Tower Lord

“Sergeant Norin,” he said.

“My lord,” the man breathed. “I had heard . . . there were rumours, but—”

Al Sorna moved forward and embraced the man warmly, Reva noting the player’s expression of complete astonishment. “It’s very good to see you, Janril,” Al Sorna said, drawing back. “Very good indeed.”

? ? ?

“There are a thousand tales of your death,” the minstrel told Al Sorna over supper. They had been welcomed into the wagon he shared with Ellora. She had exchanged her chiffon dancer’s garb for a plain grey dress and cooked them a meal of stew and dumplings. Reva avoided looking in her direction and concentrated on the food. Al Sorna had introduced her as “Reva, my pretend sister for the next few weeks.” Janril Norin just nodded and told her she was welcome, any curiosity he might have felt about the nature of their relationship carefully hidden. Soldiers don’t question their commanders, she thought.

“And a thousand more of your escape,” Norin went on. “They say you fashioned a mace from your chains with the aid of the Departed and slew your way out of the Emperor’s dungeons. I wrote a song about it, always goes down well.”

“Well, I’m afraid you’ll have to write another,” Al Sorna said. “About how they just let me go.”

“I thought you went to the Meldenean Islands first,” Reva said, letting her disbelief colour her tone. “Killed the pirates’ champion and rescued a princess.”

He just shrugged. “All I did in the Isles was take part in a play. Though, I’m not much of a player.”

“Player or not, my lord,” Norin said. “You know you’re welcome in this company. For as long as you wish.”

“We’re making for Varinshold. If you’re heading there, we’ll gladly accompany you.”

“We’re going south,” Ellora said. “The Summertide Fair in Mealinscove always reaps a healthy profit.” There was a guardedness to her tone and a clear discomfort at the Darkblade’s presence. Smart enough to know he brings death everywhere he goes, Reva surmised.

“We’re going north,” Norin told her in a flat tone, then smiled at Al Sorna. “The fair in Varinshold will be just as fruitful, I’m sure.”

“We’ll pay our way,” Vaelin said to Ellora.

“Won’t hear of it, my lord,” Norin assured him. “Having your sword with us will be payment enough. So many outlaws about these days.”

“Talking of which, we found their handiwork a few miles back. A family, robbed and slaughtered. Came here looking to ensure justice, in fact. Notice any candidates tonight?”

Norin thought for a moment. “There was a rowdy bunch in the alehouse this afternoon. Their clothes were mean but they had money for ale. Drew my interest because one of them had a gold ring on a chain about his neck. Too small for a man’s ring, if I’m any judge. Caused a bit of a ruckus when the brewer refused to sell them one of his daughters. The guards told them to quiet down or move on. There’s a vagrants’ camp a mile or so downriver. If they haven’t gone back to the forest, likely we’ll find them there.”

Ellora’s gaze turned into a glare at the mention of the word “We.”

“If they were drunk they’ll be sleeping it off,” Al Sorna said. “They’ll still be there in the morning, I’m sure. Though, ensuring justice will mean involving the guards, and I was hoping not to draw any attention.”

“There are other forms of justice, my lord,” Norin pointed out. “Was a time we dealt it to outlaws on a fairly regular basis, as I recall.”

Al Sorna glanced at the canvas-wrapped sword in the corner of the wagon. “No, I’m no Lord Marshal these days and no longer exercise the King’s Word. Seems it can’t be helped. I’ll find the guard captain in the morning.”

After supper Norin sat on the wagon steps playing his mandolin, singing with Ellora at his side. The other players gathered round to listen and call for him to sing their favourites. Reva and Al Sorna drew a few curious glances and, from the awed expressions of a few, some had clearly divined his identity. However, Norin’s statement that she and his old friend from the Wolfrunners were his guests and their privacy was to be respected seemed to be all that was required to ensure no questions were asked.

“Doesn’t look a soldier,” Reva observed to Al Sorna. They had placed themselves a short distance from the company, lighting a fire against the night’s chill.

“He was always more of a minstrel,” Al Sorna said. “But a hard fighter when it mattered. I’m glad he took his pension. Seems happy enough with his lot.”

Reva shot a quick look at Ellora, her smile as she rested against Norin’s knee. Well he might, she thought.

The company drifted off to their own wagons as the hour grew late and Norin and Ellora retired to bed. He had provided them with thick blankets and soft furs to lie on and Reva marvelled at the comfort of it. Sleeping on hard ground was all she had known for most of her life. Comfort is a trap, the priest had said. A barrier to the Father’s love, for it makes us weak, servile to the Heretic Dominion. With that he had beaten her for the crime of hiding a sack of straw in the barn to sleep on.

She waited a good two hours. Al Sorna never snored, in fact he barely made a sound or moved at all when sleeping. She watched the gentle rise and fall of his chest beneath the blanket for a while longer to be sure, then slipped from her own coverings, picked up her shoes and made her way barefoot to the river. On the bank she splashed water on her face to banish any lingering tiredness, pulled on her shoes and followed the current downstream.

The vagrants’ camp wasn’t hard to find, the smell of woodsmoke announced its location before the cluster of shacks and tents came into view. Only one fire burned in the camp, raucous laughter echoing from the few occupants. Four men, passing a bottle around. Must’ve scared the rest away, she thought. She crept closer until their voices became clear.

“You rutted on that bitch when she was dead, Kella!” one of the men laughed. “Fucking a corpse, you filthy animal.”

“Least I didn’t rut on the boy,” the other man shot back. “Against nature that is.”

Reva saw little reason for stealth or further delay. This needed doing quickly before Al Sorna missed her.

The four men fell silent as she walked into the camp, surprise soon replaced by drunken lust.

“Looking for somewhere to sleep, lovely?” the largest of the men said. He had an extensive mop of unkempt hair and the gaunt, wasted look of a man who lived from day to day without regular meals or shelter. There was also a gold ring hanging on a string about his neck. Too small for a man’s ring, if I’m any judge. Reva remembered the sight of the woman in the forest, the finger hacked from her hand.

She said nothing and stared back.

“We’ve got plenty of room,” the man went on, coming closer on unsteady legs. “Everyone else’s pissed off. Can’t think why.”

Reva met his gaze, saying nothing. Drunk as he was, some faint warning must have sounded in his head for he stopped a few feet short of her, eyes narrowing. “What you want here gir—!”

The knife came free of the sheath in a blur, she ducked forward then upwards in a fluid motion, the blade slicing through his neck, then twisted away as he fell, blood spraying through his fingers.

The second one she killed was too shocked to react as she leapt, wrapped her legs about his chest and stabbed deep into his shoulder, once, then twice. She leapt free, darted towards the third man, now fumbling for a cudgel in his belt. He managed a single swing which she ducked with ease, rolling on the ground then slashing back to sever his hamstring. He fell, cursing and screaming. Reva turned to the fourth man. His fevered gaze took in the scene around him as he fidgeted, a long-bladed knife in his hand. He gave Reva a final terror-stricken glance, dropped the knife and fled. He had almost reached the sheltering darkness beyond the firelight before her knife throw took him between the shoulder blades.

Reva went to the large man’s body, pushing it over to retrieve the ring from around his neck. There was also a good-quality hunting knife in his belt, Realm Guard issue from the regimental crest on the handle. She took the knife, pocketed the ring and walked to the man with the severed hamstring, now weeping desperate pleas through a cloud of snot and spittle.

“Don’t worry, Kella,” she said. “I promise I won’t fuck your corpse.”

? ? ?

Ellora made them a breakfast of eggs and mushrooms fried in butter. As good a cook as she is a dancer, Reva thought, tucking in. She waited until Ellora and Norin had gone to tend to the drays that pulled their wagon, then took the ring from her pocket and tossed it to Al Sorna. He looked at it for a long time. “The sun and the moon,” he said softly.

Reva frowned. “What?”

He held it up for her to see, an engraving on the inside of the band, two circles, one wreathed in flame. “They were Deniers.”

She shrugged and returned to her breakfast.

“The bodies,” Al Sorna said.

“Weighted and dumped in the river.”