by Martin Owton
“That is for me to decide. If this source you've found has worthwhile information you bring them to me, understand?”
“I doubt they'll talk to you. They don't have much time for the aristocracy. You'll just have to trust me on this.”
“Trust you? You must think I'm simple.”
Aron did not have time to answer this as Davo laughed in a tone precisely calculated to tell Tancred that's exactly what he thought. Tancred's temper boiled over. He leapt up from his chair and grabbed Davo in a stranglehold, lifting him off his feet and choking him.
“You little weasel, I've had enough of you.” Tancred roared as he shook Davo and pressed him up against the wall.
Everyone in the room stood stock still for a moment as Tancred strangled Davo. Aron stepped forward, knife in hand. I can’t avoid this, he thought as he put the knifepoint to Tancred's throat.
“Enough, put him down.”
Aron’s tone was cool and measured. Tancred froze for a long moment then relaxed his grip on Davo, lowering him to the floor, as he glared at Aron, his bloodshot eyes almost glowing red.
“Let. Him. Go,” said Aron firmly, still holding the blade to his throat.
They stood locked in that posture for several breaths before Tancred released Davo who immediately scuttled towards the door. Tancred stood breathing like a man who had just run a mile race; the sweat streamed down his face as his mouth worked, but no words came forth. Aron watched him, poised to respond to the attack he expected. If he attacks, I have to kill him, he thought. Abruptly Tancred turned and strode from the room, almost walking over Davo who still stood, hands behind his body, with his back against the door.
Davo scrambled up from the floor where he had retreated from Tancred's exit and triumphantly produced his hands from behind his back. In them was a canvas pouch.
“Won't have to ask ‘im again, will we?” The little man grinned.
Aron grinned back at him.
“That was well done,” he said slipping the knife back into its sheath. “You were hungry a while back, shall we get something to eat? Call the potboy, Davo.”
One of the other Nandor soldier passed him a mug of ale with a nod of approval and went back to his seat.
CHAPTER 12
Aron moved cautiously through the narrow streets between overhanging buildings, letting his ears become attuned to the little sounds of the night, listening for anything that might betray an attacker. He plucked at the chainmail under his shirt and loosened his knives in their scabbards. This part of the town had a bad reputation for thieves and footpads. Only a few householders obeyed the Duke’s edict to hang lanterns for streetlighting, leaving a multitude of deep-shadowed corners and doorways where an ambusher might lurk. He started at a scuffle from an alleyway, and then relaxed as it became the familiar howl of tomcats disputing territory.
He lost his bearings several times in the maze of alleyways and little courtyards, and had to backtrack, squelching through the mud and worse, all the time wary for a stalker tracking him. The few people about at this hour hurried along avoiding eye contact. A thin rain was falling, blurring vision so that Aron could see only a few paces in the darkness. Usually he would trust his sense of direction to get him anywhere he had visited before, but this time he was defeated; the streets all looked the same and the only landmarks were the taverns that had been closed when he had walked through in daylight. Eventually he found a street urchin begging at a tavern door and paid him a penny to bring him to the wise woman.
The child led him swiftly down a lightless alley, across a courtyard, down a second alley, in all a distance of less than fifty paces before knocking at a door that Aron could barely see in the gloom.
“Come in, young warrior,” called a voice from within.
Aron pushed the door open and warm yellow light flowed out to greet him. He stepped into a cluttered little room; bunches of dried herbs hung from the roofbeams, pots and jars were stacked in every corner. A pair of oil lamps provided the comforting glow, and in the middle of it all the wise woman sat in a rocking chair before a small fire. She shooed a cat from her lap and gathered her shawl about her shoulders.
“You took your time getting here,” she said, her voice sounding surprisingly young to Aron. “So you want to walk the mist. You can pay? It’s not cheap trickery I’m selling, mind.” Aron pulled out the pouch of coins he’d brought and spilled them into her gnarled hand. She counted them and then smiled again. “Think you’re strong enough?”
“I was last time,” said Aron confidently.
The wise woman smiled at him displaying the gaps in her yellow teeth. “So you know the rules then.”
“I believe so.”
“Tell me them, warrior.”
“I can walk in the spirit world as I am or was, but nothing more. I cannot bring anything with me, but any wound that I take there I will suffer here.”
“Quite so, warrior. If you die in the spirit world then you die here also. But you neglect the most fundamental thing.”
Aron looked at her, puzzled.
“So you don’t know it all.” She smiled at him again. “The will. It is all under the control of your will. If you stay focused it will take you where you want to go, but if you allow your mind to wander so will your spirit, and believe me, there are places there you do not want to go. Still sure you want to do this?”
“Yes,” said Aron firmly.
“Good. Then how well do you know the man you're looking for?”
“Not at all, I've never met him.”
“Then how do you expect to find him out there in the mist?” The woman sat back in her rocking chair, steepling her fingers. “Do you know his location well? Have you been there? Have anything that belonged to him?”
“I've a rough idea of where he is but no, I've never been there and I’ve nothing of his.” Aron replied, feeling somewhat awkward.
“Then you're a right fool, boy. I should give you your money back now and send you on your way.” She rocked forward towards Aron. “But I like your face, so lets me think about it and see if there isn't some other way of doing this.”
She rocked back, stretching her arms behind her to hold the chair in that position as she thought. For a while the only sound was the hiss of a kettle on the grate.
“Is there someone you know well, who also knows him well?” she said. “If you can find them, then they can lead you to him.”
The image of a pair of sparkling blue eyes rose in Aron's mind. But whose eyes? Edith would probably be better, she had craved adventure.
“Yes. I think I know someone who meets that description.” Aron smiled to himself.
“Will they be asleep at this hour?”
“I would expect so,” said Aron.
“Do you trust them and, more important, do they trust you? If you lose them in the mist there’s no telling where they may end up.”
Aron stopped to think. He hadn’t considered that there might be a risk to Edith walking the mist with him. Could he trust her to be sensible and do what she was told? If not, he had no business taking her there. But equally this was the only way to gain the information he needed. He remembered the look on her face as she had handed him her handkerchief when they left Nandor and made his decision.
“I trust her and she trusts me,” he said.
“Then it is worth the attempt.”
The wise woman got up from her chair and fetched a pottery jar down from a shelf. She drew out a handful of the contents, sniffed them and then tossed them into the kettle.
“This will help you to walk the mists with me and see if we can find the one you seek.” She lifted the kettle from the grate and poured dark, steaming fluid into a mug which she passed to Aron. “Don't let it get cold now.”
Aron’s stomach turned at the memory of the taste. He lifted the mug to his mouth and the foetid, bitter smell of the brew rose to meet him. He screwed up his face in disgust and turned away.
; “You must drink it.” Her dark eyes glittered with wry amusement. “Come on, warrior. How many have you slain then? And a cup of broth is beyond you, shame on you.”
Aron drew a deep breath and then filled his mouth with the contents of the mug; with a determined effort he swallowed and forced his throat to stay closed. The woman passed him a second mug filled with liquid.
“Drink this. It'll take away the taste,” she said sympathetically.
Aron took a swig and his mouth was filled with gentle lemon flavour. He swallowed and took another mouthful; the awful taste of the first draught receded.
“Sit down now and wait.” She lifted a pile of clothes from a wooden chair beside the fire. “When the draught begins to work you must clear your mind of everything but the one you seek. Concentrate on them alone, start with your strongest memory of them and build them in your mind's eye. Put your whole being into creating their image. Take this picture and reach out across the darkness to them. Mayhap they'll dream of you and that'll aid you. Now sit back and relax, the better to focus.”
Aron sat back his chair as the woman instructed, his churning stomach the main focus of his mental processes. He belched a couple of times, and gradually the urge to vomit eased. Eyes closed, he sought calm and focus as the blademasters had taught him - be the eye of the storm - then his mind lifted with a surge of vertigo. He gasped.
“Good. It begins. Concentrate, warrior. Build the picture in your mind.”
The words echoed as if spoken down a long corridor. Aron smiled as he remembered looking deeply into a pair of blue eyes, soft lips warm against his and firm young breasts pressing into his chest. Opening his eyes Aron found the room filled with swirling mist, the woman was nowhere to be seen, but she spoke as if she could see him.
“Step into the mist. Find the one you seek.”
Aron stood up and stepped cautiously forward into the billowing white clouds, expecting to walk into the wall that he knew was three paces from where he had been sitting. His arms stretched out in front of him, Aron kept moving encountering nothing but chill mist.
“Focus your mind. Think only of your quest,” called the disembodied voice from a vast distance.
Aron pictured dark curls framing a smiling face with sparkling blue eyes and kept walking. The mist thinned and the outlines of disordered shadows firmed to become solid objects: stepping around a chair Aron found he stood at the foot of a bed in a room whose walls were white cloud. One of the occupants of the bed sat up, opened her eyes with a squeak of delight and then leapt up, throwing her arms wide in welcome. Aron stepped into Edith's embrace, savouring her warmth after the coldness of the mist. Behind him the mist solidified into tapestry-hung walls.
After Edith had kissed him a mere half dozen times she finally spoke. “Oh my darling, how I've missed you. How is it you come to me now?” Then she kissed him again.
Aron indulged himself for another minute before pulling free from Edith's embrace. “I need your help, my Lady. Come dress yourself; I need you to help me find Maldwyn.”
“Do you not like me dressed as I am?”
Edith skipped a few dance steps so that her shift swirled about her thighs. Aron felt his cheeks warm as Edith turned her high intensity blue gaze upon him.
“I like you very well, my Lady, but you sought adventure and you cannot go dressed like that.”
Edith kissed him again, then released him and turned to her clothes piled carelessly on a chair. “If it’s an adventure then I’d best wear something that I can move easily in.”
She rummaged through the pile and pulled out the pair of leggings she had worn in the stable. “These were Maldwyn’s until he grew out of them.”
A further rummage produced a woollen shirt and pair of light boots. Aron turned his back as she dressed,
“Am I suitably dressed or will I need a hat?” She smiled a mischievous smile at Aron.
“You're fine as you are, my Lady. Take my hand and we'll be on our way.”
Edith did more than take Aron's hand; she came and put an arm around his waist and looked up at him, her blue eyes seeming large enough for him to fall into.
Aron closed his eyes and tried to remember what he was there for.
“You must find Maldwyn for me. Build a picture of him in your mind so strong that you can touch him, then send it out into the night. Clear your mind of everything except Maldwyn.” Mist began to rise from the floor. “Hold the picture in your mind,” Aron said as the mist swirled around them.
They stepped forward in the direction of the door but never reached it. Edith's arm gripped him very tightly as they walked through the featureless cloud, unable even to see their feet to tell what surface they trod. As before, insubstantial shadows thickened to firm lines, and then they stepped out of the mist into a small stone-walled room furnished with the bare minimum of rough furniture. Edith pulled Aron closer and shivered against the chill. On a pile of straw in a corner a figure huddled under a single blanket.
“Maldwyn!” Edith cried and pushed forward towards the sleeper.
Aron pulled her back as Maldwyn stirred.
“No. Do not wake him. We haven't time to talk with him. We're here to find a way out.”
“But….”
Aron silenced her by turning her back to him and kissing her. When she released him he pulled her towards the door of the chamber. They stood for a moment while Aron thought about how to open it.
“If this is a dream then we can walk through it,” said Edith, pulling Aron forward.
There was a moment of darkness, and they found themselves on a landing with a spiral stone stairway leading both up and down. Aron led them cautiously down. At the bottom an archway led out into a cobbled courtyard lit by flaring torches. Keeping tight to the wall they edged out passing within an armslength of a crossbow-carrying sentry. Aron was holding his breath and trying to keep as still as possible when he looked down and saw that though the sentry cast a shadow, he and Edith did not. Cursing his foolishness, he stepped away from the wall, around the corner and set out across the courtyard. The sentry did not deviate from his path. Aron walked quickly across the yard drawing Edith after him. Several carts were parked in front of a series of wooden huts which were built up against a solid stone wall. Aron made for the gap between the last cart and the hut with the lowest roof. Edith squeezed in beside him and looked up, blue eyes shining with excitement.
'What do we do now?” she whispered as her arms slipped around his chest. Aron pulled her close for a moment and then whispered. “We climb.”
Wriggling free of Edith's grasp, he put one foot on the hub of the cart wheel and pushed himself up, catching the roof timbers of the hut he swung onto the roof via the top of the cartwheel. Then he stretched down, caught Edith's hand and pulled her up as she scrambled onto the roof beside him. Walking along the hut wall they came to the stone wall. Aron reached up and pulled himself up to look over.
“What can you see?” Edith asked.
Aron lowered himself carefully back down. “Water, the lake.”
“What place is this then? Castle Sarazan?”
“The very same.”
“Where are you then?”
“In Sarazan city, seeking a way into this fortress.”
“Then this is a truedream.” Edith's face drew close to Aron's, her voice a husky whisper. “You'll remember this, remember you were here with me.”
“I'll remember every bit.” Aron pulled her closer still and she rested her head in the hollow of his shoulder. Aron held her there and looked back across the courtyard trying to spot any further sentries in the moonlight. The farther corners of the yard started to blur as a mist began to rise from the cobbles.
“We haven't got long, the spell won't last much longer. Tell your mother I'm in Sarazan.”
“Promise me you'll come back to Nandor.”
Aron felt the desperation of her plea in the strength of her arms encircling him. He s
aid nothing, but bowed his head to kiss her one more time as the mist grew thick around them.
CHAPTER 13
Aron trudged wearily back towards the group's lodging house. It was late even for the most desperate of thieves, so he was less watchful as he traversed the dark streets, the memories of his walk in the mist turning over in his mind. On one level the trip had been fruitful; he knew where Maldwyn was, how he was guarded and of a possible way in. On another level he was confused; if he accepted the dream of Castle Sarazan as real then he had to accept Edith's reaction to him as equally true. His blood raced as he remembered the passion of her embrace. But she’s an Earl’s daughter. How have I managed to set the girl on fire like that? All I did was be polite, listen to her talk and kiss her when, with no prior encouragement, she kissed me. He tried to concentrate on his plan to free Maldwyn and failed utterly.
The tavern was locked and shuttered when, after many a wrong turning, he reached it some time in the small hours. It took a lot of sustained and forceful hammering before he roused a dull-eyed kitchenboy and convinced him to unbar the door. Tired to his bones, Aron climbed the stair to the loft dormitory and crept in hoping to avoid waking Tancred. The room was as quiet as a mausoleum. In the pitch darkness Aron was unable to even hear breathing. Weariness overcame curiosity and sleep claimed him before he could investigate further.
Morning answered the mystery. Aron awoke to find himself alone in the loft, the other beds not slept in. Davo's absence he could explain, but the others? He made his way to the kitchen where he scrounged a loaf and a pot of small beer and learned that his companions had gone out late in the evening as they had done every night previously.
“Probably been taken up by the Watch,” laughed the cook. “You'll find them locked up in the watch house nursing sore heads.”
Aron decided to leave them there, glad of anything that kept him away from Tancred and the inevitable confrontation. He and Davo had more urgent business in finding a quick way out of Sarazan for themselves after the rescue attempt; successful or otherwise. There was little to do until Davo returned.