But the note. The damned note changed everything. It wasn’t just the meaning of the message, which was bad enough. It was the conciseness of it, the shortness of it. Aaron had come to like Leomin more than he ever thought he would—which meant that he only felt like murdering the man about half the time he was around him—and he’d come to realize that the Parnen captain possessed some very interesting talents, particularly an ability, it seemed, to talk himself into or out of anything. However, in all the time that he’d known the captain, the man had demonstrated an overwhelming incapacity to be brief and get to the point, often to have any point at all as far as that was concerned. The fact that the man would send a note with only two words—they’re coming—and nothing else, spoke of a haste that demanded immediate attention.
Aaron dropped the note and the wind caught it, sent it fluttering down the street. He turned and was surprised to find the others watching him in the doorway. May, a heavy set woman, part club owner part rebellion leader, Balen, Leomin’s first mate, Gryle, the chubby chamberlain of a royal household that no longer existed and, of course, Adina, the princess and one of the few remaining members of a rapidly shrinking royal family, all of them staring at him expectantly, waiting for news, waiting for him to tell them what to do. Not that he could blame them. May might be one of the cleverest people he’d ever met as well as the most powerful, in her subtle way, and Adina might be one of the remaining royal siblings, clever and resourceful and determined in her own right, but this was not their place. This was a question of fighting, of steel and blood, and with such questions, they looked to him for the answer.
What company we keep, Co spoke into his mind, still, there are more pressing matters.
No doubt, Aaron thought back. He took a moment to steady himself and met the questioning eyes of the others. “They’re coming.” He gave them a moment to absorb the news, watched their faces go from shock to fear to uncertainty. He gave them only a moment, then he nodded, “Right. Two minutes. Grab anything that you can’t live without with the understanding that if it slows you down you might die with it. Meet back here.”
To their credit, they all scattered without protestation or complaint, hurrying to their rooms. Aaron went to his own room, pulled on his shirt and boots, tossed a change of clothes into a pack and slung the leather strap over his shoulder. That done, he glanced around the room and realized there was nothing else for him to take. No keepsakes, no priceless souvenirs or gifts from loved ones. All the things he’d once had, all the things he’d once loved, were gone, crumbled to ash and dust in a world of both. He wondered what it meant to be a man grown with nothing to show for the life he’d led, nothing to anchor him to it, but the blade at his back and the memories of those things he’d lost. Hardly a man at all, really, but some dusty revenant wandering the world, good for the spilling of blood and little else.
There is time yet, Co said, time to build a life.
“That’s the funny thing about time,” Aaron muttered, “There always seems to be plenty of it—until there isn’t.” With that, he frowned and headed for the stairs.
The others met him at the door within the two minute window, each of them carrying a travel pack on their back and not much else except for the heavy-set chamberlain who was carrying so many bags and satchels he looked in danger of toppling at any minute. “What’s this?” Aaron said.
“I’m sorry, Mister Envelar,” Gryle huffed, his face red and sweaty as he came to stand with the others, “I’m quite ready.”
“No,” Aaron said, “You’re not.”
Gryle followed his gaze to the many bags draped over him, “Ah, well, I can assure you, sir, that these are the bare necessities. After all, my lady must have attire for different occasions, and we have only just managed to begin rebuilding her collection—as well as, of course,” he grunted, shifting a strap back over his shoulder that had begun to fall, “her collection of books. A royal lady such as herself must always keep educated, and I find the best way—”
Aaron turned to Adina who stared at him with a pained expression on her face, clearly embarrassed, then he turned back to the chamberlain who was still speaking.
“—So, as you can see, it really is all vital to ensure—”
“Leave it.”
The balding chamberlain cut off, “I’m sorry, sir?”
“I said leave it.”
A pained, desperate expression came over Gryle’s face, and he sighed heavily, “Well, I suppose, I could find a way to consolidate some … perhaps, if I were to remove my own change of clothes, I could—”
“All of it.”
A look of shocked horror came over the chamberlain’s face, as if his number one concern was the breach in propriety of a princess traveling without her belongings and not the armed men who would soon be knocking at their door, “Sir, surely you can’t be serious.”
“There’s a good chance we’re going to be doing a lot of running in the very near future, chamberlain. Tell me, how well will you be able to run weighed down by dresses and books and the gods know what else?”
The chamberlain raised his chin haughtily in the air, the effect spoiled somewhat by the fact that he was nearly bent double under the weight of the packs. “I assure you, Mr. Envelar, that I will not slow you down. For my mistress, I will do what the situation demands, should that be walking or … running.”
Aaron nodded, “Show me.”
The chamberlain’s eyes widened in surprise, “I’m sorry?”
Aaron drew his sword and pointed it at the chamberlain, “I’m one of Belgarin’s men. I’ve been sent after a group of rebels by my master and—since they’ve spent all of their time jawing when they should have been running—I’ve managed to catch up with them.” He took a step toward the chubby man, meeting the man’s eyes, “Now, let me see you run.”
Gryle squeaked as Aaron took another menacing step toward him and turned to start down the hallway in a stumbling, awkward shuffle. He’d taken only a few steps when a large case slipped from his shoulder and fell to the floor. The chamberlain let out a squawk of surprise as he tripped over it and he—and the bags he carried—sprawled across the floor.
Aaron crouched beside the sweating, huffing chamberlain and held out his hand to help the man up. Once more on his feet, Gryle stared at the bags with something like shame before turning to the princess, “I’m sorry, my lady.”
“Gryle,” Adina said, stepping forward and putting a gentle hand on the chamberlain’s shoulder, “It’s fine. There’s nothing there that cannot be replaced—only dresses and books.”
Gryle’s eyes grew wide, “Only dresses and….” he glanced at Aaron, swallowed once, and nodded. “Of course, my lady.”
Aaron glanced around at the scattered bags, “Is there one of these that has food and traveling clothes?”
“Of course!” Gryle said, suddenly indignant, “I would not have my lady starve, Mister Enve—”
“Which one is it?”
Gryle hesitated, a confused expression on his face, then pointed, “That one there.”
“Better grab it then.”
The chamberlain walked over and grabbed the pack then turned back to Aaron, “And the other bags?”
“Leave them.”
“Leave them?” Gryle asked, his voice breaking, but already Aaron and the others were walking out the door and into the dark streets. He glanced back at the packs and bags scattered in the hallway and sighed before turning and following them out of the door.
CHAPTER
THREE
The streets were crowded despite the late hour, and Aaron studied the people around them as they made their way through the city, searching for any sign of recognition or alarm. After his first night searching fruitlessly for any information about Darrell’s whereabouts, Leomin had arrived back at the rented house with some flyers that he’d said had been posted throughout the city. The papers depicted Aaron and Adina in great detail, claiming that they were enemies of the crown and
would most likely be traveling with several companions, a reward offered for any information that led to their capture.
Aaron kept the hood of his cloak thrown over his head, as did Adina, but that gave him little comfort. Such an odd group as they were couldn’t help but draw attention. Telling himself there was no choice, the space between his shoulder blades itching, Aaron led the others through the crowded streets. Men and women who’d traveled to the city for the contest in which Aaron had nearly died made their way from shop to shop, from tavern to tavern, laughing and carousing, by appearances unmoved by the fact that their rightful ruler had been assassinated only a few short weeks ago and that the author of his death (who also happened to be his brother) had taken over the city.
Aaron had heard bits and pieces from Leomin about what had been happening in the city since Belgarin took over but hearing about it and seeing it were two very different things. He wasn’t surprised, exactly—growing up in the Downs, the poor, crime-riddled district of the city of Avarest—had quickly disabused him of any notions of human loyalty or kindness. Not surprised but disappointed and angry. Not for himself, so much, but for Adina. Eladen, like Belgarin, had been her brother, but unlike Belgarin, the man had been known for being kind and compassionate, a man who had believed that the commoners should be looked after as much as the nobles themselves. A noble ideal but, of course, it was also that ideal that had seen his second in command relinquish the city and its people over to Belgarin without so much as a hand raised in its defense.
Eladen had been, from all reports, a good man, though Aaron still had his doubts that there was such a thing. Either way, Adina had loved him, and the commoners had supposedly loved him as well. With each laughing, drunken soul they passed, he could see the princess’s mood growing darker, saw the hurt grow in her eyes and, more than that, because of the bond between him and Co, the Virtue of Compassion, he could feel her anger, her disappointment. Eladen had given everything for his people, his very life, when it had come to it, yet they continued on after his murder as if nothing had happened.
Aaron fell back a step so that he was walking in line with the princess, the others lagging a few paces behind as they made their way through the city. “People are simple, selfish creatures, that’s all.”
She turned to him, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear and trying a smile that didn’t come close to touching her eyes, “My brother wasn’t. He was a good man, and it seems only weeks after he died they’ve forgotten all about him. It’s as if they don’t even care that the man who killed him is ruling their city.”
Aaron shrugged, “You have to understand, Adina, such matters are far above the average man. He spends his time worrying about what his family will eat or how to keep his wife from discovering he has a mistress on the side, maybe wondering if the crops’ll come in, or if he’ll be able to pay when the tax collectors come a calling. Such things leave little room for worrying about who’s sitting on a throne they’ve never seen and probably never will. Such things are too high up, too big. What’s an ant care for the decisions of men?” He shrugged again, “A man takes a step to the left instead of the right, and the ant gets squished where he might not’ve, but there’s no rhyme or reason to it—better to keep your head down and hope than look up and see the boot coming.”
“But surely you don’t believe that,” Adina said, “or else why are you here? Why come with us at all?”
Aaron met her bright blue eyes, the most beautiful he’d ever seen. “You know why.”
A flush crept up her cheeks, and she smiled before turning back to the road. Aaron watched her for several seconds, the smooth line of her jaw, her long hair, the way it fell over her shoulders. A kindness there sure, but a hardness too, in the way her shoulders were set, in the way she faced the world head on, never flinching away from something because she didn’t want to see it, never acting like a thing didn’t exist because it clashed with the way she wanted the world to be. Courage and kindness, hardness and determination. Things that, in his experience, rarely went together.
She’s not bad to look at either, Co said, or so I gather from the men we pass.
Aaron frowned. He’d noticed the looks himself, the last thing they needed when they were trying to be discreet, to escape the city before their hunters found them. He told himself that was why he wanted to smash their faces in, to tell them to keep their fucking eyes where they belonged and to mind their own damned business unless they wanted him minding theirs. Only prudence, of course, only a caution any man in his circumstances might feel. Or so he told himself.
“What about the captain?” Balen asked for at least the fifth time, and Aaron bit back the urge to snap at the man. He was loyal to his captain, that was all, and there were plenty worse things than that.
“The captain’s a … well, let’s say clever man. And the gods know he’s a way of surviving when he’s no right to. Besides,” he said, turning a corner onto a side street, “he was able to write a note and send a runner, he’ll be alright. A lot easier to blend in as one man than a group. If I was you, I’d be more worried about us than your captain.”
“Well, ‘spose you’ve a point there. The captain’s a resourceful man and that’s a fact.”
“Aaron,” May said, and there was something in her voice that brought him up short.
He turned and looked at the club owner and saw that she was pulling her long, fiery red hair into a pony tail and tying it with a ribbon, something Aaron had never seen before until these last few days. Her fiery red hair, in many ways, was as much her calling card as the Traveler’s Rest, the club that she owned and operated in the Downs. In truth, the club wasn’t just a club at all, but a base of operations for an organization that, though it didn’t rival the major crime bosses in brute strength, was possessed of a subtle and a more difficult to define power, one that whispered instead of shouted. A dagger instead of a broadsword, but no less deadly for all that. Aaron thought it more deadly in truth, for whatever else might be true of a broadsword, you usually saw it coming.
Aaron glanced around them at the worry in May’s tone and realized that the street they were on was conspicuously empty. He cursed himself for his own carelessness, for allowing himself to get distracted by conversation and by thoughts of the others. An understandable enough mistake, maybe, for a man who’d spent the majority of his life alone with no one to call friend. Understandable, but that would be little comfort when the bleeding started.
He stopped and signaled for the others to halt, drawing the blade from across his back. The street was silent, too silent. Idiot, he thought. A lifetime learning hard lessons, hard yet true ones, and now in the space of a few days he’d let himself forget. His eyes locked on the road in front of him, Aaron motioned the others back, knowing it was too late even as he did it.
“What is it, Mr. Envelar?” Gryle asked, “Surely, this is the fastest way out of the c—”
“No questions now, Gryle,” Aaron snapped, his heartbeat loud enough that he could hear it in his ears. Another lesson he’d learned was that no matter how many scrapes a man got in, no matter how many times the question of blood was raised and no matter how many times he answered it, each time felt like the first. Fear and self-doubt and wonder at the futility of it all. They were unwelcome companions, but they were, at least, familiar ones.
Aaron motioned for them to go back the way they’d come and wasn’t surprised when two men emerged from the alley’s entrance, swords in their hands. Aaron held out his hand, indicating that the others should stop. The older of the two men ran a hand through his beard, shaking his head. “Well, looks like we’ve found us a group of fugitives. And Bert here thought we’d lose ya.” He slapped the man beside him—Bert apparently—on the shoulder and grinned, “Nah, but I told him. A group like that? Shit, we’d have to be blind to lose you, and it seems I was right enough. Gotta say, though,” he grinned at the princess, “the pictures don’t hardly do you justice.”
“Y
ou do a lot of talking,” Aaron said, glancing behind him to see that two more armed men were making their way closer from the other end of the alley, in no hurry, confident that they knew how it was going to go.
The bearded man nodded as he and his partner started forward, “Yeah, I’ve been accused of it once or twice. Anyhow, I reckon we’ve got you well and proper. Any chance of you putting down that sticker? One sword against four … well, those are some pretty long odds aye, fella?” He glanced at Adina as he and his partner stopped about ten feet away, his eyes tracing up and down her body, “My but you’re a fine thing. Curves in all the right places and that’s a fact.”
Adina’s face grew red with anger, and Aaron saw her tense beside him, but she said nothing.
“What do you say?” The man said, turning back to Aaron, “it’d be a damn shame for something to happen to a piece of ass like that. Why don’t you just put down your blade, and we can do this like civilized folks. Ain’t no need for anybody to get dead over it.”
“You’re wrong.” Before the man could respond, Aaron surged forward, drawing one of the knives he always kept secreted at his waist. To his credit, the bearded man reacted fast, knocking Aaron’s sword aside with a two handed strike that nearly made him lose his grip. Aaron used the momentum to spin his body around and bury the knife he’d drawn hilt-deep into the man’s neck. The soldier’s eyes went wide with shock and blood sluiced from his throat, staining his beard and tunic a deep crimson.
Behind you!
Through his bond with the virtue, Aaron felt the man coming, knew just how the strike would land, so he spun in a circle, toward his attacker. He grunted as the man’s fist and the sword hilt he held struck him in the back and sent him stumbling, but not before his sword sliced deeply into the soldier’s arm.
A Sellsword's Wrath Page 2
