The old man didn’t look up at their approach, didn’t even so much as seem to notice as Larin took a seat at the bar and Alesh and Katherine followed suit. The giant glanced at Alesh and Katherine and winced, as if embarrassed, then he cleared his throat loudly. The old man, if he heard, gave no sign, but continued to wipe at the mug with the cloth he held with an almost frantic intensity.
“Hank?” Larin asked.
No answer, and the big man shot an almost guilty look at Alesh and Katherine before he leaned over and tapped the old man on the shoulder. The skinny man started, fumbling and nearly dropping the empty glass before he managed to catch it. Then, scowling, he looked up at the three of them. His gaze settled on Larin, and he scowled. “Larin, you old son of a bitch. What do you think you’re doing here?”
The giant grunted, scowling himself. “Watching a dried-up old man nearly shit himself, it seems.”
The thin barkeeper studied him for several seconds then he set the rag and glass down. He walked around the counter, his eyes never leaving Larin, until he finally came to stand directly in front of the man. “Well,” he said. “I might be old, might be dried-up too, but that don’t mean I can’t kick the shit out of somebody, I see he’s got it comin’.”
“You sure about that?” Larin growled, rising to stand erect at his full height, looming over the old man by at least two feet. “Chances are you’d put out your hip, and then what would all the city’s whores think, you didn’t come around to visit?”
Suddenly, the two men burst into grins and embraced, patting each other heartily on the back, and Alesh breathed a sigh of relief. “I don’t reckon they’d be too upset about it,” the old man said. “I figure those poor women ought to get paid extra just for lyin’ in the bed with an old piece of gnarled leather like me and managin’ to keep a straight face.”
Larin grinned widely, the first genuine sign of pleasure Alesh had seen from the man since they’d met. “Well, I won’t argue with you, not on that.”
“Look at you, though,” the thin man said, eyeing Larin up and down and shaking his head. “Just as big a bastard now as you ever were. Bein’ honest, I didn’t reckon I’d see you again, not this side of the grave anyway. So what’s happened then—you get tired of eatin’ sand out there in your desert?”
Slowly, Larin’s smile faded. “It’s a long story, Hank. Suffice to say, I don’t imagine I’ll be going back there, not anytime soon.”
The old man nodded slowly. “Well. That’s alright then. Big fella like you shouldn’t be livin’ on lizard and snakes anyway. Why, you’ll mess around and wither up like an old prune.”
“Yeah?” Larin asked, eyeing the old man up and down.
“Shit, I’d know, wouldn’t I?” the innkeeper said. “Anyway, who are your friends?”
Larin winced and grabbed the innkeeper by the arm, pulling him close. “Better all around, if we don’t worry about names, Hank. That work with you?”
The old man grunted. “Doesn’t matter much to me—the gods know I’d just forget ‘em. Anyhow,” he said, offering his hand to Alesh, “nice to meet you.”
Alesh took it and was surprised by the thin man’s firm shake. “You too.”
“And you, my dear,” the thin man said, turning to Katherine, “are a sight better’n an old man like me hopes to see, he wakes up of a mornin’.”
Katherine blushed, and with the slight color to her cheeks and the sparkle of her green eyes in the soft glow of the common room’s lanterns, Alesh was forced to agree and never mind the brambles sticking out of her hair. “Thank you, sir. It’s a pleasure.”
The old man grinned, giving her a wink that somehow managed to be flattering without being lecherous. “The pleasure’s all mine, miss, the gods know that’s the truth.”
“Alright, you old pervert,” Larin said, but he was grinning as he did, “why don’t you leave off ogling her long enough to get us an ale, eh?”
The old man rolled his eyes, sighing at Katherine and Alesh. “For a Chosen of the Gods, the bastard sure is ornery, ain’t he?” he asked, then he turned and made his slow way back around the counter and began pouring the ale.
As they waited, Alesh realized that despite his first impression, he liked this place. Sure, it might have seemed sterile enough at first glance, dead even, but the old innkeeper gave it plenty of life, and Alesh felt more at peace, more welcome than he had in a long time.
“Now then,” Hank said, sitting three foaming mugs of ale before them, “I hope you like the ale—it’s of my own makin’, that. And if you don’t like it, well, do me a favor and lie, will you? This old man ain’t got a lot left to be prideful about, but the gods as my witness I’ll admit when it comes to my brews, I’m a bit touchy.”
Alesh grinned, taking a drink to be polite more than anything else, and his eyes went wide at the taste. “Sir, this…this is the best ale I’ve ever had.”
“Well, boy,” Hank said, grinning, “you ain’t got to go blowin’ smoke, you don’t want to. Still, I appreciate that—I truly do. Now, how is it, I wonder, a couple of nice young folks like yourselves come to get wrapped up with this mean old bastard?” he asked, nodding his head at Larin who only sighed.
“That’s…a long story,” Alesh said. “And…well, if names are better left out of it, then how we came to meet him probably is too.”
The old man shrugged. “Well, you can’t blame a guy for tryin’, but your business is your business, just so long as you want to keep it that way. Still, it’s too bad. Might have been nice to hear a story of a good fight.”
“Fight?” Alesh asked, suddenly feeling suspicious.
“Easy there, young fella,” the innkeeper said, holding up a hand. “I didn’t mean no harm. But—and this is just my experience, mind—folks don’t tend to have bandages like that ‘less they’ve been in some scrap or another. I’ve been in enough to know, Amedan help me.” He nodded at Alesh’s arm and the other assorted wounds Larin had seen to.
Alesh glanced at Larin who grunted. “You always did have good eyes, Hank. Whether you’re in a bar or a battlefield, I suppose some things don’t change.”
“Shit I’m old, Larin, not dead,” Hank said, laughing. “Anyhow, seems I recall these eyes saved your ass more’n once. As for some things changing…” He sighed. “Well, my experience, most things do, sooner or later.”
The man’s expression grew somber then, and Larin reached over and placed a hand on the old man’s bony shoulder with a tenderness Alesh would not have expected of him. “You were a good soldier, Hank. The best I ever had under me, and that’s no lie.”
“Sure,” the innkeeper said, a wistful expression on his face. “And now I’m a dried-up old man, and what’s the difference?”
“Well,” Larin said, barking a laugh, “as you said, those eyes of yours are the only reason I’m still breathin’, so I’d say for me, at least, it’s a damned big difference.”
If the old innkeeper heard, he gave no sign. Instead, he nodded slowly, his gaze getting a far away look. “Anyway, I was a different man back then. All full of piss and vinegar, ready to fight any bastard so much as looked at me sideways. Now though, I don’t reckon I got any piss left in me—leastways, if I do, I don’t know how considerin’ I got to run to the privy every ten minutes.” He shook his head. “It comes on you slow, but it comes just the same. Slow and slower, the passin’ of years, feelin’ the same as you always have. Sure, in your thirties, maybe your knees ache a little more than they did back in your twenties. And maybe in your forties you get hair in places you didn’t much figure you’d ever have it. But you still reckon, somewhere deep down, that you’ll live forever. Yeah, the world might change, and all the people in it, but not you. How could you? I mean, you’re you, understand? Even in your sixties when your hair starts goin’ gray, most fallin’ out and the rest as thin and fragile as a king’s patience, why, even then you figure it’s nothin’, knowin’ you’re immortal all the same.”
He was silent for
some time then, and Alesh was just about to try to say something to get rid of the haunted look in the old man’s features when he spoke again. “Slow it comes, day by day, year by year, until it comes fast. All at once, hittin’ you like a damned runaway horse with a purpose, then all of a sudden you wake up and you hurt in more places than you don’t, and you realize you’ve developed a hate, I mean a gods-cursed hate for stairs you’dve never even reckoned possible when you were younger.” He sighed, shrugging. “Anyhow, it happens to us all. Time’s a bitch, but she’s thorough; I’ll give her that, at least. Even you,” he said, nodding his head at Larin. “She gets us all sooner or later, and no blessin’ of man or god can stay her, not forever.”
“You’ve lived a good life, Hank,” Larin said, a somber note in his own voice. “You made a difference. If not for you…”
Hank laughed. “Yeah, if not for me some other poor bastard would have been the one trompsin’ through those woods, goin’ out and huntin’ creatures with fangs and teeth that most sane folk’d be hidin’ under their beds like children just at the mention of. Ah, those were damned terrible times, Larin. Plenty of hurts from those days and no mistake. Why, I got more scars than I got skin, and I bled more’n I would’ve thought any man could without visitin’ the Keeper. Buried friends too, more than I like to think on, but you know what the damndest part of it all is?”
“What’s that?” Larin asked, his voice quiet.
The thin man looked up at him, and in the set of his jaw, the steely resolve in his eyes, Alesh thought he could see some of the soldier he had once been. “I miss it. Despite all the terrible bloodlettin’, despite nights spent ready to piss myself for hearin’ those damned creatures skulking around in the woods, despite even all the friends I lost, I miss it. That’s a damn hard thing to understand, even for me, but there it is. Funny how you never feel as alive as when you’re expectin’ to die. Don’t get me wrong,” he added hastily, “I love this inn, even if the nobles have stolen all the damned blood and life out of the place. But since I retired from soldiering…well, everythin’ feels sort of pointless, I guess.”
“It’s a fairly common thing for old soldiers to miss the glory days, Hank. To miss the camaraderie, the men who they fought with, the feeling of family.”
The old man nodded slowly, studying Larin. “And you? Do you miss it? Miss them?”
Larin snorted. “I hated all those bastards. But then, I’m a hateful man.”
“Sure, but you saved all of our hides more than once, hateful or not, and for that I’m grateful. Still, I can’t help thinkin’ it would have been better to go out fightin’, in a riot of blood and steel, of courage and purpose. I used to think myself lucky, survivin’ when so many others didn’t, but now I’m not so sure. They’ll always be young, you understand, always glorious, while I’m forced to remain, dyin’ just the same but one piece at a time, one year at a time, and no enemy to fight, no last, heroic charge to make.”
“But you were—you are a hero, Hank,” Larin objected. “You know that—those of us who are left remember well what you did.”
The innkeeper shrugged. “I’m an old man, Larin, a dusty, ancient innkeeper whose face looks a little more like a skull every day. And as for memory, I can’t recall as much as I once did. And what I do recall…well, the good fades quickly enough but the bad…the bad lingers, much like I do myself.”
The two lapsed into silence then, and Alesh nursed his ale, saying nothing, doing nothing that might threaten that fragile silence, for it belonged to the two men, to their memories, and it was not his to break. “Well,” the old innkeeper said after a few minutes in a gruff voice, running a wiry arm across his eyes, “that’s more than enough of that, I think. I imagine the three of you would like a bath, maybe somethin’ to eat too and a bed to lay your head on, eh?”
Alesh had been so wrapped up in the old man’s words, in the emotion in his face, he’d practically forgotten his own disheveled state, and at the mention of food, his stomach gave a rumble, as if to remind him that yes it did still exist, and no, it wasn’t particularly pleased with him. “That would be great, if it isn’t too much trouble,” he said.
Hank grinned. “After you listenin’ to an old man’s bitchin’ I figure it’s the least I can do, ain’t it? Now, Tilda—that’s my cook—has got some beef stew on. Leastways, I reckon it’s beef. There’s been a bit of a shortage on livestock comin’ in to Peralest lately.” He paused, eyeing them with a knowing expression. “Some sort of row up around Valeria way. Fugitives on the run or some such.” He paused, only for a moment, and he must have seen something in their faces, for he grinned, giving a single nod. “Anyhow, if you all will wait here for a bit, I’ll fix three bowls.”
Larin tossed a few coins on the counter. “Make it seven. We have some friends meeting us.”
Hank eyed the coins. “That’s twice what I’d charge, even for seven. Besides, you know your coin ain’t no good here.”
“Just take it, you bastard,” Larin said, “the last thing I need is to be in your pocket.”
The innkeeper shrugged his thin shoulders before one of his hands shot out and scooped up the coins. “Far be it from me to argue with one of the Chosen of the Gods themselves.”
He turned and walked toward a door leading to the kitchen, and Larin shook his head as he watched him go. “Old bastard.”
“He’s an interesting man,” Katherine said, echoing Alesh’s own thoughts. “But…sad, I think.”
The old giant grunted. “Don’t let his bullshit fool you—Hank was the best soldier I ever served with during the Night Wars. A damned terror on the battlefield and as loyal as they come. That sword there,” he continued, nodding at an old beaten scabbard mounted to the wall behind the bar, “did more to defeat the night’s creatures and those men who sided with them than a dozen other soldiers. He was a Torchbearer—one of the elite.”
“Really?” Katherine asked impressed.
“Yes,” Larin said, sighing. “But that was a long time ago. And the nightlings are back, worse than ever. And if that Ekirani I saw is anything to go by, even they aren’t the worst of it.”
There was nothing to say to that, so they sat in silence waiting for the innkeeper to return.
***
Rion and the others arrived moments before Hank returned with the food, and they all took a table at the common room to eat. Sonya recounted—in a clearly admiring voice—how Marta had managed to get them into the gate, and Alesh had to admit he was impressed. It seemed the little girl’s lies had come in handy after all. They talked some small bit after that, but of inconsequential things, all of them too hungry for much more and all obviously avoiding the question they all shared. Namely, what would they do now?
They had escaped the Broken and the Redeemers who followed him, at least for the time being, but Alesh knew—as did the others, judging by the worry in their expressions which they tried and failed to hide—that the exiled Ekirani would not stop hunting them. This far to the south, close to the desert, there weren’t nearly as many villages and cities as there were further north. It wouldn’t take the Broken and the Redeemers long to decide to check Peralest, and if Alesh and the others were cornered in the city, he knew all too well what would happen.
But he told himself there was nothing he could do about that—not now. Just as there was nothing he could do about the way the few other patrons in the inn’s common room watched him and his companions warily, sneaking glances and whispering to each other. He could not hear their words, but Alesh thought he knew well enough what they would be. They were a strange group to say the least, one to arouse suspicions in the best of times, and he suspected the state of their clothes didn’t do much to help matters.
But the common room’s patrons would have to take care of themselves, and he believed—needed to believe—that the Broken would not find him and the others, not tonight at least. After all, there weren’t many cities or towns close enough to the desert they might have chosen
for refuge, but there were some, and it would take the Ekirani and those who followed him some time to comb through each one. Alesh and the others were safe, at least for one night. And when tomorrow came…well, he didn’t know. Knew only that they could not continue as they had, could not flee and run, hoping that the darkness would be content to leave them alone. Because the darkness, he’d learned, was never content, was always hungry no matter how much of the world it cast in shadow.
As they ate, he worried over their course like a dog at the last remaining strips of leathery gristle on some old bone. But if there was an answer, his searching did not find it. Hank came by a few minutes later to check on them. Rion—who was the only one finished eating—purchased a room from the old innkeeper, bidding them all an exhausted goodnight before heading upstairs to get a bath and some much-needed sleep.
Alesh watched the man go, wondering if he looked as beaten down as Rion. The last few weeks had been trying on all of them, and he thought that it would get worse before it got better. If, that was, it got better at all. A few minutes later, Hank returned, and showed Darl and the two girls to their rooms, leaving only Alesh, Katherine, and Larin sitting at the table.
Alesh finally pushed his half-eaten bowl away, unable to eat anymore for the worry that was growing in him. They all expected him to know what to do, to lead them. They trusted him, yet he could think of no way forward, no plan that wouldn’t end in their inevitable deaths. He was still thinking on this when the old innkeeper came back, an apologetic expression on his face. “I uh…I just realized we might have a problem.”
Alesh’s hand was on the sword he’d propped against his chair before he’d realized it, and Hank held his hands up. “Not a problem that can be killed, not this one. See…” He trailed off, looking embarrassed. “Well, the thing is…Fairday’s tomorrow, you understand? The city has one every year to bring in the spring. Or, at least, that’s the reason the Council gives. You ask me, it’s just an excuse for folks to get liquored up and act fools, but I suppose there’s worse things than that. It ain’t no big affair, not like the rows in Valeria or Ilrika—though from what I hear I don’t imagine they’ve had much to celebrate of late. But it ain’t no small thing neither, and folks from the neighboring hamlets and villages have come to visit the city. Lookin’ to see what kinds of trouble they can get up to, I reckon.”
The Warriors of the Gods Page 6
