A Sellsword's Compassion_Book One of the Seven Virtues

by Jacob Peppers

  “Grab Oscar; I’ve got a job for him.”

  “He’s asleep,” she said, “and I don’t mind that a bit. I’ve been groped enough by that drunken bastard for one night. I’ll be just fine if he never wakes up again.”

  “I didn’t ask you for your damned opinion,” the innkeeper said, “now get your ass up there and wake him up. If he gives you any argument, you just tell him to come see me. Tell him I’ve got a job for him and there’s good money in it.”

  The woman’s eyes narrowed for a moment, but finally she nodded. “Alright, but if he touches me again I’ll cut his fucking fingers off.”

  The innkeeper shrugged, his smile revealing a set of crooked, yellow teeth, “Just as long as you leave him enough to lead a cart with, I don’t give a damn what you do.” He waited until the woman turned and left before turning back to Aaron. “There you are. Now, you wait here just a minute, and I’ll get that room ready for ya,” he said, then he turned and walked away.

  He sure isn’t any Herb, Aaron thought.

  No, Co said, her voice sounding disgusted, he most certainly is not.

  The barkeep returned a few minutes later pulling a short, spectacled man in one greasy hand. “But I paid good coin for my room,” the man said as the barkeep led him to the door, “this is … this is an outrage and I’ll—“

  “Aw, shut your yappin’ or I’ll put my foot in your ass to help you along,” the innkeeper said, and before the man could respond, he tossed him out and into the street, slamming the door shut behind him. He walked back over to Aaron and the others, rubbing his hands together in a gesture that did nothing to remove the grease and dirt from them. “There we are. Your room’ll be ready now.”

  Aaron glanced at Gryle and the princess who was frowning at the innkeeper. He thought she might protest the stranger’s treatment, but she only nodded.

  “Alright,” Aaron said, “show us.” They followed the burly man up a creaking set of stairs to a room that smelled faintly of urine. A single bed dominated the space barely leaving enough room to move around.

  The innkeeper noticed their frowns and cleared his throat, “It’s not much, but it’s all I’ve got.”

  Aaron glanced at the door, “No lock?”

  “No sir.,” the innkeeper said, breathing out a long suffering sigh, “Would you believe some bastard stole the lock right off the door?” He shook his head sadly, “Folks will do anything for a little coin these days.”

  “I’ve noticed,” Aaron said, meeting the innkeeper’s gaze until the man grew uncomfortable and looked away. “We’ll want breakfast brought up.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “Alright then.” The man turned to leave, and Aaron stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

  “Sir?” The man asked, his smile doing little to mask the base cunning that flashed through his brown, mud-colored eyes.

  “Be sure that whoever brings our food in the morning announces themselves. You see, I’ve got a bad habit of slitting the throat of people who come into my room uninvited and unannounced. Why, my sleep befuddled mind might accidentally take them for a robber or sneak thief. Although I’m sure that no such crime would ever happen in such a respectable establishment as yours, I’d hate there to be a misunderstanding. ”

  “O-of course, sir,” the innkeeper said, staring between Aaron and the others uncertainly, “As you say, I don’t want any … misunderstandings.”

  Aaron nodded, “Alright then. Sleep well.”

  “Until the morning,” the man grumbled, not meeting Aaron’s eyes as he walked out and closed the door behind him.

  “There now,” Aaron said, turning to the others, “maybe we’ll be able to get a good night’s sleep, after all.” He looked back to the room, taking in the single bed and sighed. “Or maybe not.”

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY-TWO

  In the morning, the serving maid—a fat, steely-haired woman with crow’s feet etched into the skin around her eyes—came with breakfast, but she refused to enter until Adina opened the door for her. The maid hurried across the room, shooting nervous glances at Aaron as if he was some wild animal that might pounce at any moment. She sat the tray holding three bowls of beef stew down on the nightstand and was out the door and gone in another moment. Adina raised an eyebrow at Aaron, but he only shrugged. The innkeeper had obviously told the woman what he’d said the night before about any unwanted visitors in their room and that was alright. They’d be staying at the inn for the duration of the tournament, and it was better for the woman to be scared than Aaron and the others have to lie awake at night for fear of someone sticking a knife in them and running off with what little money they had left.

  They ate in silence as each of them considered the day—and the dangers—that lay ahead of them. Aaron found himself in a dark mood. Between his wounds, watching Adina lying in the bed from his own spot on the hard wooden floor, and Gryle’s snoring, he felt as if he hadn’t slept at all.

  When they were finished eating, they went downstairs, and Aaron ignored the wary stare of the innkeeper as they made their way through bustling common room. Outside, wincing at the brightness of the north’s cold sun, Aaron found his mood getting worse. The streets were alive with the sound of people shouting and laughing as well as the complaints of horses and mules as they pulled carts through the crowded press. Aaron stared out at the hundreds of people in the street with a mixture of annoyance and wonder. People from all over the breadth of Telrear had made their way to the city for the tournament and were, even now, pressing and pushing against each other in an effort to get to the contest grounds.

  He looked up the street and saw that the press continued toward the tournament grounds as far as he could see. He sighed, rubbing his hands together to warm them and wrapped his ragged brown cloak around himself, pulling the hood down in a vain attempt to keep out the biting wind. According to Adina, Eladen had commissioned the tournament grounds to be built outside the city years ago claiming that physical contests satisfied man’s baser inclination to violence without the requisite bloodshed that so often followed. Personally, Aaron thought it more likely that the northerners used the contests as a means of distracting themselves from the constant, bone-chilling cold.

  Even in the early morning with the sun shining brightly, his face quickly went numb, and he could see his breath in the air in front of him, a foggy reminder—if one had been needed—of just how far away from the Downs they were, of just how far they’d come to die. “How much farther?” Gryle asked, his own face bright red from the cold.

  Aaron frowned, “Like I told you the first five times you asked, the innkeeper said it was outside the eastern gate of the city. It shouldn’t be long before we reach it, that is, of course, if these bastards will move!” He pushed past a young couple who had apparently decided that they couldn’t spend the time it would take to get off the street before they started groping and kissing like they were in a brothel.

  It took them nearly two hours to make it to the tournament grounds. As he and the others waited in the crowded enlistment line, Aaron—in an effort to avoid stabbing one of the people that kept bumping into him from behind—studied the arena. Despite his steadily darkening mood, and the aching stiffness in his wounded arm, he couldn’t help but be impressed. Ascending rows of benches stood in a circle around the tournament grounds and pavilions of various colors and sizes stood erected along the outer edges of the arena. Long cloth banners seemed to hang from everywhere, their colors and emblazoned figures representative of the various knights and swordsmen who’d entered the competition. It was clear, judging by the pavilions and the clothes of those inside the arena that one side of the grounds had been reserved for nobles, another for the commoners.

  On the noble side, young men strutted around in their brightly colored garments like peacocks putting on a show while the women in their fancy, frilly dresses smiled and hid their giggles behind delicate silk handkerchiefs. One section of the seats was cordoned off
by scowling guards, and inside of it, surrounded by fawning noblemen and women, a grotesquely fat man sat plucking food from a servant’s tray and stuffing it into his face.

  The man’s head was bald, and even from this distance Aaron could see that the man’s fingers, which looked like nothing so much as thick sausages, were covered in so many rings that the flesh beneath barely showed. He wore a white and blue doublet with matching stockings. One particularly ambitious young noblewoman whispered something in his ear, and the Duke grinned, taking the opportunity to paw at the woman’s breasts with grease-covered hands. Aaron felt an unexpected surge of anger as he realized who the man must be.

  “Claudius,” Adina breathed beside him as if following his thoughts.

  Aaron frowned. While his people starved, Claudius was busy getting so fat that he took up nearly three chairs on his own. “Bastard likes his food, doesn’t he?”

  The princess nodded, “You could say that.”

  “In fact, you could say a lot more than that, princess,” Gryle said. “Even since he was young, Claudius has always had a … weakness for food. I once had reason to speak with his chamberlain, and the man assures me that the good Duke never eats less than three men at table.”

  “What in the Keeper’s name possessed your brother to make such a man his second?” Aaron asked incredulously.

  Adina sighed heavily, “The people love Eladen now, but it was not always so. In the first years after my father’s death, the nobles and merchants were … resistant to Eladen’s rule. Not openly, perhaps, but enough to cause him increasing difficulties as he tried to lead his portion of Telrear to prosperity. The appointment of Duke Claudius Ergyle to his right hand was a concession to the nobles and the merchants both. It satisfied the nobles because Duke Ergyle’s noble blood reaches back more generations to count in the north, and it satisfied the merchants because Claudius has ever been a proponent of the Merchant’s Guild. Not surprising, really, when you consider the man’s luxurious and extravagant lifestyle. It is said that the only thing that can match the Duke’s insatiable hunger is his lust.”

  Aaron raised an eyebrow, “The food I can understand—the man obviously appreciates a meal like few others, but the women? Why, they’d be taking their life in their own hands getting in bed with that fat bastard.”

  Adina’s mouth twisted in disgust, “You’d be surprised what many will do for a chance at increasing the prestige and standing of their own house. No, I doubt a day has gone by without the Duke, who is one of the richest men in Telrear, not to mention the current ruler of my brother’s lands, not being offered the chance to bed any number of eager women.”

  Aaron snorted and shook his head, “I’ll never understand nobles.”

  The princess nodded slowly, “Neither will I.”

  Disgusted, he turned away from the fat man and examined the rest of the grounds. On the other side of the field, hundreds of simply dressed peasants laughed and talked in loud, excited voices. Many of them looked weary, no doubt from a hard day’s work, and several of the children and women that Aaron saw looked malnourished, but despite this they all seemed much happier and carefree than the nobles who were too busy trying to look unimpressed to enjoy themselves.

  He’d been to tournaments before and, in his experience, the peasants were usually made to stand or sit on the ground. It was a point in the dead prince’s favor that he’d spent time, effort, and money crafting serviceable seats even for the lowly born. “Event?” An annoyed voice asked.

  Aaron turned and realized with surprise that they’d made it to the entry gate. A man and woman sat behind a small table with large stacks of paper in front of them. They held quills poised, waiting for his response with bored, impatient expressions.

  “Single combat.” Aaron said.

  The man frowned as he made a new line on his paper. Already, the woman was waving someone else forward. “Name?” The man asked.

  “Flynn,” Aaron said, surprising himself, “Flynn Daltan.”

  The man looked him over once, “Never heard of you.”

  “Maybe we can change that.”

  The clerk rolled his eyes and shook his head as he jotted the name down. “Weapons?”

  “Sword.”

  “Noble or commoner?”

  “Commoner.”

  The man craned his neck to look at him, nodded perfunctorily, and made another note on the paper before holding out his hand, “Entrance fee?”

  “What fee?” Aaron asked.

  The clerk gave a disgusted look, “You didn’t think that the tournament was free did you? Why, the noble Duke Claudius wouldn’t want his tourney overran by a bunch of farmers with pitchforks and more dreams than sense, would he?”

  “Of course not,” Aaron answered, schooling his anger. “What better way to determine a man’s worth than how much gold he has.”

  The clerk nodded, satisfied, apparently not detecting the sarcasm in Aaron’s voice. “The fee is two hundred and fifty gold to be paid before entry.”

  Aaron bit back a curse. Adina nodded to Gryle who stepped forward, handing the coins over with obvious reluctance. The clerk took the money, stamped a sheet of paper, signed it, and handed it to the Aaron. “Go through the gate and bare left. The melee circle is on the far end of the stadium. There are several waiting rooms set up for the contestants. Go to one—it doesn’t matter which. Once there, you’ll be outfitted with a blunted blade, and will wait with the other contestants until your name is called.”

  The clerk paused and eyed the Aaron’s frayed, dusty clothes doubtfully, “If you cannot afford armor of your own, they may be able to find some that will fit you. The contest is single elimination. You’ll fight twice a day, once in the morning, again in the afternoon. Should you manage to win all of your matches, you will continue through the third day. On the fourth, the finalists will duel. The winner will be given the immense honor of being presented to Duke Ergyle himself as well as a purse of gold for his victory.” The clerk spoke the last in a quick, distracted manner. Clearly, he didn’t expect Aaron to make it past the first round, let alone receive the reward.

  Pompous prick, he thought, but kept himself from saying. The last thing he needed was to attract attention. “Alright then,” he said and started off in the direction the man had indicated, Gryle and Adina following in his wake.

  They had to push their way through crowds of people that were trying to find their seats as they walked past the rows of benches. It took them nearly half an hour to navigate their way through the mess, but they finally arrived at the group of buildings that had been set aside for the contestants. Two well-armored men dressed in the white and blue of Eladen’s house stood guard outside the doors of each, their hands never straying far from the thick broadswords sheathed at their belts.

  Aaron stopped a short distance away from the two guards and turned to the others. “Well, I better get going.”

  “Sir, there must be another way, surely—“ Gryle began to protest.

  “There’s not, and we all know it,” Aaron interrupted, “besides, it’s nothing to get worked up about. You heard the man at the gate; we’ll be fighting with blunted weapons. People compete in tourneys and contests all the time; it’s nothing to worry yourself to death over.”

  It was Adina who answered, “True, but they don’t compete when they barely have the use of one of their arms, or when they almost died a few days ago. Aaron, there has to be something else we can do. We should go back to the inn. I’m sure we’ll think of some other way to stop Claudius before Belgarin comes.”

  “Five days, Adina,” he said. “You heard the clerk. Five days before the contest is over. Five days before Belgarin accepts the rule of Baresh and all of Eladen’s holdings. With the might of the north behind him, how will anyone be able to stand against him? So far, he’s been mostly subtle, choosing scheming and assassination over outright war, but how long will that continue once he’s consolidated your late brother’s power? How long, once he’s in
control of over half of the fighting men and women of Telrear before he decides to throw away the subtleties and hunt you and your remaining brothers and sisters down like dogs in the street?” His words came out in an angry growl at the end, “No. I can’t let that happen. I won’t lose y—“ he shook his head, “No. I’ve spent enough time worrying only about myself. I can’t do that anymore. Not now.”

  The princess opened her mouth to speak, but no words came.

  “Be careful, sir,” The chamberlain said into the silence, “I will pray to the gods for your victory.”

  Aaron smiled, “I doubt they’re listening, but you go ahead and pray, Gryle. It couldn’t hurt.” He turned back to Adina’s worried expression, “It’ll be okay. It’s only a tournament. Besides, I’m feeling better, almost back to normal,” he lied. “That sewer sludge the old hag gave me must be magic. Still, I call it an even trade.”

  “You can’t even move your left arm,” Adina said, folding her arms across her chest.

  He laughed, “Of course I can.” He slid his cloak aside and flexed the hand of his wounded arm into a fist, turning his arm first one way and then the other.”

  Adina’s eyes widened in surprise, “Wow, you really can move it.”

  Aaron smiled, “I told you, it’ll be fine. Besides, I doubt there’ll be a good fighter here. I’ll probably spend the next five days fighting pampered nobles who entered for a chance to strut around and model their newest clothes for the crowds. I’d be surprised if any of them even knows how to hold a sword, let alone use one.”

  “Alright,” she said, “but promise me that if you start to hurt or to feel weak that you’ll stop. It won’t serve anyone for you to pass out or die because you pushed yourself too far too soon.”

  Smiling, he bowed his head, “Of course, Princess. You have my word.”

  “Okay,” she said reluctantly, “Then … I guess we’ll see you after your first match.”

  He offered his hand to the chamberlain who took it. He pulled the man close, so that he could whisper in his ear, “Watch out for her, Gryle. We haven’t seen any of Aster or Belgarin’s men recently, but that doesn’t mean they’re not here. When his scouts didn’t return, I’m sure Belgarin sent men out in search of us. You stay quiet, and stay low, and if you see anybody that looks out of place, you take the princess and run like your feet are on fire and your ass is catchin’, you got it?”