A Paladin's War Ch. 03

"I've never liked it," Sara replied carefully, hoping the man would take her for a local, not a newcomer. In the street and square around them, more people were beginning to bustle about as the sky above turned from grey to pink.

"Not many do," he remarked. "But all accept. That is the way, in Cartuga." Sara said nothing, hoping the fellow would move on. "Of course," he continued. "Good Lord Eldred is not the real power in this town, but few know that."

Sara suddenly noticed that even with the street quickly filling with people, no one came closer than about ten paces to the cloaked man. In fact, they were going out of their way to skirt around him. She decided it was time to be gone. "I'll be on my way now, sir," she said politely. "A good morning to you."

His cowl, which hadn't shifted since he'd started talking, still didn't move an inch, but she got the sense that he was watching her. "A good morning it is." Was all he offered in reply as she turned and left, crossing the square as quickly as she could. Where she was going, she didn't know. All that mattered was that she was away from the man, whoever he was. Something about him made her skin crawl. A look over her shoulder showed the place he had been standing now empty. Suppressing a shudder, she hurried down a narrow street between two shops. She'd grown up in alleyways and back lanes; if this fellow was going to follow her, she'd like to see him find her when she didn't want to be found.

She took the next two left turns and then went straight on for a bit, mapping the turns in the back of her mind in case she needed a quick retreat. The buildings were pressed in close, back here, the streets growing narrower the further into the town she went. The smells were pungent and often rank; emptied chamber pots and rotting food scraps not yet taken up by the multitude of stray dogs and cats that occupied the alleys.

People moved about the back streets, too, dressed in strangely cut clothes, often worn or frayed at the hem or cuff, a sign of the less than well-to-do. Most men she saw were shirtless or wearing only a light vest over their bare chests, while the women favoured flimsy dresses that left their shoulders bare as well as plenty of bosom.

Another few turns and she was back on another wide avenue, the opposite side bordered by a ten-foot wall of some brownish stone she didn't recognise, sharp metal spikes running along its top. On the other side of the wall, she could see the slanted roofs of buildings in much better repair than the others she'd seen. Looking up and down the avenue, she couldn't see either end of the wall, but it did curve away from her slightly in each direction, giving the impression it might be surrounding another district.

She tried to study it without looking obvious as she walked north. What could be in there? As she walked, the run-down dwellings on her right gave way to those of better quality; more stone than timber, more glass windows than shutters. There were inns and taverns, too, and other places where strange-smelling smoke drifted out of the windows. There was less noise coming from those last than the taverns, and it made Sara wonder what was going on inside. Even at this early hour, with the sun still not completely up, people were drinking and laughing in common rooms and taverns, though in a less raucous manner than closer to the docks. She sidestepped quickly to avoid one such patron who stumbled down the short flight of steps in front of a place called "Donnelly's Run," a lively establishment with upbeat, quirky music drifting out from inside. The sign above the door showed a man with a barrel tucked under his arm, running from another man who was chasing him. Sara got the impression the first man was a thief being pursued by the barrel's owner, the second man.

Dressed in a finer cut of coat and breeches, the man mumbled something intelligible as he slipped on the last step and pitched forward, arms flailing. She should have let him fall and kept moving, but a wagon was approaching, drawn by a four-horse team, and the half-Orc in the driver's seat did not look as if he was interested in stopping for a drunk lying in the road. As the man fell past her, she seized his collar with a quick hand and hauled him out of the way. Still trying to recover his balance, one of his flailing hands caught the cowl of her cloak and pulled it back to reveal her face.

"By the Gods, you are beautiful!" The man slurred, blinking heavily as he tried to focus on her face. He might have been good looking if his face had not the slackness and bloodshot eyes that came from a night of heavy drinking. Releasing him, Sara pulled her hood forward and hurried on. Stupid, she berated herself. I should have left him! But she knew she would have hated herself for it. She wasn't about to let a man die just for being drunk. Not if she was there and able to help.

The street she was on curved along with the wall for a time, until it finally bent around to the east while the wall turned further west. A wide set of elaborately-worked iron gates stood at that point, the road behind it intersecting with the main avenue. The gate was the only opening in the wall she'd seen so far. It would have taken little effort for her to jump that wall at any time, but doing it without being seen was another thing. Perhaps she should wait until night.

The gates were heavily guarded by a collection of Orcs clad in heavy armour, the polished steel glinting in the morning sunlight in tandem with long-tipped spears they held as if they knew how to use them. There were almost no passers-by in this part of the town, so Sara stuck to the right side of the main street, as far away from the gate as she could get and still be watching it. There was yet another tavern there, conveniently placed on the street corner facing the gate, where she might be able to safely survey any comings and goings therewith. The sign above the door, hanging out beyond the upper floor balcony read 'The Lucky Stallion,' and the sign depicted a black horse rearing on a field of green. I've got nothing else to bloody well do, she thought as she went inside.

It was a well-tended place, with chairs and tables of polished wood placed around the floor between the door and the long bar that ran almost the full length of the room. To her left, booths were built into the wall beneath wide windows, their shutters open to let in the morning breeze against the heat that would grow with the day. A few patrons occupied the tables, men and women having an early drink or some breakfast, talking softly among one another, but the place was otherwise quiet. Keeping her head down, she went to the booth where the window faced the gate and sat, looking out across the street. With luck, nobody would bother her with the tavern so quiet. Her hopes were dashed when a dark man left what he was doing behind the bar and approached her. Tall and fit, his broad shoulders and strong, hairless chest were bare, glistening damply with a sheen of sweat. His bald head was as smooth as his chest. Sara realised then how warm it actually was here, on this side of the Heartlake - she was largely unaffected by temperatures, no matter how extreme, so she had paid it no mind - and how strange she must look getting around in a heavy cloak when everyone else was wearing so little.

"Greetings," he said in a deep voice when he reached her. "What will you have?" His accent was rich, lilting. She couldn't place it.

"I am happy just to sit, thank you," she replied politely.

"I am afraid," the man began just as politely. "That if you wish not to eat or drink, then I must ask you to take your leave." Inside her hood, Sara grimaced. She had a few coins in her purse, but likely not enough for a meal, or even a drink. Her stomach was feeling a little hollow, making her regret the fact even more. Taking a chance, she lowered her hood and looked up at the man, noting the widening of his eyes as he saw her face. She knew she'd changed much in the last few months, but sometimes she forgot just how much. Now, she was happy for her looks, as long as they didn't get her noticed by the wrong people.

"Is there any way you can make an exception for me?" She asked him softly. She opened her palms on the table in a gesture of helplessness. "I have no money, but I will not make trouble, good sir. I just wanted to sit for a little while." She waited as he appeared to be thinking. She did her best to ignore his taut body, though she did feel a flare of heat in her lower belly, quickly suppressed.

"How can you have no money?" He asked finally. "With a face like yours, you could be one of the wealthiest women in Cartuga, unless..." A wary look crossed his face, and he lowered his voice to a whisper. "Have you escaped your master, then?"

Sara decided to play along. "I think I must go," she said quickly as she made to stand, but the man gently forestalled her with a hand on her shoulder.

"No, please stay," he urged quietly. "You are safe, here. If there's anyone looking for you, they won't come to the Stallion. They will have expected you to flee the town, not hide at the nearest tavern." There was good logic to that statement. She adopted a reassured look and settled back in her seat. "Tell me, do you know a woman called Lennise?" When Sara shook her head, a crestfallen look crossed his face. "She is my sister. They took her some months ago, now, for one of the Lords, I think." His expression hardened as he spoke, and his big hands tightened into fists at his sides.

"I am sorry to hear that," Sara said sincerely.

"Not as sorry as me." His eyes had turned hard, but now they softened again. "I will fetch you a drink, and something to eat. My name is Barnett."

"Well met," Sara offered kindly. "I am Sara." She saw no harm in giving her real name; nobody would be looking for her by name, not this far east. "Is this your tavern?"

Barnett shook his bald head. "Not mine. I am employed by the Guild." He seemed to think that fact explained everything, so Sara nodded as if she understood.

"I will have whatever you offer, Barnett," she told him with a small smile. "And I am most grateful for your kindness." She wished she could align with him, but something about that cloaked man earlier made her keep her vala suppressed completely, until she could barely feel it. Barnett left her table and returned a short time later with a mug of cool cider and a plate of sausage and egg and ham with some potatoes and tomatoes on the side. It was a meal hearty enough to satisfy even a man of Barnett's stature, but for Sara it was barely a snack. She thanked him anyway and set to with fervour. Her eyes lifted in surprise when Barnett took the seat opposite her.

"You have not eaten for some time?" He asked, nodding at her plate. She'd already shovelled in three forkfuls since picking up the cutlery.

She swallowed before answering. "It has been some time, yes." It was the truth; her small stock of food had run out maybe four or five hours ago while rowing across the lake.

Barnett looked over his shoulder before speaking again, though no one was close enough to overhear their conversation. "How did you escape?"

Sara hesitated. Should she tell him the truth, or a version of it? Or should she lie outright? He seemed trustworthy enough, but without her vala to read him, nothing was certain. Still, her childhood on the streets of Maralon had taught her a thing or two about which people to trust, and which not. Her gut told her Barnett was one of the former; it was in his eyes. Around subsequent forkfuls of breakfast and gulps of cider, she quietly revealed to him that she was new to Cartuga, and that she was looking for a friend who had gone east.

"You have come to Cartuga alone?" He asked her disbelievingly. "A young woman here willingly?"

"That is right," she replied. "I have the feeling that this could be somewhat dangerous, from what I've seen and heard of this town so far." Barnett barked a sharp laugh, but there was no mirth in it.

"You must be as insane as you are pretty, young one," he told her, his eyes full of urgency. "The men who run this town will snap you up as soon as someone sees that face of yours, just like Lennise. You must be gone from here if you value your freedom." He reached over and pulled the shutter closed in the window, hiding them from anyone walking by.

Sara made a placating gesture. "It is fine, Barnett. I am difficult to catch. Besides, my quest is more important than my own safety, if you can believe it." His face said he didn't. "I do not mean to bring trouble down upon you, so I will finish my meal and leave."

Barnett nodded, though he seemed conflicted of a sudden. He sighed as he watched her wolf her food down. "They must have been starving you! Where will you go?"

She shrugged and answered around a thick piece of potato. "I don't know. I need to go east, I think."

He shook his head slowly. "You will not get out that way. The gates are heavily guarded and shut to all unless granted entry by the Guild or Lord Eldred. You will have to find another way."

Sara decided to ask an unrelated question. "What is behind the wall out there?"

Barnett blinked. "Why, that is the Masters' District. They are the men who run Cartuga, though they would not soon admit the fact."

"And who is Lord Eldred?"

"His father founded Cartuga," Barnett said, checking around the room again. "Dawin Eldred left the running of the town to his son, Blaer, when he died, though Blaer is easily as corrupt as his father was. He cares for little aside from coin, drink and women. That statue in the Gold Square is a poor imitation of how he looks in reality." He gave a disgusted snort. "Some families actually send their daughters off to him in the hope he will grant them wealth in return."

Sara grimaced, but continued eating. It was nothing worse than she'd seen growing up. Desperate people did desperate things. It was enough that Sara almost wished for some sort of Herald presence here, no matter how small. She almost laughed aloud at the thought. She pushed her now empty plate aside and drained the last of her mug with a gulp. "Before I go, Barnett," she began, fixing him with a steady gaze. "A man approached me earlier, cloaked all in black. I didn't see his face, but nobody in the street came anywhere near him. Do you know this man?"

Barnett's big, dark eyes widened even further, and he darted a furtive glance around the room before leaning in close. "I think perhaps you are in greater danger than even I thought," he said quickly. "What did he say to you?"

Sara thought back to the meeting in the square. "Not much. He spoke of the statue in the square, and mentioned that Lord Eldred does not actually run Cartuga."

Barnett's shoulders sagged in resignation, and he wiped a suddenly sweaty forehead with the back of his hand. "I fear you have been marked, Sara. They will come for you, before much longer, if you remain here."

Sara frowned. "Who will come for me? The cloaked man?"

Barnett nodded. "Him or one of the others. They roam at night, mostly. Sometimes folk go missing, as if snatched from their beds or stolen off the street. They are rarely seen again, and if they are, they are... different." He must have seen the question in Sara's eyes, for he said, "No, Lennise was taken by more... ordinary men, according to those that saw, though the men that took her are no less evil for their deeds. She has likely been put to work for one of the Guildmasters." His mouth twisted sourly. "She is a beautiful woman, my sister. She would have been granted the most exclusive work, for the highest paying customers."

Sara felt a flash of hot anger. Women choosing that life because they were poor was one thing - terrible, yet still their choice - but being taken off the street and forced into it was another thing altogether. She wondered what she could do about it. She also wondered if perhaps this was the reason she had been brought to Cartuga. Or at least, one of the reasons. "You say these men look for women like me?" She asked Barnett.

He searched her face carefully. "Yes, you are young and beautiful. Remarkably so, if I may say. You would be a very highly prized asset, I think."

Sara grinned. "Reckon you could get me an invite into the Masters' District?" She hardly noticed her momentary slip back into the way she used to speak, before her training at the Temple. "I feel like making some extra coin, if you know what I mean." Barnett's ebony cheeks darkened further in a blush.

"Are you-" He stopped to clear his throat. "Are you sure? You would be placing yourself in the lion's den, young one. I would regret seeing a young woman such as you condemned to that life."

Sara reached out to touch the big man's hand. "Relax. I have a few tricks up my sleeve."

Barnett studied her gravely. "If I do this, Sara," he told her seriously. "I would ask that you look for my sister, and get word to me of her whereabouts. Could you do this? I am ashamed to even ask this of you, but since you are already set on going..."

Sara nodded readily. "Of course." Barnett stayed with her at the table while she asked questions about Cartuga - everything she could think of to ask, from Eldred, to the strange cloaked men, to which girls got taken, and when. The more she learned, the more she got the sense that she was meant to be here. Her vala had not led her astray yet.

*

Outside the Lucky Stallion, the cloaked man sat beneath the one closed window with his back against the wall, listening to the conversation happening just inside. It had been a long time since he'd felt a vala. The girl had been easy to follow across town, despite her slippery tactics in the back streets. An aura like hers was like the sweetest honey mixed with the foulest, rancid wine. He yearned for her, desired her, yet was repulsed by her as well. It was the strangest of feelings.

Had any of the people passing by been brave enough to get close enough to see inside his deep cowl, they would have run when they saw his wolfish grin and the mad gleam in his eyes.

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END OF CHAPTER THREE

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