Arm Of Galemar (Book 2) (14 page)

Introspection dogged his mood.  Partly this was
because he had spent the day wondering why
he
always wound up with the
dumbest horse in the herd.  His mount wanted to do things
its
way, the
fact of its gelding hardly making a dent in the stallion aggressiveness.  If it
refused to settle down, he would have to show it which of them was the master.

As if he knew how to do that.

Landon secured a table large enough for their quartet
while Sloan commandeered one on the room’s far side.  When Kineta finished her
discussion with the master of the house, she led her group into the common
room.  Finding no empty tables, she confiscated one from a loan man who was not
quite drunk enough to challenge her.

Landon addressed the appointed group leader after a
serving girl collected their orders.  “So then, what is the plan from here on?”

“I’m not sure,” Marik replied.  “I have the contract,
so I guess we go to Spirratta and collect our charge.”

Landon waited expectantly for specifics.  Kerwin shot
back with the question instead.  “That’s it?”

“What else do you want?”

“Rather short on details, mate.”  Dietrik accepted a
tankard from the smiling server.  After taking a sip, he continued, “This is an
official contract after all.”

“What’s to plan?  It’s bodyguard duty, not a battle,
as Janus so kindly pointed out to me.  It’s a simple ‘point A to point B’
operation.  Take him there, then bring him back.”

“Slightly more than that,” Landon countered.  “We’re
responsible for the wellbeing of a noble.  By their very nature, there are
plenty who would like to reduce the number of them by one, given the
opportunity.”

“Torrance would be right pissed if our charge got
‘disappeared’,” Kerwin added.

“And how likely is that to happen?” Marik countered. 
“In the first place, this kid is younger than me!  How many enemies can he have
made?”

“Ransom is always an attractive option,” Landon
replied.

“Right.  Do you think Baron Garroway of Rockscape
could afford as much as a gold or two in ransom, even for his own son?  He
can’t afford a full regiment of men on a regular basis!  Garroway can just
barely afford bodyguards because it’s a flat-fee duty, instead of our normal
fees per eightday.”

“Desperate people foolhardy enough to snatch a
noble-born aren’t necessarily bright enough to know that.”

“But what are the odds?”  Marik raised a hand when
Landon made to respond.  “The point is taken, Landon.  But look at the
situation this way.  The highwayguards are patrolling the roads in force, most
of the active bandits are east of Spirratta and we’re going to be in the middle
of Thoenar with half the nobility present, as well as the normal cityguard, in
the king’s own city.”

Landon shrugged the issue away.  Dietrik commented,
“It is the roads that have me concerned most.  With all these desperate folk
out of Tullainia, our lad might be an attractive prospect.”

“I suppose, but what can we do about that now?  All we
can do is guard him as best we can, and until we pick him up, deciding how to
do that strikes me as pointless.”

“So long as you’re open to suggestion,” Kerwin
allowed.  “If we can get him to Thoenar in one piece, we should be all right.”

“Have you done guard duty before?”

“No,” he admitted.

“Then why is everyone suddenly full of advice?”

Landon half-smiled.  “Probably because this is your
first stint as leader.  Torrance gave final authority on decisions to you.”

Marik intended to put an end to that quickly.  “Only
on paper.  If I’m about to walk into a quagmire, you’d better knock me over the
head!”

Kerwin grinned maliciously.  Presumably he pictured
himself with a massive wooden club as Marik lay unconscious on the ground,
except a moment later the gambler rose.  While Kerwin threaded his way through
the crowded tables, Marik craned his neck to see what had caught his interest.

A lone man lounged near the kitchen door.  Recognition
flickered over him when Kerwin touch his forehead in a one-finger salute.  They
conversed quickly, ending when Kerwin passed the man a coin.

“What was that about?” Marik asked when Kerwin
reclaimed his seat.

“Hmm?”  He raised his eyebrows in suspicious
innocence.

“What are you up to?”

“Me?  Why, nothing.  Here’s our dinner.”

The lady server dropped a large platter on the table,
distributing four plates around as well as fresh tankards.  A dozen thick ham
slices steamed along with a mound of stewed vegetables.  They filled their
plates. After Marik sliced into his ham steak, he noticed Kerwin’s friend had
reached under his table to pull out a lute case.  He crossed to a chair the
innkeeper placed by the hearth for him.

Tuning his instrument captured the patrons’
attentions, who twisted in their seats to garner a better view.  After several
strums to warm his fingers, the minstrel launched into ‘I Lost My Horse to
One-Eyed Gregory’.  The audience barked with laughter, banging their tankards
in rhythm against the tables and chanting the refrains.

Following the humorously woeful tale of the bad luck
traveler came ‘The Innkeeper’s Smile’, obviously a deliberate selection on the
part of the owner, Rufus, reminding everyone to keep the coins flowing, lest
they too discover the hard edge to his own teeth.  Marik reached for a second
slice and Kerwin’s persistent grin caught his eye.  The gambler bobbed his head
slightly to the notes.

“What are you smirking about?”

“Am I?”

“You look like someone bet you the sun wouldn’t rise
tomorrow.”

“I guess I like the music.”  At Marik’s skeptical
gaze, he added, “And I recognized him.  He was working the taverns around
Cedars right before winter.  He’s been wandering from town to town along the
Southern Road.”

“Well, he hasn’t made very impressive progress, then. 
What did you pay him for?  Making a request?”

“Wait for it.”

He would say nothing else on the matter.  After a
third song unfamiliar to Marik, the lute intoned a deep cadence he immediately
associated with old heroic war ballads.  Several times he had heard different
historical works set to the same basic tune in Puarri’s Tavern in his
hometown.  The chords could be reused if the composers were better suited to
lyrics and poor at instrumental composition.

When the minstrel began, Marik learned he had been
correct.  It
was
a war ballad, and it
was
a new work set to the
traditional scores.  But as for the subject matter…

After only two lines he knew that the war in question
was the one recently finished on the Nolier border.  He glanced frostily to the
side.  Kerwin could be seen, grinning broadly, a nasty edge to it all the
same.  Obviously this must be the lay he’d requested.

It quickly became clear which particular subject had
inspired both the songwriter and Kerwin’s wicked amusement.

“And so the burning flames hearkened the sliver knights’
advance,”

“Churning hooves sundered the earth and rode men down
as ants,”

“Their mighty swords could not be stopped, their
soldiers sang their will,”

“That their strongest knights should not surcease
‘till all of us were killed.”

“Our doom was set, our hearts were ice, they had
achieved their goal,”

“But two refused to bow their head while rage burned
in their soul.”

“Their unyielding Galemaran spirits refused to yield,”

“As they stood before the silver scythes reaping the
battlefield.”

Marik could see without having to look fully at him
that Kerwin snickered madly while pressing a fist against his closed eyes. 
Other snorts revealed what his friends thought of this development.  He bowed
low, wanting to bury his face in his food.

The song devolved into typical bardic prose; ninety
percent fanciful description with only ten percent hard fact buried underneath.

“Swanlike grace concealed the deadly strength of angry
bears,”

“Their swinging blades called forth the winds to sweep
off Nolier.”

When did
that
happen?
  Whoever had written this drivel had taken judicious liberties with
the truth.  The heat in his face was either an embarrassed flush or the steam
rising from freshly cooked vegetables only an inch from his nose.  Kerwin
kicked his heals against his chair legs in mirth.

After an eternity, the gods-awful song ended with the
‘heavens-smashing blow’ that felled the Nolier duke.  The other patrons were
oblivious to the humiliation in progress.  They cheered and demanded the next
in the minstrel’s repertoire.  Dietrik and Kerwin were snorting and laughing
and clapping his back.

Marik had never felt so ridiculed in his entire life. 
His appetite was gone.  As dignified as he could be, he announced, “I’m going
to bed.”

Their unceasing snickers followed him, though he
refused to cast his gaze anywhere near them.  He made his way across the floor
before remembering he had no room key.

Marik bit his lip, then stoically forded the human sea
again, angling for Kineta’s table while avoiding direct line of sight with his
own.  The First Unit men grinned wickedly at him, including Kineta who studied
him with an amused gleam.  He snatched the proffered key from her hand and
stalked to the stairs, ignoring the sadistic entertainer as he played
‘Strangers and a Knight, Exchanging Lances’.

Upstairs, he quickly matched the key with the painted
number on the doors.  Marik hurled his pack into the corner and dropped onto
the furthest cot.  The uneven wall-planks stared back at him.  He hated
minstrels and bards and every pompous wretch who had ever so much as
touched
a musical instrument.  Most of all he wished he could meet the self-glorified
hack who had taken it upon himself to ridicule an honest mercenary.

As if life wasn’t hard enough already.

*        *        *        *        *

Marik said little to his companions in the following
days.  Sloan set the best example, which Marik chose to emulate.  Speak only
when necessary.  Besides, what was there to say? 
He
certainly had done
nothing to apologize for, and if his half-wit, tactless
friends
, who
still spontaneously burst into song from their saddles, wanted to act like
jackasses, it was none of his concern.

Landon finally soothed things over when they neared
Spirratta.  Marik knew they would have done the same to whoever that wretched
song had been about, but they were supposed to be
his friends,
damn
them!

Kerwin finally apologized…though a lifelong drunkard
promising to stay on sobriety’s wagon henceforth would have had greater
sincerity than the gambler’s repentant words.  He revealed that he had first
heard the song in Cedars and decided to save the information for ‘the right
moment’, instead of informing the song’s lyrical subject about it outright.

The last of Marik’s foul mood dispersed when they
approached the city gates after the noon bell one day.  Kineta’s group led. 
She certainly needed no help, and besides, he felt safer remaining outside her
vicinity if the cityguards started annoying her.

As with his earlier visit to Spirratta, the line
outside the gates shortened with agonizing slowness.  The candlemarks crawled
until their turn finally came.  Marik rooted out the folded parchment from his
waist pouch while Kineta explained their presence.  Within moments, a guard
strode over to Sloan, who handed his contract over without a word.  Satisfied
with the document, the guard continued on to study Marik’s.

They only stopped at the desk long enough to give
their names before the cityguards permitted them access to Spirratta.  Having
been to the city previously, it impressed him far less than the first time.  It
had failed to endear itself to him then and subsequent exposure only reinforced
his opinions.

His mount would be a boon though, when it bothered to
pay attention to his commands.  On horseback rather than on foot, they could
travel the main roads without interference, avoiding the back allies and narrow
paths familiar from his last visit.  Also, an animal barreling down weighing
roughly fifteen times their own weight tended to make the citizens move from
their path.

He followed Kineta, who still retained the lead. 
Hopefully she knew where they were going.  Marik could never possibly shout
loud enough to secure her attention.  People by the thousands thronged the
streets, all hurrying along, only a handful actually entering any of the
doorways.  If they were not braving the tide to reach any of these
establishments, then why did so many people push, elbow and press into each
other?

Their progress slowed to a near halt after three
cross-streets.  Marik cast about, hoping to recognize an odd cornice or shop
front.  For all the wandering with Maddock two-and-a-half years ago, he could
remember nothing of the city’s layout.  In that one day he felt he had
crisscrossed Spirratta a dozen times, yet apparently he had explored very
little of it after all.