“What are you trying to say, Hank?” Larin asked.
The older man winced. “Well, see. Thing is, I wouldn’t have even thought it a problem, not on a normal day. Only, with so many people in the city, all of ‘em lookin’ for a place to stay, see…”
The innkeeper hesitated, and Larin finished for him. “You don’t have any more rooms.”
“’Course I do!” Hank protested, as if offended. “Leastways,” he went on in little more than a whisper, “one more.”
Larin grunted. “Well. I didn’t aim to get any sleep tonight, anyway. I’ve got some business to be about while I’m in the city. You two can share it.”
Alesh felt his face heat, and he glanced at Katherine to see she was blushing as well. “I…it’s fine,” he said. “I’m not that tired.”
Larin snorted. “Don’t be a fool, boy. You look as if you’re liable to topple at any moment. Ain’t no shame in bein’ tired. Even the gods got to rest sometimes, and you’ll do that wound of yours no favors you don’t give your body the time it needs to heal.”
Alesh cleared his throat, glancing sidelong at Katherine before looking back to the giant. “Well, the thing is…I don’t…I couldn’t…”
Larin frowned, glancing between Alesh and Katherine. “Oh, I see how it is.”
Hank grinned. “Sure, why not? Just ‘cause you’re a cold old bastard don’t mean everyone is, does it? Some folks still got life in their veins.”
Alesh felt his face heat further. “Really, I’m fine. I’ll just—”
“You’ll just get the sleep you need, that’s what you’ll do,” Larin growled. “I’m not goin’ to have you risking the work I put in keeping you alive because you’re embarrassed. Gods, I’m not asking the two of you to marry. Sleep on the floor, if it pleases you, but you will sleep, even if I have to knock you out and drag your ass up there myself.”
Alesh opened his mouth to protest again, but Katherine spoke first. “It’s fine, really.” She turned to Hank who was still grinning and did her best at a formal tone that failed to completely hide her own embarrassment. “I would like to get a bath first. Is that possible?”
“’Course it is,” Hank said. “I’ve a tub in the back you can use, a good lock on the door. Or…” He paused, grinning widely. “Or I can have some of my workers bring a tub and water up to the room, if you’d prefer.”
“I’ll use the tub in the back, thank you,” Katherine managed in a choked voice, and Hank cackled.
“Alright, if’n you say so. But take it from me, the two of you. Life’s short at the best of times, and judgin’ by the looks of you, ain’t neither of you seen the best of times in a while now. A man’s got to take hold of this world and squeeze what pleasure he can from it, you understand?”
Katherine glanced at Alesh, an expression on her face he couldn’t identify, then she rose, looking back to the innkeeper once more. “The tub?”
Alesh watched him lead her away, staring after them and unsure of how he was feeling. He was still watching when Larin spoke. “You’re a damned fool. You know that, don’t you?”
Alesh grunted. “You’ve told me as much.”
“Look, boy, it ain’t none of my business, and I don’t know why I’m botherin’ with tellin’ you. But that woman, she likes you. Don’t ask me why, as I can’t imagine, but she does.”
Alesh shook his head. “I don’t, I mean she doesn’t—”
“She does,” the old giant growled. “It’s plain enough to see, if you ain’t blind. And Hank might be a nosy old bastard, but he’s right about this much at least—life is short. Chances are, with what you and those with you are up against, it’s going to be a whole lot shorter. You’ve got tough times ahead—shit, you’re already in ‘em. All I’m sayin’ is, if you can find somethin’ to make that time a little more bearable…well. There’s worse things. Understand?”
“What about you?” Alesh said, desperate to change the subject. “During the wars, did you ever find something or…someone? To make it more bearable?”
The old giant’s entire body went tense, and his expression grew stonier, more forbidding, than Alesh had yet seen. Alesh tensed, suddenly sure the man was going to attack him or at least shout at the intrusion into his business. Finally, the anger on Larin’s face faded leaving him looking only tired and somehow haunted. “This ain’t about me,” he said. “The good and the bad—they’re all behind me now. Whatever I found…whatever I lost…it ain’t nothin’ but a thing that happened, a thing of which even the memory will soon pass from this world. Look, lad, I know you can fight—saw that much by the way you managed against that Ekirani despite your wounds. And I know you got anger enough to burn the whole damned world, you thought it got in your way. Both those things are good, both will serve you in what’s comin’. But they’re not enough, understand? It ain’t enough to want to fight, to be able to do it. You got to have a reason, and that reason can’t be blood, or not only that. Oh, you go lookin’ for it, you’ll find it right enough, but that’s the funny thing about blood, about killin’. It’ll never satisfy you, not really.”
It was the most Larin had said to him since they’d met and by the vaguely surprised expression on the other man’s face, he thought it was probably more than he had said to anyone in a long time.
“Anyway, that’s the advice of an old man just…how was it Hank put it? Oh, that’s right. Lingerin’. Now, forget all that for the moment. Have you decided what you’re going to do?”
Alesh was happy to put thoughts of Katherine and how he felt about her out of his mind. Oh, he liked her, sure, how could he not? But the memory of what he had done, of the men he had killed—and not just killed but enjoyed killing—was still too fresh to think of such things. He sighed. “No. We need to deal with Tesharna and Kale somehow. And, of course, there’s the shadow thing, the one that took Sonya. And the Ekirani.” He shook his head, biting back a curse. “It’s too much. There’s too many of them to take on.”
Larin grunted. “The gods are involved this time, that much is certain. That shadow has a god backing him, though which I couldn’t guess. As for the Ekirani exile, he’s god-touched if anybody ever was, and my guess’d be Paren. That big bastard loves blood and death, feeds on it, and I don’t imagine there’s anybody breathin’ who’ll give him as much of it as that Ekirani. And too many, you say?” He nodded slowly, a small, wistful smile coming to his face. “I remember sayin’ much the same to Brent, many years ago.”
“Oh?” Alesh asked, surprising himself with how excited he was to hear anything about Olliman.
“Sure,” Larin said. “You got to understand, boy, even when Amedan Chose me and the others, even when we formed the Torchbearers, we were still outnumbered by the nightlings. Shit, three to one or more. I remember a night we were sittin’ in Brent’s command tent out in a field. See, we were goin’ into battle the next day—the first real bloodlettin’ the Torchbearers had seen—and I’ll admit to bein’ a bit…well. I was going to call it nervous, but let’s call it what it was—I was just about scared out of my mind. ‘There’s too damned many, Brent’ I told him. ‘We can’t beat that many all at once, no way in this world.’ And you know what he told me?”
Alesh only shook his head.
Larin gave a small smile at the memory. “He told me we weren’t going to beat them, not all at once. Instead, he told me to fight one at a time, to beat one at a time. And sooner or later, I’d finish and find there was nothing before me but clean air and bright skies.”
Alesh nodded slowly, thinking he understood. Fighting a whole army, or fighting so many enemies, was impossible. He would have to fight them one at a time, the way Olliman had said. “So what did you do?”
Larin laughed. “I did what he told me, and sure enough, Brent was right. Oh, it wasn’t over in a day, or a week, not even in a year. But eventually, I cut down the creature I was fightin’ only to find there weren’t anymore to fight. That’s what you do, boy,” he said, meeting Alesh’s
eyes. “You fight them one at a time. And sooner or later, if you’re lucky, you’ll come out of the shadow and see daylight again.”
“Thanks,” Alesh said, and meant it. “Now, I guess I’d just better figure out where to start.”
Larin grunted. “As to that, I just might have an idea. The friend I told you about? Well, he’s a priest, and the last I heard, he was stationed here in Peralest. I can’t promise he’s still here—twenty years is a long time. When you’re as old as I am, survivin’ each year comes as a bit of a surprise. But I mean to go out lookin’ for him tonight. If I can find him, might be he’d be willin’ to watch over the two girls for you, maybe even point you in the direction of some folks are still loyal to Amedan.”
Alesh felt a surge of hope, the first he’d felt in sometime. “That’s great. I’ll go with you.” He started to rise but was stopped by the big man’s hand on his shoulder.
“No, lad. I think I’m beginnin’ to see what Brent saw in you, but you’d best sit this one out. What you need more than anythin’ is rest. Now, you go on up there and take it. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“But you’ll let me know?” Alesh insisted. “As soon as you’re back?”
The big man sighed. “Fine, fine. Just as soon as I’m back. Now, go on and get some sleep—and a bath too, while you’re at it. I’ve seen dead men looked better’n you.”
Alesh nodded, getting to his feet and starting away. Then he paused, turning back to the old giant still seated at the table. “Larin?”
“Yeah, lad?”
“Thanks.”
Larin looked more uncomfortable than Alesh had yet seen him, and when he began to fidget, Alesh grinned. “Ah, go on then, you bastard,” Larin said. Alesh did, but when he glanced back over his shoulder, he saw the big man was smiling.
Chapter Ten
The Drunken Bard sat on one of the finest streets in Peralest, surrounded by the fancy mansions of wealthy merchants and tradesmen. Few people walked the lantern-lit streets, and the clothes of those Larin passed marked them as servants. The merchants and tradesmen could afford to pay other, less fortunate people to do any errands they might require during the night.
The thought rankled Larin. He had fought the creatures of darkness for nearly his whole life, knew well what terrible truths the shadows held and, to his mind, no man should ever ask—or command—another into that darkness. Those servants might think themselves safe in the middle of a city, traveling streets far better lit than most. But Larin knew better.
He had seen the Darkness strike when least expected, had seen men alive and well one moment brought down the next in a flurry of fangs and claws. But that was not the worst he had seen during the wars. That honor went to those others, those men and women who dedicated themselves to the Darkness, who served it and its creatures, committing unspeakable crimes in the name of the gods they served. Men and women who walked like any other, talked like any other, yet beneath their skin, darkness writhed, and their hearts were blackened with their own corruption.
These, he knew, were the most dangerous of the Dark’s threats. As long as a man lived among others, he was never truly safe. It was one of the main reasons he had moved to the desert so many years ago, the reason he had abandoned society and all its trappings, choosing instead to live on his own, apart from his kind. It had taken him years, had cost him a castle, but now he realized that he had been wrong. Running away never solved anything—not in battle and not in life. He had told himself he was disgusted by the world, that he had given it enough and that it could demand no more of him. He had even believed, deep down, that what he did was noble, setting himself apart, accepting the inevitable loneliness to remain somehow…pure. Somehow…clean.
He realized now he had only been a coward, his reasons—which had seemed so good at the time—no more than the rationalizations of a man seeking to justify his own cowardice. He had not walked nobly into the darkness; he had fled into it. That was the truth. He had left the world which had taken so much from him, and in doing so, he had allowed it to continue to take from others, to wound them as he had been wounded. He had been a coward. But he would not be one any longer. He would help Alesh and the others as much as he could. It would not atone for twenty years of ignoring the pain and suffering of those around him, not nearly, but it was all he could do.
He made his way through the city streets toward the poor quarter. Soon, his surroundings began to change. Gone were the long, paved drives, flanked on either side by decorative flowers and bushes, leading to ornate doorways and elaborate homes. The houses here were smaller, squat and functional and, he had to admit, ugly. But there was something honest about their ugliness, comforting in a way, and he felt some of the tension begin to ease from his shoulders as he pressed further into the poor quarter.
Before long, he began to hear raucous laughter coming from the taverns he passed, saw prostitutes hanging from windows wearing little clothes or none at all as they shouted out invitations to him. He ignored them, continuing until he finally arrived at his destination. The Council of the city had argued with the priests who had chosen to put the church here, in the poor quarter, but the priests had persisted, claiming the destitute had far more need of their help than the rich and powerful. The argument had gone on for some time but, in the end, the priests had won, and so the church had been built in the center of the city’s poorest district.
Like the buildings around it, the church was a simple structure, adorned with no decorations save a stone sculpture in the grounds before it. The statue depicted a man-sized torch, one of the symbols of Amedan, the God of Fire and Light. But unlike the shops and buildings surrounding it, the church was large, obviously built to last, and clean, its walls and grounds possessing none of the litter and markings that marred so many of its neighbors. Despite the lateness of the hour, lights shone within, welcoming any who might be searching for sanctuary.
Larin thought it interesting that, this late, the only people who still invited strangers inside were whores and priests. Perhaps that said something about the nature of the world, the nature of man. Perhaps Brent, in his wisdom, might have known, but Larin had never been the clever one. He had not become famous for the works of his mind, but of his hands. So he used them now, moving to the door and throwing it open.
Wall sconces burned dimly on either side of the entryway, illuminating a short hall which opened into a wide room serving as the place of worship for any who came to the church. Larin ventured inside. Tonight, at least, it seemed no one had come to the church for shelter, and Larin was alone. Alone, that was, except for the priest who sat in one of the front pews, his head lolling as he drifted in and out of wakefulness.
If any sign was needed that the world he and the other Chosen—along with all those thousands of men and women who had given their lives—had fought so hard to save was sliding back into the darkness, then Larin thought that was proof enough. Here was one of those men tasked with the constant battle against the Darkness, and he, like so many other warriors of the Light, was asleep on his watch. Gods help us. Larin approached the man then frowned down at him, wanting to reach out and give him a good shake. Still, he was here to find an old friend, to ask for help, and he thought starting the exchange by rattling the cage of one of Gustav’s underlings might not be the most politic way to begin things. Larin had never been known for his social graces, but he thought this time, at least, he would refrain, though he promised himself he would have a pointed word with his friend about the quality of men serving under him.
Now, though, calmness was called for. Maybe even kindness. So he didn’t grab the priest and shake him as he wanted to. Instead, he grabbed the pew, making use of his considerable muscles to lift it—and the sleeping priest—off the floor before dropping it back down again.
The priest let out a shout of surprise, starting awake. He lost his balance in his panicked flailing and managed to fall, getting stuck in the narrow space between the pew on which he’d
been sitting and the one in front of it. He hissed something too low for Larin to hear, but might have been a curse, then glanced up. Upon seeing Larin looming over him, the priest’s eyes went wide.
He tried to extricate himself from the small space into which he’d fallen, but he was stuck and after several seconds of straining decided to give it up as a bad job. Instead, he made a visible effort to take on the wise, studied expression that Larin supposed was what he thought a priest should make as he looked up from his awkward position. “Hello, my son. How may Amedan’s servants help you today?”
The old giant grunted. “Seems to me you’re the one needin’ help, Priest.” The robed man let out a squawk of surprise as Larin gripped him by his robes and levered him to his feet, knocking one of the pews aside as he did.
Once he had his legs under him, the priest took a moment, wiping at an invisible spot of dust on his robes. “Ah, yes well, thank you for the assistance, my son,” he said, clearing his throat.
The man was considerably younger than most priests. In his early twenties, no more than that. In Larin’s day, one so young would never have been given a full priesthood, but would have spent many more years as an acolyte, training under other wiser—or at least older—men.
“Son, is it?” he said, displaying his teeth in a grin without humor.
The young priest glanced around as if looking for some means of escape, or perhaps salvation, but he nodded slowly. “Or, forgive me—sir, I meant. What…what can I do for you?”
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