Arm Of Galemar (Book 2) (29 page)

“But these had to be locals!  You said that yourself!”

“Yeah,” Kerwin admitted.  “Which means the Dark
Fathers in both cities are cooperating on this.  I wonder how much the
Spirratta Father had to pay to get this one to play along.”

Marik’s expression tightened in renewed anger.  If
that was true, they were in a very dangerous situation.

Landon sifted through the swordsman’s clothing.  “He’s
not carrying anything except his weapons.  We won’t learn anything from him.” 
He shifted to the second body when Hilliard, sword drawn, entered the room.

“We heard the fighting cease,” he explained, then
noticed Shalla’s body.  “Oh, no!  No!  Shalla!”  He dropped to one knee to
check for life signs.

They ignored him.  Landon’s second search came up dry
as well.

Hilliard demanded, “Who did this?  Was it one of
them?”

“Yeah, that one,” Marik responded with an absent
gesture.  His thoughts were running rampant, reviewing the available options.

Hilliard blanched when he stepped near enough to see
the thug’s corpse.  The damage was incredible.  “W…what?”

“Marik was fairly angry with him after he killed our
friend,” Kerwin commented offhandedly, but with respect for Shalla in his tone.

“But how…”

“Don’t ever get on the bad side of a mage.”

Hilliard whirled, studying Marik anew, eyes wide. 
Kerwin’s comment only rubbed salt further into Marik’s conscious.  Mood foul,
he snapped, “Forget that!  We need to move away from this place!”

“Not in this darkness,” Dietrik said.  “You might have
scattered them to the four corners, mate, but they could pull their tails from
between their legs.  All we need to make this a perfect night is to run into
another bloody ambush.”

“Let’s move on at first light,” Landon offered. 
Dietrik began searching the bodies when Landon stood.  “We can move to the
Swan’s Down with greater caution.”

“The Swan’s Down?” Marik mused.  “I’m not so sure. 
If they do know what our plans were, they might be waiting for us there.”

The archer spread his hands.  “They found us here.  I
think we can assume they have ways of ferreting us out no matter where we hide,
so we might as well go there.  It’s in a better district, so the cityguard will
be active.  Plus, much of the room costs have already been paid for.”

“I guess.  Dietrik?”

His friend tugged on the legs of the swordsman’s
breeches.  “What’s this now?”

Landon bent.  “Hmm.  I thought that was the grain, but
that’s not so.”

Hundreds of white flecks were stuck to the fabric at
the boot’s rim.  When Dietrik tugged harder, the entire cuff pulled free. 
Liberally sprinkled across the lowest leg was a higher concentration of flecks.

“What is it?” Marik asked.  “It’s not grain?”

“No.  I’m not certain.”  Landon pulled a larger fleck
free, sniffed it, then placed it on his tongue.  Quickly, he spat it out.  “Nor
anything from this kitchen.  Whatever it is, it may be important.”  Landon cut
away a sizable swatch of cloth with his knife.

“Why are you taking that?  You aren’t planning on
tracking these bastards down, are you?”  Wading into a thieves’ den with only
his companions, no matter how better skilled they were at fighting, hardly
appealed to him.

“Most likely not,” Landon admitted.  “But we shouldn’t
leave such a find behind.”  He rolled the cloth and placed it within his belt
pouch.  He then checked the knife-wielder for white powder but found none.  “If
this is actually a cooperative effort between the dark guilds in both cities,
then Spirratta’s surely must have sent a representative to oversee the
operation.  If we can kill him, the local guilds may lose interest in the
assassination plan.”

“Or maybe not.  That’s a long shot.”

“No harm in learning whatever we can,” Kerwin
countered.  “Probably it will come to nothing, yet stacking our odds won’t hurt
in the least.”

“Fine.  Whatever you say, but we can’t do anything
until morning.  Let’s barricade the doors and pile into an upstairs room.  And
we have to tell the others about Shalla.”

They closed the backdoor as best they could before
shoving the table flush against it.  With a still shocked Hilliard in tow, they
retreated into the house, Marik’s angry rage and sorrow flip-flopping every few
minutes.

*        *        *        *        *

Dawn finally broke three or four years later.  The One
Soul order members saw them off, all deeply grieving, though none blamed their
guests.  Unable to find suitable words, Marik left, guilt-ridden.  He should
have been able to say something that did not sound trite to his own ears!

Armed with explicit directions, they marched for Swan’s
Down Inn and Common Room.  Twice they lost their way until cityguard patrols
set them straight.  Swan’s Down operated in western Thoenar.  Since they needed
a legitimate reason to enter the Circle, they followed the wall between it and
Second Ring.  It made for a longer journey than cutting through the original
city.

They passed every type of building, business, shop and
park Marik had ever seen, including several he had never guessed at. 
Ordinarily his curiosity would have compelled him to explore these.  Except now
he moved in battle readiness.  Every face, every posture, every stranger was
analyzed for hostility during the journey.

Hilliard continued casting furtive glances at Marik. 
He remained silent the whole time.  The others knew him well enough to
understand he blamed himself for Shalla’s death.  If he were truly a target,
then he had called down the raid through his mere presence.

In the late afternoon they finally reached their inn. 
Lunch had ended and it would be a mark before the early dinner patrons began
showing.  Exhausted from his constant wariness, Marik would have accepted the
place even if it were a rundown shanty.

It wasn’t, of course.  If anything, it reminded him of
the Randy Unicorn on the Southern Road.  Large and square, it loomed four
stories tall.  Windows lined the second floor up, each marking a separate
room.  A signboard suspended on a pole over the door proclaimed it to be the
Swan’s Down, complete with a skillfully carved white swan in flight trailing
feathers behind it.

Marik, throwing the door open, almost knocked over a
serving girl cleaning the coat pegs.  A quick examination testified to the
inn’s higher quality.  The floor was clean, the walls were paneled, the space
was well lit and several paintings graced the common room.  He sent the girl to
find the proprietor with news that they had a reservation under Garroway.

Less than a minute passed before a portly man with
graying hair flew toward them.  “Hilliard Garroway!  Hilliard Garroway!  Oh,
thank the heavens and all the gods, it
is
indeed you, my lord!”

He nearly swept the young noble up in a hug, causing
Marik’s hand to tighten on his hilt.  The innkeeper took no notice of his
peril.

“Paddy sent me word
days
ago that you’d left
your mounts with him because you forgot say if you wanted your tack cleaned,
but then you didn’t show up at all!  I’ve been biting my fingernails wondering
what happened you!  If any harm had come you, I’m sure your father and
Seneschal Locke would stew me alive!”

“You know my father?”

“Oh, indeed!  He guests as the Down when he needs
visit Thoenar, and he sent me a letter saying I’d better look after you!”  The
innkeeper began twisting his hanging shirttail.  “When you didn’t show, I went
straight over Paddy’s, make sure he hadn’t been mistaken.  I filed a report
with the cityguard this morning, but they couldn’t tell me anything, the
idiots.”

“I’m afraid we encountered trouble with the rougher
residents in the city.”

The innkeeper’s hands flew to his neck, twisting the
laces on his shirt collar.  “How terrible!  But you arrived safe and sound for
all that.  Truly, it can only be expected from a contender for the Arm!”

Marik butted in.  “That’s right.  But we’ve had a long
day already and would like to drop off our packs.”

“Of course.  How silly of me.  Come, this way.  This
way.”

The staircase had been built in a spiraling square. 
Six steps up, a small landing then six steps ninety degrees to the right. 
Located at the base under the first flight, a desk holding a thick book filled
the cramped nook.  Blank pages contained only lines where guests wrote in their
names.

Hilliard signed, the innkeeper, named Walsh, adding a
‘plus four’ notation next to the name.  He also wrote several other symbols,
none of which were familiar to Marik.

“Three rooms, on the third floor, facing the street,”
Walsh explained, handing them three keys.  He took them upstairs to their
lodgings.  “My lord Garroway’s room is this middle one.  The others hold two
beds each, so you can stay by his side.  We have a bathing facility on the
ground floor and I’ve provided soap cakes for each of you in your rooms, as
well as towels.”

“Is there anything ready to eat in your kitchens?”
Dietrik asked.  “We haven’t eaten a thing since this morning, and I’m
famished!”

“I can have food prepared,” Walsh assured them.  “Come
down the common room when you’re ready.”

Marik unlocked his and Dietrik’s room.  He was
impressed despite his fatigue.  Two actual beds lined the east and west walls,
separated by a long, low dresser filled with drawers under the window. 
Standing wardrobes provided space beyond what they would need and a wash table
sat beside the door.  A mirror, not so large as Tollaf’s had been, rested atop
it, along with a wash bowl, small hand towels and a honed razor.

Dietrik sat on his bed, stating, “I don’t know.  This
might be too soft, after what I’m used to.  I’ll bet my back aches like blazes
in the morning.”

“I hope that’s the worst of our troubles.  Let’s get
fed and watered.”

Landon joined them in the hall.  “Hilliard doesn’t
feel like coming down yet, so Kerwin will stay close by.”

“A good idea,” Dietrik agreed.  “We don’t want to
underestimate these blokes again.”

Walsh ushered them into a booth, several of which
lined the east and south walls in the common room.  The westernmost one
afforded them a clear view of the room and its occupants.

“What’s the next move?” Marik queried while they
waited for the kitchen to throw together sustenance.

 “I’m not certain,” Landon admitted.  “Your little
show last night might have scared them off for good.”

“Or perhaps not,” Dietrik countered.  “If they are
being paid enough, they might be tenacious.”

“I don’t feature sitting still, looking over my
shoulder, waiting for a knife in the back,” Marik stated.

“Sounds as if you’ve taken a shine to Landon’s idea.”

“I suppose.  Maybe it’s right, maybe it’s not, but
like Kerwin said, it won’t hurt to pad our hand.”

“Possibly we might not need to.  The other fosterlings
are as likely to have been attacked.  Sloan or Kineta might have put an end this
hypothetical ringleader from Spirratta.”

“That wouldn’t surprise me, but we can’t count on
it.”  Marik faced Landon.  “What can we do?”

Landon pulled the roll of cloth from his pouch.  “Only
the first body had this white substance on the clothing.  That could mean this
won’t take us anywhere after all.  For all we know, it’s flaking paint from a
meat pie cart that fellow bought his lunch at.”

Dietrik took the cloth.  Sniffing the white powder, he
answered, “No.  Remember it was stuck to the material
under
his boot. 
Wherever he picked it up, it was from the place where he pulled on his breeches
in the morning.  If it stuck to the rest of his clothing, the chap must have
dusted it off after he dressed.  It doesn’t smell like any kind of paint I
know.  It smells odd, in fact.”

Marik took a turn.  “I don’t know,” he offered while
Walsh brought them a platter heaped with fruits and two kinds of bread.  “But
this stuff seems familiar to me.”

“There you go, gentlemen.  Cook is roasting up prime
quality beef for tonight, but it’s not quite cooked through yet.  I’ll bring
you over several juicy cuts as soon as she says it’s ready.”

“Familiar how?” Landon asked when the innkeeper left.

Marik bit into an apple as he scratched his neck.  “I
can’t remember.”

They pondered it while they consumed the food.  The
common room slowly filled as the dinner mark drew near.  Walsh greeted most as
old friends.  By and large they were better dressed than the mercenaries. 
Judging from the friendly questions asked by Walsh, Marik concluded most were
shopkeepers or merchants from nearby.  A handful of craft masters were mixed in
for good measure.

Nearly a mark after claiming the booth, a memory
finally broke loose in Marik’s weary mind.  “Ah!  You great, stupid fool!”

Nearby patrons shifted on their seats to see what was
going on, then returned to their private conversations when nothing interesting
happened.  “What is wrong with you?” Dietrik wanted to know.