“Don’t,” Rion said, gasping for breath. “A man can survive without a couple of fingers, but I’ve never seen one do it without a throat.”
He heard a noise, off to his left, and shot a glance in that direction. The fight had only taken seconds, and he saw that the dozen or so men—all hard-bitten, cold-eyed thugs—that had been seated at the tables had risen and started toward him, many brandishing knives and weapons of their own.
“Not another damn step,” he said, “or I’ll carve a smile in your friend here you won’t soon forget.”
“You…stupid bastard,” the barkeep said. “You have any idea where the fuck you are? You’re a dead man, friend. You’ll be in the ground before morning.”
“Probably,” Rion agreed, eyeing the others in the room, “but you say another word, and I can promise you’ll beat me there.”
The tavern’s patrons hesitated, unsure about whether or not they should attack. After all, a man can fix his own ale, in a pinch. He knew they would come at him if he wasted any more time, deciding that it would be better to see the barkeep dead than have Sigan angry at them. And if they did that, he was well and truly screwed. He looked down and saw that the crossbow had fallen on the bar when he’d struck the big man. Saw, to his surprise, that the man had actually managed to reload the thing. If he’d been an instant slower, Rion would be dead right now. Normally, the thought would have sent a chill down his spine but just then, the fury burning in him left little space for such concerns.
He snatched up the crossbow with his free hand, pointing it at the small group while keeping his blade at the other man’s throat. That stopped them quickly enough. After all, letting the barkeep die was one thing; dying themselves was a whole different matter. Sure, Sigan might kill them for failing him, but “might” was a damned sight more appealing than a crossbow bolt in the gut. “Sigan,” Rion said. “Where is he?”
They all just watched him silently with dead, hard gazes. A pack of wolves waiting for their moment, thinking, sure, one, maybe two of them wouldn’t walk away from it, but most would and chances are they’d be among those who did. Smaller chances if Sigan decided they’d betrayed him—no chance at all of walking away from that, and they all knew it.
“Where is he?” Rion demanded again. Silence again, but he didn’t miss one of them glancing involuntarily at a door at the back of the room. Good enough. “Walk,” he said to the bartender, nodding at the door, “and if you so much as blink too fast, we’ll see just how much blood that fat neck of yours holds, understand?”
The man’s lips raised in a snarl, but he started toward the door slowly, his walk awkward as he tried his best not to move too much, lest the blade at his throat do what it was made to. Rion was busy trying to watch everyone in the room at once, to watch the bartender too. “First one to move on me gets a souvenir he won’t soon forget,” he said, brandishing the crossbow in their direction.
No one moved. They just watched him with those cold stares, waiting for him to slip, maybe, or for his arm—beginning to tremble now, as he held the crossbow extended with one hand—to drop too far. Then they’d be on him, their knives digging in like wolf’s teeth.
Seconds seemed to stretch to minutes, minutes to hours, as he and the bartender made their laborious way toward the door. Finally, they reached it, and Rion breathed a heavy sigh of relief. The bartender hesitated, looking at him.
“Open it.”
“Last chance, boy,” the big man said. “You’re dead either way—ain’t no help for that. But you leave now without causin’ any more trouble, might just be your entire family won’t have to follow you to the grave.”
At the mention of his family, a black rage came over Rion, and the next thing he knew, the bartender was stumbling back into the door, screaming, his good hand covering his broken nose where the knife’s handle had struck it. Blood was streaming out of his cupped hand and the one with two missing fingers, but that was alright; a man didn’t need a working nose or two good hands to open a door. “Hurts, doesn’t it?” Rion said. “Mention my family again, boy, and I promise you won’t be worried about it anymore, you got it?”
The man’s eyes danced with anger, but he nodded.
“Good,” Rion said. “Now, open the door.”
The second the latch was thrown, he pushed the man forward, ramming him into the door and slinging it open. He stayed behind him, his knife at the man’s throat, as he stalked into the room, kicking the door shut behind him.
Sigan sat at a long wooden table along with what appeared to be a dozen or so men, all of whom were scrambling out of their chairs, drawing blades and reaching for crossbows. Soon, they were all armed, four of them staying back, covering Rion with crossbows as the others started forward. “Call them off, Sigan,” Rion said, “or you’ll be looking for a new barkeep.”
The big man was still sitting at the table, a vague look of surprise and incredulity on his face. Slowly, he began to smile. The other men hesitated, glancing at him for orders. Still smiling, the crime boss nodded to one of the crossbowmen who turned back and fired without hesitation. Rion cursed in surprise, ducking behind the bigger man, but he needn’t have bothered. The bolt took the man in the thigh, and he screamed, collapsing to the ground.
Shit, Rion thought, staring at the men watching him, their swords and crossbows ready, as the bartender writhed and whimpered at his feet.
“Well, Rion,” Sigan said. “I had wondered when I would see you again. I had begun to think you didn’t like my company.”
Rion fought back the fear threatening to overcome his anger. “You have my parents. I want them back.”
“Is that so?” the crime boss asked, nodding his head slowly, as if considering. “Well—” He cut off as the bartender let out a particularly loud cry of pain. A look of annoyance crossed Sigan’s features, and he motioned to two of the men. “Get him out of here will you? How’s a man supposed to have a decent conversation with all of that damned racket?”
The two men nodded without a word, moving forward. Rion watched them warily as they bent, one taking the bartender’s legs, the other his arms, and carried him out of the room. A moment later, the door closed behind them, muffling the man’s cries.
Sigan sighed. “It seems that you’re insistent on getting rid of all my good help. Every time I turn around, you’re costing me men.” He shrugged. “Anyway, he wasn’t a particularly good bartender, so I suppose, in a way, you’ve done me a favor.”
“You’re welcome,” Rion said, eyeing the other men in the room, waiting for one of them to make a move.
Sigan sighed again. “Oh, come on, Rion. Put that blade down, would you? You look ridiculous.”
“Fuck you,” Rion said.
“Now,” the crime boss barked. “Or do you want me to make your parents suffer more than they already have because of you?”
Rion bared his teeth at that, but he let the blade drop to the floor. Nodding, Sigan motioned to another man. “Nash, grab that sticker, would you? And show his lordship to a seat.”
Rion allowed himself to be led to the table, and the man, Nash, pushed him down into a chair. “There now,” Sigan said, leaning back and casually taking a drink of ale. “That’s better. I’m really surprised, Rion, you showing up and making such a scene like you have. I wonder…what did you think was going to happen? Did you really think you’d have a chance of walking out of here alive?”
“You’d be surprised,” Rion said.
“I rarely am. Now, have you shown up to pay me the money you owe me, I wonder?”
“Where are my parents?”
The crime boss shrugged. “They’re around. I must confess I had hoped you would show up sooner. Still, there might yet be time, though if I were you, I wouldn’t waste it asking questions you know I won’t answer. Now, about my money?”
Rion took a slow, deep breath in an effort to calm himself. “I don’t have it. That is, not all of it.”
Sigan shook his head slowly. “
Rion, Rion. You show up at my place of business, attack my men, then come in here and tell me you don’t have what you owe me. Now, what am I supposed to make of that?”
“I can give you some,” Rion said, thinking of the money he had hidden away at the inn. “Maybe half.”
“And if I were to do the same?” the crime boss asked, as if honestly curious. “If I were to give you half of your parents back? Would that satisfy you, I wonder?”
“If you’ve hurt them,” Rion snarled, “I swear by all the gods—”
“Oh, enough of that, Rion. A man of your noble stature really ought not resort to threats. They’re so…plebeian. Don’t you think?”
“I’ll pay.”
They both turned to the door from which the voice had come, and Rion was shocked to see Odrick standing in the doorway. The blacksmith’s son still had a slightly dazed look, clearly not fully recovered from the wound he suffered. He was doing his best to put on a brave face, but the effect was slightly marred by the way he was forced to lean against the doorway for balance.
“My oh my,” Sigan said, “two unannounced visitors in one day. But we are getting popular around here.” Several of his men laughed quietly. “Tell me, big fella,” he said, turning back to Odrick, “who might you be? Or no, wait…I recognize you, don’t I?” He bellowed a laugh. “Gods, you’re the blacksmith’s son, aren’t you?”
Odrick opened his mouth, as if to argue it, but finally sighed and nodded, a defeated expression on his face. “Yes.”
The crime boss nodded. “Well, points to you for not lying—the gods know I can’t stand a liar. Now, do you mean to tell me you want to take on this one’s debt? And close the door, will you? I hate a draft.”
Odrick hesitated then stepped further into the room. A moment later, Katherine walked in behind him, her face pale with fear. She closed the door behind her, coming up to stand beside Odrick.
“I don’t mean to take on his debt,” the blacksmith said, fishing into his tunic and withdrawing a large sack of coins. “I mean to pay it.” With that, he tossed the bag onto the tabletop. It landed with a heavy clunk and several coins spilled out among them, Rion could see the golden shine of suns.
Sigan barely seemed to notice, though. He was too busy staring at Katherine. “My, but you’re a pretty thing.”
“Pretty enough to eat,” one of the other criminals said, and Sigan frowned.
“Must you be such a cliche?” he demanded. “And show some respect—pull up some chairs for our new visitors.”
The man’s expression looked like that of a child called down for acting out, but he made his way to the table and pulled out two chairs before wordlessly stepping away.
“There,” Sigan said, “that’s better. Please, have a seat.”
“They’ve got nothing to do with this,” Rion said, “let them go, Sigan. I’m the one you’re interested in.”
The big man laughed again. “No offense, Rion, but of the three of you, I find that the woman here is the most interesting. Tell me, lass, what’s your name?”
“Leave her alo—” Rion began, but paused as the crime boss held up a finger.
“Another demand out of you, Rion,” Sigan said, his voice matter-of-fact, as if talking about the weather, “and I’ll have my men slit your parents’ throats. Do you understand?”
Rion’s teeth clenched together so hard that his jaw ached, but he gave one sharp nod.
“Good,” Sigan said, turning back to Katherine. “Now then, what’s your name?”
“K-Katherine,” she said.
“Ah, a beautiful name for a beautiful woman. And tell me, Katherine, how does a woman like you get mixed up with a piece of shit like Rion?”
She winced. “It um…it’s complicated.”
He laughed. “It almost always is, you know? And why have you come? Part of the payment, perhaps?”
“Damnit, Sigan,” Rion hissed, “I told you—”
“And I told you,” the crime boss growled, “to keep your mouth shut. Do you want your parents dead, Rion? Is that it?”
“Not part of the payment,” Katherine said. “I’ve…we’ve come to ask for your help.”
“Oh?” Sigan asked, raising an eyebrow, an amused expression on his face. “And what sort of help would that be?”
She glanced to Rion who waved her on impatiently. “I…we need you to smuggle us out of the city, past the guards and Redeemers in the forest, to take us to the southern desert.”
“The Ferinan lands?” Sigan asked. “There’s not a lot of folks that go there, lass. Nothing in those lands but snakes and sand and little else.”
“So you can’t help us?”
“Oh, I didn’t say that.” Sigan grinned. “Not a lot of folks that go there, but there’s some. Never been myself, but some of my…friends have. You see, there’s a certain herb that grows there, barely visible as it only peeks out from the sand by an inch or two, but…” He trailed off, his grin widening. “Never mind. Still, I wasn’t lying to you—it is a dangerous place, a savage place. No food to speak of, and no water but what you bring with you. Why don’t you stay here instead, lass? Why, I’m sure I can keep you safe well enough, and I wouldn’t ask anything too terrible for my protection.”
“Thank you but no. We need to go.”
“There’s that ‘we’ again. Just how many are we talking here?”
“Five in all.”
Sigan whistled. “Five, is it? One person is hard enough to hide, but five? Well, you can’t exactly strap ‘em all to the underside of a wagon, can ya, lass? Be a bit cramped, understand. Still…five…funny, but I’m put in mind of some fugitives from the law, traitors to the Light, it’s claimed. Heard news of it just this morning. Word is, the Chosen’s got nearly all her men out searchin’ for ‘em, and you can hardly pass a tavern or lantern-pole without seein’ the proclamation. From what I understand, there’s a fairly mighty reward for any civic-minded citizen turns ‘em in. I reckon the Chosen means to have a conversation with them, and what with them bein’ Dark-friends and all, I imagine it’ll be a short one indeed.”
“We’re no friends of the Dark,” Katherine snapped. “It’s lies, all of it.”
“Oh, come now, lass. Everybody’s got a little bit of darkness in ‘em, aye?” He gave her a wink. “And lies, you call it?” He settled back in his chair, shrugging. “It almost always is. Anyway. Passage for five people out of this shit hole and on to another one.”
“The southern deserts,” Katherine re-iterated.
“Nah,” he said, shaking his head slowly, “not that far. You see, lass, believe it or not, there’s folks out there who don’t appreciate the…call it ‘service’ I do for the city, folks as would take any opportunity to foul up the works of an honest-working man.”
“Honest-working man?”
He laughed. “Well. A man, anyway. My friends, the ones I was tellin’ you about? They ain’t got any trips planned soon. Still, we ought to be able to work somethin’ out but, then…it’ll cost ya.”
“If it’s gold you need,” Odrick said, speaking for the first time in quite a while, “then I can get more. I—”
“No. Not gold. Not this time.” Sigan eyed Katherine. “I’m sure we can find some other way of payin’ what you owe. Oh, don’t blush so much, lass. I won’t ask nothin’ that’ll compromise your virtue.” He grinned wider. “Well, not too much anyway.”
“Whatever price you ask, I’ll be the one to pay it,” Rion said.
Sigan bellowed a laugh. “Oh, Rion, I suppose you’re a pretty enough guy, if a bit tense. But my tastes don’t really run that way.”
Rion’s hands balled into fists, and he rose from his chair, aware that, as he did, several of the thugs—who’d been silent and still for the proceedings—started forward. “Enough of this. You’re wasting our—”
“Shut your mouth!” the crime boss shouted as he rose, slamming a fist down on the table hard enough that Rion could hear the wood crack.
“N
ow, that’s better,” Sigan said a moment later, all traces of anger gone. “The price, Rion, will be decided on between me and the lady here. Besides, I’d think you have more immediate concerns. Such as your dear old mom and dad. They’ve been waitin’ on you, Rion. Oh, I’ve got some friends of mine keepin’ ‘em company, but they ain’t exactly the best conversationalists, you understand? Might be your parents are gettin’ bored. Maybe even bored to death.”
“Where are they, damn you?”
Sigan glanced between him and Katherine. Then, finally, he shrugged. “They’re over on Riverside. Third house on the left—you can’t miss it. It’s the one looks like the sort of place a man’d die in. Just tell ‘em I sent you. And if you don’t want to end up getting a few new holes poked in you, tell ‘em ‘the sun shines on the rich and poor alike.’ That’d be this week’s pass phrase.”
Rion took a step toward the door then hesitated, glancing back. “And you’ll let them go?”
“Oh sure.” Sigan said. “Why, I’m offended that you’d even feel the need to ask, Eriondrian. Me and the lady here, we’ll just finish up your negotiations, then she’ll be on her way.”
Still, Rion hesitated, not liking the idea of leaving Katherine and Odrick with the crime boss. “Go find your parents,” Katherine said, nodding at him. “We’ll be fine.”
“Of course they will,” the crime boss said. “Oh, and Rion? I’d hurry—and whatever you find there, when you get to Riverside, just remember it’s on you. And take the blacksmith with you—the way he’s weavin’, he looks like he’s getting ready to pass out. And as much as I fancy my place here, it wouldn’t do for him to fall asleep. Why, there’s no tellin’ what the boys would do.” He winked. “They’re criminals, after all.”
Rion looked one more time at Katherine, and she nodded again, telling him it was okay. Then, with a curse, he ran for the door, shame and guilt and fear for his parents all battling within him.
The Truth of Shadows Page 11