A Sellsword's Compassion_Book One of the Seven Virtues

by Jacob Peppers

  Aaron walked over and the fat man let out a sigh of relief as he took the crossbow from him and tossed it into the alley. Aaron turned to inspect the third member of the group who lay unconscious on the ground, a large, blood-coated rock nearby. He shook his head in surprise and turned to Gryle. “That was one of the bravest, dumbest things I’ve ever seen, chamberlain. Where’s the princess? Tell me she wasn’t so stupid.”

  The chamberlain shook his head savagely and though his hands still trembled, his voice was clear as he defended his mistress, “No, sir, Mr. Silent. Her royal princess is very intelligent. She is a scholar of many of the finer subjects such as math, science, histo—“

  “There’ll be time for her life story later,” Aaron interrupted as he grabbed the man by the arm, “come on. We’re not out of it yet.”

  He led the man through the alleys of dockside at a run, dodging the people on the street when he could and knocking them aside when there wasn’t room to go around. By the time they made it to the edge of the docks, both of them were gasping for air, and the chamberlain’s chubby face was scarlet and covered in sweat. By the light of the lanterns hung along the side of the docks, Aaron scanned the names of the three ships in the harbor. “Damnit,” he snarled.

  In the note, May had said to look for a ship named Clandestine, and there was no such ship in port. “Reliable my ass,” he muttered, “the bastard chickened out.”

  “Maybe … not, sir,” Gryle huffed beside him.

  Aaron turned and regarded the wheezing chamberlain, “What are you talking about?”

  Instead of speaking, Gryle pointed a trembling arm out toward the ocean. The sellsword followed it and at first, saw nothing. Then, squinting into the darkness, he could just make out the form of a ship bobbing in the ocean currents. “Damn if you’re not right,” he said with surprise, “Still, it doesn’t matter. He’s too far. We’ll never make it.”

  ”W-what do we do?” The chamberlain asked beside him, the terror clear in his voice.

  Shouts sounded behind them in the distance. “They’re coming,” he said, as if Gryle hadn’t spoken. He couldn’t see them yet, but they were coming just the same, all of them intent on making a small fortune off of his head. “But you’ll work for your pay, you bastards,” he muttered grimly, “I’ll see to it.” He drew his sword and one of the blades at his side then turned to Gryle, “Run, chamberlain. Get as far away as you can. They didn’t come for you, but men with killing on their mind aren’t always too particular.”

  Gryle swallowed hard but shook his head, and Aaron was just about to give him a good hard kick to get him started when he heard footsteps from further down the dock. He jerked around, blades at the ready and was surprised to see the princess standing there. “Over here!” She yelled, her long, dark hair fluttering around her in the wind. She was waving frantically, beckoning them to a space between two of the docked ships. “Hurry! There’s not any time!”

  Aaron stared at her in surprise then turned back to the street. It was still empty, but judging by the approaching shouts, it wouldn’t be for much longer. “She’s out of her damned mind,” he muttered, “They’ll check the ships.”

  “What are you doing?” Adina shouted, “Come on!”

  Aaron shrugged at the surprised chamberlain and sheathed his blades, “Let’s go.”

  They raced down the docks to where the princess waited, the sound of shouts and curses growing louder behind them. When they reached her, Aaron glanced back and saw that the mob of people had finally emerged from the streets at the far end of the docks. Even in the weak light, he could see that many of them sported bloody noses or black eyes. Their clothes were torn from their earlier fighting and many of them held blades or bludgeons coated with the blood of those around them, but they weren’t fighting now. Apparently, they’d come to the conclusion that there wasn’t any reason to kill each other for free when someone was going to pay them good money to kill Aaron instead.

  “What now?” Aaron asked, stopping in front of the princess.

  Adina was stared at the mob with wide, fearful eyes as if hypnotized.

  “Princess!” Aaron snapped, shouting to be heard over the cries of their pursuers.

  She blinked and finally pulled her gaze away from the approaching mob with a visible effort.

  “Here,” she said, waving them forward and pointing at the water. Aaron glanced down and, for the first time, he saw that a small rowboat was tied to the dock, tottering back and forth on the rough, choppy water.

  “Princess,” he said grinning, “I could kiss you.”

  Some of the fear left her expression at that, and she smiled back nervously, “I’m glad you’re okay. And call me Adina.”

  They met each other’s eyes and neither of them spoke. After a moment, Gryle coughed, “Um, excuse me, Princess, sir Aaron, but I think … perhaps, that we should go. Those uh … people are definitely getting closer.”

  Aaron knew that the chamberlain was right, but he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of her. Her long dark hair hung around a face that was tinged with red either from excitement, fear, or both, and her blue eyes sparkled like twin sapphires in the dim light of the dock lamps. “Here,” he said, “I’ll help you down.”

  She nodded, her eyes never leaving his as she stepped toward him, into his grasp. Her body was soft, yet firm beneath his hands, and despite their danger, Aaron hesitated for a moment before he finally lowered her gently off the side of the pier. “Okay,” she said, staring up at him. He let go, and she dropped into the rocking dinghy.

  He watched her for another moment then reluctantly turned to a pale-faced Gryle, “You’re next, hero.”

  The chamberlain smiled self-consciously, “I’m no hero, sir. I’m a coward.”

  Aaron grunted, “Could have fooled me. Now, come on. Time to go.”

  The chamberlain glanced down at the rowboat at least eight feet down from the dock, rocking back and forth on the rough ocean currents. “I’m not uh … I don’t think I can.”

  Aaron shrugged. He stepped forward and the chamberlain let out a squawk of fear as Aaron lifted him off the ground, grunting with the effort, “That’s alright. I can.” Before the chamberlain could reply, he stepped forward, hefting him over the edge of the dock. The fat man panicked, and Aaron cursed as one of his thrashing feet caught him in the stomach. He shot a quick glance at the water them unceremoniously dropped the man into the rocking canoe where he landed with a plump.

  As he waited for Adina to help the chamberlain untangle himself from the bottom of the boat, Aaron spared a glance behind him, noticing with dismay that the furious mob was more than halfway down the dock, rushing forward like a stampede. As he watched, a woman in the front tripped and fell and those behind her didn’t even pause as they trampled over her in their haste to get at him. Crazy bastards, he thought, and then he turned and jumped off the dock

  The princess sat at the stern of the boat watching the approaching mob with wide, disbelieving eyes while the chamberlain whimpered incoherently as he fumbled with the oars. Aaron pushed him out of the way, took the oars, and sat down. Then he extended his legs and braced his feet against the bottom of the boat. He dropped the oars in the water and pulled, grunting as pain lanced through his wounded shoulder at the effort.

  Continuing to row, he looked up and saw that the mob had reached the part of the dock where he and the others had jumped off. A few of them shouted curses and obscenities at the three, but most prowled restlessly back and forth on the dock with angry scowls, like a pack of coyotes who’d lost their dinner to an inconvenient rabbit hole. That’s fine, Aaron thought with grim satisfaction, you just keep sitting there watching. He said a quick, silent prayer to Talen that none of the men had a crossbow or got the bright idea to jump in and swim after them. The craft was sitting heavy in the water with the three of them, and each grunting, sweating effort he put into the oars moved them only a short distance. A few semi-decent swimmers could easily capsize the vessel.
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  As if reading his thoughts, several of the men and women dove into the water and started after the boat. “Damnit,” he said. He looked over his shoulder where the Clandestine waited. A short distance, really, but just then it felt as if it was on the other end of the world. Too far, he thought, too damned far. He pushed harder, grunting with the effort, but there were six or seven of the swimmers now, and they were quickly closing with the slow-moving craft. He stopped rowing long enough to draw one of his blades. “Gryle.” The chamberlain sat in the center of the boat, his fingers and knuckles stark white where he gripped its sides. He did not turn at the sellsword’s voice. “Gryle!”

  Finally, the chamberlain’s wide, terrified eyes turned to Aaron, “S-s-sir?”

  Aaron took in the man’s pale face and glossy eyes and spat a curse. He’d seen such a look before. The man had succumbed to his fear; Aaron didn’t dare give him the blade now. He would just as soon fumble it and hurt one of them as he would the approaching swimmers. Instead, he met Adina’s gaze and held out the knife, “If they manage to flip us, we’re done.” The princess swallowed hard and looked at the blade as if it was a snake getting ready to bite, but he was relieved when she clenched her jaw and took it.

  Despite his desperate rowing, it was only moments later when the fastest of the swimmers caught up to them and started climbing over the side. Adina brought the blade up but hesitated and the man was nearly over when Aaron grunted, reared back, and kicked him in the face. The man cried out as his nose shattered in a burst of crimson. His hands came away from the boat, and he disappeared into the black, churning water.

  Aaron pulled at the oars again, but the first man had slowed them down enough for two more of the desperate swimmers to catch up with them, and the boat canted dangerously as a snarling man and woman pulled at the other side. The princess kicked at their grasping, unprotected fingers and the two of them cried out and let go.

  “Behind you!” He shouted. A man had crawled into the boat and was just trying to get his feet under him. The sellsword fought the urge to let go of the oars and throw the man off. It was hard to tell in the darkness, but at least half a dozen more people were floundering toward them in the black water, and if he took the time to take care of the man, they’d be sure to catch up. The princess turned, raised the short blade, preparing to bring it down on the man’s head, and hesitated again.

  “Now damnit, or we’re all done!” Aaron shouted. Adina let out a shout of anger and fear and turned the blade, striking the man with the handle of the sword. The force of the impact jarred it from her grasp and it fell into the bottom of the rowboat. The man grunted and grasped his head with one of his hands; blood, almost black in the moonlight, seeped through his fingers, but still he came to his feet. He grabbed the princess by the throat, and she gasped, fighting uselessly against his grip. Aaron was just about to drop the oars when the chamberlain—who he hadn’t been able to see for the princess and the sodden man—brought the blade across the man’s face in an awkward cut. The man cried out, grabbing at the long slash across his face, stumbled, and fell off the boat.

  Adina turned to the sellsword with wide, pleading eyes as if searching for understanding, but he didn’t--couldn’t waste energy on words. Instead, he heaved against the oars again, and again, and they began to outdistance the mob as the swimmers grew tired from fighting against the choppy currents. Thank Iladen for the luck of rough seas, he thought, gasping wearily as he continued to push the dinghy farther toward the ship.

  Finally, exhausted and drenched in sweat, he pulled up beside the Clandestine. Sailors stood at the railing of the ship peering down at them, their expressions grim, if not outright hostile. Aaron had a moment—a terrible, heart in his throat moment—when he thought the sailors would just ignore them, would let them sit stranded in the water until the swimmers (behind now but getting closer) caught up to them, and he breathed a heavy sigh of relief when a rope ladder was thrown over the side.

  He turned back to the others in time to see Adina take the blade from Gryle’s shaking hands. She handed it back to Aaron, a look of shame on her face. He wanted to tell her that it was okay, that there were worse things than not being able to hurt a man, but he knew that she’d hear the lie in it, so he said nothing. Instead, he nodded, turned, and grabbed at the rope ladder, steadying it. “You first.”

  She opened her mouth, as if about to speak, but closed it again. She met his eyes only for an instant then turned and hurried up the ladder as if thankful of a chance to escape. Aaron watched her until he judged that she was far enough up, then motioned to Gryle. “Your turn.”

  The cherubic features of the man twisted with worry as he looked up the side of the looming ship. “I don’t think I c—“

  “Listen to me, Gryle,” The sellsword interrupted, “I’m exhausted, soaked through, and ready to get out of this damned toy boat. Now, if you don’t get your ass up that ladder, I swear by all of the gods, major and minor both, that I’ll throw you into the water and leave you for our friends.”

  The man’s eyes widened, “Y-you wouldn’t. I can’t swim.”

  Aaron just stared at him, and the chamberlain must have seen something in his steady gaze because he grabbed hold of the ladder and started up, an almost imperceptible whimper escaping him as he hefted his weight awkwardly up each rung.

  The sellsword watched him go, waited until he got to the top and was hauled up by a couple of sailors. Then, he started up himself. He didn’t turn back to stare at the slums of the Downs, the closest place he’d ever come to calling home since his parents’ murder. He wanted to, so he didn’t. If there was one thing he’d learned in his life, it was that a man was a fool to let himself grow attached to things. After all, places had a way of changing, possessions had a way of getting stolen, and loved ones had a way of dying.

  It need not be so, Co said in his mind, her voice sad.

  He grunted and continued up the ladder. From time to time, he looked up to judge his progress, looked at the ladder to assure himself of handholds, but he did not, would not look back. “Maybe it doesn’t need to be, firefly” he muttered, “but it is.”

  CHAPTER

  TWELVE

  Aaron didn’t realize how exhausted he was until he was aboard the Clandestine and in the relative safety it afforded. His legs felt wobbly and unsteady beneath him, and his shoulder still burned from the cut he’d received earlier, but he forced himself to walk up and stand beside Adina and Gryle. Around them, sailors worked, each attending to their own separate tasks and in moments the ship was sliding through the water with a deceptive quickness. Aaron didn’t know much about ships. His occupation rarely gave him occasion to visit one, and the few times when it had, he’d been forced to leave as quickly as possible. As a rule, sailors didn’t enjoy finding their captain beaten to within an inch of his life. It made them … prickly. Still, despite his lack of nautical knowledge, he was impressed by the crew’s efficiency. It was as if they were all cogs in some vast machine that had merely been waiting to be turned on.

  Aaron was looking down at the small dinghy they’d used when the ship went over a particularly large swell. He had to grab the railing to keep from stumbling, and his stomach lurched dangerously. He gritted his teeth and breathed slowly through his nose, forcing the feeling down. He didn’t know any of these men, and the last thing he needed was to look weak in front of them. Men, like vultures, tended to take advantage of such weakness, and if there was a way to look intimidating while puking your guts out, he didn’t know it. He focused on taking slow, deep breaths and, after a moment, two men walked up to them. They wore simple cotton slacks and shirts, and their skin was tanned and leathery from hours spent in the sun. They stared at the three newcomers with unveiled suspicion, and it was all Aaron could do not to reach for his blades. He’d seen such looks before—in his experience, they usually came right before the blood.

  The men stood, silent, for several seconds. Aaron was just about to speak when a third m
an came up from behind the sailors. The two men bowed and moved quickly to the side as the newcomer stepped forward, and Aaron raised his eyebrows in surprise as Adina handed the papers May had given them over. The newcomer busied himself studying the documents, a small smile on his face. While he did, Aaron busied himself studying him.

  Unlike the rest of the crew who were dressed in simple trousers and sleeveless shirts, the man wore golden satin pants, a long-sleeved, sky-blue silk shirt that was ruffled at the cuffs and collar, and boots so bright red that they almost glowed. To Aaron, he looked like one of the ridiculously-dressed actors that sometimes performed in Avarest. His dark brown fingers and neck were covered in rings and necklaces of various colors that seemed to dance in the moonlight. The effect of all of it put together was so garish that, on second thought, Aaron suspected that even the troupers—known for their eccentric clothing and costumes—would find the man’s fashion sense (if sense it was) too radical for their tastes.

  Even more unusual, the man’s dark brown skin and the long, coal black hair that dangled past his shoulders in tied, oiled locks, marked him as a Parnen. Aaron had met members of the small, sea-fairing community of the southern reaches only once or twice in his life, and he’d found them to be a dour, unassuming people. In fact, the Parnen were known all across the reaches of Telrear as quiet, conservative folk who kept to themselves and horded their coins—and their words—like misers. It was said that the only thing a Parnen did less than spend money was talk, and they did the latter so rarely that members of the race were often thought to be mute. His father had told him, when he was young, that it was true that the Parnen were a quiet, simple people, but that when they did speak, a man would be wise to listen.

  Aaron wondered idly what his father would have made of this Parnen, the man who, judging by the deferential way in which the sailors treated him, had to be Leomin, the captain of the Clandestine. The man’s wildly gaudy, flashy attire would have been incredibly off-putting no matter whom it was on, but on a Parnen it was a ridiculousness that seemed to border on profane.