“Aster and his men coming aboard,” Aaron said, “apparently the crew have taken it upon themselves to overrule the captain’s decision.
The princess’s eyes went wide, “They can’t do that!” She exclaimed incredulously.
“Well, you’re more than welcome to tell them that, Your Highness, but I don’t think they’re in the mood to listen.”
The princess turned to Leomin, “What are we going to do?”
The captain was just opening his mouth to speak when Balen barged through the door. “You!” Leomin hissed, his normally amiable face twisted in rage. He sprang forward, lightning fast, and was about to plunge the blade into the man’s chest when he came to an abrupt stop.
“Balen?” The Parnen asked, confused. It was then that Aaron realized what Leomin was staring at. Balen’s hands were clasped against his stomach and blood was leaking out between his fingers.
“S-sir,” The first mate groaned, “y-you’ve got to get out of here. It’s—“
“Captain, stay away from him!” Randolph exclaimed as he rushed into the room, a crude, blood-smeared sword in his hand. “Balen is a traitor. He’s sold us out.”
Balen tried to speak, but he couldn’t seem to force the words out as he slipped down to his knees with a pained sigh. Leomin only stared at him, “Why, Balen? Why? I trusted you above all others.”
The first mate tried to talk again, but his words turned into a wracking cough as he hacked out blood, swaying weakly.
“Let me finish him, sir,” Randolph said, stepping forward.
Leomin stared between the two men, his expression thoughtful. Finally, he nodded grimly. The second mate started forward, and Aaron winced in anticipation, but just as Randolph was raising his sword, Leomin exploded in a burst of movement, lunging forward with the rapier and stabbing it through the hawk-faced man’s chest.
Randolph let out a shriek of surprised pain, and his sword dropped to the ground as he took in the length of steel impaling him with wide, disbelieving eyes.
With a sneer of contempt, the captain ripped the blade free, and Randolph fell to his knees beside Balen, his face a mask of confusion and agony as he stared up at the captain. The Parnen leaned in close, his voice little more than a whisper, “Did you think I wouldn’t know?” He asked, genuine surprise in his voice. He gave the wounded man a push and Randolph crumpled to the floor. “I have been stupid, yet you must think me a complete fool to believe that I wouldn’t notice your deceit when it was right under my nose.” The second mate opened his mouth to speak, but before he could the captain’s arm whipped forward again and his blade pierced the man’s heart.
Randolph convulsed once and then lay still. Leomin sighed and turned back to Aaron and the others, “You must go. They will be here in moments. I will see to Balen.”
Aaron didn’t bother pointing out that, judging by the amount of blood covering the first mate’s shirt and pants, the only person likely to be seeing to him in the near future was Salen himself. “Love to,” He said, forcing his eyes away from the now unconscious first mate, “but unless this ship’s got a back door then I’d say we’re pretty well screwed.”
Leomin nodded, walked over to the wall and pulled aside a blue and gold tapestry revealing a small door. He turned back to the others a hint of his usual smile appearing at the look of surprise on their faces, “Any captain worth his salt knows that it’s always good to have a backup plan. Follow the corridor; it will eventually come out on the side of the ship where, hopefully, a rowboat awaits your departure.”
“Hopefully?” Aaron asked with a frown.
“Just so,” the captain said, staring at his unconscious first mate, “Hoping is the best any of us can do, Mr. Envelar.” They all turned at the distant sound of approaching footsteps in the hall. “Quickly now unless you wish to be this Aster’s guest tonight. I suspect he will not be as pleasant a host as myself—not that many are.”
“Alright then,” Aaron said as the footsteps drew closer, “time to go.” He opened the door onto a dark corridor. When he looked back, the captain was kneeling beside Balen, tearing off a piece of his own shirt to staunch the flow of blood from the man’s wound. Gryle was staring wide-eyed at the first mate, his mouth working soundlessly. “Gryle!” The man didn’t answer. “Chamberlain!”
The fat man jumped as if struck then turned to Aaron with a terrified expression. Aaron beckoned him and Gryle hurried past him and into the corridor. Adina started forward as well but stopped at the door. She turned and looked back at the captain, “Come with us. They’ll kill you both if they find you here.”
Leomin smiled at her, but there was a hardness in his eyes and voice that surprised Aaron with its strength, “Don’t count us out yet, princess. The Clandestine is hard to catch, but those few who have caught her have lived to regret it. Besides,” he said, his voice regaining its distracted, almost whimsical quality, “a good captain never abandons his ship.”
She hesitated on the threshold before finally slipping past Aaron and into the darkness. They’re coming, Aaron, Co said in his head. He started into the corridor but turned back, “Good luck, Captain.”
“And to you,” Leomin answered as he cradled the first mate’s head in one hand and held the bandage to his stomach with the other. “Perhaps we will meet again.”
Not likely, Aaron thought. “He’s a good man,” he said, glancing at Balen.
Leomin looked up at him, unshed tears glistening in his eyes, “Yes, and a good friend.”
“You’re sure you don’t—“
“I’m sure, Mr. Envelar.”
Aaron nodded then, reluctantly, he turned away from the two men, shut the door behind him, and followed the others into the waiting darkness.
CHAPTER
SIXTEEN
The only sounds in the pitch-black corridor were those of Gryle’s panicked breaths and the steady susurration of the ocean currents. As they walked, Aaron kept glancing over his shoulder expecting to see the faint light of the door being opened as Aster’s men charged after them, but there was only him and the others and the darkness that wrapped around them, hugging them tight. After what felt like hours, they came to a dead end. Squinting, Aaron could just make out the light of the moon as it came through cracks in what must be the opening. Tricky bastard, that Leomin, he thought, shaking his head. From the outside, the door, he was sure, would look like any other part of the ship.
He hurried forward, dug his fingers into the thin crack, and heaved. At first, the wood refused to budge, but after a strained, anxious moment, the door gave and began to slide open. Aaron was mildly surprised to find the boat waiting, just as the captain said it would be. The man seemed a good enough sort, and clearly his men loved him, but Aaron was still reasonably sure he was mad. Clever, true, but mad nonetheless.
He followed the others into the boat. The two ropes that held it aloft ran through a winch mounted on the craft. He grabbed hold of the winch’s lever and began to lower them down to the distant water, wincing as the unoiled, damp metal squeaked in protest. The wind was heavy, blowing his hair around wildly and rocking the boat as they descended, and in the darkness he could barely see the others around him. He was glad of that darkness, though. Better that than that bastard Aster and his men spot them.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity spent floating in a sea of night, the boat settled into the water. He unfastened the rope from the winch, grabbed the oars, and began to row. “Aaron,” the princess began.
“Shh,” he said softly, “not yet.” There was little chance of them being heard over the gusting wind and the roiling water, but he wasn’t about to take a chance, not when they were so close to escaping.
He continued to work the oars, and it wasn’t until the ship was little more than a distant smudge on the dark horizon that the princess spoke again. “Aaron?”
“What is it?” He asked between strokes.
“Do you think … the captain and Balen—“
“They�
��ll be fine.” He said, knowing it was a lie even as he said it, “Leomin’s a crazy bastard, but he’s a clever one too. He wouldn’t have left himself no way out.”
She considered this in silence for a moment, then, “Where are we going?”
He shrugged before realizing she wouldn’t be able to see the gesture in the darkness. “According to what Balen told me, the Clandestine was taking a course mostly parallel to the eastern coast. If we continue in this direction, we should end up on land before long. As for where that will be … only Iladen knows.” He left it unsaid that if they’d gone too far north, they ran the risk of running into a ship that owed its allegiance to Belgarin. And wouldn’t that be interesting?
They pressed on through the night, taking the oars in shifts, so that they each had a chance to rest. Aaron was pretty sure they lost more than they gained on Gryle’s turns, but the look of determined effort on the chamberlain’s face, combined with his own mounting exhaustion, kept him from saying so.
Time dragged on like a dying animal as they continued, and each of the three constantly glanced behind them in fear that Aster would be giving chase. The sun had been in the sky for over an hour, and Aaron was resting, lying back in the small boat as best he could, his eyes closed against the painfully bright reflection of the sun on the water, when Adina’s voice raised in excitement, “Look!” She was taking her turn at the oars. Early in the night, Gryle had offered to take both her shift as well as his own, but the princess had declined. It was possible that she wanted to do her fair share but Aaron thought it more likely that he wasn’t the only one who’d noticed the chamberlain’s lack of skill.
Gryle, who’d been curled up in the bottom of the boat and snoring heavily, jerked up and managed to whip his head in every direction except the one that Adina was indicating. “What’s wrong?” He asked, “did they find us—“ He stopped speaking as he finally noticed what Adina and Aaron were already looking at—a rough, rocky shore and, further in, a forest of trees. No people in sight, but what did that matter? It was land. Aaron grinned. Despite the chamberlain’s best efforts, they’d made it back to land.
Another hour passed before they made it to the shore and clambered out of the row boat onto wobbly, unsure legs. Once they’d stretched their weary backs and muscles, Aaron looked around and took stock of their surroundings. Large oaks and pines loomed overhead, their leaves stirring under a gentle breeze. Here and there, birds flitted through the treetops, singing happily. “Where are we?” Adina asked from beside him.
He shrugged, still smiling, “Only one way to find out.”
“Surely you don’t mean now,” Gryle said, “we haven’t slept or ate, and I err … that is … the princess needs to rest.”
Adina shared a glance with Aaron before turning to the chamberlain, “I am tired, Gryle, but I think I can make it, truly. Besides, who knows? There may be a town close. I know it doesn’t matter much to you men, but I would much rather sleep on a bed than the hard ground.”
Gryle frowned, considering. Finally, he nodded, “If you say so, Mistress.”
Aaron nodded, “That settles it then.” He started toward the forest and the others followed after.
“Of course, we will need to make sure to take breaks,” Gryle huffed behind him, “it wouldn’t do for the princess to tire herself unnecessarily.”
Aaron ignored the man as he pressed on under the canopy of trees, still amazed that they’d made it away from Aster. He felt like a man sentenced to death that awakens on the fateful day to discover that his executioner has come down with a bad case of the shits and that he’ll have to reschedule. Still doomed, sure, still on his way to the gallows, but for now his feet were on steady, unmoving land, the air in his lungs was crisp and clean, and that was fine. And if the first mate Balen and the Parnen captain had suffered for helping him, well that wasn’t his fault, and the tightness in his chest was nothing more than sore muscles complaining from overuse. It wasn’t the first lie he’d told himself, and it wouldn’t be the last.
CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN
They traveled a straight course through the densely-wooded forest, often forced to push their way through bushes and climb over fallen trees. After a few hours, they came upon a well-worn wagon trail. They followed it for another hour, and Aaron was seriously considering the pros and cons of strangling the complaining chamberlain when they came to the entrance of a small town. A sign on the trail named it Kaser. Town my ass, Aaron thought, glancing around him at the dirt path and ramshackle buildings. As a sellsword, he’d spent most of his time in cities. After all, the more people in a place, the better the chances that someone would pay good coin to hire a man like himself. The small, spare buildings and nearly deserted streets of the place made him feel far more conspicuous than he liked. “Watch yourself, Gryle,” he murmured as an old woman scowled menacingly at them from the door of a nearby house, “this is the type of place where they make sausages out of people.”
The chamberlain’s cherubic features twisted in alarm, “Y-you’re kidding, aren’t you, sir?
Aaron shrugged, “I guess we’ll see.”
Ignoring the chamberlain’s squeak of fear, he started through the town. They passed a few women washing clothes in big basins and hanging them to dry. In the distance fields, they could just make out men hard at work, tending their crops. The princess tried to speak to several of the villagers but instead of words of greeting, the travelers received cold, sullen stares and silence.
“These people don’t know royalty when they see it,” Aaron observed with a laugh after the princess tried to speak to several women working in a garden and was chased off by a barrage of curses and rotten tomatoes.
“I don’t understand it,” the princess said as she wiped some of the stinking evidence of her latest attempt off of her shirt, apparently too bewildered to take offense, “what’s wrong with all of them?”
Aaron shrugged, “Guess they don’t like tomatoes.” Before the princess could respond, he started through the town again and after a time they came to a squat building that was considerably larger than the simple homes. A sign hung above the door. “The Cows Utter,” Aaron read aloud, shaking his head. “You’ve got to be shitting me.”
He stepped inside and was greeted by the smells he’d grown to associate with bars: ale, sweat, cigar smoke and, beneath it all, the faint but distinct miasmas of decades of urine and vomit. Ignoring the angry, suspicious stares of the patrons that sat scattered about the room, he walked to the bar and took a seat, the others following behind him.
The man tending the counter was incredibly thin with sallow, sunken cheeks and hands that would have looked more at home on a skeleton than a living person. He turned at the sound of their approach, his mouth twisting in disgust as if he’d just found maggots crawling in his apple pie, “What do you want?”
Aaron shrugged, trying a smile, “A drink would be nice.”
The man grunted, “We’re all out,” he said then turned away and began busying himself with cleaning the bottle racks behind the counter.
Aaron glanced at a nearby table where four men in tattered clothes watched him darkly over full mugs of ale, before looking back to the bartender. “Let’s try this again. My name’s Aaron. What’s yours?”
The thin man turned with a scowl and leaned close to Aaron, “Listen, mister,” he began in a whisper, “You see those men over there?” He indicated the four men with a nod of his head. “That’s Glenn and the boys. Now, Glenn ain’t got much patience for your kind, and in another minute or two he’s gonna come over and let ya know it. I’ve got half a mind to let it happen myself, but this here inn’s all I got. It’s the only thing you bastards ain’t managed to take yet, and I don’t want it broken up on account of you. So, how about you forget the drink and get your ass out of here while you still got an ass to take with ya?”
“What do you mean our kind?” Adina asked, more confused than angry.
The bartender turned to
her, “Look, lady, we might not be as book learnt as some of you city folk, but we ain’t stupid either. This is a small town. We don’t get a lot of visitors. By that I mean we don’t get any visitors, ‘sept, of course, when that bastard Claudius decides to send one like yourself to take what little we have. ‘Taxes for the good o’ the people’ he calls it while our children go hungry. Well, we ain’t got nothin’ left for you bastards to take, you understand? Now do yourselves a favor and walk out that door while you still can.”
Aaron was just considering what the bartender said, wondering at the speed of the Clandestine to have brought them so far in such a short time that they’d made it into Eladen’s—Claudius’s—territory, when a voice rose from the table at the end of the room. “Hey. Hey, you.”
The bartender shook his head, as if to say he’d warned them, but Aaron didn’t miss the small, cruel smile on the man’s face. “Too late.”
Aaron rose from his stool and regarded the four men as they approached. The largest of them walked in front. Judging by the man’s broad shoulders and stocky frame, Aaron supposed that he’d been formidable once, but lack of good food to eat had taken its toll, and he looked withered, wasted, as did the other three men behind him. “Glenn, I presume?”
“You got it.” The man said, popping his knuckles.
Aaron glanced at the man then around the room. He thought about telling him that he had it all wrong, that they hadn’t been sent by Claudius but decided against it. Glenn and the three with him had already decided they were going to have a fight, and it would take more than the truth to change their minds. Not that he could much blame them. Fighting wouldn’t fill their bellies, wouldn’t take away the drawn, shrunken look of them or take away their hunger—something he knew from experience—but it would make them forget it for a time and sometimes that was as much as a man could ask. He sighed heavily, “Alright.” He beckoned the men forward, “Come on then. Let’s get this over with so I can have my drink.”
A Sellsword's Compassion_Book One of the Seven Virtues Page 17
