Growling in pain and anger, Aaron brought his elbow down on the man’s back once, twice, three times, the man howling in pain all the while. On the third, the man rose back up and swung a meaty fist at the sellsword’s face, but Aaron ducked under it, sending two rapid punches to his opponent’s midsection. The man gasped, staggered, and Aaron’s next punch caught him between the eyes.
The man cried out, stumbling backward, but Aaron followed after him. He grabbed the man by the front of his shirt and one of his arms and pivoted, slinging the big man over his shoulder to slam onto the top of the table in a shower of broken glass and ale. The man tried to rise, but Aaron kept one hand on his shirt and with the other he withdrew the knife from where he kept it at his side and slammed it into the table, inches from the man’s face.
The big man froze at that, his eyes going wide, and Aaron glanced back toward the room. Three men were down now, and the fourth, the one the girl had hit, stood staring at him in something like shock. The expression was mirrored on the faces of those watching. Aaron looked at the bloody man for a moment, “Well? I thought you were leaving?”
The man didn’t need any more encouragement than that and, in a moment, he was disappearing out of the front of the tavern, leaving his unconscious friends behind him. Aaron was suddenly overcome with a feeling of being watched, of being studied. And there was another feeling too, one of vague recognition, as if he’d caught a scent half-remembered from childhood. He glanced around the tavern trying to find the source of the feeling. The problem was that everyone in the damned tavern was watching him just then. The feeling was gone now but, he realized that the sense of recognition—gone as quickly as it had come—hadn’t come from him but from Co. Something up, firefly? he asked, scanning the common room.
I…I’m not sure, Co said, I thought, for a second, that I saw or felt someone that I recognize but…I must have imagined it.
Aaron frowned, deciding that he didn’t want to be in this tavern any longer, but he had one thing to do first. He jerked his blade out of the table top and started toward the fat tavern keeper. The man leaned back as he drew close as if expecting Aaron to attack him. An expectation that wasn’t far at all from what Aaron wanted to do just then, for the anger had been awakened in full, and he was having a difficult time managing it. “Does she work for you?” he said, motioning to the girl who was just now getting herself up off the ground.
“Don’t know what business it is of yours,” the innkeeper said, his voice surly and scared at once.
“Let me hear of something like this happening again, and I’ll show you exactly what business it is of mine,” Aaron said. “What was it, exactly? You took her in off the street, figured maybe her pretty looks would help you sell more ale, is that it?”
Alder grunted, not acting angry or threatening, only pouty like a child who’d been called down for acting out. “She’s lucky I took her in at all, the little whore. I wouldn’t have if’n the last boy I had workin’ here hadn’t have walked off near two weeks ago with not so much as one word of thanks.” He shook his head. “I found her on the street starvin’, beggin’ for food, so yeah I give her a clean place to sleep and a job, even pay her some coppers each day, and what’s my thanks? Her spilling ale and smashing my mugs over the customers heads.”
Aaron grabbed the back of the man’s head and jerked it down, putting the knife up to his ample chin. “What did you call her?” he said. “Because it sounded to me like you called her a whore, and I’m a sensitive guy—I don’t think I could abide it, if that was the case.”
Alder swallowed hard. “I…I ain’t mean nothin’ by it, mister. Just a word is all.”
“And one you’ll not use about her again,” Aaron said, “not in my hearing and not in hers. As for clean,” he laughed, “this shit heap of a tavern hasn’t been clean since it was built; I think we both know that. I think we also both know that the girl was just defending herself. What the fuck do you hire those thugs for anyway, if not to stop trouble like that before it gets out of hand?”
“She spilled beer,” the fat man said, as if it justified everything.
“And I’ll spill your guts, if I feel there’s a need,” Aaron responded. “Now, I’m going to be living in Baresh for a long time—possibly forever—and I’ll be stopping by here from time to time. After all,” he said, giving the man a smile that never touched his eyes, “I like the company. And I think it’s better to tell you now that the next time I stop by, I expect that girl to be being treated with respect, like a human being. If I come by and see that she’s been hurt, or that she’s not here, well,” he said, leaning in forward and bringing the knife closer so that the tip of it pricked the man’s fat chin and a bead of blood welled there, “then we’ll have to have this conversation again, and I really hate repeating myself. Do you understand?”
“Y-yes, mister,” Alder stammered, his eyes wide as they tried to take in the blade at his throat, “I understand.”
“Good,” Aaron said. He glanced back at the spilled ale in the floor and the girl still trying to clean it up. “Now, get over there and clean that mess up. It’s fucking disgusting and, anyway, I think she could use a day off. Some new clothes while you’re at it. Don’t you?”
The man nodded, and Aaron pulled the knife back, watched as Alder made his way over to the girl and whispered a few words in her ear. In another moment, she was moving away and toward the stairs. As she passed him, she gave Aaron a quick, scared glance, then she was up the stairs and gone. He thought that was probably alright. The girl was right to be scared—she’d live longer.
Once she was gone, he sighed heavily as he noted all of the eyes watching him from around the common room. Damnit, he thought, so much for keeping a low profile.
It was a good thing you did, Aaron, the Virtue said. You saved her.
Maybe, Aaron thought back, but, then, I might have just damned us and all of Perennia with us. He was starting to head to the door when it opened and Wendell, Darrell, and Leomin entered, glancing around. Aaron winced and moved toward them. “Took you long enough,” he said.
Wendell grunted, “Leomin here decided to make friends with one of the guards at the gate.”
“He was actually quite an interesting fellow,” the Parnen said. “You’d be surprised—”
“And then there was the tailor we passed in the street,” Wendell offered.
“Some surprisingly fine quality clothes, too, for such a—”
“And the prostitute, though the gods alone know what she’s doing working so early in the day.”
Leomin cleared his throat. “Yes, well, she has to make a living just like anyone else, friend Wendell, and she seemed lonely. Anyway,” he said, noting the looks of the three men, “we’re here now, and that’s what counts. I must confess that I am weary beyond belief and looking forward to spending the night in a bed for a change.”
Aaron glanced behind him where the men were still lying on the ground unconscious, a few other of the tavern’s customers trying to rouse them. “Yeah, well, I wouldn’t get too excited. I think maybe we need to find another inn.” Besides, he thought, why do I keep getting the feeling that I’m being watched? No, that wasn’t right. After all, damned near everyone in the room was watching him. He felt as if he was being studied. As if someone or something was measuring his worth.
“And what, I wonder, happened here?” Darrell asked, pulling Aaron’s attention back to the three men.
“I’ll tell you about it later,” Aaron said. “For now, let’s just say there was ale involved and that we disagreed on a few matters.”
Darrell nodded slowly. “Your subtlety never fails to amaze me, Aaron,” the swordmaster said, giving him a small smile, “just like a chameleon, you are.”
“Anyway,” Aaron said, “I think it best if we left for now.” Aaron followed them outside and as he went through the door, he nearly tripped on something lying on the ground. He looked and was surprised to find that it was the thin man who�
��d accosted him when he’d first come upon the tavern. The man was clearly unconscious and a fresh bruise had risen on his temple. “Huh,” he said, glancing at the three men, “what happened here?”
It was Darrell’s time to look embarrassed, “Yes, well…say that we disagreed on a few matters.”
Aaron grunted a laugh. “Anyway, this doesn’t solve our problem. We still need somewhere to lay our heads for the night.”
“Oh, Mr. Envelar,” Leomin said smiling, “I wouldn’t worry overly much. I think I’ve got just the place.”
***
The youth who’d been sitting to one side of the tavern’s common room rose and started to follow the four strangers, but one of the men at the table reached out and grabbed his arm. “You said you’d pay us two gold coins a piece, and we’ve only seen the one. Now, I’ll have the other one now, or I’ll take it out of your skinny hide.”
The youth frowned beneath the hood of his cloak, frowned but did not show fear. “That’s not what we agreed on.”
“Maybe not,” the man said, tightening his grip on the boy’s wrist, “but it’s what’s going to happen just the same. So why not be a good lad and give me my money—and double it for my trouble. If you do it quick enough, I might even decide to let you walk out of here without hurting you.”
The youth sighed. “You’re sure this is the way you want to do it?”
“You’re damn right I’m sure.”
“Alright,” the youth said. He turned to a table beside the one at which he’d been sitting and nodded. The two big men seated there rose. The man holding his wrist frowned, starting to turn but not quick enough to avoid one of the men locking his thickly muscled forearm around his throat, while the other pulled his hand free from the youth’s wrist.
The man’s eyes went wide, as he struggled and failed to draw a breath. “I-I don’t….understand,” he said, his voice coming out in little more than a croak.
“Don’t you?” the youth said. “It’s a simple enough thing really. You see, when hiring criminals, even for something as simple as sitting in a tavern with you so as to draw less attention to yourself, one must expect them to betray you. They’re criminals, after all.” The boy shrugged. “So I hired a few more.”
He watched as the man’s face turned a deep red, and he finally slumped, obviously unconscious. “Don’t kill him, please,” the youth said, “Just dump him somewhere.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew a small sack of coins, passing it to the man whose hands were free. It was considerably more than he’d promised them, but then, he was surprised how easy gold was to come by when you knew how to get it. It was all about knowing.
“Good night, gentlemen,” he said, bowing his head to each in turn and adjusting his hood so that it covered his face once more as he started toward the door of the tavern. Not that he needed to worry overly much about hiding his identity. Those few who had frequented the tavern for some time almost certainly wouldn’t have recognized him anyway. Caleb had changed dramatically over the last few weeks and, in most ways, he was not the same boy he once had been. Not at all.
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“I do not mean to, Mr. Envelar,” Leomin said, “but I am not wrong in assuming we need a safe place, yes? A friendly place. And what place is friendlier than a place owned by friends? Friendly friends at that.”
Aaron sighed. Friendly to you anyway, he thought, but he nodded. The truth was, it was a good choice and one that Aaron would have thought of himself if he hadn’t been so distracted trying to get his anger back on its leash and trying to figure out why he felt as if he was being watched. “It was a good idea, Leomin.”
The man beamed widely, and Aaron immediately regretted his words. He grunted, “Well, lead on then. This is your show.”
“As you say, Mr. Envelar,” Leomin said, and Aaron and the others followed him as he made his way into the inn.
They’d only just stepped inside—Wendell was closing the door behind them—when Aaron heard a surprised, ecstatic shout. “Leomin! You’re back!” They’d barely turned to see who had spoken when the youth, Janum, Aaron believed his name was, came running up from behind the counter and pulled Leomin into a tight embrace. The boy was fifteen, possibly sixteen by now, yet his eyes shone like those of a child at the sight of the Parnen.
“Ah, friend Janum,” Leomin said smiling, “it is very good to see you and be seen by you. Have you been good as we discussed?”
“Yes sir,” the youth said, nodding his head so quickly Aaron thought it a miracle it didn’t come flying off, “just as you said. I really have. And I tried those lines you told me on a girl I met but …” He frowned slightly. “Maybe I said them wrong or something because I don’t think she got it. The truth is,” he said, his face coloring, “I’m not entirely sure I get them myself. For example, the one about the shepherd and his flo—”
“Yes, yes,” Leomin interrupted, “we will most certainly discuss such things, friend Janum but, perhaps another time.”
“You sure, Leomin?” Aaron said, unable to keep the grin from his face. “Because I think I’d like to hear about this shepherd and his…flock, was it?”
Leomin cleared his throat, and was about to say something when the youth suddenly stepped forward and gave Aaron a hug much the same way he had the Parnen. “I’m glad you’re all okay,” he said, and after a moment of shock, Aaron regained enough of his composure to hug the youth back.
Gods, but it’s my day for getting hugs it seems.
Better that than someone trying to kill you, Co said, her tone amused.
Let me think about it, Aaron responded, but he found that he was smiling when the youth stepped away. “I did as you said, Mr. Envelar. I got a better blade—a real sword, this time.”
Aaron felt the others studying him, and it was his turn to avoid their eyes, “That’s good, Janum. Real good. But I hope you’re careful with it—swords are weapons, not toys, and you wouldn’t be the first to learn that lesson the hard way.”
The boy’s face took on a pouty, childlike expression, and Aaron wondered idly what had happened to the youth who had tracked him with the intention of killing him only months before. “No sir,” Janum said in a depressed voice, “Uncle only lets me take it out to clean it and to knock the dust off as he says.” He sighed forlornly as if such a thing was proof—were any needed—that the world was a cruel place. “Still,” he said, brightening once more, “he found someone to help train me—an old friend of his who used to be a real castle guard under King Eladen. Swordmaster Lionel only lets me train with wooden swords right now, but he says that if I keep up at the rate I’m going, I’ll be able to train with real swords soon.”
Aaron smiled. “That’s good, Janum. I’m glad you’ve found a teacher. I once had a swordmaster myself, though he’s an old crotchety bastard now. Of course, he was an old crotchety bastard then too.”
“So is swordmaster Lionel,” the boy grumbled, “he says I’ve got the wits of a stone and the temper of a bull.”
Aaron grunted a laugh. “Mine said much the same. I wouldn’t worry about it, Janum. Just work hard and you’ll get it—it’s your swordmaster’s job to be a pain in the ass that’s all.”
Janum grinned and Darrell gave Aaron a glance before stepping forward and offering the youth his hand. “A pleasure to meet you,” he said wryly, “I’m the old crotchety pain in the ass. Darrell for short.”
The youth’s eyes went wide at that, but he took the hand and shook it, bowing his head slightly, “It’s a pleasure, sir.”
“Undoubtedly,” Darrell said dryly, but he was smiling when he did.
“Speaking of your uncle,” Aaron said, looking around the common room of the inn that was nearly empty, save for a man and a woman sitting in one corner, “where is he?”
“Oh, right,” Janum said, “Uncle lets me watch the bar sometimes when he has to run to town, but he should be back soon.”
“Watching the bar all by yourself,” Leomin said, nodding in approval, “I am impressed, young Janum.”
The youth colored at that, obviously pleased, then he slapped himself in the forehead, “Gods, but where is my brain. Come, and I’ll get you all a drink. Uncle should be back any minute.”
He led them to the bar and poured them each an ale. He poured Wendell’s first, and by the time he’d finished pouring the last the sergeant’s mug was empty, and Wendell was clearing his throat as if he’d been missed. Aaron stared at the man, shaking his head, but the youth grinned as he filled the mug again and gave it to the sergeant.
They sat quietly for a few minutes, each of them weary and content just to sit and think of the task ahead of them. It wasn’t long before the door opened, and Janum turned with a smile, “Uncle!”
The big tavern keeper smiled and walked inside with a keg of ale on each shoulder as if they weighed nothing. He moved behind the bar, not yet noticing Aaron and his companions, and sat the kegs down. “I tell you, nephew,” he said, his back to Aaron and the others as he situated the kegs behind the bar, “either the trip into town is getting longer, or I’m getting fatter. Next time, maybe I’ll send you. Give you something to do besides sitting around here with your feet up.”
Janum grinned. “I told you I’d be happy to go, Uncle.”
“Aye, I’m sure ya would,” Nathan agreed as he pushed the second keg beside the first, “and like as not you’d run off with my coin, join a troupe of actors or something just as foolish.”
“Uncle,” Janum said in mock-scolding, “I don’t even like actors—you’re the one that goes and sees every show that comes into town, not me.”
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