The Warriors of the Gods

by Jacob Peppers

  Chapter Eight

  By the time they managed to break out of the thick, tangled undergrowth and travel the rest of the way through the woods, the sun had sunk low on the horizon, and night was no more than an hour away. They were all exhausted, covered in nicks and scratches, their clothes and hair littered with brambles and twigs. They arrived at the city gate filthy, tired, and irritable. Katherine, Alesh, and Larin walked together while Darl, Rion, and the two girls had approached the city from a different gate to make it less likely they’d be recognized. It was doubtful their descriptions had reached so far west as Peralest, but they had all decided it would be better to be safe than sorry. Besides, Katherine thought, if I’d had to listen to Rion complain anymore, I probably would have done Tesharna’s work for her and strangled him.

  This late in the evening, there was no line into the city, and none shared the road outside of its walls with them. “Wait here,” Larin said as they drew closer to the gate, then he headed in the direction of the guards.

  Katherine glanced at Alesh, but he only gave her a helpless shrug. The old giant spoke some words to the guards who, judging by their grins, seemed to recognize him, and soon he was waving her and Alesh forward.

  “Well now,” one of the guards said, eyeing Alesh and Katherine as they came to stand beside Larin, “you don’t mind me sayin’ so, Chosen, it looks like you and your friends here have had a time of it. Pardon me for askin’, but what have you all been up to?”

  Larin grinned, somehow making even that simple expression exude menace. “Hunting.”

  “Hunting,” the guard repeated, eyeing them. “Must have lost your bows.”

  “Must have.”

  “Well,” the guard said. “Get any kills?”

  The old giant’s grin widened. “Give it time.”

  The guard swallowed at that, glancing uncertainly at his companion. “Well, this way, sir. I’ll show you through. Anything else I can do for you?”

  “We’re lookin’ for a place to stay for the night. The Drunken Bard still around?”

  The guard nodded, apparently all too eager to share some good news. “So it is, Chosen. I reckon Hank’ll be here long after the city itself is gone, as stubborn as he is.”

  Larin grunted. “I suppose he will be at that.” He paused, glancing between the two guards. “Now, are we good?”

  “Of course, sir,” the guard answered hurriedly. “Unless, that is, you’d like me to show you to the Bard. I get off shift in a few minutes and—”

  “That’s quite alright,” Larin interrupted. “I’m old, but I haven’t lost all my wits, not yet. I remember the way.”

  “Yes, sir, Chosen, sir. I didn’t mean—” But Larin was already walking away, moving into the city.

  “He’s a real charmer, that one,” Katherine muttered.

  Alesh laughed. “Sure he is. It’s his winning personality that does it, I think. Anyway,” he went on quietly, glancing back at the guards as they started into the city, “at least they’re not trying to kill us. That’s something.”

  Katherine glanced down at herself and the dirt covering her. “I’m more surprised they didn’t try to kick us or put a leash on us. Anyway, they can kill us if they want—just so long as they let me get a bath first.” They laughed again at that, but sobered quickly enough. Partly because—if experience was any judge—it wouldn’t be long before somebody showed up to do just that. And another worry plaguing Katherine, one Alesh shared judging by his troubled expression, was whether Darl and the others would make it into the city as easily. Ferinans such as Darl caused suspicion and distrust in small-minded people at the best of times, and these were far from the best of times.

  ***

  “Halt!”

  Rion sighed, glancing at Darl and the two girls behind him, each of whom had already stopped several seconds before the guard’s call. Then he turned back and looked at the approaching gateguard. “I’d say we’re pretty well halted here.”

  If the man appreciated Rion’s humor, he did a good job of not showing it. Instead, he stalked forward, his hand on the hilt of the sword scabbarded at his side, his eyes narrowed as he studied each in turn. He continued to watch them silently for several seconds, a look of mild disgust on his face. Not that Rion could blame him. Their clothes were covered in dirt and sweat, and he didn’t think he could blame the stale odor he smelled on the city.

  Finally, the guard spoke. “What business do you have in Peralest?”

  Rion realized, at just that moment, he’d been too busy spending the last hours cursing every thorn and bush and the pebble in his boot to consider what he might tell the guards at the gate. He opened his mouth, hoping a worthy reason would come to him but none did, so he only stood there like a fool, his mouth hanging open, staring blankly.

  “Well?” the guard demanded. “You been struck mute or something?”

  Rion only stared, his mouth working, somehow unable to come up with anything to say. The guard’s grim expression grew grimmer, and Rion didn’t miss the way the man’s hand tightened around the hilt of his blade. He was going to be cut down for no other reason than he was dirty and covered in brambles and thorns, but he couldn’t seem to make his mouth work. Then Marta stepped forward, and the guard shifted his suspicious glare to her.

  “And just who are you?”

  “I’m Bellouise Cambra,” the girl answered as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, looking up at him with her hands on her hips. “Who are you?”

  The man’s hard glare faltered then and something that might have been amusement danced in his eyes. “I’m…that is, I’m Guardsman Pike.”

  “Truly?” she said, blinking. “That’s a funny name for a guard, isn’t it? It’s like if my name were Girly Girl.”

  The man shook his head slowly, a look on his face as if he was trying to convince himself the strange young girl standing before him was real. “Well. My father was a guardsman, and him before him. It’s the family business, I guess you’d say.”

  “Sure,” she said, nodding as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “What else would you be? Not bakers, that much is for sure. Or tailors either. Tailors are supposed to have soft, silky names. Names like ‘Claus’ or ‘Flynn.’ And bakers, well, they’re supposed to have big, fat names, aren’t they? Like ‘Earl’ or ‘Benjy.’” She frowned. “Or maybe that’s a dog name. Benjy the dog. Benjy the Baker. But then, that would probably depend on the breed of dog and—”

  “Forgive me, little miss,” Guardsman Pike interrupted with an undisguised urgency. “But I got to ask—you know, seein’ as I’m a guard and all. What are you folks doin’ here and what’s your business in Peralest?”

  “Well, why didn’t you just say so?” Marta asked as if genuinely curious. “What we’re doing just now is standing…and stinking too,” she said, glancing at Rion with a frown, “some of us more than others. Anyway, my father—that’s Lord Cambra—is considering beginning some mercantile ventures here. You see, he is the Merchant’s Guildmaster of Valeria, and he’s interested in importing goods, and exporting…” Her face screwed up in thought. “Oh, darnit, I’m sure he mentioned it. Forgive me, I can’t rightly recall what he intended to ship from here. Something…”

  “Grain?” the guard ventured.

  “Ah!” she said, grinning. “That was it. That was it exactly. Anyhow, he’s been in talks with some big uppity-up here, head of the Merchant’s Guild in Peralest, as I understand. Apparently, your city’s leader is quite excited about the whole prospect, seein’s as it’ll bring in a lot of coin to the city.”

  “Our leader?” the guard asked, and Rion winced inwardly. The girl was doing surprisingly well—at least, judging by the fact that they hadn’t been killed outright yet—but since her father wasn’t a merchant, there was no reason why she would know that Peralest didn’t have a single leader. Instead, they were led by a council of six men and women, chosen every decade. Rion however, who was the son of a merchant, knew it wel
l enough, as did the guard judging by the suspicion slowly beginning to creep back into his face.

  Rion opened his mouth to interject but struggled to come up with a name of one of the councilmembers. Marta, however, spoke on. “That’s right. Councilwoman Eshara, I believe it was.”

  The suspicion left the guardsman’s face in an instant, and it was all Rion could do to keep from sighing with relief. “Oh, sure,” the guard said, nodding. “Councilwoman Eshara knows what she’s about, there’s no question of that.” But judging by the slightly worried expression on the guardsman’s face, Rion thought it wasn’t just her knowledge the man was thinking of, but her displeasure, and what that might mean, if he should stand in the way of the daughter of a man she was trying to secure business with.

  “I’m sorry for all the questions, little miss,” the guard said. “Only, it’s my job, you know?”

  Marta held her nose up in the air, and her face took on a displeased expression. Had Rion not known better, he would have been convinced she was a rich noble too, so perfect was the imitation. “I prefer ‘Lady Cambra’ if it’s all the same to you.”

  The guard swallowed, his eyes growing slightly frantic. “O-of course, Lady. Forgive me, I meant no disrespect. Only…” He paused, glancing at Rion, Darl, and Sonya. “If you don’t mind me sayin’ so, Lady Cambra, you travel with an odd retinue.”

  “Oh?” she said, glancing back at her three soiled companions as if she saw nothing amiss. “Not so strange, surely. My father sometimes travels with all manner of men and creatures in his troupe. Why, once, when visiting the northern Cestern mountains I—”

  Rion noted the crease in the guardman’s eyebrows once more, and he leaned forward, speaking in a whisper, “Castarn.”

  She turned to look at him, and Rion let out a yelp of surprise as she unexpectedly reached up and slapped him on the face. “We might be far from Valeria, but I won’t have my manservant backtalking me,” she snapped.

  Rion brought a hand to his face where the skin stung and did his level best to suppress the urge to strangle the girl. He understood—she was doing what was necessary to maintain the cover she had concocted seemingly from thin air. And, judging by the worried expression on the guard’s face, she was doing a fine enough job. Still, it seemed to him there was a twinkle in her eye that said she had enjoyed striking him more than was necessary.

  She sighed, rolling her eyes and turning back to the stricken guard. “Forgive me, but good help is so hard to find these days. As I was saying, when we were visiting the Castarn mountains to the north, my father captured a wild cat. At least three times as big as a man, it was. And hungry, too. I know on account of I once saw him feed it a servant who wasted his time. The creature barely even hesitated, just gobbled him right up. I’ve never been gobbled before, have you, sir?”

  “I…that is…no, Lady Cambra,” the guard floundered.

  She nodded thoughtfully. “Well, that’s something. I can’t speak from experience obviously, but it looked painful.” She leaned forward. “Very painful. But then, that is how my father usually deals with things—or people—who get in his way. You understand?”

  The guard’s face had gone a pale white, and he nodded quickly. “Yes, Lady Cambra. Well, if you and your…companions are ready, I’ll be showing you into the city now.”

  “I believe, dear sir,” she said, watching him, “that we are quite past ready. It has been a long journey, and we are very tired.”

  “Yes, of course. Is there a particular inn to which the lady would like to be shown?”

  She pretended to consider that for a moment, tapping one finger on her chin. “My father spoke of one such establishment, the one he has used on his own visits to the city. The Drunken Bard, I believe it was called.”

  “A fine place, madam, truly,” the guard said. “I’d be only too happy to show you—”

  “I think we will show ourselves there, thank you,” she interrupted in an imperious tone that brooked no argument. “You have done quite enough, Guardsman…Pike, wasn’t it?”

  The man looked to Rion as if he was considering turning and running off into the woods, never mind that night was coming on, but he nodded tightly, bowing his head. “Yes, mistress. Guardsman Pike, at your and your family’s service. And the Council’s, of course.”

  “Of course,” Marta said, her voice coated with disdain. “Well, carry on.” And with that, she swept toward the still-closed gate as if she meant to walk right through it. The guardsman waved frantically at his companion who quickly raised the gate, managing it only seconds before Marta arrived, walking straight through as if such subservience was only her due.

  Rion glanced at Darl and Sonya, both looking as shocked and confused as he, then they hurried after her. They’d barely stepped foot in the city when the guard ran up again. “Forgive me, Lady Cambra,” Guardsman Pike said, “but, just one more question, if it pleases you. Your speech…it is odd, for a lady of your…station.”

  “Oh?” she asked, her eyebrows narrowing dangerously. “And you, Guardsman Pike, have an odd way of committing suicide. That is what you’re doing just now, isn’t it? Asking to be killed? Or gobbled, perhaps?”

  The man’s face grew paler still—something Rion wouldn’t have thought possible had he not been there to see it—then he bowed his head so fast it was a wonder it didn’t come flying off his shoulders. “Enjoy your stay in the city, Lady,” he managed in a choked voice.

  Marta sniffed. “Doubtful,” she said, then turned and walked down the main road, the others following behind her.

  Rion waited until they were out of earshot of the guards then turned to her. “Enjoy yourself, did you?”

  Marta blinked innocently. “I don’t know what you mean, manservant.”

  “That was amazing!” Sonya said, running up and clapping her hands.

  “Well done, Marta,” Darl said, and at the Ferinan’s words, Marta beamed with pleasure.

  “Amazing?” Rion said. “It was certainly something. Anyway, how did you know the councilwoman’s name?”

  “Councilwoman Eshara, you mean?” she said, grinning mischievously. “Well, you see, my father and the councilwoman—”

  “Enough,” Rion growled. “Tell me the truth.”

  At mention of the truth, Marta seemed uncomfortable, and she began to fidget. “Well. I mean, there’s always an Eshara on a council, isn’t there? I’ll tell you, I knew an Eshara once—she was a dragon. She was on a council too only—”

  “Enough,” Rion said again. “How did you know?”

  Marta sighed. “Fine. I guess, if you really want the truth, maybe I read it in a book?”

  Rion considered that then finally nodded. “Well, it’s a good thing you did, otherwise—”

  “There’s just one problem,” Marta said, grinning evilly.

  Rion narrowed his eyes. “What’s that?”

  “I can’t read!” she exclaimed, clearly pleased. “Now,” she said, before Rion could retort, “let’s go find this Drunken Bard. I’m curious to know what sorts of songs he’ll sing, and if he slurs or not.”

  Then, before Rion could say anything, she skipped away down the street, Sonya laughing and following. Rion stared after them, dumbfounded.

  “It seems, friend Rion,” the Ferinan said from beside him, “you have met your match in this one.”

  Rion stood immobile as Darl followed the two girls. Then he finally shook his head and walked on. At least the streets were nearly deserted, the city’s citizens apparently preferring to take shelter in doors as night came on, so they didn’t have to worry about anyone attacking them or the two girls who had ranged some distance ahead. Unless, he thought, scowling at Marta’s back, it’s me.

  Chapter Nine

  With a name like The Drunken Bard, Alesh had expected the inn to be a run down, seedy sort of establishment. But the door was well made, polished oak, and the sign hanging above it was engraved and detailed with work he knew would have cost a considerable sum. No b
eggars loitered outside, and he heard no angry shouts or drunken laughter from within.

  He glanced at Larin in question, but the old Chosen only gave a shrug of his massive shoulders. Nodding, Alesh opened the door and stepped inside, the others following behind him. He immediately felt out of place. The floor of the inn’s common room was a fine wood, polished so brightly he could nearly see his reflection in it, and the tables at which the inn’s patrons sat were of a much finer make than the crude, battered furnishings in most inns he’d visited, sporting engravings and stylized designs on the legs and surfaces instead of the pock-marks and blood-stains he’d grown used to.

  The patrons themselves were of a different caliber than those who frequented the inns he’d been in lately as well. Nowhere in sight were the men and women with hard looks in their eyes and bulges beneath their stained leather jerkins indicating concealed blades, and he saw no evidence of the fist fights that normally occurred in such establishments. Instead, the men and women seated at the tables were dressed in fine clothes—all, it was clear, of at least moderate wealth—and they spoke in quiet, almost subdued tones. It seemed to Alesh as if he stood in the entrance of a library instead of an inn, and with his filthy clothes and bramble-covered hair, he felt like a mongrel dog sitting down at a noble’s feast. He was surprised to find himself wishing for those coarse, boisterous inns instead of this sterile, almost dead place.

  “Come,” Larin said from beside him, “the place might look like some fancy noble’s dining hall, but Hank, the owner, is a good enough sort, if any man can be said to be. Let’s see what we can do about getting you and your companions a change of clothes. And,” he said, leaning in and giving a single sniff, “a bath couldn’t hurt either.”

  Katherine laughed, and Alesh grinned back, raising an eyebrow at her own disheveled appearance. Then they followed Larin to the bar where a stick-thin old man stood behind the counter hunched over an empty ale mug he was busy cleaning, though even from this distance Alesh could tell he’d eaten and drank from dishes far dirtier.