The Darkness Comes (The Second Book of the Small Gods Series) (17 page)

Horace wondered if that were true.

“At least your son…”

The ol’ sailor nodded, hopin’ doin’ so’d put an end to the conversation before he couldn’t stop himself tellin’ the gray man ‘bout his entire life. He didn’t want to, but somethin’ inside him longed to share it, and he didn’t much like it. Luckily, Thorn smiled a shaky smile and walked away, endin’ the matter before it jabbed a knife between Horace’s ribs.

They made their way across the clearin’ side by side as the sun creepin’ higher in the sky burned off the last o’ the misty dawn. The ol’ sailor wondered if a half naked, angry feller might be huntin’ through the forest in search o’ the thieves what stole his britches, but the thought disappeared when Thorn stumbled. Horace reached out to catch him, but hesitated. The gray man righted himself without any help.

“You all right?” Horace asked.

“Tired still,” Thorn replied. “Doing things expends more energy than before.”

“Before? You mean when you was at…home?”

“Thorn is not tired after doing things like this,” he gestured toward the well-fitted breeches, “when he is in the land behind the veil.”

“Well, maybe you should stop doin’ it while you’re…ahem…out here.”

“Thorn cannot stop. He must release the energy to live. If he doesn’t, he will die.”

“It seems like if you do let it go, you might end up with the same result.”

Thorn didn’t reply, only stared at his bare feet whisperin’ through the grass. His gait steadied itself and he returned to the kind o’ pace what made Horace have to hurry to keep up. The ol’ sailor sighed a breath full o’ new day freshness, but it didn’t seem so sweet to him, knowin’ what they had to do.

“Guess we better get you back to the Green quick as we can, then.”

They turned their backs on the sunrise and plodded into the forest, headin’ for a place Horace’d spent his life tryin’ to avoid.

XVI Trenan - Door to Door

They searched through the day and into the evening, going from one door to the next, street by street, block by block. At first, they stayed together in a group of four because Trenan didn’t trust Dansil and his friend to be discreet if he left them on their own. He quickly realized the search would take far too long if they continued that way. Grudgingly, he split them up into pairs, sending Osis with Dansil one way down the block and keeping Strylor with himself.

He wasn’t sure Osis could handle the big guard’s bullish nature, but didn’t think he’d be able to keep himself from running the big-mouth through if left alone with him.

When they got back together at the end of the day, neither pair had found any sign of the prince. They ate a quick meal and settled into spare bunks in the barracks after Trenan gave strict instructions not to speak of their task to anyone.

The next day dawned clear and warm again, as the days had for near on two full turns of the moon. It was the sort of day that should bring hope and joy to anyone’s heart, but Trenan woke with a gray cloud hanging over him and an ache in his shoulder. Every time he’d closed his eyes through the night, he saw Ishla’s disappointment and worry boring into his chest, heard the ice in her words. If ever things were to be right between them—as right as their stations might allow—he needed to find Teryk and Danya. Fast.

The four soldiers marched through the streets, arms and armor clanking as the early morning populace moved aside to let them pass. Tradesmen and workers on their way to their jobs eyed them warily. Trenan paid them no mind.

Dansil and Strylor walked a few paces ahead of Trenan and Osis, the master swordsman and sergeant striding in silence as the other two conversed.

“Helluva good job, protecting the queen,” Dansil said.

“Better’n walking the walls like I gotta do,” Strylor replied.

“Anything’s better.”

“You don’t have to spend your days outside in the cold.”

“Ha! When the temperature drops, the bitch never goes outside.”

Trenan flinched at the guard’s choice of words. “Watch your mouth, Dansil. You speak of the queen.”

“Relax, swordsman,” Dansil said casting a glance back over his shoulder. “She ain’t here, so you don’t have to protect your secret crush.”

The master swordsman’s fingers clutched Godsbane’s hilt, but Osis lay his hand on Trenan’s forearm, stopping him from freeing its steel. He looked at the sergeant, angry at first, then nodded his thanks—no good killing one of the queen’s guards over a few words.

“Know what the best part of guarding the king’s whore from the Leeward kingdom is, Stry?” Dansil continued as though Trenan hadn’t spoken.

“What’s that?”

“Sometimes she needs to be guarded at the bath house, or when she’s getting dressed. I don’t care about my pay those days.”

Strylor laughed and Trenan’s stomach clenched with anger. He realized the guard’s words held no truth—the queen’s attendants helped her with bathing and dressing, not her guards—but it riled him nonetheless. Visions of Dansil peeping through a door left ajar, or standing on a crate outside a window came to his mind, igniting a fire of jealousy in his chest. The heat spilled into his cheeks but he ground his teeth, biting it back.

“Ignore him,” Osis said, leaning close to prevent the other two from hearing. “He’s naught but hot air.”

“I know,” Trenan responded, but it didn’t relieve his anger.

They continued toward the spot they’d finished their search the night before; Dansil and Strylor’s conversation carried on, but Trenan paid no attention. His mind kept trying to find its way to thoughts of the queen, but he diverted them because the pain of unrequited love wouldn’t serve him in his search for the prince and princess. He chose instead to replay the events that led him here, hunting through his memory for clues to what happened to Teryk, where Danya might have gone. He found no help amongst his recollections.

“Well? Where’s it gonna be today?” Dansil asked as they reached the point where they’d stopped searching the night before. The tone of his voice might have been fingernails scratching the inside of Trenan’s skull.

“We’ll begin where we left off,” the master swordsman replied as he stared along the street. “What’s in this part of the city, soldier?”

“Mostly businesses,” Strylor said. “A few warehouses and such, too.”

The master swordsman nodded. “Fine. We’ll work our way toward sunrise.” He faced Osis. “You head toward sunset and we’ll meet back here at midday.”

“Me and Strylor been talking,” Dansil said, interrupting before Trenan took his first step. “Didn’t seem me and Osis got along so well yesterday, so we thinks we should switch things up today.”

Trenan glanced at Osis; the sergeant raised a brow and gave his head a tiny shake, indicating he’d given Dansil no cause for his words, though the master swordsman would have understood had it been true.

“Switch up the partnerships?” Trenan said.

Dansil stood straighter, poked out his chest. “That’s right.”

The master swordsman rubbed his jaw, hardly believing himself what he was about to say.

“Fine. Strylor, you go with Osis. Dansil, you’re with me.”

The big guard opened his mouth to protest, but Trenan spun in the direction of sunrise, his boot heel grinding in loose stone. Silently, the master swordsman wondered if they’d make it through the day without shedding each other’s blood.

***

An apothecary, a blacksmith, a tailor, and two warehouses.

The large storehouses stacked with crates, barrels, and sacks had taken more time to search than Trenan expected, and the sun was creeping closer to its zenith and the time for he and Dansil to regroup with Osis and Strylor. Still they’d turned up no sign of the prince or princess, a task made more difficult by their inability to tell anyone for whom they searched.

Trenan closed the door of the last warehouse and marked it with the charcoal stick he kept tucked in his belt to avoid searching the same place twice. He turned and found Dansil standing close behind him, hands on hips.

“Why can’t we just spread the word we’re looking for the brats,” he said. “Someone’s bound to have seen them.”

Trenan sighed, tired of explaining the king’s reasoning to the thick-headed guard.

“It should be enough the king doesn’t want the word out about the prince and princess’ disappearance.” He emphasized their titles. “But, if we let it be known, then every brigand in the outer city will be looking for them, dreams of ransom on their minds.”

“Let them demand coin,” Dansil scoffed. He reached over his shoulder and pulled his axe out of its sling, hefting it threateningly. “They’ll get nothing but my steel for their troubles.”

Trenan’s face went stern. “And what if they see your offer and decide to kill the heir to the kingdom, you idiot?”

Dansil leaned toward the master swordsman, the corner of his mouth twisting upward in a nasty smirk.

“Then I suppose whoever was responsible for them going missing should have his head removed, shouldn’t he?”

Trenan’s hand found its way to the hilt of his sword, fingers wrapping around it with the familiarity of caressing a lover. Since that one time, one encounter that changed his life and ruined everyone else for him, it was the closest he’d come to laying his hand on anything in passion.

Past the big guard and a short way up the street, Trenan caught a glimpse of a tall, slender man as he opened a door. The fellow paused and regarded the master swordsman and his companion with the same suspicion as most of the people they’d encountered. He ducked through the portal and closed the door furtively, as though attempting to avoid notice.

Trenan nodded in that direction and released his grip on Godsbane, determined to return to the task at hand. If they found Teryk and Danya, he’d be free of the torture of Dansil’s company.

“Put your over-sized meat cleaver away. We’ve work to do.”

He pushed by the guard, senses prickling as he exposed his back to the armed man, and crossed the avenue toward the building the man had entered. Behind him, he heard Dansil turn to follow. Trenan waited as a wagon rattled past, the horse’s hooves clopping on chipped and broken cobbles, then strode up to the wooden door. He raised his fist and pounded against its surface.

No immediate response. Trenan hammered on the door again as Dansil stepped up beside him.

“Open this door in the name of the king.”

Before anyone inside had a chance to respond, Dansil thumped the flat side of his axe against the door, the sound obviously steel contacting wood.

“Open the fucking door,” he shouted.

Trenan eyed him, ready to objurgate him for his lack of tact, when the door opened a crack. A gaunt face peered out.

“Can I help you, gentlemen?”

“We’re here on business of the king,” Dansil said before Trenan opened his mouth. “Open the door before I kick it in and then do the same with your head.”

Trenan glowered at the guard, biting his tongue and expecting the man inside the shop to slam the door in their faces while telling them to go fuck themselves. To the master swordsman’s surprise, hinges squeaked softly and the door swung inward. The tall, slender man with a large head that made him resemble a horse—the man Trenan had watched enter the premises—stood in the doorway.

“King’s business, is it?” He eyed Dansil, his gaze lingering on the guard’s bare axe, then turned his attention to Trenan. “Must be important if he’s sent his swordmaster to visit me.”

Trenan cocked a brow. “Have we met?”

“No. But everyone knows you.” The man nodded toward the master swordsman’s missing arm. “Bit of a legend, you are.”

“Hmph,” Dansil scoffed, pushing through the door and past the man. “He ain’t the one you got to worry about.”

The gaunt fellow stepped aside to allow them entry, but Trenan saw him peer out the door before closing it, gaze darting up and down the street as though watching for someone. Or ensuring Trenan and Dansil didn’t have any other soldiers with them. The hair on the back of the master swordsman’s neck prickled and he laid his hand on Godsbane’s pommel.

“What can I help you with?”

“We be searching for someone,” Dansil said, already halfway across the room.

Trenan surveyed the inside of the shop. They’d entered a small room with sundry items of riding tack and the like spread out on low benches set against the walls. If the man made his living selling horse equipment, he must only be scraping by.

“I haven’t seen anyone unusual,” the man said. He looked to Dansil, then Trenan and back again. “Except for the two of you.”

Dansil spun on the man, axe half-raised. “You calling us unusual?”

Trenan rolled his eyes, but the man wrung his hands, nervous and believing the threat.

“N—no, sir. Just that it’s unusual to see knights from Draekfarren in the outer city.”

“Well, if who we’re looking for don’t turn up, you’re gonna be seeing more of them,” Dansil said lowering his blade. He returned to surveying the room, though its size prevented any possibility anyone else hid in it.

“Who is it you’re looking for? Perhaps I can help.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Trenan said before Dansil revealed the truth of their search. “If you’ve seen anyone you don’t normally see, you need to tell us.”

The man’s dark eyes found Trenan and he shook his head, but the master swordsman didn’t like the fellow’s aspect.

“I haven’t seen anyone.”

Trenan strode across the shop toward a door in the back wall. “What’s your name?”

“Enin, sir.”

“And what do you do, master Enin?”

“I am a horse doctor.”

Trenan nodded. Dansil picked up a bridle, examined it then dropped it. It banged against the wooden bench and slid off onto the floor; he didn’t pick it up.

“What’s through here, horse doctor Enin?” the master swordsman asked nodding toward the door.

“That’s my shop,” he replied and hurried across the room without prompting. “It’s where I do my work when people bring their horses to me.”

He grabbed the door handle and threw it open. Trenan grabbed Godsbane’s hilt and loosed a sliver of steel; Dansil dipped into a crouch, axe raised. When Enin turned back to them from opening the door, he jumped visibly, surprised by their response.