Angus Wells - The God Wars 01 (11 page)

 
          
Bracht
shrugged. “I had a fancy to see the world, so I stole some horses and brought
them to sale in Forshold. Unfortunately, the owners followed me—I had a choice
between continuing on my way or facing thirty angry warriors, so it seemed the
wiser course to take my money and wander Lysse. Money doesn't last long here
and I took employment with a merchant, which is how I come to be in
Secca."

 
          
"You're
a mercenary," Calandryll murmured, intrigued.

 
          
Bracht
nodded: "My sword is for hire. Though at the moment there are no
takers."

 
          
"Perhaps
..." A thought crossed Calandryll's mind. "Perhaps my father might
find a place for you."

 
          
"In
the Palace Guard?" Bracht grinned, shaking his head. "My thanks, but
no—I've no taste for ceremony and less for taking orders."

 
          
"What
will you do then?" Calandryll asked.

 
          
"Something
will turn up." Bracht wiped the last of his stew with a hunk of bread.
"If not here, then in Aldarin, perhaps,- or Wessyl. Perhaps I shall go to
Eyl."

 
          
"Varent
spoke of my visiting the library in Aldarin." Calandryll glanced up as a
woman set fruit before them, removing their emptied plates, memories of Reba's
prophecy stirring. "Perhaps we might journey there together."

 
          
"Would
your father allow that?"

 
          
The
blunt reminder dampened Calandryll's risen spirits and he experienced a sudden
return of depression: Aldarin was far from Nadama. But she, he told himself
resolvedly, was lost to him, there was nothing to keep him in Secca save the
odious future mapped out by his father. If Bracht could wander freely, why not
him?

 
          
"I
could run away," he said defiantly.

 
          
"Could
you?"

 
          
The
Kern's tone suggested he doubted it and Calandryll stared at his newfound
friend: "Why not?"

 
          
"You
seem," Bracht said bluntly, "ill-equipped for adventuring."

 
          
"I'm
healthy. Likely I could find employment."

 
          
"As
what?"

 
          
"As
..." Calandryll paused, frowning, .. as a tutor, perhaps. Or an
archivist."

 
          
"I
know nothing of such things." Bracht shrugged carelessly. "I can
neither read or write, but it seems to me that a swordsman has a better chance
in the marketplace."

 
          
"You're
unemployed," Calandryll retorted, irked by the Kem's dismissal of his
skills.

 
          
Bracht
took no offense. Instead he shrugged and said, "At the moment. That will
change."

 
          
"I
could do something."

 
          
"No
doubt. But even the roads of Lysse are dangerous, and you are no warrior."

 
          
The
response sounded patronizing to Calandryll and he bristled, youthful pride
offended. Did no one take him seriously? "Varent would help me, I
think," he said.

 
          
"Is
Varent not your father's guest? Assuming he would be prepared to chance
offending the Domm, how can you approach him without first returning to the
palace? And if you do that, did you not say your father will confine you
there?"

 
          
It
was pragmatic enough that Calandryll was brought forcibly back to earth. For a
few moments he had seen a possible answer to his unhappiness, but now Bracht's
casually spoken words dismissed that solution. He experienced a flash of
irritation.

 
          
"There
is Reba's prophecy. She spoke of travel—a quest."

 
          
"Ah,
yes," said Bracht, "the spaewife."

 
          
"You
doubt her?"

 
          
"I
prefer to put my trust in my blade," the Kern returned. "It has been
my experience that soothsayers unfold paths too complex for my liking."

 
          
"Perhaps,"
said Calandryll, studying Bracht with renewed interest, "you are the one
she spoke of."

 
          
"No!"
Bracht raised defensive hands. "I'm a freesword, no tutor of innocents. I
seek honest employment, not some vague quest. I'll see you safely returned to
the palace, but there our ways separate."

 
          
"As
you wish," Calandryll said stiffly, thinking that perhaps the Kern laughed
at him; resenting it. "Escort me to the gates and I'll see you rewarded.
Will ten varre suffice?"

 
          
"Amply."

 
          
It
seemed Bracht took no offense. Why should he? Calandryll thought. He was, after
all, a mercenary. Doubtless he had acted on a whim when he came to the rescue,
or perhaps he had foreseen the opportunity of reward. Most likely that and
nothing more; no fated meeting, but the natural opportunism of a hired sword.
"Then perhaps we should leave," he said, disappointed.

 
          
Bracht
nodded and they rose, Calandryll gloomy again. If the Kem was not the one
foretold by Reba, then perhaps it
was
Varent the spaewife had meant. He
would, he decided, return to the palace and face Bylath's wrath, but after he
would approach the ambassador. The sole certainty he felt was the antipathy
that filled him at the idea of entering the priesthood. Limping, he followed
Bracht out into the street.

 
          
It
was a quarter with which he was unfamiliar and he trailed the Kem in sullen
silence as the man strode purposefully—likely thinking of his reward,
Calandryll decided—through a labyrinth of side streets and alleys.

 
          
They
crossed a comer of the Merchants Quarter and entered an avenue devoted to
pleasure houses, the lewd promises of the signs hung above the doorways
reminding Calandryll of the doxy in the tavern. He grimaced at the memory,
battered mouth pursing in distaste. If Bracht frequented such low
establishments, he doubtless considered Calandiyll no more than a pampered boy,
the Domm's spoiled son. It was foolish to have thought he might be the comrade
foreseen by Reba.

 
          
Then
his dark musings were interrupted by a shout and he looked up to see a squad of
watchmen approaching. There were five of them, surcoats emblazoned with the
emblem of Secca over mail shirts, swords at their sides and curve-billed
halberds on their shoulders. The officer shouted again and Calandryll realized
the cry was directed at Bracht.

 
          
The
mercenary halted. Calandryll stopped alongside. On both sides of the avenue
passersby paused to watch and women hung from balconies, idly studying the
entertainment.

 
          
The
watchmen drew up facing the pair, halberds at the ready now. Their captain
stepped forward, his features stem.

 
          
"Lord
Calandryll? Praise Dera we've found you. There are search parties all over the
city."

 
          
Calandryll
felt embarrassed by the attention. He saw folk pointing at him; heard a woman
call, "Shall I tend those bruises, sweet?" He felt his cheeks flush.

 
          
"What
happened to you?" asked the watchcaptain. "This bravo put those marks
on you?"

 
          
He
was about to say, "No," but Bracht spoke first, clearly angered by
the groundless accusation.

 
          
"You've
a quick tongue."

 
          
"Hold
yours," returned the officer curtly, "I'm talking to Lord
Calandryll."

           
"He saved me," Calandryll
interposed, seeing that the Kern's hand dropped to his swordhilt. "He
rescued me from a beating."

 
          
The
watchcaptain studied Bracht insolently. "A mercenary, eh? What are you, a
horseherder?"

 
          
"A
Kem," Bracht responded tightly, "Yes."

 
          
The
officer grunted. "Well, the young lord's safe now. You can leave him with
us."

 
          
"There's
a matter of ten varre," Bracht said.

 
          
"A
mercenary," the captain repeated, this time lading the word with contempt.
"And you want your money, eh?"

 
          
"Yes,"
Bracht said.

 
          
"Not
enough you get the honor of saving the Domm's son?" the watchman demanded.

 
          
Bracht's
answer was a shrug.

 
          
"I
promised him," Calandryll said. "He saved my life."

 
          
"I've
orders to bring you to the palace," said the watchman. "Nothing about
paying some Kem mercenary."

 
          
"He
can come with us," Calandryll decided. Then, turning to Bracht, "Come
to the palace and I'll see you paid."

 
          
"Very
well," the Kem agreed.

 
          
Calandryll
had hoped that he might slip unobserved into the palace, at least change his
bloodied, wine-stained
clothing and bathe before confronting his father,
but it was not to be. The watchcaptain marched his squad resolutely up to the
gates and loudly presented his charge to the officer of the Palace Guard
waiting there. Calandryll found himself the object of the guards' attention,
discipline holding their faces straight but amusement clear in their eyes. Tne
officer in charge looked him up and down, then stared at Bracht, raised brows
framing a question.

 
          
“I
owe him money," Calandryll muttered. "He saved my life."

 
          
Bracht
grinned at the officer, who nodded and said, "If you will follow me, Lord
Calandryll?"

 
          
"I
need fresh clothes," Calandryll declared.

 
          
"I
have orders to bring you directly to your father," the officer returned,
and spun about, barking orders that brought a squad of five soldiers to
attention, an unwelcome guard of honor that gave Calandryll no choice save to
be herded into the palace buildings.

 
          
He
was brought to a chamber and left to await the Domm, Bracht inspecting the room
with casual interest, as though the palaces of Lysse were as familiar as her
taverns. He turned, offering no obeisance, when Bylath entered, Tobias at his
side. The Domm's face was flushed with anger, growing a deeper red as he
studied his younger son and his unexpected companion. Tobias seemed amused.

 
          
Bylath
waved a hand, dismissing the guardsmen, and stared at
Bracht.            
,

 
          
"Who
in Dera's name is this?"

 
          
His
voice was tight with barely suppressed rage. Calandryll felt his head begin to
ache again and licked his lips, but before he could speak, the mercenary said,
"I am called Bracht. A warrior of the clan Asyth, of Cuan na'For. Your son
owes me ten varre."

 
          
"A
Kem mercenary?" Tobias spoke, contemptuous laughter in his voice. "Do
you consort with barbarian freeswords now, Calandryll?"

 
          
Bracht
stiffened, blue eyes fixed hard on Tobias's face. Calandryll thought he might
return some insult in reply and began to gabble, "He saved my life! They
were beating me and he stopped them. He gave me shelter and I promised him ten
varre."