Before picking up the platter, a sound stopped his movement and his thoughts—a cry, muffled, but clear enough. His heart started up while he stayed stone still and waited. Another cry. Female and not far. Was it farther into the building? There was a sound like the shifting of feet or furniture, then another cry. It was in the next room—he needed to help her. Lorin crouched low against the wall and heard the sound again. Walking soft as a whisper along the hardwood floor, he traced the sounds to a room across a large foyer. The foyer ceiling was two or three stories tall, the walls trimmed with a warm, dark brown wood and gold. The entrance to the room producing the noise had no door, just a square frame made from the same dark wood trim.
Lorin stood at the edge of the entranceway and looked in to see shelves along the walls packed with books. Rows of other bookshelves filled the rest of the room, and from somewhere in those shelves the muffled cry and repeated thumping echoed off the books. Lorin couldn't see the source, but a realization began to dawn on him. He spied a set of heeled shoes kicked off to opposite corners, and a hat very similar to his own was dangling from a top corner of a shelf. The change of perspective transformed the sound of the cries to the muffled moans of a woman enjoying her company. Lorin was about to turn back with a smirk, but saw a familiar vest crumpled beside the bookshelf that blocked his full view of the pair. It was the same vest he was wearing, but with the key difference that it had been made with a reasonable amount of fabric. He kept out of sight, grabbed the vest, and changed into it. It was still a little big, but not near as much as the picnic blanket he had been wearing. The couple's tempo picked up. Lorin, not wanting to spoil the moment, moved to leave, but looked around to see if he could change out his shirt and pants as well. He peeked around the shelf, spying the two trespassers very much entranced with each other over a reading desk. The man had stripped down to his socks, and the shirt and pants he had thrown off were on the ground an arm-and-a-half's reach away from the shelf where Lorin hid. Lorin smirked and grabbed his new outfit.
He returned to pick up his platter and opened the door to the servant halls. He adjusted his better-fitting clothing and felt a twinge of guilt before he hardened his expression and focused. This had been the easy part.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The outside air grew cold at night, which had helped with overheating during Lorin's intense training, but for a celebration feast it had a nasty bite. Large braziers had been brought out and set around the guests, painting the lush courtyard in flickering light that intermingled with the fading sun. The fresh air outside both excited and steadied Lorin. The courtyard felt more alive as the night went on with people talking, laughing, telling stories. Servants, including Lorin, rushed from guest to guest, filling wine and beer, bringing food to both tables, and taking away scraps. While a few remained standing, most guests sat along the parallel tables—one clearly set for highborn, their goblets and cutlery shining silver and their chairs plush and tall. The other table, little more than a bench, was set without a tablecloth or individual seating. Wooden cutlery and no drinks besides water were scattered in tight clusters down its length. The food, however, was distributed evenly between the two tables. A queue of beggars, cripples, farmers, whores, and really any common men or women had lined up at the courtyard entrance. When a place at the table was vacated either by choice or force—there was an hour time limit—guards would walk up with a new guest from the line to the head table. The less-than-noble would bless or thank the couple and then be seated in the empty spot and served a plate fresh from the kitchen. The whole courtyard smelled of Varron's desperation to impress.
Lorin didn't feel much time had passed while he was getting cleaned up and dressed. But when he first emerged into the courtyard he saw that the once-empty throne above the happy couple was now filled. The Baron reclined with one leg on the bone armrest made to look like a lion paw, and drank from a keg-sized tankard, spilling beer out the sides of his mouth and down his beard. He laughed, belched, and groped the servants that tended to him. In truth he could be a jolly man, but the air around him felt too still and heavy for that. He paid no mind to the folk brought up before his son—he didn't look at anything, really, other than down the shirts he pulled or the skirts he lifted. His servants had been picked specifically for him—three girls from a house of ill repute and two other servants chosen from the volunteers. The two from the crowd looked as shaky as Lorin felt.
Like father like son.
A new problem presented itself with the Baron's arrival; Thornguard had been added around the table, making a total of twelve guards, all standing tall, bravely ignoring the yips from the molested girls.
Playing the role of a servant proved simple: don't speak, do what you are asked, and keep your head low. Perfect. At first, Lorin followed a mid-forties servant who seemed quite adept at her duties, and matched her priorities and actions—filling empty mugs, collecting dirty dishes, and bringing over fresh platters when necessary. He needed to return to the kitchen a few times, but since he now knew what to do, the dwarf with his beard imprisoned by a net didn't pay him any attention. He may as well have been invisible, and that allowed him over the hours to spy on Varron and learn some gossip from the crowd.
While he carried a pitcher of spring wine and filled cups down the noble table, Lorin got close enough to overhear a couple enthralled with watching the other guests.
"Look, see the one in the brown dress?" said the sharp-featured old woman. "She looks to be trying to compete with those whores. Her dress couldn’t cover a fly let alone her sagging body."
"I bet she is trying to catch the eye of the Demores," said the pudgier lady before she lifted another chocolate-covered something to her mouth.
"Most likely the elder of the two. After all, he lets the ladies have whatever they want for the night—well except for privacy. She looks cheap enough for that to buy her. Besides, the young Demore seems too captivated by his one-eyed betrothed to notice."
"Can't blame him. She is quite lovely. Do you know how she lost her eye?"
"I heard they met when Varron was out traveling and they fell in love quickly. But as impassioned youths can be, excitement got the best of them one night." She leaned in close as if to whisper in secret but didn't lower her voice in the least as she said, "He slipped from her grasp, and poked out her eye." The ladies both burst out in laughter twice as loud as any chicken coop.
"That's what the street urchins say," the pudgy lady said, gasping for air.
"There is always truth to be found in rumors," said the sharp-faced woman, wiping a tear away. Quick as a blink, her face scrunched, and she barked coldly, "Wine, boy! We are empty."
"Yes, M'lady," Lorin said. With his head bowed and shoulders slouched, he filled the two goblets without a word. The two ladies continued on about good wine never being shipped up from the south anymore, quickly losing Lorin's interest in their conversation. Once the cups were filled to an approving nod, he continued his way down the table, but before he left, a bony hand grabbed his pants.
"Bring more wine soon, boy," the old crone croaked before he was freed.
"Yes, M'lady," Lorin said and bowed.
He had served a few hours into dark now and still wasn't closer to getting near Varron. He had watched the guards bring countless guests from the lineup, but they were the only ones that approached. No server went there to refill drinks or add more food—the guards brought everything. Varron only sat as he greeted them all with his practiced, perfect smile. The arrowheads in Lorin's sleeve felt alive, ready to cut an artery, cause a scene. But he held back. Something didn’t feel quite right. He had a few chances where a flick of his wrist and an arrow would have hit its mark without notice. The arrowheads, though, remained nestled in their places, vibrating with anticipation. It wasn't personal enough, too quick for Varron—a merciful end to a merciless monster. It didn't have the right appeal. A silent dart from a crowd seemed cowardly, and he might as well use poison, or just get someone els
e to kill him. The job would be done, yes… but it wouldn’t feel quite right.
A guard approached Varron after a common guest thanked and blessed the couple. "My Lord, I beg your gracious pardon for the interruption. The mid of night will be soon and a handful more than a hundred still wait to greet and praise you both. I ask your guidance on when they should be turned away?" The guard bowed low, holding his position and waiting for a response.
"The hundred or more have been waiting to see us and to eat a good meal," Varron said. He grabbed the laced glove beside him and turned to her. "Why send them away before they have something to eat at least?"
"As you say, my Lord. Most gracious of you," said the guard. Adding a flourish to his bow, he turned on his heel back to the courtyard entrance.
"If you think I'll stay here till dawn listening to any more of these swine herders and shit shovelers, you're as daft as your mum." The Baron's voice boomed clear throughout the courtyard, the stench of alcohol following right behind the sound.
Turning around in his chair, Varron said, "I and Sofia will stay. Do as you like, Father—you are welcome to stay or leave."
The Baron stood up abruptly with a drunken sway, crumbs and drops of spilled wine falling from his chest. "I don't need my son's permission." He kicked one foot out at Varron's head. "Learn your place!" Varron didn't move, but the kick went wide while the Baron lost balance and nearly came crashing down. Two of the women kept him from toppling over, though it was more to save themselves than him.
"That's quite enough," said the gentleman whose cup Lorin was filling. Lorin snapped back and in a rush of apologies wiped the overflowed wine from under the cup.
"Eh! Server boy!" said one of the dwarves sitting farther down the table. "Top my glass up like that an you'll have a friend for life."
"I'm leaving. Girls, lead me away." The Baron pulled two of the girls to his sides to grope for balance and nodded to the third to lead.
"Apologies for that. He enjoyed your company, to be sure," Varron said, then kissed the back of his bride-to-be’s hand.
"I'm glad. At least now he won't be staring down at us anymore," she replied. "Although I am becoming tired. I might not make it through the hundred others without falling asleep."
Lorin lost Varron's reply in the noise of the crowd as he walked away from them and toward the dwarves. Lorin filled the dwarf's mug to the brim, letting it overflow, bowed, and began to walk away.
"Boy! Whaddya think you’re doing?" the dwarf said, "You cannot just pour a proper drink and walk away. Here, sit." The dwarf pulled a chair out beside him and motioned for Lorin to sit.
"Very gracious, but I can't—"
"Bullshit you can't. We are the Baron's special guests and you're man enough to treat us dwarves right. Sit, else-wise I'll be offended."
Lorin gave a slight bow and sat, setting the pitchers he carried on the table. The dwarf, best he could, reached his arm around Lorin's shoulder and gave a cheer that the group echoed. After a long drink, the dwarf set his mug down and said, "So, boy, the wee Baron's offer good enough to put up dealin' with all these stuck-up lilies?"
"It is quite a generous—"
"Piss off! Don't act like I'm one of these ass-lickers. I ain’t. But you've got a look about you. You're a man's man. My name's Davin, but most call me Stud."
"No one calls you that!" one of the group yelled across the table.
"Shut it, I'm not talking to you," Davin said and threw a cleaned bone in that general direction. "What's your name? I need to know the name of a man who pours my drinks—it's an old dwarven tradition."
"Lorin, and to be honest the deal was a pittance." Lorin leaned closer to Davin and whispered, "But I've taken enough from the wine cellar to balance it out." Lorin downed a gulp from the pitcher and reclined in his seat.
"That's what I like to hear! Someone with balls enough to get their fair share." Davin slammed his mug on the table. "Tell me, though, your scar." He gestured around his own neck. "Where did ya get that from?"
Lorin winced internally, but didn't show it. Instead, he held up two fingers. "I'm a twice-hung man—seems the grave likes me as much as my employers."
The dwarf's expression, through the curtain of foam-filled beard, was a mix of disbelief and unease. "Here's to there being no third time. But to be fair, mate, you did just admit to stealing from your boss."
"Look at that fat bastard. Do you think he will miss a few bottles of this or that?"
"Keep your voice down, boy," Davin said as he leaned close. "The Baron is my employer. I can tell you first hand, he might not miss `em, but if he finds out you'll be missin' your head."
"So I have heard. What do you do for the Baron?"
Davin leaned back with a wash of pride taking over his features and he gestured to the other dwarves. "I lead this fine crew into the Wilds and build up new villages."
"Oh? Where?"
"All along the edge of our Baron's land. He has been expanding for the past few years. We go in after the Thorns and build a few houses, a town square, that sorta thing. Then on to the next spot."
"It's dangerous that far out."
"You're damn right! It wasn't bad at the start, but those beasts are fightin' back more and more. We lost four good workers just before the snow; a troll decided it didn't like us bein' where we was. After that incident we've had much more security. Even had Varron and his guards through the winter."
"Him? That's not much of a guard."
"We was in plenty safe hands. The first week he showed up he killed enough to encircle the site with heads. He's one of the few humans with the iron will of a dwarf and balls to back it up."
"You're right," Davin said with a laugh. "Varron invited us as honored guests, to be treated as nobles."
Lorin gestured for him to elaborate.
"It's because we were there when the two first met." Davin pointed to the head table. "The lass was attacked near us—the Gods know why she was out that far out—and we heard her screams."
Lorin sat back as Davin got comfortable for a story.
"Varron and his gang took off. I was close to Harriet—she's the one standing right over there—and grabbed hold to ride out with them. It was a slower day just doing some trim on a tavern, so I was eager for any excitement. Anyway, so me and Harriet took off on horseback with me holding on to whatever I could." He winked. "We reached a clearing and I jumped off huffin', my hammer in hand ready to crack skulls. Sofia was sittin' on a rock, trying to keep away from the pack of banshees nipping at her. Poor girl, one of those beasts had clawed her face up before we got there. I took off after the beasts with a yell to make my great-grandda proud and killed half-a-dozen or more before things settled down. Varron had done a dragon's share and stopped one of the things from popping my ears. Sofia noticed, and instead of falling in my open arms, she fell in his. Can't say I'm upset, since she's a wee-bit skinny for me. Varron, though, she's the one for him. The last few weeks of his guard he wouldn't shut-up about her. He was worse than a cleric."
Lorin looked over at the couple while Davin took another drink. "Did Varron try to save her eye?"
"Sure, but there was little anyone could do. Her scars are faint now but still there."
"Thank you for the company," Lorin said as he stood. "I'm sorry, but I can't stay."
"Not a worry. Just keep this full and I won't take offense. Oh! If you’re done before the sun rises, me and the crew will be back at the Stagger Inn. It's near the main square. The owner is a strange one, but it's the best damn inn in this city. You're welcome to join us, and I'll get the first round plus a story about the centaur attack."
"If that's the case I'll do my best to join you, but for now it's getting a bit dry out
here." And with that, Lorin nodded and turned back to refill his pitchers.
Lorin was just about through the open door when he stopped and saw that the Baron and his entourage hadn’t headed off to the house, but instead to the stable. The Baron was holding the man-door open, letting the women go ahead as he looked them up and down. He fiddled with something at his waist while he yelled at the guards beside him, then walked inside, closing the door behind him. The two guards looked at each other, made a few obscene gestures, and started to walk back to the head table.
"Don't worry, I'll stay till the end," Varron said.
To Lorin, that voice could cut through a raging river and sound crystal clear. He looked at the couple, who were now both standing and holding hands at the table.
"You can stay with me till then, or head to your chambers. I am overjoyed you stayed this long." His smile made Lorin's skin crawl. She kissed him on the cheek, and they both turned to the new guest being presented before them. Lorin huffed and continued into the building to get a refill. There was none left in the kitchen casks, so he returned to the cellar. The cellar seemed empty when he entered, but as he waited for the pitcher to fill he looked behind a few barrels and saw his bearded brother cradling a sack, fast asleep.
He has the right idea.
As Lorin passed the door to the cell block on his way back, he stopped. Why go back out? He could just walk back to his cell and forget about the whole situation. Ashmere was right, there would be a better opportunity. It had been hours, and the only thing to come out of it was him learning how to pour a clean drink. The feeling of unease that had crept up during the night still lingered in his mind—nothing felt right. It would be much easier to stop this ill-advised adventure and get ready for a better plan. The temptation to quit was strong, but before he took a deciding step, he saw Varron in his mind's eye holding the hands of his bride-to-be. Varron looked happy and in love, the two most cherished things that he’d stolen from Lorin. That thought made enough emotion flare for Lorin's better judgment to be overruled, and he concealed himself again as an apathetic servant.