“Guess I can’t argue with that,” the bandit said. “Will you give me your name before you leave?”
“You’re not worthy of it.” Yaz spun his staff and lashed out, striking the bandit’s skull with all his might. He collapsed, killed instantly. “Dad would say I’m too soft for my own good. He would have left him for the wolves.”
“Yaz?” Brigid stood a few feet away, trembling so hard he could see it from where he stood.
He hurried over to her. “Are you okay?”
“I killed him. I never…I mean the sheep and a wolf now and then, but a person. I… I…”
Yaz hugged her and whispered, “It’s fine. We’re safe now. You can let it out.”
She dropped her staff, wrapped her arms around him and wept. He held her and stroked her hair. Yaz would need to let his own emotions out eventually and when he did, they’d hit all the harder for the delay, but right now he needed to help Brigid.
The last sob passed a few minutes later. She stepped back and wiped her eyes. “I’m okay, now. I shouldn’t feel bad, they were bandits and would have killed us or whoever came down the road next without a second thought. The world’s a better place without them.”
“All true, but that doesn’t make killing them an easy thing. My father told me once that killing your first man was the hardest thing a person could do. The second one is easier and it keeps getting easier the more you do it. Do you know why?”
Brigid shook her head.
“Because a little bit of you dies along with the person whose life you take. Dad said he met men who fought in wars that had taken so many lives they could kill without batting an eye. They killed men as easily as you might swat a fly. I think the only thing Dad fears is becoming like those men, his heart so full of death there’s no room for anything else. Not that Mom will ever let that happen.”
“You seem okay,” Brigid said.
“That’s another mental trick. Trust me, when I have to face what I just did, it’s going to be ugly. But it’s going to have to wait until tonight. You never know who might show up out here.”
“What about them?” She nodded toward the bodies.
“We’ll take their weapons – I doubt they have anything else of value – and roll the bodies off the side of the road.”
“You’re going to rob them?” She sounded aghast, and Yaz grinned in spite of the situation.
“Remember when we talked about irony the other day? What could be more perfect than robbing a bandit? Besides, we’re not exactly rolling in wealth. We can sell those blades for good coin.”
She clearly didn’t like it, but Yaz refused to be squeamish. Survival required them to do what they had to. The hard part was over, now they just had to clean up.
Chapter 12
Yaz wasn’t ashamed to admit that he was wrong. When Sharpsburg came into view, he instantly realized it only superficially resembled home. He and Brigid stood on a little hill overlooking the village in the late afternoon sun. There were more and more-narrow streets than home, no open-air bazaar, and many more houses.
And no wall. That surprised Yaz the most. A village in the wilderness with nothing to protect it from raiders or even hungry wild beasts. Seemed like someone at some point might have mentioned even a simple stockade wall and some towers that would give anyone thinking of trying something pause.
He shrugged, it was their village and Yaz didn’t plan on staying that long. If they hadn’t had trouble up until now, hopefully they wouldn’t have any until he and Brigid left. He yawned as they descended toward the village.
A real bed would be wonderful tonight. He’d had savage nightmares last night and didn’t get more than an hour or two of real sleep. He’d done his meditation, but the power of the memories must have been too much. Despite the lack of sleep, Yaz felt pretty composed. He’d feared releasing his emotions would leave him a sobbing wreck, but he felt fine. Then again he’d always had pretty good control over his feelings. He seldom cried, even as a child.
Brigid seemed to have herself sorted out as well. Hopefully they wouldn’t run into anything as nasty as the bandits for a while.
“Do you think they’ll have a bath at the inn?” Brigid asked. “I feel grimy.”
“I suspect so, though I’d settle for a bucket of hot water.”
They reached the edge of Sharpsburgh and followed the main street through the center of town. On their left and right were three- and four-room wooden houses. The shutters were all closed for the night. A few people sat on their porches and watched the strangers walk by while puffing on a pipe. None of them looked angry or nervous, just curious about the new arrivals. Being on the main road, they probably saw a lot of visitors.
Yaz returned a nod from a bearded man in a rocking chair. It was the first friendly gesture he’d gotten since leaving the valley. Maybe their visit would turn out better than he’d first hoped.
A little deeper into the village, homes gave way to businesses. They passed a barber and butcher on the right and a general store on the left. That might be their best bet to sell the swords. A village this size wouldn’t be apt to have a weapons merchant.
Yaz led Thunder to the general store and tied him to the hitching rail out front. As he collected the weapons Brigid said, “I thought we were going to the inn.”
“We are, but I want to sell our spoils and see where we stand for funds. Baths and meals and pretty much everything else cost extra. My savings aren’t so vast that I can splurge too much.”
“Sorry, I didn’t bring so much as a copper scale to this venture. I’m just tired.”
“No need to apologize. Your company is welcome and when we run into trouble your staff skills are more welcome. I’d have been in serious trouble if I’d run into those guys alone.”
Yaz finished collecting the swords and led the way inside. The store smelled of tobacco and leather. A counter waited just inside the door with a slim, nervous man standing behind it. He didn’t have a hair on his head and covered his tan tunic with a white apron.
He squinted at Yaz and Brigid. “Yes?”
“Do you buy weapons?” Yaz asked.
“Sometimes.” He patted the counter. “Show me what you’ve got.”
Yaz set the weapons where he indicated and the shopkeeper looked them over. He started with the leader’s nicked blade, holding it up to the light and checking both sides. “Fine steel,” he said at last. “Edge is a little rough, but half an hour at the grindstone will fix that up. Where’d you get them?”
“Some bandits gave them to us,” Yaz said.
“There’ve been a few attacks on the road south. You two dealt with them?”
Yaz couldn’t help smiling at the doubt in his voice. “We did. There were only four of them and they didn’t have much training. They more closely resembled farmers fallen on hard times than real soldiers. Either way they won’t be bothering anyone else.”
The shopkeeper finished looking over the swords and nodded. “Good to know. I’ll give twenty-five silver scales for the swords.”
“Forty,” Yaz countered.
“I’m only going to get ten apiece for them plus I need to sharpen them. Twenty-eight.”
“Thirty and it’s a deal.”
The shopkeeper held out his hand and Yaz shook it. He reached under the counter and pulled out a wooden box from which he counted silver coins. When he finished, Yaz separated twenty and scraped them into his money pouch.
“The rest are your share,” he said to Brigid.
She looked from the coins back to him. “My share? I only beat one of them.”
He shrugged. “Close enough.”
Turning his attention back to the shopkeeper Yaz asked, “Seen any dragons in the area?”
“One flew over the village a month back, couldn’t make out much beyond the silhouette. Why, you moving up from bandits to dragons?”
“If you can find where one lairs and are patient, there’s money to be made in shed scales and dung. No need
to risk your life fighting one.”
The shopkeeper pursed his lips and nodded. “Hadn’t thought about that. You find either one and I’ll give you a good price. The dragon passed over going from east to west if that helps.”
“It does, thanks. If I might bother you with one more question, can you direct us to the local inn and stable?”
“Sure, Ford’s Delights is four doors down on the opposite side of the street. There’s an attached stable in the back. The stable master’s honest, but I still wouldn’t leave anything you value out there overnight. He’s a heavy sleeper.”
“Thanks again.”
Yaz headed for the door and Brigid fell in beside him. Outside she said, “I’ve never had this much money in my life. Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer to hold on to it?”
“I’m sure. If anything happens to me or we get separated, you’ll need something to live on.” He glanced over at her. “Before we leave in the morning, we’ll stop by again and get you some proper gear, a cloak and pack at the very least.”
“Will you chase the dragon he mentioned?” she asked.
Yaz untied Thunder and started up the road. “Might as well, it’s a place to start at least. Of course, in a month that dragon could be a thousand miles from here.”
“How will you find it?”
Yaz gave a rueful smile. “We probably won’t. But that doesn’t mean we won’t cross another dragon’s path or find some sort of sign. I wish I could tell you something more specific, but my knowledge is more about tending to dragons than tracking them. Most of what I know is based on how to hunt regular animals.”
They reached the inn and Yaz went around back. A wide stable with two rows of stalls was half filled with horses of all sorts along with a pair of mules. A yawning man in a brown tunic and high boots emerged as they approached. He was scratching his gray beard and rubbing his eyes.
“Need a stall for your pony?” he asked.
“Yes, please. How much?” Yaz asked.
“Two silver scales, see John Ford inside to pay. I’ll take him.” The stableman reached for Thunder’s reins.
“I just need to collect my saddle and bags,” Yaz said.
“You can leave them here, no one will bother them.”
“Thanks, but I need to do some repairs tonight.”
The stableman shrugged and held the reins while Yaz unbuckled his gear. That done, they went back around to the front door and pushed through. Inside, three-quarters of the tables in the common room were full. The scent of roasting meat and smoke filled the air and made Yaz’s mouth water. A few people looked up when they entered, but most were focused on their food or companions.
On the opposite wall ran a bar with stools in front. Bottles of liquor covered the wall. To the right of the bar a set of stairs led to the second floor. The barman was busy pouring drinks for a serving girl who stood tapping her foot.
A second girl spotted them and hurried over. She wore a too-tight, low-cut dress that only came to midthigh. Her hair was dark and hung past her shoulders. Bloodshot eyes squinted at them.
“You two want a table?” she asked.
“A room if you have one,” Yaz said.
“And a bath,” Brigid quickly added.
“Go on over to the bar and John will fix you up. Once you’re settled come on down. The special’s roast pork and mashed squash.” She winked at Yaz and hurried over to a patron that had raised his hand.
“Roast pork and squash sound good,” Brigid said.
Yaz nodded and tried to guess how much all this was going to cost. Plenty, he figured, but it was only one night so why not?
The innkeeper had finished pouring drinks when they reached the bar. “Bet you two need a room. You’re in luck, we have one left.”
Yaz and Brigid shared a look.
“We’ll take it,” Brigid said. “Does it have a tub?”
“We’ve got a tub. I can have it brought up along with three buckets of hot water for an extra two silver scales. The room costs six silver, food’s extra.”
Yaz counted out eight silver scales and put them on the counter. John dragged them out of sight and came up with a key. “Last room on the left at the top of the stairs. The tub and water will be about half an hour.”
“Thanks.” Yaz took the key and led the way upstairs.
The room was nothing to get excited about. Maybe fifteen by fifteen, a single bed with a straw-stuffed mattress that would have been a tight fit for one person, a nightstand with a wash basin and jar of water. Finally, there was a trunk at the foot of the bed. Yaz dropped the saddle and bags on the trunk and sighed.
Brigid closed the door behind her. She looked everywhere but at the bed. “This is nice. It’s almost as big as our house in the valley.”
“You can have the bed,” Yaz said in hopes of easing any nerves she might be feeling.
“No, no. You paid for everything, let me come with you on this adventure, the least I can do is sleep on the floor. I’m used to it.”
“All the more reason for you to enjoy the bed. Next time we stay at an inn we’ll switch, okay?”
“Okay.”
They rested for a little over half an hour when a knock came on the door. Yaz opened it and found two men outside with an iron tub between them. Behind them was another guy loaded with three steaming buckets. He stepped aside to let them in.
The tub went in the corner, the water was poured, and without a word the three men left. “I’ll wait outside,” Yaz said. “Take your time.”
“Thanks, for everything.”
He smiled and closed the door behind him.
Yaz found sleeping on the floor no worse than sleeping outside and he woke a little stiff, but otherwise well rested. Light peeked through the room’s one window. He went to open the shade but caught himself. Brigid was still sound asleep. Much as he wanted to get going, he couldn’t bring himself to wake her. Her excitement at getting to sleep in a real bed, even one stuffed with straw, both warmed his heart and saddened him. Neither of them would be sleeping in a bed for a while once they entered the wilderness to look for dragon signs. May as well let her enjoy this one as long as she wanted.
To fill the time, Yaz settled on the floor and closed his eyes. He entered his mental library and strolled around, debating which book to reread. He passed the door where he locked away his emotions and paused. A little further on there was a shadowy corner he’d never explored. Why would there be an area of his mind he didn’t know about?
A chill ran through him when he took a step towards the shadow. Was that his mind’s way of warning him that some things were better left unexplored? He frowned and took another step.
“Yaz?” a distant voice called.
He blinked and found Brigid standing in front of him, her blond hair going every which way. “Morning. Sleep well?”
“Yes, but a piece of straw kept stabbing me in the butt. Did I keep you waiting long?”
“No. What do you say to some breakfast?”
“I say let’s eat. Just as soon as I fix my hair.” She poured some water into the basin, washed her face, and ran her fingers through her hair until it was in some semblance of order. “There.”
Yaz collected their gear and picked his staff up from in front of the door where he’d left it as a surprise for anyone that might think about trying to sneak in. A final look around confirmed that he hadn’t forgotten anything and they left.
Downstairs someone shouted, “What do you mean he’s not coming until later? I need that letter written before the merchant and his guards leave.”
“I’m sorry,” a meek female voice said. “I only repeat what he tells me.”
A fist slammed on the bar. “Damn that scribbler.”
Yaz paused at the bottom of the stairs. John was glaring at a girl a few years younger than Brigid dressed in an ink-stained smock.
“There a problem?” Yaz asked.
“Yes, damn it! Our village scrivener was supposed to be here first th
ing this morning to write me a letter so I could send it along with a departing merchant. His assistant here tells me he’s feeling a bit peaked and will be late. Meanwhile the merchant is still leaving in an hour.”
“I’d be happy to write the letter for you in exchange for a free breakfast,” Yaz said.
“You can write?” John sounded dubious and Yaz didn’t blame him. Few people could read or write more than a few words.
“Are you familiar with Dragonspire Village?” Yaz asked.
“Sure, the merchants tell stories about it. Why?”
“That’s where we’re from,” Yaz said. “My mother’s a sage of the tower and she taught me to read and write. If you have paper, I have pen and ink.”
“Um, excuse me.”
John rounded on the assistant. “What!?”
“You really shouldn’t use someone from outside the guild.”
“If the guildsman kept his appointments I wouldn’t have to, would I? If your master has any complaints, you tell him what I said.”
The girl hurried out as fast as she could, drawing a round of laughter from the patrons watching the show. Yaz ignored them, dug his writing kit out of his saddlebag, and set it on the bar. He opened it, revealing the crow quill and sealed bottle of ink.
“I’ll need a sample,” John said. “I have a note that I memorized. I’ll read it to you and if they match, I’ll dictate the letter. Don’t worry, it’s short.”
“It’s your paper,” Yaz said.
John reached under the bar and came up with a blank sheet of cream paper and a torn scrap of the same material. He pushed the scrap to Yaz and pulled a many-times-folded rectangle of paper out of his pocket.
“Ready?”
Yaz nodded while Brigid watched with wide eyes. He never would understand why she found watching other people writing so interesting.
John read three lines which Yaz wrote out. When he finished, Yaz spun the paper around so John could check it. After a full minute of looking from one to the other John nodded. “Perfect match. I’m satisfied. Will you really write my whole letter in exchange for breakfast?”
The Black Egg Page 9
