Once they were inside, Myles stirred up the fire. Josan had not realized he was cold, but even the rebuilt fire was not enough to warm him. He shivered, standing as close to the fire as he dared. Myles disappeared, and a moment later a blanket was dropped over his shoulders and a cup pressed into his hand.
Josan clutched the blanket around himself and raised the cup to his lips. It was wine, as he had expected, but mixed with fruit juice, which he had not. The sweet taste nearly gagged him, but he forced himself to swallow several mouthfuls, recognizing the mixture as a treatment for shock.
Myles returned with his own cup. “Sit,” he ordered.
Josan perched on the bench nearest the fire. “I have to leave. I will stay and burn the straw, or mayhaps it is better if I leave first. You can tell the others that you fired me because I was so lazy, and the straw will be seen as evidence.”
“Tell me what you were looking for on their arms,” Myles said, ignoring Josan’s words.
“Nothing.”
“Hardly nothing. You searched them both.”
Josan took refuge in another sip of the sweetened wine. The taste was foul, but it calmed his stomach.
“It would be better for us both if you did not ask these questions. Just let me leave, and I will trouble you no longer.”
“These were not robbers, were they?”
“No.”
Perhaps it was the wine, or the lateness of the hour, or the shocks he had endured. Whatever the reason, he confessed, “They were looking for me.”
“And this is not the first time, is it? You were looking for a sign, a symbol that marked them.”
Myles was too canny for his own good.
“I do not know.”
It was the truth. He did not know for certain. But he had his suspicions. Myles had been a soldier and fought against the uprising. If Josan were somehow involved with Prince Lucius’s followers, it was unlikely Myles would be willing to help him flee imperial justice.
“Who are you, that two mercenaries would try to steal you away?”
“That I do not know either.” He gave a bitter laugh.
Myles leaned forward intently, his wine cup dangling forgotten from one hand. “You do not know? You do not know who you are?”
His intellect screamed at him for silence. Myles may had saved his life, but he had no reason to trust him. Not with a secret that might cost both their lives.
But his tongue continued on its own, seemingly impervious to his commands. “I know who I am. Or rather who I thought I was. But the man I was would not be the target of assassins and kidnappers. So either they are mistaken, or I am.”
“Surely your own memories can be trusted.”
“For an ordinary man, yes. But the man in my memories never learned the intricacies of an imperial war saddle, nor how to tell a saber thrust from the cut made by a short sword. So it seems my memories are no more trustworthy than those mercenaries.”
It was a relief to share even that much of his burden with another. If Myles was silent, at least he was not questioning Josan’s story, nor calling him mad.
He wondered what Myles would say if he revealed the existence of the Other to him, but he dared not. It was enough that he had given Myles reason to suspect that Josan was demon-haunted. It would not do to provide confirmation of his fears.
“When did the false memories start?”
“In Karystos.” He had given the matter much thought, and the strangeness that had come upon him had appeared after the breakbone fever that had nearly killed him. Afterward he had journeyed to Txomin’s Island and lived the quiet life of a lighthouse keeper. There was nothing in that life to inspire an assassin to seek him out. If anything had happened, it had happened to him before he left Karystos.
“Then you must return there and seek out those you once knew. Surely they can help you unravel this mystery.”
“It is not so simple. There may well be a price on my head. This is not the first time that I have had to defend myself. And if I have enemies, then they will be in Karystos.”
“And if you have enemies, they will believe you far too wise to risk journeying to the center of their power. You can slip into the city, unnoticed, and find what you need. If there is an answer to these riddles, it will be there.”
“I will think on your counsel,” Josan said. Brother Nikos had forbidden him to return to the collegium, but he had not known the extent of Josan’s peril. Surely the monks would agree to help him. And if he could not be helped, if he was indeed demon-bound, then they could be trusted to ensure that he could not harm another innocent.
“You will do more than think on it. You will go. With me.”
“You cannot.”
“I can and I will. Before your arrival I had made my mind up to sell the stables to Florek. Now I can get a good price from him before he realizes that you are to leave. A journey shared is a journey halved, and I have friends in Karystos who will shelter us both while you seek your answers.”
The offer was beyond the simple kindness of master to man. Myles had already broken several laws this night, killing the second mercenary before he could be questioned and covering up all evidence of the attack. If he were discovered traveling with Josan, he would be treated as an accomplice.
His actions went beyond mere friendship, and Josan uneasily recalled his earlier suspicion that Myles lusted after him. Still, even that did not explain the risks he had taken by killing the two strangers. For all Myles knew, Josan was a criminal and a traitor. Or worse.
And yet he needed Myles’s help, now more than ever. One man traveling on his own was far more vulnerable than two.
“Once again I am in your debt,” he said.
Myles’s mouth twisted in a wry grin. “Be wary what you promise. When you have your answers, I may decide to hold you to your words.”
“Whatever you ask it is yours.”
“I will remember that, my lord,” he said, as if he were the servant and Josan the master. Then his face grew solemn. “Finish the wine and get some sleep. We have much to do tomorrow.”
Indeed the dawn was only a few hours away. Josan knew he should be worried over what was to come, but instead he felt comforted by the knowledge that whatever happened, he would not face his demons alone.
Chapter 12
It took three days to make their preparations for the journey, and Josan spent most of that time fearing arrest and discovery. If not for his promise to Myles, Josan would have fled. That his flight would no doubt have raised the finger of suspicion that they had so far avoided was a truth he acknowledged, but better to be followed by mere suspicion than arrested and executed for murder.
But so far, luck had been with them. The bodies had not been discovered until late on the afternoon of the next day, when a servant at the taverna opened the back door to throw out slops. By that time the bodies had been heavily gnawed by rats, disguising the precision of Myles’s sword work. Josan heard of the gruesome discovery from the laundrywoman as she dropped off Myles’s freshly cleaned linens. She seemed convinced that the men had brought their fates on themselves, as foolish strangers who did not know better than to venture into the rough quarters at night.
If they had been residents of Utika, it might have been different, but there was no pity to be spared for two humble travelers, nor were there any signs that the magistrate was investigating their deaths.
The bloodstained clothes and blankets had been hidden deep in the pile of straw that Josan had carted out to the side yard and burned. The tunic he had worn that night had been burned as well, for the lump on the side of his head had bled freely. If any asked, he planned to explain the bruise as the result of a blow Myles had given him when he had discovered the moldy straw. But none questioned his injury, as the signs of a master beating his servant were too ordinary to be worthy of comment.
Displaying a shrewd grasp of tactics, Myles went about his normal routine, settling his monthly accounts in person with the grain mer
chant, the farrier, and the victualer. At each, almost idly, he remarked upon his growing boredom with life in Utika, though naturally since the livery stable was making a fine profit, he could not contemplate leaving. His musings reached the ears of Florek, as he had intended they would, and the next day Florek sent an intermediary to make an offer for the business.
This was not the first offer that Florek had made, nor even the twelfth. It was, however, the first time that Florek had offered to pay Myles more than he had paid for the business, so that he could turn a small profit on the deal. Having failed at his attempts to drive Myles out of business, or to ensure that he lacked the help needed to service the imperial contracts, it seemed Florek had grown tired of their endless battles. Or perhaps Florek feared that Myles’s vocal dissatisfaction was merely the voice of melancholy that came with the winter rains, and if he waited till spring, he would lose this opportunity.
Myles allowed himself to be persuaded, and after some haggling struck a deal with his former nemesis. He took his payment in coins, then converted half of them into imperial scrip, which was easier to carry and could be exchanged for coins in any provincial capital.
While Myles made his preparations, Josan was busy as well. He had always known that he might have to flee at an instant, and thus his pack already held spare clothes, a flask for water, and his knife. His carefully hoarded wages were enough to purchase sandals, a cloak that was nearly new, and three pairs of thick socks to cushion his feet.
It would take at least a fortnight to cross the border into the heart of the empire, the province of Karystos, which took its name from the imperial capital. And then it would be another three weeks—four if the weather was unkind—before they could hope to reach the city of Karystos. They would have to carry what provisions they could with them, though as they approached the capital there would be few chances for camping alongside the road, and hunting or foraging for food would result in swift arrest. Instead they would have to beg hospitality from farmers or stay in the hostels that catered to poorer travelers.
Myles, however, had other ideas.
“Bring Ugly and Crop Ear to the farrier, and have him put heavy shoes on both,” he ordered.
Ugly was a rawboned gelding with a particularly unfortunately shaped head that belied his supposedly noble bloodline. Myles claimed his former owner had gelded the beast in sheer horror at the prospect that one such as he should spawn foals in his likeness. Crop Ear was a mild-mannered mare who had been savaged by a stable mate. Of the half dozen horses that he rented out to any who could muster enough coins, these two were the most reliable, willing to work hard with little fuss.
“Why pay for shoeing them if Florek is going to get the benefit?” Josan asked.
“He’s not. These two weren’t part of the sale. I had enough walking in my days in the empress’s service, and I’ve no mind to wear my feet down to bones and blisters again.”
Josan paused. It had never occurred to him that they would ride, which seemed foolish when he considered that his master owned a livery stable. Horses were Myles’s world. Of course he would not want to plod along like a common peasant.
On his own, Josan could not have afforded to buy a horse. It would have taken all his remaining coin to rent one for even a few days’ journey. A part of him wanted to protest this generosity, but then was it fair that Myles be forced to walk simply because Josan could not afford to ride?
“I’ll see to it at once,” he said.
It was another evidence of Myles’s kindness, though by then Josan knew better than to thank him. Being reminded of his generosity merely made his master angry. And indeed, compared to what Myles had already done for him, the loan of a horse to ride was a small thing.
Josan did not understand Myles. He knew that the man had his own secrets, and indeed the cold-blooded way in which he had dealt with the kidnappers spoke of a dark side. For all the weeks that he had spent with Myles, Josan knew little more than that he was a fair master and was skilled with both horses and a sword. Beyond that, Myles could have been anything. An assassin, a murderer, a mercenary who had improbably survived long enough to retire with his booty. Or he could indeed be the former soldier that he claimed to be. And the alacrity with which Myles offered to accompany Josan on his journey would have raised suspicions in a far less wary man.
But his instincts were telling him that he could trust Myles. The same instincts that had warned him that the two strangers intended harm told him that Myles genuinely wanted to help.
Once again there was someone who called him friend, and Josan could not help thinking of Renzo. Would this newfound friendship with Myles be strong enough to bear the weight of Josan’s secrets? Or would Myles one day turn on him and call him a madman and a murderer?
Only time would tell.
They left Utika at dawn, on a morning so cold that the guards at the gates merely waved them through, loath to leave the warmth of the gatehouse. Josan felt neither triumph nor relief as the town slowly dwindled behind them. He had slept little since the attack, for each time he had closed his eyes he had jerked back to wakefulness, remembering how he had been taken unawares. Exhaustion had dulled his wits and blunted his emotions until he felt only a strange fatalism. If he were to be arrested, so be it.
As the morning wore on, the sun slowly broke through the clouds, warming his numb hands and face. There were no signs of pursuit by irate guards, nor did assassins spring out from behind the tidy villas and surrounding orchards.
If Myles shared Josan’s fear of pursuit he gave no sign, though the fact that he had chosen openly to wear his sword belt and leather armor showed that he was mindful of the dangers they might face. Still, as each mile disappeared under the steady gait of their horses, it seemed more and more likely that they were not being pursued.
Which meant nothing, a cynical voice in his head reminded him. His enemies had no need to pursue Josan, for Josan was delivering himself to them. Willingly entering the place where they held power, in search of truths that could only be found in Karystos. His only hope was that he would find the answers he sought before his enemies discovered him.
And what if the truth was something he could not face? What if he was indeed a madman, a killer, exiled from Karystos so that he could not inflict his madness upon others? What would he do then? What would the brethren do when they discovered that their wayward brother had returned?
Josan pushed such thoughts from his mind. It did no good to dwell on disquieting speculations. And until he had facts, that was all they were. The fears of a restless mind, making him no better than an ignorant peasant jumping at every shadow. A disgrace to his training, which had taught him to value cool reason and logical arguments built upon verifiable truths.
He turned his mind outward, but the passing countryside held little of interest. Carefully spaced villas, their white plaster gleaming in the dull sun, lined either side of the road, each with its own orchards or vineyards. Few workers were to be seen, for there was little to be done in the winter, and there were even fewer travelers on the road. His horse, Crop Ear, required little guidance, having settled into a steady pace that matched that of her stable mate.
At midday they paused to unwrap the bread and cheese they had packed that morning, washing it down with chill water. By late afternoon his thighs and backside were complaining over the hours spent in the saddle, and from the way that Myles shifted back and forth, it seemed he, too, was feeling the pain of one unaccustomed to riding all day. By unspoken consent, they turned their horses into the yard of a hostel, even though there were still at least two hours of daylight left.
Myles’s coins bought them space in the stables for their horses and a room they had to share with only two others—a father taking his young son to be apprenticed to a cousin in Utika. Dinner was a quiet affair, with six sharing a single long table in a room that could easily hold three dozen. There was no chance to talk privately, and for that Josan was grateful, though he knew he was on
ly delaying the inevitable.
He passed a restless night, unused to hearing the sounds of others as he slept. Long ago he had shared a dormitory with the other novice monks, but like much of his past, this was a skill that he had forgotten. Rising the next morning, every muscle in his body protested as he swung himself into the saddle. But he ignored his body’s complaints, and after a while the sharp pains had settled down into a dull ache.
Once they had left the hostel behind them, Myles put an end to his reprieve.
“Is Josan your true name? Or is there something else I should call you?”
“Josan it is,” he said. “Of the collegium of the Learned Brethren in Karystos.”
Myles frowned, as if he had been expecting a different answer. Perhaps he had assumed that anyone pursued by assassins would have had the wit to change his name, to avoid detection. Or perhaps Josan was misreading him. It was difficult to hold a conversation on horseback, when he could only see Myles’s expression through sideways glances.
“And what do you remember of the time before?” Myles prompted him.
“I am told that I was left on the steps of the collegium as a newborn babe for the brethren to raise as one of their own. I remember my childhood among them and studying with the other boys in their care. After I made my final vows I traveled the great sea, studying with the brethren in Xandropol, then later traveling to Anamur and Seddon.”
Strangely enough, his earliest memories were the clearest. He remembered the faces of his tutors, the long vigil on the night before his final vows. The wonder of his first journey outside of Karystos, and even how the great library of Xandropol smelled, the unique combination of musty parchments underlain with a faint sweetness from the beeswax tablets.
The First Betrayal Page 17