Arm Of Galemar (Book 2) (15 page)

The buildings to the main thoroughfare’s either side
changed subtly when they drew closer to Spirratta’s heart, becoming slightly
wider if no taller.  Increased space separated them, and the mass of people
thinned, the dirtier, shabbier pedestrians almost disappearing altogether,
excepting a handful of beggars.  Small cobblestones replaced the pavers, which
forced Kineta to maintain a slower pace despite being free of the crush. 
Several buildings hosted stone perimeter walls with ornate iron gates.  Their
flashy mounts suddenly belonged in this district more than they did.

In this, the city’s upper-class area, the oversized
structures must be mansion houses.  Domiciles of the rich or powerful. 
Intersections between roads always sported a decoration in the center.  A
statue, a minor fountain, perhaps a circular flowerbed.  Throughout the other
districts, such extravagances were reserved only for larger squares, mostly in
the business quarters.  A higher number of men in cityguard uniforms patrolled
the streets than in the outer districts. 
They certainly know who pays their
wages.

Spirratta surprised Marik all over.  During his last
visit, he had come to believe that the city areas he traveled could not
possibly exist within the walls as seen from outside.  Having wandered it afoot
for an entire day, he would have bet all his coin that no district this large
could have remained undiscovered.

Kineta turned north at one intersection.  They passed
buildings whose structures changed, becoming larger and losing the privacy
walls.  Except for the last.  The road split west and east, curving to surround
an estate located in the city’s center.  A ten-foot wall protected the grounds,
constructed from dissimilar stones mortared together.  Square pillars interrupted
the wall’s smoothness every twenty feet.  Similar lamps as graced the main
roads were set atop each.

Wrought iron fencing lined the wall top.  The lethal
nature of the top spikes were unquestionable despite the delicate design.  A
man could climb over the ironwork with a bit of caution, except it would take
several long moments, during which the inevitable guards would surely notice
the intruder in the lamplight.

The main gate rested within the east wall, framed by
two guards standing to either side.  Their appearance differed from the
cityguard.  Neither did they imitate statues, rigid at their duties.  Instead,
the two seemed interested in nothing around them save the conversation they
engaged in.  Kineta drew their gazes when the mercenaries rode closer.

“Yes?”

“We are bodyguards to three of your fosterlings
participating in the tournament.  We have come to escort our charges.”

Marik, his experiences with guards of any sort
foremost in his mind, expected an obstinate, uncooperative attitude.  Instead… 
“Right, then.  Their names?”

“Eberhard, Valerian and Hilliard.”

“Please show me any documents you have at hand.”

They began producing their contracts while Marik
marveled at these guards.  Perhaps serving door duty for the duke of a large
city quickly taught one to be polite when dealing with strangers.  Of course,
if they lacked the official Crimson Kings paperwork, the guards might turn
nasty.

His thought nearly turned into prophecy.  As he pulled
the papers from his personal pouch, his horse made a snatch with its teeth. 
Marik barely yanked it away in time.  He was greatly tempted to kick the damned
horse hard, but the amused glint in the guard’s eye stopped him.  For an
instant he almost gave in to the temptation anyway as he imagined what Janus would
have to say if he returned to Kingshome for a new copy of the contract after
the first had been eaten by his own horse.

The guard thoroughly read the contracts and examined
the Kings’ seal on each with care, then studied papers of his own which he
retrieved from a third guard behind the iron grillwork.  At last he nodded in
satisfaction.  He opened the gate with a massive key hanging from his belt. 
Inside, the third man stood beside a guard shack and explained he would escort
them to the house.

‘House’ proved a singularly inaccurate word, Marik
decided once they were on the grounds.  A sizable lawn trimmed low stretched a
hundred yards from the gate to the building.  The building looked a hybrid of
the upper-class homes they had passed and the major merchant buildings.  Were
it stone rather than wood, glass and plaster, it would reflect many of the
border holdings he had visited during the war.

Except there was little chance of this building
weathering a war, should the walls around the city fall.  A few fire arrows
would spell the end of the duke’s residence.  Obviously it had been constructed
long after the Unification.

Several men met them for the purpose of collecting
their mounts.  The mercenaries brushed the road dust from their clothing before
meeting a new man in the entrance foyer.  Simply to see him, Marik immediately
surmised that he handled the duke’s daily matters.  Elderly, he dressed in a
long tailcoat buttoned closed, the twin tails hanging to his ankles.  His black
pants displayed nary a wrinkle, and how the man could breath around the
noose-like collar, also buttoned tight, would forever remain a mystery.

“I am Seneschal Locke.  Please, come this way.”

Locke brought them to a waiting room eerily similar to
the one in the Crimson Kings’ command building.  The fancy furniture cost more
and the larger shelves contained a greater number of knickknacks for visitors
to amuse themselves with.  Books on various subjects occupied the most space. 
Several maps, an impressive compass, and a line of dangling steel balls hanging
next to one another on wires drew his gaze.  Marik had never seen anything like
that last before and puzzled over it.

“I’ve been expecting you to arrive for the young
masters,” the seneschal addressed them.  “I am glad you have chosen to arrive
sooner.”

“Why is that?” Kineta asked.

“We received word, this very day in fact, that the
dark guilds may indeed be considering a move on the fosterlings while they
travel on the road.  The informant, unfortunately, had no specifics other than
that.”

“Specifics?” Marik asked, sensing he had missed a
detail or two.

“Indeed.  This man is not highly placed in the inner
circles of Spirratta’s Dark Father, but from talk he heard he guessed what was
in the works.  If the underworld
is
considering plans to strike against
the fosterlings, it would be best to be on the road quickly before they can
organize.”

“Wait a minute,” Kineta exclaimed, voicing the
confusion Marik felt.  Sloan’s interest, on the other hand, peaked by the
minute.  “What are you talking about?”

This took the seneschal aback.  He considered them for
a split instant before reaching a conclusion.  “I apologize.  I assumed you
were versed in the situation regarding your charges.”

“Apparently not,” Kineta snarled.  “Tell us.”

“Of course.”  Locke paused for a single deep breath. 
“You must understand the duke first.  Of the many responsibilities inherent to
his title, corruption and crime are of significant concern to him.  Since Tilus
has assumed the dukedom of Spirratta, instances of crime have dropped by
fifty-eight percent.  While his polices on criminal activity have earned him
the love of our honest citizens, as you can imagine, it has also earned him no
affection from the criminal class.”

“Is that so?”  Kineta’s reply was acidic, her mood
having worsened in a hurry.  She jumped to the end, bypassing the predictable
facts.  “Why are the fosterlings in danger?  They have no say in Duke Tilus’
executive methods.”

“Indeed not,” Locke sniffed.  “But the duke cares
deeply for those for to whom he is responsible.  After repeated attempts on his
own life, he—”

“I remember that!” Marik blurted.  It occurred to him
an eye blink too late that it might have been smarter to keep silent.  Everyone
shifted their gaze to him so he needed to follow up.  “I mean, when I was
passing through a few years ago, I remember someone burned down a building he
was in.”

“Correct,” Locke continued.  “But one of several
attempts made by the dark guilds.  Having failed to remove the duke, they
shifted their sights to the fosterlings, hoping that he would lighten his
stances if other skins than his own were imperiled.”

“And?” Edwin asked from Sloan’s shoulder.

“The son of Earl Westcot was slain during a brutal
attack.  Several guards fell as well, and the assailants escaped.”

Kerwin returned to the issue.  “But the duke must not
have changed, or else they wouldn’t still be after the fosterlings today.”

Before Locke could reply, Dietrik added his own bit. 
“If that were true, then they should have abandoned the notion by this time. 
It would only have proven that assassination by association was a dead-end
lane.”

Seneschal Locke replied to Dietrik.  “Perhaps it would
have been best to act as though the death hadn’t mattered.  Unfortunately Duke
Tilus did ease up for a brief time.  He did not do this out of fear, but out of
mourning.  However, once he collected his emotions, he renewed his polices with
a vengeance.”

Kineta shook her head.  “Setting precedence is a very
bad idea.  And it’s why you’re having trouble today, I’ll warrant.”

“Yes.”  Locke bit the word off, his thin lips
tightening, clearly annoyed at having anyone, let alone a mercenary, presume to
judge the duke.  He diplomatically continued with, “The word from our man is
that the inner circle of Spirratta’s Dark Father is reexamining that course of
action.  This brings us to the reason why I’m glad to see you arriving
soonest.  As your contractors had brought up their concerns with your band, I’d
hoped you would make haste to retrieve your charges.”

That bastard Janus!  I suppose he thought that wasn’t
important enough to mention!
  A quick
study assured him that Kineta would be as happy to skewer the head clerk as he.

“Given that,” Sloan spoke for the first time, “it
would be best to be on our way at first light.”

Locke nodded.  “Your three have been summoned.  When
they arrive, you may discuss traveling arrangements.  Before you leave, each of
you are to sign a notice of delivery.”

“What are they, baggage?”  Kineta still smoldered.

“Far from it.  Still, I need you to affirm you have
taken possession of your charge, as stated in your contracts.”

“Ass covering, in other words.”

Locke’s expression abruptly turned glacial.  He made
no reply, yet matched Kineta’s cold glare snowflake for ice crystal.

A knock preceded the entrance of two young, fit men. 
Both flaunted sun-blonde hair, though their features set them apart.  Quickly
identified as Eberhard and Valerian, they split, belonging to Kineta and
Sloan.  Kineta’s gender clearly surprised Valerian.  He tried to conceal it
with limited success.  Whether he objected to a female bodyguard or had simply
been caught off guard remained to be seen.

In a move to assert himself with the hired staff,
Eberhard wanted to set the rules with Sloan, unmindful of the hard mercenary’s utter
lack of acknowledgement.  When Eberhard finished explaining the proper way for
Sloan to defer to him in the presence of other nobles, Sloan nodded once, then
flatly stated, “We will leave at first light.”

Eberhard smiled, a world-wise scholar about to explain
to his child why he cannot keep frogs under his pillow.  “See here, that’s
hardly proper.  Breakfast is not served until the second morning bell.”  Then,
as though he spoke to a village idiot of renown, “That’s the second bell
after
sunrise.”

“We will ride with the dawn,” Sloan repeated.  “If you
aren’t saddled and ready, I’ll come drag you out of bed.”

Eberhard’s kindly smile lost its sparkle.  “You’ll do
no such thing at all!  My chambers are closed to all but the duke and the
servants without invitation!”

Sloan stared into his charge’s eyes.  “You try me,” he
said, flatter than ever.  Several moments passed with the two locking gazes
before he continued.  “Your father has given control of your life over to me. 
Until I am no longer your bodyguard, you will do as I say.  We ride at first
light.”

Before Eberhard could object, Sloan ended the issue by
walking from the room.  A waiting servant intercepted him outside to lead him
away.  Sloan’s charge began a slow burn as he recognized an unforeseen challenge.

Dietrik sidled closer to whisper, “Well, this promises
to be an interesting journey for those two.”

“I’m glad we didn’t end up with him.”

“Don’t count your eggs yet, mate.  Ours may be as bad,
if not worse!”

Marik kept silent until a third young man entered.  He
was shorter than Marik, and less wide, but he walked with a surety that bespoke
self-confidence.  Brown hair had been trimmed shorter than the shoulder-length
locks on his two fellow fosterlings.  Over a loose shirt he wore a vest, the entire
front embroidered with what must be his family’s crest.  The weapon hanging at
his side could only be a long sword despite a hilt that would look at home on
Dietrik’s rapier.