“Where’s the Lord Bristol?” Gavin asked.
“He won’t make it I’m afraid, we’ve barely made it ourselves,” Odilo said gesturing to the glowing fires of the city behind them.
“I told you we should have left,” the large man said. The smaller man waved him off.
“You have our payment?”
“We have half your payment, the other half is at Petra’s Landing,” Odilo said.
Gavin eyed them for a moment his shrewd eyes taking them in. Adel looked away as Neri glared at him. Aeden adjusted his footing, ready to fight.
“Let’s go already, the city’s burning,” the larger man said. “Get aboard, we’ll discuss payment underway.”
“You forget who makes the decisions Bryce!” Gavin said in offense.
Bryce stared at him with his hands in the air. He held them up in mock uselessness. His face, however, was painted in a far darker shade of anger.
“We go,” Gavin finally said.
“There we bloody have it, the Lord of the barge has spoken,” Bryce grumbled.
The smaller man knitted his eyebrows but gave in and set about untying the lines, throwing them aboard.
“Well, get on board already, unless you’re waiting for the fires to spread to the docks,” Gavin commanded.
The monks each hopped on board. The barge rocked under their weight. Once all four were on the barge Gavin gave a shove off the dock and jumped aboard. Bryce began to work the large oar in the rear. The barge rocked gently before falling into a steady rhythm.
They moved slowly from the strangely empty docks pushing through the small fragments of ice that clung desperately to the water’s surface. The sound of water lapping on the bow was drowned out by the distant sounds of Gemynd burning. The city cried out in pain to a despondent night that watched with indifferent eyes.
“Halt!” a voice shouted from horseback upon the dock.
The man, although clearly disheveled had the look of nobility. He wore a fine wolf fur across his shoulders clasped together by a chain of gold. His horse was tall and spirited, clouds of steam escaping its wide nostrils. Its coat shimmered in the single light of the dock, casting the man and beast in hues of amber.
There was some blood on his clothes, but it didn’t appear to be his. The look in his eye was half mad with fear, yet he still retained the countenance of nobility. Years of habit layered his mannerisms to such a degree that a night of terror could not fully wash them away.
The men on the boat looked back toward the docks. The monks froze in fear. It appeared the lord had arrived after all.
“Don’t stop,” Aeden said, “He was one of the attackers. He stole that horse and fur!”
Adel glanced up at Aeden then to Odilo. It was obviously too much for him to handle. Neri had a strange smile on his lips as Odilo appeared to wrestle with the morality of the situation. Aeden had no such qualms. He was determined to keep his group safe, all other concerns were secondary.
Bryce began moving the oar again as Gavin peered out toward the docks. The barge drifted farther away. The lord upon the docks dismounted and waved his arms frantically. Fear found his voice and it cracked with strain.
“Wait!”
“Why should we halt for you?” Gavin shouted back.
“We had an agreement!” the lord screamed.
Aeden quickly unfastened his coin purse from his belt and let it drop loudly in front of Bryce.
“Ten gold dinar to continue to Petra’s Landing.”
The larger man looked to the coin purse, his partner, and then to the man on the docks. He glanced once more at the closed leather purse before him. He made his decision and began to work the oar back and forth with greater effort. The wooden blade stirred and splashed briefly in the water, pushing them deeper into the icy waters of Lake Stevol.
The desperate shouts of the lord faded into silence and burned a guilty hole into each of them. Greed and self-preservation had trumped humanity. Salvare would have to forgive more than just lies that night.
Adel buried his head into his hands in the hopes of hiding from the truth. Odilo looked solemn. The usual hidden smile lurking beneath the surface did not grace his eyes. Instead they were cold and distant. Neri whispered prayers under his breath as Aeden struggled to think of what they’d do once the bargemen asked for payment.
Chapter 44
“Desperation defines humanity to a greater degree than a thousand well placed words.” Herlewin’s Letters of Apology
It took most of the night and well into the following morning before they arrived in Petra’s Landing. The sky was a sapphire blue free of clouds and free of wind. The air was crisp and fresh, holding the gentle note of salt from the nearby sea.
Aeden was thankful for the kiss of the morning sun. The night had been long and cold. Normally the monks would have huddled together for warmth, but last night had been different. They each had been wrestling with the final shouts of a desperate man left alone on the docks of a burning city. The agony of desolation had befriended them each in turn, gifting them with introspection and self-doubt. The once clear lines of perception had shifted and now a man was likely dead as they glided safely toward harbor.
The closer they came to the stone outcropping of Petra’s Landing the tighter the knot in Aeden’s stomach grew. His shivering body robbed his mind of coherent thought. Not a single solution of any merit had passed through his head. The looming issue of payment mounted with each stroke of the oar.
He wanted to ask the others but couldn’t think of how to ask without raising the suspicions of the two bargemen. Instead his mind was flooded with questions boiling over from a cauldron of fear.
What if they had friends at the docks? How would they react when the monks showed they had only a fraction of the money they had promised? Were criminals treated similarly in Petra’s Landing as they were in Bodig?
Aeden had an image of his body rotting slowly in a gibbet. The uncaring masses ignored his immortal soul as they passed underneath the rusting metal cage. His body wouldn’t be properly burned or cared for and his consciousness would be forever trapped in the netherworld, waiting hopelessly for someone to avenge his shameful death.
“We’re nearly there. We’ll take the first half of our payment. Petra’s Landing’s dock fees have been going up year after year and this Vintas has been no exception,” Gavin said, his face even more pinched than before. His cheeks were red, and his beady eyes glanced briefly at each of them in turn.
The words startled the monks. They looked at each other before fiddling with their money belts. Worry was written across Adel’s features. Neri looked irritated, borderline irate. His face was flushed red as he struggled with emotion. Odilo on the other hand seemed slightly resigned to his fate, as if it were all a form of penance.
Aeden felt he was the only one left to make intelligent decisions. Decisions that would either save them or get them all killed. He didn’t like it.
“Use what you need from these two purses, your greater payment waits at a usurer in town,” Aeden replied, purposefully ignoring the looks from the other monks.
“We’ll take all your purses,” Gavin said, “and you’ll take us to the usurer.”
“But, we’ll have nothing,” Adel stammered.
“Not my problem,” Gavin replied his hand resting lightly on the hilt of a long dagger.
“Let us keep at least one, the usurer will make up for the difference,” Aeden stepped in.
“Fine,” Gavin said.
Bryce grumbled just loud enough to be heard, “It better or you’ll find yourself floating in Stevol.”
The barge slid into port as Gavin jumped onto the waiting dock. There were men busily unloading a scow on the opposite side. They hardly glanced over as the arriving barge was tied fast to the pier.
For a moment Aeden was lost in the scene. His thoughts drifted away as his eyes drank in Petra’s Landing. They had branched east and taken a channel into the city. To the north a
castle straddled a small hill that dominated the cityscape. Barren trees peppered the steep southern slope and snow desperately clung to crags and rocks. The eastern slope was far more gradual with what appeared to be tightly pruned grape vines covered for Vintas.
Hugging a narrow stone pathway along the channel were brightly colored houses. White, yellow, and red facades faced the water. Their backs were tight upon Castle Hill. It was to the east of the hill that the city flattened and more houses stretched over a minor grade toward the bay.
“Get off, let’s go,” the larger man said gruffly.
The monks shuffled off. Aeden’s attention settled firmly on his agitated stomach. It rumbled with a mixture of hunger and anticipation as he jumped from the barge and onto the solid wooden deck of the pier.
Bryce herded the monks forward as Gavin led the way.
“Where are you taking us,” Adel asked.
Gavin looked back as if confused. His confusion quickly turned to anger as his hand settled on the hilt of the dagger on his hip.
“You’re the one taking us to your usurer. No more games. You sold out your lord; you’ll not do the same to us.”
As if to drive the point home, Bryce gave Adel a brisk shove sending him sprawling onto the snowy pier. Aeden’s protective nature flared to life and the fog clouding his mind dissipated as if a strong gust of wind had torn through, whisking it away. Aeden turned to face Bryce.
“You the bloody hero,” the deep baritone implored, his bearded face was more threatening than an angry bear.
Aeden shook his head and turned back around. Instead he watched as Odilo helped Adel to his feet. The situation was falling apart and he began to fear for his brother monks. Fear will rob your mind of clarity; remove the fear to overcome your adversary. The words of his instructor drifted through his mind and sparked an idea.
“The usurer doesn’t like a crowd. I’ll take you to get your money,” Aeden blurted out.
Odilo looked at Aeden with the blank expression of disbelief. Adel shook his head as if signaling him to abort his failed idea. Neri didn’t seem to care much either way. Strange, since he was often the most volatile of the group. Aeden pressed on to silence the other monks and to convince the two men.
“Would you rather deal with all four of us? Where we’re going a crowd would draw attention.”
The two bargemen looked briefly at each other, then at the other monks. The decision had a certain sense of logic. It certainly would be far easier for them to control one man instead of four.
“So be it, let’s go,” Gavin replied.
Aeden looked to the others giving each a quick hug.
“Come on, my mother’s less sensitive. You can touch each other after you’ve paid us,” the big man spat.
Aeden ignored him and whispered quickly in Odilo’s ear.
“Let’s meet near the main pier at the northern harbor. And take this in case I don’t make it.”
Aeden discreetly shoved the Book of Divinus into Odilo’s unsuspecting hands. Odilo caught his eye briefly just as Bryce yanked Aeden away with a surprisingly strong grip. Aeden caught his balance and began to walk toward the stone pathway parallel to the waterway. He glanced back one last time catching Odilo’s worried intimation. It was a look of concern, anger, and surprise. His eyes were gentle, the brow furrowed, and his mouth slightly agape. Aeden had been so consumed by it that he had ignored Adel and Neri.
A twinge of guilt crept in like a worm boring into rotten fruit. He needed to clear his mind of emotion if he was going to come out of this predicament alive.
He passed under a sign marked "Use of the Arkein Is Forbidden by Writ of the King.” It sparked his curiosity, but not enough to engage his two companions in conversation. It, however, was just enough to let his mind travel down a new rabbit hole.
They reached the pathway and he turned left, putting distance between himself and the other monks. His mind was still working on a plan as he walked. A quieter part of town seemed best. The only problem was he had no idea the layout of the city. He was walking blindly into the unknown and hoping for the best. He couldn’t shake loose the image of a blind man stumbling into a pack of wolves with a butter knife as his weapon.
“How much farther,” Bryce grunted as if sensing Aeden’s uncertainty.
“It’s been a while since I’ve been here, but I think we aren’t far,” he replied in an effort to bide for more time.
There were few people on the streets. Those that braved the cold were wrapped in furs for warmth. They walked quickly to their destinations, eyes down, and heads covered. None seemed to be interested in the trio, even less so Aeden’s plight.
The stone and snow gave way to the waterway on his left. It seemed a touch precarious if the path hadn’t been wide enough for a horse’s carriage. Perhaps he could push them into the water and make his escape. He would have to be quick. If either one of them grabbed him he’d go in too. He wasn’t sure how long any one of them would last in the icy waters.
“Whatever you’re planning, it better involve us getting paid,” Bryce huffed walking uncomfortably close.
The three of them rounded the bend. The pathway narrowed. Here the houses were smaller and more cramped as if they feared casting too wide a shadow. They were now in the penumbra of the castle atop the hill. The wind somehow felt cooler. It tickled the back of Aeden’s neck and pricked uncomfortably at his exposed face.
Aeden was about to turn to address Gavin when a fist hit him in the back of the head. He staggered forward and only regained his balance when two ham-fists grabbed hold of him. It was Bryce.
“No more games little man,” he said, his face inches from Aeden’s.
Gavin had his dagger out and held it before Aeden threateningly.
“You’ve got no friends, it’s time to pay, or it’s time to swim.”
Aeden glanced about desperately. His head throbbed where he had been hit. His mind raced. He stumbled for words but could think of nothing. He thought of reaching for his sword, but it was buried under layers of fur. He thought of striking Bryce in the throat and releasing himself, but Gavin would merely need to lean in with the dagger to cut his own throat.
Therefore Aeden did the only thing that felt natural. He screamed for help.
“Shut up you filthy shit,” Gavin snarled holding the dagger to his neck, the cold metal felt sticky and painful against his skin.
“What’s this?” A man’s voice shouted approaching from Aeden’s left.
Gavin backed off, slowly lowering the dagger. Bryce looked over but didn’t let Aeden go. Aeden was still barely on his tiptoes and couldn’t turn his head for Bryce’s fist.
“We caught a thief,” Gavin stated calmly to the approaching man.
“Legal matters are for those appointed by the High Sheriff, not peasants such as yourselves.”
“We’re merchants, not peasants. It’s this foreigner who stole from us,” Gavin retorted.
The man came close enough for Aeden to see. The man wasn’t alone. Two of them stood there, both as tall and wide as Bryce. Swords hung menacingly at their hips. Leather armor was strapped over warm furs. The armor was emblazoned with the crest of The Fallen Constable.
One was as bald as a newborn babe. The other had a notch carved out of his ear. Neither looked friendly. A life of fighting and hardship carved them into cold, mean, hands of the law.
“Hand him over and we will sort this matter out,” the constable said.
“He owes us money,” Bryce complained.
“What he owes can be considered a tax for keeping the streets safe,” the other constable said pulling his sword free.
Gavin placed a steadying hand on Bryce’s arm.
“Of course, we’ll leave you to your work. We have three other friends to catch up with anyhow,” Gavin said.
Aeden realized before Bryce that Gavin was referring to the other monks. He needed to warn them, to help them.
“Let’s go foreigner,” the bald constable
said, a vice-like grip nearly pulled his arm free of the socket as he yanked him forward, a cruel grin momentarily revealing itself.
“But it’s them that tried to rob me,” Aeden said in an effort to free himself.
“They don’t have the gray eyes of the Gwhelt, I hardly imagine two merchants, lowly as they are, tried to rob a barbarian.”
“Barbarian?” Aeden was able to utter before a sharp pain cracked through the back of his skull, shuddered its way down his spine, and the world went dark.
Chapter 45
“A prison of the body will stifle the mind until it too lies in shackles.” Herlewin’s Letters of Apology
Aeden drifted in and out of consciousness like a wraith through a hazy night. His head pounded in rhythm to his heart. And glimpses of colorful buildings passed like running paints upon an overburdened tapestry.
“He’d better wake by tomorrow,” a voice echoed faintly through the distant recesses of his mind.
“They always wake up,” another voice replied in watery tones.
Silence cocooned Aeden for a moment as he forced an eye open. The startling brilliance of an overcast sky and snow covered roads branded his eyes with images of Petra’s Landing.
“Last week you hit one so hard he never woke,” the first voice suddenly burst forth, drumming upon Aeden’s sensitive ears.
“Wasn’t my fault, bastard been dipping into the Tempest.”
“Constable wouldn’t be pleased is all.”
The voices sounded distantly familiar as if Aeden had dreamed them once before. He struggled to open an eye again. He was rewarded with the blurry image of an old, columned building. It had the worn look of a threadbare cloak. An edifice lost to history only to find a new use and a new home.
“Toss him in already, we’ve got a few more hours to round up something better.”
Aeden vaguely remembered feeling his body hefted on high, the faint feel of wind across cold cheeks, and the solid feel of a hard floor. He recalled the remote clunk of metal upon metal followed by darkness. Sleep wrapped its comforting arms around him in a gentle embrace.
Tears of a Heart Page 28
