Courage Of The Conquered (Book 3) (2 page)

They slowed as they crossed the bridge.
Below, water gurgled in the creek, but it was not as it once was. Discarded
rubbish lay washed up on the banks, or had been thrown over the side of the
stone rails, and the corpse of a small animal, bloated and stinking, floated
down the current.

There were now several people moving
about, probably travelers between villas or workers returning from the Haranast
to the horse studs. Some carried sacks over their shoulder, but they all walked
hurriedly, whatever their destination. With a jolt, Lanrik realized that some
of them might even be refugees seeking escape from the city.

All of them kept their hoods up and their
heads down. They did not speak to each other, still less to him and Erlissa who
were heading toward the city. There were no friendly greetings, not even a nod
or a wave as was customary on Esgallien’s open roads. And when he caught a
glimpse of their faces, he saw nothing but signs of woe and fear.

“It’s worse that we thought,” Erlissa
whispered to him.

He had no answer to that. He was expecting
it to be bad, but a sense of dread was coming to life the closer they came to
the inn, and he wondered what the rest of the city would be like when they
reached it.

Instinctively, he moved closer to Erlissa.
“They’re like a conquered people,” he said.

“It’s as if they’re beyond hope.”

Lanrik did not think that was the case. He
felt that regardless of their appearance, under the right circumstances, they
would fight back. Murhain and Ebona would not have everything their own way.
Not for much longer, anyway. Once he and Erlissa discovered the truth of how
things stood, Aranloth would devise a plan to defeat the witch.

They reached the inn and stood quietly for
a moment before the door. It was closed, a thing that Lanrik had never seen
before except in winter. And even then only on the coldest days when a wind
blew from the north.

He glanced at the sign near the door. It
hung neatly from a chain, but it creaked and rattled in a way that was
lonesome. Bridge Inn, it declared, but the writing was small. Far larger was
the portrait if Rhodmai, an old lady seated in a comfortable chair, with a mug
in her hands and a twinkle in her eye. Her image was reassuring at least.

He placed a hand on the door and opened
it. What he saw as it swung on rusted hinges was something so unexpected that
it drained the reassurance right from him. Standing on the other side,
scrutinizing him closely, were two Royal Guards. Beyond, he saw several others
in the same uniform. Each of them eyed him carefully.

Lanrik forced a smile.

“Hello,” he said. Despite his cheery tone,
his first reaction had been to raise the staff in a defensive position. He had
covered it by pretending it was a kind of wave, but was not sure if that had
worked.

Neither of the Royal Guards bothered to
acknowledge his greeting. Instead, they looked at him coldly.

“Name and occupation,” the closer of the
two said. His tone was that of a bored man doing a distasteful job.

Lanrik resisted the urge to show offense
at the rudeness. Instead, he offered the story he and Erlissa had prepared.

“I’m Marik. I serve as a bodyguard.”

The soldier eyed him as though he doubted
his competence for the role. “And who needs
your
protection?”

Lanrik gestured behind him. “Tamril is a
healer.”

Erlissa stepped forward and gave a slight
curtsey.

The second guard lent over a nearby table
and wrote on a sheet of tattered parchment. When he was done, the two of them
did not bother to say anything further but returned to their seats near a
curtained window. Evidently, they kept a lookout for travelers. But Lanrik was
intrigued. For whom did they watch?

What he wanted to do most of all was get
out of the room. But to leave now would only draw suspicion. Instead, he
ushered Erlissa through and closed the door behind him. They must go inside and
stay long enough for at least one drink.

The room was near empty of customers, but
there was no lack of Royal Guards. There must have been a dozen, and Lanrik
doubted they were there for leisure. They were stationed here for a reason; and
that must be to look for someone, and someone expected to give them trouble, or
there would not be so many.

He saw a free table against the left wall
and walked over to it. His boots clanked loudly on the wooden floor, for there
was little conversation among the guards and the room was quiet.

The tables and chairs were of oak, solid
and thick, as was the long bar that ran the length of the furthest wall. His
chosen spot was near a hearth, but it was cold, and it looked like no fire had
burned within it for some time. Above the mantel was another image of Rhodmai.
She beamed down at them merrily, and Lanrik wondered what she would have
thought of the way travelers had come to be treated at her inn.

After a moment, a serving maid approached.
She was young, nervous and kept her gaze fixed firmly on the floor as though
determined to do her job properly and to stay out of trouble.

“What can I get you?” she asked.

“I’ll have a beer,” Lanrik answered.

The girl turned to Erlissa.

“I’ll have the same.”

“Anything to eat?”

Lanrik hesitated. He wanted to get out of
here, but it might still be a good place to obtain information, and he did not
want to arouse suspicion.

“What sort of stew do you have today?”

“It’s mutton this week.”

It was not Lanrik’s favorite, but he was
growing hungry.

“A bowl of that and some bread,” he said.

“There’s no bread today,” she replied. He
caught a hint of emotion in her voice. She liked her current situation little
better than he did. The guards must have given her a hard time.

“The stew will be fine by itself.”

“I’ll have it too,” Erlissa added.

When the girl returned with the drinks,
Lanrik took a slow sip. The beer tasted watery, far from the good brew that he
was accustomed to here.

He took a deeper drink and casually looked
around. There were a handful of other patrons, more than he had at first
thought, for they were tucked away in nooks and corners just like the one he
had chosen near the hearth. They were hushed, and there was none of the normal
sounds of laughter and loud talk that usually filled inns.

He studied the others carefully. They
appeared to be hard men, laborers of some kind. Their clothes were wrinkled and
coarse, their hands darkened by dirt and years of toil, but they drank with a
certain reserved grace, lowering their mugs with care so as not to make a noise
or spill any of the contents. He guessed that they probably worked at nearby
horse studs.

Leaning up against the bar was a huddle of
three men. They were younger, lank haired and surly. They were not guards, and
Lanrik doubted that they were laborers. He could not tell their trades, but
knew instinctively that he did not like them. They were dressed too poorly to
be nobles, and yet well enough for him to be suspicious of their source of
income.

These men were louder than the other
patrons, and though they did not carry swords, he was sure that he saw the
telltale bulge of knife handles beneath their tunics. From time to time they
cast leering looks at Erlissa. That she ignored their attention seemed to upset
them.

Lanrik and Erlissa did not speak much.
They sipped their drinks and kept an eye on those around them.

When their stew arrived, the girl placed
it before them carefully on the pitted oak table and gave them spoons, and for
the first time, a slight smile.

Lanrik thanked her, and her expression
brightened further. He had a feeling that good manners were scarce at the inn
lately and that she appreciated it.

The stew was surprisingly good. At least,
it seemed that way after the weeks on the road that it had taken to reach Esgallien.
But it was not as good as what the captain of the Royal Guard ate. He sat at
the head of a table in the middle of the room, surrounded by his men, but he
received a much grander meal. It looked to be the same stew, only he was given
bread, fruit and cheese with it.

Lanrik and Erlissa ate with relish. When
they were done, and their bowls cleared, he noticed the captain gazing at him
darkly. He was about to look away, not wanting contact of any sort between
them, but the man gestured curtly for him to come over. It was a haughty flick
of the hand, and Lanrik fought hard to suppress his anger. But he endured it,
as doubtless many others had done in Esgallien since the witch had entered the
city. The Royal Guard had always tended toward arrogance, but under her
influence the worst of them seemed to feel empowered.

Lanrik gave Erlissa a quick look of
warning and then approached the captain’s table.

“May I be of assistance, Sir?” Lanrik
asked.

The other man took a swig of his beer
before he answered.

“Don’t call me Sir. My rank is captain.
Captain Brinhain, and that is how you will address me.”

Lanrik had known the correct form of
address, but as a supposed traveler from other parts of Alithoras it was better
not to show familiarity with the city’s customs. He suppressed a smile though:
that it irked the other man was satisfying.

Brinhain flicked his glance to Erlissa,
and then back to him.

“I’m told that your companion is a
healer.”

Lanrik nodded. “Yes.” It was a curt
answer, but he guessed where this was going and did not want to encourage it.

“Is she any good? Or is she a fraud like
most others?”

“She’s quite good,” Lanrik said. I’ve seen
her work many cures, but of course, not everyone responds to treatment.”

“Call her over.”

Lanrik thought that hardly necessary, as
the captain had talked through the whole conversation loud enough for everyone
in the room to hear. Nor did he want to, but there was no choice.

He turned and looked straight at Erlissa.
He read uncertainty in her eyes, but also an understanding that their ruse had
not been discovered and that she must go along with things to keep it that way.

She approached the table and gave one of
her elegant curtseys.

“Captain Brinhain,” she said. Her smile
was sweet, as though she had not heard any of the captain’s insults, though
everyone knew she must have. Lanrik wished that he could better hide his own
chagrin, but then he realized that her very politeness served as a subtle
rebuke.

Brinhain was oblivious to it. He lifted
his foot up and rested it gently on the table. The boot was off, and the bare
foot seemed red and swollen, especially around the joint of the big toe.

“My foot hurts,” he said. “What can be
done to cure it?”

Erlissa did not hesitate. She looked at
his foot closely, and gingerly touched the big toe as though feeling for heat.

After a moment she looked up at him. “You
have the gout, Captain. It’s a disease that chiefly affects the foot, but
sometimes the knees and elbows as well. Do you have pain in those areas too?”

“No,” he said impatiently. “I already know
it’s the gout – I want to know the cure.”

“Of course,” Erlissa said, as though she
was completely oblivious to the fact that he was being difficult.

She cast her gaze over the table and the
remains of the meal that the captain had eaten.

“The gout is a condition that usually
responds to a change in diet. If you restrict your intake of rich foods, and
especially of beer, you’ll notice an improvement. Perhaps even a large one.”

The captain looked at her with hard eyes
and shook his head. Slowly, he placed his foot back on the ground, though
Lanrik noticed that he did not put much weight on it.

“I asked for a cure,” the man said, “not a
lifetime sentence of deprivation.”

What happened next took everybody by
surprise. The captain lashed out, slapping Erlissa across the face. She
staggered back a few steps, and then looked at him with blazing eyes.

Lanrik felt a cold fury rise inside him.
He wanted to drop the staff and draw his sword, but instead he merely stepped
between them. He knew that he was in range of the captain, should Brinhain wish
to strike him as well. It was a gesture of defiance, one that almost taunted
the captain to react, and part of Lanrik wished that he would, for then the
response would be swift and sure, and damn the consequences.

The captain must have read something of
that in his eyes. Perhaps he feared what might be done to him before his men
could intervene. For whatever reason, he chose only to give an indifferent
flick of his fingers.

“Dismissed,” he said.

Lanrik did not move. After a moment, he
spoke in a soft but distinct voice.

“That will be five coppers.”

The captain’s face went white. Lanrik
could see him tremble with indignation, and yet a consultation had taken place
and a diagnosis given. The man owed the money, and a failure to pay would make
him look bad, even if he could get away with it. All eyes were on him. Or,
Lanrik thought reluctantly, on himself. He could have done without that, and
without making an enemy of this man, and yet he must also uphold the role that
he played as a bodyguard. It was his job to ensure payment for services
rendered, and it would seem strange if he did not try.

The captain, now bright red, pulled a
wallet from his tunic. Slowly, he counted out the coins and then cast them onto
the table.

Lanrik placed his hands over them swiftly,
but without seeming haste, and stopped them before they skidded to the floor.

He pocketed the coins and guided Erlissa
back to their table.

The captain called over to them after they
had sat down.

“It’s getting late in the day. I assume
you’ll be staying here for the night, so I’ll require your services again in
the morning.”

Lanrik did not want to stay overnight. And
yet he could think of no reason to turn down work.

Erlissa exchanged a glance with him before
she answered.

“I’ll be here, Captain.”

They ordered more beers, and the afternoon
passed swiftly. Now, a small but steady flow of patrons came through the door.
They showed no liking for the recording of their names on the parchment, but
whether by long habit of attending the inn or by virtue of its reputation, that
did not stop them from entering.

For the most part, the newcomers were farm
hands. They did not speak to the guards, nor the guards to them, and they soon
found tables and talked quietly among themselves.

Lanrik sipped at his beer and spent most
of the time listening. Much of the conversation around him turned on the
weather; a subject that farmers and Raithlin often had in common, and one that
many other people rarely saw the use of. If it rained, they stayed indoors. But
farmers and Raithlin had a different perspective. To them, it was a blessing or
a curse depending on the situation – but it was a thing to which they
were never indifferent.

He caught Erlissa’s glance when one group
started to talk about events in the city. This was not a safe topic within
earshot of the guards, and it died down as swiftly as it began. Lanrik strained
to hear while it lasted, but the men said nothing that he had not already
guessed: the city was in turmoil, food was ever more expensive and jobs fewer.