The Thief King: The Line of Kings Trilogy Book Two (9 page)

Chapter Twenty

Roskel
woke in the middle of the second night. His chest felt as though it had been
banded in iron like a keg, but he could breathe more easily than before. He sat
up, noticing for the first time the pungent smell about the room, and the
sickly smell that clung to his body. He sniffed at his armpits and turned his
nose up.

            His
memory of the past day was hazy. He remembered breakfast with the innkeeper in
the morning, but after that there was just a confused jumble of events in his
mind. He seemed to remember an old woman leaning over him, and the innkeeper
popping his head in a few times. He hoped Durnborn would forgive him this
little episode. He was embarrassed to have had to rely on the man’s charity all
day. The way the keeper had gone on about his meal times made Roskel think that
there would be a reckoning to pay. No doubt some nagging was in order.

            Truth
be told he did feel hungry, and he was desperate for the toilet. He rose and
realised just how weak he felt. The chill he’d caught had drained him of all
his energy. He just needed to feed himself and rest for a while. He’d be right
as rain.

            Once
he was dressed, Roskel headed out into the common room, looking for Durnborn,
but the innkeeper was nowhere to be seen. He listened at a closed door and
heard soft snoring from the room within.

            Roskel
unbolted the back door and went outside. Once he had relieved himself in the
toilet he made his way to the kitchen and scavenged himself a late supper, or
an early breakfast. The night was chilly but the fresh air had done him good.
His body was tired but he felt quite awake. Sitting in the common room in the
gentle glow of the fire’s embers, he set about eating what he’d found, a couple
of slices of cold meat and an apple. It would have to do until the suns rose.

            The
food was delicious. His mouth felt like it hadn’t eaten for days. His stomach
grumbled in appreciation as the food reached it. After his meal he belched
heartily, then remembered he wasn’t in private and covered his mouth. He hoped
he hadn’t wakened the innkeeper.

            His
thirst came on after he’d eaten the salty meat, so he pulled himself a mug of
warm ale and settled back before the fire.

            It
was good to be out of his bed. Sleeping all day made you groggy, but he felt
refreshed now he had eaten. He sighed with pleasure. The chair was quite
comfortable and the ale was good.

            Time
to be moving on, he thought to himself. He would settle what accounts were
outstanding when the innkeeper rose in the morning and head out on the road
again. Directions would probably help this time. He knew the roads and the
geography of Sturma reasonably well, but he didn’t wish to get turned around
again. Or get another soaking, being forced to spend the night in a
thunderstorm. A chill so soon after this one could see him confined to bed for
the better part of a week, and if the rains were here already the snows would
not be far behind.

            So
Roskel sat, sipping his ale and warming himself in front of the fire. As the
first birds of the day rose, an hour or so later, he had got the fire going
again and was warm and not a little sleepy once more.

            He’d
had enough of his bed though. He poured himself another ale and paced the room
to get some blood flowing into his lazy muscles. He was wheezing a fair bit
after a few minutes, but the mild exercise did him some good for his legs felt
stronger.

            The
first light of Carious hit the shuttered windows, shafts of sunlight dissecting
the common room. Soon after, Sam Durnborn came out of his room rubbing the
sleep from his night eyes. He wore a full length sleeping robe and Roskel noted
how his ankles were purple. The man was getting old. He wondered how long it
would be before his blood started pooling in the outer regions, too tired to
make its way back to his body.

            'Morning,'
he greeted the innkeeper.

            'Morning,
Bard.'

            'I
hope you don’t mind, but I was hungry and thirsty. I helped myself to a bite to
eat and a mug of ale.'

            'I
should think so,' said the innkeeper. 'I thought you’d never wake. Had to get
the old widow Lowboy to come and have a look at you. It’s good to see you up
and about. For a time there I thought you’d be heading out heels first.'

            'Oh,
come along now innkeep, I wasn’t that bad. I’ve had a bit of a chill, but I
only slept the day through. Besides, I feel much better now.'

            The
innkeeper shook his head. 'No, my friend. You have been abed now for the best
part of three days.'

            Roskel
shook his head. 'I think not! I remember breakfast this morning! Give over now,
a joke’s a joke but I paid for another two days.'

            'Easy
now,' said the innkeeper. 'I’m not after more money, but ask the old widow if
you don’t believe me. I don’t expect you remember. You were out of the world
for most of it. Check the leaves on the tree outside if you don’t believe me.'

            Roskel
kept the suspicious expression on his face and opened the front door. The tree
outside was bereft of leaves. All were sitting on the floor, getting ready to
spend the winter keeping the roots of the tree warm.

            He
closed the door and sat back in his chair with a sigh. 'Three days? Then I have
more to thank you for, it seems. You have my apologies, Sam. It must have been
a chore to get me back on my feet. No wonder I was so ravenous when I awoke-- and
so weak. Have I been much trouble?'

            The
innkeeper thought of telling the bard some of what he had said in his sick bed,
but he should not know such things. There was nothing to be gained from letting
him know.

            'Quiet
as a mouse. No trouble at all. You’d paid up, but you’re a day overdue today.
The old mother says you should rest up a week or so to get your strength back,
but don’t take my word for it. You’re welcome to stay, but I won’t make you.'

            'Well,
I thank you for that. I might impose on your hospitality a while longer. In
truth, I do feel rather weak.'

            'Then
how about some breakfast?'

            'I’d
love some. I’m starving again. It seems my stomach is waking up at last.'

            'I’ll
get some eggs on. I’ve got some salted ham, too.'

            'And
some bread?'

            The
innkeeper laughed. 'Alright. And some bread.'

            'Thank
you.'

            'I
just thought you should know…none of my business, but…'

            'What
is it?'

            'Are
you in some kind of trouble? On the run from the same trouble a ways back?
Don’t mind a bit if you are. I’ve had more than my fair share of trouble in the
past…'

            'No,
no trouble,' said Roskel carefully. 'Why do you ask?'

            'A
man came asking about a room when you were asleep. Nothing strange about that,
of course, but he seemed a bit too interested in your horse. Seemed like he was
looking for it,' said the innkeeper warily. Roskel watched him like a hawk. The
innkeeper seemed to fade under his glare, but he pressed on just the same. 'I
wouldn’t have mentioned it,' he said, holding up a placatory hand. 'It’s just
he asked a few too many questions for my liking. He didn’t have the look of a
casual wanderer. He had the look of a dangerous man. I told him I only had the
one room. He rode on.'

            'You’ve
nothing to worry about, Sam. I’m not in any trouble. When was this?'

            'Yesterday.
He rode on south. You might happen across him on your way. I just thought you
should know. I’ve not been nursemaid to you these last few days to have you
waylaid as soon as you leave my inn.'

            Roskel
smiled. The man was kinder than his sometimes gruff manner suggested. He seemed
embarrassed by the kindness, though, as if he expected it rebuffed.

            'It
seems I am further indebted to you than you know.' The thief weighed the man’s
worth in his mind, and decided he could afford to get closer to the truth with
this one. He seemed trustworthy, although the whole truth was nobody’s business
but his own. 'Men might be looking for me, but you needn’t trouble yourself
over it. No harm will come to you, and I am no criminal. It was kind of you to
send him on. I will pay, of course, for your lost business.'

            'Fair
enough, but it was your gold that gave me the choice to turn him out in the
first place. Ordinarily I can’t afford to turn down a customer this close to
winter, but you’ve put me in food for the snows already, so no debt is owed.
Beside, your business is your own and none of mine. You seem like a decent man,
and this one did not. I take a man as I find him.'

            'Wise,
I shouldn’t doubt,' said Roskel with a laugh. 'I am glad I passed muster.'

            'Well,
then. I’d better get about making some breakfast myself. I could do with a good
feed this morning. Truth be told, it’s been a little tiring these last few
days.'

            The
innkeeper went into the kitchen and busied himself about.

            Roskel
sat back and mulled over his options. He was tired and weak, but if his enemies
had found him already, he needed to move on swiftly. He did not know if it was
the hierarchy or not, but he could not afford to take chances. He could rest at
the next inn, perhaps take a roundabout route to the cathedral…but he would
need a bit of luck about him.

            He
seemed to rely on his luck more than was strictly healthy. Sooner or later it
was going to run out. On his journey so far luck had got him out of some tight
scrapes, but ill luck had got him into them in the first place. Someone,
somehow, had known that he had left the capital and followed him, then that
tail had been killed by the spectre of a town that had left him alive for
whatever reason. The spirits of Wraith’s Guard had been kind to him. Perhaps
the hierarchy were an affront to spirits as well as men. He just didn’t know.
But he counted himself lucky then, and lucky now to have found an innkeeper who
was honest as well as kind when he had needed him.

            But
he could not stay. The man was at risk just for having him under his roof, and
by his count he owed the man at least a chance at life. If the hierarchy
decided to attack Sam while he rested under his roof, well, Roskel had no doubt
as to the outcome. They would both be killed. His only hope at success was to
keep moving, just as he had originally planned, and keep his identity a secret
if he could.

            Sam
came out with the makings of a meal on a tray and set them up on the hearth,
placing a frying bench of iron over the fire to heat, setting the pan on the
far edge of it. The flat sheet would heat quickly and the pan would follow.

            Roskel
watched in silence, leaving the innkeeper to his work. He hadn’t seen a fire
bench in ages, but then he’d grown used to larger inns and taverns where all
the cooking was done in a kitchen. He supposed just the one customer didn’t
warrant a fire going separately in the kitchen when the one in the commons
would suffice.

            'You
don’t get many customers, do you?'

            Sam’s
expression darkened and Roskel worried that he had inadvertently hit a sore
point.

            'No.
Superstitious lot. I’d tell you the story but then you’ll probably leave and
spread the word.'

            'I’ll
do no such thing, Sam. If it sets your mind at ease, I was thinking of moving
on today anyway.'

            'The
old mother says you’re to rest…'

            'I
know, but for reasons its best you don’t know I need to keep moving until I
reach my destination. So you needn’t worry. Nothing you could say would affect
my decision.'

            Sam
pursed his lips, then seemed to decide. 'Nothing much to it. A man died a while
back in one of my rooms. Now the villagers seem to think the place cursed. Like
I said, superstitious. The man was old and long overdue anyway. Nevermind. I
manage without their custom.'

            'Sounds
like poor luck to me.'

            'That’s
the way I figure it, too. Still, the people will come back, I guess.'

            Roskel
thought about it for a while in silence, while the eggs cooked in fat before
the fire. When the food was ready, Sam served them both and settled into the
chair beside Roskel. Neither seemed willing to move away from the comforting
warmth of the fire so they ate on their laps.

            'I’ve
an idea, if you’re willing to take a chance. I figure I owe you, and one more
night won’t make much of a difference.'

            'Speak
your mind, then,' said the innkeeper.

            'Before
I say, how long does your old mother reckon before the first snow?'