Found him!”

  “Who?”

  “The one we come here for.”

  “Yes, I found him, too, but he ran away before I could speak to him.”

  “Nope. He’s close. Got his horse from the stable and rode off, but didn’t go far.”

  My feet were already in my boots. “Take me there.” All terrors were dismissed, all vows forsworn in the prospect of the chase.

  The inn was dark and quiet, lying fallow like a well-managed field in the hours between closing and breakfast. We slipped down the stairs, then sped through deserted streets until we reached the southern outskirts of town. A jumble of squat, dark shanties crowded the dirt lane until it broke free into open country and wound up a shallow rise. Atop the rise, silhouetted against the moonlit sky, was a crumbling finger of stone, an abandoned watchtower once used for observing the road and the river.

  Paulo pressed a finger to his mouth as we approached a gap in the curved wall. The wooden door had long since rotted away from its rusty hinges, allowing a narrow band of moonlight to penetrate the interior. We stepped inside. From across the circular darkness came the scent of a horse. I felt the soft solidity of its presence. Paulo tugged at my arm and pointed to a mound huddled against one of the curved walls. We tiptoed closer, but before we reached the dark form, Paulo lost his balance and fell against a pile of crates that clattered onto the stone floor.