“He is. Shall we lose him?”
Martin shook his head. “We’ll deal with him once we settle somewhere. If we need to.”
As they rode up the narrow streets of the city, they were greeted by signs of prosperity on all sides, for shops burned brightly with lantern light as merchants showed their wares to those out shopping in the cool of the evening.
Even at this early hour of the evening, celebrants were about in numbers, as guards from caravans and sailors in from months at sea were out in force, seeking whatever pleasures gold could buy. A band of rowdy fighting men, mercenaries by their look, pushed across the street, obviously working on a heroic drunk, yelling and laughing. One bumped against Laurie’s horse and, in a display of mock anger, shouted, “Here now! Watch where you’re pointing that beastie. Shall I teach you manners?” He feigned pulling his sword, to the delight of those with him. Laurie laughed along with the man as Martin, Arutha, and Jimmy kept an eye on potential trouble.
“Sorry, friend,” said the singer. The man made a half-grimace, half-laugh as he again motioned as if to draw his sword.
Another from the mercenary band pushed him roughly aside and said, “Go have a drink,” to his companion. Smiling up at Laurie, he said, “Still can’t ride any better than you can sing, Laurie?”
Laurie was off his mount instantly and embraced the man in a bear hug. “Roald, you son of a whoremonger!”
They exchanged backslaps and hugs, then Laurie presented the man to the others. “This black heart is Roald, a friend since boyhood and more than once a companion on the road. His father owned the farm next to my father’s.”
The man laughed. “And our fathers threw the both of us out of home on almost the same day.”
Laurie introduced Martin and Jimmy, but when he reached Arutha used the agreed-upon name of Arthur. “Pleased to know your friends, Laurie,” said the mercenary.
Arutha cast a quick glance about. “We’re blocking the thoroughfare. Let’s find lodgings.”
Roald waved a hand for them to follow. “I’m staying in a place the next street over. It’s almost civilized.”
Jimmy spurred his horse forward and kept an eye on this boyhood friend of the singer, studying the man with a practiced eye. He had all the earmarks of a seasoned mercenary, one who had been earning a living with his sword long enough to be considered an expert by dint of his still being alive. Jimmy glimpsed Martin looking rearward and wondered if the Hadati still stalked them.
The inn was called the Northerner, respectable enough for a place so near the docks. A stableboy roused himself from a sorry-looking meal to take their horses. Roald said, “Keep them well, lad.” The boy obviously knew him. Martin tossed the boy a silver coin.
Jimmy watched the boy catch the coin in midair, and as he gave over his horse’s reins, he placed the thumb of his right hand between fore- and middle fingers, so the boy could see. A flash of recognition passed between them and the boy gave Jimmy a curt nod.
When they were inside, Roald signaled for the serving girl to bring ale as he pointed to a table in the corner, near the door to the stable yard and away from the normal flow of customers. Pulling out a chair for himself, Roald discarded his heavy leather gauntlets as he sat. He spoke just loud enough for those at the table to hear. “Laurie, last time I saw you was what? Six years ago? You went riding off with a LaMutian patrol to look for Tsurani to write songs about. Now here you are with”—he indicted Jimmy—“this short thief here.”
Jimmy grimaced. “Highsign?”
“Highsign,” agreed Roald. When the other looked confused, Roald said, “This lad Jimmy gave the stableboy a sign so the local thieves will keep hands off his kick. Tells them a thief from another city is in town and respecting the conventions and should have the courtesy returned. Right?”
Jimmy nodded appreciatively. “Right. It tells them I won’t…work without their leave. Keeps things civilized. The boy will pass the word.”
Quietly Arutha said, “How did you know?”
“I’m no outlaw, but I’m no saint either. Over the years I’ve kept all manner of company. Mostly I’m a simple fighting man. Up to a year ago I was a mercenary in the Yabonese Free Levies. Fought for King and country for a silver piece a day and found.” His eyes got a distant look. “We’d been on and off the line for seven years. Of the lads who signed aboard with our captain that first year, one in five was left. Each winter we’d stay in LaMut and our captain would go out recruiting. Each spring we’d return to the front with fewer men.” His eyes lowered to the ale before him. “I’ve fought against bandits and outlaws, renegades of all stripe. I served marine duty on a warship hunting pirates. I stood at Cutter’s Gap when fewer than thirty of us held back two hundred goblins for three days until Brian, Lord Highcastle, could come fetch us out. But I never thought I’d live to see the day the bloody Tsurani would quit. No,” he said, “it’s glad I am to be standing guard on piddly little caravans the hungriest outlaw in the land wouldn’t bother with. My biggest problem these days is keeping awake.” The mercenary smiled. “Of all my old friends, you were the best, Laurie. I’d trust you with my life, if not my women and money. Let’s hoist a round for old times’ sake, then we can start telling lies.”
Arutha liked the openness of the fighter. The serving woman brought another round, and Roald paid, over Laurie’s protest. “I’m in this very day with a great creaking caravan from the Free Cities. My mouth is caked with a month’s worth of road dust, and I’ll only waste my gold sooner or later. It might as well be now.”
Martin laughed and said, “Only the first, friend Roald. The rest are our pleasure.”
Jimmy said, “Have you seen a Hadati hillman around?”
Roald waved his hand. “They’re around. Anyone in particular?”
Martin said, “Green and black tartan on his plaid, white paint on his face.”
Roald said, “Green and black’s a far northwest clan, couldn’t say which. But the white paint…” He and Laurie exchanged glances.
Martin said, “What?”
Laurie said, “He’s on a Bloodquest.”
Roald said, “A personal mission. Some matter of clan honor or another. And let me tell you, honor’s no joke to a Hadati. They’re as intractable about it as those damn Tsurani up in LaMut. Maybe he has to avenge a wrongdoing, or pay back a debt for his tribe, but whatever it is, only a fool would get into the way of a Hadati on Bloodquest. They tend to be a forward lot with a sword.”
Roald finished his drink and Arutha said, “If you will join us, let’s share a meal.”
The fighter smiled at that. “In truth, I am hungry.”
The call was given and soon the food was served, and conversation turned to an exchange of histories between Laurie and Roald. Roald had listened raptly while Laurie recounted his adventures during the Riftwar, though he left out his involvement with the royal family and the news he was to wed the King’s sister. The mercenary’s mouth hung open. “I’ve never known a singer not given to overboasting, and you’re the worst I’ve known, Laurie, but that tale is so outlandish I believe what you’ve said. It’s incredible.”
Laurie looked stung. “Overboast? Me?”
While they ate, the innkeeper came over and said to Laurie, “I see you to be a singer.” Laurie had brought along his lute, a nearly instinctive habit. “Will you honor this house with your songs?”
Arutha looked ready to object, but Laurie said, “Of course.” To Arutha he said, “We can leave later, Arthur. In Yabon, even when a singer pays for his meals, it is expected he will sing when asked. I build accounts. If I pass this way, I can sing and eat even if I have no money.” He crossed to a dais in the corner near the front door to the inn and sat upon a stool. He tuned his lute until the pitch of each string was correct, then began his song. It was a common tune, sung in all parts of the Kingdom and known by all who sang in alehouses and inns. It was a favorite of those who listened. The melody was pleasant, but the words were mawkish.
Arutha shook his head. “That’s awful.”
The others laughed. “True,” said Roald, “but they like it,” indicating the crowd.
Jimmy said, “Laurie plays what is popular, not always what is good. That way he eats.”
Laurie finished to a loud round of applause and began another song. It was a bright, ribald chanty, sung by sailors throughout the Bitter Sea, telling of a drunken seaman’s encounter with a mermaid. A group of sailors fresh off a ship set up a clapping accompaniment to the song, and one took out a simple wooden pipe and played a clever countermelody. As the rowdy mood of the room increased, Laurie slipped into another bawdy chanty regarding what occupies the captain’s wife while her husband is out to sea. The sailors cheered at this, and the one with the pipe danced before the bar while he played.
As the festive feeling in the room increased, the front door opened and three men entered. Jimmy watched them as they slowly made their way through the room and said, “Uh oh, trouble.”
Martin looked to where Jimmy was watching. “You know them?”
“No, but I recognize the type. It’s the big one in front who’ll start it.”
The man in question was the obvious leader of the three. He was a tall, red-bearded fighter, a barrel-chested mercenary who had let most of his powerful frame run to fat. He wore two dirks but was otherwise unarmed. His leather vest barely closed over his gut. The two behind him looked like fighting men. One was armed with a variety of knives, varying from a tiny stiletto to a long dagger. The other wore a long hunting knife at his belt.
The red-bearded man led his companions toward Arutha’s table, speaking rudely as he pushed all aside who blocked his way. His manner wasn’t entirely unfriendly, for he exchanged loud, coarse jokes with several men in the inn who obviously knew him. Soon all three stood before Arutha’s table. Looking at the four seated there, the red-bearded man let a grin spread slowly across his face. “You sit at my table.” His accent betrayed him as being from one of the southern Free Cities.
He leaned forward, fists on the table between the plates of food, and said, “You are strangers. I forgive you.” Jimmy’s mouth dropped open and he instinctively pulled away, for the man’s breath betrayed a day already spent drinking and teeth long gone to rot. “If you were Ylithmen, you’d know when Longly is in town, every night he sits this table in the Northerner. Leave now, and I won’t kill you dead.” With that he threw back his head and laughed.
Jimmy was the first on his feet, saying, “We didn’t know, sir.” He smiled weakly as the others exchanged glances. Arutha indicated he wished to quit the table and avoid trouble. Jimmy made a show of being scared to death of the fat fighter. “We’ll find another table.”
The man called Longly grabbed Jimmy’s left arm above the elbow. “This is pretty boy, no?” He laughed and looked at his companions. “Or maybe it’s girl, dressed like boy, he’s so pretty.” He laughed again, then looked at Roald. “This boy your friend? Or is he pet?”
Jimmy’s eyes rolled heavenward as he said, “I wish you hadn’t said that.”
Arutha reached across the table and put his hand upon the man’s arm. “Let the boy go.”
Longly swung a backhanded blow at Arutha with his free hand, knocking the Prince backward.
Roald and Martin exchanged resigned looks as Jimmy quickly raised his right leg so he could reach the dirk in his right boot top. Before anyone could move, Jimmy had the point of the dirk placed firmly in Longly’s ribs. “I think you’d better find another table, friend.”
The huge man looked down at the thief, who barely reached his chin, then at the dagger. With a roaring laugh, he said, “Little fellow, you are very funny.” His free hand shot out and gripped Jimmy’s wrist with unexpected speed. With slight effort, he forced the dirk away.
Jimmy’s face became beaded with sweat as he struggled to escape the viselike grip of the red-bearded man. In the corner Laurie sang on, ignorant of what was occurring at his friends’ table. Others nearby, used to the activities of a seaport inn, were making room for impending trouble. Arutha sat on the floor, still groggy from the blow, then reached down and loosened his rapier in its scabbard.
Roald nodded to Martin and both slowly stood, making a show of not pulling weapons. Roald said, “Look, friend, we mean no harm. Had we known this to be your usual table, we’d have stayed clear. We’ll find another. Let the boy go.”
The man threw back his head and laughed. “Ha! I think I keep him. I know fat Quegan trader give me a hundred gold for a boy so pretty.” With a sudden scowl he looked about the table, then his gaze locked on Roald. “You go. The boy will say he’s sorry for poking Longly in ribs, then maybe I let him go. Or maybe to fat Quegan he goes.”
Arutha slowly rose. It was difficult to know if Longly was seriously intending trouble, but after being struck, Arutha was not about to give the man the benefit of the doubt. The locals obviously knew Longly, and if he was only intending some simple brawling and Arutha was first to pull steel, he could bring down their wrath. The fat man’s two companions looked on cautiously.
Roald exchanged another glance with Martin and raised his flagon as if to finish his ale. With a sudden jerk he tossed the contents of the mug into Longly’s face, then backhanded the knife bearer in the side of the head with the pewter ale jack. The third man was distracted by Roald’s sudden move and didn’t see Martin’s fist as the Duke unloaded a thundering blow, knocking Longly’s companion backward over another table. With the sudden acton, more prudent customers began a quick exit from the inn. Laurie stopped playing and stood up on the dais to see what the problem was.
One of the barmen, not interested in who was responsible for trouble, sprang over the bar and landed atop the nearest combatant, who happened to be Martin. Longly held fast to Jimmy’s wrist, wiping ale from his own face. Laurie carefully put down his lute and with a running jump leaped from the dais to a tabletop and vaulted onto Longly’s back. Wrapping his arms around the large man’s throat, he began choking him.
Longly rocked forward under the impact, then regained his balance while Laurie clung to him. Ignoring the singer, he looked at Roald, who was ready to fight. “You should not have thrown ale on Longly. Now I’m mad.”
Jimmy’s face was turning white from the pain of the large man’s grip. Laurie said, “Somebody help me! This giant’s got a tree trunk for a neck!”
Arutha sprang to his right just as Roald struck Longly in the face. The large man blinked, then, with an insolent toss, threw Jimmy into Roald, knocking the mercenary into Arutha. All three went down in a heap. With his other hand he reached back over his shoulder and grabbed Laurie by the tunic. He flipped the singer overhead, tumbling him over the table. The table leg nearest Jimmy collapsed and Laurie rolled off into Roald and Arutha as they struggled to rise.
Martin had been grappling with the barman and finished off the encounter by tossing him back over the bar. He then reached out and seized Longly by the shoulder, turning him. The red-bearded man’s eyes seemed to light at finding an opponent worthly of his mettle. At four inches over six feet, Martin was taller, though giving up pounds to Longly in bulk. Longly’s voice sounded in a gleeful shout as he reached out and grabbed at Martin. Instantly they were in a wrestlers’ hold, each with his hand around the back of the other’s neck, opposite hand holding the other’s wrist. For a long moment they swayed, then moved slightly as each sought a better advantage for a throw.
Laurie sat up, shaking his head. “It’s not human.” Suddenly he realized he was sitting on Roald and Arutha and began disentangling himself.
Jimmy got to his feet, wobbling as he stood. Laurie looked up at the boy as Arutha stood up. “What were you trying to accomplish by pulling that dirk?” Laurie asked the thief. “Get us killed?”
Jimmy looked angrily to where the two big men struggled for advantage. “Nobody talks about me that way. I’m no fop’s delight.”
Laurie said, “Don’t take things so personally.” He st
arted to rise. “He just wants to play.” Laurie’s knees buckled and he had to grab Jimmy to keep his feet. “I think.”
Longly was giving out with a strange assortment of grunts as he strove against Martin, while the Duke remained silent. Martin leaned forward, countering Longly’s larger bulk with greater height. What had started as a possible bloodletting had settled into a passably friendly wrestling contest, albeit a rough one. Longly suddenly pulled back, but Martin simply followed the move, releasing his hold on Longly’s neck but holding on to his wrist. In a single move he was behind the heavy man, holding Longly’s arm in a painful position behind his head. The fat man grimaced as Martin put pressure on the hold, slowly forcing him to his knees.
Laurie helped Roald to his feet as the mercenary shook his head, trying to gather his wits. When his vision had cleared, he studied the contest. He said to Laurie, “That can’t be comfortable.”
Jimmy said, “I expect that’s why his face is turning purple.”
Roald started to speak to Jimmy, but something caused his head to turn suddenly toward Arutha. Jimmy and Laurie followed his gaze and their eyes widened.
Arutha, seeing all three staring at him, spun. A black-cloaked figure had managed to approach the table silently while the brawl was in progress. He stood stiffly behind Arutha, a dagger in his right hand poised to strike. The man’s eyes stared forward and his mouth moved silently.
Arutha’s hand shot out, knocking aside the dagger, but his eyes studied the figure behind the black-clad man. The Hadati warrior Jimmy and Martin had seen at the gate was poised, sword ready for another blow. He had struck silently at the assassin from behind, preventing a successful attack on the Prince. As the dying man collapsed, the Hadati quickly put up his slender sword and said, “Come, there are others.”
Jimmy quickly examined the dead man and held up an ebon hawk on a chain. Arutha turned to Martin and said, “Martin! Nighthawks! Finish it!”
Martin nodded to his brother, then, with a wrenching movement that almost dislocated Longly’s shoulder, drove him to his knees. Longly looked upward at Martin, then closed his eyes in resignation as the Duke raised his right hand. Halting his strike, Martin said, “What use?” and shoved Longly forward.
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