The nobleman was still slouched over the table, his only answer what might have been a grunt or a snore, and Bastion grinned, winking at Odrick again before elbowing his companion in the side. Armiel grunted then stirred, raising his head. He glanced around him slowly as if trying to remember where he was, then he saw Odrick, and he smiled. “Odrick! Why, what are you doing here?”
Excited and eager, as Armiel always was. Odrick had never thought Armiel was so bad, at least so far as most of the nobles went. Not clever, that much was certain, a lech and a drunkard, but kind enough, in his way. “Hello, Armiel.”
“And are you enjoying the party then?” the young noble asked, reaching for a half-empty goblet of wine in front of him and finishing it off in a long swallow.
“It is certainly…impressive,” Odrick said.
“So it is, so it is,” Armiel said, grinning widely as if Odrick had just given him the highest of praise.
“Odrick and I were just talking about Eriondrian,” Bastion said, “about his…situation.”
Armiel’s grin faded at that, and he seemed to sober a bit. “A grim thing, that is. I would never have thought it of Eriondrian but…” He paused, shrugging, convinced as no doubt many were that their leader, chosen by the gods themselves, would never lie to them. “The fliers make it clear enough. Still, I was sorry to hear of it. I always liked Eriondrian. He made me laugh.”
“Oh, he was humorous, truly,” Bastion said. Then, he puffed his chest up with importance, “Still, as a future servant of the Lightbringer, Amedan, I must confess I always did see something…off about our…acquaintance. Something…dare I say, sinister.”
Future servant of Amedan, Odrick thought sarcastically. If the man kept eating like he did, the only future he had was filling a coffin and soon. Maybe two…his size would certainly make the thing an issue.
“Oh?” he asked, feeling himself growing angry listening to this pampered, spoiled fat man talk about Rion in such a way. “Is that so, Bastion?”
“Yes, friend Odrick,” the fat man said, nodding in what Odrick supposed he thought was a wise way. “Quite so. It is regrettable, of course, as Amedan seeks to bring all to his bosom, to cast a light into every man’s soul, chasing away the darkness that hides in those such as Eriondrian’s.”
Odrick nodded, taking his moment, thinking it over. It would be best, he knew, to leave it alone. There was a time and a place for such things, and this was certainly not it, not while the Tirinians still sheltered in his father’s cellar. But the sight of the future-priest, nodding sagely while he pretended at a wisdom he didn’t have, all while the corner of his mouth was stained by some sauce, made Odrick angry.
“And what of your soul, Bastion?” he said finally. “Is it so clean, clear of any darkness? Tell me, since you seem to be so full of wisdom—it must have been in the sweet cakes—how does the Fire Bringer feel about gluttony?”
Bastion’s face turned red at that, and he gave up all pretenses of wisdom as his piggy face grew angry, his eyes narrowing. “Do you mock me, Odrick? You, a blacksmith’s son, who should feel privileged even to be in the same room as people like Armiel and my—”
“I’m sure he didn’t intend to mock at all,” Armiel said hurriedly, always the peacekeeper of the group. “We all know you’ve been learning much in your studies, Bastion, and while I myself saw no such signs, I’m not known for my cleverness.” A self-deprecating smile then, making a fool of himself in an effort to distract the two of them from their own anger. “And as for Odrick, he is the son of a blacksmith, but not any blacksmith—the city’s best. Correct me if I’m wrong, Bastion, but doesn’t your father insist on having the horseshoes of his impressive stallions made only by Odrick’s father?”
The fat man grumbled what might have been assent, and Armiel grinned. “See? And what’s more, from what I hear, Odrick is nearly as good as his father, maybe even as good. And as young as he is, why, there’s a good chance he might be the finest blacksmith of the age in a few years.”
Oh, Armiel, Odrick thought sadly, you’re wasted among the nobility.
“You’re right enough, friend Armiel,” Bastion agreed, though with obvious reluctance. “I, of course, apologize, Odrick, for any offense I may have caused. It is unbefitting for a holy man to argue about such inconsequential matters.”
Not the best apology Odrick had ever received, that was sure, but he didn’t expect he’d be getting any better. Besides, he had more important things to worry about than the opinion—pompous and ignorant as it may be—of one fat fool. “I’m sorry too,” he said. “It’s just been a trying few days and weeks, that’s all.”
“I can agree with that, certainly,” Armiel said, sighing heavily. “Gods, between all the rumors of Dark friends among us, and being questioned by the guards about Rion’s disappearance, I’ve come in serious danger of being outright depressed.”
Odrick tensed at that. “Questioned?”
“Oh, sure,” Armiel said, “gods, but they haven’t gotten to you yet?” He shook his head. “The Chosen’s men have been combing the city, questioning anyone who knew Eriondrian or his parents.” He winced, “They’ve disappeared, you know. His parents, that is. Apparently,” he continued, speaking in a low whisper, “they have also given themselves to the Dark. Or so the Chosen’s men told me,” he finished hastily, giving Odrick an apologetic look.
“Yeah,” Bastion agreed, “the Chosen’s men were quite thorough.” He shifted in his seat as if the very memory made him uncomfortable. “The way they spoke, it was as if they thought everyone in the city was a servant of the Dark.” He frowned. “It was ridiculous, a man of my station, of my devotion to Amedan, being questioned like some common criminal. And their questions. How long had I known Rion, had Rion ever done anything to make me think he was a friend of the Dark.” He rolled his eyes. “As if the man would walk around laughing maniacally with his hands covered in blood or something, and as if I would associate with such a man, if he had.”
Odrick’s mouth felt terribly dry, and he swallowed hard. “When did they question you?”
“Yesterday,” the fat man said in a sullen voice. “They pulled me from one of the priests’ lectures, and then practically accused me of being a nightling fondler, if you can believe that. I’ll tell you, those bastards can shove it up their arse, that’s what they can do.”
“Not that you told them that to their faces,” Armiel said, glancing around as if expecting to see the guards bearing down on them with their swords drawn. “They were hard men, Odrick. The kind of men…well, let’s just say they sobered me up, quick enough. They weren’t like your regular city guards, that much I can tell you.”
This was the kind of information Odrick needed, some inkling of what he and Rion’s parents were up against, and he could barely hide his eagerness. “What other questions did they ask?” he said, doing his best to sound nonchalant, as if he were doing nothing more than passing time in conversation.
Armiel shrugged, giving another apologetic grin. “To be honest, it’s all a bit of a blur. I had drunk too much, and I was mostly concentrated on not pissing myself. They asked if we’d heard any news of Eriondrian’s parents…” He paused to laugh. “As if we regularly exchange letters or something. Asked who else we knew who had been close to Eriondrian, that sort of thing.”
Odrick jumped as Bastion abruptly struck the table with a chubby fist, causing several of the platters—most of which, he noted, were empty or nearly so—to shake and rattle. “It’s ridiculous,” he said, practically shouting. “Questioning us, treating me like a common criminal, like some lowly pick-pocket, when my father is one of the richest men in the city. Those bastards should—”
“Not so loud,” Armiel hissed, grabbing the fat man’s hand, and the future priest reluctantly subsided. Armiel shot another glance around them, swallowing hard, and Odrick noticed there was a distinctly pale cast to his skin. “These men mean business, Odrick. Surely, you’ve heard the rumors.”
&n
bsp; Odrick frowned. “Rumors?”
Armiel nodded, and when he spoke again he did so in a voice so quiet Odrick could barely make out the words. “Sure. Talk of people going missing, being…taken in the middle of the night. Acquaintances of Rion’s, friends of his parents from old. They say Lady Claverton is still missing…” He laughed. “I don’t know, maybe I’m just being foolish, a child terrified of a ghost story, but…I don’t know. Maybe soon, Lady Claverton will return—as will the others—and we’ll find they had all just gone on trips or…or something else. Maybe we’ll all laugh about it, about how foolish we were, how foolish I was, to be afraid. But…those men. They didn’t make me feel like laughing, Odrick. Not at all. And as close as I was to Rion, as close as we all were…well, I got the impression the only reason I wasn’t taken and questioned further was because of who my father is.”
“I heard something about Lady Claverton disappearing,” Odrick said, “but I’d thought it no more than a rumor.”
Armiel shook his head. “No, she’s gone, I can tell you that much. My father has some dealings with her husband, and he has told me of how distressed he’s been at his wife’s…absence. Still, I’m sure it’s fine, truly. After all, those men only want the truth, right? And as much as I liked Rion, if he really is a servant of the Dark, then those men are just protecting us by trying to find him…right?”
“Right,” Odrick said, forcing the word out past the lump in his throat. Suddenly, he had heard enough. More than enough, in truth. People disappearing in the night, never to be seen again, hard men asking hard questions, and Lady Claverton’s disappearance…it was all too much. And if what Armiel had told him was true—and the man was too drunk and not clever enough to lie well—then Tesharna’s men were still combing the city, searching for anyone who might have aided Rion or his parents in their escape. And if they found Odrick, if they asked him their questions, he doubted he would be able to convince them he was innocent. He might not have been drunk like Armiel, but he, too, was not particularly clever. No, men like that, men who were trained to tell lie from truth, they would see through him in an instant.
He wouldn’t want to betray Rion’s parents, of course, would try his best to not answer their questions and give away Lord and Lady Tirinian. But if they asked them hard? Really hard? Stronger men than Odrick had broken under torture, that much he knew. Suddenly, his hands were slick with sweat, and his heart was hammering in his chest.
“Odrick, are you alright?” He started, jumping as Armiel’s hand fell on his arm. “Gods, man they’re not nightlings,” Armiel said, “I didn’t mean to frighten you so badly.” He laughed at that, as if at the ridiculousness of it all, but his eyes weren’t smiling. No, his eyes, Odrick thought, were terrified.
“I’m…fine,” Odrick said, “but I just remembered I’ve got to go. It was a pleasure seeing you both again, and I’ll speak to you soon.” He spun and grunted as he bumped into someone he hadn’t known was standing behind him. Looking up, he winced as he realized he’d nearly knocked down Lord Hale, Armiel’s father and one of the most powerful men in Valeria. “Forgive me, my lord, I didn’t know you were there.”
“It’s quite alright,” the older nobleman said, wiping at an invisible speck of dust on his chest before holding up a hand to stay the two burly men flanking him on either side as they started toward Odrick. “Relax, gentlemen,” he said. “Sir Odrick did not see me, you heard him.”
“Apologies again, sir,” Odrick said, bowing his head, “now, if you’ll excuse me, I really must be—”
“Oh, surely you’re not leaving, not already?” Lord Hale asked in a disappointed voice. “I do think it would do my son good to spend more time with a member of the working class.” He paused to scowl disapprovingly at his drunken son who was busily studying the tabletop. “That way, he might get a clearer understanding of how good he has it, of how important it is that he not fritter away all the advantages he’s been given on drink and whores.”
Odrick suspected the “working class” comment was meant as an insult, but the thing that noblemen like Lord Hale and so many others didn’t understand was it wasn’t an insult for a man to work for his living. After all, not all men were born into families of great wealth, and as far as Odrick was concerned, they were better for it. Still, he was barely listening, too focused on getting away, of fleeing to the relative safety of his father’s shop and, of course, of sharing the news—none of it good, but that couldn’t be helped—of what he’d learned with the Tirinians and his father. “I’m afraid I really must be going, my lord. My father—”
“Won’t object to you spending a few moments chatting with your friends and the father of one surely?” Lord Hale asked, smiling the way Odrick thought a snake might smile, were it able. “After all, I’ve spent enough on his work that I think a tardy son would be acceptable. And, I must say,” he finished, scowling at Armiel, “it is a thing a father grows accustomed to, given time enough. We missed you, son, when we took the stallions out this morning.”
Armiel winced, still refusing to meet his father’s eyes. “Forgive me, Father, but I wasn’t feeling well this morning and didn’t want to spoil everyone else’s good time.”
“Quite,” Lord Hale said, staring meaningfully at the wine glass in Armiel’s hand. “Anyway,” he went on, turning back to Odrick, “I hope you’ll understand I wasn’t eaves-dropping, but as I approached, it sounded as if you three were discussing the traitorous actions of the Tirinian family. Am I correct?”
There was something about the way the man said it, watching Odrick carefully, his words almost a challenge, that Odrick didn’t like, but he was saved from having to answer by Armiel. “Yes, Father. Eriondrian, as you know, was a friend of ours and—”
“Shut your drunken mouth,” Lord Hale hissed. Armiel recoiled as if he’d been slapped and even Bastion paused in stuffing the latest bit of food in his mouth to stare, worriedly, at Lord Hale. Odrick tensed, a shiver of anticipation running down his spine. “No son of mine is friends with a Dark-worshipper, do you understand?” the nobleman demanded. “Not now, not ever.”
“O-of course not, Father,” Armiel said, his face pale. “I only meant to say, before—”
“Forget what you meant to say,” Lord Hale growled. Then he took a slow breath in a visible effort to calm himself, glancing around the ballroom. The people nearest—who had stopped and looked toward the table at the nobleman’s shout—quickly turned away, apparently terrified to risk the displeasure of Valeria’s richest noble.
Satisfied, Lord Hale turned back to his son. “The Tirinians are evil, do you understand? A blight on society, a plague which, if given time, could consume the entire world. They cannot, they must not be allowed to escape the justice which is their due. Now,” he said, his eyes scanning the three young men and coming to rest on Odrick, “if any of you know anything—anything at all—about the whereabouts of Eriondrian or his parents, you must say so immediately. I have even heard tale that Chosen Tesharna has promised a great reward to any who come forward with information about them or the other Dark-lovers who were their companions.”
Odrick forced himself to remain calm under the man’s piercing stare. “Of course, my lord. If I learn anything of Eriondrian or his parents, I will tell the authorities at once.”
Lord Hale nodded slowly. “See that you do, young Odrick. For there is no telling what evil may befall those who align themselves—knowingly or not—with the enemies of Valeria’s blessed ruler, Chosen Tesharna. And not just them,” he said, leaning in closer, studying Odrick as if he was some bug tacked on a wall for inspection, “but their families as well. Their loved ones.”
Odrick’s heart was hammering in his chest, but he forced himself to meet the man’s eyes. “Forgive me for asking, sir, but what proof do we have that Eriondrian and those others are actually guilty of any crime?”
Lord Hale laughed, but there was no amusement in it. “Truly, young Odrick? Wasn’t one proven to be a conspirator
in the murder of Chosen Olliman, Ilrika’s ruler? The leader of the Redeemers attested to as much. As for Eriondrian and the others, well, they aided this Dark friend in his escape, and that is clearly all we need to know, is it not?”
“I mean no disrespect, sir,” Odrick said. “I only meant the Redeemers….well, there have been rumors about them. About them doing things, hurting people. I even heard rumors from Ilrika that it was the Redeemers—” And Kale Leandrian himself, but Odrick thought it best to leave that bit out of it—“who were behind the Chosen’s death.”
Lord Hale snorted, glancing with a grin at his two bodyguards who shook their heads dutifully as if in wonder at Odrick’s foolishness. Then he turned back to Odrick, and there was no humor in his face. “More lies of the Dark, Odrick, that’s all. Chosen Tesharna herself has named these men—and the woman who travels with them—as traitors to the Light. Or are you questioning the Bright One’s judgement as well?”
Odrick was suddenly very conscious of the two heavily-muscled men standing on either side of the nobleman, aware, too, of the stout clubs hanging from their leather belts. “Of course not,” he said. “I’m sorry, it’s just…it is all so hard to believe, that’s all. I have known—I knew—Eriondrian for a long time, and it is difficult to think he would do something so…terrible. But, of course, if Chosen Tesharna says it’s true, then it must be.”
The nobleman seemed partially mollified by that, and he nodded slowly. “Just so, and you would be wise not to forget it.”
“Of course, Lord Hale,” Odrick said, bowing his head. “Now, I really must—”
“Be going?” the nobleman finished, raising an eyebrow.
Odrick stepped past the man, but paused when he grabbed his arm. “And Odrick? Tell your father I said hello, won’t you?”
“Yes, sir.” Odrick said. Then he was making his way through the crowd of people, doing his best to appear as casual as possible and knowing he was failing. Armiel and Bastion’s words about the men interrogating them had shaken him badly, and Lord Hale’s sudden appearance—as well as his piercing gaze that seemed to know things he had no way of knowing—had done nothing to help matters. And you, acting a fool, he scolded himself, arguing with him about it as if there’s anything to be gained from it. It was not like Odrick to act so rashly, to act from emotion. He was known for taking his time, thinking things over, and he cursed himself silently for allowing his feelings to get the better of him. On a whim, he turned, glancing back at the table, and saw Lord Hale and his two bodyguards watching him. That did nothing to settle his shaky nerves, and Odrick swallowed hard, pushing his way into the crowd.
The Warriors of the Gods Page 16
