A Sellsword's Compassion_Book One of the Seven Virtues

by Jacob Peppers

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY-SIX

  Back at the inn, Aaron sighed as he unstrapped his blades and propped them in the corner of the room. The princess had sent him up to rest while she and Gryle got some food from the kitchen below and brought it up. Normally, the innkeeper assured them, their food would be brought to their rooms, but it was all he and his two serving women could do to manage the bar downstairs, what with the massive crowds the contest had attracted.

  He’d tried to put on a grim expression when he’d spoken of it, as if he regretted the busy crowds, but Aaron had seen the smile in the man’s eyes, and why not? The crowds meant more people to buy the hard bread that had appeared to be dangerously close to molding and what Aaron suspected were week-old sausages. Not to mention more people to rob. Of course, even fresh, meat would have been suspect in an inn such as this. After all, good beef could be hard to come by, but there was never a shortage of stray cats and dogs in a city like Baresh, and in Aaron’s experience, such animals always seemed to find their way to the shadier, less scrupulous parts of the city.

  He stretched his aching muscles, being sure to do so carefully so as not to tweak his wounded arm. He looked at it sourly. The damned thing’s trembling didn’t seem to be getting any better. In fact, he was beginning to think it was getting worse.

  It is, Co said, you are pushing yourself too far. Much more of this, and you’ll end up killing yourself.

  “Come on now, firefly,” he muttered, “it’s not so bad as all that. You sound even worse than the princess.”

  Mmm, Princess Adina is an intelligent woman, but I have the added advantage of knowing when you’re lying. You forget that I feel your pain as if it was my own. You were barely able to stand after your fight, no matter what you say. You can’t go on like this.

  As if I have a choice, he shot back. He walked across the room, slid the door open quietly and looked both ways. Assuring himself that the hall was empty, he reached into the pocket of his trousers and withdrew the note that his old master had given him when they shook hands.

  That had been dangerous, sneaking a note past the princess even as she was watching them, but Darrell had always enjoyed his subtleties. To Aaron’s mind, it was one of the man’s biggest flaws. He unfolded the small piece of parchment and nodded along as he read.

  I find that when I am troubled, it often helps to talk to the gods. Nalesh, in particular, seems to listen. Surprisingly, the poor district of Baresh has a small, but not totally inadequate church. Should you need comfort, it is as good a place to start as any.

  There was no signature. Aaron sighed heavily. The man enjoyed his games too much. It wasn’t as if someone was going to get hold of the note. He snatched a look out the window. Based on the sun, he still had three hours or so before he needed to be back at the tourney grounds, and he was certain he’d seen the church Darrell spoke of on his way into the city. If he was right, the place was no more than a fifteen minute walk away. Based on how crowded the downstairs of the inn had been, and how harried the serving girls and single cook had looked, he suspected that Adina and the chamberlain would still be waiting some time yet. He should have plenty of time to run over to the church, meet Darrell, and be back before the others ever knew he was gone.

  You could just tell her, the Virtue said disapprovingly.

  It’s better if I don’t, he thought back. Darrell was a good man, but a lot can change in ten years. For all I know, he could be working for Belgarin right now. It seems like too much of a coincidence that he just so happens to be here, and I don’t like coincidences. No, it’s better to wait. I don’t want to involve Gryle or the princess until I know one way or the other.

  And if he is working for Belgarin? What then? You just walk right into an ambush, wounded, and hope to escape with your life?

  “In the words of a once great general,” he said, “When all choices are shitty, a man must pick the one most likely to leave him alive to wash.”

  There was a pause, then, You made that up.

  He grinned as he started toward the door, “Possibly.”

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  He approached the small church warily, eyeing the back alleys for concealed soldiers. If anything, Baresh’s poor district was even more haphazardly constructed than The Downs. Hundreds of short, bisecting alleys and pathways honeycombed the district, as if made by some mad engineer who’d made it his sole purpose to confuse anyone who dared travel its streets. The alleyways were probably useful to most people, but for him, just now, they only served as possible hiding places for men bent on ambush.

  The street the church was on was in even worse disrepair than most, and with the contest drawing so many people to the tourney grounds, it was completely deserted. Not surprising, perhaps, since it dead ended into the church of Nalesh. There had been a time, hundreds, possibly thousands of years ago, before the birth of many of the other gods, when humans had worshipped Nalesh, the Father God, and no other, but that time had long since passed.

  Now, most people worshipped one of the descendants of the Father God, the major gods—sons and daughters—or even their sons or grandsons, the minor gods, those who represented specific things. Instead of praying to Nalesh, a god not known for his mercy or his compassion, for fertile soil or a better yield, farmers prayed to Nalek, the God of Growing Things, or even his daughter, Kalia, goddess of agriculture and farming. In this way, men and women felt that they prayed to gods who cared specifically about their concerns, and their problems. Not that Aaron had ever seen any evidence, of course, but he understood the human need to categorize.

  He walked up to the run down church and opened the door, noticing the print his fingers left on the dusty door knob as he closed it behind him. Inside, the church was dark and smelled of must and decay. The only light came from a single candle that burned on a rough wooden altar. Above the altar hung a simple wood carving of Nalesh. Despite the rough material from which the carving was fashioned, the Father of the Gods managed to appear noble as he held the Book of Life in his left hand, and the quill that he supposedly used to create it in his right.

  At the foot of the altar, the candlelight illuminated Aaron’s old master on both knees, his head bowed, as he whispered a hushed prayer. He turned as Aaron took another step into the room, his expression serious, “Ah, you came.”

  “Yes.”

  The small, gray-haired man rose nimbly and started toward Aaron with a grace that few would have credited a man of his age. Aaron noted the man’s narrowed eyes and clenched jaws and wondered yet again if he’d stumbled into an ambush. His former master stopped a pace in front of him and eyed him warily. He felt his heart begin to speed up under the man’s steely-eyed scrutiny until, abruptly, Darrell’s face broke out into a wide grin and he clapped Aaron on the back and clasped his hand warmly. “By the gods, but it’s good to see you, boy!”

  Despite his earlier wariness, Aaron felt himself smiling back, “And you, master.”

  The old man rolled his eyes, “Oh, don’t start with that nonsense. It’s been many years since I was your master, and you didn’t listen worth a damn even when I was.”

  “Sure I did,” Aaron protested, his own grin widening, “at least when you told me something that had some sense to it.”

  “What is, is.” Darrell said meaningfully, “A man must find meaning on his own.”

  Aaron quirked an eyebrow, “More philosophy?”

  His old master shrugged, “I find myself growing more thoughtful in my old age. For instance, I wonder why you did not bring the woman or that man with you?”

  Aaron opened his mouth to speak and stopped. Noticing his hesitance, Darrell nodded in understanding, “I see. You thought it safest to leave them alone until you discovered if I was a threat.”

  Guilt washed over him at the note of understanding in his old master’s voice, “I didn’t mean t—“

  “Of course you did, lad,” Darrell said, “and I can’t blame you. Why,
I’d have been forced to question my own teaching if you’d have trusted in me whole-heartedly. After all, it has been over ten years.”

  “Forgive me, sir,” Aaron said, “it’s just that … well, seeing you here … it seemed like too much of a coincidence.”

  Darrell nodded, “Of course. Still, I can’t help wondering what kind of situation you’ve managed to get yourself into this time.” He sighed teasingly, “I always did tell you that that mouth of yours would get you in trouble.”

  Aaron barked a laugh, “And you were right, but that’s not the problem—not this time.”

  “Oh?” His old master asked as he led Aaron to a nearby bench, “and what is?”

  “I can’t tell you.”

  “Can’t or won’t?”

  “It’s better if I don’t.”

  “Is it still that you don’t trust me, lad?”

  “No sir,” Aaron said, shaking his head, “it’s not that. It’s just … well, it’s safer for you if you don’t become involved.”

  It was his old master’s turn to frown. “I have only ever taken one apprentice in my life, lad, you know that as well as I do. Many have come to me for training, and I denied them all. I chose you because you had something the others didn’t.”

  “Strong jaw line?”

  The gray-haired man snorted, “Not hardly. I chose you because you have a strong spirit, boy, a strong heart. When I first met you, it was buried beneath a river of hate and anger, true, clouded by wasted thoughts of revenge, but still there for anyone to see if they looked closely enough. Though you picked up the blade faster than anyone I’ve ever seen, my biggest regret is that I was never able to pierce that hate of yours, so tightly did you wrap it about yourself. Yet now you seem … no you are different. I wonder … what has changed? What is it that has taken the place of all of that hate?”

  Aaron shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable, “Something more important, I guess.”

  His old master’s eyes narrowed for a moment then he burst into a fit of laughter. “What’s so funny?” Aaron said, frowning.

  Darrel wiped tears from the corners of his eyes and managed to get himself under control. “Why, boy, for a moment, you sounded like you were talking about a cause. Funny considering that you always used to tell me that there was nothing worth giving your life for, that a man who dedicated his life to something besides himself and his own happiness was the worst kind of fool.”

  “I don’t see how it’s funny.” Aaron muttered.

  Darrell watched him for several seconds then his eyes widened in realization, “You’re serious.” Aaron didn’t respond. “Well,” the man said smiling, “what about that. Praise the gods.”

  “You can if you want. Personally, I wouldn’t waste my time—they never listen.”

  The old man sighed, “Some things never change. Still, just because you don’t see the gods doesn’t mean they aren’t there, boy. After all, we humans have a way of missing things, don’t we?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  The swordmaster shrugged, “I’m just saying we miss things. For example, does your lady know how much your wounds are really bothering you?” Does she know how close you came to being beaten in your first match?”

  “I was fine.”

  “Don’t you lie to me, boy,” the man answered, his gray eyes narrowing, “you weren’t fine. You were nearly beaten by some noble fool who couldn’t tell his ass from a hole in the ground. The only thing that snobby bastard knows about sword fighting is what he heard in the stories his wet nurse told him when he was on her tit, and he almost bested you. You, a pupil I spent years training, almost beaten by a pup whose blade’s never tasted blood.”

  Aaron started to protest and thought better of it. He’d spent a lot of time with the swordmaster, and he knew from experience that the man rarely grew angry, but, when he did, it was best to stay quiet and wait for the storm to pass. “Now let me help you, Aaron. Whatever it is, it’s clearly important enough for you to enter a tournament when you can barely move your left hand. Yes, that’s right, I know of that too. Why, a man would have to be blind to miss how it shakes.”

  “I can’t, sir.” Aaron said, “I can’t. You went through enough trouble for me in the past. I won’t mix you up in this too.”

  Darrell sighed and sat back, “Alright then, lad. Have it your way. But keep something in mind, not everyone in the tournament is a pampered dandy. Sooner or later, you’ll run into someone with some real skill, and what do you plan on doing then?”

  “I’ll figure it out.”

  Darrell shook his head sadly, running a hand wearily across his lined face, “Well, you’d best be going before you’re missed.” He rose from the bench and Aaron followed suit. “I’m staying in Midtown, an inn called the Absent Bard. You come find me if you need me, okay?”

  “Yes sir.”

  The swordsmaster met his eyes for several moments. Finally, he nodded. “Whatever you’re up to, be careful, boy. I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”

  “Alright.”

  Without another word, Darrell walked out of the church. Aaron frowned as he watched his old master go, suppressing the urge to stop him and tell him everything, knowing that it would only put the man at terrible risk for no reason. He waited, giving Darrell time to get a lead so that no one would see them leaving together.

  He turned back to the altar, gazed at the carving of Nalesh and frowned. The Priests said that the Father of the Gods wrote the story of each and every person’s life in his book, creating and destroying thousands, hundreds of thousands, in a story that stretched onward into eternity. He was known as the world’s first, and greatest, author, but Aaron didn’t see why. To his mind, if life was a book, it was nothing short of horror. And poorly done horror at that.

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  His feet felt heavy as he started back to the inn. He was happy to have seen his old master again, but their conversation had brought back the reality of everything he’d let himself get mixed up in. In trying to rescue the prince, he’d managed to make enemies of the most powerful man in Telrear, a man who could send legions after Aaron and the others if he decided to and who had enough money to hire any amount of assassins to do his dirty work for him. He frowned down at his left arm. Not that the man would need an army of assassins to get the job done just now. In Aaron’s current state, an old lady with a broom would probably suffice.

  What the fuck am I doing here? He thought, not for the first time. A man would have to be insane to hang around in the very place he knows Belgarin will be. He waited, out of habit, for Co’s reply, but the Virtue apparently didn’t deem his thoughts worthy of an answer. He could feel, even as he walked down the deserted streets, the men closing in, hunting him like a wild animal, and instead of hiding, like he had some sense, he was competing in a damned tournament that he had no chance to win for a shot at murdering a man he’d have no chance of murdering.

  A fool’s errand, one that would certainly end up with a walk through the Keeper’s Fields. Still, he found that what bothered him more wasn’t the thought of his impending death, but the thought that he was going to fail Gryle and Adina. They were counting on him, and he was going to fail.

  He turned a corner and started down the main road. Here, the foot traffic was much heavier with people heading into or out of the better part of the city or haggling at one of the many merchants’ stalls crowding the lane. Among the milling press of bodies, Aaron picked out guards patrolling the street in ones and twos, placed there, no doubt, to keep order among the increased population of the city’s poor district. He snorted at the thought. From his experience, the bastards were probably the worst criminals in the city.

  Then again, for all he knew, one of those slack-faced, shabbily clothed men, one of those women with the dead eyes, or the children with their hungry stares, could be killers hired by Belgarin. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise, and the space between his shoulder blades b
egan to itch. There! That man at the nearest stall pretending to argue with the merchant over some trinket, he’d been staring hadn’t he? There was a sound to his left, and he whipped his head around to see two children running past, playing at a game of chase.

  He realized that his hand was gripping the handle of one of his blades so tight that it ached, and he forced himself to take a deep, calming breath as he remembered words his master had told him, so many years ago. “Fear has killed more men than all the swords and arrows ever made.” It had seemed like foolishness at the time, and he was pretty sure he remembered making some flippant, smartass remark about it, but now he understood all too well as he struggled to calm his rapidly beating heart.

  Don’t stop. You’re being followed, came Co’s urgent voice.

  Aaron started down the street again, resisting the urge to turn and look. Who?

  I don’t know, the Virtue said, her voice sounded tense, scared, there’s too much … too much noise I can’t …

  That’s fine, he thought grimly as he turned down an empty side alley. Let them follow. He may be wounded and hunted, but damnit he wasn’t dead yet. Despite the light of the day, shadows clung to the walls of the buildings on either side of the alley. He put his back against one of them and slid his sword free.

  Several tense seconds passed before he was able to make out the sound of approaching footsteps. Aaron, wait! Co said.

  Not now, firefly, be quiet. There was another step, then another. Judging by the sounds, there were two of them. That’s alright, he thought, a cruel grin spreading across his face. Wounded or not, he was sick of being chased around the whole damned country, and these two bastards were about to find out just how sick.

  Wait, Aaron, Co thought, you can’t—

  Enough! He shot back, blocking out her words, they’re the ones chasing me, now let me do my work. There was a flash of cloth as the first one stepped around the corner, and Aaron let out a roar of anger as he shot forward, swinging the sword overhead.