The Ragged Man (19 page)
Authors: Tom Lloyd
When they were close enough to be seen from the castle walls someone hailed them all from above the gate, shouting, ‘Come no further, identify yourselves.’
The white-eye spat on the ground. ‘I got invited here an’ I don’t like to be kept waiting. Open that sally-port window and I’ll show you,’ he said, pointing with his axe towards an iron grille set into the main gate.
‘And the rest?’
Them?’ the white-eye said before Ardela could respond, ‘dunno, but they’re interesting enough to let in.’
He walked up to the gate as a small hatch opened at head-height behind the grille. He raised the butt of his axe and pushed the brass cap of the handle between the bars for the man to look at. Whatever was embossed seemed to do the trick and seconds later they heard the bolts being pulled back.
As the four of them entered the castle, Ardela and Shanas looked around the courtyard in curiosity while Legana stared straight at the great tower opposite them. The small tower was a good size in its own right, big enough for a decent household and staff, with a large barracks and a long wooden stable - the latter currently full to bursting, judging from the restless clatter of hooves coming from it.
‘Stable my horse,’ the white-eye called to one of the men who’d opened the gates, carelessly tossing him the reins and heading on across the courtyard. He glanced back at Legana and laughed cruelly. ‘Good luck persuadin’ these boys they should let you in!’
The gatekeeper looked more like a knight on campaign to Ardela, dressed in functional fighting clothes with a crest on his collars and a sword on his hips, but the man just gave a wolfish grin and led the horse away to the stable. One of the remaining men nodded to his companion and headed back up the ladder to the lookout position; the other walked over to face the three women.
‘So, who are you?’ he asked in Farlan, the dialect the white-eye had used. ‘There’s no open invite to this party and anyone he thinks interesting means trouble to my mind.’
‘Who the buggery was he?’ Ardela demanded.
The soldier laughed. ‘You don’t know? Piss and daemons! And you still followed him here?’ He paused and stepped closer to Legana, prompting Ardela to close in protectively, until Legana raised a hand, calming her.
‘You look familiar,’ the man mused, stepping back a few seconds later. ‘I’ve seen you before.’ His voice was less than friendly.
Legana shrugged and tugged the blindfold down from her eyes. The only men from these parts she’d met, mercenaries aside, were King Emin’s bodyguards in Scree. Either he was one of those, or she’d be fighting her way out soon enough.
‘Fate’s eyes,’ the man breathed, peering at her, ‘you’ve changed a lot since then.’
Legana ignored the fact that his hand had moved to his hilt and lifted her slate to write on it. -
When?
When?
‘When? Just the summer, and considering the company you kept back then I’m not sure I like the fact you’re changed.’
—
Your Brother.
Your Brother.
The man shook his head. ‘He weren’t the one I was thinking of.’ He stepped back again, aware Ardela was poised to draw her sword. ‘But I heard some strange things in recent times; sounds like you deserve condolences for more than one reason.’
Legana dipped her head in acknowledgment. There was a moment’s silence before the soldier cleared his throat.
‘Right, well . . . Best get you inside with the others and fed.’
He set off without waiting and after a brief hesitation the three devotees followed along, Legana voicing for their benefit the question they were all thinking. ‘
Others?’
Others?’
The ‘others’ turned out to be two women and a mismatched collection of men. The majority were like the soldiers manning the gate - Ardela realised there were too many for them all to be titled. When she got close enough to one to inspect the crest they all bore on their collars, she realised she was looking at King Emin’s bee symbol.
King’s Men then
, she thought, returning the stares she was getting from all around.
, she thought, returning the stares she was getting from all around.
Ardela hadn’t come into contact with King Emin’s personal agents before, but she’d heard enough to respect them, and she guessed that the two dozen men assembled here comprised a significant proportion of the force. They had been ushered into a large square hall on the ground floor of the tower. The room itself lacked any decoration beyond the flags of the nation. The most significant feature was a huge cauldron, smelling of stew, simmering away at the far end in a massive fireplace. A balcony jutted out over the hall and a wide stone staircase ran up the left-hand wall.
Two King’s Men got up without a word and abandoned their table to make space for Legana. She didn’t need to be guided towards it, but sat with the caution of the blind. Once comfortable, Legana looked slowly around the room, pausing at each knot of people in the big hall. More than one man flinched under her gaze and Ardela couldn’t help but wonder what Legana was seeing with her shining emerald eyes.
Devotees were trained to assess people at a glance; even someone like Ardela, who had strayed from the path, did so by instinct. The King’s Men occupied the left-hand wall, and sitting with them were two mages who seemed together to average each other out: one was a shrunken little worm of a man, the other oversized, like a white-eye who’d done nothing but eat for months on end.
Sitting close by, but not quite included, were the only other women present. They sat together, and were obviously wary of everyone, despite the fact one was most likely a battle-mage. She wore her dark hair as short as a boy’s, and her leaf-brown padded tunic was adorned with a crisscrossed network of silver chain and crystal shards.
The other’s trade was harder to discern. A long scar down her right cheek showed she hadn’t spent her life closeted away, but she carried no obvious weapons and she was dressed in normal travelling clothes, which made her stand out in this crowd.
The rest were an ugly bunch. Four dark-skinned, tattoo-covered mercenaries from the south were sitting with a shaven-headed man who sported bronze earrings in his left ear and had a sheathed pair of scimitars slung over his shoulder. A second battle-mage, who looked, judging by his clothes, as if he’d fallen on hard time, loitered in the corner. He was biting his nails and eying his more reputable colleagues across the room.
Their white-eye was busy downing a jug of wine and ignoring his hunched table companion, whose face was hidden by a raised hood. Sitting furthest from everyone was a broken-nosed man of thirty-odd summers who bore the scars of many a kicking, if Ardela was any judge. He looked like a vagrant they’d picked up off the street rather than a mercenary, his hair and beard tangled and as filthy as his clothes, but she guessed it wasn’t just the smell that kept the rest away. From the way several of the mercenaries were eying each other she guessed they had met before, most likely not always on the same side.
Finishing his wine the white-eye slipped off his sheepskin coat to reveal well-muscled arms that rivalled the southerners’ for tattoos. He obviously startled one or two of the King’s Men, who whispered to their companions and checked their weapons were at the ready, but the white-eye seemed to be enjoying the reaction he was getting. He made an obscene gesture at the nearest, all the while chuckling mightily.
‘
A room I seem to belong in,
’ Legana commented to her sisters. ‘
I smell Gods and daemons in the room, and mages of all sorts.’
A room I seem to belong in,
’ Legana commented to her sisters. ‘
I smell Gods and daemons in the room, and mages of all sorts.’
‘Daemons?’ Ardela said out loud in surprise. The man with his hood still raised flinched as she spoke and turned slightly to look at them askance. Whatever he saw he didn’t like and curled even further in on himself, but they caught sight of metal on his chest before he turned away. A soldier most likely.
‘C
ursed. There’s a God and daemon inside him, fighting for control.
’ Legana tilted her head and continued to stare at him. ‘
Once a priest, I think. There’s something of Vrest about him
.’
ursed. There’s a God and daemon inside him, fighting for control.
’ Legana tilted her head and continued to stare at him. ‘
Once a priest, I think. There’s something of Vrest about him
.’
‘Most likely he’s Devoted then,’ Ardela murmured, ‘or leastways once was. Lots of them take Vrest’s orders when they get made up to officer rank, and they do like questing after daemons.’
Any further conjecture was prevented by the sound of boots coming down the staircase. The three women turned as more King’s Men descended, one a scowling white-eye carrying a long mace who Ardela guessed to be Coran, King Emin’s bodyguard. He was as big as any white-eye of the Palace Guard and just as brutal-looking. She doubted the man had ever been handsome, but his face was not so much scarred as battered, like that of an ageing prizefighter.
Coran’s expression darkened as he looked around the room. He had the sort of permanent scowl of a man vicious to the bone, no matter what company he kept. Ardela wondered if he saw his own face as a legitimate weapon, if he could hurt the other man with it; she’d met some - a few - like that, when the fight wasn’t fun if they both didn’t end up bruised and bloody.
As though to confirm Coran’s identity, a man came out onto the balcony a few seconds later beamed down at the assembled crowd. He wore a rusty-red hat adorned with peacock feathers and a black brigandine that echoed the peacock feather pattern. Ardela couldn’t see his much-described piercing blue eyes from the other side of the room, but since the second thing every report of the man mentioned was his infuriating, mocking smile, that she noticed easily enough.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming,’ he said in a clear, aristocratic voice. ‘As for my uninvited guests, this is a particular pleasure,’ he added with a slight bow.
‘I don’t like surprises,’ growled the dishevelled battle-mage, standing up. He spoke Farlan with a clipped accent that chopped up the rhythm of the words and made them ugly in the ears of a native speaker. ‘Uninvited guests ain’t a welcome one - and don’t get me started on him,’ he added vehemently, pointed an accusatory finger at the vagrant standing on one side.
‘Piss on you,’ the white-eye with the axe interjected, reaching for another jug of wine. ‘Stop your whining, Wentersorn, ’fore I cut your other one off.’ He jabbed a thumb behind him towards Legana. ‘Before anything, tell me about her. Who gets in without an invite?’
King Emin leaned forward on the balcony rail. ‘It is a fair question, but I doubt there’s much I could tell you of any accuracy - the Land is a different place since last we met. She is, however, welcome here as my guest so I would appreciate a little courtesy from all of you.’ He looked at Legana. ‘Lady, would you and your companions help yourselves to food? You will, I hope, forgive me if you have already heard any of this.’
When Legana had indicated her assent and Shanas had fetched them some stew, King Emin cleared his throat and started, ‘You all know what you’re good at, and what sort of job I generally have for you. Those who don’t know their companions can worry about that afterwards - you can all swap reputations, delightful nicknames and tales of adventure after I’ve finished. I need men I can trust to take orders, and if any of you have a problem with that, then best you say so now. After tonight, if you continue with us I’ll consider you part of the Narkang Army. Should you choose not to join us, I’ll have to insist you stay a while to ensure you can’t betray our plans, but you will be afforded every measure of hospitality and comfort, of course.’
The white-eye raised a hand to attract the king’s attention, making Ardela feel for a moment like she was back at her lessons in the temple. ‘Hope that don’t apply to me,’ he said with a grin that didn’t reach his white eyes. ‘Ain’t taking fucking orders from any o’ them.’
King Emin gave the man an indulgent smile. ‘Then it is fortunate that I’m putting you in charge of part of the unit.’
‘Hah! You’ll be making me nobility next!’ the white-eye said with a laugh.
Half the men in the room realised the king hadn’t been joking and began to object, but Emin hushed his troops and waited for the mercenaries to quieten down.
‘Enough of the bravado,’ he said. ‘If there’s any man among you who wants to test himself against Daken you can take it out into the courtyard now - no, that’s excepting you, Coran!’ he snapped as his bodyguard hefted his mace. ‘Daken leads one half of the unit, Coran the other. You each will be responsible for getting them to the Circle City by whatever unobtrusive method is necessary — ’
‘That means secret-like,’ Daken interjected, looking directly at the rogue mage, Wentersorn, ‘for the dumbshits among you.’
‘Yes, Daken, yes it does,’ Emin said with exaggerated patience. ‘For preference it would also include not starting a fight with your own men too. Once in Byora you will liaise with my man in the quarter, who will give you your final orders.’
‘What about him?’ Wentersorn demanded in a whining voice, pointing at the vagrant standing all alone. ‘You can’t expect any of us to travel with Shim the Bastard!’
Considering Daken’s naked hostility towards him, Ardela guessed Wentersorn had to be genuinely afraid to speak up again and she turned her attention to Shim. The man kept his eyes low.
‘Several of the Brotherhood will be part of your group. Some will be filling you in on necessary details of how they work, and two will be escorting Shim separately.’
Shim said something in response that Ardela couldn’t understand, but the mage did. He shrank back for a moment, then found his courage and replied in the Narkang dialect, drawing his knife. It was quite clear what he meant, whatever language.
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