“Make it back into the city and the castle itself?” Adina asked. “Oh, it wasn’t so difficult to get in here. The general was kind enough to provide an escort,” she said, nodding at the wounded man behind her.
“You fool,” a man’s voice said, and Adina turned to the other side of the room to see Lord Marion rise from his seat behind the table. He was no more than thirty-five years old and wore ostentatious clothes he’d clearly spent more time and money on than any woman she knew. Not that he didn’t have it. Marion was his father’s only son and when the old man—a kind, gentle soul, a retired soldier who had been one of Adina’s closest confidants and also had just so happened to be the richest man in all of Galia—had died, his son had inherited his fortune, as well as his position on the council. This man, at least, Adina had never cared for.
“Do you really think you can just walk back in here and take over a kingdom?” he said, his voice incredulous as he motioned to her friends. “With whom, exactly? A fat woman in a dress, that useless chamberlain Gryle, an old woman, and some farm boy that’s grown freakishly large from a life spent hauling shit and cleaning out slop?” He laughed, a high-pitched, grating laugh that Adina remembered all too well. “I only see one sword between you. And do not think you might call on the guards, for they are spread throughout the castle and the barracks, and even if they wanted to help you—which they don’t—they would not arrive in time. The city has moved on, Queen,” he said, drawing his sword and motioning to the two other men on the council who rose and drew their own, “and we’ll be doing its people a favor to kill you now.”
“Fat woman?” May said, her tone shocked and angry at the same time. She started forward, but Adina held out a hand, stopping her.
“Only one sword, you say, Lord Mary?” Adina said, and the man’s face flushed with anger at the use of the nickname many used behind his back, one brought on by his name, and his decidedly feminine interest in clothes and perfumes. “And as for the guards…” She shrugged. “I’m afraid you’re wrong. You see, it has been so long since I’ve visited the people of Galia that, well, I may have made a few stops before coming here.” She smiled as, on cue, over two dozen armored soldiers poured through the door, fanning out to either side of the room.
The other two councilmen dropped their swords immediately, holding up their hands in surrender, but Lord Marion did not let his own go so easy. He sneered, but Adina could see the sweat on his upper lip and the way his hand shook on the sword’s handle. “How do we know you won’t just have us killed as soon as we lay down our weapons?” he asked, doing his best for bravado but managing only barely-contained terror.
“You don’t,” Adina said, shrugging. “It’s up to you, Marion. I’d rather you put the blade down—I’d hate to cause the serving women any extra work if I can help it—but either way, this farce ends now.”
The young noble seemed to consider, then finally, he let the blade drop as Adina had known he would. The man might have inherited his father’s fortune, but he’d certainly not gotten any of his courage. “Very well,” he said, his voice sounding as if he was on the verge of tears. Once the blade was down Adina motioned for the soldiers, who moved forward and clamped irons on each of the five council members.
“What would you like us to do with them, my Queen?” one of them asked once the prisoners were secured.
“Take them to the dungeons for now,” Adina said, “I’m sure I’ll think of something.”
“Of course, Majesty.”
Adina watched the council members being dragged from the room until it was only her friends and the general remaining. “Do you know,” she said, “I’ve imagined this moment a thousand times, imagined the satisfaction I’d get from it. But I find that, now the thing’s done, I only feel tired.”
The club owner nodded knowingly. “Such is the way with revenge, Princess—or should I say, Queen. People seem to believe that taking away another’s happiness will somehow add to their own, but it never works like that.”
“Did you see the faces on those fools?” Beth cackled, shaking her head as she wiped a tear from her eye. “They looked like the old dog Salen himself appeared out of the ground and was leadin’ ‘em to the Fields personally.”
Gryle, who’d been holding the pew like a club once more at the threat of Marion’s attack, now sat it down awkwardly before glancing around and easing down to sit into it. Adina found herself smiling despite the trials of the last few days. Some things, at least, never changed. May stared at him, shaking her head in bemused wonder before turning to Adina. “Well. What now?”
Adina’s expression sobered, and she met each of their eyes in turn. “Now, our real work begins. General,” she said, looking at the wretched, bloody figure who seemed to have aged twenty years in the last few hours, “show me to my troops.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE
“Get out of the fucking way!” Aaron shouted as he gave his horse’s reins a jerk, narrowly avoiding a fat, well-dressed man who stumbled out of his path.
The sun had only just risen, but there were a surprising amount of people already on the streets, opening their shops and preparing to start their days. He risked a glance behind him and saw the others following, Darrell and Wendell closest, then Leomin and the youth in the back. Intelligence Virtue or not, it was clearly the first time the boy had ridden a horse and anyone watching would have guessed it was the Parnen’s first time as well the way he bounced roughly along, looking as if he would be thrown at any moment.
They’d stolen the horses from a stable they’d passed less than an hour ago. They were good, strong animals, no doubt worth a small fortune. Aaron hadn’t felt great about stealing them and, judging by the looks that had been on the faces of the others, neither had they, but he consoled himself with the fact that he’d get over the shame of the theft better than the kiss of a headman’s axe. Besides, worth a small fortune they might be, but he had a feeling the horses wouldn’t be fast enough if a few more of those creatures—children, gods they were children—decided to run them down.
He’d been expecting just such an occurrence with each minute that passed but, so far at least, none had shown. He didn’t know what to make of that, for he knew that Kevlane would do anything to see them dead if he knew they were nearby—but he would take what luck he could get. The chances of them making it out of the gate of the city were small enough even without more of those things showing up.
Aaron took a moment to concentrate on his bond, calling on its power, and detected a pursuit coming from behind them, no more than fifteen minutes away. A dozen men, maybe more. “Come on!” he yelled at the others. As they drew closer to the gate, the street became more and more crowded and, for a time, his thoughts were only on dodging around men and women who seemed to have all decided to commit suicide by jumping in front of a galloping horse.
Finally, they rounded a turn in the street, and Aaron was relieved to see Baresh’s western gate in the distance. His relief was short-lived though when he drew close enough to make out the people standing at the gate. Four guards, their swords drawn, and in front of them two figures Aaron recognized. One was the swordsman he’d fought at Nathan’s tavern, and despite the fact that even from this distance, Aaron could see that the man was covered in dust and bloody scrapes, he stood confidently enough. Beside him, seeming somehow even more grotesque in the daylight, stood the hulking, cloaked monstrosity.
Aaron pulled his horse to a stop and waited for the others to come up beside him. “Well, shit on it,” Wendell said, pausing to spit into the road, “what do you want to do now, sir?”
“We have to go through them,” Aaron said, eyeing the distant soldiers, “there’s no time for anything else.”
Darrell nodded. “How do you want to handle it?”
Aaron considered. “I’ll take the swordsman.”
“Very well,” Darrell said, “I will handle the four guards.”
Wendell grunted, glancing at Leomin
and Caleb. “I guess that leaves us the big fucker. Unless, that is, you fellas want to run the other way, in which case I reckon I’d be honor-bound to come along. As protection, you understand.”
“Mr. Envelar is right,” Caleb said, his voice calm despite the fear that showed in his pale face, “there’s no time.”
Wendell sighed. “What about you?” he asked the Parnen. “You feeling as suicidal as the rest of this lot?”
Leomin stared at the figures and, for the first time Aaron had ever seen, he did not speak, only drew the sword at his side instead. The sergeant spat again, “Ah, fuck it then. There’s worse ways to die.” He turned and looked at the hulking figure in the distance and sighed. “None come to mind, understand, but I’m willin’ to believe they’re out there.”
“Alright then,” Aaron said. “But remember, we have to do this fast.”
Wendell snorted, still eyeing the giant creature, “Oh, no worries there, sir. I’m fairly well convinced that whatever happens is goin’ to happen faster than we’d like.”
Aaron bared his teeth in a grim smile, then he gave his horse’s sides a kick. The beast whinnied, charging forward toward the gate and whatever fate awaited them there. The swordsman he’d fought before stood with a smug look on his face, and he began speaking, shouting to be heard over the thunder of the horses as they came closer. “It was only too obvious that—”
Aaron didn’t slow as he drew closer to the waiting men, and the swordsman, Savrin, he’d said his name was, cut off as Aaron leapt from the saddle, his blade flashing forward the instant his feet hit the ground. Savrin hissed in surprise, his own sword leaping up with impressive speed and parrying the strike, but Aaron wasn’t done. He growled as he waded forward, his sword moving in a blur and, for several moments, Savrin was able to do nothing but mount a desperate defense, his smug expression gone as he strained to keep pace with the rapid attacks.
Aaron was exhausted, and the only reason he was able to keep going was the understanding of what would happen should they fail to make it out of the city. Yet even with such motivation, he knew that he couldn’t continue at such a pace for long…and then he realized something. The man he fought was without a doubt an exceptional swordsman—he himself had claimed that he was the best in Baresh, a matter that Aaron didn’t particularly doubt. A man like that, a man obviously so confident in his own abilities, would not expect to lose, would expect to be better than any man he fought.
Aaron’s life on the streets had not always been kind or easy—never had been, in fact—but it had taught him a few things. One of those things was that no matter how strong a man thought he was, there was always someone stronger, and overconfidence got men killed faster than almost anything else. The man expected Aaron to be a worse fighter, so Aaron gave him what he expected. He still pushed forward, still gave every bit of speed and strength he could to each strike, but he allowed his attacks to become predictable, following a pattern.
The strain slowly started to ease from the swordsman’s face as he settled into blocking the pattern of the sellsword’s blows. As he fought, Aaron reached out with the power of the bond, touching his opponent’s mind. In an instant, he was flooded with the man’s thoughts, his fears and desires. He knew of the man’s sister and his nephew. He knew, too, without a doubt, that Kevlane had taken over Belgarin’s place as king. But more importantly at the moment was that he could feel the man’s confidence returning, feel him settling into the predictable rhythm of Aaron’s attacks.
He gave it what time he could—not long, considering the fact that he felt as if he would collapse at any moment—then he started the pattern once again. A low strike on the man’s right, followed by a lunge that he batted aside almost before it was even there. But instead of bringing the sword around from his opponent’s left, as Savrin expected, Aaron lunged forward. Fooled or not, overconfident or not, the swordsman was fast, and his blade lashed back toward Aaron, cutting the sellsword across the shoulder even as Aaron’s fist lashed out, smashing the swordsman’s nose.
Aaron hissed in pain but didn’t relent, following the stumbling swordsman and punching him again and again in the face and the stomach with his free hand as his sword blocked the man’s panicked, uncoordinated strikes.
Under that battering fist, the man lost his composure and dropped his sword, throwing his arms up to protect his face. Aaron immediately changed tactics, sweeping his leg out and knocking his opponent’s feet out from under him. Savrin fell backward, striking the ground hard, and before he could rise, Aaron brought the tip of his blade to rest inches from the man’s throat.
“—ou cheated,” Savrin squeaked, cradling his broken nose in one hand in a futile effort to stop the stream of blood pouring from it.
“I won,” Aaron said, “and because of that I get to live. We are not knights, and this is no tournament. There is no purse full of gold as a prize, no judge to call whether a strike was foul or good. In real life, in real fights, the only prize you stand to win is to keep breathing for a little while longer.” The man didn’t respond, meeting Aaron’s eyes, and the sellsword knew he was waiting, showing what courage he could as he prepared for the blade to slide home, to finish it.
Aaron knew that he should, that it would be the smart thing. An enemy you leave behind you is in all the better position to stab you in the back and a man with such skill as the swordsman possessed wasn’t the type of enemy you wanted to leave breathing, if you could help it. Only a fool would do such a thing, take such a risk, yet despite knowing it was the right thing, Aaron found himself unable to drive the blade the few inches forward that would be necessary to finish it. His sword felt heavy in his grip, impossibly so, and he hissed a curse as he realized that he couldn’t do it. There had been so much killing already with more to come, and the thought of taking this man’s life sickened him. After all, in that moment when he’d touched him with the bond, Aaron had come to know the man, know him, in some ways, better even than Savrin knew himself.
Shaking his head at his own stupidity, Aaron crouched down, bringing the blade so that the sharp edge of it rested no more than an inch from the man’s throat, and met the swordsman’s eyes. “Finish it,” the man said, his voice hoarse with pain and fear.
Aaron considered that. “Listen to me,” he said. “I should kill you—the gods know I’m a fool not to do so—but I won’t. If I run into you again, though, I won’t hesitate. Do you understand me?”
The man nodded his head a fraction, all that he was capable of with the sword’s blade so close. “Good,” Aaron said. He sighed. “Why don’t you leave this place, Savrin?” he said, waving his hand at the city. “Your new master cares nothing for you. You know that, don’t you? He cares nothing for anyone. As for Pella and little Larn, do you really think you can keep them safe from half way across the world?”
The man’s eyes went wide at that. “But how…you can’t know about them.”
“Never mind that. Yes, I know of your sister and your nephew and plenty more besides. There’s a doubt in you, isn’t there? That you’re not good enough—that you never have been. A doubt that’s been growing in you since you were a child. Since you took your beatings and listened to your old man tell you how worthless you were, how pathetic a son.”
The man’s eyes grew wider still and looked as if they would pop out of his head, and his mouth worked in silence. “You couldn’t protect your sister from him then, Savrin, and so you think yourself incapable now. You challenge yourself to be the best, to beat any that come against you because you think you’ve got something to prove.” Aaron leaned in closer to the man. “Well, you’re not a child anymore, Savrin. You’re a damn good blade—one of the best I’ve seen. You can protect them, but not here. As for your father, fuck him. He’s just one bastard among many—the world’s full of them. You’re better than he ever was. Even as a child you were better and he knew it. It’s why he beat you. Now, go and be with the people that matter, Savrin. Go while there’s still time.”
“W-what are you?” the man breathed.
Aaron grunted, rising. “A dead man, if I don’t get out of this city. Now, will you do what I’ve asked?”
“I…I’ll think on it,” the man said, “truly.”
Aaron shrugged. “Fair enough. But don’t think too long—the graveyard’s full of men who spent too much time thinking and not enough acting. Oh, and sorry about this.”
“S-sorry?” the man asked. “About wha—?”
Aaron brought the handle of his sword down into the man’s temple, knocking him unconscious. He stared down at the man for a second, hoping that he would listen and would get out of the city before it was too late. Then he turned to see how the others were faring. Darrell had one man left standing in front of him; the other three lay on the ground bleeding, though whether dead or unconscious Aaron couldn’t tell. Leomin was facing off against the hulking creature, the blood on his blade letting Aaron know he’d at least gotten in a glancing blow, but the creature seemed unaffected.
Wendell stood a short distance behind the creature. He held a handful of rocks, and he was shouting curses as he threw them at the back of the thing’s hooded head, but it didn’t even seem to notice. It’s as if the bastard forgets he has a sword every time he gets in a fight, Aaron thought. The kid, Caleb, stood behind the sergeant, his eyes scanning the street as if looking for something.
Aaron turned at a shout from Leomin, and saw the Parnen backpedaling away from the swings of the creature’s mighty fists. He saw, too, that in another few seconds the Parnen was going to be trapped against the gatehouse with nowhere to run.
Aaron forced his weary body into a sprint, coming at the creature from the side just as it jerked the Parnen up off the ground by the front of his tunic. He slammed into it with all the strength and momentum he could muster. It was like striking a wall of solid brick, and his teeth smashed together, cutting his tongue, and the warm, coppery taste of blood flooded his mouth. He rebounded off the thing, falling to the ground, and it barely even staggered a step, but it was enough for it to relax its hold on the Parnen. The creature growled and started toward Aaron with long, deceptively fast strides. “Caleb!” Aaron shouted, as he stumbled groggily to his feet and backed away. “Get the horses!”
A Sellsword's Valor Page 33
