A Sellsword's Hope

by Jacob Peppers

  But their situation, dire as it was, wasn’t what bothered Aaron most. Instead, it was that while he and the others wasted time being chased through the city, Adina and the rest of Perennia’s army was stuck outside of Baresh, surrounded and fighting a battle with only one possible outcome.

  His thoughts were still focused on this when he turned down a side street, glancing behind him to make sure the others were following. He was just beginning to turn back when, suddenly, the ground seemed to vanish from beneath his feet, and he shouted in surprise as he fell through the street.

  What the fu—he began, but he never had a chance to finish the thought. He fell for only a few seconds before striking hard stone, his head bouncing off it. He grunted in pain, rolling to the side on instinct in an attempt to avoid whatever trap had been set for him. He could see nothing, only darkness, and felt the ground come out from beneath him again as he rolled. Then hands were on him, pulling at him, tugging him back.

  “Whoa there, fella,” someone whispered harshly, “that ain’t the sort of bath you—” The voice cut off and there was a shout of surprise from above them and another impact, then another. Aaron looked and saw, outlined in the early morning sun, a large square hole, the one he must have fallen through. Even as he watched, the others—who’d been following right on his heels—fell, apparently too close to stop before it was too late.

  Aaron struggled against the hands holding him, but there were too many, far too many, and he was still trying to grasp the sword at his back when someone pulled it away from him. His eyes darted around him, trying to get some sense of his attackers, but in the weak light coming through the hole, their features were indistinct, and they could have been anyone. Anything.

  Damnit, Aaron thought furiously. The others had trusted him, had followed him, and he had led them directly into a trap. He’d been too focused on the soldiers in the city, too focused on trying to avoid being surrounded, to pay any attention to anyone below the streets. And who would have thought of such a thing anyway? Not that the thought was any comfort. They’d trusted him: Leomin, Adina, Brandon, and all the rest, and now it seemed that they had been fools to do so.

  The thought made him angry, and he growled, giving his arm a sudden jerk and breaking free of the hands holding him. He brought his elbow back where he thought one of his attackers was and heard the satisfying crunch of someone’s nose giving way under the force of the blow.

  The man grunted a curse and stumbled away. Aaron took the opportunity to try to break free, but there were still too many, and soon both of his arms were caught and pinned fast. Then he was unceremoniously dragged to his feet and slammed against a wall.

  “Son of a bitch,” someone said, and judging by the wheezing sound of his words, it was the man he’d struck. “I think he broke my nose.”

  “Never mind your damned nose,” another voice said in the darkness, and there was something almost familiar about it, though Aaron couldn’t place it. “Just get that hatch closed and fast. Unless, that is, you’d prefer spendin’ the night—and all the nights that follow it—in the dungeons. And that, I think we both know, would be the best possible outcome.”

  There was a grumble from nearby, but apparently the man listened to the unseen speaker, for in another moment the hole in the street vanished as if it had never been, taking with it what little light had made it through the hole and casting Aaron and the others into a darkness more complete than any he had experienced before, save for Tianya’s world of madness.

  “Aaron?” a scared voice said in the darkness, and he recognized it as Caleb.

  “I’m…here,” he growled, still struggling vainly against his captors, “just—”

  “Shhh,” someone hissed in a harsh whisper. “Not another word—not unless you like the idea of your head decoratin’ the castle walls.”

  Aaron frowned, but he stopped his struggling, figuring that if the men—whoever they were—had meant to kill him and the others, they would have been dead already. The others must have had the same thought, for in another moment all signs of struggling ceased and silence fell like a blanket.

  At first, Aaron heard nothing, but soon he could make out the sounds of booted feet from above them. Footfalls, a lot of them, and muted shouts he couldn’t make out, but he didn’t need to hear them or see the owners of those footsteps to know what they were after. He tensed, ready to burst into action should the soldiers find—or be led—to them.

  But whatever had hidden the hatch, it had apparently done so well enough the soldiers didn’t notice, and within seconds the sounds of their footfalls and shouts began to recede as they continued down the alleyway in search of their prey. They waited until the soldiers could no longer be heard at all, then another minute passed, and another.

  Finally, a voice spoke out of the darkness, that same familiar voice that Aaron couldn’t quite place. “Well, that’ll do for that lot, at least for now. Now, give us a light, won’t ya, Fane? It’s as dark as Salen’s own black heart in here.”

  A moment later, Aaron heard the distinctive sound of a flint being struck, and torchlight blossomed in the darkness, its glow painfully bright. He couldn’t see much in the shifting light, but he was able to make out what looked to be a dozen men standing around him and his companions who were pressed against the wall much like he was.

  The strangers’ clothes were little more than filthy rags, covered in dirt and other substances he thought he’d rather not identify, and all of them had a haggard, exhausted look, as if they hadn’t slept or had a good meal in a long time. They blinked in the torchlight like owls or rats.

  “Well, look here,” said a figure who stepped out of the crowd to stand beside the man holding the torch. “If it ain’t Aaron and Leomin.”

  “You…you know us?” the Parnen said, craning his neck as if he might see the figure better but unable to do much, as two men still held him pressed against the wall.

  “Well, I’ll say,” the figure said. “Still, maybe it’d be more proper to say ‘General Envelar,’ eh? Or ‘the possessor of the Virtue of Compassion,’ while you, Leomin,” the man continued, turning, “possess what I’m thinkin’, likelier’n not, is the Virtue of Charisma.”

  The Parnen’s eyes went wide at that, and his mouth worked as if he would speak, but no words came out. Aaron frowned. “Call us whatever you will, stranger. It doesn’t make a damned difference to me, but if you aim to kill us get it done already. I’m getting bored.”

  “Kill you?” the figure said. “Well, why in the name of the gods would I do that?”

  “Aaron,” Gryle said from somewhere off to his left, “should I—”

  “Just wait a minute, Chamberlain,” Aaron said, his frown growing deeper. There was still something familiar about the stranger’s tone, and not being able to place it was driving him crazy, like a rock a man found in his boot and couldn’t get out no matter how he searched for it. “Go on, stranger. You were saying?”

  The man sighed, stepping forward, so that Aaron could finally make out his features. A big man, tall and broad-shouldered, ears that were little more than lumps of flesh on the sides of his face, and a small paunch that said his fighting days, such as they had been, were long behind him. But the flesh on his face sagged, evidence, Aaron suspected, of a big man who hadn’t had enough food of late to sustain his significant frame. “Stranger again, is it?” the man said. “I’ll admit, I’ve looked better, and maybe I could do with a washin’ or two, but you keep up this nonsense, and you’re liable to hurt my feelings.” He shook his head. “Give a man a place to stay, feed ‘em proper, and then he acts like he don’t know you from any other swingin’ dick. Oh,” he said, as if just having a thought. “That gets me thinkin’—how’s that pretty woman of yours? Alright, I hope. The gods know the world’s an ugly enough place; we ought to appreciate what little beauty we can find in it, when we can.”

  And then, suddenly, the pieces clicked in to place, and Aaron’s eyes widened. “Nathan?” he
said, shocked to find the innkeeper here and shocked, even more, to see how much weight he’d lost since he’d last seen him.

  “There it is,” the innkeeper said, nodding and flashing a grin. “And my feelin’s are saved, for what that’s worth.”

  “But what are you doing here?” Aaron said, confused. “Shit, for that matter where is here?”

  Nathan grunted. “These here are the city sewers. King Eladen—gods watch and keep his soul—had ‘em built years ago as a means of fighting a lot of the sickness runnin’ rampant in the city. Particularly, o’course, in the poor quarter. Time was, there’d be crews sent down on a regular basis, patrollin’ the tunnels and makin’ sure all the shit was stayin’ where it belonged, if you know what I mean.”

  Aaron saw they were standing in a sewer similar to the ones he had traveled in Avarest with Adina what felt like a lifetime ago. There was a wide culvert running through the center of the tunnel with a stone walkway on either side, where he and the others now stood. Staring at the tepid brown river running through the culvert, Aaron said a prayer of thanks to whatever god had made sure someone grabbed him and pulled him back from falling in when he’d first landed and tried to roll out of the way. What a hero he would have been then, drowning in a river of sewage.

  “You said there was a time when crews were sent down to check on the sewers and maintain them. No longer?”

  The innkeeper snorted, then paused to hock and spit into the river of filth flowing past. “Naw, not any longer. Since that bastard Belgarin took over, the crews have stopped bein’ sent. I reckon he had more important things to worry about than keepin’ the sewers clear and maintained—like sendin’ the city’s fools off to fight a war. And this new fella—whoever in the Fields he is—ain’t seen his way to givin’ a shit about it one way or the other neither. Though, to be fair,” he continued, scowling, “it ought be said that he’s made some other changes.”

  “New fella?” Aaron asked.

  “Oh sure,” the innkeeper said, winking. “I’ve learned a bit since you all been gone, since that day in the tavern when those things attacked us.” He grunted. “Truth be told, most of it I’da been just as happy not knowin’. But then, I’ve always heard that a man’s got to play the hand he’s dealt, never mind if it’s shit, and I been tryin’ to do that the best way I know how.”

  “Wait a minute,” Aaron said, “you mean…you’ve been down here since that day when we were attacked in your tavern?”

  “Well sure,” Nathan said. “Couldn’t exactly go back, could I? Even if those damned creatures didn’t show up and kill us for helpin’ you, the inn was wrecked to shit, anyway. That big monster of a bastard saw to that when he knocked a hole in the damn wall.”

  Gods, Aaron thought, feeling a fresh wave of guilt. The innkeeper had done nothing to deserve it, but by staying in his tavern, by asking for his help, he had put the man at a great risk, had basically painted a target on his back for Kevlane and his creatures. “Shit, I’m sorry, Nathan. I never meant—”

  The other man waved a hand, dismissing it. “Fields, I know that, Aaron. If I didn’t, I’d say the odds’d be good I’d have let you take that bath you seemed so intent on, when you first got down here. Anyway, don’t lose any sleep over it. I won’t say I exactly planned on spendin’ my vacation down in sewers smellin’ of shit and worse, but then, the world’s got a way of kickin’ a man in the ass, just as soon as he starts figurin’ he knows how his life’s gonna go. That’s just how things are, and there ain’t nothin’ you nor anybody else can say about it. And anyway, we been makin’ due, and that’s about the best any man can claim.”

  “We, you say,” Leomin said. “Does that mean…forgive me, Nathan, but is young Janum okay?”

  Aaron winced, realizing he’d forgotten all about the youth, the innkeeper’s nephew who he’d been looking after for his sister, and he was relieved to see the big man grin. “Well, as full of piss and vinegar as any youth is, and a trial sent by the gods themselves, I can tell you that much. But he ain’t got no holes in him he weren’t born with, if that’s what you’re askin’, Leomin. Still, I reckon he can tell you better’n I can.”

  The innkeeper turned and looked into the crowd and the youth stepped forward, clearly uncomfortable being the center of attention. His clothes were as filthy as the rest, but he didn’t share the wasted, sickly look that Nathan and the others did. A testament, Aaron knew at once, to his uncle’s attentions, for without asking he was certain the innkeeper had gone hungry more than once to see the lad was fed.

  “Hi, Leomin,” he said, studying his feet as if embarrassed. “Aaron.” He nodded to each in turn, avoiding their eyes, and Nathan snorted.

  “Don’t let the lad fool you into thinkin’ he’s soft and shy. After all, he’s the reason more than anythin’ else why I’ve found myself in the unenviable position I’m in.”

  “It’s good to see you well, Janum,” Aaron said, and Leomin grinned, nodding his agreement. Then the sellsword frowned, turning back to the innkeeper. “Unenviable position? What do you mean?”

  Nathan snorted, and now it was his time to avoid their gazes. “Well, it sounds so damn foolish to say out loud, I don’t—”

  “Uncle’s the rebellion leader,” Janum blurted, clearly excited to share the news.

  Aaron’s eyes went wide. “Rebellion leader, is it?” he asked, turning back to the innkeeper.

  The man fidgeted, looking like a child caught doing something foolish. Then he heaved a sigh, finally meeting Aaron’s eyes with obvious reluctance. “I guess you could call it that, though it sounds damn pretentious. Anyway,” he went on, scowling at Janum, “the boy’s stubborn, and he won’t listen to reason even if it came up and slapped him on the head. Before long, I imagine he’ll have folks callin’ me Lord Nathan and bringin’ me all manner of gifts.” He snorted. “Shit and piss mostly, I suspect—the sewers ain’t got a lot else to offer.”

  “There’s a rebellion then? In the city?”

  “I reckon you’d call it that,” the innkeeper said. “Anyhow, suffice to say there’s folks got tired of not bein’ able to go out at night, of hearin’ or seein’ their friends and family caught by those, those things and whisked off to the gods alone know where. A man can only take so much of that, ‘fore he has to make a stand. Never mind that we wouldn’t pose no more trouble to ‘em, if they caught us out, than an ant would to a man.” He shrugged. “Still, we do what we can.”

  “Well, that’s great,” Leomin said excitedly. “If you’ve got a rebellion already, then maybe we can get something accomplished after all.”

  Aaron nodded slowly, thinking it over. “First of all,” he said, glancing around at the strangers watching him, “I think you ought to know King Belgarin isn’t alive anymore—hasn’t been for some time now.” He paused, expecting for someone to object. When no one did, he went on. “Anyway, the man now wearing his face is an ancient mage—Boyce Kevlane, in the stories.” There were some gasps at that, but still no one argued. “He’s been taking people off the streets—those who are stronger or faster than normal men—and turning them into monsters, an army of abominations to do his bidding.”

  The innkeeper considered that, rubbing his unshaven chin, and Aaron waited for him to tell him that he was a fool, that he was being ridiculous. He didn’t though. Instead, he only grunted, and finally nodded. “Well, that settles that then.”

  The other dirty men nodded as if it made perfect sense, and Leomin frowned. “But…aren’t you surprised?”

  “Sure,” Nathan said, “we’re surprised, Leomin. But not too much. When good honest folk—or, at least, folk as honest as can be expected—start disappearin’ off the street for no reason, when you see creatures out of nightmares roaming the night, then you know somethin’s goin’ on. And after learnin’ what I did from you all the last time you visited and seein’ the Virtues first-hand…well. When one fairy tale turns out to be true, I don’t suppose it’s so great a stretch to imagine another’n
will also.”

  That made sense enough to Aaron, but there was something else troubling him. “So, Nathan, this rebellion of yours…”

  The innkeeper winced. “Gods, but I hate that word. Makes us sound like warriors in shinin’ armor battlin’ against some evil tyrant, when the truth of the matter is we’re more like rats nippin’ at the tyrant’s heels when he ain’t lookin’, liable to get squashed under foot if he takes it in mind, and with our own fool selves to blame.” He saw Aaron about to say something else and raised a hand. “Alright, so we’ve done a few small things—nothin’ big, understand. We heard of some folks we thought was gonna be taken, well, sometimes we can get there before those things can, get ‘em out of the city while there’s still time. And we been doin’ what we can to spread the word around Baresh, let folks know what we’re up against. My ma, gods bless and keep her, always said that knowledge was the key to power, and this time, I reckon she would have been right enough.” He shrugged. “Small things like that, is all. Ain’t none of us warriors, and even if we were, judging by what I’ve seen and heard, it wouldn’t make no difference, not against such as those creatures.”

  Aaron nodded, suddenly getting a sinking suspicion he knew why he’d been feeling uneasy about the Parnen’s excitement. “And this rebellion or, whatever you call it, how many have joined it?”

  Nathan raised his hands to either side to indicate the bedraggled men standing with him. “You’re lookin’ at ‘em.”

  “That…that’s all?” Gryle said, then slapped a hand over his mouth, his face visibly coloring in the torchlight. “Forgive me, I…”

  “Easy, friend,” Nathan said, grinning, “ain’t no offense at pointin’ out a thing that’s true. Sure, we ain’t no army that might storm the castle gates. But we’ve done what we can. Anyway, you’d be surprised how hard it is to find recruits when all you can promise ‘em is a stay in a sewer, rat flesh for dinner, and a death that, likely as not, will be mighty painful. Far as that goes—”