Blackstone (Book 2) (24 page)

“I imagine so.” Hyun Woo’s eyes crinkled up into crescents.
“Besides, I am not through teaching you yet. Any of you.”

“I’d be sorry to see you go,” Wolf said truthfully. “I enjoy
the learning.”

“A good student does.” Hyun Woo turned and looked out toward
the land, where Goldschmidt lay far off in the distance. “When a fish swims up
a waterfall, it becomes a dragon.”

After living with Fei for so many years, Wolf had learned
how to translate many of the idioms and sayings that he heard, but this one
went straight over his head. “Master?”

Grinning, Hyun Woo rephrased, “When a man faces adversity
such as this, he becomes stronger for it. You are now like the fish, swimming
up a waterfall. If you can reach the top, you will possess all of the strength
and knowledge of a dragon.” Glancing back at him, he assured his student, “Do
not worry, Wolfinsky. I will not leave you until you have reached the top.”

Wolf noted the absence of honorifics with surprise. That was
only done between family, very close friends, or…or between master and student.
Beyond touched at the man’s offer, Wolf found himself at the brink of tears. He
couldn’t manage a single word. Instead, he gave a deep bow, expressing what he
felt in the only way he could manage in that moment.

Hyun Woo gave him a brief clasp of the shoulder,
acknowledging him, and then encouraged him to straighten again. “For now, find another
man to stand guard for you,” he instructed. “I need you to come with me.”

“Sure,” Wolf agreed instantly, then stopped to clear his
tight throat and get his emotions under control enough to speak properly. “I
can, but what are we doing?”

“You want to return home, do you not?”

“Of course.”

“Then,” a predatory smile crossed over Hyun Woo’s face, “we
should start making plans on how to retake the city. Is there reason for
delay?”

Wolf’s smile was equally feral. “Not one.”

The first night outside of Channel
Pass was a little rough. They’d spent the majority of their energy on gathering
stones instead of making camp, and so only the barebones were in place. Denney had
thoughtfully broken off an hour ahead of everyone else and went to prepare a
thick stew—the easiest thing to make while camping out. She also wisely made
more than enough for people to get seconds, or thirds, or (in Wolf’s and Tran’s
cases) fifths.

After eating, Wolf propped himself
up on his bedroll and seriously considered just falling asleep in that
position. If he did, though, he’d wake up with a terrible crick in his neck in
the morning. And he hadn’t sorted out who was taking which watch yet, either.
So he really couldn’t afford to fall asleep right here.

Siobhan seemed to realize that
full stomachs, plus hard work, equaled tired people. She pushed herself to her
feet and announced to the group, “I think it’s best the watches go in pairs
while we’re out here. We might fall asleep if on our own. So Rune and Wolf
first watch, Tran and Markl second watch, Fei and Beirly third watch, and I’ll
take fourth watch.”

Since fourth watch was early in
the morning, when Siobhan normally chose to rise, Wolf didn’t argue this.
Besides, fourth watch was the safest of all, so if there was any watch to let
her take alone, it’d be that one.

Resigned to having to stay awake a
few more hours, he rolled himself up to his feet. “Rune, help me mark out a
perimeter.”

“I’ll mark north side,” Rune said,
already moving that direction.

Kiō had gotten quick on
things like these. Smiling to himself, he went the opposite direction, marking
how far out to patrol with any large stone that came to hand. Satisfied, he
went back to camp.

Everyone had more or less turned
in at this point. Beirly was snoring loud enough to wake the dead. He met Rune
near the campfire. “Shall we walk the first circuit?”

Rune shrugged agreement and fell
into step with him. They walked in silence the full circle around the camp. At
this distance, they couldn’t feel the heat of the campfire, and could only see
the silhouettes of their companions as they slept. Wolf was just glad it was a
peaceable night with fair weather. Camping in foul weather was something to
avoid at all costs.

“Wolf.”

“Hmm?”

“What’s your story?”

For a second, he didn’t quite know
what Rune was asking. Then it clicked. “You mean how I came into the guild?”

Rune nodded, a barely discernable
gesture this far from the firelight. “I heard how Deepwoods was originally
formed. But I don’t know how any of you came into it.”

That was a very reasonable
question to ask. In fact, Wolf was surprised that Rune hadn’t asked it earlier.
Looking about him, he took in the starry sky, the soft breeze coming in off the
ocean, and the stillness of the night.

“My father always said that
secrets and stories were best shared at night. Alright, Rune. Let me tell you
the story of Erik Wolfinsky.”

He stared straight ahead with dead
eyes, the raucous noise of the crowd washing over him without touching him. He
stood on a platform—little better than a slab set a foot higher than the
ground—with a half dozen other men. All of them were in poor condition, weak,
half-starved.  They were squeezed in together, so much so that just taking a
breath would jostle the person on either side. He had his half-healed arm held
protectively to his chest to keep it from being injured further.

Early this morning, they’d been
dragged into an outdoor shower of sorts, where they’d been given strong lye
soap and cold water. No new clothes, though, just a rag to dry off with. The
chance to be clean had been welcome, but the effort his slave masters had made
to better their appearance was too slipshod to do any good. His beard and hair
still matted, as were the other men’s, and their clothes tattered beyond
repair.

Then again, it wasn’t like the
masters really cared. They had every intention of selling this lot cheap, as
they were in too poor of a condition to get a high value. He had no illusions
about his own value at this point. A former dark guild mercenary with a missing
hand would not be attractive to most buyers. If he didn’t sell today, though,
he likely wouldn’t see a tomorrow. His masters were tired of towing him from
market to market.

The sun rose, filtering through
the awnings of the market stalls and heating up the place to an unbearable
level. The stench of unwashed bodies, rotting food, and manure from the various
animals became ripe enough to gag on. But Erik Wolfinsky was used to such
smells after the past three months and he simply waited it out until his nose
grew accustomed to it.

By midday, three of the men that
were standing with him were sold off. He took little notice of it, save that he
now had room to stand with arms akimbo if he chose. His bad arm he let hang at
his side now that he wasn’t worried about it being banged against.

“Hello?”

Strange. That voice gave the
impression a woman was speaking to him. He lowered his gaze, looking down.
Clear green eyes looked straight back at him, and in them, he saw sympathy. He
blinked, for surely this was an illusion. People looked at him with fear,
distaste, but never sympathy.

“I’m Siobhan Maley,” she
introduced herself with a winsome smile.

What a beautiful woman. And where
was that accent and red hair from? She looked different than the people of
western Robarge. Her skin was pale, except the freckles across her nose, and
she was taller than most women.  The lilt to her words was foreign to him and
he couldn’t place her. She wasn’t from Orin, Wynngaard, or Teherani, though.
That he knew. So she must hail from some other part of Robarge.

When she didn’t get a response,
she prompted, “What’s your name?”

It had been so very, very long
since someone asked him that. He had to wet his lips before he could answer.
“Erik. Erik Wolfinsky.”

“Wolfinsky?” she repeated,
eyebrows raising. “You look Wynngaardian. Are you?”

“Aye.”

She let out a low whistle. “You’re
far and away from home, sir.”

Sir? The respect made his throat
tighten.

Cocking her head, she asked, “Do
you want to go home?”

Home…he’d dreamed of it often.
“I…don’t think I can.”

Shaking her finger at him, she
tsked him gently. “That’s not what I asked. Do you
want
to go home?”

Something about the way she asked,
the way she looked at him without flinching, made a small flicker of hope
ignite in his chest. Barely able to breathe, he forced out, “Yes.”

“Well enough, then.” Nodding in
satisfaction, she turned to the master standing nearby. “How much?”

The master eyed her dubiously,
studying her from head to toe again. “Forgive me, Miss—”

“Guildmaster,” she interrupted.
The smile and charm she had before was gone and in its place was a woman that
was not to be trifled with. Those green eyes pinned the master in place with a
stare lethal enough to melt iron. “I’m Guildmaster of Deepwoods. And I asked
you how much.”

Guildmaster? Erik stared at her
incredulously. If she was older than eighteen, he’d eat his boots. What was
left of them. How in the world had she become a guildmaster this young?

The master must have thought the
same thing as he cleared his throat and said in a wheedling tone, “If I can see
your guild crest…?”

She pulled a leather case from her
inside vest pocket and flipped it so that he could see a D in an elaborate
scroll, like a leaf and vine twisted in on itself in shades of greens, oranges,
and golds. “I’m an escorting guild from Goldschmidt.”

“Ahhh, yes, so I see.” With that
confirmed, the master did a sharp about-turn in attitude and smiled at her in
an oily fashion. “As you can see, he’s very large and strong in spite of the
missing hand. He’s also a former mercenary, so has good fighting skills. He’d
be perfect for an escort guild such as yours—”

Her eyes narrowed, toe tapping an
impatient rhythm in the dirt. “How much.”

“One hundred kors,” the master
said brightly.

The guildmaster’s toe stopped
tapping. Putting both hands on her hips, she leaned toward him menacingly. “The
man’s half starved, his clothes are rags, and it’ll be quite the feat to find
anything that’s going to fit him. That’s not even taking into account the
medicine it’s going to take to get him healthy again. And you’re asking how
much?”

“Yes, but his experience is such
that—”

“Fifty,” she countered, cutting
him off.

“That’s robbery!” the master
wailed in a practiced whine.

“No, one hundred is robbery,” she
snorted.

The master studied her again and
this time seemed to realize that however young she might be, she was shrewd,
and he was not going to con her into something. Besides, she was the first to
show interest in Erik in the last three months. “Seventy kors.”

The guildmaster didn’t even blink.
“Fifty-five.”

“Sixty.”

“Fifty-eight.”

“Sold.” The master held out a
hand, and she took it, sealing the deal.

Satisfied, she inclined her head
toward the chains. “Take those off.”

“Of course, Guildmaster.” He
rubbed his hands together. “If it is agreeable, you can pay me first…”

“I better get paperwork for him,”
she added, pulling a money purse from her belt pouch. Frowning, she started
counting it out in her hand, lips pursed. “Hmm, I’m a mite short. Hold on.”
Turning in place, she yelled out over the crowd, “BEIRLY!”

From somewhere within the crowd of
pedestrians a man’s deep voice called back, “Here! Shi, where are you?”

“Slaver’s corner!” she called
back.

There was a great deal of swearing
in response, which Erik found interesting. From the man’s reply, he hadn’t
expected his guildmaster to be over here. So they hadn’t come to the market to
buy a slave? Then why had she bought him?

From the crowd, a man pushed his
way through, huffing and puffing as he did so. At first glance, it looked like
he was related to the woman, as they both had red hair. But it was a brighter
shade of red, the man was stocky and short, and his eyes were brown. He
visually latched onto the woman and strode straight to her, face drawn together
in an unhappy frown.

“Shi, what are you doing?”

She pointed straight to Erik.
“Buying him. Give me ten kors, I’m a little short.”

The man called Beirly didn’t
budge. “Shi, have you lost your mind?”

“No, not at all,” she denied
pleasantly. “We’re heading toward Wynngaard in a month, right? Well, he’s from
Wynngaard. I figure he can serve as translator and guide while we get the
caravan there. He’s a former mercenary, so he can help guard the caravan too as
we travel. It’s perfect.”

Oh. Was that why she wanted him?

Beirly didn’t buy this logic and
shook his head at her. “That isn’t why you’re buying him. I know you better
than that.”

Not denying this, she waggled her
fingers at him. “Ten kors.”

Blowing out an irritated breath,
he dug his money purse out. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“Don’t I always?”

“You don’t really want me to say
something to that, do you?”

Laughing, she shook her head no.

Erik watched this play out with
his heart in his throat. Part of that was because his future, out of these
chains, depended on the man giving her those missing ten kors. But part of it
was that it had been many years since he had seen such a warm interaction
between two people. It was true friendship between them, sweet and easy. In
that moment, even in this bleak place, they seemed to glow to him.

His lips parted as memory came
back to him of a distant time, when he was still a child, and he had such warm
connections to people. It made his heart ache at the loss of it.

She handed over the kors,
receiving the receipt of sale in return, which she carefully stowed in her vest
pocket. Then the chains were taken off his wrists and he tentatively stepped
down. Far from alarming her, she craned her neck to look up. “My, you
are
tall! You make me feel short. Are all of your people like this?”

“Not all of Wynngaard,” he denied,
voice rusty from disuse. “But I’m from the mountains, and my people are this
large.”

“Well.” Eyeing him up and down,
she seemed to be making a judgment on what to do with him. “First things first.
Food. Beirly, mark his sizes, find him several changes of clothes and new
boots.”

Beirly gave him that same look of
sizing him up. “Tall order, Shi.”

Her smile at him meant,
move
it.
“Then you’d best get started.”

Raising his hands in surrender,
asked, “Is your purse empty, then?”

“Just about.”

Beirly handed over a few more
coins, which she took amiably, before he turned on a heel and went back into
the main market.

Erik nearly leapt out of his skin
when she slipped her hand into his, her hold firm. Seeing his reaction, she
shrugged at him. “I don’t want to lose you in the crowd. Now, tell me, when was
the last time you had a proper meal?”

He had to think for a moment. Did
last night’s tossed scraps count as a proper meal? “A while.”

“That’s what I thought. Alright,
we’ll head down Food Row. If you see something that tempts you, sing out, and
we’ll stop there for lunch.” So saying, she towed him along.

Even as weak as he was, he could
snap this woman’s neck in half without much effort. Surely she knew this. But
she didn’t seem in the least afraid of him. She just walked, trusting him to be
at her side. Trust like that was something else he hadn’t had in a very long
time.

He had no idea why she had really
bought him. Her friend hadn’t believed it was for business reasons, but that
brought up the question of what her true motives were. But in the ten minutes
he’d known her, she’d shown him kindness and trust, and he was loath to lose
this chance of being treated like a human being again. Then and there, he
promised himself that whatever she asked of him, he’d do. Even if she never
took him home, as she’d said she would, he’d still do it.

Glancing over her shoulder, she
asked, “Anything look good to you?”

Oh, right. Food. He looked to the
right and left of the road, spied a roasted chicken stand, and pointed his chin
at it. “There.”

“Oh, chicken? Sounds good.”
Smiling, she cut between two carts and dragged him straight there.

The cart wasn’t much, just
something that could feed four people at most, but the smell coming from it was
a good one. He took the stool next to hers tentatively, aware of the sidelong
glances of the people around them. But she didn’t seem to either see or care
what other people thought. She smiled up at the cook and said, “One chicken for
me, flat bread if you have it, and…oh, is that apple cider I see?”

“Yes, miss,” the burly cook responded
with a weather eye on Erik.

“Good, I’ll have a tankard of
that. Wolfinsky, order what you want.”

Not sure how much generosity he
could impinge on, he said, “What my guildmaster ordered.”

With an exasperated sigh, she
turned to face him. “Wolfinsky. It’s Siobhan to you, not Guildmaster. And there
is no way under the heavens that a man your size can eat what I do and be
satisfied with it.
Beirly
eats twice as much as I do and he’s shorter
than me! Goodman, give him three times the amount you serve me.”

Siobhan? She wanted him to call
her by name? He drew back in confusion. What did this woman really want from
him?

Tapping a finger on the wooden
surface, she called his attention back to her. “I hail from Widstoe, which is
on the eastern edge of Robarge. And among my people, we eat together to form
friendships. So. Won’t you eat with me?”

“You want…” he had to take a
breath before he could force the full sentence out, “You want to be friends
with me.”

“Right.” She said this easily, as
if it was the most natural thing in the world.

“A former dark guild mercenary and
slave. For a friend.”

“Right,” she agreed again. Her
eyes tilted up in a silent smile. “It’s not a bad deal for you. Being my friend
means being part of my guild, so you can cross over the Grey Bridges, and can
make it back home again.”

While that was true—a dark
guildsman couldn’t travel across the Grey Bridges, it wasn’t allowed—that
wasn’t the point at all. “Aren’t you worried that
you
might be getting
the raw end of this deal?”

“The fact that you are worried
about me says I made the right choice.” She waggled her eyebrows at him. “A
truly bad man wouldn’t be. He’d have already taken off and run for freedom.”

Oh. True, even though she’d held
on to him, if he was truly determined to get away from her, he could have
managed it easily. So, she felt she knew everything she needed to know because
of how he’d acted in the past fifteen minutes? Oddly enough, it made sense. She
seemed whimsical, as if she was simply doing what she wanted to do, but there was
method to her madness after all.