What Remains of Heroes (2 page)

Nara stared at him glassy-eyed and noisily slurped the wine. She dropped the bottle and it rang against the floor but did not break. They all laughed.

“Go to him, Nara,” Alisa said, her tone kind but commanding.

Nara stumbled into Lannick’s arms. “Now,” she said softly.

Lannick held her close and gazed upon her. Her soft cheeks, pink lips, and green eyes. He breathed sharply as desire flared within him. She was gorgeous.

“Upstairs,” Alisa said. She snatched another bottle of wine then directed them up a staircase near the kitchen.

Lannick squeezed Nara’s hand. His breath quickened and his heart raced. Together they followed Alisa through candlelit corridors, past a study filled with maps drooping from a table, past several well-appointed bedrooms, and at last to an opulent bedchamber set aglow by a fire crackling in its hearth.

“Well, then,” said Lannick. He had no idea what to say. The only women he’d spoken with over the past decade had been those he’d paid for. Yet, it seemed with these ladies his charm—or lack thereof—mattered not at all. He scratched his tangled hair and greasy stubble.
Perhaps it’s my looks?
He smirked. “To the bed?”

Alisa waggled a scolding finger before pulling Nara away from him and toward the bed. “Why, Lannick, you’re every bit as naughty as I’d hoped.” She stood beside Nara and began helping her out of her dress.

Lannick stood wide-eyed, staring as the girl’s flawless skin and firm breasts were revealed. She was the most stunning woman he could remember setting eyes upon, save for perhaps his dead wife. He winced at the sudden recollection of his family, and tried to focus only upon the girl.

Alisa led the girl to the bed and through the heavy curtains hanging about it. She positioned her on the bed, in the middle of a brown bearskin. Nara’s body shimmered in the firelight, shadows dancing about her flesh. Alisa whispered something in her ear and the girl parted her legs. She lay there, her bosom rising with deep breaths, and looked to Lannick with lusty eyes.

“Lannick?” Alisa called. “Bring the wine.”

His jaw dropped and he fumbled with his belt and scabbard. His sword fell to the floor with a loud clunk, and he grabbed the bottle from a table. He stumbled toward the bed and took a long, disbelieving drink. The room spun and his balance was failing. His vision blurred, and for an instant there seemed to be six women on the bed, not two. He grinned shamelessly.
It seems my newfound fortune knows no
end
.

He steadied himself against a bedpost and passed the wine to Alisa. For a moment he stood at the bedside, agog at the sight of Nara. Her hair spilled across the pale skin of her shoulders and parted to curl about her breasts. Her belly was trim but not overly so, and farther down was the flower of her womanhood, a jewel Lannick never would have imagined would be his to enjoy.

He could resist no longer. He kicked off his boots and nearly ripped his pants as he removed them. He dove headlong into the bed.

Lannick kissed Nara deeply, finding her lips soft and sweet. He could taste the wine upon them, which only added to his passion. He moved his lips to her breasts and kissed them hungrily. He was awkward and rough, he knew, and hadn’t bathed in a good number of days. Nevertheless, the girl embraced him with desire, as though she truly wanted this. It was something he’d not felt in years.

How?

There was a hand twisting in his hair, pulling his head upward. “She wants you,” Alisa said.

Lannick panted, his blood hot. “And you?”

“I’ll watch,” said Alisa, her brown eyes teasing. “Take her. She is ready.”

Lannick rose to his knees and tore his shirt from his torso. Nara squirmed beneath him, inviting. He needed no further encouragement, and in an instant was inside her. Inside the sort of woman he’d only dreamed of these last nine, awful years. The sensation was warm and wondrous, and his entire body felt as though it were aflame.

Nara moaned beneath him—painfully at first—but in time her sounds seemed those of pleasure. Her breathing quickened and her eyelids drooped. She looked at Lannick with seeming longing, the sort of look Lannick had only rarely seen. A look of satisfaction, of wanting…

“Whaaat!”

It was a chilling shriek, a rattling scream that seemed to shake the bed and stir the hearth’s fire. Lannick pulled away from the girl and his lust vanished immediately.

Not
him
.

Even in his drunken state, Lannick knew that voice. He slunk away from the bed, into the shadows between it and a shuttered window.

Anyone but
him
.

The scarred, stunted man in the crimson surcoat charged toward Nara. He reared back, struck her with the back of a black-gloved fist, then seized her by the throat. “My daughter is nothing but a filthy whore!” he screamed.

Dead gods. Not
him
.

Lannick’s guts ran cold. He looked to the sword he’d discarded at the opposite end of the room and knew it was too far away. What was more, the man was armed and Lannick had consumed more than a little wine. There would be no chance for vengeance.

He had to run.

Now.

He grabbed what he could, threw open the window, and tumbled into the gardens below. He smashed painfully against prickly shrubs, but struggled and recovered. He tugged on his clothes and his boots and then ran. Ran as quickly as his clumsy feet would carry him. Over a fence and into the dark.

“I will find you!” came a cry after him. “And I will kill you!”

Mistakes are the bedrock of wisdom
. If the proverb were true, Lannick reckoned he’d be the wisest man in all of Ironmoor, perhaps in all the vast kingdom of Rune. He chuckled at the thought, then retched as he pulled himself from the gutter.

He braced himself against a wall of flaking plaster, stumbling as the alley listed before him. His vision blurred, sharpened, then blurred again as he caught wind of his odor. There was the stink of vomit, along with other scents he was loath to identify. He brushed the more substantial chunks from his clothing, remembering his brown shirt had been blue the night before.

The wine still muddled his thoughts and his head pounded in the light of morning, but he knew trouble would be coming for him. The very worst kind, and soon.

Yet, he couldn’t help but revel in the wine-numbed memories of the prior evening. There was the wine, of course, fruity and bold and so much tastier than his usual swill. And then there’d been the flesh. Lannick’s smile widened as he remembered just
who
she was. None other than the daughter of the distinctively hideous General Thalius Fane, commander of all the High King’s armies and the very man Lannick hated more than any in all the world.

Not exactly the vengeance I’d imagined, but it will have to do for now
.

He felt his wits returning with the daylight and knew he had no time to reminisce. He knew all too well the general was a monster of a man. He would beat from his daughter the details of their encounter, then track Lannick to one of the taverns where he was too often a customer. Someone was bound to betray him.

A few blocks away was Temple Street, known as much for its seedy taverns as for the ruined cathedrals shading its cobbles. Lannick knew the taverns quite well, particularly
The Wanton Vicar
. Considering it was still early morning, he decided to chance a return. Perhaps his good luck would continue, and his old friend could help him into a new set of clothes before he was hunted down and killed.

“Lannick, you miserable rascal!” said Brugan, polishing the bar with a rag. He laughed heartily. He always did. “Did you bed your lovers in the sewers?”

“No,” Lannick said with a smirk, “but it seems I slept there. Those ladies wanted me just for my body, such as it is.”

Brugan laughed again, a big, belly-shaking chuckle that seemed to move the entire tavern.

Lannick slumped into his usual stool and his smile withered. “You know who she was, don’t you?”

“Of course I do. I know practically every citizen of Ironmoor, and many of their darkest secrets,” he said with a wink. “Which is why
that
girl was a particularly poor object of your… affections. But you’re alive, at least.”

Lannick pressed his hands to his face. “I had no idea she was Fane’s daughter until it was too late. You should have warned me, Brugan.”

“I did. Not once but four times,” Brugan said, rapping his heavy knuckles against the bar. “But, as usual, you were drunk, and thinking with something other than your head. I’d have had an easier time convincing shit not to stink.” He eyed Lannick up and down. “Or you for that matter.”

“It seems I have a knack for bad choices. This may be the one mess I don’t survive.”

“With any luck that girl will have the good sense to be ashamed of her choices last night, and will keep the entire matter from her dear father.”

Lannick pressed closer to the bar, his voice sinking to a whisper. “But Fane found us. In his own bedchambers, even. I’m in real trouble, Brugan.”

“Dead gods! Did he get a good look at you?”

“Perhaps not my face.” Lannick grinned in spite of himself.

“Did he recognize you?”

“I doubt it—it’s been many years, and I haven’t exactly kept up my appearance.” He pointed to the scar that ran down his cheek, then patted the swell of a belly that’d known too much drink.

Brugan shook his head and chuckled. “You awful bastard. We’re on the verge of war! Word is the High King’s entire council has convened to discuss how the ‘skirmish’ with the Arranese has brought us to the brink of all-out war. They say those savages are massing to cross the Southwall Mountains and invade the kingdom of Rune itself! The council’s even asked for oath-bound soldiers from all eight thanes of Rune, in case things take a bad turn. And here General Fane arrives home to find you—
you
—despoiling his daughter!”

“I know. Perhaps someday I’ll laugh at this, but right now I’m scared, Brugan. Scared to death. Fane will not suffer this. Not from anyone, and least of all me. Even if he didn’t recognize me, he’ll have me hunted down and killed. I need a place to hide. I reckon if I hide out for a few days, he’ll have left for the war and this whole thing will be forgotten. Eventually, anyway.” He looked to Brugan sheepishly. “Can I count on you? Can I stay here for a couple of days?”

The plea was met with a hard look. “No, Lannick. Absolutely not. You and I are friends—old friends—but I can’t keep saving you from your mistakes. Fane’s no friend of mine, either, remember? I’m not about to cross him and his brutish Scarlet Swords. Besides, he’s sure to head this way. Don’t you reckon he’ll think to ask this barkeep a question or two? Like whether I know a certain patron who was here just last night?” He pounded the bar with his fist. “Damn it, Lannick! Fane and his Scarlet Swords will shake the timbers of every alehouse and whorehouse in Ironmoor until you’re found. Someone’s certain to betray you, if they haven’t already.”

“Fair enough,” said Lannick, knowing the barkeep was right. He wasn’t much for honor these days, but he couldn’t ask Brugan to place himself in harm’s way. Not again, and not for this. “Any chance I could trouble you for a hot bath, at least? Perhaps some clean clothes?”

Brugan laughed, the sound of it grating. “And how about a purse full of gold crowns? And perhaps a stout horse and all the wine you can carry? After all, it seems you think there should be no end to my charity!”

Lannick’s shoulders sagged. He hadn’t paid his bills at the place in weeks, maybe months, and even Brugan’s goodwill had its limits. “Work’s been slow, Brugan. You know I’ll make it up to you.”

“Work?” The mirth left the barkeep’s face. “Is that what you call acting as a strongman for that bastard Silas? The man’s a crook. Shaking down debtors for coin at the point of your sword is hardly something I’d call work.”

“It’s a living, Brugan. Not something I’m proud of.”

Brugan leaned across the bar, drawing uncomfortably close to Lannick. “Nor should you be. It’s filthy work, Lannick. The sort suited for criminals and cutthroats. Not the likes of you.” He pulled back and again set about polishing the bar. “Lannick, I’ve helped you only because I know who you once were, not because of who you are now. The man before me now is a ghost of the one who earned my friendship. I wonder at times how you can stomach the sight of your own reflection, knowing how far you’ve allowed yourself to fall. If you and I had any less of a history, I’d tolerate you not at all.”