He pushed his way through the crowd, working his way down the lane, his hands staying close to the sheathed sword on his back, covered as it was by his cloak. After a time, he looked back to make sure that Adina and the chamberlain were still with him. Their faces were pale, their expressions taut. Apparently, they too, had grasped their vulnerability. He grunted as someone bumped into him from behind. “Excuse me, sir,” a voice murmured.
He grasped the arm stealthily pawing under his tunic and squeezed, hard. “I’m sorry!” The owner of the hand squeaked. He looked down and saw a youth no older than thirteen summers staring back at him, his expression a mask of pain. The boy’s face was covered in dirt, and his shirt and trousers were torn and ragged.
He looked at the sellsword with wide, desperate eyes, “I’m sorry, m-mister. I’m really sorry. My momma’s sick. We don’t have the money to buy her th--.”
Aaron squeezed harder. “Don’t tempt me, kid.”
In an instant, the innocent bewilderment left the kid’s face, and his eyes took on a look much too jaded for one so young. True, the pity routine had been an act, but it was obvious by the kid’s emaciated frame, by the look of his haggard face, and the way he swayed slightly on his feet that he was starving. Aaron stared at the boy for a moment then shook his head, “You didn’t bump hard enough, kid,” he said, still gripping the boy’s wrist, “better to hit a man hard enough that he’s worried more about not falling on his ass than he is about his coins.”
The youth opened his mouth to speak, no doubt planning to launch into a scathing comment on how he didn’t need anyone’s help, on how he was better on his own. Aaron knew them all—he’d made them often enough himself, but the kid must have seen something in his stare because his jaw snapped shut, and he nodded grudgingly.
The sellsword reached into his purse for a few coins, paused to make sure that it was his idea, not some damned glowing orb’s, decided that it probably wasn’t, but gave them to the kid anyway. “I don’t expect you to stop stealing, boy,” he said, meeting the youth’s eyes, “but I do expect you to get better. Next time I don’t want to know a thing until I reach for a coin and come up empty, you hear me?”
The boy paused uncertainly. After a moment, he smiled and the coins vanished into his ripped and faded tunic, “Sure thing, mister. Next time, you’ll never know what hit you.”
Aaron nodded, “I expect nothing less.”
Adina looked at him reproachfully as the kid hurried off into the crowd, “What was all that about? You probably just helped to make that kid into a thief for the rest of his life.”
Aaron turned and met her eyes, and when he spoke his voice was hard, “Maybe, but he won’t go hungry anymore. It’s hard to worry about morality when your stomach’s cramping from lack of food, and you sleep in the streets every night. I don’t expect you to understand.”
She frowned, “That doesn’t mean that you should make yourself part of the problem. He could do something good with his life. He could grow up to be a soldier instead of a thief who lives off of others’ misery.”
The sellsword barked a laugh. “If we’re breathing, we’re part of the problem, princess, and don’t talk to me about the nobility of being a soldier. There’s nothing noble about cutting men down or dying fighting for some damned fool that decided the chair he was sittin’ in ought to be a throne instead.”
CHAPTER
TEN
Adina was just beginning to respond when Aaron turned and headed into the crowd, the stiff set of his shoulders making it obvious that he didn’t want to talk about it anymore. If we’re breathing, we’re part of the problem, princess. “We don’t have to be,” she whispered after him with a sigh. She turned to make sure the chamberlain was next to her before heading off after the sellsword. What happened to you, Aaron, to make you so bitter?
Thinking of the kid brought to mind memories of her own childhood. True, it had been different than most, but it had still had its own hazards, its own lessons. She was the youngest of her father’s children. When she was still playing with dolls, her other siblings were grown, her brothers fighting in tournaments, her sisters marrying to seal alliance’s with some of the lands more powerful nobles. All except for Ophasia. The thought of her sister, murdered by her own brother, sent a pang of grief through her.
Eladen had always been kind to her, treating her sweetly, but it had been her sister, Ophasia, with whom she’d spent the majority of her childhood. She remembered the way her sister had looked then, raven black hair always in a tangle, a constant source of frustration for their nurse maid, Gertrude, and brown eyes so dark they were almost the color of midnight. Most of all, she remembered the mischievous glint in those dark eyes, the look that often presaged a harsh scolding from their nurse.
A sad smile of loss crept its way onto her face at the memory. Her sister had always been wild, always looking for a thrill despite the consequences. At the time, Adina had believed Ophasia to be the embodiment of everything she was not: courage, daring, and recklessness. Small wonder, then, that she had looked up to her so much.
Considering her sister’s bent for doing things she’d been expressly told not to, it was no surprise when her sister had begun to take Adina on trips to the dungeon. Adina had not wanted to go, had not wanted to brave the stares of the prisoners, the leers and the shouts, the memory of which often kept her awake at night. But as strong as that desire had been, the desire to not disappoint her sister had been stronger and so, in the end, she had gone. Ophasia had enjoyed taunting the prisoners, throwing stale bread at them or calling them cowards, no matter whether they were thieves, rapists, or murderers. She shook her head wonderingly at the memory. How foolish they had been.
She’d gone, true, but she’d always been too scared to join in Ophasia’s taunts. Instead, she would sit back and watch, quietly terrified, sure that somehow the men would break through their cells and get her. They never did, of course, and eventually, despite her fear, she began to notice similarities between them. There was something in their eyes, in the set of their jaws that said they didn’t regret what they’d done, that they’d do it again if given the chance.
Even when they tugged on their bars, shouting for mercy, their faces twisted in wretched sadness, the look never left their eyes. It was a cold, calculating look. It was a look that said that their morality, their desire to do what was right—if they’d ever had any—had withered and died long ago, leaving in its place nothing more than a walking, talking, empty husk, devoid of all its humanity.
Sometimes, she was sure she saw a similar look in Aaron’s eyes, and it was that look, more than what he said, that affected her. No, that wasn’t right. It terrified her. Still, with him it was different. She believed that beneath that placid surface of apathy, lurked a pain, a betrayal, that gnawed at him unceasingly, scraping away the goodness in him even as it strove to break him.
Or perhaps he was just an ass. Some people were, after all. His sharp comments about her childhood, about her being pampered, had shown as much. They had been unfair and infuriating, never mind that they were, she had to admit, at least partly true. He was clearly a greedy, selfish man. A man who didn’t possess any of the qualities she’d been taught to strive for and seek in others. To him, honor, faith, and nobility were nothing more than a joke to be laughed at, a trap to be avoided. He was a sellsword, a man who sold his blade to the highest bidder—no matter the job. A man who would kill someone he’d never met if the money was right with little more than a second thought—a disgusting, vile excuse of a human being.
She knew all of this, so why, then, did she find her eyes following him when he wasn’t watching? Why did her mind replay his words, over and over again? Even now, she realized, she was watching him, her eyes taking in his wide, muscled shoulders, remembering how he’d looked without his clothes on. The scars that covered his back had been terrible, so terrible, in fact, that she’d nearly cried out at the sight of them, yet her eyes had been drawn to his po
werful, sinewy arms and the tight, compacted muscle of his stomach and chest. She felt herself blushing at the memory and forced her gaze onto her feet, shaking her head in disgust. What is wrong with me?
She was so consumed in her own thoughts that she didn’t realize the sellsword had stopped until she bumped into his back. She stumbled, almost fell, but his arms shot out, lightning quick, and caught her. “Are you alright?” He asked as he helped her to her feet, the anger he’d shown a few minutes before nowhere to be seen.
Her face feeling as if it was on fire, she jerked away from him, “Like you care,” she hissed, “don’t try to act human now.”
He frowned, staring at her so intensely that she thought her heart would stop, “Don’t worry,” he said finally, his voice devoid of any emotion, “I won’t make the same mistake again. Anyway, the inn’s up ahead. Come on.” He turned and headed into a nearby alleyway.
What’s wrong with you, Adina? She thought, furious with herself. He was just trying to help. She’d been trained in diplomacy almost from birth, educated on how to deal with scheming, plotting nobles with rivalries dating back hundreds of years, yet she couldn’t seem to get along with a simple sellsword. She glanced to the side and saw Gryle watching her with a knowing, almost fatherly smile. Frowning, her face hot, she followed Aaron into the shadowed alley. In the darkness, she could barely see him, but she felt his eyes on her just the same. “Listen,” she said, “I didn’t mean—“
“Forget it,” He said, his voice gruff. “Take this,” she couldn’t see what he was doing, but she heard a rustle and felt paper being pressed into her hands.
“What is it?”
“A way out, courtesy of May. I’m going to go check out this Aster Kalen, see if I can’t figure out just how bad off we are. If I don’t make it back—“
“Of course you’ll make it back,” Adina interrupted, suddenly, unexplainably terrified at the thought of the sellsword’s death.
He shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. If I don’t, use the papers and get out of Avarest. Wait for an hour—no more. If I’m not back by then, I’m not coming back.”
“Don’t say that,” she said, her chest feeling tight.
“What’s going to happen is going to happen, princess. Ignoring it doesn’t change it.”
“I know that,” she snapped, her fear making her angry, “I’m not a child!”
He nodded, “Okay then. I’m off.” He paused a moment before turning and starting into the street.
“Be careful, sir,” Gryle said.
The sellsword turned back, his outline lit by the lights of nearby shops and buildings, “Remember, chamberlain. An hour, no more.”
“Y-yes, sir.”
The sellsword nodded and turned away. She watched him go, desperately wanting to forbid it, to pull her rank as princess and command that he run with them now, but she knew that he wouldn’t listen. The man had made it obvious that titles meant nothing to him. There was something terrible, something wonderful about that. She opened her mouth to tell him to be careful, but no words came, and in seconds he was gone, disappearing into the crowded street as if he’d never been.
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
Spoiled, ungrateful brat, Aaron thought furiously as he pushed his way through the teeming crowd of people, keeping his eye on the inn’s sign a short distance down the street.
She is emotional, Co admonished, her brother just died. Perhaps, you could try to be understanding.
Out of the corner of his vision, Aaron noticed a shadow separate itself from the dark mouth of a nearby alleyway. He reached under his cloak and had one of his blades halfway out of the sheathe before he realized that the target was not him but a stumbling, drunken couple ahead of him. They were laughing and kissing, oblivious of the fact that soon their purses would be much lighter. I understand that next time I’ll let her fall on her royal ass—see how she likes that. He thought as he moved past the unlucky couple, leaving them to their fate. Besides, whose side are you on, anyway?
Do you really want me to answer that?
Aaron sighed, No, probably better that you didn’t, firefly. He approached the inn and headed for the door.
Tell me you’re not going in, Co hissed in his mind.
He allowed himself a smile, “Of course. What did you expect?” He reached back, threw the hood of his faded brown cloak over his head, and walked inside.
I didn’t expect that you had a death wish! There are other, more discreet ways of doing this. The orb’s voice was frantic and tight with worry.
We don’t have time for discreet, he thought back as he glanced around the inn. May had been right. The Blind Mermaid had nothing on the Rest. The air in the place was rank with the smell of vomit, piss, and other smells he didn’t want to think too long on. Among the scattered, dusty tables, a few small groups of rough looking men and women drank and talked in subdued tones. None bothered turning to pay him any mind as he walked toward the bar. He had a seat, ordered a mug of ale from a bored looking barman who smelled as if he hadn’t bathed in a week. As he waited for the drink, Aaron surreptitiously glanced around the room.
The conversation of the place was a dull rumble punctuated by the occasional angry shout of one of the inn’s patrons, or the squeal of what appeared to be the place’s only barmaid. A homely, heavy-set woman who was trying—and failing—to dodge the gropes of some of the inn’s drunker customers while weaving her way between the tables with pints of ale.
He searched for anyone that seemed out of place but nothing caught his eye, which, of course, was all the more reason to be sure that one of those drunks wasn’t as drunk as he made out. After all, Aster would have at least one of his men keeping watch downstairs in case someone came in to receive their reward. In a few minutes, the bartender returned with a mug and sat it carelessly on the counter, sloshing ale over the sides of the cup where it mixed with the caked dirt and grime on the bar. “That’ll be two of the Old Kings,” the man growled. “Nobody drinks for free.”
Such a people person, Aaron thought, it’s a wonder the place isn’t packed. He raised an eyebrow as he looked at the greasy, unwashed mug before him. His first instinct was to tell the man that he was out of his damned mind, that for two gold coins he at least expected a clean glass but stopped himself. The last thing he needed to do was make a scene, so he pulled two coins out of his pocket and sat them on the counter. “Thanks.”
The bartender grunted as he snatched up the money and tucked it into his apron. Aaron frowned at the beer. He could get away with coming here—after all, he’d never met this Aster Kalen before, so, at best, the man would have a description of what he looked like: a tall, brown haired man with brown eyes. Yeah, good luck with that. There were hundreds, thousands, of men fitting that description in the Downs. There was no reason for them to take any special notice of him. None, that was, as long as he didn’t do anything stupid to draw suspicion; anything like, say, ordering a beer and not drinking it.
He grabbed up the mug and sniffed at it, his nose wrinkling. If anything, the ale smelled worse than the room itself, no easy feat, that. Well, no help for it. He held his breath and took a long pull from the mug. It took all he had not to spew the contents back out onto the counter. Instead, he winced, forced himself to swallow what was left in his mouth, and grunted. “Good stuff,” he croaked to the bartender.
The man raised an eyebrow at the sellsword, frowned, and walked away. Struggling not to gag at the taste of gritty bile in his throat, Aaron turned back to the room, the mug in his hand.
What now? Co asked, a distinctly satisfied tone in her voice.
Now we wait, he thought, deciding to ignore her obvious amusement at his discomfort. For now.
Wait for what?
A few moments passed before he caught sight of a familiar form entering the bar. Do you think that men will always act according to their natures, lightning bug?
It is in their nature to do so, she answered in an arrogant, self-sati
sfied voice.
Just what I was thinking, he thought with a thick smugness of his own as Lucius stepped further into the room followed closely by the two bruisers from the Rest. The talkative one had a black eye and a bandage over the side of his face, but other than that, he looked no worse for the wear. Hard to get any uglier, Aaron thought, but he was happy to see that the silent one walked stiffly, obviously in pain.
Lucius was rubbing his hands together nervously, scanning the tavern room like a mouse sensing a housecat. Aaron turned back to the bar before the man recognized him, tracking the group’s progress out of the corner of his eye. The weasel-faced informant headed to the far end of the room and sat down at a table in the corner. The two men took up positions behind him, scowling at the other people in the bar. Bastard must be paying good, he thought, wonderingly.
After a few minutes, a scruffy, unkempt looking man who he’d thought was passed out from drink raised his head off a table on the other side of the inn, stood, and started toward Lucius. He walked past the two bruisers as if they didn’t exist and sat down at the table. Lucius began to talk immediately and although they were too far away to hear, the animated way in which he moved, waving his hands in the air exaggeratedly, spoke volumes. After a moment, the scruffy man rose and disappeared up the stairs.
Gone to get his boss, no doubt, Aaron thought. He sat back in his seat, nursed his beer, and waited. It wasn’t long before a tall, rail-thin man dressed in a white silk shirt and black trousers came down the steps. The man walked with a confident swagger, as if he was three times his actual size, and a small, knowing smile played at the corner of his face. Aaron frowned. He’d seen that kind of walk before. It was the kind of walk that said the man thought he owned the place and everyone in it. It was the walk of a man who would put a hit on someone without any fear of retaliation.
A Sellsword's Compassion_Book One of the Seven Virtues Page 10
