in the tavern. He grimaced at the memory,
battered mouth pursing in distaste. If Bracht frequented such low
establishments, he doubtless considered Calandiyll no more than a pampered boy,
the Domm's spoiled son. It was foolish to have thought he might be the comrade
foreseen by Reba.
Then
his dark musings were interrupted by a shout and he looked up to see a squad of
watchmen approaching. There were five of them, surcoats emblazoned with the
emblem of Secca over mail shirts, swords at their sides and curve-billed
halberds on their shoulders. The officer shouted again and Calandryll realized
the cry was directed at Bracht.
The
mercenary halted. Calandryll stopped alongside. On both sides of the avenue
passersby paused to watch and women hung from balconies, idly studying the
entertainment.
The
watchmen drew up facing the pair, halberds at the ready now. Their captain
stepped forward, his features stem.
"Lord
Calandryll? Praise Dera we've found you. There are search parties all over the
city."
Calandryll
felt embarrassed by the attention. He saw folk pointing at him; heard a woman
call, "Shall I tend those bruises, sweet?" He felt his cheeks flush.
"What
happened to you?" asked the watchcaptain. "This bravo put those marks
on you?"
He
was about to say, "No," but Bracht spoke first, clearly angered by
the groundless accusation.
"You've
a quick tongue."
"Hold
yours," returned the officer curtly, "I'm talking to Lord
Calandryll."
"He saved me," Calandryll
interposed, seeing that the Kern's hand dropped to his swordhilt. "He
rescued me from a beating."
The
watchcaptain studied Bracht insolently. "A mercenary, eh? What are you, a
horseherder?"
"A
Kem," Bracht responded tightly, "Yes."
The
officer grunted. "Well, the young lord's safe now. You can leave him with
us."
"There's
a matter of ten varre," Bracht said.
"A
mercenary," the captain repeated, this time lading the word with contempt.
"And you want your money, eh?"
"Yes,"
Bracht said.
"Not
enough you get the honor of saving the Domm's son?" the watchman demanded.
Bracht's
answer was a shrug.
"I
promised him," Calandryll said. "He saved my life."
"I've
orders to bring you to the palace," said the watchman. "Nothing about
paying some Kem mercenary."
"He
can come with us," Calandryll decided. Then, turning to Bracht, "Come
to the palace and I'll see you paid."
"Very
well," the Kem agreed.
Calandryll
had hoped that he might slip unobserved into the palace, at least change his
bloodied, wine-stained clothing and bathe before confronting his father,
but it was not to be. The watchcaptain marched his squad resolutely up to the
gates and loudly presented his charge to the officer of the Palace Guard
waiting there. Calandryll found himself the object of the guards' attention,
discipline holding their faces straight but amusement clear in their eyes. Tne
officer in charge looked him up and down, then stared at Bracht, raised brows
framing a question.
“I
owe him money," Calandryll muttered. "He saved my life."
Bracht
grinned at the officer, who nodded and said, "If you will follow me, Lord
Calandryll?"
"I
need fresh clothes," Calandryll declared.
"I
have orders to bring you directly to your father," the officer returned,
and spun about, barking orders that brought a squad of five soldiers to
attention, an unwelcome guard of
battered mouth pursing in distaste. If Bracht frequented such low
establishments, he doubtless considered Calandiyll no more than a pampered boy,
the Domm's spoiled son. It was foolish to have thought he might be the comrade
foreseen by Reba.
Then
his dark musings were interrupted by a shout and he looked up to see a squad of
watchmen approaching. There were five of them, surcoats emblazoned with the
emblem of Secca over mail shirts, swords at their sides and curve-billed
halberds on their shoulders. The officer shouted again and Calandryll realized
the cry was directed at Bracht.
The
mercenary halted. Calandryll stopped alongside. On both sides of the avenue
passersby paused to watch and women hung from balconies, idly studying the
entertainment.
The
watchmen drew up facing the pair, halberds at the ready now. Their captain
stepped forward, his features stem.
"Lord
Calandryll? Praise Dera we've found you. There are search parties all over the
city."
Calandryll
felt embarrassed by the attention. He saw folk pointing at him; heard a woman
call, "Shall I tend those bruises, sweet?" He felt his cheeks flush.
"What
happened to you?" asked the watchcaptain. "This bravo put those marks
on you?"
He
was about to say, "No," but Bracht spoke first, clearly angered by
the groundless accusation.
"You've
a quick tongue."
"Hold
yours," returned the officer curtly, "I'm talking to Lord
Calandryll."
"He saved me," Calandryll
interposed, seeing that the Kern's hand dropped to his swordhilt. "He
rescued me from a beating."
The
watchcaptain studied Bracht insolently. "A mercenary, eh? What are you, a
horseherder?"
"A
Kem," Bracht responded tightly, "Yes."
The
officer grunted. "Well, the young lord's safe now. You can leave him with
us."
"There's
a matter of ten varre," Bracht said.
"A
mercenary," the captain repeated, this time lading the word with contempt.
"And you want your money, eh?"
"Yes,"
Bracht said.
"Not
enough you get the honor of saving the Domm's son?" the watchman demanded.
Bracht's
answer was a shrug.
"I
promised him," Calandryll said. "He saved my life."
"I've
orders to bring you to the palace," said the watchman. "Nothing about
paying some Kem mercenary."
"He
can come with us," Calandryll decided. Then, turning to Bracht, "Come
to the palace and I'll see you paid."
"Very
well," the Kem agreed.
Calandryll
had hoped that he might slip unobserved into the palace, at least change his
bloodied, wine-stained clothing and bathe before confronting his father,
but it was not to be. The watchcaptain marched his squad resolutely up to the
gates and loudly presented his charge to the officer of the Palace Guard
waiting there. Calandryll found himself the object of the guards' attention,
discipline holding their faces straight but amusement clear in their eyes. Tne
officer in charge looked him up and down, then stared at Bracht, raised brows
framing a question.
“I
owe him money," Calandryll muttered. "He saved my life."
Bracht
grinned at the officer, who nodded and said, "If you will follow me, Lord
Calandryll?"
"I
need fresh clothes," Calandryll declared.
"I
have orders to bring you directly to your father," the officer returned,
and spun about, barking orders that brought a squad of five soldiers to
attention, an unwelcome guard of
Similar Books
