Chapter 10

CHAPTER TEN

C roak groaned and turned over, pulling the thin blanket over his head against the sunlight shining on him. He heard shuffling nearby, but didn’t bother to look. He’d left money on the table and hoped the blanket would forestall any conversation.

Eventually, he heard the soft click of the door as it shut.

He must not have left the correct amount; a moment later, banging almost cracked the door, and he jumped out of bed in confusion and fear.

“What the hells is all this about, eh?” he shouted as he rummaged around the room for his pants. “If it’s wrong, tell me how much I owe?—”

“Croak? Open the bloody door!”

Croak paused with his shirt half on and frowned. “Benson?”

“Aye, it’s bloody Benson, y’ fool! Open up, quickly!”

Croak mumbled profanity under his breath as he hitched on his pants, padding to the door in bare feet. No sooner had he unlatched the door than Benson the Blacksmith burst through, slamming it shut behind him. His eyes were wild and his face ashen.

“What the?— ”

“Listen to me boy,” Benson rushed ahead, reaching one shaky hand to paw at Croak’s shoulder.

“Well, you?—”

“Listen!” Benson hissed. He wiped a hand across his mouth and Croak could not remember a time when he’d ever seen Benson in such a state. He shook from head to toe and looked as white as a corpse.

Benson took a deep breath. “Yer sister’s been arrested.”

Croak blinked. “What now?”

“She’s been arrested, boy!” Benson said, his voice breaking. “She—she—on suspicion of murderin’ Prince Lerek.”

Croak’s mouth dropped open as the blood drained from his face. He sobered up quickly. “ What?”

Benson nodded his head repeatedly, wringing his weathered hands. He wiped his mouth again and continued. “An’ fer th’ attempted murder of Prince Isher.”

Croak’s knees buckled, and he dropped to the wood floor. “Wha?—”

Benson rushed over and grabbed Croak’s arm, shaking him. “No time for that, boy! They mean to try her an’ execute ‘er in two days!”

Croak shook all over. His mind tried to make sense of what the old smith was saying but he couldn’t make his mind keep up. He fought through the haze of booze to focus on Benson’s words.

Lerek dead.

That was unreal enough. But that Terena had killed him was too much for him to process.

His head throbbed and Croak hunched over, his forehead resting on the cool floor as Benson continued to shake him. He mumbled something at the old man, hoping to get him to stop, batting at his beefy hand ineffectually.

“For Sassia’s sake, son! Get yer arse up! Wash yerself an’ I’ll ‘ave Ditta bring ya up some mulled cider an’ bread. Soak some of that ale outta ya.”

Croak moaned and fell over onto his side. Eyes closed against the painful light, he heard the old man rise and grumble his way out of the room. He inhaled deeply, trying to steady the pounding in his head.

Lerek dead.

Terena accused.

Lerek dead.

Soft, muling cries turned to heavy sobs, wracking Croak’s body. He curled into himself, drawing his knees to his chin as he ground his head into the floor.

“Come now, come now,” Benson said a short time later. His rough voice, for once, sounded almost soothing as he bent his big frame low and scooped up Croak’s limp body like a baby.

He carried him the few steps to the bed and Croak realized someone else was in the room. Shuffling sounded on the other side of the bed and someone whispered to Benson. The old man replied, but Croak was too broken to care. He let the old smith prop pillows behind his head and shift him about without protest.

“Bring me that cup,” Benson said and Croak caught sight of a slight arm as it crossed in front of his blurry eyes. Something was at his lips and the old man murmured to him, but a fresh wave of memories assailed him and he succumbed once more to despair.

“Lerek,” he sobbed, that one word making Benson stiffen and stop his ministrations.

“I know,” Benson answered, and tried again to coax Croak to drink. He turned his head away and tried to raise a hand in protest.

“Come, now, y’ must at least try,” Benson cajoled. He heard the rustle of fabric to his right and then a soft voice saying something about more cider and a bowl of fresh water. Benson muttered a response and before long, they were alone.

The bed gave as Benson sat and braced his arm across Croak, bringing his face uncomfortably close to his.

“Listen, now, shhhhh, shhhh,” Benson crooned and slapped gently at Croak’s cheek. “Y’must push this down, far down now boy, so as y’can focus on yer sister.”

Croak turned his face away and sniffed back snot.

“Boy, I ken how y’ feel, I do,” Benson said, his voice softer than Croak had ever heard and perhaps the reason it pierced through Croak’s fog. “Ye must think of yer sister. Terena. Terena is th’ most important thin’ right now. An’ ye must get ‘er free.”

Croak focused on the old man’s lips as they moved in a litany: Think of Terena. She is all that matters now. Get her free, boy.

“How?” Croak whispered, his voice breaking. “How do I free her and I don’t even fucking know what’s going on?”

He raked his hand through his hair, sobbing anew and Benson’s big arms folded over him. “I’ll give ye this one moment. This one moment only, boy. Get it all out. But ye need t’ get goin’ soon. Get t’ Metilai an’ find out where theys keepin’ her.”

Croak dug his head into the crook of the old smith’s arm, wiping his nose on the man’s tunic. “How the fuck am I getting her out, then, Benson?” he shoved absently against Benson’s embrace. “If you’ll recall, she is the clever one of our duo.”

“Go to the harbor, see if any of th’ mercs headin’ north can be ‘ired for a few days. If ye can get two or three ye can give ‘er a chance. The rest she’ll make sure of ‘erself, ye know it.”

Croak wiped his snot on his sleeve while his mind raced at Benson’s words.

He looked about the room, unseeing, instead envisioning the escape he could mount with muscle to help.

“When’s the ferry to Gall?” he asked at length.

Benson shrugged and rose from the bed. “Runs every day at six bells.”

Croak dug the heels of his hands into his eyes and took a deep breath, heaving it back out and bolting from the bed. He moved with purpose, gathering his things, then tied his cloak on.

As he strode for the door, he glanced back at Benson. “Thank you, Benson.”

Benson grabbed his arm as he reached for the latch. “I’ll ‘ire a boy to bring yer ‘orse to Metilai. Just mind ye catch th’ ferry in an ‘our if ye want t’ reach ‘er in time, aye?”

Croak nodded and swung the door wide, all but running down the corridor.

Croak stuck to the back alleys as he made for the harbor. The streets were packed with refugees and merchants, and he heard news of Lerek’s death everywhere he passed. He got snippets of information as he strode purposefully toward the boardwalk.

If possible, it was even more crowded than the city streets, the piers packed with all manner of humanity. The small port city was experiencing a boom it was not ready for and the amount of time it took Croak to reach the boats was testament to how quickly the political landscape had changed even this tiny town.

He pursed his lips, looking out over the sea of sailors and slaves and businessmen and taxmen and anyone else who could find some way to earn a coin. His eye caught on two swift moving forms.

Croak narrowed his gaze, and his mouth opened. He spotted the Roisan first—Gabriol—his big head of blond braids and even bigger body giving him away as he plowed forward. He had strapped on his hauberk and looked a giant in the daylight, pushing at the inflow of people all around as if they were nothing more than annoying gnats.

Croak froze, watching him before he shifted his gaze to the smaller but no less powerful figure of his friend, his red beard and the earrings glinting a path up his ear, marking them both as the men he’d met at Nathaniel’s.

“Mother fu—!” he muttered then tore a path through to the mercs, uncaring and unheeding of the curses and screeching in his wake.

“…fucker,” Gabriol muttered, halting in the middle of the street. Rydon smacked into him. Voices of various dialects sounded all around him as he leaned forward to yell into Gabriol’s ear.

“What the fuck!”

“Yeah, that’s what I say,” Gabriol said and nodded toward someone making their way through the press of bodies. Rydon followed his gaze and cursed anew under his breath .

As the lanky young man from the tavern came toward them, Rydon stepped in front of Gabriol with his arm stretched in front of him.

“Wait! I need— oof ,” Croak doubled over as Rydon planted his fist into the young man’s stomach.

“What did I say,” he hissed in Croak’s face, “What did I say would happen, Croak? Did I not say you’d regret crossing paths with us again?”

Croak spit and shuddered, lifting his head enough Rydon could see the deathly pallor in his cheeks and puffiness of his eyes. He frowned and held the young man by the shoulders as he appeared to be about to faint.

“Please,” he whispered, over and over, hanging his head. Rydon looked over at Gabriol with a frown, and his friend shrugged. Rydon shook Croak, trying to peer at his face.

“What’s happened?” he asked.

Croak shook his head and Rydon had the uncomfortable feeling the young man was about to cry. He quickly pulled him off to the side and away from the jostling of sailors and merchant traffic to a building near the boardwalk where there was more privacy. Croak stumbled along, wiping at his mouth and nose.

When they reached the building, he thrust Croak against the wall and held a hand to his chest to keep him upright. “Speak.”

Croak took several long seconds composing himself. When he raised his face, Rydon could see resolve. He knew what he risked in seeking them out and yet sought them out anyway. The man was either a glutton for punishment or in some serious trouble.

“I need your help. I will pay, of course, but we need to leave quickly. For Gall.”

Rydon raised his brows and cast a quick glance at Gabriol, who stepped closer. “Gall?”

Croak nodded. He squared his shoulders and almost seemed as if he could stand on his own again, though Rydon continued to hold fast to his chest. “As I said, I will pay, and even pay for passage north when we’re done, but we must leave now. ”

“What’s in Gall?” Gabriol asked, shifting so they were shielded from view.

“First, I must secure your agreement. I will pay you two hundred silver if you agree, and another three hundred if we succeed.”

Gabriol lifted his hand to his mouth, eyes wide as he took in the sum, but Rydon pushed in closer. “And what do we need to succeed in?”

“I need your agreement,” Croak said, his bloodshot eyes never wavering from Rydon’s.

“Young man, I can see whatever’s happened is serious indeed, and if you’re offering that sum, it must be dangerous as well.” He frowned and took his hand away, leaving Croak to sway for a second before he stiffened his spine.

Rydon glanced at Gabriol and put his hands on his hips. “I can’t, in good faith, lead my man into a situation without first knowing what we’re getting into.” He motioned with his hand. “Come, tell us what you need and I’ll give you my answer.”

Croak’s face twisted and Rydon had a moment’s sympathy for the youth’s dilemma. He softened his face, deciding to help him out. “Does this have anything to do with the news out of Metilai this morning?”

Croak’s head swiveled between the two as Gabriol crossed his arms at his chest. He looked back at Rydon and pursed his lips. Then gave a quick nod.

“All right,” Rydon said with another glance at his friend. “How does Prince Lerek’s death involve you?”

Croak opened and closed his mouth several times and then cursed. “Lerek…,” he started, his voice breaking. “The prince was a friend.”

Rydon and Gabriol exchanged glances once more.

“You wish to avenge him?” Gabriol asked. “General Peleon will have that well in hand, boy.”

The muscles in Croak’s neck jumped. Rydon motioned again with his hand as he would to a child, his face softened by the youth’s obvious despair. “Speak now, young Croak.”

“Yes, I wish to avenge him,” he snarled as he looked at Gabriol, then turned his gaze back to Rydon. “But that must wait. My sister’s been accused of the crime and I wish your help to secure her release.”

Rydon looked over at Gabriol, who shared his shock and almost laughed. He quickly masked his sudden interest with curious politeness and shrugged. “Her release will be difficult to secure, Croak. If she killed the prince, she?—”

“She did not kill him!” Croak said so vehemently, spittle flew from his mouth. His cheeks colored and his eyes filled with a rage Rydon knew all too well.

“And you’re sure of this how?”

“She loved him,” Croak whispered, his lips trembling.

Rydon did not dare look at Gabriol, instead nodding his head at Croak. If he knew the prince well enough to call him by name in mixed company, then Rydon was sure the sister was indeed the woman he and Gabriol had been sent to find.

Without giving himself away, he pursed his lips as if in thought. At last he said, “For the sake of argument, let us agree your sister did not kill the prince. How do you propose we secure her release? She’ll be in the dungeons, guarded by the Imperial Guard. Most likely she’s been questioned too, so in no state to?—”

“I know the palace inside and out,” Croak hissed as he leaned forward aggressively. Gabriol made a move toward him, but Rydon raised a hand to stop him. “She’s a tracker. I know the northern king is looking for trackers. You are as well. You’re looking for Terena Luca, my sister. That’s why I sought you out in the first place. Help me rescue Terena and you’ll be richer for it. On my honor. ”

At the mention of her name, Gabriol turned away and Rydon dropped his gaze to the ground so Croak would not see his smile. When he’d composed himself, he lifted his head and nodded grimly at the young man.

“So, securing her release as rescue, not negotiation?”

Croak gave another curt nod.

“Very well, Croak. We will help with your sister’s rescue. But the price is four hundred silver now, and another four when we escape. Deal? ”

Gabriol almost gave away the game as he looked at Rydon in shock. Rydon did not dare take his eyes off of Croak. He knew the difficulty of the young man’s position, but he did not wish to make him suspicious by immediately agreeing to rescue the tracker without at least haggling over the price.

Croak nodded curtly, then straightened his jerkin. “We are agreed. How quickly can you be ready?”

Rydon spread his arms and smiled grimly. “We are ready now, young lord. Gather your things; we leave anon.”