Exile (The Nandor Tales Book 1)

by Martin Owton

  This just keeps getting worse. Why on earth am I worrying about it? This really isn't any business of mine. Why not just slip away from the party in Sarazan and then goodbye Tancred, goodbye Maldwyn, goodbye problem? I need never concern myself with Nandor again. This appealing thought was answered with the memory of the women chanting around his bed as he lay in the grip of Peg’s poison. I owe the debt.

  ***

  Aron kept a nervous eye on Tancred for the rest of the passage to Sarazan, but Tancred kept well out of the way and did nothing reprehensible other than glare sourly at everyone, especially Aron. The attitude of the other members of the party changed though; Thomi and Kriss invited him to join their nightly dice games, which he declined. The wool merchant, who had not previously spoken to Aron, bought him a mug of ale the next evening, and expressed his hope that Tancred could be kept out of trouble until they reached Sarazan.

  The caravan made good time along the busy, well-maintained road and stayed overnight in large inns each a close replica of the one before. Aron slept every night with a knife under his pillow, but was undisturbed.

  ***

  Their first view of the city of Sarazan came when they crested a line of hills above Sarazan lake. The city stood at the far end of the lake where the Sarazan river flowed out on its way to meet the sea at Oxport.

  “Zat Sarazan then?” said Thomi as he and Aron rested from the climb up the ridge. “Big, in’t it?”

  “It is,” said Aron. “Biggest inland port in the land. The lake is as far as you can get upriver with a cargo boat of any size.”

  “Rich place then.”

  “Markets for anything you can think of. Wool and cloth, timber, pottery, glassware, spices. Some of the finest metalworkers in the country if you want armour or swords. The Duke takes a good cut of all of it, of course.”

  “That’s how he can afford that then.” Thomi pointed to the great fortress that squatted on a spit of land running out into the lake beside the river, the neck of the peninsula defended by a stout high wall with one massively reinforced gate. “Don’t fancy ‘aving to lay siege to that.”

  “They tried that in the civil war. See all that open ground.” Aron pointed to a wide area of grassland before the fortress wall. “That used to be the best area of the city. It was all destroyed in the siege and the Duke wouldn’t allow their rebuilding, so there’s clear lines of sight all around the castle.”

  “Zat where Maldwyn is?”

  “Probably,” said Aron. “That’s one of the things we’ve got to find out.”

  “Don’t fancy it much,” Thomi said gloomily and spat into the ditch.

  CHAPTER 10

  The caravan wound its way down from the highlands and approached the city on the highway, which was still busy in the late afternoon.

  “Them’s all new,” said Davo staring at the fine stone houses and gardens that stood on either side of the road. “What happened?”

  “When did you leave Sarazan?” asked Aron.

  “Year before the siege. All this was just fields.”

  “All the nobles’ and merchants’ houses round the castle were flattened in the siege, I believe,” said Aron. “The Duke wouldn’t let them rebuild so they all moved out here.”

  “Makes sense,” said Davo. “Yer get a load of stink and flies down by the lake in the summer.”

  As they drew nearer the city the quality of the houses declined until they were passing artisans’ workshops and open areas where markets for all kinds of beasts and goods thrived. The city had long ago outgrown its wall, so there was not the usual inspection at a gate; they simply followed the main road into the city, crossed the ancient stone bridge over the river and then turned to track the river towards the docks area where the wool merchant's warehouse lay. Once there the merchant bade them farewell and they were on their own.

  Here Davo was useful for the first time; though he was still terrified on every occasion someone looked at them for more than one glance, he was growing bolder as he hadn't been recognised and arrested as soon as they entered the city. His memory of the poorer areas proved adequate to finding them a sleeping loft in a filthy and disreputable tavern that was in keeping with their cover.

  “We will make a tour of the city and establish which taverns the Duke's guards drink in,” said Tancred, looking at Aron as if he expected him to interrupt. Aron avoided meeting his gaze and said nothing. “Keep your ears open, and we shall learn how to get into the fortress. You and you will stay here and keep our room secure.” Tancred gestured at Aron and Davo.

  Aron had doubts about the orders, but kept these to himself. On the face of it they seemed sound enough, but it made little sense to confine him to guarding their room. If there was loose talk about the security of the castle it would be in a soldiers’ tavern and he reckoned himself better able to look after himself in such places than anyone else in the party. What bothered him most was that he felt he was the only person with real motivation to find solid information about Maldwyn; the only thing he could trust the Nandor soldiers to do was to get drunk and attract the attention of the watch. Of Tancred's motives he had darker suspicions. Davo was delighted at being able to keep hidden and settled in the taproom with a large flagon of ale and looked prepared for a long evening's drinking.

  Aron took a few minutes to find his way into every corner of the Tavern and then settled down to do his laundry. Lady Alice had given him two new shirts so he now possessed four, and he’d put on his last clean one three days ago. He bent to the task glad of the respite from the tension induced by Tancred’s presence. Tomorrow would be time enough to think of how to rescue Maldwyn.

  It took only a few minutes with warm water and washboard before the shirts were hanging on a line strung between the rafters of the loft. Once that was accomplished he wasn't tired enough to sleep and had little choice other than to join Davo in the taproom. Davo was sitting on a stool in front of the broad fireplace with a mug in his hand and a girl on his knee. Aron blinked hard to confirm his eyes did not deceive him; the girl was strikingly ugly with a heavy jaw, protuberant nose and eyebrows that met in the middle. Surely even Davo couldn't get drunk enough to change that.

  “Hullo there, mate. Come and ger warm, I'll ger yer a drink. Off yer go darlin’, and I'll see yer later.”

  The girl slid off Davo's knee and flounced past Aron with a wink and a saucy roll of her ample hips. Aron’s nose was filled with a sickening mixture of unwashed body and cheap scent.

  “I think she might be my cousin,” Davo said with a smile as he passed Aron a mug full of dark bitter ale. “She's a little sweetie, isn't she? An’ she told me a thing or two. They're wasting their time out there, she told me.”

  “She told you what?” said Aron, whose head was reeling from the smell of the hideous girl and the thought of her being a sweetie.

  “The Duke's guards. They got their own tavern in the castle. She bin up there. Duke likes to keep an eye on ‘em, see. Tancred an the rest o'them's wasting their time.” Davo chuckled into his mug.

  “Did she say anything else?”

  “Ooh, she said a few things she did.” Davo leered at Aron. “She said some real interestin' things.”

  “Anything useful to us for rescuing Maldwyn?”

  “Nah, but I'll talk to her again soon.” The leer continued. “You want me to see if she gorra friend to bring along?”

  “No.” Aron shuddered at the prospect. “I think I'll get some sleep.” He finished his ale and headed for the stairs.

  “Suit yerself then.” Davo's cackle floated after him.

  ***

  Aron was asleep when the others returned, but their drunken noise, living up to the pretence of being caravan guards, must have wakened most of the inn. Aron decided to leave it until the next morning to see if they had learned anything.

  In the morning, Aron was awake with the sun; he rose immediately, leaving his snoring companions to their hangovers. Ther
e was no sign of Davo. Aron scrounged a small loaf of bread from the kitchen and set out to explore the city, reckoning that he had plenty of time before Tancred or any of the others would be up and about.

  The streets around the tavern were busy with commerce of all kinds. Porters pushing laden barrows disputed the narrows vociferously with muleteers. Horse-drawn carts rattled over the cobbles, ragged messenger boys weaved their way in and out of the throng and hawkers cried their wares. Aron slipped through the crowd with lithe ease, keeping one hand on a knife hilt; the pickpockets of Sarazan were famed for their skill. He headed back towards the ancient bridge from where his memory of his previous visit to the city could take over. Two people tried to rob him on the way; one caught the point of Aron's knife across his hand for his trouble. Aron saw neither of them, so crowded were the narrow streets.

  When Aron reached the bridge he turned away from the river and into an area with wider, cleaner streets paved with pale stone. The air smelt fresher and the shops were busy with prosperous, well-dressed womenfolk. The street led to the marketplace with its fine inns where Aron had lodged on his previous visit, and then beyond to the courthouse and the watch barracks. Past the barracks, he took a street that paralleled the lakeshore. Fine houses hid behind high walls on either side, fountains tinkled in shady courtyards and gatekeepers eyed him suspiciously as he strolled past.

  At last Aron came to a lane that led down to the lakeshore and followed it to a small beach where the waters of the lake lapped against the dark rocks. He sat on a rock tossing pebbles into the water, looking out at the grim bulk of Castle Sarazan; to anyone passing he was an idler wasting a fine morning. He gazed at the rear wall of the fortress which rose vertically from the water. It was clearly smaller than the landwall wall, after all the lake guarded that approach. He tried to estimate its height, a plan forming pebble by pebble in his mind.

  Looking away from the castle, he saw that where he stood was in fact in a bay; away to his right the lakeshore curved back towards the castle. Close to the beach there were still some lakeside houses, but these grew sparse further around the shore. The point closest to the castle seemed to be unoccupied open woodland. So much the better, Aron thought as he measured in his mind the distance across the mouth of the bay.

  In the distance the courthouse bell tolled the hour, nothing moved on the surface of the lake save a few ducks. Aron threw his last pebble and then turned towards the lane that led back into the city.

  ***

  The sun was high in the sky when Aron returned to the tavern, yet the carousers were still abed. Davo, however, had returned and was sitting in the taproom looking very pleased with himself.

  “Where yer bin then?” said the little man through a mouthful of bread, spreading crumbs before him.

  'Having a look around and doing a bit of thinking.”

  “Nor as much fun as what I bin doin’,” Davo grinned displaying yellow teeth and half-chewed bread.

  Aron did not think this deserved a reply, so it was a few moments before he spoke. “Would your new friend have any contacts down in the docks?”

  “Maybe. What're yer thinking of?”

  “We'll need to get out of Sarazan sometime soon, whether we get Maldwyn or not. A riverboat looks like a good bet.”

  “Reckon she knows a lot of sailors.” Davo laughed.

  “I need captains, not deckhands. Can you get her to find us a few candidates and find how much money they'd need?”

  “I guess she might be able to find the time, if I let her.”

  “You'll be needing to get out when the time comes, or have you forgotten you're a wanted man here?” Aron was not in the humour to appreciate Davo's lightheartedness.

  “Well, ‘spose so,” was the grudging reply.

  “I need to know a few more things too. The farside of the lake beyond the bay, it looks like open country, what's up there?”

  “Duke's deer park. He hunts up there, no-one goes in there if they want to keep their hands.” Davo took another mouthful of bread.

  “The lake itself. I saw no fishermen, does anyone fish the lake?”

  “No. Duke don't allow it,” said Davo scattering more crumbs. “Anyway, there's a monster in the deep.”

  “Really? And you’ve seen it, have you?”

  “No, but my da's brother he seen it, years ago mind.”

  “So no-one goes on the lake. Can you swim?”

  “Swim? No.” Davo started with alarm. “Don't go near water me, nor do anyone in Sarazan. The monster, see.”

  Aron's nose told him Davo's avoidance of water extended to the domestic situation.

  “Are all the Duke's guards local men?” Aron changed the subject abruptly.

  “Far as I know. Always used to be. Whassat got to do with the lake?”

  “So they wouldn't be able to swim and would be afraid of the lake?”

  “Probly, if they’re local lads. What's you getting at?”

  Any further discussion was curtailed by the noisy arrival of a dishevelled and sweating Tancred. Aron forbore to mention the futility of the previous night's expedition, Davo felt no such inhibition.

  “You ‘ave a good night then?” Davo leered disgustingly at Tancred. “You find anything, other than a bottle?”

  Tancred stared for a moment at Davo as the little man grinned at him then abruptly lashed out, catching Davo across the side of the head and tumbling him to the floor. Aron forced himself to stay still. Now is not the time, he thought.

  “Get out! Get out of my sight.” Tancred turned his ill temper on Aron as Davo fled the room. “You too!” Aron stood up and walked slowly to the door feeling Tancred's eyes on his back.

  “He had no call to do that,” said Davo, wiping the blood from his face where one of Tancred's rings had caught him, when Aron joined him outside.

  “You asked for it,” replied Aron, glad to have got Davo out of the tavern. “At least he’s off our backs for a while and we can get on with searching out some way of undertaking our mission.”

  “Whas we gonna do then? You know some better way ‘n drinking with soldiers?”

  “Yes. I can think of several. Drinking with the Duke's guards and asking too many questions won't get you many answers and only attracts attention,” Aron said, though he suspected it would work well in Nandor. “What I need now is a wise woman. Can you find me one?”

  “You feeling ill?” said Davo uncomprehendingly.

  “No,” said Aron. “I need one who knows how to walk the mist.”

  “Wassat?”

  “It’s a way of finding out things through using the spirit world.”

  “I don’t want nothing to do with it then, ‘at’s witchcraft,” said Davo making a sign against the evil eye.

  “Never mind then,” said Aron shrugging. “Just find me a wise woman.”

  CHAPTER 11

  “At least she knows what I'm talking about,” said Aron.

  The two men had made their way around the poor quarter of the city at least four times in often fruitless searches for Mother this or Granny that, only to find that the wise women they sought were out, not wise at all, or in one case dead.

  “That's more’n I can say. I never ‘eard of walking the mist. I'm hungry, let's find a tavern,” pleaded Davo. The cut Tancred had inflicted had stopped bleeding and faded into the rest of his injuries.

  “You're a wanted man in this city, or have you forgotten?” said Aron, though in fact the reason he wanted to keep out of a tavern was an acute shortage of money.

  “Umm,” Davo grunted in assent.” Why'd yer have to be right all the time? I only wanna drink.” He shrugged and the two of them carried on walking.

  The route back to their lodging seemed to take them past every baker’s shop and pie stall in the city. At every one, the enticing odours reminded Aron of how hungry he was and how little money they had. He added it up in his mind: the wise woman would need paying, not a great sum, b
ut more than he had. Supplies would be needed and, finally, a clandestine passage downriver would not come cheaply. Tancred held the expedition's funds and, as they walked, Aron thought of the various ways of persuading him to part with some of it. None seemed likely to result in anything other than a sneering dismissal.

  “Davo. Do you know where Tancred keeps the money Earl Baldwin gave him for the expedition?”

  “So what if I do?” Davo said suspiciously.

  “So we need money to make this work. He's got it, and he's not likely to give it to us. Does that put ideas into your head?”

  “I thought yer didn't approve of my thieving.”

  “That was then. You were putting all our necks in the noose by doing something stupid and unnecessary. Now we are the only ones pursuing the purpose for which that money was intended. Do you see the difference?”

  “No.” Davo said in genuine puzzlement.

  Aron was silent for a minute as he pondered on Davo's mental processes; finally he spoke. “I'll worry about the difference then. You just see if you can lay your hands on some of the money.”

  As they drew closer to the inn, Aron wondered whether Tancred's ill-temper would have subsided. He knew a confrontation, probably fatal, was inevitable and knew also it would bring the fragmentation of the group and the unwelcome attention of the city authorities. This was sufficient reason to try to delay it.

  Tancred's temper had not improved. He rounded on Aron and Davo the instant they entered the common room of the inn.

  “Where have you been?” he demanded harshly.

  “You told us to get out, so we've been through the city searching for information,” said Aron meeting Tancred’s gaze with a sinking heart. “I've found someone who claims to know the fortress, but information costs money in this city.”

  “And you expect me to give you the money?” sneered Tancred

  “How else do you propose to come by information?” Aron kept his tone calm and reasonable to avoid antagonising Tancred further.