by Martin Owton
Aron worked the anger out and replaced it with a deep sense of foreboding. If it came to serious sword work, these were dead men unless their opponents were equally inept. Aron thought that unlikely; Sarazan employed at least four blademasters that he knew of, and maybe more. The swordsmen of Sarazan will be well drilled.
Eventually Thalon reminded him that, even if he was not hungry, the others were. Reluctantly Aron put down the practice sword and they headed for the barracks where the same taciturn cook ladled out the same stew. Aron went to sit with two of the outlanders who grudgingly made space for him at the table, but said nothing.
Aron finished his stew and looked at his companions, one dark and the other blond; both were big men and at least ten years older than himself, the blond fellow’s hair was thinning. If I’m going to be on the road with them, thought Aron. I should at least find out their names.
“Where are you fellows from?” he asked. Both stopped eating and stared at him.
“What’s it to you?” The dark one grunted.
“Just curious, I’m from Darien.”
“Wheresat then?” said the blond one.
“Long way from here. East and North.”
“Thought you was from the ‘Oly City?” said the dark one accusingly. “I ‘eard you bin to that fancy ‘cademy.”
“Been there, but I’m not from there.”
“Reckon you think we’re just stupid country boys,” said the blond one. Aron was acutely aware of the hostility of their gaze. Marek was probably a good friend of theirs.
“No I don’t. I’m a country boy myself.” Aron wished he hadn’t started this conversation.
“But you’re a gen’lman.”
“It’s a good story, but it’s not true.” Aron lifted his head to look directly at them. “I’m the son of a soldier, like you. My father was blademaster of the guard at Darien.” He saw the doubt on their wind-burned faces and decided to press his advantage. “What are your names? You know mine.”
The two men looked uncertainly at each other then the blond one spoke. “I’m Thomi, he’s Kriss.”
“Glad to know you, Thomi and Kriss,” said Aron.
The two men grunted in reply and then stood up from the table leaving the remains of their meals.
“See you ‘round,” said Kriss as they made for the door.
Aron sat until they were out of sight, his sense of foreboding deeper than ever, and then headed for the well to rinse away the sweat that was now drying on him.
***
ron had sluiced himself off with a bucket of startlingly cold water and had his head buried in his towel when Edith spoke. “I rather expected heroes to have more hair on their chests.”
Aron started, he hadn't heard her approach and became very conscious of the goose flesh on his chest and belly.
“You shouldn't be here like this, my Lady,” was all he could think of to say. She was dressed in a loose shirt of undyed wool and what looked like a pair of her brother’s cast-off leggings, pale skin showing through one knee. Her dark hair flowing over her shoulders did not appear to have seen a brush that day and she smelled slightly of stables.
“Nonsense. I've seen my brother without his shirt many times. He hardly keeps it on in summer. Anyway, I don't like men with too much muscle.” She looked up at Aron with that high intensity stare again; the one that stopped Aron talking. “Would you like to see my horse?”
Nothing would annoy Tancred more, he thought silently as he said “I would be delighted, my Lady.”
Aron followed her across the courtyard towards the stables, expecting Tancred to appear at any moment. Edith, oblivious to any watchers, said nothing but kept turning those dangerous eyes on him as they walked. She led him into the dim dusty interior, past empty stalls, to the far end where a plump pony munched contentedly on a bundle of hay.
“Isn’t he lovely?” she said, patting the pony’s nose. “He’s called Kestrel.”
“Hello, Kestrel.” Aron reached at stroked Kestrel’s neck. The pony turned and nuzzled his hand.
“He likes you,” said Edith. “Help me get him some more hay.”
She pushed open a rickety wooden door in the wall next to Kestrel’s stall. Aron followed her through the door, the sweet smell of hay in his nose. This is unbelievable. He thought. No nobleman’s daughter I’ve ever met would behave like this.
As soon as he was through the door, Edith spun around, threw her arms around his neck and kissed him with a great deal of enthusiasm and very little expertise. Aron was so startled he nearly lost his balance and fell over, but after a moment the surprise wore off and his instincts took over. He pulled Edith close and her body moulded to his shape, her firm young breasts pressing against his chest. They kissed for a long time and then, as they gasped for breath, Edith turned the eyes up to full intensity. Aron felt his reason begin to melt.
“You've got to get Maldwyn back, then you can rescue me and we'll have wonderful adventures together,” said Edith breathlessly. “You can teach me sword-fighting. I can already use a bow.”
What did I do to start this? thought Aron his mind reeling at the sudden explosion of Edith’s passion. She’s an Earl’s daughter. He thought of explaining how adventures entailed a lot of going hungry and sleeping under hedges in the rain, but it did not seem likely to deter Edith at that moment, so he settled for reaching out for her hands. She took this as an invitation to kiss him again.
“I can't just stay here,” she said still holding him. “There's so much to see in the world and I want to see it with you.”
A part of Aron wanted to pick her up and carry her off then and there, but he suppressed it for a more sensible approach.
“Where I'm going is going to be very dangerous. I can't make promises about the future beyond it, because I may not come back, and I don't like to make promises I can't keep.”
No lies there, he thought.
Edith responded by throwing her arms around him and kissing him again. Aron stopped thinking about consequences and surrendered to the moment. Edith seemed to have discovered a technique of kissing without breathing which Aron had missed out on, and his lungs were starting to burn when Kestrel whinnied. Edith reacted instantly, jumping backwards away from Aron as Glynis appeared in the doorway.
“So there you are, miss. You’re late for your singing lesson, and you've made me come and find you in this filthy stable.” Glynis's voice would have curdled new milk. Edith stepped through the door and walked out of the stable without a backward glance. Glynis however, gave Aron a long hard sour-faced look before she followed Edith.
Aron sat on a hay bale trying to reassemble his thoughts as the blood surged through his veins. Edith might think that he was a dispossessed noble, but he was under no illusions about his real status; he was a swordsman for hire. Expensive and with scruples, but for hire none the less. One thing was clear; this was going to cause trouble. Tancred had already warned him off, and half the castle must have seen him come in here with Edith. Aron had no doubt how he would react to being crossed. The whole venture was risky enough without Tancred adding to it. Of course, once they were out of Nandor there was nothing to stop him sticking a knife in Tancred and going his own way - nothing save his honour and the debt he owed Lady Alice.
Aron arrived back at his guestroom still deep in thought. He took out his gear and did what he always did when he needed to create peace in which to think; he pulled out his whetstone and set to sharpening his blades, losing himself in the work.
When it grew too dark to see he put aside his gear and stood at the window watching night creep over Nandor, caught between cursing the circumstance that had brought him to here and wondering just how difficult a rescue would prove. Too frequently the memory of Edith’s lips against his intruded. How old is Edith? Older than poor stupid Peg. Old enough to be wed certainly. At court he'd seen plenty of girls who looked her age, or younger, married off, with a fine dowry, of course; a
nd back in Darien many of the young village girls would have one child with maybe another on the way. Then there was Celaine as well. She had looked at him with the same eyes as Edith and, he was sure, the same thoughts in her heart. Edith, maybe, had suffered fewer disappointments than her sister and possibly that made her bolder, but the possibility for the worst sort of trouble was very strong. It would have definitely been better if I had never come to Nandor and better again if I never returned.
***
“Dinner is served in the main hall, good sir.”
A footman in the usual tattered Nandor livery stood at the door holding a candle lantern.
“Very well, I'll be down directly.”
Aron left the door open for the light as he searched for his comb. He made a largely vain attempt to bring order to his hair then hurried downstairs.
When Aron arrived in the hall, he was left with no choice of seat and had to sit at the foot of the table with the pasty-faced clerk on one hand and Glynis on the other. The clerk slurped his soup and snuffled his way through the main course, but did not actually speak to Aron, and Glynis glared at him as if she was eating unripe lemons. The only warmth in the scene came from Celaine, seated further up the table next to Tancred, who favoured him with an amused little smile and sparkling eyes whenever Tancred's attention wasn't on her, which wasn't often. Edith was not at the table. Aron considered asking Glynis where she was, but thought better of it almost immediately; Glynis's narrowed eyes and the white-knuckled grip on her knife gave him ample warning. Celaine continued smiling at him and Aron suspected that she knew very well why her little sister wasn't at dinner.
At the end of the meal, bottle in hand, Baldwin and Captain Thalon settled beside the fire to refight old battles. The ladies withdrew and Aron headed for the stairs rather than seek Tancred's company. He had barely closed the door to his chamber when the knock came. He was not expecting his caller to be Glynis.
“My Lady wishes to see you. Follow me.” The command was delivered in as haughty and contemptuous manner as Aron had ever heard. The Countess might wish to see Aron, but Glynis did not approve and made no effort to hide it. Aron followed her brisk footsteps to the Countess's chamber. Glynis rapped firmly at the door, even her knock was disapproving, and held it open for Aron. He stepped inside and felt a cold wave ripple down his body as he passed her.
“Thank you Glynis. You may leave us,” Lady Alice said from her chair by the fire. She wore the same blue robe as the night before, and again her dark hair was loose about her shoulders.
“Very good, my Lady.”
One final blast of arctic disapproval washed over Aron before the door closed.
“My Lady,” Aron said, unsure of what was expected of him.
“A caravan leaves tomorrow for Sarazan. The merchant has been bought, and you will leave at first light carrying all our hopes. There is much to talk of.”
As Lady Alice stood up her robe fell away leaving her quite naked.
CHAPTER 7
In the shadow cast by the overhanging upper storey, two figures stood in a doorway looking down Coopers Lane at a three-storied house built of dressed grey stone. There were no ground floor windows, and those higher up had thick metal bars across them.
“Are you sure this is the house, Cristoff?” asked the first.
“My informant was sure, and he has proved reliable in the past, Petter,” said the second. “There should be at least a dozen of them in there.”
“Very well then. It would be inconvenient if he proved to be wrong.” He raised his arms, took a deep breath and spoke a word of command. The night was split by a pulse of blue-white light. The house across the lane was starkly outlined against its surroundings for a moment and then unnaturally bright flame roared through the interior, engulfing the shingles of the roof, lighting up the sky above the Holy City.
Cristoff turned his face away from the heat of the inferno. “Impressive, Petter.”
“Thank you. It was intended to be.”
“Most impressive, but also noticeable.”
“That too was my intention. A wildcat flung into the middle of the complacent pigeons of the Wizard’s Circle. They will not recognise the signature, but my power will leave them quivering.” He smiled, his teeth flashing almost red in the firelight.
“Where did you learn to do that? Galgulla?”
“Yes, amongst other things. I foresee this as being a most fruitful association.”
The door of the blazing house crashed open and a screaming figure, alight from head to toe, staggered out. Further up the lane another door opened and two men ran towards the burning man.
“Time to be gone from here, Petter.”
“Yes, indeed.” They pulled their dark cloaks around them and slipped quietly into the dark alley behind them as the whole street came to frantic life.
“That’s one nest of Darien rats we won’t have any more trouble from,” said Petter as they walked briskly down the alley; the blaze behind them casting leaping shadows on the dank walls. “Now that that is taken care of, I must be on my way to Caldon to report back to his Grace. I’ll take the usual escort.”
“As you wish, Petter. Will you have time before you leave to entertain Bazarkis’s latest offering?”
“Of course. I’ve been particularly looking forward to it. I have something to show you.”
“Another gift from Galgulla?”
“Not a gift, an exchange. I provided him with what he asked for, and he gave me a pack of the finest hounds you’ve ever set eyes on. As I said, this promises to be a most profitable alliance.”
“You trust him?”
“Come now Cristoff, he’s an immortal. Of course I don’t trust him. But for as long as I supply him with what he wants, he’ll give me what I want; and what he wants most is a temple filled with worshippers.”
“And you intend to give him this.”
“High Priest of Galgulla. It has a certain ring to it don’t you think, Cristoff?”
“You don’t think Caldon will object?”
“I do not intend that he will even notice us, and by the time he does I will be too strong for him, even if he does gain the throne.”
They reached a small square where an unliveried servant stood holding two horses. They took the reins from him, mounted up and rode away into the night.
CHAPTER 8
The rescue expedition did not leave at dawn. Instead Aron, Davo and the other soldiers stood about in the cold drizzle as they waited for, first the merchant's train, then Tancred, and finally Earl Baldwin. It was fully two hours after dawn before Baldwin appeared on the steps of the keep with Thalon. He did not look a well man; his eyes were glazed and bloodshot and his nose was running. He clapped Tancred on the shoulder and shook his hand, and then waved in dismissal to the rest of the expedition. He did not look at Aron. Thalon, however, made a point of coming down the steps and speaking quietly to each man. When he reached Aron he took him by the hand.
“I misjudged you, young man,” said Thalon. “I thought you were some good for nothing sell-sword who'd taken advantage of a man well gone in drink. It took my Lady to show me, but there’s more to you than that. I believe you can pull this off. Bring him back for the future of Nandor.”
There were tears in the old man's eyes. He gave Aron's hand a last firm squeeze and then turned away to remount the stairs. Aron turned to follow the caravan which had started to move out of the gate, as he did so a figure slipped past Thalon in the keep doorway and ran down the steps. Aron turned at the sound and stood still in the middle of the courtyard as Edith ran towards him. She halted two paces from him and held out her hand with a piece of cloth in it.
“Take this with you. Wear it for me, it will bring you luck,” she said breathlessly.
Aron took the cloth and looked at it, frozen with embarrassment. It was a handkerchief embroidered with the crest of Nandor and an ornate E.
“I would be honou
red to,” he said softly.
Then she stepped forward and kissed him chastely on the cheek.
“Come back to us,” she whispered, and then ran for the steps. Aron was sure he'd seen tears in her eyes as she turned. Aron moved to follow the caravan and saw, looking at him from the gatehouse, Tancred.
***
Lady Alice watched the caravan until it was out of sight then, with a sigh turned from the window to face Glynis’s disapproval. “Did you find any?” she asked.
“Only these, my Lady, and they are mould eaten.” Glynis held out a small woven basket. “And it is far too early in the year to be looking for any new leaves.”
“I know that well.” Lady Alice took the basket and inspected the contents. A handful of blackened leaves sat in one corner. “These will just have to serve.” She passed the basket back to Glynis.
“They’ll not work, my Lady,” said Glynis. “And there would be some who would call it the Lady’s judgement.”
“Indeed?” said Lady Alice. “And what would those people have me do? Push gold at him?”
Glynis said nothing but glared at Lady Alice.
“He is our only hope, and I don’t believe him to be a man whose loyalty is bought with coin. So I must buy it with something else.”
“Clearly,” said Glynis sourly. “And did you? Or have you dragged your good name in the mud for nothing?”
“Gods! I don’t know, but what else could I do? I had to play every card I could to bind him to us.”
“I hope he proves to be worth it and that my Lord never learns of it.”
“Why would he? Only three people know and he’s not going to learn of it from me. I spent years enough trying to give him another son so why would it happen now?”