Bristling Wood (49 page)

“We’re coming to our inn. I’m picking it because it’s likely to be empty except for us, but still, watch every word you say.”

Down a narrow alley stood a small inn, built along Bardek lines, with peeling shakes on the roof and water stains on the walls. Out in the muddy innyard was a sagging stable, a broken-down wagon, and a pigsty. As they dismounted near the watering trough, a stout man in his fifties or so came out of the main building and looked Salamander over with something like alarm.

“Don’t tell me you’re back in town, gerthddyn.”

“I am, good Dumryc. How could I live without another sight of your handsome face, another view of glorious Slaith, another breath of its rich and wine-sweet air?”

“Still gabble as much as always, don’t you? Who’s this with you?”

“My bodyguard. Allow me to introduce Gilyn, a true silver dagger, who’s killed at least one man for each of his sixteen years.”

“Huh. Cursed likely.”

Jill drew, swung, and slit his leather apron from collar to paunch with the point of her blade. With a yelp, Dumryc flung himself back and clutched at the flapping halves.

“Next time it’s your fat throat,” Jill said.

“Well and good, lad. Now put that thing away and come in for a nice, peaceable tankard, like.”

Salamander chose them a chamber on the second-floor corner of the inn with windows that overlooked the stable yard in both directions, because it was always a good idea to have a clear view of trouble coming in Slaith. They stowed their gear, locked the door with a stout padlock, then went down to the tavern room. A small boy was stirring an iron kettle of greasy stew at the hearth while Dumryc was chopping turnips with a dagger at the end of a table. Jill and Salamander helped themselves to ale from an open barrel, picked out a fly or two, then sat down nearby.

“And what brings you to Slaith this time?” Dumryc said. “If you don’t mind my asking, like.”

“I don’t, though I’m not yet ready to answer. Gilyn, here, however, is looking for an old friend of his, the sharer of many a campfire and grievous battle. The lad seems to have headed east from Cerrmor, so I thought. Well, mayhap we’ll pick up news of him in Slaith, because he’s an Eldidd man, as good on a boat as he is with a sword.”

“There’s always work for a lad like that here.”

“Just so. His name’s Rhodry of Aberwyn.”

“Hum.” Dumryc was concentrating on his chopping. “Never heard of him.”

“He might not be using that name. He’s a good-looking fellow, tall, dark hair, Eldidd eyes, and a silver dagger in his belt.”

“Never ran across him.” Dumryc grabbed another turnip and chopped it, the dagger moving fast and nervously. “But that doesn’t mean anything. He might have found a berth as soon as he got here and shipped out.”

“Could be, could be. He’s a useful sort of man.”

Dumryc smiled tightly at the turnip and said nothing. Salamander gave Jill a smile and raised one eyebrow as if to say that she shouldn’t believe a word the innkeep said. He needn’t have worried; she didn’t need mighty dweomer or suchlike to tell when a man was lying to her face.

After they finished the ale they went out for a stroll around town. The market fair was beginning to break up; the farmers and tradesmen packed what was left of their wares back into wagons while exhausted children whined and fussed, and wives carefully counted over their earnings for the day. A few drunks snored in the strewn straw; dogs nosed about; gaudy whores strolled around, looking over the pirates who were heading for one tavern or another. When Jill and Salamander went to look for it, they found Rhodry’s horse gone.

“There’s no use in asking around for its new owner,” Salamander remarked with a certain gloom. “No one would tell us the truth.”

“No doubt. What should we do now? Sit around a tavern and see if we can overhear somewhat of interest?”

“I’m not sure. I—”

“Gerthddyn! Salamander! By the hells, hold and stand!”

A dark-haired man, quite stout, with his long black beard tied up in six neat braids, was hurrying over to them.

“Snilyn, oh, most beauteous of the bilge rats! Still alive, are you?”

“I am, and glad enough to see you, lad. Got some more good tales for us?”

“I do, but this time I brought a bodyguard along.”

With a roar of laughter, Snilyn slapped Jill on the back.

“He’s a cautious sort, your hire.” He grinned, revealing several missing teeth. “But he’s right enough, eh? You never know what the lads’ll do when they’re drunk. Sober, they’ve got plenty of respect for a man who can tell a good tale, but drunk, well . . . ” He shrugged massive shoulders. “Come have a tankard at my expense, Salamander, and your silver dagger, too.”

Although they went to Snilyn’s favorite tavern, Salamander picked the table, one where he could keep his back to the wall and have a good view of the street out the window. A blowsy blond lass brought tankards of dark ale, then lingered, looking Salamander over wistfully, until Snilyn sent her away with a slap on the behind.

“It’s not your tongue she wants to see wag, gerthddyn.” The pirate paused to laugh at his own jest. “So, when did you ride in?”

“Just today. We’re staying over at Dumryc’s inn, because I like an out-of-the-way spot when I’m in Slaith.”

“Good idea, truly. What brings you here, if I can ask?”

“Well, now, that’s a strange thing. I’d most treasure your advice about somewhat. We’re looking for another silver dagger, and when I asked Dumryc about him, he put me off. Let me ask you, and you don’t have to answer, but you can tell whether or not I should just forget this lad and never ask again.”

“Done.”

“His name’s Rhodry of Aberwyn.”

“Hold your tongue. Don’t even ask why.”

“Then hold it I will.” Salamander gave Jill a warning jab in the ribs. “My thanks.”

Salamander began chatting with Snilyn, but Jill sat steaming and silent over her tankard. She wanted to draw, threaten cold steel, and stab and slash the truth out of this scruffy lot. Only the simple fact that she was outnumbered several hundred to one kept her silent. Salamander ordered and paid for another round of ale, took the third that Snilyn pressed upon him, too, gulping it down but staying as sober as only an elf can. He told jest after jest, got Snilyn laughing until the tears came, ordered more ale yet, and soon had an appreciative crowd around him to hear an involved but anatomically impossible story about a blacksmith and a miller’s daughter.

“And so his hammer went up and down,” Salamander ended up. “And straightened her horseshoe right out.”

Howling with laughter, Snilyn slapped Salamander on the back so hard that he nearly knocked the gerthddyn off the bench, then with a muttered apology grabbed Salamander by the shoulders and hauled him back. The gerthddyn threw a companionable arm around him and whispered something in his ear. Although Jill saw Snilyn first flinch, then whisper an answer, she could hear nothing over the noise of pirates yelling for more tales. Salamander let go of Snilyn and obliged with a story even more bawdy than the one before.

It was another hour before Salamander could extricate himself from his admirers, who pressed pieces of ill-gotten silver into his hands as he left. Her hand on her sword hilt, Jill walked a little behind him and kept watch for pickpockets as they headed back to the inn. Once they were off the main street, though, Salamander motioned her up beside him.

“Well, I’ve got a bit of bad news.”

“Indeed? What did you ask Snilyn?”

“Clever Gilyn of the sharp eye.” Salamander gave her a grin, “Never underestimate the power of good fellowship, bawdy cheer, and all the rest of it. I also drew upon the power of surprise and let him know that I knew more than he thought I did. The question was, to wit, whether anyone stood to make a profit off our Rhodry, and the answer was, they did, about twenty gold pieces.”

“Twenty? That’s an enormous lwdd for a silver dagger. They must know he’s heir to Aberwyn.”

“Lwdd? Ah, you fail to understand. Not a blood price, my beauteous meadowlark, just a price. I see you have led a sheltered and happy life, Gillo, far from the evils and troubles that cruel men visit upon—”

“Cut the horse crap, or I’ll slit your throat.”

“How indelicate, but very well. Less horse crap; more horse meat. They’ve taken Rhodry to Bardek to sell him as a slave.”

Jill opened her mouth to speak, but no words would come.

“I was afraid of somewhat like this,” Salamander went on. “Which is why we’re in beauteous Slaith in the first place. Whoever has Rhodry seems to be a most unpleasant sort of person. You saw Snilyn wince at the very thought of him, and I assure you that Snilyn doesn’t wince easily. Although he has many a strangely perverted flaw, cowardice is not among them.”

“Bardek! Oh, by all the ice in all the hells, how are we going to get there? The last ships across are leaving Cerrmor by now. By the time we get back there—”

“Cruel winter will be whipping the Southern Sea to a frenzy, I know, I know. We need a ship. We can, walk, trot, run, and even dance, but we can, alas, do none of these upon the water. It is too far to swim. Therefore, ships are the order of the day. We are in a place with ships all nicely drawn up down, at the harbor. What, my little turtledove, does this suggest to you?”

“Now here, these are pirates! If we get out alone on the water with this lot, they could take us and sell us as slaves, too. I can’t fight off twenty men all by myself.”

“Ah, what becoming modesty! You’re right, of course: never trust pirate. I’ve impressed said pirates, but that’s not enough. When it comes to these lads, only one thing works: terror. Now let’s go get somewhat to eat while I think up a plan.”

After a meal of griddle cakes with cheese and fried onions, they went back to the center of town. By then the sun was setting, a time when the streets in most towns would be growing quiet and empty, but here there were plenty of people on the prowl, some carryring lanterns or torches and going briskly about their businesss, others merely standing around on street corners or in alleyways as if waiting for something. A number of people were leading gray donkeys with pack saddles and bridles trimmed with little bells that jingled musically. In the gathering twilight, with a cool sea breeze wiping away most of the stink, Slaith was oddly cheerful, like a town getting ready for a festival, yet all Jill could think of was murder. These innocent-seeming folk had helped ship her Rhodry off to some horrible Wyrd, and all she wanted was to see them dead. Everything became preternaturally bright, sharp: the bells striking like gongs, the torches flaring up like enormous fires, the sweaty faces around her looming and swelling, the ordinary sunset burning like a sea of blood. Abruptly Salamander grabbed her arm, shook it hard, and dragged her into the semi-privacy of a narrow alley.

“What’s wrong?” he whispered. “You look like death itself.”

“Do I? Ye gods.” Jill ran shaking hands down her face and breathed deeply, gulping the cooler air. “I don’t know what I did. I . . . I was brooding, like, over things, and all at once the world turned strange, like when I was with Perryn. I must have tapped into the power without knowing it.”

Salamander groaned under his breath.

“That’s as dangerous as summoning a demon! We can’t talk about it here, so try to control yourself.”

Jill merely nodded, suddenly very tired. The world around her seemed painted with brighter colors than normal, but otherwise her vision had settled down. They went to a tavern at one corner of the market square, a big place that was one round stone room with an unusually high ceiling. When the serving wench brought them ale. Salamander asked her about the height of the room.

“Oh, the lads just had a bit of a brawl, and they knocked over a lantern into the straw. Whoosh—up everything went, and the floor upstairs along with it”

“Must have been a splendid show,” Salamander said. “Excuse me a moment, Gillo. Just have to go out back.”

As soon as Salamander was out the back door, the lass sat down next to Jill on the bench. She was a pretty thing, no more than sixteen under the Bardek kohl that rimmed her blue eyes. Her hair was blond, and done up in elaborate curls and set with little shell combs in the Bardek fashion, but she was wearing a pair of ordinary Deverry dresses.

“You must have been ever so lonely on the road with that chattering gerthddyn,” she said. “How about a bit of company, Gillo?”

Jill was too stunned to speak. Here was a woman actually taken in by her ruse! Although she was used to fooling men, most women saw through her acting at once. When the lass laid a hand on her thigh, she shrank away.

“Oho, shy, aren’t you? His bodyguard, the gerthddyn calls you, but I’ll wager it’s a bit more than that. Oh well, no offense, mind. There’s men like that, and they don’t go bothering me, so it’s up to their fancy, I always say.” She took Jill’s tankard and had an absentminded sip. “I always did wonder why the gerthddyn was so coy and shy like with us lasses,” She paused for a wicked little smile. “But you so young and all. Don’t you think you should try a slice off a different cut of meat, just once, like?”

Too flustered to speak, Jill looked desperately around and saw that they’d gathered an audience, a grinning ring of pirates and wenches. Someone suddenly whispered an alarm: Salamander was stalking in the back door.

“And what’s all this?” In a fine show of furious indignation, the gerthddyn shoved his way through the crowd. “You little bitch! Hunting on my preserve, are you?”

Slowly and dramatically, Salamander raised his hand and pointed at the tankard, which the lass was still cradling in her hands. Blue fire shot from his fingers, struck the tankard, and flared, making the ale steam and boil. With a scream, the lass threw the tankard onto the table and leapt up, tangling her dresses in the bench and tripping. The rest of the audience jumped back with oaths and shouts.

“You little slut,” Salamander said to Jill. “Bad as a lass, I swear it.”

In the crowd a couple of pirates were reaching for swords. Salamander let out a howl of laughter and waved his hand again. Thunder cracked and boomed in the tavern; smoke billowed; blue light shot through the sudden darkness. All the wenches screamed and ran for the door; the men fell back, shouting and cursing. Salamander swirled and tossed a convincing if tiny lightning bolt at the doorway. Screaming hysterically, the wenches ran back into the crowd.