The Three Lands Omnibus Part 22

Carle muttered something under his breath, but made no other comment, for now we were amidst the early evening crowd gathered in the square by the prison next the gate a a thinning crowd, for with the sun down, people were beginning to make their way home. I spared no glance for the town prison, where Blackpa.s.s's apprehended criminals were housed briefly before their branding or beating or death or a in the worst cases a enslavement. If Carle and I were arrested as foreign border-breachers, it was far more likely that we would be taken to the army prison, which was at the other end of town. The army prison, unlike the town prison, was run by men who were trained to question prisoners.

This unhappy thought of mine was raised by the sight of a group of soldiers, making their way slowly through the crowd and stopping men occasionally to quiz them. No doubt they were seeking kin of the King's bloodline, in case such men had come to fulfill their blood vows against the baron's kin, but since I held the wrong lineage, I was no more eager to be questioned by the soldiers than if they had suspected that Carle and I had breached the border.

Carle, without needing to be told any of this, steered us out of the square, into one of the dark alleys. This, I could have told Carle, was no safer a place at night than the square had been. I pulled my belt-dagger from its sheath.

Carle, raising his eyebrows, did the same, and we made our way cautiously to the end of the alley, my gaze flicking back and forth between the dark doorways we were pa.s.sing. I had only been foolish enough to enter a Blackpa.s.s alley once after dark, when I was young, and on that occasion, Hamar, who had just been taught his blade skills, had bravely held off our attacker while I ran for my father, who had settled the matter by sword-skewering our attacker. That a seven-year-old boy had been able to hold back a grown man did not say much about the blade-skills of Blackpa.s.s's thieves, but I did not want to chance the possibility of meeting a thief whose manner of greeting us would be to stab us in the back.

We made it safely to the end of the alley. Carle and I had no sooner slid our daggers back into our sheaths than, stepping out of the alley, Carle b.u.mped into a Koretian carrying an armful of crates.

Without a word, I spun and thrust Carle back into the alley. I heard him sputter, but I had no time to explain. By the time the Koretian recovered from his near fall, I was the only man standing in front of him.

The Koretian carefully placed the crates on the ground and stood looking at me. We did nothing but eye each other for a moment. He was perhaps ten years older than me, and not hot-tempered, for he was watching me with due consideration. But he was frowning, which was not a good sign.

Finally, delicately, he placed his fingers over the tip of his sheath. "You should have watched where you were going."

I copied his gesture, keeping my gaze fixed on his. "I took a wrong turn. I am not familiar with the pattern of this town."

"Then you should have learned it before you came here." As he spoke, he slid his hand up toward the top of the sheath.

"Blackpa.s.s is known for its welcome of strangers. Is that reputation undeserved, then?" I asked. This time I went beyond his gesture, sliding my hand straight up onto my hilt.

His eyes flickered, but he did not hesitate to move his own hand onto his dagger hilt. "That depends on the behavior of the stranger."

"And if the stranger were to apologize?" I kept my hand unmoving on the hilt, waiting, my heart beating.

For a long moment, we both stood there, hands on hilt, while I tried to calculate my chances if he drew his blade. Then, with a smile, he let his hand fall from his dagger. "No need. I should have been more alert. May I give you directions to your destiny?"

"The market," I replied as I gratefully took my hand from my dagger. It was the first thought that came to my head; many people visited Blackpa.s.s merely to see its market.

"Ah, of course. Well, to avoid the alleys, you need only turn here, make your way to the end of the street ..."

Within a short time we had exchanged first names and promises to host each other for dinner, and I had received a delicate suggestion from the Koretian that he had a younger female cousin who would be not unwilling to meet a handsome young man like me. This offer made me laugh so much that the Koretian's mouth quirked. "Don't tell me," he said. "You're of the wrong lineage."

"Very much so. -Not," I added, as I saw his brows rise, "that I'm here to cause trouble. It's just a friendly visit."

"Sneaking in to see forbidden territory?" he suggested with a smile. "How I remember that impulse. I was not so much younger than you when- Ah, well, the older one gets, the fewer opportunities one has to play pranks. I miss them sometimes... . By the way, you can tell your friend to come out of the alley. He's likely to be robbed of the tunic on his back if he stays in there much longer." And with a wave of the hand, he gave me the free-man's greeting and departed.

Carle, staring at the Koretian's back, waited until he was beyond hearing distance before saying, "The Chara should recruit him as a spy. I'd swear that he didn't have time to see me before you shoved me in there."

"I'm sorry," I said.

Carle turned to me with a smile. "I'm not. I've always wanted to see how Koretians duel."

"We weren't duelling," I explained as he and I began to walk down the street in the direction that the Koretian had pointed us. "We were trying to keep from duelling."

"Why not apologize at once, then?" Carle asked. His gaze started to drift toward a masked slave who was pa.s.sing us; I quickly took hold of his arm and pulled him past this danger.

"Because he might have regarded that as a weakness," I said, trying to distract Carle from the slave. "You're expected to protect your manhood against challenge here."

"Mm." Carle mused on this a moment, then said unexpectedly, "I can understand that, to a certain extent. It's how Emor treats foreign powers: we show them we're strong before we negotiate for peace. Even so ... Am I miscounting, Adrian, or have our lives been in danger four times since we arrived in this town a quarter of an hour ago? How do Koretians manage to survive to adulthood?"

We were still laughing a a rather dark laughter that released us from our earlier tension a when we reached the market.

I don't suppose that, back in the days when I was writing this journal for my imaginary Emorian reader, I ever bothered to explain about the market in Blackpa.s.s. It's the only market of its kind in the world: it is located underground. It was built that way because it's the northernmost of Koretia's town markets; occasionally the winter will grow so chill that it's warmer to be undercover in Blackpa.s.s than to be outside. The earliest inhabitants of the borderland, realizing this, dug a tunnel right through a hill in the village that grew to be the town of Blackpa.s.s. The town market is thought to be older than Koretia itself a older even than the man-built caves in Capital Mountain, for the borderland was settled many years before southern Koretia was.

The market walls, which are made of quarried stone, have been rebuilt countless times; I could see, as we entered into their shelter, that the walls had recently been renovated by Blackpa.s.s's energetic baron. The market shone bright with lamplight, and its stalls were still filled with food and goods, even at this late hour. Carle, his eyes lively with curiosity, led us from stall to stall, unnoticed by any but the boys hired by some merchants to prevent thieves from taking goods.

Before long, my stomach was snarling. Carle, with a grin at me, launched without preliminary into a long, fiery negotiation with a cheese merchant. I watched the pa.s.sersby somewhat nervously, but no soldiers walked by, and Carle's Border Koretian was good enough to pa.s.s with the merchant, who a his accent and his taciturn manner clearly told a was a native of central Koretia.

"Done!" said Carle finally, having driven down the price for a wedge of cheese and two hunks of bread to the four coppers that were, in fact, all the Koretian money we carried in our thigh-pockets. "Now, you will, of course, grant us the courtesy of a flask of water ..."

The second negotiation was even more fiery than the first, but Carle emerged triumphant, while I offered a bland, rea.s.suring smile to a couple of soldiers who glanced our way as they pa.s.sed us.

"Five," said Carle, his mouth full of cheese as we walked.

"Five?" I replied, looking left and right for a place to sit.

"Those soldiers represent our fifth brush with death. Unless you count my atrocious attempts to speak Border Koretian."

"You'd pa.s.s as a borderlander to a central Koretian," I a.s.sured him.

"But not to a borderlander? I was afraid of that. Quentin has helped me to brush up my skills over the years, but since Fenton knew the tongue only from book-learning when I was a child- Ah, here's a place."

We had reached the far end of the market, an area that had evidently only recently been added to the underground tunnel, for there were tree stumps on the floor. We made our way to a trio of stumps and sat down on two of them. For a while, there was no sound as Carle and I eagerly filled our stomachs with the good country cheese and fresh-baked bread and clear well-water.

The area where we sat was surrounded on all sides by stalls. Dimly, far beyond us, I could see the whitewashed stone blocks that held the earth back from smothering us, but the looming presence of these blocks was less obvious than the bright lamps, the cheerful calls of stall-hawkers, and the laughter of men and women and children who were fetching their meals after their day's work. Soldiers pa.s.sed by from time to time, but most of them were off-duty, their hands filled with food or goods.

One of them, after glancing round the stumps, came over to stand beside us. "Mind if I join you, sirs?" he said.

I hesitated, thinking of Carle's not-quite-perfect Border Koretian, but Carle filled the silence. "By all means," he said in Common Koretian that sounded as though he had learned that dialect in his cradle. "I was just telling my new acquaintance here" a he nodded toward me a "that we have nothing like this in the south."

"Oh?" said the soldier blankly as he sat himself down on the third stump and began spreading out his meal on his lap: some cornbread and beans. "Well, I suppose there aren't many markets this big, are there?" He squinted uncertainly at the stalls.

A mud-footed soldier, I thought, relaxing. We had nothing to fear from him.

Judging from the slight twitch at the edge of Carle's mouth, he shared my judgment, but all that he said was, "The King himself would envy the way your baron keeps his town in such splendor."

The soldier shrugged as he unsheathed his dagger in order to stab at his bread. "I suppose so. If the King wasn't busy trying to cut Blackwood's throat."

This gave me the opening I needed. "This gentleman" a I waved my remaining crust of bread vaguely in Carle's direction a "was asking me how the feud started. I had to confess I have never heard the tale, not being a soldier."

The soldier straightened his spine. Mud-footed and vain, I thought. The perfect combination.

"Oh, certainly, we know all about it in the army," said the soldier. "It started with a dead chicken."

Carle and I exchanged looks. "A ... dead chicken?" I said.

"Yes, run over by a cart, or something like that," the soldier replied as he munched on a mouthful of beans. Bits of beans were already sticking, in an unappetizing fas.h.i.+on, to his beard. Carle silently handed him a face-cloth, which the soldier took with a word of thanks. Then he used it to wipe off the mud from his boots before handing the filthy cloth back to Carle. Carle made no remark on this; he merely slipped the cloth back into his belt-purse, saying, "A chicken? Nothing more than that?"

"Yes, just an ordinary feud." The soldier was now cramming more cornbread into his mouth. "Didn't look as though it was going to be anything important. Then a priest got killed."

I jumped in my place. Carle, his voice as casual as though we were comparing the quality of daisies in Koretia and Emor, said, "Accidentally, I a.s.sume?"

"Oh, accidentally, certainly." The soldier took the flask of water Carle proffered, poured it over his head, and then shook his head, sending water scattering upon both Carle and me. The soldier appeared not to notice. "Ah, it's good to be out of the heat... . The baron of the village whose hunter had made the mistake even offered up his own life in compensation. Very generous, he was. But the rival baron, he was of the new stock a wouldn't accept a gift from the G.o.ds if he was in the wrong mood. You know the type I mean. He sent his own hunter to avenge the killing. His son, they say. When his son didn't come back, the baron demanded to know whether the young man had been killed. n.o.body in the other village had seen the hunter; the village's priest questioned everyone. Finally, placed under oath, the younger brother of the baron a not the rival baron, you understand, but the one in the village that had made the mistake about the priest a he confessed he'd seen the hunter. He said that the hunter had told him that he a the hunter, that is a didn't wish to fight in the feud anymore. So he a I mean the hunter a broke his blood vow and ran off somewhere." The soldier shrugged. "Lots of shouting back and forth after that between the two villages. The baron of the new n.o.bility said that the hunter was no longer his son, was no longer a member of his village, so their village ought to have the chance to send another hunter in his place. The baron of the other village a the baron of the old n.o.bility a said that the hunter's breaking of his oath ended the feud. That baron wasn't even demanding final blood, for love of the G.o.ds! But the new baron, the stubborn one, wanted to continue the feud till he had won victory. So he appealed the matter to the King, and the other baron appealed the matter to Blackwood ... and you've heard how matters have gone since then, I'm sure."

The cl.u.s.ter of townsfolk was beginning to thin away. Nearby, a stall-keeper removed his remaining goods from the display crates. Another stall-keeper pulled down the flap at the front of his tent. The rest of the townsfolk wandered toward the door leading out of the market.

It was Carle who finally broke the silence. "Blood for blood a yes, we know how these matters go. And the King demanded the blood of Cold Run's baron's brother, someone told me recently. Is Blackwood demanding the blood of Mountside's baron's son?"

The soldier shrugged as he wiped his greasy dagger on his tunic. "I doubt anyone except the original villagers cares about the fate of that hunter any more. There've been too many deaths on both sides since that time."

"And the original villagers?" My voice sounded hollow but calm. "Has Mountside's baron said anything more about his son?"

The soldier shrugged again. The events in that village, understandably, seemed to be of no further interest to him. Carle, smelling the scent on this track begin to fade, switched to a new path. "And amidst this all, the Jackal appears. I have been wondering about that, you know. Why the Jackal should have made his first appearance so close to the villages where the feud began. Do you think it is a coincidence?"

I stared at Carle, at awe once more at his mind's quickness. In the short interval after the time that the soldier told his startling tale, I could not have possibly made the connection between that and Malise's announcement, many months ago, that the Jackal's first appearance in the borderland had been in a village near Mountside.

The soldier smiled. "A jackal always scents the blood of the dead, I suppose? Your guess is as likely to be true as mine. Though my roommate might know."

"Your roommate?" Carle peered down at his flask, now empty of all water.

"Yes, I room with a soldier who's from Borderknoll, originally. He wasn't there when the Jackal appeared, but of course he has family in the village. He might know whether the Jackal said anything about these other villages."

"Really?" Carle's tone was idle as he continued to stare at his flask. "Is your roommate home now?"

"Him?" The soldier roared with laughter. "Not him. He's as much a night-carouser as those decadent Emorians."

"Indeed?" Carle flashed him a smile. "Out all night, sampling the fleshpots, is he?"

"That's him. A girl in each arm, and a cup of wine in each hand. He'll stumble home sated and drunk some time in the night. How he manages to wake himself each morning ..." The soldier shook his head as he rose to his feet. "Me, I'm for an early night. But if you want to meet him, I could bring him by here tomorrow... ." He was eyeing Carle's flask, obviously hoping for an offer of more than water the next day.

"That is very kind of you," said Carle, not moving his eye from the flask. "But I have come to Blackpa.s.s on business, and I fear I will be leaving for home tomorrow. Adrian, would you refill this?"

I took the water flask from him without a word. The soldier, disappointed from hopes of free wine, began to rise, but was forestalled as Carle said, "There is one other thing I have always wondered, and only a soldier such as you can tell me... ."

I did not hear the rest of the conversation. I had gone back to the cheese-seller's stall and was beckoning to the merchant there while keeping one eye on Carle and the soldier.

By the time I returned to the market, it was closed for the night. Carle was waiting for me, standing in the shadow of a tree. He was as dark as a breacher on a moonless night.

I joined him in his hideaway. "Well?" he said in a low voice.

"He boards just down the road. I looked through the window while he was readying himself for bed. He lives in a single room with two cots; the second cot was empty."

"That was good hunting." Carle squeezed my shoulder briefly, and I felt the warmth of his approval enter me. He gestured a the old, familiar gesture of a sublieutenant ordering his partner to take the lead a and I began walking with him down the street. The street was nearly empty now, since, as the soldier had put it in his rude manner, most Koretians retire to bed at an earlier hour than Emorians.

"No hope of tracking this roommate down at one of the aforementioned fleshpots, I suppose?" Carle enquired quietly.

"None," I said. "Officially, no brothels exist in Koretia; prost.i.tution is against the G.o.ds' law. The unofficial brothels take time to track down ... or so I've heard."

"Never been to one yourself?" Carle enquired.

"Never." I glanced his way. "And you?"

"No, I received many a lecture from my father on the necessity of reserving one's seed for one's properly wedded wife." Carle pushed aside the bough of a tree that was growing in the middle of the street.

"But your father ..." I said awkwardly.

"Was an adulterer. I learned more lessons from his ill behavior than from any lecture he gave me. I've no intention of treating any woman in such a filthy manner. I'll wait until I can bed a wife, though I don't plan to marry till I'm retired from army service." He glanced my way.

I was grateful to him for his chatter on light matters; it had given me the time I needed to recover from what the soldier had told us. I said, "I'm sorry."

"Is your confession to me or to the Chara?" As usual, Carle didn't pretend to misunderstand what I meant. "Adrian, you can't take the burdens of the world into your arms. You refused to murder, and other men used that as an excuse to murder further. It's their folly that has created this war, not anything you did."

I swallowed. "If I had allowed Griffith to sight and kill me, the feud would have ended."

"And Griffith would have become a murderer, which would have done his spirit no good." Carle squeezed my shoulder again as we pa.s.sed under the hearth-light spilling out from someone's upstairs dwelling. "Griffith is Cold Run's baron a am I right in remembering that? Truth to tell, he's the only one besides yourself and Fenton and your intended victim that I respect in this story. At least Griffith made an attempt to end the feud peacefully."

I nodded as I stared down at the dirt of the street. "He has always been honorable; that's why my cousin Emlyn chose him as his blood brother. But now that the feud has spread beyond the original villages ..."

"This land," Carle said carefully, "has been dry tinder, waiting for a spark that would create a conflagration. The spark could have been anything. You're not to blame yourself for this, Adrian."

His voice had turned stern. I forced myself to move my attention back to my duties. The streets had turned very quiet; n.o.body would be about now except soldiers ... and the criminals whom the soldiers sought to apprehend. Seeing a flicker of movement down the street, I took hold of Carle's sleeve, and he and I melted into the recess of a doorway.

"There," I whispered, pointing. "That house on the corner. You can see the door from here?"

Carle shaded his eyes against the moonlight. "Is that the only door?"

"Yes. If the roommate comes home tonight, he'll have to enter there. Do you think he's likely to have any useful information?"

Carle shrugged. "Who's to say? But we already know much more than we knew at the beginning of the night. And if we could send information to the Chara about any connection that the Jackal might have to this feud ..."

I knew what he was thinking. Not only would we be providing service to the Chara, but I would be able to make partial recompense to the Chara for the trouble that I had started at his border. Silently, I handed Carle the flask.

He took a swig from it and nearly choked in surprise. "Adrian, this is wall-vine wine. Where did you get it?"

"From the cheese-merchant," I replied. "I told him that you needed a bit of wine to see you through your sentry-duty tonight because you were born in the south, and like all southern Koretians, you were very frail, unable to cope with the chill night air of the north-" I jerked away, laughing, as Carle made a mock punch at me.

"*Very frail.'" He grinned as he handed me back the flask. "Next time we do sword-practice, I'll show you how *very frail' I am. Don't you think it's dangerous to make a remark like that to me in Koretia? Aren't you afraid I'll duel you?"

"No." I smiled at him as I sipped from the flask.

"No," Carle agreed, and taking the flask from me, he settled back in the recess of the doorway, his eye on the house where we awaited the hunted. I took my journal out of my back-sling and began to write.

CHAPTER NINETEEN.

The twenty-ninth day of August in the 941st year a.g.l.