Venator, Page 20

  "Ah I guessed it! You're from out o'town." Her voice carried past the wall to sit back in her chair for her. "He was terrible, loved executions, grabbed whatever he fancied, and deserved a worse fate than he got. The new Baron Demore is twice the ruler his father was." She walked out of the kitchen and set down two flagons of a dark ale. "He cares more about us than expanding his borders, he doesn't treat the common respectable woman as tits an' ass, understands that having a random execution draw is bad, and best of all Baron Varron is fun to say." She laughed and took a long draw of her drink. "Where did you say you were from?"

  "I didn't." Lorin drank as well before he continued, "You know much more about local politics than I do, but you make Varron sound loved."

  "He's one of us. At least he tries to be. Varron helps the people he rules over and doesn't just spend and enjoy all the spoils himself. The night of his engagement party he let anyone join in the feast, and he greeted us all. Every last one of us. His father just sat above, shoving his greasy hands down his servants’ skirts. Maybe he's a prick deep down, but he must hide it well. Compared to his father it's not hard to love him." She took another drink and eyed Lorin—or she didn't, it really was impossible to tell. "Where abouts are you from?"

  "From the outskirts. I owned property at the edge of our Baron's land."

  "Quite a distance. That far means you'll be staying awhile." Her face folded into a smile or possibly a scowl. "So why not pay in advance?"

  "I will. Thanks for the drink," Lorin said, then took a long swallow himself. It had an earthy stoutness and struck a very pleasant nerve.

  "That's on your tab as well. Food an' drink isn't included, but I'll keep track for you. For the room, I'd say twenty-two silver would cover for a few days after the weddin'. The demand is high, but you'll pay more anywhere else, I can promise that."

  "How about this?" Lorin said and slid one of the three gold coins in his pouch across the bar. "I would like another ale, and there is another gold in it for you if you can give me directions to some place where I can purchase weapons or oddities that the guards wouldn't know about."

  The fat, wrinkled woman snatched up the shiny gold piece, brought it to her mouth, and bit it. To Gretta's delight, her bite mark showed gold all the way through. "Yes of course. Enjoy your stay," she said, slipping the coin down her shirt. "What may I call a generous patron like yourself?"

  "Lorin is fine, but can you tell where I can get what I need?"

  "Oh, Lorin M'lord, let me show you myself," Gretta said, and faster than her wrinkles could keep up with, she grabbed a coat and headed to the door. "Follow me. I'll show you the best this city has to offer, and bring the drink with you." And with that she was out the door.

  Lorin shrugged, followed, and drank.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  The streets and shops of the city hummed as merchants, visitors, and apathetic locals all navigated around one another. The merchants competed over each other with cries of, “Fresh meat and produce!” Or some had bright fabrics and loudly announced that they had the best prices on 'kingly' garments. The salesmen and women remained on crates or stools, getting their messages out as loudly and clearly as possible. Despite any one crier’s best efforts, the sound of so many voices meant their offers and deals became an unintelligible drone.

  The visitors to the city stood out near as much as the advertisers. A steady stream of them poured through the center of the street, and for the most part they remained silent, their actions announcing their presence for them. A train of different travelers in wagons, buggies, and brilliantly adorned horses parted the wave of people. Some stopped on a whim, blocking the rest of the road and not moving until a blunt passerby cursed long enough for them to make room.

  The locals were the ones cursing out both the visitors and each other. They blended in with the crowd in a comfortable way, until their tolerance for changes in their routine failed. They had an air of contempt for all of the non-locals. One of the more excited locals got in a fist fight with a merchant. Lorin paused a single step to see the other locals walk around the fight without as much as a glance.

  The spectacle of it all intrigued Lorin, and he sipped his drink while he followed his guide. Gretta was a large woman and didn't move quickly; she moved at a quickened pace for her own standards, but it was a relaxing stroll in the wide wake she left for Lorin. Every street and alley she waddled through led to the next in a smooth, elegant way. When they passed through the second seemingly locked gate, this time to cut across a marble yard, Lorin lost track of their path. Trusting in the woman in front of him was his only option.

  "How much farther?" Lorin asked.

  "Not… far…" she said, her voice hoarse and the breaths she took to speak seeming pained.

  "Take a break if you need. I'm not in enough of a rush that you need to kill yourself for me."

  "I'm… not… rushing… I'm holding back… so you can keep… up…" Her body heaved like a blacksmith’s bellows, but she turned after she spoke and waddled on.

  Lorin watched her walk ahead for a while before he started after her again. He envisioned the thick legs with skin like curdled cheese hidden beneath her dress. It was a rancid thought and his mind's eye was most likely more flattering than the truth. But he did respect the effort she was making, and her sense of direction.

  They crossed two streets, then ducked into another alley. The rhythmic tinging and clanging of metal against metal echoed off the alley's walls, and the hot smell of red furnaces signaled their arrival to the iron district. However, the sounds and smells originated still a few blocks farther from the back-alley where they stopped. Gretta staggered up to a wooden door braced with iron and knocked a quick rhythm. It was like a woodpecker, but paused and resumed within a half-beat. Lorin hadn't thought her hand, as bulbous and wrinkled as it was, could move that fast.

  "You'll find anything and everything you need here," she said, turning from the door and taking a step back. "I'll introduce you, then I gotta head back. The city is getting flooded now and my inn is like to be washed away." She began to laugh, then coughed until she hacked up and spat.

  "I'm not sure I can. The path we took traced through most of the main roads, and I don't even know those well."

  "Gunter will tell you if you need, or else he will sell you a map. If you follow the main roads, it's slower, but—"

  Before she could finish her thought, the door opened and a bald, pale-skinned man with a thin curl of a mustache stepped out. He wore a shiny black leather apron, and gloves to match, atop a white cloth tunic with the sleeves cut off at the elbow. No color showed in his eyes, though the pupil was pin-sized, making his eyes look strangely bright and wide. Those beady eyes made Lorin's skin crawl as he felt them scan him head to toe.

  "Gunter, good to see you again," Gretta said and walked up to him. "This is Lorin. He would like to spend some coin and I told him—"

  "What did you tell him?" Gunter said. His voice rasped on the ears, and when he spoke his gloved hand reached up to the scarf around his neck.

  "Only that you sell things to people with coin, and who don't want the authorities to know what they are buying." She smiled and looked just like a toad with its eyes bulging, about to jump.

  Gunter looked at Lorin again, still scanning him.

  "I'm glad to meet you," Lorin said. A polite nod accompanied his words, but Gunter stood in the doorway as if he’d been cut from stone. Awkward time ticked away while the three stood in silence—the stares, however, were deafening. It didn't feel right. Lorin was about to turn away, hoping Gretta would follow and show him a different merchant.

  Before he could pivot, Gunter raised his hand to his throat and spoke. "I must ready my shop for customers. Allow me a moment." With that, the door closed.

  Gretta turned to Lorin and, seeing his expression, said, "He is strange, but harmless so long as you have good coin." She reached her hand out palm up. "Which I know you have." Her hand started to wobble a bit under its o
wn weight.

  Lorin smirked. The thought crossed his mind to see just how long she could hold her hand outstretched. He thought better of it, though, and reached into his coin pouch to place a gold coin in her pudgy, shaking hand. It snapped shut in a blink and the coin was whisked away to a pocket at the same speed.

  "Most kind," she said, beginning her waddle out to the street.

  "I still need a guide back."

  "Get directions. Most know my inn, just ask around. That is, unless you're scared to be alone and need an escort." Her voice was mocking, but she didn’t slow her step.

  Lorin didn't like it, but he also knew it wouldn't be too hard to find his way back. There were plenty of new visitors to the city, so it was unlikely he would be left stranded. The merchants, innkeepers, and criers would all give him some direction if he was generous with his coin. Besides, the sun was high still, and the thought of exploring the city was a little exciting. So far, the day had been a nice distraction from the recent events. He turned back to where the strange man had disappeared to and leaned his back up against the wall right beside the door. It was in the shade, and he had a view of the busy street a ways down the alley. Gretta was lost in the flood of people as soon as she broke out from between the two buildings.

  The alley didn't go straight through to the next street; it only went across the block about halfway until the building Lorin now leaned against split the roadway into a T-intersection that went thirty or so paces to his left and right. There, both ends of the road turned off or dead ended, presumably to continue on to the next main street. That created a small courtyard in this alley, and judging from the small table under an umbrella, the space was used as semi-private patio. Lorin heard some muffled movement from behind the door and that kept him patient.

  ***

  Lorin was nodding off from the ale settling in his belly and the sun warming his face. He had watched shadows lengthen, but still patiently waited against the wall. His head bobbed, and his eyelids sagged, but then he heard something. His eyes and head remained low, but the sound sent tingles to his extremities. It was unmistakable—the smooth glide of steel against leather. Blades being unsheathed, but slowly, trying to hide that tell-tale sound. The sound cut through the bustle and movement of the main street far ahead, but only because he was listening for it. The sound bounced around the alley again as two more blades were drawn, soft as the first from his right side. Lorin's pulse beat heavy in his chest, ears, and fingertips. All his skin tingled now; the world seemed to get brighter, the street muffled; and the sounds of light footsteps in the alley blared clearly. The smell of oiled leather, sweat, and blood came next.

  Lorin kept his head down, not moving, not showing any sign he knew three crept toward him with blades drawn. Maybe they weren't after him. Maybe they were meeting to fight each other, and Lorin had just happened make a bad choice of a resting spot. Or maybe they were guards coming to bring him back to the Baron. How had they found him? Why wouldn't they announce themselves if they were guards? The three weren't there for him, it was just a coincidence, he knew it. But he didn't believe it.

  He heard the sound of two quick steps and caught sight of a black boot in his peripheral vision. Before the sword could slash at its mark, Lorin tucked his chin further into his chest and pushed off the wall. Rolling on his shoulder, he ended poised low, one hand on the ground. Steel sparked against stone where his neck had been a heartbeat before. The sword cutting through his jaw, breaking teeth, bone, and ligament before severing his neck, flashed in his mind. Anger and fear bubbled up as his eyes shifted from the scarred stone wall to the three hooded men in boiled leather and ruddy cloth. Their lower faces were covered by strips of fabric and they each had a short-sword in hand. The one to Lorin's left was now moving to attack, while the other two seemed shocked at Lorin’s dive roll.

  The one walking toward him had a tuft of red hair peeking through his hood. Beads of sweat fell down his forehead as he reached back to slash. To Lorin, the man was moving underwater, slow and sluggish. The sword swipe would come high to cut from the left and down. Lorin slid his left foot ahead, lifting in a lunge and turning his body into the rushing thug. He was quick, and after that smooth movement Lorin now stood with his right shoulder shoved into the man's right shoulder, pushing the thug off balance. Lorin hit the man square in his sternum with his elbow and grabbed the forearm that held the sword. Using the momentum from his quick stand, and the thug's unsteady balance, Lorin rolled the thug over his back and slammed him to the ground. The red-haired man only had time for his eyes to widen before he hit, then with the impact Lorin twisted the man's wrist and sword. There was an audible pop, and the man released a scream of pain along with his grip.

  Lorin, sword in hand, didn't stop moving and turned to the other two thugs. The one who had swung and missed was lowering his sword arm while he watched Lorin move. A red sash and sheathed knife on his chest differentiated him from the other members of the group. The other man was a mirror image of the one Lorin had just slammed, minus the tuft of red hair, and he was standing with his sword out to attack. Lorin was quick, and the thugs seemed to be so sluggish. Ashmere had always been fast, blindingly so, and Lorin could only react when he fought with her. So far, these thugs had given him plenty of time to breathe.

  Not waiting for the man with the red sash to ready himself, Lorin launched an attack. He double-stepped toward the unmarked thug and slapped down the tip of his blade. The thug wasn't ready, and his steel went low enough for Lorin to slam his foot down, pinning the weapon to the ground. Then, Lorin used the hilt of his sword to cave in the man's nose and front teeth. The thug spat out a gurgled cry of pain and dropped to his knees, holding his face together with both hands. Lorin spun on the ball of his foot atop the sword and kicked the kneeling man's ribs. He was expecting bone and flesh, but instead, Lorin's toes jammed against plate steel. Judging by the feeling, Lorin knew the bones in his toes were either shoved inside his foot or had shattered into a fleshy pulp. His adrenaline-fueled rush did little to dampen the pain. Lorin reeled back from the sudden stop and shudder that rippled through his leg. The uneven footing of the sword tripped him, and he landed flat on his back with the wind knocked out of him.

  Heartbeats drummed away. He knew he had to move, but a gasp of breath followed by another was the only move his body made. The world was still slow—his racing heart seemed to be his own death march, beating away the steps of his attacker. Halfway through the march, Lorin could see, through blurry eyes, brilliant red against black and a flash of metal. He had, at most, two heartbeats before the dagger would end him. Lorin's arms moved fast and grabbed the thug's wrist, halting the flaming shine of steel aimed at his face. Lorin felt weak and the morning beer didn't help him now. The man above him pressed his whole weight into the plunge and easily broke past Lorin's defense. Lorin's efforts were enough to sway the blade, and the sound of the steel scraping dirt and sand was deafening in his ear. He felt a sudden wetness a heartbeat after. Desperate, Lorin drove his knee up hard, but it met a solid and painful reply from steel armor covered by his attackers black and red garment. The blow didn't hurt the thug, but it let Lorin plant his foot down and, while the man was struggling with his dagger, Lorin forced the thug over and pinned him.

  "Why are you attacking me?" Lorin demanded through gritted teeth.

  The whites of the man's eyes widened behind his mask, but he said nothing. The blade was still pointed toward Lorin, and now that he had the upper hand, he twisted the thug’s wrist at an awkward angle. A pain-filled moan and sudden snap almost made Lorin lose balance, but he kept steady. The knife was now his. The thug in the red sash had both hands on it still, but one was now limp and bleeding, allowing Lorin to turn the edge to press down on the man's neck.

  "Tell me! Was it for coin?" Lorin said. A few drops of blood dripped from his head and landed on the man's mask and face, but he gave no response. Lorin was trying to figure out his next move, but diverted his focus when he heard
movement behind him. He turned to look, and when he did the man below him shifted him off balance. Lorin was on one knee now, and he saw the man with a bloodied and crunched face bring his sword up to swing. Lorin didn't remember losing the sword he’d had, but at least the knife was still in his hand.

  The man with the crunched-in face began to move his swing as Lorin dove ahead. The thug had started the sword arc high, so Lorin had time to dive to the ground to hug the man's legs. Quick as Lorin could, he slashed at the back of the leg, aiming for a deep cut to the hamstrings. While the thug's long arch of a swing finally slashed where Lorin was, Lorin's blade was glancing off the steel armor protecting the man's leg. The thug's loose black clothing made it hard to see where armor was or wasn't. Lorin had never trained to fight against someone with armor; he had read about the different types, but Ashmere had never suited up during his training.

  Lorin glanced at the red-sashed man who had now picked up a sword and was coming to assist his accomplice. Lorin's chances weren't looking good, and fear mixed with desperation caught in the back of his throat. Less thought and more emotion fueled him now. He stabbed and swiped, quick as his blade and hand could move. He felt it glance off armor, but he kept stabbing quick and hard. The first cut found a gap in the steel just behind the knee. A string of crimson followed the blade's tip as he pulled back to stab again. The red-sashed man was close, Lorin knew it, but he had to even the odds. He found another opening just below the calf, then another farther up. Like a wild cat, Lorin struck in a terrified whirl.

  Lorin stabbed up as hard as he could; the knife broke through a leather strap that held two plates together, and he plunged the blade to the hilt where the inner thigh met the groin. The smashed-faced man wailed in pain and collapsed to the ground. He shuddered and spasmed while grabbing at the handle of the knife. Then he kicked one leg out straight, and his face twisted in panic.