Free the Darkness (King's Dark Tidings Book 1) (8 page)

After five blocks, Rezkin turned to the right and continued
for half a block. There, on his right, was the Golden Cockerel. He examined it
closely, taking in all of the small details and ensuring he completely
understood the layout of the building and those surrounding it in order to plan
his escape routes. A small-man of about fourteen years approached him with a
cheeky smile and bowed with a flourish.

“Good evening, sir! The Golden Cockerel is the nicest inn
this side of the city. People come from all over to taste our fare. Our stables
are dry, and our floors are clean. You couldn’t ask for a better stay,” the
small-man paused in his obviously practiced speech and eyed the massive battle
charger. With less certainty he asked, “Shall I take your horse?”

Rezkin smiled in return, not wanting to scare the small-man
off, and considered the question. It had taken him some time to learn the
Skills
necessary to handle a hardened battle charger. Even now the horse was huffing
and stomping as he eyed the small-man. The small-man’s lack of confidence would
get him nowhere with the disgruntled horse.

“No, I think I had best see to him, myself,” Rezkin replied.
The small-man’s relief was evident, but he also looked as though he was not
sure if he should be offended. “I mean no offense, but this horse can be
aggressive, especially toward anyone but me.”

The small-man smiled and nodded his head. “Will you be
staying with us then, sir?”

“Yes, if you have a room available,” replied Rezkin.

“Oh, yes, sir. It is still early enough that they have not
filled up. If you bring your horse around, I’ll show you to the stables. I’m
Pot, by the way,” said the gangly small-man.

“Pot?” asked Rezkin. He had never heard of anyone named Pot.

“Yeah, well, it’s short for Potkinally. It’s just easier to
say Pot. I don’t know what my ma was thinking when she named me,” the small-man
laughed.

“Your mother named you?” Rezkin asked with interest. He had
never really thought about where he got his name. He wondered if his mother had
named him.

Pot yanked open the gate to the yard and closed it again
after they had gone through. “Yeah, my da was off on the trade route somewheres
when I was born, and my ma got tired of calling me the babe, so she went ahead
and named me. My da wasn’t too happy about it when he got back, but he couldn’t
really say nothin’ since he’d been gone a lot longer than he was s’posed to.”

“I see. I am Rezkin. It is a pleasure to meet you, Pot.”

“That’s kind of a funny name. Why’d they name you that? Is
it cause of your hair?” asked Pot inquisitively.

“A man named Pot is saying
my
name is funny?” asked
Rezkin, although he had no idea what his hair had to do with his name.

The small-man looked surprised for a moment and then
straightened proudly as he said, “Ah, sorry, sir. I didn’t mean offense.
There’s an open stall here. You can lock your tack over there in the cupboard.
The key’s in the lock. Please, don’t lose it. It’s a hassle to find a Lock
Master to get into it and make a new one. There’s only one in the city, you
know…the Lock Master, I mean. Everyone wants him to take a few apprentices, but
he refuses. He doesn’t want anyone stealing his business, you see?”

As the small-man rattled on about various happenings, Rezkin
unloaded his belongings and brushed down the horse.

“What’s his name?” the small-man finally asked.

“What is whose name?” asked Rezkin in confusion.

The small-man pointed at the battle charger, “Your horse.
What’s his name?”

Rezkin looked back at the horse in surprise. He had never
considered naming a horse. He was not sure why a horse needed a name, but the
boy seemed to think it was the normal thing to do. He thought quickly. Just as
he was about to speak, the horse lifted his head high and rolled his eyes
around to look at Rezkin as if daring him to come up with something strong and
proud.

“Pride,” Rezkin said. The horse snorted and went back to
chomping on the oats and alfalfa the small-man had poured into the feed bucket.
The young warrior felt a slight tug at the corners of his lips as if his mouth
was about to quirk into a smile all on its own. That was odd.

“That’s a good name,” said the small-man. “He does seem
really proud.”

Rezkin gathered his things together and motioned toward the
inn. “We can go in, now. You had best stay away from him. He could injure you.
I would suggest keeping other horses away from his stall, as well, if
possible.” Rezkin then remembered he was supposed to give the small-man a
gratuity for his assistance. He pulled a silver from his purse and handed it to
the small-man. Pot’s eyes lit up and he smiled grandly.

“Thank you, sir! I’ll keep a good eye on him, but I won’t
bother him at all,” Pot said.  “I should help you with your things.

“I would prefer to carry them myself,” Rezkin replied.

Pot’s face fell once again, and he looked put out. Rezkin
wondered what he had done to upset the small-man this time. Not knowing what else
to do, he decided to give the small-man additional information in case he was
confused.

“Some of my things are not safe for a small-man to handle if
he has not yet learned the
Skills
,” Rezkin stated.

Pot eyed the swords and dagger at Rezkin’s waist and then
took in the bow and arrows and crossbow that were strapped to his pack. The
rest of the weapons were either hidden on Rezkin’s person or inside the pack.
Finally, Pot nodded in resignation and led the way toward the building. The
young warrior was satisfied that at least this small-man recognized his own
limitations. He was a smart man.

They entered the inn through the rear door and headed toward
the front common room. Rezkin’s eyes roved over every inch of the
establishment, resting on each individual momentarily to assess the threat
level. Pot practically skipped up to the bar where a heavyset man wearing an
apron stood wiping down mugs.

“Master Nol, we have a customer. We took care of his horse
already. It’s amazing, Master Nol. I’ve never seen such a horse. His name is
Pride. The horse, I mean. The man’s name is Rezkin, and he wants a room.” Pot
said all of this in a single breath.

“Pot! Stop talking, boy, and let me greet the fellow,” the
barman replied. “Greetings,” he paused as his eyes finally landed on the
imposing young warrior, “ah…sir. I am Nol, the owner of this fine inn. I
understand you would like a room?”

Rezkin reminded himself to smile as he replied, “Yes, Master
Nol. I will be staying for two nights, perhaps three. I would prefer a room on
the east side of the building with a window, if one is available.”

Master Nol’s brow furrowed. “I have such a room available.
You are young, but I don’t think you wear those swords for show, do you? It’s
not the first time I’ve had such a request – always from the warrior
types, soldiers and such, you know? It’ll be eight silver per night for the
room. That includes dinner and breakfast. It’s another four silver for the
horse. A bath will be two silver. We can have your clothes laundered for an
added cost, depending on what you have.”

“Perhaps we can call it an even twenty-five for everything,
including the laundry, for two nights, and I will pay you up front,” Rezkin
suggested. His masters had taught him to always haggle the price, even when it
was already a good deal or people would become suspicious.

Master Nol nodded and said, “That’ll do. I’ll show you to
your room, if you’ll follow me.” Good, it did not seem like this man wanted to
quibble over a few silvers, which was just as well because Rezkin did not want
to, either.

The room was just as Rezkin had suspected although a little
larger than that to which he was accustomed. It was clean and tidy with a few
decorative touches. Rezkin cared little for the adornments. He was more
concerned about the ease of setting traps or escaping from such a room.

The innkeeper waved him in saying, “This is the room most of
your type prefer. They’re always muttering about defensibility and escape
routes and such. I don’t know anything about that, but if you do find yourself
in a pickle, please take it outside and try not to break anything.”

Rezkin forced a smile once again and replied, “You have
little need to worry, Master Nol. I have no intention of causing any problems.
It is just the training, you see.” As he was speaking, he dug through his purse
and counted out five silver pieces and two thumps, which were named after the
sound they made when dropped on a table and were each equivalent to ten silver
pieces.

“Yes, well, I hope you enjoy your stay. We will begin serving
dinner in about an hour. Shall we have your bath brought up?”

“I would be much obliged,” Rezkin stated through his
practiced smile.

The innkeeper left, and Rezkin set down his pack. He checked
every corner and nook of the room for traps and poisons. He searched through
his bedding and even pulled back the mattress covers to stab at the straw
underneath. Just as he finished replacing the material, he heard a soft nock at
the door. He gripped his dagger with one hand and swung the door open with the
other, standing off to the side so as not to present an easy target. The young
woman waiting in the hall gasped at the abruptness and stood staring at him
wide-eyed as a frightened doe.

“Move, Roxie! This is heavy,” the small-man behind her said
with a huff. Pot beamed at Rezkin from behind the young woman. “Hi, Rezkin!
This is Roxiella. She’s the maid and helps out in the kitchen. We’ve brought
you your bath.”

Rezkin smiled down at the young maid, and her cheeks turned
pink as she quickly looked away.
What did I do wrong?
Had he made her
angry? The smile seemed to work on the others.
Perhaps it only works with
men.
He motioned them to enter with the heavy tub between them. They placed
the tub in the center of the room and then headed back out saying they would
bring up the water. Inside the tub was a basket containing a few bottles of
oils and cakes of soap, a scrub brush, and a drying cloth.

Waiting patiently while the two scampered up and down the
stairs with pails of water, Rezkin began unloading his pack. He piled his dirty
clothes next to the door and pull out his comb and shaving kit, setting them
next to the tub. After several long minutes, the tub was sufficiently filled,
and the maid turned to him and curtsied. Her face turned pink again as she almost
whispered, “Sir, if you leave your laundry outside the door, I’ll see that it’s
cleaned.”

Rezkin bowed slightly to the young woman and gave her his
best court smile as he said, “Thank you, Mistress Roxiella. I will do as you
say.”

Her pink cheeks turned a darker shade of red and her lips
broke into a giddy smile of her own. She nearly ran from the room. From the
doorway came a sudden burst of laughter. Pot grinned back at him.

“She likes you,” he said before scurrying off to his own
chores.

She liked him? When men’s faces turned red, it usually meant
they were angry. Then again, he vaguely remembered a lesson on human behavior
in which his master told him that men sometimes turned red if they were
embarrassed. Was the young woman embarrassed? Why would she be embarrassed to
like him?  And how could she know if she liked him when they had not even
interacted or tested their
Skills
against each other.

Rezkin had always felt it was much easier to gauge a man’s
worth after he had sparred with him. This had been his first interaction with a
woman who was not a target of his blade, and if she had gone away liking him,
then he must have succeeded somewhere. It seemed that women needed a better
smile and a softer voice to make them feel comfortable. He would have to
remember that in the future.

Rezkin stripped off his armor and gathered up the remainder
of his dirty clothes into a pile before placing them outside the door. He would
have to find something else to put on after his bath. People wore nicer clothes
in the city, so he could get away with wearing his dark grey night stealth
breeches. He was left with a dark blue silk shirt and a simple white linen
tunic. Since he did not want to appear too wealthy and attract attention, he
decided to wear the tunic. Few people in the city wore armor, aside from the
guards and city watch, and he did not wish to stand out. He could clean and oil
the leather gear tonight and forego the armor. It was a risk to expose himself
so, but he had to get used to blending in with society. He had known there
would be many times when it would not be considered appropriate to don battle
gear and had trained for such instances. His masters had made him wear
ridiculously flamboyant court dress while dueling, battling
insurgents
,
or conducting stealth operations.

Once he was finally washed and dressed with his damp hair
combed back into a queue, he strapped his swords to his hips, tucked his dagger
into his belt and secreted a number of knives about the rest of him. The room
had a long mirror in one corner, a luxury he was surprised to find in this
middle-class inn. He surveyed himself to make sure he was fit for his role.

After a moment, he realized he no longer knew what role he
was playing. When he first left the fortress, he thought he would play the role
of a mercenary, but thus far no one had asked for his occupation. Perhaps he
did not need to play a role.
But, if I am not playing a role, then what am
I?

Considering his reflection in the mirror, he wondered what
he would think of the man in front of him if he were to see him on the street.
The man in the mirror looked like someone who had money but did not care to
show it. His clothes were excellent quality but simple enough that most people
would not notice. His weapons were plain and unadorned, despite being priceless
masterpieces. The man’s silky black hair, pale skin and pale blue eyes might
have been startling if he had not been used to seeing them all his life. His
above average height, broad shoulders, and cut physique made him look older
than his nineteen years, and he could see why he might appear intimidating to
smaller folk.