A Darkness at Sethanon (24 page)

When Geoffrey
returned, he said, “Where are you bound, Laurie?”

Arutha answered,
“Tyr-Sog.”

Jimmy thought he
noticed a flicker of interest in the sole occupant of the other
table, but he couldn’t be sure. The man seemed intent upon his
meal.

Geoffrey clapped
Laurie upon the shoulder. “Not going back to see your family,
are you?”

Laurie shook his
head. “No, not really. Too many years. Too many differences.”
All save Baru and Locklear knew Laurie had been disowned by his
father. As a boy, Laurie had proved an indifferent farmer, being more
interested in daydreams and song. With so many mouths to feed, his
father had tossed him out on his own at age thirteen.

The innkeeper
said, “Your father came through here two, no, almost three
years back. Just before the end of the war. He and some other farmers
were caravanning grain down to LaMut for the army.” He studied
Laurie’s face. “He spoke of you.”

A strange
expression crossed the former minstrel’s face, one unreadable
to those around the table. “I had mentioned it had been years
since you came by and he said, “Well then, ain’t we the
lucky ones? That worthless layabout hasn’t pestered me in years
either.” “

Laurie erupted
in laughter. Roald joined in. “That’s my father. I hope
the old sod is still well.”

“I
expect,” said Geoffrey. “He and your brothers seem to be
doing fine. If I can, I’ll send word you were through. Last any
of us heard of you, you were off somewhere with the army, and that
was five or six years back. From where have you come?”

Laurie glanced
at Arutha, both sharing the same thought. Salador was a distant
eastern court, and word had not yet made its way to the frontier that
a son of Tyr-Sog was now Duke there, married to the King’s
sister. Both were relieved.

Arutha tried to
sound offhanded in his answer. “Around, here and there. Most
recently Yabon.”

Geoffrey sat at
the table. Drumming his fingers on the wood, he said, “You
might do well to wait for Ambros to pass here. He’ll be bound
for Tyr-Sog. I am sure he could use a few more guards, and these
roads are better travelled in large companies.”

Laurie said,
“Troubles?”

Geoffrey said,
“In the forest? Always, but more so of late. For weeks now
there have been stories of goblins and brigands troubling travellers.
It’s nothing new, but there seems to be more of that going on
than is usual, and something odd is the goblins and bandits almost
always are reported as travelling northward.” He lapsed into
silence for a moment. “Then there’s something the dwarves
said when they first arrived. It was right strange.”

Laurie feigned
amused uninterest. “Dwarves tend to the strange.”

“But this
was unusually so, Laurie. The dwarves claim they crossed the path of
some Dark Brothers and, being dwarves, proceeded to have a bash at
them. They claim they were chasing these Dark Brothers when they
killed one, or at least should have. This one creature wouldn’t
have the decency to die, the dwarves avowed. Maybe these youngsters
sought to pull a simple innkeeper’s leg, but they said they hit
this one Brother with an axe; damn near split his head in two, but
the thing just sort of pushes the halves together and runs off after
his companions. Shocked the dwarves so fierce they stopped in their
tracks and forgot to chase after. That’s the other thing. The
dwarves said they’ve never met a band of Dark Brothers so
intent on running away, like they had to get somewhere and couldn’t
take the time to fight. They’re a mean lot as a rule and they
don’t like dwarves a little more than they don’t like
everybody else.” Geoffrey smiled and winked. “I know the
older dwarves are sombre sorts and not given to stretching the truth,
but these youngsters were having me on a little, I think.”

Arutha and the
others showed little expression, but all knew the story to be true -
and that it meant the Black Slayers were again abroad in the Kingdom.

Arutha said, “It
probably would be best to wait for the silver merchant’s
caravan, but we’ve got to be off at first light.”

Laurie said,
“With only one other guest, I assume there’s no trouble
with rooms.”

“None.”
Geoffrey leaned forward and whispered, “I mean no disrespect
toward a paying guest, but he sleeps in the commons. I’ve
offered him a room at discount, since I’ve ample space, but he
says no. What some will do to save a little silver.” Geoffrey
rose. “How many rooms?”

Arutha said,
“Two should provide comfort.”

The innkeeper
seemed disappointed, but given travellers were often short of funds,
he was not surprised. “I’ll have extra pallets brought
into the rooms.”

As Arutha and
his companions gathered up their belongings, Jimmy glimpsed the other
man. He seemed intent on the contents of his wine cup and little
else. Geoffrey brought over some candles and lit them with a taper
from the fire. Then he led them up the dark stairs to their rooms.

Something woke
Jimmy. The former thief’s senses were more attuned to changes
in the night than were his companions’. He and Locklear were
bunking in with Roald and Laurie. Arutha, Martin, and Baru slept
across the narrow hall, in a room over the common room, and as the
soft sound that had awakened him came from outside, Jimmy was certain
it hadn’t roused the former Huntmaster of Crydee or the
hillman. The young squire of the Prince’s court strained his
hearing to its limit. Again came a sound in the night, a faint
rustling. He quietly got up from his pallet on the floor, next to
Locklear’s. Passing the sleeping forms of Roald and Laurie, he
peered out the window between their beds.

In the darkness
he caught a glimpse of movement, as if something or someone had just
moved behind the barn. Jimmy wondered if he should wake the others
but thought it would be foolish to raise alarm over nothing. He
gathered up his own sword and quietly left the room.

His bare feet
made no sound as he moved toward the stairs. At the landing atop the
stairs another window opened on the front of the inn. Jimmy peeked
through and in the gloom saw figures moving near the trees across the
road. He counted it unlikely that anyone skulking out in the night
was up to honest undertakings.

Jimmy hurried
down the stairs and found the door unbolted. He puzzled at that, for
he was near certain it had been bolted when they retired. Then Jimmy
remembered the inn’s other guest. He spun about and saw the man
was gone.

Jimmy moved to a
window, pulling aside a peep slide in the shutters, and saw nothing.
Silently he let himself out the door, and dodged along the front of
the building, trusting the gloom of the night to mask him. He hurried
to the place he had last seen movement.

Jimmy’s
ability to walk quietly was hampered by having to negotiate the
forest at night. While he had gained a little comfort in these
environs from his journey with Arutha to Moraelin, he was still a
city boy. He was forced to move slowly. Then he heard voices.
Cautiously he approached the source of the conversation and saw a
faint light.

He could begin
to understand scraps of what was said, then he suddenly could see a
half-dozen figures in a tiny clearing. The man in the brown cloak
with the covered shield was speaking with a black armoured figure.
Jimmy sucked in a chest full of air, to calm himself down. It was a
Black Slayer. Four other moredhel stood quietly off to one side,
three in the grey cloaks of the forest clans and one in the trousers
and vest of the mountain clans. The man in brown was speaking. “
. . . nothing, I say. Bravos from the look of them, with a minstrel,
but . . .”

The Black Slayer
interrupted him. His voice was deep and seemed to come from some
distance, echoing with an odd breathiness. The voice was
disquietingly familiar to Jimmy. “You are not paid to think,
human. You are paid to serve.” He punctuated that remark with a
jabbing finger to the chest. “See that I remain pleased with
your work and we shall continue this relationship. Displease me and
suffer the consequences.” The brown-cloaked fellow looked the
sort not easily frightened, a tough fighting man, but he only nodded.
Jimmy understood, for the Black Slayers were worthy of fear.
Murmandamus’s minions, even when dead, served him.

“You say
there’s a singer and a boy?” Jimmy swallowed hard.

The man tossed
back his cloak, revealing brown chain mail, and said, “Well,
now that I think, you could more likely say there are two boys, but
they’re almost man-sized.”

This brought the
Black Slayer out of his reverie. “Two?”

The man nodded.
“Might be brothers from the look of them. About a size, though
their hair colour’s different. But they seem alike in some
ways, like brothers do.”

“Moraelin.
There was a boy there, but not two . . . Tell me, is there a Hadati
among them?”

The man in brown
shrugged. “Yes, but hillmen’re all over. This is Yabon.”

“This one
would be from the northwest, near Lake of the Sky.” For a long
moment there was only the sound of heavy breathing from behind the
black helm as if the moredhel was lost in thought, or conversing with
someone else. The Black Slayer hit his fist against his hand. “It
could be them. Was there one who looked cunning, a slender warrior
with dark hair almost to his shoulders, quick in his movements, clean
shaven?”

The man shook
his head. “There’s a clean-shaven fellow, but he’s
big, and a slender one, but he’s got short hair and a beard.
Who do you think it is?”

“That is
not for you to know,” said the Slayer. Jimmy eased his legs by
slowly shifting his weight. He knew the Black Slayer was trying to
connect this band to the one that raided Moraelin for Silverthorn the
year before. Then the moredhel said, “We shall wait. News
reached us two days ago the Lord of the West is dead, but I am not
foolish enough to count a man dead until I hold his heart in my hand.
It may be nothing. Had an elf been with them, I would burn that inn
to the ground tonight, but I cannot be sure. Still, remain alert. It
could be his companions returning to do mischief, to avenge him.”

“Seven
men, and two of them really boys. What harm?”

The moredhel
ignored the question. “Return to the inn and watch, Morgan
Crowe. You are paid well and quickly for obedience, not questions.
Should those in the inn leave, follow at a discreet distance. Should
they remain upon the road to Tyr-Sog until midday, return to the inn
and wait. Should they turn northward before then, I shall wish to
know. Return here tomorrow night and tell me which. But tarry not,
for Segersen brings his band north and you must meet him. Without the
next payment, he takes his men home. I need his engineers. Is the
gold safe?”

“Always
with me.”

“Good. Now
go.” For an instant the Black Slayer seemed to shudder, then
wobble, then his movements returned. In a completely different voice,
he said, “Do as our master instructs, human,” then turned
and walked away. In a moment the clearing was empty.

Jimmy’s
mouth hung open. Now he understood. He had heard that first voice
before, in the palace where the undead moredhel had tried to kill
Arutha, and again in the basement of the House of Willows when they
had destroyed the Nighthawks in Krondor. The man called Morgan Crowe
had been speaking not to the Black Slayer, but rather through him.
And Jimmy had no doubt to whom. Murmandamus!

Jimmy’s
astonishment had caused him to hesitate, and suddenly he knew he
could not return to the inn before Crowe. Already the man had quit
the clearing, taking the lantern with him. In the dark, Jimmy had to
move slowly.

By the time he
reached the clearing near the road, Jimmy caught a glimpse of the red
glow from the hearth in the common room as Crowe closed the door to
the inn. He could hear the bolt driven home.

Hurrying
silently along the edge of the clearing, Jimmy waited until he was
opposite the window to his room. He hurried across and was quickly up
the wall, the rough surface providing ample hand- and footholds. From
inside his tunic he retrieved twine and a hook and quickly fished
open the simple bar locking the window. He pulled it open and stepped
through.

Two sword points
poked him in the chest and he halted. Laurie and Roald both lowered
their weapons when they saw who it was. Locklear had his sword out
and guarded the door. “What’s this? Looking for a new way
to die: having your friends run you through?” asked Roald.

“What’s
that you have there?” Laurie pointed at the hook and twine. “I
thought you’d left all that behind.”

“Quietly,”
said the boy, putting up his thieving tools. In hushed tones he said,
“You’ve not been a minstrel for almost a year, yet you
still lug that lute with you everywhere. Now listen, we’ve got
troubles. That fellow in the common room works for Murmandamus.”

Laurie and Roald
exchanged glances. Laurie said, “You’d better tell
Arutha.”

Arutha said,
“Well, we know that they’ve heard the news of my death.
And we know Murmandamus isn’t certain, despite the show in
Krondor.” All had come to Arutha’s room, where they spoke
quietly in the dark.

“Still,”
Baru said, “it seems he is acting upon the presumption you are
dead until proven otherwise, despite any doubts he may harbour.”

Laurie said, “He
can’t sit on a Brotherhood alliance indefinitely. He has to
move soon or have everything fall apart around him.”

“If we
continue for another day toward Tyr-Sog, then they’ll leave us
alone,” said Jimmy.

“Yes,”
whispered Roald, “but there’s still Segersen.”

“Who is
he?” Martin asked.

“Mercenary
general,” answered Roald. “But an odd sort. He doesn’t
have a large company, never a hundred men, often fewer than fifty.
Mostly he employs experts: miners, engineers, tacticians. He’s
got the best crews in the business. His speciality is bringing down
walls or keeping them up, depending on who’s doing the paying.
I’ve seen him work. He helped Baron Croswaith in his border
skirmish with Baron Lobromill, when I was in Croswaith’s
employ.”