by M. R. Forbes
"Coins for the blind."
A young merchant walked past. He held out a copper coin, and when Eryn reached for it he pulled it back with a laugh. "Pathetic," she could hear him say. She cursed him beneath her breath.
"Coins for the blind."
A young girl ran up to her, her face clean and porcelain, her eyes wide and frightened. She held out a small piece of bread. "I don't have any coins, but you can have some of my bread if you're hungry."
Eryn smiled and put out her hand. "Thank you." The girl dropped the bread into it and ran away.
Eryn's heart was pounding by the time they reached Amster Road. They were so close to the palace that she could see the glint of the guards' armor, and the bleeding red eye embroidered on black flags that swung and snapped above the gates. Three soldiers on horseback rode past, ignoring them.
"Where are we?" Silas asked.
"Amster Road. Right near the palace," she whispered back.
"Soldiers?"
"By the gates. I don't think they can see us from here."
"Good. Let's just get over to Cindal without a fuss."
"I couldn't agree more."
Eryn hobbled along the cobblestone street, her head bobbing back and forth, trying to keep an eye on the soldiers without drawing their attention.
"Coins for the bl- oh!"
She wasn't looking ahead, and she bumped right into a soldier coming out of an apothecary. He had been holding a small vial of liquid, which tumbled from his hands and shattered on the ground.
"I'm so sorry, my Lord," Eryn said, bowing her head down, keeping it on the ground and lowering herself as far as possible.
She could feel his eyes on her, burning a hole in her back. "You stupid urchin. The medicine was for my boy."
"I'm sorry," she repeated, not looking at him. A black glove appeared in her eyes, grabbing her chin and yanking her face upwards.
"Caela, what's happening?" Silas asked. She felt him yank against their tether.
She didn't respond. The soldier held her chin and looked down at her, his face gruff and angry. "I don't have enough coin to buy more," he said. "If he doesn't get better, it's your fault."
"I'm s-" The soldier's slap caught her off-guard. She rolled onto her side and curled into a ball, breathing through the sting of the blow. It had hurt, but most of it was for show. Silas had certainly hit her with the flat of his blade enough times.
"Caela?"
Silas sounded concerned, but she knew he would keep a cool head. The last thing they needed was to confront an angry soldier in public.
"You know begging is illegal outside of the slums, don't you girl? You shouldn't even be here."
"Please," Eryn said. "Don't hurt me."
"Caela, what's happening?"
She could feel him standing over her. She waited for him to kick her, or draw his sword and stab her.
"Sexton!" A new voice rose out amongst the murmur of the others on the street. "What are you doing?"
"Don't you mind, Fehri," the soldier responded. "This wench bumped into me and I dropped the medicine for Amit. I don't have coin to pay for any more."
She saw a pair of black boots close in on them. Another soldier. She had been trying not to draw attention, and now she'd attracted two.
"And you're going to beat it out of her? Look at them, tied together with rags so she can lead him around."
Eryn dared glance up a little higher, to the black pants the soldier wore, to the pocket he had reached into. He pulled out a small silver coin. A deca, worth ten of the larger coppers.
"Here," he said, handing it to Sexton. "You can pay me back. Buy another bottle. The girl is my responsibility now." Eryn heard the other soldier go back into the shop, his armor clinking together with each step. "Get up."
Eryn took a deep breath and slowly regained her feet. Her cheek was throbbing and there was a chance it might bruise, but she had gotten off easy. She still didn't look up at Fehri, certain that his motives for helping them were anything but charitable.
"Look at me," Fehri said. His voice was deep and stern. A Commander?
She raised her eyes, finding herself taken aback by the age of the man. He couldn't have been more than eighteen, with a toss of reddish brown hair, dark brown eyes, and a strong physique. His olive skin and sharp nose proved him to be from a more distant part of the Empire.
"I'm sorry, my Lord," she said. "It was an accident. It-"
Fehri put a finger to his lips to silence her. "Relax. I'm not going to hurt you, though it seems to me anything I could do would be little in comparison to what you're already experiencing."
Eryn looked back at Silas, who was standing dead still, hunched over with his arms leaning on the wrapped blades. She hadn't noticed earlier, but he had begun to mumble to himself.
"My grandfather," she said. "He's all I have left. I'm just trying to get to the Heart. I have an offer for work there as a maid."
"Do you?" He pursed his lips. "And what of your grandfather?"
"I can sing," Silas said. "Do you want to hear?"
"No, sir," Fehri replied. He looked back to Eryn. "My apologies for the actions of my brother. Amman teaches us to show compassion for the poor. So many listen to his words, but do not understand them in their hearts. You are free to continue on your path to His embrace."
A soldier who followed Amman? All she had ever seen from them were heartless monsters who used their power to take advantage. Yet how could this man say he heard the word of Amman and at the same time take people away to the ore mines, hunt down the Cursed, and slaughter innocents?
"My thanks then, my Lord." She felt a mixture of hate and gratefulness mix, and she forced the words of kindness out, Andreaus' words running through her mind. Maybe he thought he was a believer in Amman, but in his own way, he was like all of the others.
Fehri bowed to her, an odd sight to all who were passing by. Then he joined Sexton in the apothecary.
Eryn gave him one final glance and got them moving, ignoring the pain in her face and the fact that she couldn't open her left eye all the way. She didn't ask for any more coins, or do anything that might cause them to be noticed further. When she saw the wooden board with 'Waverly's' written on it in a neat script, she thanked Amman for their good fortune.
"We made it," she said, untying the tether. Silas reached up and pulled the cloth from his eyes.
"Well done, my dear." He noticed the damage to her face, and ran his finger along it. "Does it hurt?"
"Our practice is more painful."
He smiled, and then led them down a small alley to the rear of the building, where a stable abutted the back of the inn. The scent of roasting meat wafted into the evening air from a closed door to their right.
"This must be the place," Silas said. He handed Eryn her sword, and rapped on the door with his.
"Entrance is in the front," said a girl's voice through the wood.
"We're friends of Andreaus. He told us to come in through the back to meet him."
Eryn could hear the sound of a beam being moved from the door, and then it swung inward. A young girl stood in the frame. She looked to be about ten, with short brown hair and large eyes. "You smell," she said.
"Is Andreaus here?" Silas asked, ignoring her statement.
"He's here, but he didn't say anything about visitors coming in through the back, and he sure didn't say anything about smelly visitors."
"Patina, who do you have there?" A man joined them at the door, a short, thin, dark-skinned man in an apron and coated in a sheen of sweat.
"Da, these two say they came to see Andreaus."
The man put his hand on his daughter's shoulder and looked out at them. A huge smile creased his face. "If you weren't standing here, I wouldn't believe it. Come in, come in." He pulled Patina out of the way. "Never mind my daughter, she's just a little over protective of her old man. Please, don't just stand there."
Eryn felt relieved to finally have someone give them a warm greeting
. "Thank you," she said. She walked in past the man, into the kitchen where two other women worked chopping vegetables and keeping the coals in the oven hot. The smell of meat was intense, and it made her mouth water.
"My name is Patmos, Patmos Waverly, but you can call me Pat. Proprietor of the finest inn in Varrow, and... oh my, you do smell." He turned to the women. "Urla!"
The older of the women stopped chopping and looked up at him. Eryn knew she must be Pat's wife, a heavier woman in black skirts, her hair tied up in a bun and her round face red from the heat of the oven. "What? Oh, new guests. Are they..."
Pat nodded, and the woman dropped the knife on the table and hurried over. "It is an honor, a true honor. I'd hug you both, but you smell like you've been sleeping in the wrong part of our stables."
Pat laughed. "Which is why you'll need to draw a bath for them straight away," he said. He looked back at them. "For one, or two?"
Eryn felt her face turning red at the suggestion, and she could see Silas' expression darken.
"We'll bathe separately," he replied. "I don't know what rumors you've heard, but we're traveling companions, and nothing more."
It wasn't the complete truth, but they had decided that their relation was a secret they should keep between themselves. It was no stretch to think that if anyone could use the knowledge against them, they would.
Pat's own face began to to redden, and he held up his hands. "My apologies to both of you. You hear stories, and you never know what to believe. Urla, why are you still here? Please, go and draw a bath. Find Eagan and have him help you. Patina, stop staring."
Urla slipped past them and out into the stable. They could hear her shouting for Eagan a moment later.
"The stable boy," Pat said. "Strong as an ox, and about as smart. Urla will have the bath ready soon, but for now I'll bring you up to your room. It's the best one in the house. Andreaus went to get you both some new clothes. I'll send him up as soon as he gets back."
Silas shook his head. "Your hospitality is appreciated, but if you don't mind, we'll wait in the stables until we can get into some fresh clothes. Otherwise, we'll be dragging our sorry stench through your entire establishment."
Pat smiled, and he looked relieved. "As you wish, my Lord."
"Are you Cursed?" Patina stared at Eryn, her eyes wide.
"Patina! That's no way to speak to guests."
Eryn put up her hand. "It's okay." She leaned down to get at eye level with the girl. "Why did you ask me that?"
"I... I know who you are. My da doesn't think I do, or he doesn't want me to guess, but I know."
"Patina!"
"You are Cursed, aren't you? You're Eryn, and he's Silas. The fugitives from Elling."
"Patina!"
She looked back at her father. "Da, I saw someone follow Andreaus out of the inn. I didn't know why, but now I do. He must have heard the two of you talking. I think Andreaus is in trouble."
CHAPTER SIX
Silas
"Patmos, you're a little small for me, but perhaps one of your guests is more my size?" Silas asked. "I'm afraid I can't wait for Andreaus to return. Also, if you have a hooded cloak I could borrow, it would be much appreciated."
The innkeeper put his hand to his chin, and then smiled. "Eagan is more burly than you, but he's about your height. Tell him I will add an extra copper to his pay if he gives you his clothes. They'll still smell a bit, but not like the rags you're wearing now."
"What are you thinking?" Eryn asked.
"You heard the girl. Andreaus is in trouble. We can't afford for him to be interrogated." He turned and headed back out of the kitchen and around the corner into the stables. He almost bumped into Urla, who had Eagan by the arm. "Just the man I want to see."
The stable boy was well-muscled and as slow as Patmos had suggested. It took three tries for him to understand what they needed, but in the end he surrendered his clothes without a fight, leaving him in nothing but a stained breechcloth.
Silas vanished into the stable with the clothes in his hands. He stripped himself naked, found a suitable trough, and stepped in. The water was cold, but it was cleaner than he was, and he used it to give himself a makeshift bath. The soaps could wait.
That bit of work done, he dressed himself in Eagan's clothes, grabbing a bit of rope from a hook on the wall and using it to cinch the pants. There was little enough he could do about the long white hair and his uncommon blue eyes, but the hood of the cloak should take care of that.
"I'm coming with you," Eryn said when he emerged.
Patmos had returned, and he was holding a plain brown wool cloak in his arms. He handed it over.
"No," Silas said. "You've done well so far, but you haven't spent much time in places like this. I'll draw less attention alone."
Eryn didn't argue. She leaned in and kissed his cheek. "Amman be with you, my friend."
"Which way would he go?" Silas asked.
"There is a clothier not far to the south, near the other end of the Heart. The Golden Thread. The owner, Mackle, is sympathetic to the revolution."
"Any idea who would be following him?"
Patmos shook his head. "The Overlord has spies in every inn in the city, and double that in the Heart. I'm sorry, Silas. I don't know how he heard me."
"A Mediator?" Eryn asked.
"It is possible," Silas replied. "Or they may have a device of some kind, like the discs."
"I have a sword, Silas," Patmos said. "It's nothing much, but it will cleave flesh with enough force."
"No. I'll go unarmed. The more threatening I look, the more attention I'll receive."
He bowed to them all and walked out into the street, turning left and vanishing from view. Whoever the Overlord's spy was, he was sure they would observe Andreaus for some time, which would allow him to catch up.
The Heart was a murky place. The roads were unpaved and rutted, the storefronts unpainted, their signage and patronage both looking to be in need of repair. Prostitutes wandered near dark alleys, where raucous laughter echoed from around the timber. Young girls sold bread from baskets on their hips, and local merchants sat behind carts loaded with rotting food, burlap clothes, and cheap trinkets. Their patrons tended towards the unkept side, though he did notice one or two with fine linens poking out around simple cloaks, which also bulged above the end of a blade.
There were no soldiers here. At least, no obvious soldiers. When anyone could be a spy for the Overlord, it made everyone all the more cautious.
Just not cautious enough.
Silas found the Golden Thread without trouble, its worn exterior and well kept sign of a spool of yellow painted string marking it as a clear borderline between the Heart and the more affluent regions of the city beyond. A brute of a man was sitting on three short steps that led up into the shop. The plain canvas he wore had been patched and mended more than a few times, and there were no visible weapons on him, but his size suggested he didn't need any. He stared at Silas as he approached.
"Shop's closed," he said.
"Do you work here?" Silas asked. "It seems a bit early in the day to be closed?"
"Master Mackle's taken ill. He paid me two coppers to tell any customers he was closed."
"I see." Silas glanced through the shop's windows. He could see movement inside. Was Andreaus in there? "Then you don't mind if I check the door?"
He reached the first step when the brute stood. He was at least a head taller, and three times as wide. "I do mind." He put his hand on Silas' chest. When he did, Silas saw it was branded with a bleeding heart. He wasn't a soldier at all.
"You have my apologies," Silas said. He grabbed the man's wrist, bent, and turned, using the brute's weight against him and throwing him over his shoulder. He hit the ground like a sack of potatoes.
Silas didn't wait for him to get up. He hopped off the step, planting a knee in the man's gut and knocking the rest of his breath away. Then he put his hands to his head, pressing hard on his temple and forcing him un
conscious.
He climbed the steps and opened the door.
"Andreaus?"
"Here, old man."
They were standing between two shelves piled with cloth. The attacker was another ox, a definite relative of the first. He held Andreaus with an arm around his chest and a dagger to his neck.
"I don't appreciate when people throw my brother."
Silas smiled. "I don't appreciate when people threaten my business associates. If you let him go and walk away, I'm willing to forget this ever happened."
"I'm the one with the stick here," he replied, "and I don't see any soldiers behind you. How about you get your associate to hand over the rest of his debts, and I'll be on my way?"
Silas couldn't believe it. The man had followed Andreaus for his coin? He must not have heard the vintner and Patmos talking about them.
"Andreaus, I think our friend here has a point. It would be easier if you just gave him your purse."
"I did," Andreaus said.
"There was barely three deca in there," the thief said. "Look, I'm not a violent man, but this worm owes my boss a lot more than that. He'll either pay with his purse, or he'll pay with his life."
Silas put his hand up. "I'm sure we can come to an arrangement. Who's your boss?"
"You aren't from around here, are you? You've never heard of Davin Capaldi?"
Silas tried to reach back into the fog of his older memories, but while the name sounded familiar he couldn't match it to anything. "I'm afraid not."
"The King of Hearts? He runs half the businesses in the Heart, along with the mercenary guild. He owns this fine establishment."
"Mackle?"
"No, Mackle's just his daughter's husband." He laughed. "The boss sure was pissed when Sazi told him she wanted to marry a clothier." He realized he was loosening the grip on Andreaus and his dagger while he talked. He pushed it close to the man's neck again. "Anyway, this merchant here owes the King some money."
