by Martin Owton
Kovac attacked fast and with precision, his thrusts powerful yet controlled, his blade a blur in the twilight. He is used to winning quickly, thought Aron as he blocked a slash to his neck followed by a thrust to the groin. The odds are probably weighted to this, and he’ll become frustrated when he can’t break through. Just watch and wait.
The crowd howled for blood as Aron fought a defensive fight, anticipating well, blocking the frenzied attacks. Already cries of derision could be heard; they were used to the quick kill. Aron circled warily, content to parry and forestall Kovac's attacks which were becoming noticeably slower. Sweat was breaking out on Kovac’s brow; soon he would make an error. Aron waited, holding him at bay, waiting for the mistake. The mob screamed in frustrated anticipation. Aron continued to circle, keeping clear of the front rank of the crowd, wary of the tripping foot. Kovac was breathing heavily now; Aron could see doubt in his face as he continued to thrust forward, more warily than before.
As the minutes passed and the fight continued with no blood spilt, the crowd grew quieter, sensing that their favourite was struggling and their wagers were in danger of costing them dear. Somewhere at the back of the assembly someone called out “Ten crowns on the stranger.” Other voices joined him as the oddsmakers struck new bargains.
Kovac must have heard the shouts because at that moment the balance of the fight changed. Aron moved smoothly onto the offensive with sharp thrusts, too fast for his opponent to do anything other than block and retreat. The noise of the crowd increased as they anticipated the bloody conclusion. Kovac was tiring badly now. Once and then twice, Aron's blade nicked him; washing his hairy arms with scarlet without doing any serious harm. His blocks grew more and more desperate as Aron drove him backwards around the yard, the crowd parting before them.
Suddenly it was over. Aron thrust high and turned his wrist in mid thrust, directing his point downwards. Kovac's tired arms could not react fast enough and Aron's blade slashed into his groin cutting through the big artery. He squealed in agony as blood gushed down his leg and collapsed forward onto Aron's blade which sank deep into his chest.
A great roar of cheering burst from the crowd as they surged forward. The foremost seized Aron and lifted him onto their shoulders so that he could receive the acclaim.
“Best fight I've seen for months.”
“Splendid, absolutely splendid.”
The voices all around were yelling and cheering. Somewhere in the middle of it all, as he was carried through the crowd, Aron managed to grab Maldwyn for a moment.
“Pass your hat round for the victor,” he instructed before Maldwyn was shoved aside by the crush
After a few minutes Aron was carried to the taproom door and allowed to regain his feet. A mug of ale was thrust into his hand which he drained to great cheers and then went inside. The taproom was empty save for the serving boys, Aron headed for a table in a dark corner and ordered another mug of ale. The crowd flowed in after him and the room became noisy with shouts for ale and spirited re-enactments of the fight.
Aron sat quietly at his table, breathing slowly and deeply as he had been taught, seeking to calm the surges of emotion that rushed through his mind. Be thankful you have survived again and take what lessons you can.
With a scuffle of feet Davo arrived at the table; he called to a potboy for more ale and pushed a leather purse across to Aron. It was heavy. Aron unfastened the drawstring and poured a few coins onto the table. The gold glinted dully in the lantern light.
“I got in before the fight started, got real good odds,” Davo said, his smile displaying his yellowed teeth. “We got stacks of money.”
And how much have you squirelled away for yourself? Aron wondered briefly then dismissed the thought. There’s more than enough here to keep us in decent lodgings for a few weeks.
A moment later, Maldwyn pushed his way through the crowd and also laid money onto the table. There was no gold, but a good selection of silver and copper coins.
“They were glad to give something; lots of them said it was the best fight they’ve seen.” said Maldwyn, his eyes shining with excitement. “It was the best I’ve seen. I mean, I know you must be good, but I never realised.” He tailed off when he caught Aron’s eye.
“Have a drink, Maldwyn, then we’ll go,” said Aron quietly.
“You don’t want to stay here?”
“No,” said Aron. “We can afford better now. And besides, I just killed a man. He would have had friends.” He looked around the room. “We’re safe enough for a while, but I don’t want to be here when the crowds thin out. And I don’t hear any Darien accents.”
Calling to the potboy, he ordered a round of ales and some food.
Some time later, feeling better than he had for days, Aron roused his companions to leave. The other customers of the tavern stood back to give them a clear path to the door and applauded them all the way out. The landlord met them at the door and ceremoniously tore up their bill.
“I’d be pleased to see you back here any time,” he said with a smile. “That was the best fight we’ve ever had here.”
***
“But I don’t understand why he picked on you,” said Maldwyn as they walked away from the tavern. The streets were far less crowded now and the three men were able to stroll freely.
“He heard me say I didn’t know what day it is,” replied Aron. “And assumed I was some strawhead as ignorant of bladework as I was of the city. That is an attitude that many city dwellers possess; that all there is worth knowing is to be found in the city and that everyone who lives in the country is an idiot.”
“But he could have picked on me,” said Maldwyn. “I didn’t know it was King’s Day.”
“Welcome to the Holy City,” said Aron.
He flicked a glance over his shoulder and then stopped in the doorway of a shop, peering to look into the interior for a few moments. He glanced up the street then moved on. As he walked he fiddled with the strap of his pack and then cursed as it slipped off his back onto the cobbles. He knelt to pick it up and again looked back up the street to confirm his suspicions as the other two waited for him.
“Someone is following us,” Aron said as he stood up.
Maldwyn began to turn to look behind them.
“Don’t look around, just keep walking,” said Aron. “Keep straight on up this street. Walk slowly and I’ll catch you up.”
With that he slipped into a narrow alley that led off from the street into the dark. He hurried down the alley and emerged into a narrow lane, then turned to parallel the main street going back towards the tavern. Thirty paces along he came to the mouth of a second alley leading back towards the main street. He ran down this to the junction and waited in the deep shadow. A thin, shabbily dressed man walked past. Aron reached out, grabbed his coat sleeve and pulled him into the alley. Holding a knife along side the man’s nose he said softly.
“Why are you following us?”
CHAPTER 26
“Aron. It is Aron isn’t it?” The thin man gasped. “Don’t you remember me? I’m Tamon.”
Aron looked hard at the man. The dim light of the street lanterns did not show him enough of Tamon’s face. Davo and Maldwyn ran back down the street to stand either side of Aron. The few people on the street ignored them and hurried about their business. If this is an ambush, it’s a very poor one, thought Aron.
“Walk out into the light so I can see you,” Aron commanded.
Tamon did as he was told and walked towards the nearest lantern with Aron close behind. There had been a man named Tamon amongst the Darien exiles. He had arrived in the Holy City a few weeks before Aron had been forced to leave. Was this the same man? Tamon turned to look at Aron from under the lantern.
“Now you remember, don’t you?” Tamon said.
The accent was certainly Darien and the thin features looked somewhat familiar. Aron paused a moment and then put the knife away.
“It’s
been a long time, Tamon. I didn’t recognise you.”
“I thought it was you when I saw how you handled him back at the tavern. I didn’t know you were back.”
“We only arrived today,” said Aron. “We went to the Silver Moon in the hope of finding a few Darien folk.”
“There’s too many people know the Moon for Darien folk, so we don’t go there much anymore,” said Tamon reflectively. “Only for I was passing and saw the crowd.”
“Can you take me to Esson?” asked Aron.
“He’s dead,” said Tamon. “Killed when Caldon fired the house in Cooper’s Lane.”
“Who else was killed?”
“Too many. Lamat, Hami, Snellin and Ralf that you would know, and a dozen more besides. Thorold and Manni were knifed in the street. We’ve had a rough time since you left. Caldon’s men came down hard on us after Tirellan arrived.”
“Tirellan is here!” exclaimed Aron. “But he is under the same sentence from the High King as Caldon.”
“I don’t know what’s going on, or if he’s still here” said Tamon. “But he’s been here right enough.”
“Is Cordra alright?” asked Aron, gripped by sudden concern for his friend.
“Well enough. There’s talk of him getting married.”
“Good thing if he does. He needs to ensure the succession. Who’s the bride?”
“They say it’ll be Nerissa, daughter of the Duke of Letra.”
“Letra would be a fine ally.” Aron remembered the girl as being rather short and plump with a squint, but her father was a rich and powerful man with a fine reputation as a soldier. “Who’s leader of the exiles now?”
“Lionel,” said Tamon.
“Good. Can you take us to him?”
Tamon looked suspiciously at Maldwyn and Davo for a moment before he spoke. “Follow me.”
Tamon set off up the street; Aron motioned to the other two to follow.
“He’ll take us to my friends,” Aron said and turned to follow the fast disappearing Tamon.
Tamon led them through gloomy streets and dark stinking alleys until they arrived at a door in a high white-washed wall. Tamon rapped on the door, somewhere up above a window squeaked open. Aron looked up but could make out nothing in the darkness. A small peephole opened in the door, Tamon muttered a password and after a scraping of bolts, it was opened. One by one they crossed the threshold to be scrutinised in turn by a heavily built man who held a hooded lamp. Aron could not see his face beyond the lamp.
Tamon set off up the narrow stairs that rose before them; somewhere above a candle lantern provided enough light to see by. Aron, Davo and Maldwyn passed the doorkeeper and climbed the stairs. Behind them they heard the bolts grind back into place. At the head of the stairs they entered a wide unfurnished room.
“Wait here,” said Tamon. “I’ll see who is around.”
He walked across the room and opened a door in the far corner.
“Your friends seem very suspicious,” said Maldwyn.
“With good reason if Tirellan’s here,” said Aron.
“Who is this Tirellan? I heard your reaction to his name. Is he an enemy?”
“He is Caldon’s right hand, his executioner.” Aron’s voice was cold and hard. “He butchered the garrison at Darien, including my father.”
“And he is here, in the Holy City?”
“He’s been here, though I thought he was under sentence for treason. His agents have killed half a dozen of my friends since I left.”
“This ain’t good news then,” said Davo.
“It is and it isn’t,” replied Aron. “He is a calculating and ruthless killer and it’s not good news that he’s hunting the friends we have here. However, I have sworn his death and anything that brings him within my reach is good news.” He smiled grimly.
The door at the far end of the room crashed open and a large bearded man, a thick riding cloak thrown over his night clothes, strode in.
“Aron,” he roared, his arms outstretched. “It’s so good to see you.”
Aron stepped forward to meet his embrace. “Lionel, it’s good to be here.”
The two men hugged for a long moment before Lionel released Aron.
“I had no idea you were coming. How long have you been back? And who are your friends?”
“I arrived today,” replied Aron. “Lionel, this is Lord Maldwyn, heir to the Earldom of Nandor.”
Lionel bowed from the waist and offered his right hand. Maldwyn bowed elegantly in return and grasped Lionel’s hand as he introduced himself.
At least his mother taught him manners, Aron thought.
“And this is Davo, a soldier in the service of Nandor.” Davo imitated Maldwyn’s bow. Lionel did not shake his hand.
“I need a favour, Lionel,” said Aron.
“Of course,” said Lionel expansively. “Anything.”
“My friends are fugitives. I killed a man tonight and there are soldiers after us guided by a wizard. We need somewhere to hide up for a few days until I can arrange to get them out of the city.”
“Stay here. There’s plenty of space and we’re well guarded. But tell me, who’s hunting you?”
“Sarazan.”
“Ummm,” said Lionel thoughtfully. “Not good.”
“Only for a few days. Until I can get them on their way back to Nandor.”
“Keep them out of the way then,” said Lionel. “But here I am forgetting my manners. Have you eaten tonight?”
“Yes. We ate in the Silver Moon,” said Aron. “All I really want at this moment is a bed.”
The tiredness had crept up on him since they had arrived at the house of the exiles and he had been able to relax his alertness. Now he felt his eyelids trying to close of their own accord.
“Of course. I’ll catch up with you in the morning and you can tell me the full story of what brings you here.”
***
Aron was woken by the noise of the pigeons that roosted on the window sill of the dusty attic room he had shared with Maldwyn and Davo. They slept on as the morning sun crept across the floor. Aron lay in bed thinking about the chances that had brought him back to the Holy City and what now had to be done. It certainly seemed that fate had guided his steps, for he’d had no plan of returning, yet here he was and with Tirellan in reach. Fate, or something more? Is this your doing, Lady? he thought, remembering Iduna and her bower.
Maldwyn grunted as he turned in his sleep. What am I to do about them? Aron wondered. Just because there had been no sign of Sarazan’s pursuers recently did not mean they had given up. Iduna had warned him that someone searched for them; most likely a wizard that had a lock of Maldwyn’s hair or something similar, and could scry him whenever he chose. You missed that didn’t you? Should have brought his hairbrush with him. And there was the unnatural storm that had wrecked their boat, the wizard again? How far is Sarazan prepared to go? It was a fair guess they might be in the Holy City, but would they trail them further? Aron looked over at the slumbering figure of the Nandoran. Could he leave Maldwyn to make his way back to Nandor unaided? Would he be likely to reach home? Unlikely, Aron thought. Even without pursuit it was a better than even chance that Maldwyn would find trouble.
So he had to go with them to Nandor, but that could not happen until he had dealt with Tirellan. The prospect of returning to Nandor with Maldwyn, leaving behind Tirellan’s dead body, was most attractive. Earl Baldwin would have to stand by his promise of reward and Aron was much taken with the idea of seeing Maldwyn’s sisters again. His memory supplied Davo’s mocking voice “So which one do you want?”
He closed his mind to the remembered question. The outcome would probably have very little to do with what he wanted so it was best not to speculate on it. He had to get to Nandor first, and before that he had to find a way to Tirellan. He tried to think about how he could get close enough to kill him. It had to be personal; something like a poisoned arrow was out of th
e question. Tirellan must know who his nemesis was. He wanted to stand beside Tirellan as the light faded from his eyes and tell him that he died to avenge Darien - then he would consider the question.
***
The sun was high when Aron awoke again, roused by a servant calling to him that breakfast was past ready and likely to spoil if he didn’t come soon. Davo and Maldwyn’s beds were empty. Aron leapt out of bed and pulled on his clothes in a fury of worry lest the other two had already finished their meal and gone out to explore the city. He hurried down the stairs after the servant and followed him through the house to a plain dining room. At the table sat Davo and Maldwyn taking their ease as they grazed in a leisurely fashion on the food set out before them.
“So you’ve finally woken up,” said Davo with a laugh. “I ‘ad to hold Maldwyn back, totherwise there’d a bin nothing left.”
Maldwyn looked aghast at this allegation, but Aron had been awake long enough to recognise the look in Davo’s eye.
“And you’ve taken nothing but water yourself because it’s a fast day,” he said lightly looking straight at Davo.
“There’s plenty left,” said Maldwyn earnestly.
“There’s some really manky fish,” said Davo. “Dunno what they’ve done to it, but it’s all brown.”
“Smokies? They’ve got smokies,” said Aron, lifting the lid of a metal serving dish. “I haven’t had smokies for years. I used to love them.”
He dumped several large spoonfuls onto his plate along with a hunk of bread.
“Don’t know how you can eat that,” said Davo pulling a face.
“Food of the gods,” said Aron through a mouthful.
“We was thinking we’d ‘ave a look around the city today,” said Davo. “Being as how it’s our first time ‘ere.”
Aron almost choked on his bread. “You’ll do no such thing,” he coughed, trying to get the words out past the crumbs.
He tried to say, “You’re still a fugitive, Maldwyn,”, but the words came out as a splutter without form as he tried to communicate his displeasure at Davo’s proposal. The splutter turned into a coughing fit and then hiccups. Maldwyn came and thumped him on the back but to no avail. He was still hiccupping when Lionel came bustling into the room.