A Sellsword's Compassion_Book One of the Seven Virtues Read online

  A hard look came in her eyes, and when she spoke her voice was little more than a snarl, “Women and children were dragged from their homes, kicking and screaming and burned alive. No, Eladen’s armies are loyal to him and to his cause, but with Eladen dead and no one to lead them, their loyalty will lie with their families. As for the nobles, it is my belief that Claudius, Eladen’s second in command and now ruler of his capital city of Baresh and all its surrounding lands, works for Belgarin. In fact, I believe that he was instrumental in my brother’s capture.”

  Aaron shrugged. “You still haven’t told me what any of this has to do with me. I’m just a common sellsword, lady, not some tourney knight in gilded armor.”

  “I want to hire you.” She said. “Claudius has ever been a coward and a fool, but the man beneath Claudius, Ervine Deckard, is a good man. If something was to happen to that simpering craven Claudius, Deckard would gain control of the north’s army, and he would not stand idly by as Belgarin marched in and put the city to the sword.”

  Aaron shook his head. “You must be out of your mind, lady. What do you think this is one of your nurse’s stories? At least with the last job it was a short walk to nearly get myself killed. Now you want me to journey halfway across Telrear, somehow sneak into a castle and assassinate the land’s new ruler; this all in opposition to the most powerful man in the nation, a man who—by your own admission—enjoys making examples of people? Impossible. And even if I did manage it, the people wouldn’t thank me. I’d get the executioner’s axe if I was lucky, but more likely, they’d make me suffer before I traveled the Keeper’s Fields.”

  “You will have help.”

  He laughed harshly, “What kind of help? Are you able to call Talen, God of soldiers on command? Or, even better, Iladen? Because for a job like this, a man couldn’t have enough luck.”

  Her cold blue eyes did not waver from his gaze. “You know that I cannot. You will be well compensated.”

  He sighed, “Let me guess, fifty virgins? An honorable place among the minor gods, maybe? Am I to rub shoulders with Hectar, the god of Blacksmithing? Sit for a drink with Oberon, God of ale and inns?” He shook his head, “I don’t think so.”

  “Damn you,” Adina snapped, her composure breaking, “Don’t you care about anything but yourself?”

  My parents. Owen. But they’re all dead. Aaron forced the thoughts down with a will, smiling to cover his anger, “Not really. I’m not much for causes, princess. They have a way of getting good men killed.” He shrugged, “Well, men anyway.”

  She took a deep breath and made a visible effort to calm herself. “What happened to you? What made you hate people so much? What made you lose your belief?”

  His expression turned hard, and she looked away from his cold gaze. “Life. That’s what happened. Not that I expect a princess to know anything about it. Kind of hard to learn about loss when you’ve got people like these fools waiting on you hand and foot. When you were a child, sitting in your castle, and spending your time mocking the dirty peasants or fretting over whether to wear the blue silk or the white, us common people were busy dying for you and your family’s causes.”

  Adina recoiled as if slapped, a look of genuine hurt on her face. You wound her to no end, Co said in his mind.

  Life wounds, he thought back harshly, best that she starts learning it.

  “I cannot help my birth,” The princess said finally, her voice little more than a whisper, “but don’t you understand that you could save hundreds? Thousands?”

  “Yeah, or die for nothing and feed the maggots in a land I’ve never been to. The Downs aren’t much, princess, but they’re my home—as much of one as I have, anyway. Now let’s stop wasting each other’s time. I have enough to worry about now that I’m being hunted by the gods know how many assassins, and I’m sure there are things you need to be doing for your little rebellion.” He rose from the table slowly, careful not to put too much of his weight on his wounded leg. The wound didn’t hurt much, only itched, but he wasn’t prepared to risk falling on his face again. It wouldn’t have fit well with the kind of exit he planned on making. “There’s nothing you can offer me that is worth my life. Good day, Adina.”

  He was halfway to the door when she spoke, “Fifteen thousand gold coins.”

  He stopped and let out a deep sigh. “You just don’t learn do you?” He asked, not bothering to turn around. “A dead man has no use for coins.”

  He started for the door again. “Fifty thousand.” She said.

  Gryle gasped, “Princess, you can’t.”

  “The treasury will matter little if Belgarin takes control of Baresh, Gryle.” The princess said in a tired voice. She said something else, too, but by that time Aaron wasn’t listening. Fifty thousand gold. With that kind of money, he could live like a king for years.

  I wish that we could help her, Co spoke in his mind, but you’re right; it would be suicide.

  You think it unwise?

  Of course.

  He nodded and turned back to Adina. “That settles it then. You give me traveling money and pay for expenses. When the job’s done, fifty thousand marks and not a penny less.”

  For a moment, she looked as if she was about to smile, but instead she only nodded, “You have my word.”

  He shrugged, “I don’t care for your word, but your gold will do.” How do you like that, firefly? He thought smugly, looks like we’re going on a little trip. Maybe next time you’ll think twice before making me blubber over a man I’ve never met.

  A wave of feminine laughter washed over him, and he frowned, confused. Wait a minute … you said you didn’t want to … “Damn.”

  The princess and the chamberlain jumped in surprise at his shout, and the two guards went for their swords. “W-what is it?” She asked.

  “Nothing,” Aaron said, “it’s nothing.” He jerked a thumb at the two guards, “Now, tell Butch and Woofers there to heel. We’ve got things to discuss.”

  CHAPTER

  SEVEN

  “I said no, damnit.” Aaron sat back in his chair, sighing. They’d been at it for hours now, and he was growing impatient. “You’re not coming. I’m going to have a hard enough time avoiding getting killed by one army or another without carting around a princess and her handmaid,” he said, gesturing to Gryle, “Might as well kill us both now and save us the walk.”

  “He’s quite right, princess,” The chamberlain agreed, choosing to gloss over the handmaid comment, “it is much too dangerous on the road. Belgarin’s spies and thugs are everywhere. It would be better to find a nice, quiet place to—“

  “No, Gryle.” Adina said, “I will not stand idly by while Belgarin throws all of Telrear into chaos.” She turned to Aaron, “You need me.”

  He laughed, “I hate to tell you, princess, but I need you like I need the plague. What do you think we’re just going to ride off and make everything right? I’m no story book hero, and this is no fairy tale. This is life, and in life there are no happy endings.”

  The princess said something, but Aaron wasn’t listening. He felt something, at the back of his awareness like a thing seen from the corner of a man’s eye. Something wasn’t—there are men approaching, Co said, her voice worried, you must go.

  “—really would be better if—“ Gryle was saying.

  “Shut up,” Aaron said, “listen.” The chamberlain looked hurt, as if he was a child being sent to bed early, but he lapsed into silence. Aaron cocked his head, listening for any betraying sound but could hear nothing except the rapid beating of his own heart. Despite this, the feeling of foreboding didn’t subside. How many?

  Too many, the Virtue answered, and he could hear the fear in her voice.

  Good enough for me. “They know we’re here.” He said, abruptly rising to his feet. “We have to move.” The two brothers—who’d been standing like statues throughout the course of the discussion—jumped into action, vanishing into the bedroom and appearing in the doorway moments later, each wie
lding a curved, wicked looking sword. Eagan or Deagan—Aaron couldn’t tell which—tossed him his knives, still in their sheathes, and his sword. He strapped the sword on his back, hiding it under his cloak, and secured the knives at his waist.

  Where are they?

  See for yourself.

  Aaron gasped as strange sensations rolled over him in silent, invisible waves of force. One moment he felt as if a thousand pins were piercing him, the next, he felt as if he was being buoyed up by something, held aloft in a raging sea of torment. Then that feeling, too, was gone, and he was overcome with a sense of something slick and greasy, that left him feeling dirty in its wake.

  He dropped to one knee, closing his eyes and holding his head between shaking hands. It’s too much. He thought, it’s too loud. Make it stop. He let out a pained groan. He could hear the others speaking to him, but he couldn’t make out their words past storm in his thoughts.

  Focus, Co hissed, you have to focus. Do not try to take it all in at once. You are too close.

  A hand touched his shoulder, and he jerked away, snarling in sudden rage and bloodthirst. Kill. I have to kill them. Belgarin will be pleased. The thoughts, not his own, crowded in his mind insistently, pushing against his consciousness, making his head feel as if it was going to explode. Then, as abruptly as the fury had come, it was gone. What replaced it was still anger, but of a different kind. He was angry at his brother, Belgarin, at what he’d become, at the atrocities that he’d subjected the people of Telrear to. It was a cold, powerful anger, but tempered with hope, with a belief Aaron hadn’t possessed since he’d found his parents murdered—the belief that, somehow, things would work out. It was a strange, unfamiliar feeling, but another instant passed and it too was gone, replaced by fear. Fear that he would fail his Mistress, that he wouldn’t be able to help her to make the right decisions, that, in the end, he was useless, and that he would fail in his promise to his King.

  More thoughts crowded into his mind, too many to count, a raging sea of fear and anger and hate, and he felt himself being pulled apart by the force of it. Aaron! A voice screamed in his head, and suddenly the voices, the thoughts, grew silent. Concentrate. You must not let yourself be swept away. Look closely.

  He stared into the churning tempest inside his mind, and as he watched, the wants and desires began to coalesce into vague shapes. After a moment, he could make out the outline of the room he was in, could distinguish the forms of the others as roiling masses of various colors, each color, he knew instinctively, representing an emotion in a way that his mind could make sense of. Turning, he looked at the wall, looked past it, and into the street. Outside of the small house’s door, a group of men gathered in the street, their forms blazing angry reds with coiling chains of a sickly green he took for selfishness and ambition snaking their way through each.

  He shook his head, expelling the vision with no idea as to how he did it. His sight snapped back to his body with a sickening, disorienting lurch that left him dizzy. He barely managed to fight back the urge to vomit, and when he came to his feet he saw that Adina and the chamberlain were staring at him with wide eyes. Even one of the brothers watched him with an eyebrow raised. “There are twelve of them,” he gasped, out of breath, “Too damned many.” He turned to the princess, “Tell me you’ve got another way out of here.”

  The woman met his gaze, and he could see the question there. He said nothing and finally she shook her head “That is the only door.”

  “Well,” he said grimly, “that’s that then. Sure you can’t call up a couple of Akalians? The bastards would be awful handy right about now.”

  “No. Those men came to me. They told me that you were being hunted, and I sent Gryle to bring you back. I’ve no idea why they got involved.”

  The window.

  Aaron smacked himself in the forehead, Thanks, firefly. “Come on.” He rushed into the room where he’d slept, not bothering to see if the others were following, and eyed the window. It would be a tight fit for the brothers, but that’s what the bastards got for being so damned big. The chamberlain let out a squeak of fear as someone knocked on the door loudly. “Go,” Aaron said, grabbing Adina and pushing her toward the window, “We’ve got to go before the bastards get smart and circle around.”

  The princess hurried to the window and climbed out, dropping to the ground on the other side. “You next.” The sellsword said, motioning to the chamberlain.

  The man nearly slipped on his own feet in his haste. He made it through the opening up to his gut and then grunted with effort as his bulk got stuck in the frame. Aaron used his boot to help the man along, and the chamberlain squealed in surprise, grunting as he hit the paving stones of the street.

  A second series of knocks banged against the door, louder and more insistent than the first. He turned back to the two men. “Come on, guys. You’re next.”

  The two brothers shook their heads, and he saw that they hadn’t sheathed the large, strangely curved swords. “You go.” One of them said.

  He stared first at one and then the other, taking in the grim set of their jaws, and the determined look in their eyes. “You mean to stay,” he said, incredulous.

  The two nodded. “We will hold them as long as we can.” The one who hadn’t spoken before said, “You must protect the princess.”

  I don’t give a damn about the princess, Aaron thought. “Don’t be fools. We have to go, now.”

  There was a resounding crash in the room beyond. Another hit like that, maybe two, and they’d be in for sure. “You’re out of your damn minds,” Aaron shouted, “you’re talking about suicide.”

  The two brothers smiled small, knowing smiles. “Keep her safe.” Something smashed against the door, and Aaron heard the wood crack. The two brothers met each other’s gaze, nodded, and walked out, closing the door behind them.

  “Damned idiots.” Aaron started for the door then stopped, looking back at the window. There could be others out there, creeping up on the princess and the fat man even now. The two of them wouldn’t stand a chance. Of course, neither would the brothers, not against that many. As soon as the door came down, the fools would probably be peppered with arrows.

  They chose their fate, Co said, her voice low and sad, it is a noble end. You must look to the princess.

  “A pointless end,” Aaron grunted, fighting back an unfamiliar tide of emotion that threatened to overwhelm him, “but you’re right about the last.” He started toward the window, “After all, if she dies, who’s going to pay me?” Another crack, louder than the first two, split the silence. That’ll be the door coming down. He broke into a run and did not look back as he dove through the window and into the waiting daylight.

  CHAPTER

  EIGHT

  Aaron scanned the nearly empty street with a frown, his hands on his blades. On an average day, the streets would be packed with people. Merchants would set up stalls and hawk wares ranging from the cheap to the extravagant—the latter of which had often once belonged to some unlucky noble or rich merchant from the finer parts of the city. Avarest’s poor would shuffle home from a long day of work that rarely left them enough coin to feed their families, their gazes downcast and empty. Interspersed between these unfortunate souls, one could always pick out nobles, lords and ladies out for a day of slumming, searching to fill some perverse hunger that could only be sated in the dark by-ways of the Downs, and though they no doubt thought their disguises made them blend in with everyone else, they could easily be spotted by their manner and the inbred arrogance that clothed their kind far more thoroughly than any robe or tunic ever could.

  Drifting through and around the nobles and the poor alike, one could always find those who made their livelihood from the suffering or desperation of others: Pickpockets, muggers, sneakthieves, sellers of “magical” medallions and trinkets, whores, all of them watching and waiting for the opportunity to make use of their own personal brand of thievery. From time to time, priests would travel through the Downs,
condemning the citizens for their lawlessness and threatening them with the names of their gods if they did not repent—such as these were often found in some back alley the next day, their clothes and possessions gone, their throats slit by some kind citizen who decided to send them to their gods early. To Aaron’s mind, the fools got what they deserved. After all, who wanted to hear about repentance while their children starved?

  The nobles often gave speeches about the blatant, appalling crimes that took place in the Downs but it was rare that anything ever came of it. Aaron believed that in part, this was due to the fact that the ruling council of Avarest generally concluded that it wasn’t worth the vast expenditure of money and manpower it would take to tame the city’s poor district, but mostly, he suspected, it was because the nobles, for all their talk, enjoyed indulging in the darker pleasures the Downs offered too much to risk losing them.

  Still, from time to time, the city guard would march into the poor district in force, scattering the poor and the criminal alike as if they were mice fleeing from a brush fire. After such cleansings, the crimes would stop. At least, for a while. Then a day would pass, or a week, and slowly, inevitably they would begin again. The nobles enjoyed hearing themselves talk about the Downs as an evil, godless district, but as far as Aaron was concerned, everyone was out to screw you if they could get something out of the deal. At least the people of the Downs were honest about it.

  Still, crime-filled or not, Avarest’s poor district held the vast majority of its population, and in the middle of a cool autumn day like this one, the streets should have been packed with people spending money and stealing it in nearly equal measure. Instead, the lane was nearly deserted. A short distance away, an old woman haggled angrily with a stall keeper. The argument was heated, but seemed half-hearted to Aaron, a feeling that only increased as he watched them scan the street constantly with nervous, shifting gazes. Farther on, a beggar dressed in ratty clothes shook a can against the paved street. Clink, clink, clink.