Assassin's Rise (21 page)

“I thank you,” said
Roland softly.

“Don’t thank me,” said
Rage, a steely edge to his voice. “Have I not done enough – do you
not trust me, lad?”

“It’s precisely because
I trust you, and because you’ve done so much that we will part ways
here.”

Rage stared at Roland,
but Roland would not give an inch. “I’ll let you know when we are
close enough for the boat,” said Rage and turned on his heel,
stomping across the deck.

“Well, that was
pleasant,” said Jeklor, turning back to watch the bobbing
lights.

“You too, Jeklor. I
know a tavern where we can stay at, but I will move on my own once
there. I don’t want you accompanying me,” said Roland
forcefully.

“Wouldn’t want to
anyway ... got business of my own,” said Jeklor lightly, but there
was a hurt look on his face.

“Understand this, my
friend,” said Roland, wearing a troubled expression. He and Jeklor
had come a long way, and he needed him to understand – to see
reason. “I value you above all, and I will not lead you into
danger. The Vandermans are nothing to you, and you should not get
involved with them. You must not get involved.”

“How you can say all
that straight-faced is beyond me, but I hear you. I will work to
spread Dragon East while you do your thing – but should you need
help, I’ll be there.”

“Good,” said Roland,
feeling relieved.

“But you know, old
horse,” said Jeklor, his voice oddly pensive, “it’s not your duty
to protect and save everyone. If something happens to me, or
Dragon, or Andros, or anyone you know, it is not through a fault of
your own. You do not need to carry that responsibility with
you.”

*

Roland slowly pushed
the tavern door open. He stood like that for a moment; hand on
door, basking in the warm atmosphere flowing from the Seek’n Find.
As if time had stood still, nothing had changed in the pass two
years. The tables were still the same dark, warm wood, coated with
years of spilled ale, the hardwood floor still with a crack in one
corner. The smells of drink, food, and good times flooded over him,
and Roland could feel tension, fear and anger draining from him,
leaving him with a small smile and lifted spirits. The only
difference was the roaring fireplace, giving the tavern a warm
glow, making Roland feel as if the Seek’n Find was located in a
different world to the rest of Calvana.

Alfeer was behind his
counter, cloth draped over his shoulder, nursing a mug of ale.
Oldon and Altmoor sat dressed in their old armour, playing the game
Manoeuvres. From the look of it, Oldon was loosing, and he wore a
scowl on his face. Then Oldon’s eyes flickered to the door, and he
jumped upright, knocking his chair over. Altmoor turned in his
seat, and then his mouth opened, frozen in place. Alfeer was in the
process of wiping his counter, (probably for the thousandth time,
thought Roland) but when he followed his father’s and Altmoor’s
gaze, he dropped the cloth and knocked over his mug, ale rapidly
spreading over the shining wood.

Roland stepped inside,
his dark cloak slightly billowing as he stepped over the threshold,
and he said, “Sorry to come so late, but I’m looking for a
room.”

Jeklor entered behind
him and dropped his enormous bundle to the floor. “Cosy place. Is
it too late asking for a meal?” he asked hopefully. Then his eyes
stopped at Oldon’s battle armour. “You’ll fit right in, Roland,” he
said dryly.

“Alfeer,” croaked
Oldon. “Go wake the serving girls. Tell them to prepare a feast.
I’ll pay them two days extra.”

“No, you shouldn’t,”
said Roland quickly.

“This is my tavern and
I’ll bloody well do what I want!”

And with that, Oldon
rushed over to Roland, his breastplate swinging alarmingly over his
skinny chest. He grabbed Roland by the shoulders and said, “It is
very good to see you, Roland,” his blue eyes misting over.

“And you, Oldon. You
have no idea,” said Roland, flinging his arm around Oldon’s
neck.

“Educator Altmoor,”
Roland said affectionately as Altmoor pushed himself upright from
his chair, his expression still unbelieving.

“Roland. It’s really
you, is it not?”

“Indeed,” said
Roland.

“Since you ... left ...
the old coot has been worse company than ever,” said Oldon gruffly,
but he could not seem to wipe the look of joy from his face.
“Hopefully you can talk some sense into him now you’re here.”

“I’ve left Academia
Amlor,” said Altmoor in answer to Roland’s inquiring look. “But
take of your cloak first, you seem a floating head.”

Roland untied his cloak
and dropped it onto a nearby table. Both Oldon and Altmoor’s eyes
widened as they took in Roland’s attire: the zhutou slipped through
the black sash around his waist, the round, tapered shaft almost
reaching his left knee, dancing flames reflecting in the two curved
prongs; the broad leather band running from right shoulder to left
hip filled with six, short, broad-bladed knifes; the black crossbow
resting across the small of his back, a flat quiver filled with
bolts on his left breast ... but it was the small silver brooch
clasped onto the sash at Roland’s right side that their eyes kept
coming back to – it seemed oddly out of place.

Altmoor embraced
Roland, and then stepped back, looking up into Roland’s face, his
eyes tracing the scars, his heart heavy at the cold look on
Roland’s face that not even the joyous occasion could completely
soften, but then he smiled and said, “Welcome back, Roland.
Unbelievable, but true. If you weren’t standing before me, I would
not have believed it possible.” He sighed, a haunted look coming
over his face. “The promise I made to you has been heavy and bitter
to carry with. I never once believed that three years would see you
back in Darma, and each day was a struggle; having to ignore the
fact that an innocent man was in prison, not able to do anything
about it – but how glad I am that I never went back on my word, and
that I was wrong about your abilities.” He ran a hand across his
face, and Roland realised with a shock that Altmoor had aged
greatly. His sharp, piercing gaze was no more, and his face had
acquired hundreds of folds and lines.

“I thank you for
keeping your word ... and I am truly sorry that it was so hard,”
said Roland, feeling a terrible guilt settling on him.

“Don’t mind me,
Roland,” said Altmoor, seeing the look on Roland’s face. “None of
it was your fault. None. The fault lies with Darma’s ruling class.
Come, let us eat and drink, but before that – who might your friend
be?”

“You do not remember
me?” said Jeklor and gave a sweeping bow. “Our meeting was short,
and I had not the luxury of offering you drink or food, but I do
believe I fondly referred to you as ‘a bag of old bones’.”

Oldon threw his head
back and roared with laughter. “Good lad he is. If I had a
daughter, she’d be yours!”

Altmoor chuckled along,
nodding as he did. “Of course, how could I forget? You were the
young man who kept cradling his blanket, huddling in the corner. It
happens to the best of men, of course – you should not feel shamed
by it.”

This time it was
Roland’s turn to roar with laughter, and as he did, he realised
that it had been a very long time since he had laughed out
loud.

*

The long table was
laden with food and drink, Roland and Jeklor steadily working
through the meats, bread, vegetables and soup. Two serving girls
kept bringing in new plates and taking empty ones away. Jeklor
tried his best to catch their eyes, but so far, he was rather
unsuccessful.

Roland leaned back on
his chair, a contented look on his face. Oldon and Altmoor did not
eat, but were not shy with the ale, and both old men had rosy
cheeks by the time Roland finished eating.

“This was the best meal
I have had in years,” said Jeklor, and gave a theatrical yawn. “I
do believe I will retire for the night though. I thank you for your
hospitality.”

“Go get some rest, lad.
Ask Alfeer to show you to your room,” said Oldon.

Jeklor pushed himself
away from the table and left, but he bypassed Alfeer and headed
straight to the kitchen. There was a moment of silence, followed by
a high-pitched giggle and then he reappeared with a broad smile. He
winked at Roland and disappeared up the wooden stairs. After the
two serving girls had cleared the table, one of them headed up the
stairs, two pink spots appearing high on her cheekbones.

Oldon chuckled. “He’ll
be sleeping late, that one.”

Roland smiled inside
his ale mug, and then he looked at Altmoor and said, “Why did you
leave the academia?”

“After you left,” said
Altmoor, sipping his ale, “I started noting many things at the
academia that did not sit right with me. I talked to my peers about
it, but they thought me quite mad –” he laughed as if it was the
funniest thing he had ever heard, “– so now I heal the sick from my
home. I’m no longer a rich man, but I’m far happier for it,” he
finished with a bemused smile, as if he could not quite believe it
himself. “But I believe it is time I update you on the situation in
Darma?”

“Please do,” said
Roland.

“As you predicted,
there has been no word of the girl’s murder, and also no word of
yourself. Feel free to walk outside while showing your face;
neither citizen nor City Watch will recognise you, or be looking
for you.

“There has also been no
news about you and your friend’s escape, or I would have heard
about it –” he rubbed his hands together, “– you see, I’ve made it
my business to regularly visit with the Captain of the Watch, under
the pretence that I am quite concerned with my safety walking the
streets of Darma, and that he should immediately inform me of any
known criminals. If you were considered a wanted man, he would have
told me about it,” said Altmoor proudly, his eyes showing a trace
of their former, piercing, liveliness. Roland was impressed with
Altmoor’s shrewdness, and glad for the shine in his eyes.

“I have also made it my
business to find out as much as I can about the Vandermans – don’t
worry, I did nothing to give myself away. It is not considered
strange for one noble to inquire about another – and I am sorry to
say that the girl was not Sirol’s first victim. It seems that this
has happened at least three times before, and that Sirol has
acquired a taste for violating and killing commoner girls ...”

On the surface, Roland
was calmly listening as Altmoor spoke, but his insides were
seething. So Carla was not the first victim? It was nothing more
than a game for Vanderman? Roland had never felt so much hate
rushing up in him and his hands shook lightly as he gripped the
edge of the table.

“... but I am happy to
report that Carla was the last unfortunate girl,” said Altmoor.
“Since you have written him that letter, Sirol has been seen less
and less, and since about six months ago he had completely
disappeared from public view. There are rumours that he has come
down with illness, but you and I know the truth, of course.”
Altmoor gave a small smile, and the beast lifting its head inside
Roland calmed down ever so slightly.

“Duke Ralpston has also
gotten wind of Sirol’s deeds, and the Vanderman name is not as
influential as it once was. Nothing has been done about his crimes,
of course,” he added bitterly, “but falling out of favour means
that his father Soul will have lost his claim as next in line as
the Duke of Darma. That, at least, is a small comfort.
Unfortunately, that is all I have to report.”

“Do you know if Sirol
is at the mansion, or the estate?” asked Roland.

“Ah, I see you have
done some investigating yourself! Well, Sirol is at the Vanderman
mansion, which, unfortunately, is under heavy guard. Soul has been
hiring mercenaries to keep his mansion – or should I say his son –
safe.”

“Interesting,” said
Roland, tapping a finger on the table. “Oldon, you have once said –
the first time I came here if I remember correctly – that the
secret to the Assassins Guild is in entering from the sewers
...”

“What now?” said Oldon,
startled. “Don’t tell me you want to take out a contract with
them?”

Roland smiled. Rage had
also jumped to the same conclusion. “Not at all. I only want to
know the location.”

“Well,” said Oldon,
settling back. “I once had a customer who told me that he had taken
out a contract with the guild, and he said that you will find them
in the sewers, but I don’t rightly know if it was a true story or
if he was making sport. But, if you really want information I will
start in Beggars’ Hope if I was you. All kinds of people there, not
that you will find much hope though.”

“Beggars’ Hope?”

“The centre of Darma is
where you will find most businesses, an’ folk like me. The east is
for the wealthy and nobles who do not have overly much influence.
Altmoor here used to live in the east, but now he’s a middle-folk
like me –” Altmoor beamed as Oldon said it, “– and the north, of
course, is where you find the palace, the academia, and nobles of
high stature and more coin than brains – that’s also where the
Vanderman mansion is.

“The west quarter of
Darma is the largest, and also has the most poor folk. The centre
of the west quarter is known as Beggars’ Hope, and there you will
find the poorest of the bunch, but you will also find folk with the
‘know-how’ there. The City Watch rarely patrols the west quarter,
and never Beggars’ Hope, so you get all kinds of folk hiding there,
away from prying eyes. Finding information about the guild, I think
you should start at Beggars’ Hope.”

Roland, Altmoor and
Oldon spoke until the early morning, and when they finally called
it a night, Roland fell asleep the moment he lay his head down. He
had no dreams, but he slept with a small, knowing smile.