The Way of Pain

by Gregory Mattix

  “Get your arse back to the barracks,” one of the guards said, pointing, although he smiled and shook his head. “Drunken fool.”

  The second guard laughed, and the third started awake at the noise. He wobbled as he regained his balance against the wall and then gave a hearty belch.

  “You need to go sleep it off too,” the first guard said with a laugh. “Don’t let Captain catch you like Jezzo over there, come morn.”

  When the two glanced at their sleepy, besotted friend, Elyas lunged. His fist cracked into the first guard’s jaw, and he crumpled. The second guard gave a startled curse and stumbled backward, reaching for his sword. Elyas seized his forearm, preventing him from drawing steel, and with a burly forearm across the man’s chest, slammed him hard into the wall. His head rebounded off, helm slipping back as his eyes rolled up. He punched him in the chin for good measure.

  The drunken guard’s eyes went wide. He stumbled toward the alarm bell and would’ve reached it had a ceramic wine jug not struck him in the head, shattering and drenching the man in wine. He cried out, reeling back and falling into Elyas’s arms. He caught the guard in a headlock then choked him out until he fell unconscious.

  Harlan was already strapping a sword belt around his waist by the time Elyas let the unconscious guard drop. He pulled on a cloak and kept watch while Elyas relieved a fallen guard of a cloak and sword for himself. They quickly dragged the fallen trio out of sight around the corner.

  The barred gate was locked tight. It was high, and getting a foothold was difficult, but both men were honed into such good shape that they hauled themselves up mainly by arm strength alone, then dropped down on the other side.

  The villa remained quiet at their heels as they raced off down the hill and away into the chill night, a flicker of hope in their hearts for the first time in weeks.

  Chapter 30

  “I wish you all good fortune in your travel to Nexus,” Sianna said. “Taren, may your meeting with your mother provide you with the guidance you seek. And Ferret, I hope you find a cure for your affliction. May Sol guide your paths and shield you from harm.”

  “Thank you, Your Majesty,” Taren replied, the others echoing him. “May the gods watch over you as well.”

  They were gathered in the inn’s cellar to say their goodbyes. The common room had become too crowded for planning or conversation that morning, so Brom offered up the storeroom. It was as clean and neatly ordered as one would expect, judging by the rest of the stately establishment. They’d made some final plans and preparations and now were about to go their separate ways.

  Keep it brief, polite—regal. Don’t embarrass yourself or anyone else.

  Sianna started to turn away but then on impulse looked Taren in the eye. “Remember what I said about when you return. Ketania could use a good man with your skills in the dark days ahead.” She managed to give him what she thought was a cool yet beneficent smile although she secretly hoped it might convey deeper meaning. What exactly that meaning was, she wasn’t entirely certain, but she was willing to admit to herself she had enjoyed Taren’s company and was reluctant to see him go.

  Taren smiled in return and bowed. “I shall hope to see you again in Carran if all goes well.” He turned then to clasp hands with Creel. “I’ll take good care of her.”

  The older man nodded. “Aye, I thank you for that.” He glanced at Ferret briefly then back to Taren. “Would that I could accompany you, but I know she’s in good hands. May Sabyl’s fortune favor you all.” He nodded to Mira then turned to Ferret, who stood before him silently, although Sianna got the impression she was hesitant to say goodbye. “Well, lass… reckon this’ll be where our paths part. Just for a time, at least.”

  Ferret surprised Sianna and evidently Creel also, for she abruptly enveloped him in a crushing embrace. The warrior gave a wheeze of exhalation before recovering his composure and returning her hug. Sianna couldn’t hear what Ferret said, barely a whisper, but Creel nodded. He clapped her on the back of her smooth, shiny head affectionately, then they stepped apart. Sianna was astonished to see the gruff warrior looking emotional.

  Then Taren and the others departed, heading up the stairs with waves and well-wishes for everyone. Sianna watched him go and managed to stifle a sigh, noticing the discerning look Iris was giving her.

  I’m sure I’ll hear from her about this before long. Enough of a reason to tarry no longer.

  “Ready if you are, Master Creel.” She pulled forward the cowl of her cloak and stood by the steps.

  Creel nodded, and the group returned to the common room, pausing near the bar so that he could speak with Brom for a moment.

  “We should be back in a few hours,” Creel said, addressing Rafe and Iris. “Expect to be leaving this afternoon and cover some ground while we have daylight left. Thanks again, old friend.” He clasped hands with the dwarf, then he and Sianna were out the door and heading toward the castle.

  Iris and Rafe had wanted to join them, but with their injuries, Sianna thought it best they rest up for their journey. As long as Iris could ride a horse, her ankle sprain shouldn’t prove much of a problem. As for Rafe, the guardsman was healing up as well as expected. He just needed time and as much rest as possible.

  They had debated the best course of action for some time that morning upon Brom’s revelation that Mayor Calcote was managing the city. Creel argued they should procure some mounts and leave at once, keeping their presence in Llantry a secret. The smaller their party, the better, in his estimation. Sianna insisted they reach out to the Llantry mayor for aid as he’d proven a capable and valuable ally to her mother during King Clement’s absence. She thought it wise to obtain a contingent of guardsmen, along with mounts and provisions. They both agreed they should send word ahead to Lady Lanthas in Carran of their impending arrival, in the event her husband hadn’t yet returned, with instructions to contact the Free Kingdoms to request their leaders attend a conclave. Sianna had won out in the end, although she hoped she wasn’t making a mistake.

  She had yielded to Creel’s counsel in the matter of the missive to Carran, penning the brief letter herself immediately after breakfast and sealing it with wax and her signet ring. The message would be sent at once via a courier service she knew was reliable, with their host Brom handling the arrangements.

  Sianna could sense the tension in the city as she and Creel walked up the gradual hill toward Castle Llantry. To the untrained eye, everything seemed normal. People were going about their business, but she sensed little of the cheerful conversation expected in the streets or the normal, casual browsing of wares. Most everyone kept their heads down, avoiding eye contact, and tried to get their business done without delay. Very few people were out who weren’t en route to some destination. Merchants haggled half-heartedly with shoppers, and everyone seemed to eye the stepped-up guard patrols nervously, both city watch and castle guardsmen making the rounds.

  They’re afraid. Word has spread of Father’s death and the army’s defeat, probably even the attack on the castle.

  Somehow, the thought of Mayor Calcote taking up residence in the castle as regent irked her although she scoffed at her childish umbrage with the situation. He’s a good man—surely he only has the goodwill of the city in mind. Without his swift thinking, the city could have descended into riots and chaos.

  The decision to leave her sword behind in Rafe’s care left her feeling uneasy. She imagined Creel probably felt the same—likely even more so than she did. Yet the advice was sound if they hoped to enter the castle and avoid notice.

  Sianna and Creel neared the gates of the castle without incident, although upon finding them closed, she hesitated, unsure of the best way to proceed. Creel’s suspicions about Nesnys having spies in the city and likely the castle as well rang true. She’d planned on sneaking into the keep through the kitchens and servant corridors. The thought of being thwarted by barred gates hadn’t even crossed her mind, a foolish oversight. Creel must have considered the poss
ibility, and she realized leaving their weapons was a wise move—they would never have been admitted armed while posing as couriers. He touched her arm to prevent her from approaching any closer to the gates and drawing attention to themselves.

  “Who’s the best person to ask for, someone unquestioningly loyal to your family?” he asked. “Someone whom the guards wouldn’t think twice about people calling on for mundane matters?”

  “Chamberlain Kelthos ordinarily, although I doubt he’d allow anyone to enter without knowing them personally and without a good reason. Probably the head cook, Cece. She likes to directly handle the keep’s provisioning and the like.”

  “Very well. Let me do the talking, and keep your hood low so you aren’t recognized.”

  She nodded and walked beside him up to the gates. With Selda and Iris’s aid, she’d dyed her distinctive auburn hair a dark brown that morning, nearly black, though she knew it was a poor disguise and would help little against close scrutiny.

  “The castle is closed to all visitors,” barked a guard atop the wall. “State your business.” Sianna recognized his red-and-gold livery as belonging to the mayor’s house guard.

  “I’m with the Wayfarer Trading Company, here to speak with Cece, the head cook,” Creel replied. “I bear unfortunate news: the monthly wine shipment from the vintner was waylaid by Nebaran soldiers, and with the winter ball soon upon us, perhaps she’d care to make some alternate arrangements?”

  Sianna smiled to herself. That was a clever move, bringing up the winter ball, for she’d heard talk of it in the tavern the past night. A disruption in the wine supply would be a crisis indeed for the castle staff.

  “Damn it, man. So we’re not only low on men but wine now as well? Why can’t you people deliver good news for a change?” The guard grumbled to himself. “Hold on a moment.” He called out instructions to someone else but Sianna couldn’t make out what was said.

  The gate cracked open a couple minutes later, and a curly-haired young man regarded them. A second guard was jogging up also, his sword slapping his thigh awkwardly.

  “Follow me. I’m to escort you to the head cook.” The young guard must have been a conscript, for he looked younger than Sianna, as did his partner. But at least they were dressed in blue-and-white House Atreus surcoats, which reassured her slightly.

  They walked across the bailey with the pair of young guards to either side. The gates were shut and barred again behind them.

  The bailey seemed grim, empty of traffic as it was, and disturbingly quiet. None of the familiar sounds filled the air: soldiers training, banter about the stables, or even the hammering at the blacksmith’s forge, which looked to have gone cold. Very few soldiers were about, those she saw a mixture of the Calcote household and Castle Llantry guard, with the vast majority of them wearing the red surcoats of the mayor’s men.

  Gods, did the assassins’ attack slay that many of our guardsmen? The thought left a sick feeling in her gut. This visit might be in vain, for it would appear they will have few men to spare to accompany us.

  The duo of conscripts led them around back of the keep to the rear of the kitchens. The curly-haired youth pounded on the heavy door. When it opened, a young scullery girl peeked outside.

  “Summon the head cook, girl. These two—”

  Creel pushed past the young guards, and the serving girl stepped back with a startled squeak, eying him fearfully as he stepped across the threshold.

  “Oi! You can’t just barge in there.” The curly-haired guard took a step forward, hand on his hilt although he looked unsure of himself. The other youth seemed frozen with indecision.

  “Or what, lad?” Creel challenged him with an icy stare. “We’ll take care of our business with the cook and be back in a few minutes.” He beckoned Sianna to join him.

  The two guards exchanged glances and thought better of forcing the issue. Sianna didn’t really blame them, for Creel did look most intimidating.

  “Aye, do what you gotta do then,” muttered the curly-haired guard. “Make it quick.”

  Creel shut the door in their faces before he could finish. “Where can we find Cece?” he asked the serving girl.

  She turned to point, but her hand dropped as a large, fleshy woman in a flour-stained apron rounded the corner. The woman put hands on her broad hips and looked Creel up and down disapprovingly. “Who are you, and what are you doin’ in here?”

  “Just delivering a message—if we could get a moment in private please, ma’am,” he said, assuming correctly they were facing the head cook, Cece.

  The woman waved the scullery girl away, and she scurried off.

  Creel reached over and pulled Sianna’s hood down as soon as the girl was out of sight.

  “Hello, Cece,” Sianna said with a smile.

  Cece blinked at her in confusion a moment before recognition dawned. “Oh, by the gods!” She clapped a hand to her mouth then was rushing toward her. She crushed Sianna into a smothering embrace and began blubbering. “We thought you was slain or captured by those fiends, Princess! Thank Sol you are all right!”

  Sianna wiped the cook’s tears off of her forehead. “I’m fine, Cece, but you mustn’t let anyone know I was here or even that I’m alive, you hear?”

  “Aye, Princess. That’s a wise decision—there could still be assassins about. I’m scared to death to blow out the candles at night, for fear I’ll never waken come the morn.” Her expression of joy turned mortified when she noticed the flour now coating Sianna’s tunic, and she wiped at it ineffectually with her dusty apron.

  She didn’t have the heart to correct the cook and say she was queen now. She certainly didn’t feel a queen, sneaking about her own keep.

  Gently, she took the cook’s hands in her own, recapturing her attention. “We do have urgent business with the mayor, Cece. Where can we find him? The fewer people that know I’m here, the better.”

  “I’ll show you to him meself, Princess.” They began walking, taking a servant corridor out of the kitchens. “Mayor Calcote spends a lot of time in Queen Marillee’s audience hall, Sol bless her memory. He’s got those horrid men around him all the time, all those soldiers—sellswords, is what I think. The scum are always tryin’ to lay their filthy hands on my girls. I had to brain one of those bastards when his hands strayed too much with one of the younguns.” She hefted a rolling pin.

  Sianna glanced back at Creel, following silently behind, and saw he was stifling a grin, probably thinking he certainly wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of her rolling pin.

  After the attack on the castle, the mayor’s decision to bolster the guard and bring in mercenaries is likely a prudent one.

  Yet the thought of them lounging about idly and harassing the staff struck a sour note. They should’ve been out bolstering the guard force or patrolling the city.

  Cece led them along servant corridors and up a stairway to the second floor. They encountered no one along the way and stopped outside a closed door, through which Sianna could hear muffled conversation. The cook opened the door a crack and peered inside.

  “Aye, he’s there with that lot of knaves he calls his guardsmen, the lot of them dicing and drinking the wine cellar bare.” Cece scowled.

  “Will you ask him to come here to attend to an urgent matter, one best kept quiet?” Sianna asked.

  “Aye, of course, Princess.”

  She peeked through the cracked door as Cece slipped through and approached the mayor to whisper in his ear. Mayor Ewan Calcote sat on the same throne her mother had sat in but a few days past, lounging with a jeweled goblet of wine in hand. A score of guardsmen wearing the red surcoats of his house guard were scattered about the room, with tables set up and plenty of dicing and smoking and drinking going on, as Cece had said. The air was thick with smoke, and the carpets soiled with mud and stains of spilled wine. She felt a flare of annoyance at the sight of the slovenly sellswords and the mayor slouched in the throne her mother had so recently sat.

&nbs
p; This isn’t some cheap tavern down by the harbor.

  The mayor frowned in the direction of the door then, looking greatly put out, set aside his goblet and heaved his bulk from the chair. He was heavyset, with a great belly and sagging chins. His normally clear eyes looked bleary from drink.

  “Mayor Calcote,” Sianna said by way of greeting when he stepped into the servants’ corridor.

  The mayor’s jaw dropped for a moment before he smoothly recovered his poise. “Princess Sianna! By Sol’s grace, it is good to see you safe.” He smiled broadly, although she thought the mirth didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Are you well? How do you come to be here? And who is this with you?” He looked at Creel warily.

  “Can we go somewhere and speak in private? There is much to discuss.”

  A moment of indecision crossed his face, then he was smiling again. “Of course, let’s step through here for a moment.” He gripped her arm and steered her toward the door. “You must be thirsty and tired from your ordeals. Come, there’s plenty of wine, and I’ll have Cece fetch some food.” The cook was hovering just inside the wide-open doorway.

  “I’d really prefer to speak in private,” she said, suddenly nervous about the roomful of hard-looking men, many of whom were looking in their direction. She resisted, standing her ground while Calcote tugged at her arm, his grip tightening.

  Cece was right—mercenaries if I’ve ever seen any.

  “Nonsense. Everyone should see that you are alive—it will be great for morale. Our young princess returned to us unharmed, by Sol’s grace.” Calcote’s grip had tightened painfully.

  “Unhand her,” Creel growled, taking a step forward. “The queen wishes to speak in private.”

  Something sharp jabbed Sianna in the ribs, and she was shocked to see a stiletto in Calcote’s soft hand. His fawning smile had disappeared.

  “Inside now, Princess. You too, or this blade slips between her ribs.” His grip had bruising force as he hauled her into the room. More heads turned, and chairs were kicked aside as sellswords rose to their feet.