Ebudae (19 page)

A huge, scar-faced man named Damen, who had
a wooden leg and wielded a wicked double-bladed scythe, stood by
the large kitchen door as Frath approached. In Dralin, every door
had to be guarded against rogues. “Judging by the way you’re
walking, you’ve either been mugged by rabid rats, or you made the
mistake of sparring with your daughter.”

“I’m not stupid enough to take her on. It
was the rats. They’re getting mean these days.” Frath liked the man
and swapped jokes with him on occasion. He had been one of Sheela’s
favorite people and the man had been inconsolable the day she
died.

“Ha! I wouldn’t challenge her either.” Damen
smacked Frath on the back as the guardsman headed to the door.

The sound of a crack and a flash of pain
blinded him for a second. When it faded, he was on his hands and
knees on the three short steps up to the door. The breath he drew
was long and ragged. It felt as if it vibrated every rib in his
chest.

“Frath! By the Gods, I’m sorry.” Damen was
on his knees next to Frath, distressed at having hurt him. “It
sounded like a rib, but I didn’t think . . . I’m sorry.”

Frath exhaled and tried another breath, not
liking it any better. There wasn’t anything extra in his lungs to
formulate the words to tell the man it was okay. He
had
been
feeling better, but was ready to just lie down and take a long nap
at that point.

“I’ll go get Mistress Purla. She’ll know
what to do.” Damen rushed to the door and threw it open. “I need
Mistress Purla now! Frath is hurt bad.” He disappeared inside to
search for the innmaster’s wife.

Two of the kitchen staff rushed out, wiping
hands on their aprons. “Frath, what happened?” a young woman named
Terry asked as she bent to touch the side of his head in
concern.

Frath responded with another ragged
breath.

“He’s been hurt, but I don’t see any blood,”
one of the junior cooks said while kneeling next to Frath. “Come
on, let’s get you inside.” His hands were gentle as he helped the
guardsman to stand.

“What’s happened?” Purla asked as she held
the door open for them. The matron’s rich voice filled the air. A
life of smiling was beginning to add pleasant wrinkles on her face.
Life and vigor filled her even though her formerly brown hair had
become mostly grey.

“He’s having a hard time breathing,” Terry
said. “He’s also cradling his left arm and he looks like he’s in
pain.” She was holding Frath’s right hand and kept a delicate hand
up to his cheek. “I hate it when he’s miserable.”

“That’ll be enough Terry,” Purla told the
young woman who was always solicitous of Frath’s health. “You come
sit down at this table, my friend,” she said to Frath. “Do I need
to get the healer?” Purla studied Frath as he sat down. “If you
can’t answer me, then I’m taking that as a yes.”

“No.” Frath got the word out. He wasn’t
willing to deal with a healer until he could think clearly. The
last thing he wanted to do was answer the inevitable questions. He
wasn’t thrilled with the idea of having to dodge them either.

“I don’t believe you, but I’ll let it go for
now. Ahh, here’s some chilled cider to help.” She took the cup from
Terry and set it down in front of Frath. Terry looked disappointed
at having the drink intercepted, but went back to work chopping up
vegetables at a table nearby.

A thick, meaty voice boomed through the
kitchen. “What’s this about Frath being hurt?” Albert was a burly
man built like a tree. He was a former knight who lost his sword
arm in battle and then later bought the inn with his wife. Frath
had saved the man’s life once and they had become true friends from
that point on.

“He has difficulty breathing and is cradling
his arm. I’m worried about him.” Purla put a hand on her husband’s
shoulder as he walked up to look at his friend. “I’ve got to keep
an eye on those new girls before they clean Lady Sheraza’s shoes
with her feet in them.”

Albert kissed her and patted her bottom with
his lone hand. “You go on. The inn is quiet today. I’ll take care
of him.” He sat down on a stool at the end of the table next to
Frath. “Hello, old friend. Tell me what’s happened to you.”

It was painful to breathe, but if he did so
slowly, Frath could talk. “I fell down some stairs and broke some
ribs and my left arm.” It was a similar phrase Frath had heard
uttered by many a battered wife or child. “I crawled into a corner
and passed out, but I don’t know how long.” He took a sip of the
cider, which had a touch of cinnamon in it. Aromas of cooking food
wafted under his nose and his stomach growled in response.

“I don’t believe a word of that, friend, but
I’ll not press you on the matter.” Albert frowned as though there
was a lot more he wanted to say. “You know you can trust me? . .
.”

Frath was ashamed at misleading his friend,
but he had never told anyone about Distra. Except Sheela. He had
taken her there after they met and often in their brief time
together. “I know,” Frath said, looking the innkeeper in the eyes.
“I trust you.”

Albert was somewhat mollified by the answer.
“Alright. You have your reasons. If you have broken bones, we need
to get you a healer. Damen, the kitchen door will be fine for a
short while. Go get the healer.”

“No. I’ll go to the Guard District Healer
Hall.” Frath waved for Damen to stay. “I’ll be made to in order to
explain my absence from duty.”

“And what will you tell them?” Albert asked,
clearly not pleased.

“That I fell down the stairs.” Frath took
another sip of the cider and looked innocently at the ceiling.

“Uh huh.” The innmaster was dubious, but
Pelya and her companions came in before he could say anything
else.

“Daddy!” Frath saw his daughter rush toward
him and cringed in anticipation of the impact.

Albert stood between them. “Oof!” The
innmaster was knocked into the table. Pelya ran into him and
bounced back in surprise. She liked to run into Frath at full hug
as she called it. She was getting big enough to knock him off
balance occasionally, but he enjoyed it . . . when he didn’t have
broken ribs. Albert reached forward and steadied the girl.
“Careful, lass. Your father has broken ribs and you’ll do him
damage like that.”

“Daddy!” Her voice filled with alarm as she
knelt by his side and took a hand. “What happened? Are you alright?
Who hurt you, Daddy? Nobody’s allowed to hurt you. I need you,
Daddy. Please don’t die.” Pelya burst into tears and wrapped her
arms around his neck.

He stared at Gilron and Bava in complete
confusion. They were frowning, but didn’t say anything to enlighten
him. Behind them was a Knight of Reanna, the one that had blessed
Sheela’s ashes by the fountain on Lady Pallon’s estate. The
knight’s arms were crossed and he appeared concerned. “Here now,
it’s not my time to die,” Frath reassured Pelya. “What’s this all
about?”

Pelya released his neck and stood back a
step. “I’m sorry I killed mommy. I’m sorry. Please don’t hate
me.”

The words made no sense to Frath. What did
make sense was that his daughter was suffering and miserable. He
stood and wrapped his arms around her, raising her off her knees
and holding her close. “I don’t hate you. I’m not going to die and
you didn’t kill your mother.”

She turned her head to the side so she could
speak. In between sobbing breaths, she said, “Mommy died b . . .
because of m . . . me. I should have d . . . died inst . . . stead
of her so you could be happy.”

“Here now. That’s not so. Don’t you dare say
such a thing,” were some of the statements made not just by the
group, but by the kitchen staff that had gathered around too. Frath
picked her up off her feet and held on tighter, much to the dismay
of his ribs.

“There needs to be some talking done here,”
Albert said. “Let’s go to a private dining room.” He raised his
voice to a booming level in order to be heard by all. “The rest of
you get back to work. We have customers to feed.”

A few of the kitchen staff groaned,
disappointed at losing excitement to break the long workday
routine. Frath and Pelya followed the innmaster to a private dining
room off the main common room. Once everyone was inside, he told
one of the servers to fetch food and drink and then he closed the
door.

When everyone had taken a seat, with Pelya
sitting on a bench with her father’s arm around her shoulder,
Albert spoke. “The first thing we need to straighten out is this
misconception that your father hates you, Pelya.” He leaned over
her and pointed a finger in her face. “Your father loves you with
all his heart and has never hated you for any reason. I know that
for a fact.”

“That’s right,” Frath agreed fervently.

Albert sat down on a cushioned dining chair
at the end of the table. “Your father was miserable when your
mother passed on. However, he was proud to have you as a daughter
and vowed to raise you and protect you no matter what. Every time I
talk to him, he tells me how proud he is of what a fine young lady
you are.” The innmaster grasped Pelya’s hand. “Your father has
never hated you and never will. I give you my word on that. You
know my word is good, lass.”

Pelya nodded solemnly. The weaponmaster was
the next to speak. “You know that your father was raised in an
orphanage, yes?” he asked Pelya. When she nodded, he continued.
“When you were born, he vowed that he would never let you end up in
one.”

Bava joined in. “I think I know why you
think he hates you, Pelya. He glares at you and seems mad
sometimes, right?” Fresh tears burst from Pelya’s eyes and she
nodded, unable to speak coherently. Bava smiled tenderly. “He’s
scared for you and he’s told me so. When he glares, it’s not at
you, it’s at everything he’s afraid will happen to you. This city
and all the bad things that happen to people upset him more than
most know.”

“I’m sorry,” Frath told his daughter
regretfully. She was shaking in his arms. “I promise that I don’t
hate you and I’m not mad at you at all. I’d just die if anything
bad ever happened to you. I have nightmares . . .”

“I know, Daddy,” Pelya said, flinging her
arms around his chest. It caused him to gasp in fresh pain. She let
go and brushed the tears off on a sleeve. “What happened to you,
Daddy? Why are you hurt and why didn’t you return for duty?” Pelya
crossed her arms and glared suspiciously.

“I fell down some stairs.” He knew she
wouldn’t believe him, but it was the story he was going to stick
to.

Pelya didn’t respond for a moment. Nobody
else did either, figuring his daughter had the best chance of
getting the truth. “I don’t believe you, but I know when you’re not
going to tell and this is one of those times.”

The easy concession worried Frath, so he
studied her face. He looked her over a little closer and noticed
dried blood, not all of it human, on her clothes. He jerked upright
in alarm. The simple motion sent agony through his ribs yet again,
eliciting a groan.

“Daddy! You need to be careful.”

He took in a wheezing breath before
speaking. “Where have you been and what happened?” Frath took her
by the arms and looked her over. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m not hurt, Daddy. I promise.” Tears
welled in her eyes again. “I might be in some trouble and I’m
really
tired.”

Frath wasn’t afraid of many things in life.
He had a healthy caution for things of danger, but that helped him
to survive. The one thing he
did
fear was something bad
happening to his daughter, so her words caused his heart and all
the veins in his body to clench in ice-cold terror. “How much
trouble? Do we need to get you out of Dralin?”

“No!” That one word was uttered by everyone
in the room along with spirited protesting.

Pelya grabbed one of his hands with both of
hers. “No, Daddy. I don’t want to leave Dralin. Please don’t make
me.”

“She is not in trouble,” the Knight of
Reanna stated. “In fact, your daughter showed great bravery in
rescuing a number of individuals who had been enslaved. She fought
off creatures of the dark as well as corrupt men in order to rescue
the slaves.”

Frath looked at his daughter with pride and
concern both covering his expression, pride for such a brave deed
and concern for the danger inherent in all brave deeds. “Give me
the story and we’ll go from there.” All Frath
wanted
to do
was to put Pelya safe in her bed and then go to sleep in his own
bed for a few days.

At that moment, servers brought in breakfast
for the group and everyone paused in order to fill plates and take
a few bites. Frath was grateful for the food. His stomach growled
when he didn’t send it down his throat fast enough. Bava let Pelya
take a few bites before pressing her for the story. “It’s time for
you to tell us what happened. It’s obvious you don’t want to, but
you need to get it over with.”

Frath listened as his daughter told of the
Carnies she and Ebudae had met. He felt an urge to find them and
warn them not to hurt her, which was probably part of the reason
she never mentioned their names.

When Pelya mentioned breaking into the
warehouse, Bava asked, “Who did the warehouse belong to?”

Pelya paused. “Ebudae said the yellow with
three black stripes that the guard wore were the colors of Master
Blavoci, a powerful merchant.” Frath exchanged worried glances with
Gilron and Bava. Even tired as she was, Pelya didn’t miss it. “Is
that bad?”

“He’s a powerful man and he’s been under
investigation for years, but it’s nothing we can’t handle.” Bava
brushed aside any concern with a wave of her hand. “What happened
after you made certain the guards were alive and then entered the
warehouse?”

Master Blavoci wasn’t just a powerful man,
he was a dangerous and vindictive man who the Guard wasn’t able to
get close to. Frath was truly worried for his daughter’s safety and
knew Gorman and Bava felt the same, but all three hid their
apprehension, although Albert was staring at him suspiciously.