by Martin Owton
“One hundred.” The clansman grinned at his companions.
“Fifty now and fifty when it’s done.”
“Sixty now. We can’t cut fifty three ways equal.”
Hercival paused a moment, unsure if they were making fun of him.
“Done,” he said and reached for his purse. He counted out sixty silver coins and laid them on the table. The clansman took one at random, raised it to his mouth and bit it.
“Good. Now we drink,” he said waving to the potboy. “Who’s the mark and where we find him?”
“His name is Aron of Darien and he is attached to the household of the Earl of Nandor.”
At his words the clansmen began an animated conversation in their own guttural tongue. Hercival sat bemused until the first clansman turned back to him.
“You say Darien?”
“Yes. Aron of Darien. Is that a problem?”
Hercival had a moment of panic wondering how he would get his money back if it was a problem.
“No problem.” The clansman grinned his wolfish grin again. “Where we find him?”
“The Earl of Nandor and his family are staying at the Seven Stars Inn. Aron is my height, slim, with dark hair he wears to his shoulders.” Hercival silently thanked the loose tongues of Tancred and the Sarazan soldiers. “If you watch the Earl’s daughters then Aron will not be far away.” He paused a moment. “He’s good with the blade.”
The clansman nodded and smiled evilly at Hercival. “That’s alright. We not fighting a duel.”
“Is there anything else you need?” said Hercival, hoping that the deal making was over. His bladder suddenly felt very full.
“And who are you, me Lord?” said the clansman with the same smile.
“Lord Hercival of Sarazan, and I can be found at….”
“Don’t worry, me Lord.” The clansman cut him off. “We find you when it’s paying time.” Hercival felt a thrill of fear run through him at the words.
The potboy arrived with four tankards. The clansmen took one each.
“Now we drink.”
Hercival reached reluctantly for the final tankard wondering how long he was expected to stay; he crossed his legs and hoped it wouldn’t be long.
***
Aron shifted the cushion on the stool beneath him. It hurt to sit, but then it hurt to stand, or even to breathe too deeply. The last few days had been the hardest of his life as Lorai and the other priestesses had urged him to first stand, and then walk despite the pain. He watched Celaine as she knelt by a bed in the sunlit herb garden talking with one of the priestesses. He’d barely had a waking moment to himself; Lady Alice and her daughters had been in constant attendance, but their watching had somehow made the pain worse. Their presence a reminder of his failure to bring Maldwyn home. Celaine turned and saw him watching her; she smiled and for a moment his pain was lessened.
Celaine stood up and turned towards him, brushing earth off her skirt, the sun picking out the chestnut shades in her hair, which she wore loose and flowing as was the fashion for unmarried girls in the city. Aron thought at that moment that she was probably the prettiest girl he’d ever seen.
“They’ve taught me so much in the time I’ve been here,” said Celaine. “And they’re going to give me seeds for my garden.”
She knelt beside him and, to Aron, it seemed that there was a sadness about her this morning, and as she turned from his gaze he thought her eyes looked moist.
“Will you be sad to leave the city?” he asked.
“Well, yes and no,” she said not looking at him. “It’s so rich and exciting, but it’s cruel too.” She was silent for a moment and then turned back to him.” I dreamed about you last night. About the fight.” Her eyes glistened with tears. “I dreamed he killed you.”
Aron reached out and took her hands in his.
“Not all dreams come true,” he said.
***
Aron walked slowly down the streets, dark and gloomy even in full daylight, that led to the exiles’ house. It wasn’t a great distance, but today was the first day that he had felt strong enough to attempt it.
He paused to wipe the sweat from his face; it was full summer in the King’s City now and the air throbbed with heat. The doorway was within sight, but Aron was tired and thirsty, his wounds itched under the dressings, he had a headache and wanted to sit down somewhere in the shade. He gritted his teeth as he pushed himself to walk the last few yards. His head swam a little as he rapped on the door. After a short delay the peephole in the door opened.
“Whadya want?” a harsh voice asked.
“Let me in,” said Aron.
“Password.”
“No idea.” Aron closed his eyes against the sun’s glare reflecting off the white wall and struggled to remember. “It was turnip stew six days ago.”
“If you don’t know the password, you can piss off.”
“Don’t you know who I am?”
“No. Now piss off.”
The peephole banged shut. Aron sat on the doorstep hands over his eyes as the pain in his head flared. This was the only way in he knew of, and Lionel and Tamon the only people he knew inside. The other exiles he’d met only briefly, but they ought to know his name. He waited for the pain to ease, then stood up and banged on the door again.
The peephole opened. “You again. I told you to piss off.”
“Tell Lionel, Aron is here.”
“So you’re Aron, are you?”
He sounded unconvinced. Aron struggled to contain the anger that was growing inside him.
“Tell Lionel I had to cut my hair to get rid of the curls.”
“You what?”
“Just tell him.”
The peephole banged shut again. Aron stood defiantly before the door, sweat running down his face, waiting for something to happen. Eventually he heard hurried footsteps on the other side of the door, it swung open and Lionel stood before him.
“It is you, thank the Gods.” Lionel stepped forward and flung his arms round Aron who winced at the contact with his partially-healed wounds. “I thought we’d lost you when you didn’t return. We heard about Tirellan, but where’ve you been?” He released Aron from the bearhug, held him at arms length and looked at him, his cheeks streaked with tears. “You look terrible. What happened?”
“It’s a long story,” said Aron.
“Come on in and tell me about it.”
Aron followed Lionel inside and walked past the hulking shaggy-haired figure of the doorward who gave him a long hard stare as he passed. What’s got into him? thought Aron. Just because I’m who I said I am. Something in the man’s gaze made him shiver despite the warmth of the day.
Lionel led him to a cool airy sitting room two floors up where Aron made himself comfortable on a low couch while Lionel fetched drinks.
“So where have you been since you left Bazarkis’ house?” said Lionel handing Aron a mug of ale.
“Last few days I’ve been at the temple of Iduna. Don’t look so surprised. I’ve been with the healers, I needed them.”
“Where did things go wrong? You got to Tirellan’s house?”
“The coach took me straight there,” said Aron. “The place was unguarded, and wide-open, no-one around except Tirellan and Cristoff. Tirellan tricked me. I saw him pour wine for himself and Cristoff, and I made sure they drank before I touched mine. The wine was clean, the drug was in the goblet. I should have known.”
“They drugged you?”
“Yes.” said Aron, the words bitter in his mouth. “Drugged me, tied me and whipped me.”
“So how did you get away?”
“Edith and Celaine. They came looking for Tirellan, found me and took me to the temple. Without them I’d be a dead man for sure.” Aron paused and took a drink. “And now I have to pay my debt to them with an arena fight against the champion of Sarazan.”
“Sarazan eh? Is this connected to that fellow Ma
ldwyn you brought with you?”
“Yes. It’s his ransom that’s at stake.”
“I thought so because we learned that he was seized by a group of Sarazan’s soldiers in a tavern in Half Moon Street.”
Aron’s heart sank. He’d been hoping Maldwyn would turn up somewhere and that Sarazan’s claim to hold him was a bluff.
“What was he doing down there?”
“The other fellow that was with you, Davo. He’d been asking the lads about brothels and there’s a high class one down there.”
Aron cursed. The story seemed all too plausible.
“Damn fool. Why couldn’t he do what he was told for a few days? What happened to Davo?”
He could tell from Lionel’s face that he was not going to hear good news.
“He’s dead,” said Lionel quietly. “Shot down in the street by Sarazan crossbows. I’m sorry.”
Aron took a deep breath and bowed his head.
“That’s hard. But there are worse deaths. He was never going to make old bones, probably saved him from the gallows anyway.” He took a deep draught of ale and stared at the floor. “I’ll miss the little bastard though.”
“Who’s the opponent in the arena fight?” asked Lionel.
“The champion of Sarazan, a fellow named Mikael. All I know about him is that he’s old. He’s been the Duke’s principal blademaster for twenty years and is said to be his closest friend.”
“He must be good to have lasted this long,” said Lionel thoughtfully.
“Exactly my thoughts.”
“When?”
“Day after the next full moon.”
“That’s soon; are you going to be fit?”
“I’ll have to be.”
Lionel took a mouthful of ale and thought for a while before speaking.
“Tough fight,” he said grimly.
“Very tough,” said Aron. “I really need to practice. Can you get hold of Kyria’s blademaster and arrange something? I’ll need my kit from here, too.”
“I’ll send someone to fetch your things immediately and there’ll be no problem with Kyria.” He stepped to the door and spoke briefly to someone outside. “Where are you going to be staying?” he asked.
“At The Seven Stars with Earl Baldwin and his party. I’ve been at the temple long enough.”
“The old women not to your taste?” Lionel grinned at Aron.
“More comfortable than your attic,” Aron said laughing.
Lionel smiled and took another mouthful of ale. “How much should I stake on you to win?”
Aron looked back at him. “Not a penny.”
Lionel caught his mood and the smile vanished. “That bad?”
“That bad.”
“And high stakes.”
“If I lose, Nandor is ruined. They lose the land and paying the ransom will leave the daughters without dowries.”
“Not a nobleman in the land would marry them then. And if you win?”
“Sarazan gives up all claim on the land, and releases Maldwyn and his cousin Tancred, though as far as I’m concerned they can keep Tancred.”
“What do you get?”
“Not money. Probably the offer of a position in the household and maybe marriage to one of the daughters.”
“Tempting. I hear they’re beauties.” Lionel smiled knowingly at Aron.
So which one do you want, Aron remembered Davo’s mocking words. “Nandor’s a long way from anywhere and it rains a lot,” said Aron not wanting to confront the question.
There was a knock at the door; Lionel got up to answer it. He exchanged a few words with the unseen messenger and returned with a half-filled sack. He passed it over to Aron.
“This is all they could find in your room.”
Aron took the sack and sorted through the contents. His sword, knives and the pouch of coins they’d won at the Silver Moon were all there.
“I should be going. I’ll see you before the fight, won’t I?” Aron said gathering up the sack. “Come up to Kyria’s mansion when I’m practising.”
“Of course; I’ll be there every day,” said Lionel. “They’d all come to watch if I let them.”
Together they made their way to the street door. Lionel examined the street through the peephole before opening it.
“One thing,” he said. “You said you were drugged and tied up by Tirellan.”
“Yes.”
“So who killed him?”
Aron looked at Lionel, wondering whether he was ready for the truth.
“Iduna,” he said and stepped into the street.
CHAPTER 36
“Well, it is nice to see you,” said Celaine as Aron came into the sitting room. “We thought you’d quite forgotten about us.”
“I’m sorry to have disappointed you, my Lady. But I’ve been training and that’s best done before the day gets too hot.”
Indeed by this hour yesterday, Aron had run across the city to the Duke of Kyria’s mansion and put in two hours intensive practice. He looked at the remains of the breakfast still on the table and reflected that with half the day gone by the ladies were barely risen and there was no sign of Earl Baldwin.
“Aren’t you training today?” asked Edith.
“I’ve already been for a run, but my instructor has other duties today, so I’m working with another blademaster later on.”
“So you’re free to show us the city for a while then,” said Celaine with a happy smile.
“That would be lovely,” said Edith.
Aron looked for a moment into the dangerous blue gazes and suddenly it seemed a very attractive idea.
“For a while then before I go training.”
“Can we, Mama?”
Edith turned to her mother who was taking her time over a dish of honeyed eggs.
“I don’t see why not.” Lady Alice smiled and turned to Aron. “You will take good care of them, won’t you?”
“They’ll be safe with me,” said Aron.
“I must go and get ready,” said Celaine and turned for the door that led to the bedroom.
Aron reached for a plate.
“I’ve time for a little breakfast then,” he said, and Lady Alice smiled at him again.
***
It was busy out on the streets, and hot enough for Aron not to wear his mailshirt, though he kept his knives and sword; he had after all promised to look after the girls and the city wasn’t that safe. At the moment though, he was in danger of being bored to death, as the girls had insisted on stopping to examine almost every shop they had passed. He was idly watching the passing crowd, when he caught a glimpse of what looked like a Saxish clansman. The fellow saw Aron looking at him and ducked away into an alley. Just then the girls detached themselves from the merchant’s wares and turned back to Aron, each taking an arm. Aron twisted to see if the clansman reappeared and flinched as his back muscles protested.
“What’s the matter?” asked Celaine as they steered him down the crowded street.
“I thought I saw someone I knew,” said Aron.
“Not a girl, I hope,” said Edith.
“No, no it wasn’t,” said Aron, still thinking about the clansman.
“You seem very distant today,” said Celaine. “Are you thinking about the duel?”
“Yes,” said Aron.
“I didn’t think heroes ever worried,” said Edith squeezing his arm. “That’s what the bards say anyway.”
“Proves I’m no hero then,” said Aron.
“What is there to worry about?” said Celaine. “You’ll be fit in time won’t you?”
“I hope so. But that’s just part of my worries. I’ve never fought in the arena before. I would expect this Mikael has. He’s twenty years older than me and that’s a lot of experience. He must still be good otherwise he wouldn’t be Sarazan’s senior blademaster.”
Edith turned and looked at him, her blue gaze turned up to maximum.<
br />
“You’ll still be my hero if you lose,” she said gravely.
“I could easily be dead if I lose.”
“Then we’ll put flowers on your grave every day,” said Celaine and both girls broke into giggles.
Aron grinned despite himself.
“You’re being far too serious,” said Edith. “I think you need to see a fair. The maid said there’s a fair beside the watergate. Why don’t you take us there?”
Aron groaned inwardly; shysters and pickpockets would be as thick as fleas on a street dog at the fair, but he knew the girls would love the tawdry glamour.
“This way then,” he said directing them towards a quiet lane between high buildings that led away from the main street.
They had gone maybe ten paces along the narrow lane when two tall figures appeared from an alleyway further on and began walking towards them. The leather waistcoats and long dark hair tied back with leather thongs marked them unmistakably as Saxish clansmen. Aron looked over his shoulder; another clansman had entered the lane behind them and all three carried longswords on their backs.
“Just keep walking,” Aron whispered to the girls as he freed his arms from theirs.
They moved looking confused as he fiddled with his belt and his sword dropped noisily to the cobbles. As he bent to retrieve it he could hear the boots of the clansman behind approaching at a brisk walk. He glanced up to see how far away the other two were and, crouched in the middle of the lane, fumbled with the sword’s fixings. Shielded from the clansman’s view his right hand found the dagger in his boot top.
The clansman halted a pace from him. Aron looked up to see him reach over his shoulder to draw his sword. Somewhere up the lane a girl screamed. Bracing his hands on the ground, Aron struck out with his left foot and caught the clansman solidly on the side of his right knee. He staggered sideways and his half-drawn sword jammed in the scabbard. Aron danced upwards and brought the dagger round striking just below the point of the jaw beneath the left ear. The clansman grunted and collapsed like a sack of turnips. Aron picked up his sword, looked back up the lane and then sprinted for the near end.
The two clansmen hesitated for a moment, then drew their swords and pelted down the lane after Aron, shoving Celaine and Edith roughly out of their way. Edith stuck out a foot and caught the ankle of one, who tumbled cursing to the cobbles. He picked himself up and glared back at Edith.