by C. J. Aaron
“Who are you?” Snapped from his shock by the sound of the shattering glass, the innkeeper posed the question.
“No one who poses a threat to you or your kin.” Ryl added a feeling of calm to his words. The sentiments of the innkeeper and his family were a mystery to him, though they could become problematic in the hours to come.
The exterior door opened; Andr, Cray and Lenu quickly filed in, locking the heavy wooden door behind them. The innkeeper’s eyes widened with concern at the appearance of the new armed group.
“I give you my word, none will harm you while we are here.” Ryl turned his head to the stairwell, listening for sounds of alarm from above. Only the muffled sound of laughter and conversation trickled down from the chambers above. At the door, Andr moved quickly to check the state of the guards crumpled in varying degrees of ruin around the room. One writhed in silent, yet apparent agony. The others remained motionless; it was those whom the mercenary checked for signs of life. The innkeeper moved hastily to his daughter’s side, comforting the youth as the mercenary continued his rounds.
After making a rapid circuit of Lord Kyoris’s guards, Andr’s eyes fell on the disheveled woman now huddled in her father’s arms. Even wrapped in her father’s comforting arms, her torn clothing was apparent. There was no need for an added layer of forced emotion to convey the sensation that poured from his body. He exuded sheer animosity from his core, disgust and rage. He shook his head, ridding himself of the emotion, though his eyes still smoldered as they met with Ryl’s.
“You’ve shown far more control than I.” His burning gaze fell on Ryl before swinging to the stunned innkeeper and his child. “Sir, could we trouble you for some food and perhaps a few lengths of rope?”
It was a few moments before the startled man registered the intent of the words that had been spoken. The expression on his face was telling. Though there was a sense of undeniable relief, a lingering doubt clouded his features. Had he traded one evil for the next? One far more disastrous than the first?
“You will be compensated for your services,” Ryl interjected, stepping toward the pair, his hand held outward in a placating gesture. “I’m truly sorry for any damage we may have caused. For any damage they may have caused. Rest assured they will be evicted shortly.”
The elder man’s face wrinkled at the statement. His already wizened face contorted into a look of surprise.
“On whose order do you evict servants of the king?” His voice was tentative, his words apprehensive. Though the hopefulness was telling, his words rang with an undeniable weight of fear. “He will have us executed for the insult.”
“They are neither the king, nor do they speak for him. I for one am loath to follow the lead of one who would condone the horrors they would have inflicted upon your family.” Ryl’s tone was harsh yet pointed. “For the moment, we’ll remain but anonymous benefactors. Tomorrow, our names will be synonymous with hope, or fear. We will be worshiped or hated, though that will be all a matter of perspective. For tonight, we are but humble patrons, requesting food, rope and a few words with your tenants upstairs.”
The innkeeper watched Ryl for a long moment. In the absence of a response, Andr, Cray and Lenu went about restraining the unconscious guards, sacrificing their own supplies for the task. After a few moments, the elder shook himself from his surprise.
“Words cannot thank you for the service.” He stepped forward, holding out his hand to Ryl. “My name is Som, at your service.”
He bowed a touch as he spoke, though his features darkened as he rose.
“Though vile as they are, I’ll suffer no murder under my roof.” His tone was scolding, resonating in fatherly tones as if chastising a child for a slight misdeed. The severity of the proposed action was lost under the seemingly trivial tone.
“Though they likely deserve nothing better, there will be no killing here tonight,” Ryl acquiesced. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind, I believe your patrons upstairs require attention. We’d be happy to manage them on your behalf. If you’d be kind enough to provide a key, I’d prefer not to damage any more of your property.”
The innkeeper required little added consideration before collecting his daughter and moving behind the lengthy bar. He ducked under the surface for a moment; the jingling of keys mixed with the crunch of broken glass underfoot. He returned with a single key attached to a narrow piece of wood by a thin leather strap.
“They’re in the last suite on the second floor. Follow the hallway to the right; it’ll be the only door on your left,” Som stated as he tossed the key to Ryl.
A creak of the wooden floorboards of the stairs from the floor above captured the attention of the room. Andr and Cray had dragged the incapacitated guards from the view of the stairs, though they left noticeable stains of blood where the pools had settled. Som’s eyes widened in apparent shock, as the memory that inserted itself was jarring.
“They came with others,” he whispered to Ryl.
Ryl grinned as he nodded to the innkeeper.
“Aye. So did we.”
Chapter 40
Paelec descended cautiously from the level above. Despite the initial warning from the groaning wood, he traversed the remainder of the stairwell without a sound. His head turned subtly in rapid, calculating movements as he surveyed the room.
Som’s mouth went wide as he viewed the mysterious cloaked warrior descend from the hall above. His eyes rested for a moment on the tattoos that covered his arm, quickly jumping to Ryl’s. Paelec shrugged off the attention of the innkeeper, as the control of the room was not in question.
“They went quietly,” he added softly as he approached Ryl. He stepped over the pooling blood left by the guard along the front of the bar. “The unawakened handled themselves well. Cavlin now guards the wagon. Ramm holds the door. The others wait outside the window on the second floor to the south.”
Ryl nodded his approval. He had little doubt that the tributes, though they’d seen little in the way of combat, would account for themselves well. Though unawakened, they still had the experience of ages flowing through their veins.
“Keep watch over the innkeeper and his kin,” Ryl whispered. “While I doubt they’ll pose a threat, ensure that they do not wander. News of our coming will arrive at the capital soon enough.”
Across the room, Andr rose from tying the final restraints on the subdued guards. The mercenary wiped the blood from his hands on a clean section of the closest guard’s tunic. He fell in line behind Ryl as they moved to the stairs; Lenu and Cray trailed only a step behind. As quietly as possible, they stalked up the stairs.
At the top of the first flight, the staircase doubled back on itself, climbing to the third level above. Though the dim light of a lantern still illuminated the corridor above, no sounds emanated from the occupants. The same could not be said about the second floor. Ryl shook his head as they entered the hallway. Their stealthy approach, though justified, was for naught. The noises of high-pitched conversations poured from the chamber, easily exiting through the thin walls of the lodging.
Ryl cast a glance at the mercenary who followed in his wake. The expression on his face had darkened. There was no doubt that he recognized one of the voices that issued from the room. The hallway split at the head of the stairs. The main corridor ran the length of the building, while a second, shorter path led to a doorway that exited the front of the building. Much of the city outside slept, oblivious to the activity that occurred within.
The corridor was devoid of furniture; the walls, though neatly painted, lacked any artwork to adorn their facades. Several lanterns, suspended from sconces, were the only decorations to break the monotony of the walls. Halfway down the row a pair of chairs were positioned, one on either side of the single doorway on the left-hand wall. Stations for the guards who were now bound, unconscious, in the main room below.
Ryl stopped a few meters down the hallway, allowing Andr and Cray to pull alongside. The expression on the face of the mercena
ry was locked into a chilling expression of determination. He could see the anger that smoldered in his eyes, yet Andr worked to subdue the dark urges that justifiably coursed through every fiber of his being.
She had taken everything from him.
On his opposite side, Cray was far more pensive. Though his animosity was obvious, the apprehension was noticeable.
“This choice is yours, Cray,” Ryl whispered as the unawakened reached his side. “I cannot say what will happen beyond those doors, nor can I predict what the outcome will be.”
For a moment, their gazes met. Though it was an admission thankfully few could make, Ryl had a true understanding of the depth of emotion contained in Cray’s eyes. He both envied and pitied his friend.
Of those who’d been abandoned, Cray would likely be the first to be granted the opportunity for a reunion. Ryl envied not the emotions that were sure to surface. The trigger would be too great to contain the flood of pain that lingered after cycles of unresolved mental anguish. The wounds might have scabbed over on the outside, as the memories had been relegated to the darkest sections of their subconscious, yet they still festered nonetheless. The scab would be torn off in an instant. There was no telling what would follow.
“I expect nothing from her,” Cray whispered. “I need to ask but one question—why?”
Ryl placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. He let a wave of comfort flow from him, washing over the tribute at his side. He felt the tremor of nervousness ripple through his friend’s body.
“I’m ready,” he groaned.
Ryl held out the key, turning to the mercenary at his side.
“After you,” he said as Andr collected the key. The mercenary collected the key, offering a subtle nod. The rigid scowl on his face darkened.
Within a few steps they reached the door. Ryl sent a focused wave of warning to the phrenic and unawakened who lingered on the balcony outside. The sounds of revelry emanated from inside as the gaggle of Lord Kyoris’s harem continued unabated. The noise of the key in the lock was muffled beneath the volume from inside.
The door swung inward without a sound. A waft of heavily perfumed air escaped the room as if seeking freedom from the company within. Aided by the heat from the fire burning in the hearth along the wall, the potency of the aromas was amplified with nauseating potency. Ryl followed Andr; both had entered the room before their presence was noted.
“You’d do well to make haste. Your orders were given long ago. Where is the wine we requested …” the shrill voice chided though it trailed off, the tone rising in surprise as the realization set in.
“How dare you enter this room.” The voice continued as one of the ladies surged to her feet, pointing her pale, elongated finger ominously in their direction. The others to varying degrees mirrored her shock and animosity. Her voice hissed with a venom that was toxic. The tone in itself would have tested the resolve of many. Andr stopped a step into the room; Ryl could see the tension in his frame. He understood immediately the identity of the speaker.
“Lord Kyoris will hear of this trespass,” she growled as she raised her voice. Her eyes narrowed into slits, though the intensity stabbed from them like daggers. “His guards will cut you down for the intrusion.”
“Neither your guards nor your lord can do anything to assist you, I’m afraid,” Andr hissed, his hand falling ominously to the pommel of his sword. The shock of realization started slowly, yet rapidly overtook her face. Powdered and painted to a dull white sheen, it was blanched of all natural color. The resulting hue was grey and awkwardly accentuated by the pink splotches over her cheeks.
“You’ve risen in station since last we spoke,” Andr growled. “Seems you’ve found a position of leadership among the lord’s harem, Alera.”
The name rolled off the lips of the mercenary with a spite that was physical. She rocked back on her feet as if struck by the invisible force.
“Andr,” she gasped. Fear crept into her face. Her eyes darted across the room, spying for an avenue of escape. Ryl stopped a step off Andr’s shoulder. Cray paused along the mercenary’s opposite side. Lenu stalked past, hugging the edge of the wall as she flanked the ladies. Aside from Alera, the others remained lounging on the couches that were positioned around the fire. The small table stationed between them was covered with the remains of uneaten food and empty bottles of wine.
The mercenary rolled his shoulders back; his threatening presence seemed to swell. He angled his head, looking at Cray, who stood rigid at his side. Ryl could see the physical manifestations of the struggle that raged in the bodies of his friends. Though he struggled to hide it, Cray’s frame trembled; his attention was rooted on the woman he once knew as his mother. Raw, unfiltered emotion seeped off his body, washing over the floor like a wave of uncertainty, hesitation and animosity. Ryl readied the speed that lingered in his veins.
Alera’s eyes darted between Andr and Cray as she watched the unspoken conversation between the two men. Initially, her expression alluded to no note of recognition. It wasn’t until her vision settled on the brands scarred into the younger man’s neck that the doubt began to fester.
“It’s been cycles, though yours is a face I have no doubt has been burned into his mind.” Andr’s voice was low, though the force behind each word was intense. “Tell me, Alera, do you recognize the face of the boy you once called your son.”
The blow from the words sent the opulently clad woman tumbling backwards. She gasped as she caught herself against the arm of the couch behind her. Her hands shifted to her face, covering her mouth, which had fallen open. The sparkle of the jewel-encrusted rings that were spread across her fingers scattered multicolored lights across the room.
“Cray?” she pleaded. Her shrill voice had softened, though the attempt at humility was nauseating. “My boy, they told me you were dead.”
Cray’s body shook as he took a step forward. The outpouring of emotions increased with every pace. The impact of every footstep seemed to shake the foundation of the very building.
“Why?” His voice faltered as he whispered. “Why did you not fight for me? Why did you give me away?”
Her eyes swelled even wider at the attention. Ryl watched as the spark of devious cunning flickered as she capitalized on the last strings of hope that had yet to fray.
She contorted her face into an agonized pout, wiping her hands at tears that were nonexistent. The effect was sickening; Ryl felt his stomach churn at the pathetic attempt at acting contrite.
“You have to understand, when they came for you, I had no choice,” she pleaded; she stretched her hand out longingly as she stepped closer. Ryl noted Andr’s body tensing, reading a strike that was soon to follow. He placed his hand gently on his friend’s shoulder.
“It was your father who gave you away.” She cast an acidic glare in Andr’s direction. “He betrayed us. He beckoned the mender, called the soldiers. Lord Kyoris is a nobleman. He purchased your freedom; we were to be reunited soon.”
The lies poured from her lips as naturally as water moved with the tides.
“It was you who had me tested,” Cray retorted. His unfiltered torrent of emotions swelled. Ryl could feel the animosity of the uncontrollable alexen as it rampaged through his body. “I was young, but I still recall every moment. I can see through your lies. Andr has risked his life to set me free while you’ve lounged in excess. A whore to the very man who stole my life.”
“That is not true,” she begged. The high-pitched shrill of her voice became desperate. The haughty arrogance that had defined her station inserted itself as her act crumbled. “It is he who’s lied to you. It is he who abandoned you. I can save you. We can be together again.”
Ryl’s attention had been focused on Cray and Andr. Though the woman likely deserved it, little would come from her death. Revenge, while justified in the moment, would haunt them for cycles to come. He stood prepared to intervene should either seek to cut her down. From the side of th
e room, Lenu rushed forward. Her compact frame crossed the distance in a matter of strides. Before Ryl could react, she planted her fist into the side of Alera’s face.
With a whimper the jeweled woman toppled backward over the couch, landing in an awkward heap on the ground. The Vigil commander shook her hand as she loomed over the woman’s blubbering form. Her head angled to the side, meeting Ryl’s view for an instant. She merely shrugged her shoulders before returning her attention to Alera.
“We’ve suffered enough poison from your lips,” she grumbled.
Andr folded his arms across his chest with a satisfied chuckle.
Chapter 41
The remainder of the evening passed with little distraction. Though incensed when she regained her full capacity, Alera did little more than sulk with the remainder of her harem until sleep finally overtook them. Her right eye was swollen; the powder that covered her face could do nothing to disguise the bruised skin underneath. She followed Lenu with her eyes, casting devilish glances when the Vigil’s back was turned, though they withered when the attention redirected again in her direction.
Cray had left the room soon after Lenu had ended the conversation. He had said his piece and realized just as quickly that he was better off without her.
Ryl found him sitting with his back against the wall, tucked away in the corner of the empty main room on the first floor. He sat down beside his companion, taking a break from the watches that had been maintained throughout the night. Cray smiled as he settled in beside him.
“I wanted to kill her, you know,” he whispered. His voice was tentative as if he was embarrassed voicing the thought.
