familiar with the expression ‘third time pays for all’?”
Again, there was only one reasonable answer to that question. “Yes, your grace.”
Alveron took me to his rooms, and we looked over maps of the countryside where his men had been lost. It was a long stretch of the king’s highway running through a piece of the Eld that had been old when Vintas was nothing more than a handful of squabbling sea kings. It was a little more than eighty miles away. We could be there in four days of hard walking.
Stapes provided me with a new travelsack, and I packed it as well as I was able. I took a few of the more practical clothes from my wardrobe, though they were still more suited for a ballroom than the road. I packed away a few items I’d quietly pilfered from Caudicus’ lab over the last span, and gave Stapes a list of a few essential items I was lacking, and he produced them all more quickly than a grocer in a store.
Finally, at the hour when all but the most desperate and dishonest persons are abed, Alveron gave me a purse containing a hundred silver bits. “This is a messy way of handling it,” Alveron said. “Normally I would give you a writ charging citizens to provide you with assistance and aid.” He sighed. “But using something like that as you travel would be as good as blowing a trumpet announcing your arrival.”
I nodded. “If they’re clever enough to have a spy among your guard, it’s safe to assume they have connections with the local populace as well, your grace.”
“They might
Stapes led me out of the estate through the same secret passage the Maer used to enter my rooms. Carrying a hooded thief’s lamp, he took me through several twisting passages, then down a long, dark stairway that bored deep into the stone of the Sheer.
Thus I found myself standing alone in the chill cellar of an abandoned shop in Severen-Low. It was in the section of the city that had been ravaged by fire some years ago, and the building’s few remaining roof beams stretched like dark bones against the first pale light of dawn.
I stepped from the burned shell of the building. Above, the Maer’s estates perched on the edge of the Sheer like some predatory bird.
I spat, none too pleased with my situation, press-ganged into mercenary service. My eyes were gritty from my sleepless night and my long journey through the twisting stone passages in the Sheer. The wine I’d drunk wasn’t improving anything either. For the last few hours I could feel myself growing less drunk and more hungover by slow degrees. I’d never been awake through the entire process before, and it was not pleasant. I’d managed to keep up appearances in front of Alveron and Stapes, but the fact of the matter was that my gut was sour and my thoughts were thick and sluggish.
The cool, predawn air cleared my head a little, and within a hundred steps I began thinking of things I’d forgotten to include on the list I’d given Stapes. The wine had done me no favors there. I had no tinderbox, no salt, no knife. . . .
My lute. I hadn’t picked it up from the luthier after having its loose peg fixed. Who knew how long I might be hunting bandits for the Maer. How long would it sit unclaimed before the man decided it had been abandoned?
I went two miles out of my way, but found the luthier’s shop dark and lifeless. I hammered on the door to no avail. Then, after a moment’s indecision, I broke in and stole it. Though it hardly seemed to be stealing, since the lute was mine to begin with, and I’d already paid for the repairs.
I had to climb a wall, force a window, and trip two locks. It was fairly simple stuff, but given my sleepless wine-sodden head, I’m probably lucky I didn’t fall off the roof and break my neck. But aside from a loose piece of slate that set my heart racing, things went smoothly and I was back on my way in twenty minutes.
The four mercenaries Alveron had assembled were waiting in a tavern two miles north of Severen. We made brief introductions and left immediately, heading north on the king’s highway.
My thoughts were so sluggish that I was miles north of Severen before I began to reconsider a few things. Only then did it occur to me that the Maer might have been less than completely honest in everything he had told me the night before.
Was I truly the best person to lead a handful of trackers into an unfamiliar forest to kill a band of highwaymen? Did the Maer really think so much of me?
No. Of course not. It was flattering, but simply not true. The Maer had access to better resources than that. The truth was, he probably wanted his sweet-tongued assistant out of the way now that he had the Lady Lackless well in hand. I was foolish for not realizing it sooner.
So he sent me on a fool’s errand to get me out from underfoot. He expected me to spend a month chasing his wild goose in the deep forest of the Eld then come back empty-handed. The purse made better sense, too. A hundred bits would keep us provisioned for a month or so. Then, when I ran out of money I’d be forced to return to Severen where the Maer would cluck his tongue in disappointment and use my failure as an excuse to ignore some of the favor I’d accumulated so far.
On the other hand, if I got lucky and found the bandits, all the better. It was exactly the sort of plan I’d credit to the Maer. No matter what happened, he got something he wanted.
It was irritating. But I could hardly go back to Severen and confront him. Now that I’d committed myself, there was nothing to do but make the best of the situation.
As I walked north, my head throbbing and my mouth gritty, I decided I would surprise the Maer again. I’d hunt down his bandits.
Then third time would pay for all, and Maer Alveron would be well and truly in my debt.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE
The Players
Over the next few hours of walking, I did my best to get to know the men Alveron had saddled me with. I speak figuratively, of course, as one of them was a woman, and we were all five of us afoot.
Tempi caught my eye first and held it the longest, as he was the first Adem mercenary I’d ever met. Far from being the imposing, hard-eyed killer I’d expected, Tempi was rather nondescript, neither particularly tall nor heavily built. He was fair-skinned with light hair and pale grey eyes. His expression was blank as fresh paper. Strangely blank.
I knew Adem mercenaries wore blood-red clothing as a sort of badge. But Tempi’s outfit was different than I’d expected. His shirt was held tight against his body with a dozen soft leather straps. His pants, too, were belted tightly at the thigh and calf and knee. Everything was dyed the same bright and bloody red, and it fit him snugly as a gentleman’s glove.
As the day grew warm, I saw him begin to sweat. After living in the cool, thin air of the Stormwal, the weather must have seemed disproportionately hot to him. An hour before noon, he loosened the leather straps of his shirt and peeled it away, using it to wipe the sweat from his face and arms. He didn’t seem even slightly self- conscious about walking the king’s highway naked to the waist.
Tempi’s skin was so pale it was almost the color of cream, and his body was lean and sleek as a coursing hound, his muscles shifting under his skin with an animal grace. I tried not to stare, but my eyes couldn’t help but pick out the thin, pale scars that crossed his arms and chest and back.
He never offered a word of complaint about the heat. Words of any sort seemed rare from him, and he responded to most questions with a nod or a shake of the head. He carried a travelsack like mine, and his sword, far from being intimidating, seemed rather short and unimpressive.
Dedan was as different from Tempi as one man can be from another. He was tall, wide, and thick around the chest and neck. He carried a heavy sword, a long knife, and wore a mismatched set of boiled leather armor, hard enough to knock on and often mended. If you have ever seen a caravan guard, then you have seen Dedan, or at least someone cut from the same bolt of cloth.
He ate most, complained most, swore most, and had a stubborn streak thicker than a broad oak plank. But to be fair, he also had a friendly manner and an easy laugh. I was tempted to think of him as stupid due to his manners and his size, but Dedan had a quick wit when he bothered using it.
Hespe was a female mercenary. Not as rare a creature as some folk think. In appearance and equipage she
