some time before anyone thought to share anything about it with me. Lot longer than you. Count yourself lucky. Or unlucky. Depending on how you count. But don’t look to me for help on that score. I can’t even count wagons, can I Gless?” He laughed, and I found myself doing the same. And it felt good. Surprisingly good.
Hewspear nodded his approval as he pulled some blackened skin off his grouse. “You picked a sharp one, Captain.”
Braylar only gave the briefest of twitch-smiles, but that was confirmation enough.
I continued, “You obviously got a warning of sorts in the grass, before those other Hornmen came to rob us. You knew how many there would be, and that they meant us harm. But I’m still confused about something. Back at the Casks, you woke me, and said you knew something was coming. Violence. You knew violence was coming. And assumed it would involve you. But it didn’t. Could you, or someone,” I looked at the other Syldoon, “please explain that?”
No one else jumped into the fray so Braylar finally drank and cleared his throat. “The warnings… they’re like dreams, sometimes only slivers of dreams. A fleeting image, a half-felt feeling. My stomach will suddenly churn, my skin will grow hot. Sometimes I’ll taste blood in my mouth where there is none, or hear a scream when no sound has been uttered. Sometimes I’ll smell the shit that soils a man’s hosen as he dies, or feel the rush of an arrow past my cheek when none was shot. Phantom images, sensations. Such was the case at the Casks. I saw a pool of blood on that very table, though who it belonged to, I couldn’t say.
“Other times, more rarely, everything coalesces-image, sound, all the senses, and it becomes clear what I’m seeing is a memory, before it’s made, a memory from someone immersed in this violence. Me, someone else, someone who dies, someone who lives. And if this… advance memory is sharp enough, it sometimes serves as a warning. These flashes of violence I see before they occur, they’ve saved my life several times, and on occasion, my entire company as well.”
Hewspear raised a mug of ale in toast. “Truer words never spoken.”
“But they can be suspect too,” Braylar added. “There have been times I felt sure something was going to play out a certain way, and was proven wrong, almost to my ruin. But if you consult your notes rather than your memory, you’ll find that that night at the Three Casks, I didn’t say we were the targets, or that we were involved at all. I feared as much. Wide difference. But even when I believe I know what will happen for certes, I’ll rarely say as much. Because the warnings deceive. Just as they deceived me that night.”
I thought about that as I nibbled at some cheese-it was crumbly, with red veins that hinted at some obscure spice, and actually much better than I would’ve expected. Washing it down, I asked Braylar, “When the soldier rode past and threw the spear at you. You stayed on the bench, didn’t move or dodge, until it was almost too late. It was amazing, really. Was that another instance Bloodsounder gave you warning?”
Braylar’s mouth curved ever so slightly. “Do you find it so hard to believe that I possess some modicum of unassisted martial prowess?”
The Syldoon laughed, and I said, “But that isn’t really an answer.”
Vendurro wiped some grease off his chin with the back of his hand. “Like to be the only kind you get. Best get used to it.”
Braylar’s smile grew a touch, though was no less enigmatic, as he chose not to elaborate. I tried a different tack, “I’ve been thinking about something else that came up at the Casks. Mulldoos said your emperor insisted you have a chronicler. And in the grass, Captain Killcoin told me that I wasn’t the first.”
Mulldoos tore off some meat and laughed. “Waited until you had him in the middle of nowhere for the big reveal, eh, Cap? You’re a cruel and clever bastard, you are.”
I ignored him. “Why exactly was it mandated? Make no mistake, I’m grateful to have the work, but I’m wondering why your company needs an official account.”
No one responded right away. Everyone looked at Braylar for a cue or permission. He nodded at Hewspear who said, “The empire is made up of countless factions, large and small. And we are always conspiring against each other. So every emperor knows that it’s not a question of if a coup will happen, but when.”
Mulldoos burped. “Jumpy as cats, our emperors.’”
Hewspear continued, “So Emperor Cynead decided to institute the policy that there must be a record of each company’s activities. Especially those so far from home.” He indicated the room with a wave of his hand.
“And let me guess. Your faction-your Tower-they’re not huge supporters of Emperor Cynead.”
Hewspear tapped the side of his nose with a long finger. “Our Tower supported the previous emperor, Thumarr. Now deposed these five years. It wouldn’t be a stretch to say we bear more scrutiny than most.”
I weighed all that for a moment and then said, “So he orders an accounting, but he trusts men he doesn’t trust at all to keep a faithful account? I could record whatever Captain Killcoin told me to record. Who’s to say it’s accurate at all? Again, I’m glad to have a patron, and payment, but why wouldn’t the emperor appoint his own chronicler to ensure the auditing was faithful?”
Mulldoos shook his head as he threw a bone on his plate. “There’s that dull edge again.”
I didn’t understand.
Rooting around in his ear with a greasy finger, Glesswik volunteered, “He did.”
I still didn’t understand.
Hewspear added, “The first chronicler was appointed, Arki.”
At last things fell into place, like tumblers in a lock, but that just brought up more questions. The kind that made my stomach twist. “The first one, the appointed one-”
Mulldoos drew a finger across his throat and laughed like it was the funniest gesture in the world, and I continued, fumbling the words, “If you head home, if you’re recalled, and me with you, won’t the emperor, that is, he’ll know your chronicler… he’ll know I wasn’t the one he assigned, won’t he?”
Mulldoos shrugged. “Wasn’t all that hard finding two stringy scribblers that looked alike. Three was a bit tougher-you’re a touch shorter than the rest, with a bigger nose-but…” He shrugged his shoulders.
My position seemed even more precarious than it had even a few moments ago, and seeing that expression on my face, Hewspear said, “It was a clerk who did the actual appointing. Several years ago now. Clerks change. Records get lost. Time passes. And-”
“And,” Braylar interrupted, “we haven’t been recalled in any event. We still have much to accomplish in this region. Do your job. Do it well. The rest will take care of itself. We start now.” He rose and said, “You and Hewspear accompany me. The rest of you can do what you like with your hours. Drink, dice, what have you. Only don’t tussle with the city watch, don’t draw attention to yourself, and don’t spill any blood.”
Vendurro shook his head, “So, lock ourselves in our rooms is what you’re saying?”
“The next few days are critical to our success here. Best remember that.” He and Hewspear started towards the door and I stuffed some bread in my mouth, took a final swallow of beer, and hurried to follow. We headed down the stairs and made our way through the crowd on the lower floor of the Grieving Dog. Lloi, as usual, was off doing something at the behest of Braylar.
We stepped out into the rain. If we were anywhere but Alespell during the Great Fair, it would’ve convinced most travelers to stay indoors, as it was coming down as hard and fast as nails. But the main thoroughfare was almost as crowded as the inn, and would probably become even more congested until curfew was finally called throughout the fortified city.
Braylar pulled his scarf tighter around his neck and, looking up at the sky, said, “Bad night for crossbows.”
“Bad night for crossbows,” Hewspear agreed, pulling his hood up.
I pulled my hands into my sleeves and said, “Bad night for almost anything, except sitting in front of a fire with some mulled wine. Why aren’t we doing that?” The pair ignored me as they pressed through the people in front of us.
The baron’s castle was vaguely visible against the night sky, but lanterns and a few lit windows along its towers and walls created fuzzy halos of light as it sat high on the hill above the city, like some great hunching beast or god.
Though none of Braylar’s retinue had said anything explicitly that led me to believe we were up to evil deeds this night, I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was a great deal left unsaid that would confirm my suspicions. I asked, not for the first time, “Why do you need me for this, exactly?”
Braylar replied, “Because I ordered you, exactly. You have done little enough to really earn your keep thus far. You really begin tonight. Observe. And when we are through, record.”
