A Paladin's Journey Ch. 06

The village was quiet, the streets empty as they entered the village square and dismounted at the hitching post in front of the inn. Rostin did enough trade in produce that merchants often visited, warranting the need for two-story inn on a large, square foundation with a dozen chimneys thrusting through the thatched roof.

Aran stroked Strider's nose affectionately as he looped the stallion's reins around the post, careful to keep him as far from Thunder as possible. "You've done well, friend," he told the horse. "Have a rest for a while. I'll be back soon."

Wide timber steps led up from the street to the inn's entrance. The double doors were closed, though light spilled onto the street from the windows on either side. A sign hung above the doors, depicting a man and a dog walking somewhere together. It read 'The Loyal Hound.'

Kedron spoke suddenly as Aran put his boot on the first step.

"No noise," he muttered, his dark brows drawn down slightly as he looked up and down the dirt street.

Aran turned back. "What do you mean?"

"It's too quiet for this time of evening, Master. There's no noise."

Aran realised the younger man was right. No voices could be heard in the surrounding houses, and no laughter or music was emanating from the inn's common room. He was tempted to expand his Vala, but it was too risky. "You're right, Kedron, but it can't be Heralds; Master Smythe checked thoroughly. I suggest we go and see the innkeeper. Maybe he can tell us what's going on here."

Aran started back up the stairs with Smythe and Kedron following. As he reached the doors, the right one came open before he could knock, and a round, balding head with a big nose appeared. "Praise be to- Oh. What do you want?"

Aran smiled warmly despite the abrupt greeting. And what had he been about to say before he stopped mid-sentence? "Good evening, sir. My companions and I were hoping to rent rooms for the night."

The man in the doorway looked them over carefully, his eyes lingering on their swords. He seemed tense, for some reason. After a moment, though he relaxed a little. "Well, you don't seem like Heralds, so I suppose you can come in, not that I could stop you if you were. I'm Ari. Ari Crawford. Welcome to the Hound."

"Heralds have been here, Ari?" Aran asked quickly.

"Aye," the balding fellow answered, pushing the door all the way open to reveal his stout frame. A clean white apron was tied around his waist. The innkeeper, then. "I apologise for my rudeness at the door, but I thought you were them again, see? I was halfway to praising the Light of the Dawn -- that's what they insist we do -- when I saw you weren't Heralds. About three times they've been through, saying they're looking for some men." Aran tensed, and sensed Smythe and Kedron do the same. He shared a glance with them, shaking his head a fraction to tell them not to act yet. "They walk around asking people questions about some Order of Rosh or some such," the innkeeper went on. "They've even searched through the inn, here. Made a mighty mess, they did."

Aran used a trickle of his Vala to align with the portly fellow, and was pleased to find he was a kind soul. "Well, I hope they find those men," Aran said casually as Ari led them into the common room, a spacious area with benches lining the walls and a small raised platform at one end for a performer. The platform was currently vacant, but there were a handful of patrons occupying several round tables dotting the floor. "They're probably vagrants if the Heralds are after them."

Ari snorted as he waved them to a nearby table. "I doubt it. Meddling bunch of fools if you ask me. Harassing honest folk for no good reason." One of the patrons, a man in farmer's clothes whom was hunched over his mug of ale, turned his head to look up at the newcomers briefly. "We don't like them much around here," Ari said, lowering his voice as Aran and the others sat. "Though one or two villagers seem to think the Heralds are here to save us all." Ari shook his head at that, setting his chins wobbling. "But listen to me prattling on like an old woman!" His expression brightened, his round face splitting with a warm smile. "You're no doubt thirsty, good masters. Ale?" At three eager nods, Ari turned toward the door that led to the kitchen. "Lena!"

The door swung out and a pretty young serving girl came through. "Yes, Ari?" She asked, smiling warmly. She had big, dark eyes and full lips, and her raven hair was tied back at the nape of her slim neck. The bodice of her dress had a modest neckline, but it couldn't hide the generous bosom nestled inside. Aran felt Kedron's Vala surge to life at the arrival of the girl, but before Aran could kick the apprentice beneath the table, Smythe clapped a huge hand on the younger man's shoulder and squeezed hard enough to make him wince. All the while, Smythe just grinned jovially, as if he were being affectionate.

"Three ales, my girl, for three thirsty men," Ari told her, and she hurried off at once. "I'm sure you're hungry, friends," he said, turning back to the table and wiping the edge of it with a corner of his apron. "I'll get the cook to do up some fowl for you, if that's to your liking?"

"Fowl sounds wonderful," Smythe said, his hand still gripping Kedron's shoulder. "I feel I could eat two or three all to myself!"

Ari chuckled. "I've no doubt you could, good master. You have the arms of a blacksmith about you. Where do you hail from?"

"Beringard," Smythe said without a blink.

"A beautiful city," Ari said. There was a fond light of remembrance in his eyes. "I was there in my youth, all too briefly I'm afraid. Tell me, friend," the portly innkeeper whispered as he leaned closer. "Do the Beringardian women still favour the same fashions?"

"Aye," Smythe replied with a wink. "They seem to grow more daring by the day, in fact." Aran made a mental note to ask Smythe about Beringard later; the big Paladin had never mentioned the place before. Aran knew it was a provincial city in the north west of Ekistair, but he knew little of their customs.

Ari's eyes bugged, and he chortled softly. "I don't see how that's possible! One scrap of fabric less and half of them would be arrested for indecently displaying themselves!"

The serving girl -- Lena -- appeared then to deposit three brimming mugs of frothy ale on the table. She gave them all a warm eye, but her gaze lingered on Kedron a moment longer. Wisely, Kedron kept his eyes on his mug, though his face reddened.

"Thank you, Lena," Ari said kindly. "That will be all." When Lena had gone, Ari announced he was going to see to their horses and waddled off.

"Nice fellow," Smythe whispered, taking his hand from Kedron's shoulder and putting his elbows on the table. "But I thought he'd stay and chat all night."

Aran glanced around the common room, but the three other patrons appeared absorbed in their drinks, and weren't paying much attention to anything else. "We may not be safe, here," he told the others softly. "As soon as I heard Heralds had been around, I wanted to leave, but we couldn't have done so without causing a stir."

Smythe nodded. "We got lucky with Ari, he seems alright, but if the Heralds are passing our descriptions around -- which they most likely are -- then it's only a matter of time until we're recognised here." He grunted sourly. "If I could tell the difference between the hoofprints of a Herald's horse and any other horse, I would've known they'd been here before we came."

"Don't worry about it," Aran said. "We'll just keep our heads down. We'll eat in our rooms and be gone at first light." His gaze went to Kedron, who had gone pale. Sweat was beading on his brow and his hands were trembling around his mug. "Kedron? What's wrong?"

"He's hurting her again," Kedron groaned softly. "She's in so much pain!" A tear leaked down his cheek, and he uttered a stifled cry. One of the nearby men looked over curiously at the noise.

"Shit!" Smythe muttered. "Not bloody now!"

Aran hurriedly made and discarded several plans. They had to get Kedron out of sight. Now. Ale forgotten, Aran caught Smythe's eye and nodded toward the stairs at the back that led up to the next floor.

Smythe quickly stood and picked Kedron up right out of his chair. "Lad can't handle his ale," Smythe said with a barked laugh at the strange looks they were getting. The other patrons chuckled as Smythe started for the stairs with Kedron slung over his shoulder.

There was a hallway next to the stairs that led out to the kitchens, and that's where Aran found Ari, giving instructions to Lena and another serving girl. There was a cook too, a middle-aged woman working hard over a hot stove. They all looked up as Aran burst in. "Ari! Our friend has taken a turn and we need a room now!" There was no time for manners.

Ari leapt into action, bustling from the kitchen and heading for the stairs. Aran followed the rotund fellow up to the second floor where Smythe was waiting at the landing. "This way, friends, this way," Ari waved them down the corridor behind him, the walls lined with several doors on each side. Ari asked questions about Kedron's illness, and made several suggestions about methods to ease his discomfort, but Aran hardly heard him. He had seen what Herald torturers could do, and he didn't think Imella would last long. His thoughts were interrupted by a piercing howl from Kedron, who began to spasm wildly on Smythe's shoulder. Ari dropped the set of keys he was fumbling with in surprise.

"Quickly, Ari!" Aran urged as kindly as he could.

Finally, Ari got the door open and Smythe darted inside to lay Kedron down on one of the two beds inside. The young Arohim twisted and writhed with the pain, but his clenched jaw prevented his screams from being too audible.

"By the Gods!" Ari whispered. Aran turned from the bed to see the innkeeper standing in the doorway. "What is wrong with him? Is it catching?" He pressed himself back against the wall to put as much distance between the bed and himself as possible.

"Not catching, no," Aran answered. "But Ari, we require absolute privacy until the morning. We will pay you whatever you want. I will try and keep him quiet so as not to disturb your guests."

Ari nodded and turned to leave, but he stopped with his hand on the door handle. "I know you're them, you know," he said softly, turning back to look Aran in the eyes. Smythe's head whipped around, and Aran's heart skipped a beat. He prepared himself to do what he must, but Ari had more to say. "The Heralds gave detailed descriptions of you three, right down to your boots. I told you, I don't like the Heralds, and you seem like good men to me. They'll not hear about you from my lips, I swear it."

Aran exhaled. "Thank you, Ari. You're a good man, but do not put yourself in danger. If the Heralds come, comply with their wishes. I've seen what they do to those who resist."

Ari gave a small bow. "As you wish, master...?"

"Aran," Aran said. "Aran Sunblade."

"A lordly name," Ari said as he pulled the door open. "I hope your young friend makes it through whatever ails him. If you need to make a quick departure, Master Aran, there's a back door to the stables next to the kitchen." At that, he pulled the door to, leaving the three Arohim alone.

Aran turned back to the bed, his heart twisting as he watched Kedron suffer. "Smythe, assuming Stallen is still in Ironshire, how long will it take him to ride here? Three days? Four?"

Smythe clapped a hand over Kedron's mouth as he began to scream again. "I would say so," the big man said, grimacing as he watched poor Kedron. "He could do it faster, but he would have to ride horses to death, and have fresh mounts stationed along the way." After a moment he growled. "Light of Heaven, what are they doing to that poor girl?"

Aran sat on the other bed to think, trying to block out Kedron's muffled cries. There was nothing Aran could do for him except think of a way to stop Berrigan. They needed more time!

Kedron suddenly exhaled forcefully, and his body went limp on the mattress. He sucked in deep breaths as he spoke. "It's stopped! At least for now. Felt like my bloody skin was being peeled off!" His brow drew down in to a frown and he pushed Smythe's hand off his chest so he could sit up. He eyed Aran and Smythe seriously. "We cannot allow this, Masters. My father is crazed, and he must be stopped!"

Smythe cleared his throat as he stood, looking down sternly at Kedron. That was not the way a pupil spoke to his masters. Kedron dropped his eyes and reddened, but Aran sympathised with him. "We are going to stop him, Kedron," Aran soothed. "I know it hurts, but you must exercise patience, here."

Kedron nodded grimly, clenching and unclenching his fists repeatedly. There was a muffled noise from outside the window between the two beds, and Smythe turned to peek through the curtains carefully. The window looked down into the street out front.

"Shit," Smythe muttered. "Heralds coming."

"How many?" Aran asked quickly.

"Only three," Smythe replied. "They're hitching their horses now."

Aran stood, shucking his sword belt and pulling the hood of his cloak up. "Smythe, with me. Leave Lightbringer here. Kedron, stay here and focus on your Meldin. If they've stopped the interrogation, it's likely that she's pointed them in our direction."

At that, Aran swept from the room and down the hall to the stairs, Smythe shadowing him. He crept down slowly and peeked his head into the common room. The three farmers from earlier were still present, though now they were sitting together and chatting quietly beneath a haze of pipe smoke. Ari was at the door talking to the Heralds, but he hadn't let them in, yet. Aran and Smythe took seats at separate tables where they could see the door, their cowls carefully pulled forward. Aran hoped Ari wouldn't try anything stupid.

"We demand you allow us entry, innkeeper!" a voice sneered from outside. "Or we will force our way in!" At a loss for what to say, Ari turned to glance at the common room behind him, and gave a small start when he saw Aran and Smythe sitting at tables.

"Innkeeper!" Smythe suddenly bellowed, making Ari start. "What must one do to obtain fresh ale in this backwater village? Send one of your girls out at once!"

The rotund innkeeper jerked a bow. "At once, good master!" He pulled the door all the way open for the Heralds, then. "Forgive my rudeness, friends. Praise be to the Dawn, as always. Lena! Service in the common room!"

"Indeed," the sneering voice said as the three red-and-yellow cloaked men entered. The first was a hard-faced fellow with a long face, the oldest of the three. The other two looked no less mean despite being younger than long-face, maybe ten years older than Aran.

Lena came scurrying out from the kitchen, her step faltering when she saw the Heralds. "Yes, Ari?"

"A mug of ale for our guests here, my dear, and whatever the good Heralds of Dawn fancy. On the house, of course," he added for the Heralds. At the sight of the Heralds entering, the three village men got up and made to leave, keeping their eyes down.

"And where do you three think you're going?" Long-face said, striding over and planting himself in their way.

"Uh, we've an early start in the morning, m'Lord," one of them said, knuckling his forehead. "Figured we'd had enough for one night, you know?"

The Herald eyed them each in turn with no small amount of suspicion. "Very well," he said after a moment. "You may be about your business, but remember, the Dawn banishes all shadows."

The three farmers knuckled their foreheads again and mumbled their thanks as they quickly exited the inn. Aran kept his head down, but beneath the edge of his cowl he saw two boots stop beside his table. "And what about you? Why do you hide your face like a criminal?"

Aran's hood was suddenly flicked back, exposing his face. The Herald had bent down to get a look at him, and Aran seized the back of his head and smashed his face onto the tabletop. His body crumpled to the floor, unconscious. Smythe uncoiled from his chair like a striking viper and took down the other two with quick, deliberate strikes to the neck, easily knocking aside their attempts at defence, never giving them time to draw swords. The big Paladin took two long strides and closed the front door.

A clatter and a splash brought Aran's head around. Lena had arrived with a fistful of mugs that were now lying on the floor, their contents flooding outward across the floorboards. She stared in shock at the Heralds, then at Aran and Smythe. "Are they-? Did you-?"

Aran spread his hands placatingly as he stood slowly, so as not to alarm the girl. "No, Lena, they are alive."

"We need to secure them," Smythe said, bending to remove one of the red-and-yellow cloaks. Once free, he began to tear it into long strips.

Ari came back in at that moment, seeing the fallen mugs first. "Lena! What's gotten into you, girl? Clean this up at once!" Then his eyes fell on the Heralds sprawled on his common room floor, one with blood leaking from a very broken nose. "Light in Heaven!" He breathed. "What have you done, Aran?"

"What I had to," Aran said firmly, but not unkindly. "Had they left here with word of our presence, much worse things would have happened. As it is, Ari, Rostin is no longer safe. The Heralds will return more frequently as their hold on the region grows stronger. We plan to stop it, but in the meantime, you would be wise to leave the village."

"Wait," Smythe interjected. He was tying off a knot that bound the hands of the two Heralds at the small of their backs, a knot which also tied them together. He looked up with a smile. "I have an idea."

*

Once the Heralds were bound and gagged and stashed in an old storeroom behind the kitchen, Aran and Smythe went over Smythe's idea over fresh mugs of ale. It was a good one, and didn't alter their original plan by much. The roasted fowl also arrived, and the two Paladins ate eagerly. The cook had spiced the birds with something a little sweet yet tangy. Delicious. Thankfully, no more Heralds visited the inn that night.

"So, what do we do with the Heralds we have in the back?" Aran asked around a mouthful of crispy fowl.

Smythe shrugged his heavy shoulders. "Leave them there. Least they deserve."

Aran nodded. "For now, but we'll cut them loose later tomorrow." He took a swill of ale and grinned wolfishly. "After all, someone has to bait the trap."

***

***BERRIGAN STALLEN -- Ironshire, Ekistair***

The girl's screaming finally abated as Berrigan took the glowing poker from her back. Her howls of pain diminished into sobs that wracked her slim body perhaps more than the previous spasms of muscles under duress. She was bent over a stout timber table, her upper body pressed to its surface and her wrists shackled to iron brackets bolted in to the wood. Her clothes had long since been torn away, leaving her pale body exposed to the cool evening air and the harsh torchlight in Berrigan's basement.

He ran his eyes over her pale bottom, the smooth skin now crossed with angry red welts from the whipping. He felt no twinge of desire, no stirring in his loins as he regarded her young, slim form. Those base urges had been rooted from him long ago. The conception of Kedron had been the last time he had experienced a woman -- when his wife had still been alive -- and that union had been one of necessity. Kedron's mother had understood, of course; Thayla had been a devout Herald, and she and Berrigan had performed the necessary act only to ensure Berrigan had an heir. Had there been any other way to accomplish the feat, Berrigan would have taken it, and so would Thayla.

"You say he is to the east, whore?" Berrigan asked again.