“I understand,” Aaron said, “but I don’t mean Bert any harm, I swear, and I wouldn’t even be asking this if I had any other choice.”
The woman nodded, seeming to consider, and suddenly the power of the bond flared up unexpectedly. Though he didn’t know the exact words the woman would use, Aaron found that he knew well enough what she was going to say.
“The thing is,” the woman said, “Bertrand is a regular. Comes in here twice, sometimes three times a week just like clockwork. Mostly for the girls but not always. Sometimes, I think he comes in here just to drink and talk and be surrounded by pretty women—there are those that do that, more than a few in truth who’ll pay just to be in their favorite gal’s company and never so much as lay a finger on her. Bertrand is one of those, and when he’s sitting surrounded by that beauty, sometimes he likes to talk, often to me, and as the man pays well and treats the girls better, I’ve always been inclined to listen.”
Aaron glanced at Leomin warningly before looking back to the woman, “Ma’am, if you’ll just—”
“The thing is,” she repeated, “that in all the times I’ve listened to poor drunken, scared little Bert go on about his life and all the troubles he’s forced to deal with, I’ve never once heard him mention having a sister or a nephew. Or a cousin for that matter.”
“Well,” Aaron said, trying and knowing it was useless even as he did, “we haven’t been real close for a long time. Bertrand moved off from—”
“Haven’t heard him say word one about any of his family at all, in fact,” the woman went on as if he hadn’t spoken. “A bit strange, that, now that I think of it. Anyway, I might not have heard him complain about any such thing while the ale or the wine had the better of him and loosened his tongue, but I have heard him complain about being an only child, sometimes blaming it on the life he’s led.” She met Aaron’s eyes, and when she spoke again, her voice was hard, serious. “I don’t know exactly what it is you think you’re up to here, stranger, but I don’t appreciate being lied to in my own place of business. It’s impolite, and I abhor impoliteness. Now,” she said, motioning to the big man at the bar, “I think it’s best you leave before one of us says or does something we might regret. Breaker here will show you out.”
“Breaker?” Aaron asked, studying the thickly-muscled man as he stepped forward, doing his best to look intimidating.
“They call me that,” the big man said, grinning widely to display a mouth in which several teeth were missing, “because I like to break things.”
“Hmm,” Aaron said nodding, “not bad, but what if I’ve got one better? How about ‘walk-awayer?”
The big man’s eyebrows furrowed up at that, and Aaron held up a hand, “Alright, fine. I’ll admit it wasn’t my best effort, but I can do better. What about, ‘walk-awayer-while-you-canner?’ No,” he sighed, shaking his head, “too long. That’s too damned long. Can you imagine having to sign it? Shit, if you tried to practice writing it—and by the looks of you, you’d need some practice—you’d run out of paper before you were anywhere near finished.”
The big man’s frown grew deeper, and his face took on a confused, unsure look. He glanced back at the woman who sighed wearily. “Just show him out, Breaker. Him and the other two as well.”
The big man grunted. “Right, ma’am.” The man walked to Aaron and slammed a thick hand on his shoulder. “It’s time to go. Now, are you going to get up, or am I going to have to beat you up?”
Aaron turned and looked over his shoulder at the man. “I’m sure that last bit sounded better in your head. Anyway,” he said, glancing at the hand on his shoulder, “I’ve got to be honest with you, big fella. I don’t much like being grabbed or threatened.” He glanced back at the woman behind the bar. “It’s impolite. Now,” he said, turning back to the man, “why don’t you just go on back over there and concentrate on looking tough and not gnawing on your leash. Let me talk to your owner a little longer.”
The big man was stupid, but not so stupid that he didn’t understand when he was being mocked. He let out a growl of frustration and jerked Aaron up with surprising strength. He was faster than Aaron had given him credit for and when his fist lashed out Aaron wasn’t fast enough to avoid the blow that struck him in the side. His ribs creaked painfully, and Aaron grunted, anger suddenly blazing up inside of him. The big man swung again, and Aaron leaned his head back, but still caught a glancing blow in the chin.
Suddenly, his mouth was filled with the coppery taste of blood, and Aaron growled as the dam that had been holding back his rage crumpled and shattered. The big man cocked his hand for another strike, and Aaron still couldn’t break free of his crushing grip, so he slammed his head forward with all the strength he could muster. He felt the man’s nose crumple against his forehead, felt the hot splash of blood and snot. The big man grunted in pain and surprise, stumbling backward, his grip on Aaron loosening.
The sellsword waded forward, throwing one punch and then another into the big man’s midsection. It felt like he was hitting rock, but it didn’t matter how big or how strong a man was—if he got hit in the floating ribs, he felt it just the same, and the big man staggered, curling his body inward in an attempt to block the blows. This had the added benefit of pushing the man’s head forward, and Aaron had never been a man to pass on such an invitation as that. His first punch hit the man in his already broken nose and this time he didn’t grunt—he howled. The second one took him in the temple, and the third, an upper cut that had all the momentum of Aaron’s body behind it, struck him in the chin.
The big man staggered backwards and would have hit the floor if he hadn’t fallen against a table. He was obviously dazed and shaky, but he was struggling up when Aaron charged forward striking his face, his sides, his stomach, anywhere that he wasn’t able to cover. The big man managed to get a hand on Aaron’s left arm, trapping his wrist, but Aaron was in the full grip of the rage now, and he barely felt it as his bones ground together. Instead, his left fist lashed out, striking the man in the pressure point on the inside of his elbow one, two, three times, and then the meaty hand opened and fell away.
Amazingly, the big man didn’t fall, but he lurched off the table to unsteady legs, swinging a wide punch that Aaron easily avoided. The big man half-lunged, half-stumbled forward, reaching out his hands in an effort to get a hold of Aaron and bring his greater strength to bear. Aaron slid to the side and pivoted, kicking him hard in the side of the leg. The bone didn’t break, but the big man screamed in pain and collapsed onto his knees, still refusing to go all the way down.
Aaron stood there panting out great, whooping breaths, watching in disbelief as the bouncer started to struggle to his feet. Before he could get all the way up, Aaron grabbed the back of his head in both hands and lunged forward, his knee leading. The blow took the man in the face, and he finally collapsed onto his back with a groan. Aaron thought that surely the man would be out of it then, but the bouncer was squirming on the ground, blinded by a mask of blood, no doubt in unbearable pain due to the broken nose, yet still trying to get to his feet.
“Fuck it,” Aaron said, drawing his sword and letting the tip rest on the big man’s throat, “stay down, you stubborn bastard.
“What’s that?” Aaron glanced up at Wendell’s voice and saw that the sergeant was staring at him and the semi-conscious bouncer in wide-eyed surprise as if he’d only just turned. The woman on stage and the rest of her audience were also staring in shock at the sudden violence that had intruded upon their evening. “Ah,” the sergeant said, blinking. “By the gods, sir, it’s like I can’t take you anywhere.” Then, reluctantly, “You need help?”
“I’m fine,” Aaron managed with as much sarcasm as he could muster, considering the dull aches in his side and face where the man had struck him. “You just relax.”
Either the sergeant didn’t hear the sarcasm in Aaron’s tone, or he didn’t want to, because he turned around to the girl once more. “Well, you heard him, ma’am,”
he said, tossing another coin onto the stage, “let’s keep this going.”
Aaron was still staring at the back of the man’s head in amusement mixed with anger when he felt the big man stir beneath him, and he brought the blade closer to his throat so that it drew a bright red bead of blood. “No, big fella. I think it’s best for everybody involved if you stay just where you are. You didn’t listen to me the last time, but I’d recommend you do it now. I’d rather not kill you, but I’ll do it if I have to.” The big man growled, trying to get to his feet anyway, and Aaron was forced to pull the sword away or let him impale himself. Despite his words, Aaron didn’t let the blade have its way. Instead, he brought the handle down on the top of the bouncer’s head. No matter how much muscle a man had, it didn’t protect a place such as that, and the big man let out a wheeze as he crumpled to the ground unconscious.
Aaron spun then, leveling his sword in a line with the woman. “Now,” he panted, his breathing labored, “I’ll…be needing you to…show me where Bertrand is.” Aaron felt movement behind him and glanced over his shoulder to see the other two bouncers that had flanked the stage coming forward. Aaron turned back to the woman, raising an eyebrow, and she held up a hand.
“Stop it, you fools,” she said. “The last thing I need is for my damned brothel to turn into a blood bath.”
Aaron watched the two men come to a reluctant stop, their faces twisted in anger, before turning back to the woman. “Sorry about your man,” he said, offering her a bloody smile, “I know how you hate impoliteness.”
She shook her head in disbelief. “He was said to be the best bouncer in Baresh. I paid a fortune for him.”
Aaron shrugged one shoulder, forcing himself to hide a wince at the pain in his side—The bastard must have hands made of fucking stones. “If you would’ve let me know you were throwing away money, I would have come earlier, saved you a lot of trouble. Now, I’m going to need you to show me where Bertrand is, and I’ve got to be honest—I’m running a little low on patience.”
“And what about him?” she asked, looking pointedly at the unconscious man on the ground, “Can I see to him first?”
Aaron shook his head. “You’ve got a healer coming already. Might as well make sure you get your money’s worth.” He glanced around at the floor, covered in blood and broken glass from several empty mugs of ale that had shattered when they’d been knocked from the table during the fight. “Sorry again,” he said, looking back at her, “it looks like you’ll be mopping, after all.”
“And what makes you think I just won’t leave and call the city guard right now? Or send one of my people to do it?” she said, nodding her head at the dancer, musician, and two bouncers near the stage. “I don’t think you’d kill me, even if I did. It seems to me that you’ve gone through a lot of trouble not to kill anybody. After all, you could have drawn that sword a lot sooner and saved yourself some bruises.”
Aaron gave her a wicked, bloody smile. “Lady, just because I’m stupid doesn’t mean I’m kind, and you’d best understand that before you do something we’ll both regret. As for going to a lot of trouble, well, it seems to me that’s just about all I ever do. And in case you’re wondering how I’ll stop all of them if they all rush the door…” He shrugged. “Well, I probably wouldn’t be able to. But, then, I didn’t walk in here alone, did I?” He turned and glanced over his shoulder. “Wendell, if any of those make so much as a move toward the door, you cut them down where they stand, you hear me?”
“Sure, sure,” the man said, waving a hand without turning as he stared at the dancer who was doing her best to perform, despite her obvious anxiety.
Aaron sighed, turning back to the woman. “As for you, well, I’m fairly certain I can get you without much trouble, if it comes to that. Do we understand each other?”
The woman frowned, considering. “And you don’t mean Bertrand any harm?”
“Lady,” Aaron said, “I didn’t mean anybody any harm when I walked in here tonight. All I want to do is talk to the man. Now, why don’t you just show me where he is? That way, you’ll see the last of me, and you can go back to being a brothel owner who has to bring out her vial of oil from time to time, and we can all get on with our day.”
The woman sighed heavily, then nodded. “Very well,” she said. “But the other two stay here.” She motioned to Leomin and Caleb.
“No,” Aaron said, “they don’t, and if I’ve somehow given you the mistaken impression that this is a negotiation, I apologize. If you make me, I’ll tear apart this whole brothel to find him, and I don’t believe either of us wants that.”
She nodded, a sour expression on her face as if she’d expected as much. “Fine. This way.”
She started toward the stairs, and Aaron motioned for Leomin and Caleb to follow him. “What happened to ‘act natural’?” Leomin whispered as they started after the brothel owner.
“What? That?” Aaron said, glancing back at the unconscious man. “I’m a sellsword, Leomin. The only unnatural thing is that he’s still breathing. Now, come on.”
The woman led them up the stairs, past closed doors through which could be heard pleasured moans that rang just a touch false, and frantic grunts as the clientele did their best to get their money’s worth. They must have passed at least a dozen rooms, maybe as many as twenty, the youth’s face growing redder and redder by the moment. Finally, the woman stopped in front of a door and turned to Aaron. “This is the one. I trust you can get in yourself.”
Aaron was going to stop her but before he could, she was walking down the hallway once more. He considered chasing after her, making her open the door but decided against it. He turned back to Leomin who shrugged, stepped forward, and knocked.
“Sorry,” a woman’s voice called from inside, “the room’s occupied.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Leomin said, “but you see, I have a good friend, Bertrand, who is inside, and I would very much like to speak to him. It is about a matter of some…urgency I’m afraid.”
“Go away!” a man’s voice called, and though it tried for tough, Aaron could hear the quiver of fear in it. “We’re busy.”
“It’s alright,” Caleb said, stepping forward and bending down to examine the lock. “It appears to be a fairly rudimentary mechanism. With the right tools, I could have it open in a few minutes. Tell me,” he said, turning to Aaron and Leomin, “do either of you have a needle?”
“Must have left it in my other pants,” Aaron said dryly.
“There might be another way,” Leomin said, meeting Aaron’s eyes with a question.
Aaron sighed. “Fine,” he said reluctantly, “but only because I don’t think it wise that we stay around here any longer than we have to.” The Parnen smiled, nodding before turning back to the door. “And Leomin?”
“Mr. Envelar?”
“A small one. The last thing we want is to bring the whole damned city down on ourselves, and if Kevlane is here somewhere—which seems to be growing likelier and likelier—we don’t want to run into him and his cronies because you got careless.”
“Of course, Mr. Envelar,” Leomin said in what he must have taken for his most comforting voice, “I am known for nothing if not my subtlety.”
The man’s words did nothing to reassure Aaron, but in another moment he could feel the Parnen gathering the power of his Virtue, and it was too late to change his mind. “Bertrand,” Leomin said, and as he spoke Aaron thought he could almost see invisible lines of power radiating out from him in the direction of the door, “my name is Leomin, and I am a friend. I would not tell you so, if it were not true. Now, will you not open the door and listen to what I have to say, for I would surely like to speak to you.”
“I don’t know a Leomin,” the man’s voice said from inside the room, but it didn’t sound as scared or abrupt as before, only curious, “leastways, I don’t think I do.”
Leomin glanced at Aaron, and the sellsword gave a grudging nod. The Parnen closed his eyes, concentrating, and Aa
ron felt more power building. He was surprised that he could feel it at all—he’d never felt the other times he’d seen Leomin use his gift—but not too surprised. The power of his own bond seemed to grow stronger from day to day, and this was only proof of that—the same as how he’d known that the woman in the common room wasn’t going to let him see Bertrand without a fight.
“Only more reason to open the door then, friend Bertrand,” Leomin said, “for when one man is getting to know another, there should not be such walls and doors between them. Not, unless, they wish to know the door as well, I suppose. And a fine door it is, but I think it would look oh so much finer open. There is something final, something abrupt and a bit suffocating about a closed door, do you not agree?”
There was a hesitation—no doubt while the man inside the room tried to figure out just what the Parnen had actually said—then he spoke again. “My friends call me Bert.”
“Very well, Bert,” Leomin said. “Now, the door?”
They heard footsteps draw closer from inside the room and in another moment the door was easing open. The slowly widening crack revealed a thin, balding man with a slightly confused smile on his face as if someone had told a joke he wanted to be a part of, but that he couldn’t seem to figure out. “Leomin?” the man asked.
“It is I, Bert,” the Parnen said, “and these,” he paused, motioning to Aaron and Caleb, “are my friends. Soon to be your friends too, I hope.”
Bert licked his lips nervously, glancing at the kid before turning to Aaron where his gaze settled and took on a suspicious cast. “I assure you, friend,” Leomin said, “he is not quite so dangerous as he appears.”
“He’s bleeding,” Bert said in a voice that sounded as if he was talking in his sleep.
“Yes,” Leomin agreed, smiling, “he usually is. May we come in, Bert?”
“O-of course,” the little man stammered, “gods, where are my manners? I just had it locked in case any strangers came by. I would not shut my door to friends, never.”
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