The Malmillard Codex (3 page)

At last, they both gave up the effort.

"Well, you will just have to keep
well-wrapped in my cloak," said Madryn with a shake of her head as
she repacked her damaged belongings. "There's an inn at the edge of
the forest, where we'll stop for the night. We can no doubt find
you something more suitable there."

After refilling a leather water bottle,
Madryn had remounted the huge Daemon. Valerik stood below, looking
up at her.

"Well, come along," Madryn ordered with no
little impatience. "I don't want to sleep on the ground tonight."
She held out a hand.

Valerik took it, scrambled up beside her,
and they had ridden on through the rest of that day that had
started out so strangely and had gotten even stranger, to arrive at
sundown here at this busy inn on the edge of the forest.

***

A distant range of mountains rose up around
the setting sun's shoulders like a misty cloak, as Madryn strode
towards the stables on long booted legs, her shadow an inky mass
before her. Daemon followed close behind her, though she had tossed
his reins over his head when they'd dismounted. Valerik trailed
behind, with the saddlebag over his shoulder and the cloak clutched
tight around him. He eyed the courtyard and its surroundings
curiously in the dimming light.

The inn consisted of a series of long, low
buildings comprising two sides of a square, with the stables making
a third side, and a log fence with the heavy gate being the fourth.
The courtyard thus enclosed was churned by the passage of many feet
and hooves, and there was the comfortable smell of hay and
hard-ridden horses emanating from the several open stable
doors.

A hostler shambled out from one such door,
detoured around a pile of hay under an overhand, then tugged his
forelock at the sight of the new arrivals. He offered them a
friendly, gap-toothed grin of welcome.

"Milady. Sir."

"Take your best care of my horse, if you
please. He's had a long day," said Madryn, a clinking sound coming
from the heavy bag at her waist. She reached for the ends of the
reins and tossed them to the hostler's outstretched hand, as though
conveying some great honor upon him.

Valerik knew that the man was unused to such
a politeness in an arriving guest; his more usual greetings
consisted of kicks and blows, no doubt. He eyed the ridged scars
about the hostler's bare neck—a former slave, marked forever by the
wearing of the leather collar.

The bent and twisted man nodded in eager
agreement as he stroked the great head that towered above his
stunted frame. "A beauty he is, milady, a beauty indeed," offered
the man over his shoulder as he led the unresisting stallion away.
"We're a bit full up tonight, but I'll care for him like he was my
own son, that I will."

"Probably beats and starves his son,"
murmured Madryn sardonically as she and Valerik watched Daemon
being led into the stables. "Still, no danger of that for
Daemon—he'd never allow such treatment. Come along, Valerik, let's
see what they can offer us for our own supper."

Valerik stumbled along behind Madryn as she
stalked towards the rough wooden double doors at the front of the
inn; his bare feet sloshed in muddy puddles and he was too tired to
make any comment, even if he'd thought of one. Just as they reached
the broad double doors, they opened wide from the other side. A
stout person of indeterminate gender, draped in voluminous shirt
and baggy leggings, beamed at them from within the threshold.

"Welcome to the Dancing Toad, my lady and
gentleman, welcome indeed. Come out of the evening, I pray you. I
am your host, Frague. Frague of the Toad, you see, ha ha. A joke of
my old dad's, an' it please you, gentles. Frague of the Toad, ha
ha." A burbling laugh rose up from an impressive belly, past a
series of overlapping chins and out a wide red mouth. A pink tongue
peeked coyly from within the redness.

Valerik followed Madryn and their host over
the threshold and into the inn's taproom. A wave of solid sound hit
him just before a rush of smelly steamy heat. He gazed in
wonderment about a room packed to the age-darkened rafters, where
each and every inhabitant was yelling at the same time for ale, for
wine, for beer and food.

Madryn took the five paces across the uneven
floorboards to reach the bar, a long stretch of wood polished and
stained by years of tankard rings and leaning elbows. Frague
followed her, rubbing his thick hands together and studiously
ignoring Valerik's lack of boots on such a chilly evening.

Valerik could see that the new guests
intrigued their host, from the gleam in Frague's eyes as he studied
the obvious richness of the fur-lined cloak that Valerik clutched
so close about him and contrasted it with the filthy bare feet that
peeked out below its hem.

A cross-eyed barkeep stood on the other side
of the long expanse of battered wood; one of his eyes was focused
on the rag he was wielding with great skill between the many mugs
and tankards that littered the ancient surface, the other watching
the innkeeper with a questioning air.

"We'd like some supper and a room for the
night, Master Frague," said Madryn just as Valerik reached her
side. "And two tankards of ale, barkeep, if you please."

"I greatly fear, milady, that we're all full
up," said Frague. "All full up, the Toad is tonight."

Two overflowing tankards appeared before
them on the bar as if by magic. A coin appeared just as magically
in Madryn's fingers, a thick bright silver coin that gleamed in the
murky light. She laid it on the wooden surface, took one tankard
and pushed the other towards Valerik, then turned to their
host.

"Quite full, Master Frague?" she asked with
a lazy grin, then took a sip of the rich amber liquid.

Valerik slurped a mouthful of the sharp ale
and at once felt a glow begin to spread throughout his exhausted
body, and much needed heat coursing through his veins.

Frague laughed his burbling laugh, his
barrel-shaped belly shaking. "Well, perhaps not quite filled up, to
be sure," he replied as his eye took in the silver filigree of
Madryn's sword hilt. He added the decoration to the thickness of
the coin he had just seen and calculated to a nicety the value of
her boots, the fineness of her jacket cloth, and the cost of the
hint of lace that peeked out at her throat. "Let me just see what I
can do, while we find you and your friend some supper, shall we?
Come, I'll show you to a private dining room."

Valerik drained the rest of his ale in four
hefty swallows and set the empty tankard down on the bar. Wiping
his mouth on the back of his hand, he followed Madryn and their
host through a door to the right of the bar. The door opened onto a
hallway lined with many other doors, through one of which Frague
gestured them into a snug small room with a round table and three
chairs. A fire crackled cheerfully in the tiny grate, sending out
waves of warmth and sparkling on a shiny pewter plate that sat in
lone majesty on the snowy cloth.

"This room was reserved, but the gentleman
has not appeared. I'll send the potboy along with another setting
and some dinner for you," promised Frague as he began maneuvers to
remove his massive bulk back out the narrow door.

"Master Frague?" Madryn said before he could
shut the door.

"Milady?" A faint crease appeared in the
approximate middle of their host, the only sort of bow possible to
such a stout and impressive figure.

"My friend here has need of some new
clothing. Thieves on the road…you understand," she waved a
negligent hand, as if to say how common it was for her or indeed
anyone at all to be traveling with a near naked man wrapped in a
cloak.

"Or mayhap the gentleman has left his
breeches beside a bed somewhere?" asked Frague, with a good-natured
leer at Madryn and a wink to Valerik

Damn the man
, thought Valerik—he gave
a ghost of a grin as he considered his naked and scarred
state—
he thinks I'm some sort of traveling bedmate-for-hire
.
An uneasy memory of his former mistress, now deceased, ran across
his mind with icy feet.

"You are speaking of my friend," said
Madryn, her tone frigid.

"Certainly, milady. Of course, milady. Your
pardon, I'm sure, sir and milady.
No-offense-intended-and-none-taken, I hopes. I have a servant who
is about the noble gentleman's size and will have something he can
put to use, I do not doubt, until he reached his no-doubt fine
estates. I'll send Radisin along with some clothes and your supper,
just as soon as ever I can."

The door closed behind the flustered
innkeeper.

Madryn gave Valerik a wry smile of relief as
the latch snapped home.

Valerik slid the
saddlebag under the table and dragged one of the chairs closer to
the fire. He sank into it with an almost inaudible sigh of
contentment and held out frozen hands to the blaze. The black cloak
bunched about his broad shoulders.

Silence, broken only by the crackle of
flames. He chanced a glance at his companion, wondering for the
hundredth time that hectic day why she had risked her life for
him.

"Why are you helping me?" Valerik jerked out
at last, unable to put off the question any longer. He had been
half expecting to be denounced as an escaped slave since they'd
arrived at the Dancing Toad, and he still could not fully wrap his
mind around his getaway from the hunt. And now this mad woman—for
mad she was, he had decided—had called him, naked and filthy as he
was, her friend. What was wrong with her? Had she no sense of the
proprieties? No concept of the danger in assisting a slave escaped
from the hunt?

Madryn unbuckled her swordbelt and hung it
on the back of a chair, then settled herself into the third with a
sigh of relief. She stared at Valerik for a long moment as she
drummed long fingers on the linen cloth, and then said with a
shrug, "I don't like hunts, slave or animal." She cocked her head
to one side and watched him from narrowed eyes.

"You're the only one I've ever met who did
not, then, except for the slaves—and no doubt the
animals—themselves," Valerik replied gruffly. The trembling was
lessening now, his cold hands warming at last. But he could not,
would not believe Madryn. He had never met a noble he could, or
would, trust. Another image of his late mistress rose in his
mind…her bloody hands wielding a whip…her surprised eyes staring
into his as the light of life died from them…her blackening tongue
lolling from her slack mouth…

"There are others who do not like it, I
assure you, and not only slaves," Madryn continued, interrupting
his reverie. "But I have a more personal reason than most to
disapprove."

"Worried about the horses getting hurt?"
Valerik suggested with a faint sneer and a passing thought for
Daemon. He remembered hearing nobles express concerns about their
steeds, even as they rode down women and men, trampling them to
lifeless pulp beneath galloping hooves.

"A good enough reason, to be sure," said
Madryn with a slow smile, as though she could see what was passing
through his mind.

"But not
your
reason?" Valerik
couldn't resist asking.

Madryn's eyes locked onto his. Valerik could
see that hers, which he had thought gray, were shot through with
the oddest tendrils of violet against the smoky background. "I
don't like to see people killed," she said at last. "Yes, even
slaves, as you were about to remark. I have been too close to my
own death to enjoy the sight of it. Especially in the name of
sport."

She thinks they were chasing me for
sport
, Valerik thought uneasily, tearing his eyes from her
violet gaze.
What will she say when she finds out why they were
really
after me? What will she do then, when she discovers
the real reason I was on the run? What will she do, when she learns
that I…she's staring at me, waiting for a reply…

At that moment, to Valerik's total if
unexpressed relief, a discreet knock sounded, followed the next
instant by the door opening. Dwarfing the doorframe, a tall man
with wide shoulders and a broad chest stood balancing a cluttered
tray on one meaty hand. Almost hidden behind him stood a skinny
boy, drowned in layers of folded cloth, a massive boot dangling
from either hand.

"Supper, milady," rumbled the newcomer as he
strode into the tiny room and set his tray down with a clash and
clatter on a shelf against the wall. "And th' master said as how
you might be a wanting of some clothes for a largish sort of
gentleman, so I brought these along. My name be Radisin, an it
please you, and this here be Dimm."

Dimm was a skinny boy and from the look in
his large, gentle eyes, his name was more descriptive than most. He
pattered in behind his huge friend and stood like some animated
clothes rack, boots held out in extended hands, one arm displaying
a shirt in a rusty brown color, the other coarse but serviceable
breeches of almost the same hue. A wide belt hung like a necklace
around the boy's neck, stockings peeped coyly from a pocket, and a
leather jerkin was tossed about his scrawny shoulders to drag with
studied elegance on the floor behind him.

"I hopes as how these poor clothes might do,
milady and sir," said the waiter as he unloaded the tray of its
burden of covered dishes exuding savory smells, and placed them on
the linen tablecloth. Valerik smiled as his stomach gave a lurch of
expected pleasure. The waiter, misinterpreting Valerik's
expression, smiled himself and continued, "I believes that I be
close to the size of the gentleman, barring a hand of height or
so." He continued uncovering platters and dishes, releasing from
each one a tiny cloud of succulent steam.

Indeed, Radisin was not quite as tall as
Valerik, but he was every bit as broad and more. The servant's bulk
was composed, however, of equal parts flab and muscle and bone, as
opposed to Valerik's sleek but heavily muscled build.