'The only person you're sharing a bed with is me.' Serde led his chestnut horse into the stable.
Bair followed him with a gap-toothed grin. 'I'll kick you if you snore.'
Half a dozen horses were already in the stalls, straw deep around their hocks. Nets of hay were hung and their harness was racked tidily.
'The grooms here know their business.' Bair patted a black cob's questioning nose as he relieved his own horse of its burdens in the stall beside it.
'We should ask if they've any horses for hire.' Letting his gear fall to the dusty floor, Serde lifted the saddle flap to unbuckle his mount's girth. He bent to brush away mud and sweat crusted on the chestnut's belly.
'You can rest and get your strength back.' Bair grinned as he slid the bridle off his horse's ears. The animal lipped his hand in search of some treat.
'Where's that lad we were promised?' Serde straightened up.
A man sitting motionless in the shadow behind the door sprang forward, his short sword menacing. As Serde and Bair swore, each reaching for their own blades, the trap door to the hayloft above flew open. Two men dropped onto a waiting heap of straw, naked steel in their hands.
One stumbled on landing. Serde was on him, his sword cutting a gleaming arc in the lamplight. But a fourth enemy erupted from the empty stall where he'd lurked beneath soiled litter. He caught Serde's descending forearm with one metal-gauntleted hand. Serde's fingers were numbed by the brutal collision and he dropped his blade. The attacker drove the long dagger in his other hand deep into the horseman's belly. They stood, pressed close as lovers. Serde looked into the man's dark eyes, astonishment momentarily outweighing his agony. Then his killer ripped the blade sideways, spilling out Serde's life with his entrails.
Bair had taken a mortal blow. The man hidden behind the door had hacked a deep gash between his neck and shoulder. Bair collapsed to his knees, feebly thrusting his sword at the men who'd dropped from the hayloft. The first attacker knocked his weapon aside with a contemptuous gauntlet and kicked Bair full in the chest with a steel-bound boot. Bair fell backwards, his legs twisted painfully beneath his burly body.
The booted man bent to make certain Bair was beyond feeling such discomfort. He looked at the man who'd gutted Serde, raising his brows in silent question. The man was cleaning his blade on the dead horseman's cloak. He nodded in confirmation.
The attackers retrieved their horses from the stalls. Once the booted man had saddled his own black cob, he hung a leather bag of money from the bridle hook before silently leading the killers out into the night.
Within the stable the remaining horses stirred restlessly at the disquieting scent of blood. Dulling slowly, the ruby flow from Bair's neck seeped into the bloodstained linen wrapping the butchered rabbits.
* * *
Hosh moaned beneath his blankets. 'Cock crow?'
'Go back to sleep.' Corrian said quietly.
'Why are you up?' Roused, Hosh fought free of his bedding.
'I'm going on alone.' Corrain was by the door to the attic room, already dressed in his creased clothes. Stubble darkened his lean face.
Hosh sat upright, blankets slipping. 'We're supposed to stay together. The captain said--' He shivered, his grimy shirt inadequate protection in the dawn chill.
'You can't keep your mouth shut.' Corrain leaned against the thin plank door as he pulled a boot on. 'Get your own throat cut and see if I care, but you won't take me to face Saedrin alongside you.'
'Go kiss a pig's arse.' Hosh's youthful face turned ugly with anger. 'We're to stay together so my lord knows each man stays honest. Anyway, what did I do?'
'Besides trying to impress that ale-wench with your boasting about being Lord Halferan's trusted envoy?' Corrain queried with acid contempt.
'I was explaining why we're travelling together and why you were insisting we have a room to ourselves.' A furious flush rose from Hosh's creased collar. 'Half the taproom were guessing you were renting my arse.'
'As long as they don't guess our real business, who cares.' Corrain paused as he buckled his long boots at the knee. 'But can you keep your mouth shut if I leave you behind?' he mused, staring at the boy.
'About the wizard?' Hosh swung his feet out from under the frowsty blankets.
'Apparently not.' Grabbing his shoulder, Corrain hauled the youth off the low bed, dumping him on the floor.
'Hey!' Hosh sat on the bare boards, bemused, gooseflesh prickling his naked thighs.
'You've been complaining how tired you are.' Corrain plucked Hosh's belt from the heap of breeches and jerkin at the end of the bed. 'You can spend a few days here catching up on your rest.'
'You want to leave me behind because you're the traitor!' Hosh grabbed for a muddy boot and threw it full at Corrain's head. The lean man dodged easily and the boot thudded against the cracked plaster. Hosh scrambled to his feet. 'Now you want to make a run for it, back to your filthy paymaster.'
'Say that again and I'll cut out your tongue.' Corrain scowled blackly, slipping the tongue of the belt through the buckle to make a noose.
'They'll hunt you.' Hosh's voice cracked with terror. 'You can't get rid of a body that easily.'
He couldn't escape the taller man in the confines of the cramped room. Corrain feigned a grab at Hosh's sword hand. As the youth recoiled, Corrain punched him deftly in the side of the jaw, hard enough to knock him sprawling on his belly on the bed. Before Hosh could gather his wits let alone regain his feet, Corrain was straddling him. He pushed the boy's beardless face into the lumpy mattress.
'I'm leaving you here.' He bent down to speak close to Hosh's ear, low and menacing. 'You have a choice. Keep your mouth shut, and don't say a word, whatever happens, whatever you're accused of. Then you'll probably live until I come back to get you. Whine like a whipped cur, telling everyone our business and you'll probably get your throat cut. If they don't hang you first just to shut your noise.'
'Traitor--' Whatever else the lad tried to say was lost as Corrain pushed his face deeper into the bed.
Holding Hosh immobile with his muscular thighs, the saturnine swordsman clamped his strong long-fingered hands around the boy's pimply neck. Hosh struggled briefly before going utterly limp. Corrain swiftly hooked an arm under his knees to lay him on the bed. He used the lad's own belt to lash his feet together and cut strips from the blanket to fashion a secure gag and to tie his hands. Scowling, Corrain caught up his own saddle bags. As he reached the door, Hosh was beginning to stir, his eyes rolling beneath closed lids.
Corrain cursed between clenched teeth. He strode back and punched Hosh hard on the side of the head. The lad lolled back into unconsciousness and Corrain snatched up Hosh's clothes. Stuffing them into the lad's ungainly leather bag he slung that over his shoulder with his own gear.
This humble inn had no locks to its doors so Corrain couldn't secure the room. He strode swiftly down the narrow passage and took the winding stair to the hallway two steps at a time. Sticking his head into the kitchen, he found a weary maid yawning as she swept ash from the hearth. He grinned. 'Who's Head of the Watch hereabouts, sweetness?'
The girl blinked at him, bewildered. 'Master Emmer, the baker.'
Corrain fished in his shirt for the purse strung around his neck. 'You do me a good turn and there'll be another silver mark to go with this one.' He flipped the shiny coin towards her and she snatched it out of the air. 'You remember that lad I was travelling with?'
She nodded mutely, wide-eyed.
'He tried to rob me in the night.' Corrain shook his head. 'I've left him tied up. Fetch this master baker, whenever you've done your chores. I've got my own business to be about but I'll be back to swear out an affidavit against the louse.' He favoured the girl with another winning smile.
Still confused she half-returned it, clutching her coin, the ash-pan in her other hand.
Corrain disappeared through the door to the stable yard.
* * *
'The captain said make haste.' Treche
looked warily around, his face shadowed by a dusty black hood.
No one was hurrying through this market place, thronged with people. Merchants were selling all manner of wares from trestle tables beneath broad awnings. With the sun turning its face towards noon, most were replenishing their stock, stacking baskets as they emptied them.
'The captain said get the word through.' Unlil had swapped his grey uniform cloak for a long green cape. A man carrying freshly baked pies twisted through the crowd and trod on the tattered hem, tearing it further.
Treche lowered the handles of the laden push-cart he was laboriously shoving over the cobbles and blew on his fingers. While the day was agreeably bright, it was still bitterly cold. 'You don't think everyone else will already be home?'
Two men peddling trinkets from trays hung around their necks paused just ahead, rearranging their depleted offerings so their displays looked less sparse.
'Maybe so, maybe not.' Unlil glowered at a plump townswoman as she barged past him.
'You can explain to my lord's horse-master how you traded two good mounts for a barrow load of pease and a rag-man's cast-offs,' Treche muttered. He reached for the push-cart's handles and grunted with pain. 'Ah!' Straightening, he knuckled the small of his back.
'I'll take my turn--' Unlil broke off.
As Treche brought his hand forward, they both saw the glistening red bright in the sunlight. Treche's knees gave way and he slumped over the handcart. There was a dull gleam on his faded cloak, the cloth freshly dyed with his blood.
Unlil looked around wildly. No one looked back. Everyone in the crowd was intent on their own affairs. A man jostled him from behind. Unlil turned, fumbling for his sword. Hampered by the voluminous cape, he was too slow. As the heedless jostler went on his way, Unlil looked down to see a stubby knife hilt pinning the green cloth draping his thigh.
He gasped in sudden agony. Crippled by the burning poison, he fell to his knees like Treche. He wrenched the knife out of his leg but never heard the rising shrieks as passers-by suddenly realised there were two dead men in their midst.
* * *
'You keep looking at the door, my lord Halferan.' A short man spoke, his gaudy robe of embroidered scarlet velvet like a flame against the dark wooden panelling hiding the lower half of the hall's tall stone walls. Long lancet windows pierced the whitewashed upper expanses, burning with the last glow of sunset. 'Are you expecting someone?' As his dark eyes slid towards the entrance, he toyed with his short black beard, slicked to a point with scented oil.
'My people often seek my counsel.' Halferan's poise was commendable, apparently relaxed as he sat in his canopied chair. It dominated the dais at the northern end of the hammer-beamed hall.
'They rely on you to defend their interests.' The man in the red robe walked along the edge of the dais, disdaining the grey-liveried swordsmen standing around the smouldering hearth just below. 'Which means protecting them from the corsairs' raids.'
Though Halferan was dressed in finer cloth than his warriors, he wore fighting gear like them, booted and spurred. Such garb flattered his wide shoulders and long, muscular legs. Like most, his hair was an undistinguished middling brown, his complexion faded from summer's deep tan to a winter's pallor.
He looked at the stocky man with undisguised contempt. 'My men cut their teeth driving off such curs, Master Scavarin.'
Though the men around the hearth growled their agreement, their lord's defiance rang painfully hollow.
The bearded man smiled, quite confident. 'But then those teeth are knocked out by corsair fists, which black their eyes besides, and break their bones.' As he turned to stroll back across the dais, his unprotected back was impervious to the warriors' lacerating glares.
Distant, away by the double door, men in drab brown sniggered into tankards of ale. Like Scavarin, they were dark of hair and eye, sallow skinned. Only one wasn't drinking, gold rings glinting on his fingers as he watched intently, his hands loose in his lap.
'Even victory leaves wounded men sapping your strength,' Scavarin continued with blithe assurance. 'How many raids do you successfully drive off? How often do your men arrive too late, to find houses burned and barns ransacked? How many women and children have been ravished or stolen away to be sold into slavery among the Aldabreshi?'
Lascivious guffaws down by the door prompted one of Halferan's men to half draw his sword, the rest stirring with anger.
Halferan gestured and the man rammed the blade back into its scabbard. 'Keep your ruffians quiet, Scavarin. Don't imagine I don't know they'll have to account for my people's blood before Saedrin.'
'Blood or gold, my lord. Which do you prefer to pay?' Scavarin waved artless hands, a ruby seal ring catching the light of candles lit against the encroaching twilight. 'And you promised us safe conduct, my lord. My associates have surrendered their swords. Go back on your word and utter destruction will be visited upon your lands,' he hissed with sudden venom.
'What if no one's left alive to tell them how you died?' a voice demanded, anonymous among the warriors.
'They might conclude you betrayed them,' Halferan mused. 'And took my gold for yourself.'
Scavarin stood motionless for an instant before smiling serenely once again. 'To business, my lord. My associates, or rather, their masters, undertake to leave your lands alone if you pay a suitable sum--'
'A suitable sum?' Halferan's scorn was caustic. 'Will your associates be satisfied with the same amount next year? Or will I be asked for more and still more the following year? You would beggar me.'
Scavarin sighed heavily. 'I understood on my last visit that this was all agreed in principle. I thought I was bringing my associates to agree a figure acceptable to both parties. Why the delay, my lord?'
'I am reconsidering my decision to accept this thieves' bargain,' Halferan said austerely.
Scavarin shook his head sorrowfully. 'You don't want your people to welcome spring planting secure in the knowledge that they can raise their crops and husband their livestock and cherish their children in safety?' He looked straight at Halferan. 'Winter's storms will soon be over, my lord. The corsairs will sail and your people will suffer. How much greater their anguish will be, when they learn you could have stopped all their torment. Will they thank you for hoarding your gold in your strong room? Because they will find out, my lord.' He waved his hand towards the door once again. 'We shall make sure word spreads.'
'You admit you're as one with these scum.' Halferan nodded, contemptuous. 'So much for your claim of being an honest broker.'
'This isn't about me, my lord. It's about you.' Scavarin was unperturbed. He smiled as if suddenly amused. 'Or are you delaying in hopes that the wizard will come?'
'I don't know what you mean.' Lord Halferan tried to pretend confusion but too many men in the hall froze at the corsair envoy's words.
'Do you honestly believe a wizard's coming will save you?' Scavarin was openly pitying. 'Don't deny you've sent begging letters to the mage-halls of Hadrumal, to the Archmage himself. I know you have. Know this, my lord. No mage will ever involve himself in the petty squabbles of Caladhrian lordlings and insignificant coastal raiders. Because that's all we are to the mighty wizards of Hadrumal.'
'When I find whoever is passing you information I will hang them to feed the crows,' Halferan said tightly.
'Build a big gallows, my lord.' Scavarin shrugged. 'Many people have doubts about your rule. Concern prompts loose talk.' He spread his hands in an obsequious appeal. 'Let's concentrate on the issue before us. Agree a sum, pay up and secure peace for your people. Delay and the price goes up until the black ships come ashore. Mages have no need of gold or land or even a precious daughter's hand in marriage. But we will accept your gold, my lord, and leave your lands in peace.' His smile turned cruel. 'Your daughters will go virgin to their marriage beds.'
'You go too far!' A red flush of fury seared Halferan's cheekbones.
Tense silence held the hall in thrall. The swordsmen ar
ound the hearth glowered at the corsairs by the door. The unwelcome guests sat motionless. The man who wasn't drinking clenched beringed fists.
Scavarin threw up his hands in apparent surrender. 'Forgive me, my lord. That was uncouth--'
Outside, a thunderous storm of blows attacked the great entrance.
'My lord--' A man-at-arms threw open the small porter's door cut into the larger one and stuck his head through. He vanished abruptly as a hand wrenched him backwards.
'My lord Halferan!' A second man ducked through the low portal, scraping his shoulder. 'The wizard's coming!'
'Corrain?' Incredulous, Halferan sprang to his feet.
'Alar, no!'
The corsair with the fists full of rings was instantly on his feet. Ignoring Scavarin, he drew a broad dagger from some concealed sheath to threaten Corrain.
Several of the guards had made for the door as soon as they heard knocking. They broke into a run down the long central aisle, others hard on their heels. None could hope to reach Corrain before the corsair was on him.
The saturnine trooper recoiled from the dagger's murderous down-stroke. The squat blade ripped into the coarse weave of his cloak. Corrain snatched a handful of the cloth and wrapped it around the corsair's dagger and forearm both, punching the raider full in the throat with his other hand. The corsair collapsed, choking and clawing at his neck.
'My lord, our safe-conduct--' As Scavarin turned, protesting, he found Halferan's sword point pricking just below the oiled point of his beard.
'Safe conduct on condition you surrendered your blades,' Halferan spat. 'Seize them!'
Scavarin called out in an unknown tongue. The rest of the corsairs threw down daggers they had belatedly produced, raising empty hands in insolent surrender as the guards reached them.
'My lord.' Scavarin swallowed hard and looked down the length of the shining steel. 'Your man says a wizard is coming. No mage is here yet. You'd be ill-advised to kill us before you're certain of him. If your man's mistaken, I can still negotiate a new agreement to safeguard your people. If I'm still alive.'
The Wizard's Coming Page 2