Fire And Ice (Book 1) (60 page)

             
Fisherton proved to be an apt name for a town that relied heavily on fishing for its income.  The buildings were mainly structures built of wood and some brick. The streets were unpaved, but everything was relatively clean.  The people dressed in warm jackets that came down to their knees and thick boots that rose just as high.  He noticed a spattering of red hair among the villagers which was rare among Midians.  This far north he would have expected to see Northmen in the crowd, but not now.  Not with the tension between the two people.

             
It looked the same as it did the last time they came here about a year and a half ago.  The local wharves could be seen down a street on their left where fishing boats of every size were docked.  There was another, bigger harbor on the river side where the trader’s ships were anchored. 

             
Devon nodded towards a wide, one story building at the corner that had a sign out front announcing it as the Fisherman’s Rest.  Of course.  “Come on,” he urged.  “We have to stop.”

             
Against his better judgment Coran relented.  “Just for a little while.”

             
They dismounted out front and tied the reins to a rail held up by two posts.  Only two other horses were tied there.  They went inside the Fisherman’s Rest. 

             
Long benches were scattered across the wide floor next to the tables.  Despite the early hour the place was over half full.  Men in plain clothes toasted other men in vests of boiled leather and wearing swords at their hips.  A few wore some old mail in place of the leather.  It looked like a gathering of retired soldiers except that there were young men in the group.  Coran approached the bar along one side of the large room. 

             
“What is the celebration for?” he asked the portly bartender.

             
“Those men are going north to join the Lord of Northwatch in hunting down those Northmen responsible for the massacre.”

             
“Should they not be headed south to aid Summerhall?” Devon asked carefully.              

             
The bartender surveyed their clothing.  “When they have dealt with the animals I am sure they will go south,” he replied just as carefully. 

             
The people here were loyal Midians, but the current atrocities had them in a vise of emotion.

             
“Where are you headed?” the bartender asked them.

             
“Just passing through,” Devon answered evasively.

             
The bartender nodded as if he expected the answer.  “What will you have?”

             
“Ale,” replied Devon enthusiastically.

             
Coran had been surveying the patrons as a matter of habit and spotted something he did not expect.  “Put a hold on that drink,” he said and touched his companion’s arm, then pointed across the room.  Sitting at a table and drinking with several locals was a man with pale hair.  Next to him was another familiar man with a patch over his left eye.

             
“Naras?”  Devon asked.

             
“Yeah.  Let’s go find out why he is here.”  Coran pushed through the crowd without apology as his attention was focused on his mysterious adversary. 

             
Naras looked up and saw him; his eyes went wide and he jumped up from his chair, but Coran was already on top of him.  The other man stood as well and fingered the knife at his belt.  They all stared at each other, the threat of violence hanging in the air.  Others noticed as well and prudently backed away.

             
“Do you really want to do this?”  Coran asked trying to avoid a fight in such a crowded environment.              

             
Naras hesitated, then smiled slyly.  He lifted his hands up away from his weapons, his partner followed suit after a brief glance was exchanged.  “I have no desire to fight you, but my friends might.” 

             
Coran glanced around at the men watching.  One of them was a hulking man with a brooding face and wild hair sticking up above his head.  He moved between Coran and Naras.

             
“What do you want with my friend here?” he said ominously.  Several others were backing away to avoid the conflict.  Whatever their feelings they were not going to get involved with two lords.

             
“I think you should back off,” Coran said in an even tone that carried a threat of his own.  “These men are wanted for their involvement in a murder.”

             
The large man eyed their clothing.  “You may be lords, but even you need proof.  Who wants him?”

             
“The High Queen.”  That made the man look around uncomfortably and set a buzzing among the crowd.

             
“Anyone could say that,” the man protested, but it wasn’t as strong.

             
“They could,” Coran stated without taking his gaze from the giant.

             
Unable to face it any longer the man finally backed down.  “Sorry.  If you need anything let me know.”  He ducked his head and moved away.

             
“Never seen Lemm back away once he was set on a fight.”  Someone commented from the gathered patrons.

             
“See the hawk...” another said.

             
Naras kept his hands where they were through the exchange and shook his head ruefully at the result.  “You have me all wrong.”  He made no move towards his weapons now that he knew he would receive no help from the other patrons, and that they might now be sent against them.

             
Devon stepped forward cautiously and removed the two’s belt knives and unbuckled their sword belts which fell to the floor with a pair of heavy thunks. 

             
“I think we can have a seat now and discuss some things,” Coran offered.  They complied and a moment later they sat around the square table.  Devon and Coran had their knives out and ready to use.  “We can start with what you know.”  He directed his question at Naras since he seemed to be the one in charge.

             
“Me?” Naras stated with exaggerated innocence.  “I don’t know anything.”

             
“I know that you were the one who set an assassin on me in Westhaven.  And organized the ambush in the woods.”

             
“Hey now.  I just do what I am paid to do,” the white-haired man protested.

             
“Who is paying you?” Coran said forcefully.

             
“You know who.”

             
Elthzidor.  The name didn’t have to be said aloud.  “What are you doing for him in the North?”

             
“Nothing,” Naras said simply.  “I like to enjoy the scenery, don’t you?”  His smile was mocking.  The knife was at his throat in a heartbeat.

             
“Now you are going to tell me the truth.  When I am satisfied with what you tell me I am going to leave you with the local authorities.  If you decide not to cooperate I am going to cut your throat right here.”  He pressed the sharp blade against the skin, producing a trickle of blood.  “Do we understand each other?”              

             
Naras gasped at the pain.  “Yes.  I will tell you.  Don’t kill me.”  Coran couldn’t tell if the last statement was sarcastic or not.  The knife was removed and Naras put a hand to his throat.  It came away with some blood on it.  “You don’t play around.  I like that.”

             
Coran ignored the word play.  “First tell me about what you did in Westhaven.  Was it Elthzidor who paid you to kill me?”

             
Naras looked him in the eye and smiled with amusement.  “The attack in the forest was his idea.  But you were only supposed to be wounded, not killed.”

             
“Then why send the assassin to my room?”  Coran asked in confusion.  The other thing he was confused about was Naras’ quick change in emotions.  He went from smug to frightened too fast for it all to be genuine. 

             
“That was not Elthzidor.”  He shrugged.  “I can work for more than one person at a time.”

             
“Torvilin,” Devon guessed with disgust.  “We were right in the first place.”

             
Naras nodded his head at the guess.  “The man I hired was supposed to be very good.  Oh, well.  I didn’t have to pay him the other half of the money I owed him for doing the job.”

             
“Why would Torvilin want you dead then accept your challenge?  He could have put it off for a day and you would have been dead to his thinking,” Devon reasoned.               

             
“Pride,” Coran answered.  “He could not give up the chance to beat me before I died.  It would have been a double victory for him.”  He kept his face on Naras the whole time.  “Why are you here in the North?  Did you have anything to do with the war in Grendin?”

             
“I only carried the gold,” insisted Naras.  “The plan was not mine.”

             
“Carried the gold to whom?  Lord Oscan?” Coran guessed.

             
“You seem pretty well informed.  Yes.  Oscan.”

             
“And the raids here?”               Naras glanced around uncomfortably.  He wouldn’t want anyone to know he was involved in that business.  If they found out he would be torn apart on the spot.  That was probably why he backed down from a fight, to keep Coran from yelling it out.  “I admit that I had to convince some of them to go along with it, but the plan was Elthzidor’s.  I found Gorod who already had a price on his head.  The man is mad.  He was supposed to stir up trouble between the Midians and Northmen.  He did that all right, slaughtered a whole town.  On the second raid he took a hostage.  She is the niece of the Warden of the North.”

             
That worried Coran.  It made the whole thing even more personal for the people around here.  No wonder they were in such a frenzy.  “Then Lord Nevil goes searching Northern villages with an army at his back, and the Northmen respond to the invasion of their soil.  Very neat.”

             
“That was the plan,” Naras agreed.  He was far too pleased with himself, especially after he sounded remorseful in giving the facts.

             
“What else are you up to?”

             
“Nothing,” Naras replied.  “If anything else is going on to the south it is without my knowledge.”

             
“What about Torvilin?  He is connected to Elthzidor isn’t he?”

             
“Yes, but they have their own arrangement.  I don’t know what it is.”

             
Coran had to think for another question.  He knew he should be coming up with better ones.  “Who is the spy in Summerhall?” 

             
That Naras acted surprised was evident when his eyes and mouth went wide.  “I don’t know anything about a spy.”

             
The knife went back to his neck.  “We both know that is a lie.  So why don’t you save yourself another scar and tell me what I want to know.”              

             
“All right.  I really don’t know who it is.  There may be more than one, but I do know that whoever the person is they are close to the Sundarrions.”

             
“If you have never met them then how do you know how close they are?”  Coran said, hoping to trip him up with his own words.

             
“I know by the information that I get.  I receive the messages by a third party and that is as much as I know.”  Naras closed his mouth tightly.

             
“Who is the third party?”  Coran asked, but he had an idea of the answer before he was told.

             
“The Orgog.”  He saw his confusion and explained further.  “Those things that attacked you?  They are called Orgog, and they carry the messages by night so no one can see them.”

             
“We know what they are called.”  Gelarus would be pleased to know he was right.  That explained how they seemed to know things so quickly.  The Orgog could fly the information much faster than it could be transported by horse, even if they had to hide during the day.  It was time to get something helpful out of this man.  So far it was information they had already guessed at.  Perhaps that was why he gave it.  “You need to give me something good if I am going to believe you.  Tell me where this Gorod is hiding.”

             
Naras seemed to be weighing his options.  Perhaps thinking how much he could reveal and still stay alive.  “North of the boundary there is an area of lakes and wetlands, partly frozen by now, but he is hiding in there somewhere.  He moves his camp around.”