A Sellsword's Mercy

by Jacob Peppers

  “Why?” May asked, hating the hope in her voice, the need for reassurance. “You believe he’s safe?”

  The big crime boss grunted in what might have been a laugh. “How in the name of the Fields would I know, lass?” His thick shoulders moved in what she took for a shrug. “Still, I don’t reckon there’s a fella out there with more practice at not gettin’ dead than our friend Silent. I don’t s’pose it’d be wrong to say he’s made a career out of it.”

  May felt some small bit of her usual indignation return, and she rolled her eyes. “Thanks so much for your input,” she said.

  If the crime boss noted her sarcasm—and he’d have had to be deaf not to—he gave no sign. “No problem,” he said. “Anyway, while you’re prayin’ to the gods, why not put in a word for me and see if they can’t bring Bella here, for a spell.” He grunted. “Now, there’s a whore a man might think of marryin’ and turnin’ into an honest woman. If, of course, he was the marryin’ kind.”

  May let out her breath in a hiss of frustration, “What is wrong with you? We are, in case you haven’t noticed, in a dungeon, and I doubt very much if Grinner will let us idle here long before he decides to have us killed in whatever manner suits him best.”

  “Yeah,” the giant agreed, “the little bastard’s got a heart to match that new face of his.” He laughed, a great, bellowing laughter that, despite everything, somehow made May feel calmer. “Anyhow, I might not be the quickest bastard sometimes, but the cell bars did kind of give the dungeon bit away.”

  “Damnit,” May said—practically yelled, in truth. “Don’t you take anything seriously?”

  “Gods forbid,” the big man said, “and why would I? Seems to me the world takes itself seriously enough without my help.” He leaned forward then, his massive bulk shifting so that his face was only inches from the bars of his cell. “Not to offend you, lady love, but I got a bit of advice I might share with you, if you’ve a mind to listen.”

  May opened her mouth to tell the man in no uncertain terms just what he could do with his jokes and his advice both, but she found herself hesitating. Ah, why not? After all, however annoying the crime boss might be, his voice was better than the silence, better than listening to the screams for help that would never be answered. She shrugged. “I’m listening.”

  “Let. It. Go.”

  May stared at the man, waiting for him to say something else, but he only remained silent, his shadowed form studying her. “What?” she said finally. “Let what go? What kind of stupid advice is that?”

  “Oh, I think you know well enough what I’m talkin’ about, lass, but if you want to play the fool, I won’t begrudge you it. Your worry, your thoughts, your wisdom. Let it all go. Normally, those things are what give you strength, I know it well enough, and it’s those same things as have made you such a burr in my ass over the last years. But they’ll only hurt you here. Oh, you hide it well enough, but I reckon I’ve seen men on the headsman’s block less ate up with worry than you.”

  “Well, forgive me for worrying,” May snapped. “It’s just that, oh, I don’t know, I’m in a dungeon, my friends are missing, and a wizard from ancient times is creating an army of monsters to destroy the whole world. I guess maybe I’m just a touch out of sorts.”

  “Maybe,” the crime boss said, “but I don’t think so. Seems to me that worryin’ and frettin’ over this thing or that is one of the biggest reasons why you’re as formidable a woman as you are. Always analyzing, always second-guessin’ every decision you make, then third-guessin’ that. You ask me, you got worry in you right down to your bones.”

  A shiver of fear and uncertainty ran through May at the man’s words. She’d dealt with Hale often enough in the past years, and despite his own prodigious—very nearly legendary—strength, she had always consoled herself with the fact that he was, by all accounts, not particularly intelligent. A man who would have been at home swinging a bloody axe on some ancient battlefield, covered in the blood of his enemies, one who would have been equally comfortable in some tavern, drinking until he passed out, or in some brothel spending a fortune on prostitutes. A warrior, a drunk, a philanderer. But the image of Hale the Scholar had never occurred to her—had seemed, in truth, utterly ridiculous.

  Sure, she had thought the man possessed of some animal cunning—after all, a man couldn’t rise to the top of such a powerful criminal enterprise as he had without some survival instincts and a sense for where danger lay. But wise? Intelligent? Capable of discerning a secret she had always believed she’d managed to hide except from those closest to her? No. That, she would not have credited him.

  To think that all these years he had understood her in a way that few others had, that he had somehow seen past her posturing and her veils to the truth of her was a fearful thing to imagine. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she managed finally.

  The man shrugged his thick shoulders again, and May was put in mind of massive boulders shifting against each other. “Have it your way, lass. I s’pose every man or woman’s got a right to their secrets, and I wouldn’t think of refusin’ you yours. Yet, my advice ain’t changed.”

  “Let it go,” she repeated, unable to keep the mockery from her voice. “And how exactly am I supposed to do that anyway, Hale? In case you haven’t noticed, things aren’t exactly going according to plan right now.”

  The crime boss let out another of those great, bellowing laughs. “In my experience, woman, things never do. As for how you let go of all your worries and your fears, I don’t know, and I don’t much care. But you’d better let ‘em go just the same. They might serve you well enough out there,” he said, waving his muscled arm in a vague gesture to indicate the world outside the dungeon, “but they’ve no place here. Forget what’ll happen tomorrow, or what happened yesterday. One’s a book already written, and the other a book you’ll probably never get a chance to read. You just keep your mind on right now. The sun’ll rise tomorrow, or it won’t, and your worryin’ about it won’t do you any good—not here.”

  May frowned. “That’s an easy enough thing to say, but not so easy to do. And I don’t think that the answer to our problems is going to be in sitting here refusing to think.”

  Hale grunted. “Any of those thoughts of yours gonna open up these cell doors for us?”

  The club owner’s frown deepened. “Well, no, but—”

  “How ‘bout the guards then?” the crime boss pressed. “Any of your worryin’ and thinkin’ gonna get them to come on in here and apologize, tell us it was all a mistake, and they’re ever so sorry for the bother?”

  “No, damnit,” May hissed. “But what’s your solution then? Just sit here and wait until Grinner finds some excuse to have us killed? Just march to our executions—if he even allows us to leave our cells alive, that is—with smiles on our faces? Gods forbid you do some thinking. Best we just let whatever is going to happen happen—no use putting up a fuss, is that it?”

  In the flickering orange torchlight, the crime boss’s eyes seemed to shine with hunger. “Oh, no, lass. I didn’t say that—not at all. I reckon that, when the time comes, I’ll put up a fuss right enough.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Wendell yawned as he made his way out of the Akalians’ barracks and into the night. Though he’d been awake for nearly two hours, he felt as if he could fall asleep standing, a natural enough side effect, according to the Speaker, of the herb Wendell and the others had received. His vision felt blurry, his feet uncertain beneath him as if he’d spent a long night drinking. He’d always heard—and said it himself, of course—that a man ought to have a hair of the dog that bit him to keep the worst of the hangover at bay, but he figured that whatever dog had latched on to him with the herb the Akalians gave him had damn near swallowed him whole.

  Of course, that hadn’t stopped him from finding some more of the herb—crushed into a fine powder and stored in one of the few cabinets the barracks had—and eating a handful shortly after waking. Now, th
ough, he felt even more tired, almost felt as if he weren’t in control of his body at all, and he reflected—not for the first time since the impulse to take more of the herb had come and gone—that maybe there was a reason why the wisdom of drunks was theirs and theirs alone. No one else, he figured, was stupid enough to believe it.

  But despite the powerful urge to sleep, the sergeant refused its embrace. For one, he’d seen more comfortable “beds” than the ones the Akalians offered in alleyways and, more importantly, despite the princess’s earlier words, he wasn’t completely convinced that the Akalians didn’t eat people, and what better time to take a bite out of a man—if you’ve a mind to—than when he was sleeping? Oh, he’d checked himself over as well as he could when he woke, but there’d been no looking glass in his room, so he couldn’t be sure, and being eaten, so far as Wendell was concerned, wasn’t the type of thing a man took a chance on.

  So he walked out into the night, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other as he made his laborious way toward the tree line. He’d no sooner made it there than a shadow separated itself from among the trees, and he tensed as one of the Akalians, dressed all in black, stepped out to move in front of him.

  Ah gods, Wendell thought, here it comes. “Hi there, fella.” The Akalian didn’t answer. Probably trying to decide which bit looks the tastiest. “Pleasant night, ain’t it?” Wendell ventured, trying again.

  Still, the Akalian did not speak, only stared at him with those unreadable eyes, and Wendell frowned, his mind racing. “Anyway,” he said, as off-handed as he could manage, “I ain’t nothin’ but blood and bone. ‘Case you were wonderin’. Not enough fat on me to feed a mongrel dog.”

  The black-garbed man turned and walked back in the direction from which he’d come, his inscrutable gaze resting on the forest beyond. “Not much for small talk,” he muttered, unable to decide whether he was offended that the man hadn’t responded to him, or grateful that he must have already eaten. “Suits me fine, anyway,” he said to himself. “I’ve got to piss like nobody’s business.”

  With that, he pulled his trousers down and suited actions to words. He had only just gotten a good start when a voice spoke from behind him. “They don’t actually eat people, you know.”

  Wendell started, fumbling his grip. “Damnit,” he said, turning to see the youth, Caleb, walking up. “Oh, it’s the kid. How’s it goin’ with you?”

  “I’m okay,” Caleb said, staring off into the woods. Then, as if it was an afterthought, he turned to Wendell. “How are you?”

  “Damp,” the sergeant muttered, fastening his trousers. “Anyway, how do you know they don’t eat people? Just ‘cause you ain’t seen it don’t mean nothin’. I ain’t never seen a woman take a sh—err…do her necessaries. But that don’t mean it don’t happen.”

  The youth shrugged, as if it wasn’t worth speaking on any further, his eyes still locked on the forest. A strange kid, but Wendell wasn’t surprised. Every smart person he’d ever met had been a little strange, and it seemed to him the more they knew, the stranger they got. If the Virtues were as powerful as everybody seemed to think, then he figured the kid might be the smartest person in the world. The poor bastard. “Anyway,” he said, stifling a yawn, “anybody else up yet?”

  Caleb shook his head. “They weren’t when I awoke at any rate. The herb the Akalians used did its work well, I think. I asked what it was called, but they would not tell me, and I’m not surprised. I’ve never heard of a sedative as efficacious as this one.” He made a thoughtful sound in his throat. “I wonder if it is only more potent in its natural form or if it is noxious. Perhaps, it is important to dilute it into some…”

  The kid went on, but he might as well have been speaking a different language for all Wendell understood of it, and it seemed to him that each word the youth spoke made his vision blur even more. “Well,” he said, nodding thoughtfully. “Pleasant night, ain’t it?”

  Caleb turned to him, cutting off his monologue midstream—thank the gods. Then he looked up at the sky as if noticing it was dark for the first time. Poor bastard, Wendell thought again. “I suppose so,” the youth conceded.

  Wendell heaved a sigh of relief. Apparently, the boy spoke the common tongue, after all. “So,” the sergeant ventured, “you reckon the general and the others will be up soon?”

  “The others, yes,” Caleb said, nodding. “As for Aaron…his dose was considerably higher than ours, judging from what the Speaker told me. I suspect on an order of four to five times as much, though I can’t be sure. Also, it must be considered that liquid has a faster absorption rate, as well as a higher optimization rate, than other forms. In truth, I went to visit General Envelar first, upon waking, fearing that so large an application of a soporific such as the Akalians used might put him in danger. Thankfully, however, he seemed well.”

  Wendell blinked. “Right. So…do you reckon he’ll wake up soon?”

  Caleb turned and looked at him for several seconds, then finally shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  And why couldn’t you have just said that in the first place? Wendell thought. He considered saying as much, but the youth had already turned away again.

  “They’re out there,” Caleb said in a frightened voice, and for the first time he sounded like a kid instead of some dusty scholar who’d spent his life bent over ancient tomes.

  Wendell grunted, putting his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “They’ll keep for a while yet, lad.”

  The youth turned to him, studying him with wide eyes. “How do you know?”

  The sergeant smiled. “My ma used to say that the world has its own truths, and most of those can’t be found in a book.” Wendell considered that, his smile slowly fading, then shrugged. “Never really understood what she meant, to tell you the truth. But one thing I do know is they won’t find us until the general and the others have woken, so you can rest easy on that score.”

  “But how do you know?” the youth pressed, clearly wanting to be comforted.

  Because if they do, we’re all dead. But, somehow, Wendell didn’t think that was what the youth needed to hear, so he met the boy’s eyes, his own expression as solemn as he could make it. “Do you really want to know?”

  The boy nodded eagerly, and Wendell glanced around as if someone might be listening, then leaned in close. “Because, lad, last night…I dreamed I was a bird.” The youth blinked at him, and Wendell gave him a wink, patting him on the back.

  “A…bird?”

  “That’s right,” the sergeant said, deciding to leave out the fact that he had actually been a chicken and that, in his dream, the Akalians had been fighting over who got to eat him. “Now,” he continued, deciding he’d best make his retreat before the boy had time to think it over, “I’m for bed. Goodnight, lad.”

  “Goodnight,” Caleb said in a halting voice, clearly still mulling over the sergeant’s words.

  Wendell turned and started away, grinning as he did. Let the boy’s mind work on that for a while. He’d only taken a few steps when he decided he’d best ask the Speaker if they had a wash basin somewhere. They’d better not find us, he thought, wincing at the damp feel of his trousers with each step he took, not tonight, at any rate. I’ll be damned if I die covered in my own piss.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Aaron surfaced slowly into consciousness, buoyed on the gently lapping waves of a dream he couldn’t quite remember. He yawned, opening his eyes to find that he was in a room he didn’t recognize. It was small and unfurnished, reminding him of the barracks back in Perennia. Normally, the fact that he had no idea where he was or how he’d come to be there would have been cause for concern, but his mind felt filled with a fog, one which dampened his emotions and left him with nothing but a vague contentment he could not explain.

  He was curious—in an unfocused, distracted sort of way—but he felt no particular urgency to assuage his curiosity. There was a strange lethargy seeping through his body and his mind both, one that made it diffic
ult for him to remember all of the things that he should be worried about, that made it difficult, in fact, for him to worry at all.

  He thought about getting out of bed and doing some exploring to figure out where he was, but he decided against it. The bed beneath him was soft, the covers warm, and he couldn’t summon the energy to leave them just yet.

  “It’s the drug,” a voice said from beside him. “Again, I am very sorry about that.”

  There was a man standing beside the bed. “Hey,” the sellsword said, his thoughts fuzzy. “You were in my dream.”

  The man was dressed all in black, but his face was uncovered, and Aaron could see the slow smile that spread across it. “That is, perhaps, one way of looking at it. Though, in truth, you were awake when last we spoke.”

  Aaron nodded, more because it seemed required than anything else. “As you say,” he mumbled, then he closed his eyes and felt himself drifting down to sleep.

  A hand settled on his shoulder, and he reluctantly opened his eyes once more. “Forgive me,” the man said, “but I fear that our time grows short, and there is much I must tell you—much you must understand.”

  “Of course,” Aaron said, studying the man’s serious, somehow sad expression. He realized there was something odd about the man’s face, a sort of timeless quality to his features, and Aaron couldn’t even guess at his age. He could have been anywhere between twenty and eighty years old. His voice, though, spoke of great experience, of the wisdom that only comes from a long life full of joy and sadness both. The sort of voice that…

  He woke to someone shaking his arm and frowned slightly. “Just going to sleep a little, is all,” he muttered. “Wake me later.”

  “There’s no time,” the man said again. “Many people are in danger, and even now their lives hang in the balance. You must awake, Aaron Envelar, for there is much for you to learn and little time in which to do it. The fate of the world hangs in the balance.”