The Long War 01 - The Black Guard (10 page)

‘That looks very much like a longsword, Glenwood,’ Utha said as he stepped casually out behind the forger. ‘I assume that, as a common man, you were merely looking after it for a nobleman.’ Criminals often thought they could get away with carrying a noble’s weapon if they stayed away from clerics.

‘Actually, no, brother cleric, it’s mine… my father was… sort of noble.’

Utha laughed and solidly kicked the man down the corridor. Glenwood made a strange yelping sound and did an ungainly forward roll through the curtain into the entrance room. All those on the other side turned to look at the figure that had emerged so loudly amongst them.

The watchmen held their crossbows drawn and Sergeant Clement swung his heavy mace threateningly. Torian still held his longsword and Utha thought his brother cleric looked quite impressive as he glared at the men, the purple sceptre on his tabard shining brightly.

Glenwood had emerged with little elegance and was now draped in the yellow curtain through which he’d been thrown. Utha walked past him, absently grabbing the forger by the scruff of the neck, as he stepped into the entrance room.

The mistress of the Blue Feather was looking daggers at both clerics. ‘Okay, you have your man, now get your pious arses out of my fuck shop.’

Torian directed his sword point at the woman. ‘We will leave you to your immorality, woman. I believe I may return at a later time to instruct your men on the correct way to address a cleric of the One.’

The mistress looked as if she were about to burst with anger, but kept her words to herself and directed her men to stand down.

Utha dragged Glenwood roughly past the watchmen, holding the collar of his shirt and giving him several kicks to speed him along.

‘Brother, I believe we have what we came for,’ Utha said with a smile. ‘Shall we depart?’

Torian allowed himself a slight show of amusement but quickly recovered his grim demeanour and backed away slowly, letting his hard glare move across the Karesians’ faces.

The men outside had left as Utha emerged on to the street, and the sun had disappeared behind a cloud. The weather in Ro Tiris was changeable and a storm was imminent.

Torian and the watchmen backed out of the brothel and Utha noticed Randall for the first time since they’d entered. The young squire had hidden behind Sergeant Clement and done his best to remain invisible as the confrontation played out.

‘You, Elyot,’ Utha said to the youngest watchman, ‘take hold of this
minor noble
and don’t let him move too much.’ He flung Glenwood at the watchman, who had his two short swords drawn.

Pulling Glenwood to his feet, Elyot placed one blade around the forger’s neck and the other against his back. ‘Move,’ he said with practised authority.

‘Is fucking suddenly against the One?’ Glenwood asked.

He received a solid kick to the back of his legs from Elyot in response and fell to the floor again.

‘Apparently so.’ The forger grimaced in pain.

‘We should take Glenwood somewhere more… appropriate,’ Torian said with menace.

‘Appropriate for what?’ the prisoner asked, pulling himself to his feet.

Utha came to face him. ‘I’ll bet that you’ve done a multitude of foolish things in your life, but we are only interested in one of the more recent ones. Now cooperate and I won’t bite your nose off. Clear?’ he asked coldly.

Glenwood looked terrified and nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He smiled as Elyot, the young watchman, carefully placed the two short swords back where they had been a moment ago. ‘Okay, I’m ready, let’s go somewhere more… appropriate,’ he said with nervous humour.

They were still concealed by the awning of the Blue Feather, but Utha noticed several men glance across and see the forger in the custody of the clerics. A man of Ro, with the glare of a fighting man, took particular interest and even locked eyes with the prisoner for a second, before disappearing into a side street.

Utha decided that walking back through the Kasbah would be unwise, as Glenwood would no doubt have friends who might consider a foolish rescue attempt. Instead, he led Torian and the watchmen into an alley that ran between the Blue Feather and an adjoining spice merchant’s hut. It was wide enough for single file only, making Glenwood even more nervous, as he realized he was surrounded and unlikely to survive if he tried to get away.

Utha led the group down a second alleyway which passed behind the brothel and into a small yard. They were against the outer wall and in an isolated space used for alcohol storage. The back doors to several buildings opened out into the yard and crates of wine and beer were strewn around. Utha turned from his companions and perused the closest crate. Finding a bottle of Karesian red wine, he sat down on a low box. Torian stood next to him, his sword now sheathed, and the watchmen took seats on other crates. Elyot positioned Glenwood in front of the two clerics and then went to sit next to Randall.

‘Now, let’s get comfy shall we,’ Utha said, uncorking the bottle of wine and taking a deep swig. Wincing at the taste, he placed the open bottle on the floor. ‘Perhaps it needs to breathe a little.’ He spat out the residue of vinegary liquid.

‘Theatrics, brother?’ questioned Torian, with a raise of his eyebrows.

‘You have your sword, I have my theatrics; surely the value of both has been evident in the last hour?’

Torian shook his head and stepped forward to tower over Glenwood. The forger was around six feet in height, but thin and pasty-looking. The Purple cleric, in comparison, was fully armoured and looked like a mountain standing over the lesser man.

‘How is the business in Red church seals these days, Glenwood?’ Torian asked.

The forger looked surprised, but got the reaction quickly under control with the practised candour of a professional criminal.

‘How many do you want?’ he said, in a foolish attempt at humour, before quickly retracting the comment. ‘Just joking, just a joke, my lords… there’s no business in such things; no way of making enough money to justify the risk, anyway.’

‘So, you admit that you’re a forger?’ Torian asked.

Glenwood frowned and said to Utha, ‘So, I’m guessing you’re the brains?’ He turned back to Torian. ‘Of course I’m a forger… there are a thousand people in Tiris who can tell you I’m a forger and a thousand more who can tell you where to find me.’ He paused, shaking his head. ‘But I’m not an idiot and I have enough friends in enough places to know that forgery is a relatively minor crime in the grand scheme of things and that two clerics are unlikely to be interested in minor criminal misdemeanours.’ He spoke with the swagger of a man used to talking to the authorities. ‘You want to arrest me? Be my guest, I guarantee I’ll be free within the hour… probably on some technicality or other.’

Utha narrowed his eyes. ‘You’re evading the question… you’re doing it very skilfully, but you’re still evading the question.’

‘Maybe, but I’m still not going to tell you anything, so put your arm round your lady friend here and go fuck yourself,’ he said arrogantly. Torian quickly drew his sword and growled at Glenwood.

‘Watch your tongue, piss-stain.’ The words came from Sergeant Clement.

The watchman stepped forward and held his mace in front of Glenwood’s head. Utha smiled at the forger, a vicious expression that made him shrink.

‘I think I can handle the insult, sergeant,’ the Black cleric said, before smashing his forehead into the bridge of Glenwood’s nose.

The forger instantly dropped to the floor and yelped loudly, an incoherent sound of pain, anger and surprise.

Torian looked equally shocked and Clement backed sharply away from Glenwood’s writhing form. Utha grabbed the forger by the throat and picked him up off the floor. He held the man away from him and punched him solidly in the chest, making him cough and spray blood on to the dusty floor. Utha then roughly spun him round and rested an armoured forearm across his throat.

‘I’m not a watchman, I’m not a judge and I’m not a man who gives a Ranen’s balls about what you think,’ Utha said through gritted teeth. ‘You sold a forged Red church seal to a man with an ornate longsword, yes?’

Glenwood was clearly dazed, his face covered in blood and his eyes unfocused, but the presence of a hulking Black cleric, ready to tear him apart, made him clear his mind quickly. ‘Yes… yes, I did,’ he said through a quivering mouth.

‘Good. Now, I want you to tell us everything you know about the man with the longsword. Do you understand?’ he asked.

Glenwood’s eyes were wide and he no longer held his broken nose, as if Utha’s words had made him forget the pain he was in. He nodded again in reply and started to retch. Utha released his arm and allowed Glenwood to double over and vomit on the floor.

The sound of Torian’s squire also retching made everyone turn quickly. Randall didn’t actually vomit, but he was clearly uneasy at the sight of blood and of Glenwood emptying his stomach.

‘Easy, lad,’ Torian said reassuringly, ‘this streak of shit isn’t worth feeling bad over.’

‘That’s a wise thing you just said, brother,’ said Utha, as he pushed Glenwood into a sitting position.

The forger looked terrible, his nose was mangled across his face and his lips had gone a strange blue colour. Clement stood behind him and kicked Glenwood’s leg to encourage him to straighten himself up. The other watchmen stayed back, thinking themselves largely unneeded.

Utha resumed his seat on the box and picked up the bottle of wine. Taking another drink, he said, ‘Yes, it’s much nicer after a little air. Now, Glenwood, if you will…’ He waved his hand at the broken man sitting in front of him.

Glenwood straightened and pulled his legs back into a cross-legged position. ‘I don’t deal in church seals, but I owed him a favour, so…’

‘Tell us about him,’ Torian said as he sheathed his longsword and relaxed.

Glenwood spat out a mouthful of blood. ‘He paid three hundred gold crowns for a clay seal that would get him out of the south gate without being stopped. I knew him years ago and felt like helping him.’

Utha shouted, ‘Who was he?’

Glenwood looked across at the faces of, first the two clerics, then the five watchmen. He breathed in sharply, assessing his options. With a resigned sigh, he said, ‘His name’s Bromvy, people call him Brom. I think he’s a noble of some sort… maybe Canarn or somewhere around there.’

Utha leant back in his seated position and looked up at Torian. ‘There you go, theatrics work… I’ve proven it.’ He turned back to Glenwood. ‘And where was Lord Bromvy of Canarn intending to go?’

‘I think he was looking for a friend. He asked me if I knew where he was. I think he wanted to know which gate he’d need to leave from,’ he said quietly, as if ashamed at himself for giving this information.

‘And… the friend… and his location?’ Torian asked.

‘The friend is a Kirin assassin – nasty bastard, kills anyone you pay him to – and, last I knew, he was in Ro Weir. He’s called Rham Jas Rami and he and Brom go way back. They travelled together with another couple of wayward killers.’

Utha frowned at this. He knew a little about Bromvy and knew that he’d mixed with some unsavoury characters in his time. There were even rumours that Duke Hector’s son had been a mercenary, but to hear that he associated with an assassin was a surprise, even to Utha.

‘Weir is a three-week journey south at least,’ Torian said to Utha.

Glenwood chuckled through the pain. ‘I doubt it’d take Brom any more than two, maybe less. He’s not like you pampered city folk, he’s from Canarn, those men are tough. If you don’t care for your horse or the need for sleep, you can get there shy of two weeks.’

Randall nervously raised his hand and spoke. ‘Sir Leon used to talk about it, master. I think it’s called the Kirin run. A way of criminals getting from one side of Tor Funweir to the other.’

Utha and Torian looked at each other and nodded. They had both heard of Kirin having ways of moving quickly through the land but had not expected them to be utilized by a lord of Tor Funweir.

Glenwood looked at Randall. ‘Your boy has it right; the Kirin run cuts the journey in half. If you avoid Cozz and stay off the King’s Highway…’ He went to retch again but got it under control. ‘And if you don’t mind the big bastard spiders in Narland and Lob’s Wood,’ he smiled pathetically, ‘and obviously if you know the way – which I don’t, before you ask.’

Utha turned away from Glenwood. He motioned for Torian to join him and spoke quietly so as not to be overheard by the forger. ‘We’ll never find the way through Narland. We’re better off taking the long route and hoping he’s still there when we arrive.’

‘I was told nothing of his criminal endeavours when I left Arnon,’ Torian said with a shake of his head. ‘As far as I know all the questing clerics who were sent for him are looking at the estates of his family, lesser nobles and the like.’

Utha took a moment to think, absently drumming his fingers on his black tabard. ‘I know a few mercenaries were sent to the south… doubtful as far as Ro Weir, though.’

Torian straightened suddenly and let a rare smile flow across his face. ‘Well, brother, it seems we have a direction in which to travel. Let us go to Ro Weir.’

Utha returned the smile and looked over Torian’s shoulder at the watchmen standing round Glenwood. ‘Sergeant Clement,’ he said loudly, ‘go and tell the lord marshal that you’re accompanying Brothers Utha and Torian on a journey to the merchant enclave of Cozz and then on to Ro Weir.’

Clement didn’t know how to react to this, but Utha enjoyed the helpless expression on his face.

CHAPTER 3