Servant of the Serpent (Serpent's War Book 1) (17 page)

Chapter 19

Gildor motioned for Corian to climb down from Brownie’s back while he slung his saddlebags over his shoulder. He turned back to the stable master and handed him a gold coin. “Two horses for a week or so. We’ll settle up what I owe when we’re done.”

“A week?” the man asked. “Haven’t seen you take more than a few hours—a day at the most—to find a new wagon to ride out with.”

“Different sort of business this time,” Gildor said. He nodded to the elf and winked at the stable master.

The man raised an eyebrow and then shrugged. “Gold’s gold. They’ll be ready when you are. Probably in better shape, too; these horses are looking rough.”

“Been riding hard,” Gildor said.

The man grunted and took the reins of both horses. He led them back into the stable and left Gildor and Corian standing alone beside the group of people milling about the gate to Easton. The elf was studying the crowd but couldn’t hold back his surprise when he saw a dwarf or even a few splisskin walking among the humans to himself.

“You let the splisskin among your people freely?” he gasped.

“In most places, if you haven’t done anything wrong—or if you have but nobody knows about it—humans let people do their own thing. There are prejudices and some merchants might not want to sell to them, but as long as a person isn’t breaking any laws, they can come and go as they please.”

“But after what they’ve done—”

“Don’t mean the one that walked through here ten minus ago did it,” Gildor said. “Matter of fact, I don’t think it’s possible he could have; we’ve been moving as fast as or faster than they have.”

Corian fell silent. “Where I come from, if someone does something, their friends and family are held responsible too. We share each other’s pride and shame.”

“Is that a better way of doing things?” Gildor asked. Corian opened his mouth to reply but Gildor held up a hand. “Think careful—you been telling me about how your sister’s shame affected you, too, and you didn’t do anything wrong. At least not by elven standards.”

Corian clamped his mouth shut. He scowled and shook his head. “Let’s get going. I still need a new bow.”

Gildor smirked and led the stewing elf through the gates. The guards of Easton barely glanced at them as they walked through. Gildor took the opportunity to add, under his breath, “They even let elves into the city when they come by.”

Corian’s only retort was a snort.

Gildor moved through the sprawling coastal city, checking often to make sure the gawking elf didn’t get lost. Corian’s mistrust of the different races in Easton quickly led to one of awe and occasional disgust at the sights they passed by. Hawkers with food barely fit for rats shouted for them and performers tried to part them from their money with tricks of juggling and fire breathing. Whores out early for the evening presented themselves as lewdly as possible to try to draw the elf’s bulging eyes towards them. It was chaos unlike anything the elf had ever seen. Gildor had to chase off would-be beggars and pickpockets three times before they finally entered the trade quarter of the city.

The nonsense and calamity faded behind them. In its place, the sounds and smell of metal striking metal and burning forges and tanning hides took over. Corian looked more at ease and stopped glancing over his shoulder every few seconds. Gildor wondered why the difference but he wasn’t curious enough to ask. Instead, he showed the elf into the doors of a smithy.

“You’re in luck. I was going to close up shop,” a barrel-chested man called out. He was wiping down his tools and turned to look over at them. “Hey! Gildor, good to see you.”

“Grieg,” Gildor greeted the man. “I need a favor.”

“Favors don’t put food on my table,” he growled.

Gildor chuckled. “Not that kind. I could stand some more arrows, though. And my friend needs a bow.”

“I don’t make bows,” he said.

“But you’ve got some.”

“Well, yeah, but he’s an elf. He’s going to laugh at anything I’ve got.”

“He is?” Gildor turned so that he and Grieg were both staring at Corian.

“I am?” Corian asked. He shook his head and held up his hands. “I promise, no laughing. Well, unless your bows are like Gildor’s.”

“Hey!” Gildor snapped.

Grieg chuckled and pointed at a rack where several unstrung bows were leaning. There were two other short bows, though not as compact as Gildor’s, and two bows that had recurves to their limbs. The third type was a crossbow that looked like it was going to fall apart the next time it was cocked. Corian considered and discarded each with the time it spent to recognize them. He was drawn to the final bow that was leaning in the corner.

Corian picked it up and turned it over, studying the long draw and then picking the string between his fingers.

“Couple of real shady-looking fellows traded me that,” Grieg said. “Looks like it’s been through a lot. I can’t vouch for it being sturdy enough to shoot an arrow without splitting down the middle.”

“It’ll work,” Corian said. He slipped his arm and leg around the bow and bent the wood until he could slide the string into place. He was breathing hard when he finished but he was smiling. “I’ll take it. How much?”

Grieg glanced at Gildor and then at the elf. “Need some long arrows too?”

“Yes.”

“Me too—short ones, though,” Gildor added. “And I need to find someone to talk to about going for a boat ride.”

“A boat ride?” Grieg asked. “Where?”

“Shathas.”

“Why the—I don’t want to know, do I?”

Gildor shrugged. “Group of them took something from me. Something I have to get back. It won’t be easy and it won’t be without blood.”

Grieg nodded. “Don’t sound too safe.”

Gildor ignored the comment. “Know anyone?”

The smith rubbed his hands and nodded. “There’s a tavern down on the docks. Ratskull Tavern. You’ll find someone there. For the right amount of gold, they won’t care what they’re doing. Just be sure it’s easier doing what you want than it would be for them to slip a knife in your back and take it from you.”

Gildor’s eyebrow raised. “Good advice. How much for the bow and arrows?”

“Ten gold. You’ll need whatever else you’ve got to get a boat and a couple of thugs.”

Gildor dug into his pouch and counted out the coins. He handed them over and waited until Corian selected a score of arrows from a barrel. He took the shorter brace of arrows that Grieg offered him without bothering to check them.

“The Ratskull? Sounds like a great place.”

“Good luck,” Grieg said. “Hope to see you again.”

Gildor watched Corian fit one of his arrows to the string of the bow and pull it back. The elf strained to pull it all the way and had to adjust his stance. He held it steady and stared down the arrow, leaving the guide impressed at how he didn’t tremble. Corian let down on the string and slipped the arrow in his quiver before turning to Gildor.

“You done?”

“Sorry, I wanted to test it.”

“Looks like it was built for someone half again your size.”

Corian chuckled. “I’ll adapt. It’s a fine bow. Old, but definitely elven. Made by a master bowyer.”

Gildor grunted. “Let’s go.”

Corian offered a nod to Grieg and then had to hurry to catch up to Gildor out on the street. Gildor made sure he caught up and led the man through the streets and down to the docks.

“Keep your hand on your money,” Gildor warned as they walked down the crowded streets. Beggars, whores, soldiers, and sailors pressed in around them.

“Gah,” Corian scoffed as the stink of gutted fish and unwashed soldiers overwhelmed him. “Even the breeze off the lake can’t help this place. Why do they let it get so closed off?”

“They didn’t let it happen; it just did,” Gildor said. “When it was built, it was big enough, but it’s grown. Still works, just a lot tighter. Not a simple thing to knock down stone walls and take out piers and move them.”

Corian looked around, peering through the people moving back and forth along the waterfront. “I didn’t think of that. We build things open, with space for growth.”

“Up here,” Gildor said, putting the elf’s comparisons on hold. “The Ratskull.”

“Oh,” Corian said when he saw the weathered and scarred front of the tavern. “Do you suppose Grieg said he hoped to see us again after we went in there?”

Gildor smirked and forced a path through the crowd to the door of the tavern. Corian pressed in behind him, often touching the man as Gildor had to find another way around. When he finally made his way to the door and opened it, he wanted to breathe in a sigh of relief. Instead, the stink of unwashed bodies and pipe smoke nearly gagged him.

“Saints!” Corian wheezed, letting Gildor know the elf was no better off.

“Man up,” Gildor growled. “Don’t let them see any sign of weakness.”

“It takes a man to breathe in this filth?” Corian mumbled.

“To some of these people, yes.”

The elf grunted and kept close to Gildor as he walked between tables and made his way towards the bar. He found a spot next to a man who was focused on the cup of dark liquid in front of him. On the other side, a barmaid had a platter on the bar that she was waiting for a bartender to finish loading.

“Hang on,” the bartender said when Gildor motioned for him.

Gildor nodded and then frowned when the bartender turned and walked down to the other end of the bar.

“He’ll be back,” the barmaid said with a tired smile. “He’ll come faster if he sees some coin.”

Gildor turned to look at her. She was just a girl, though older than Allie. Old enough, he supposed, but the lines on her face and the way the paint she’d applied didn’t hide the colors beneath the skin gave proof that she lived a hard life. “What about you?”

She hesitated and then offered a more practiced smile. “The right amount of coin will get my attention too.”

“Kind of young for that, aren’t you?”

She leaned forward a little so her peasant blouse gaped and showed the swells of her breasts. He kept his eyes on hers as she said, “Most men prefer young and firm. Not too young that I don’t know how to make a man happy.”

“You want to make me happy?”

“For the right price.”

Gildor heard Corian snort behind him. He ignored the elf. “Tell me where I can find a man with a boat. A man willing to risk a little for a lot.”

She lifted her head and then glanced at Corian. “The elf with you?”

“He is.”

She smirked. “I’ve heard things about elves. And about why some men might be with them.”

“Hey,” Corian argued.

Gildor held his hand out, stopping his companion. “That’s fine. Have you heard anything about a man willing to charter his boat?”

She shrugged. “I might know somebody.”

Gildor untied his money pouch and dug into it until he recognized a silver coin by the touch and size of it. He pulled it out and held it up. “What’s a little companionship with you cost a man?”

“That’s a fine start,” she said, her eyes dropping to the coin.

“Then I’ll give you five of these,” he said. “And you go home tonight instead and spend it with your child. Then, when I come back, if the man you set me up with doesn’t try to stab me in the back or abandon me, I’ll double it.”

She gasped and looked up to meet his gaze. “I don’t know you. How did you know I—”

“Just a hunch,” Gildor interrupted her. “I’m not a wealthy man, but I know there’s no amount of gold you can earn to make the time lost with your kid worth it. We got a deal?”

She tilted her head and licked her lips. Her eyes dropped to the silver and then she nodded. “Wait here.”

“Right here?” Gildor asked.

“In the Ratskull,” she said. “I’ll find you.”

Gildor pressed the coin into her hand. “The other four when you come back with him.”

She nodded and left the tray on the bar. Gildor followed her with his eyes until she slipped out the front door and was gone.

“Now what?” Corian asked. “And how did you know she has a child?”

“I’m a lousy farmer,” Gildor answered. “But I know a teat swollen with milk when I see one.”

Corian’s eyes widened and then he burst out laughing. Gildor grinned and turned back to the serving platter. He glanced around and shrugged before reaching out and taking a tankard in each hand. He gave one to the elf and motioned with a nod for them to step away.

They made it through the common room and were nearing the hearth when a commotion from his right drew his attention. Another barmaid stood beside a large man who had a wooden cudgel studded with metal knobs hanging from his hip. At their feet was another man. He was slumped against the wall and had a half-full tankard of ale leaning on his massive chest. The other half was slopped across his chest and thick black beard.

“Leave me be,” the man slurred.

“You got a tab to pay,” the club-wielding bouncer said. “Then a dunk in the lake.”

“I got nothing,” the drunkard said. He reached up to the stein on his chest and tried to grab it. He missed the handle and knocked it to the side, spilling the rest of the ale on himself and the floor. “Guess you can have that back.”