Freyas Saga Ch. 08

"You know," said the mercenary, frowning, "the more I think about this, the more it doesn't seem quite right."

"Well, if you're not going to hand him in with me," said the merchant, "I'll make sure that his lordship knows that a fugitive is being harboured in his district. There. You won't be quite so high-horse with his lordship's men tracking the countryside for you."

Carfryn watched the frown on the mercenary's face deepen, and then he looked up at the merchant for a moment, and then the atmosphere in the room became much colder.

"Ah," said the mercenary. "Yeah. Hm. No, you won't be doing that."

"Well, you try and stop me," said the merchant, and headed for the door. Carfryn darted over to it, aching and sore as she was, and stood before it. He slowed as he saw her get there, and scowled at her.

"Get out of my way, little girl," he said. "This is men's business."

"Sorry, mate," said the mercenary, drawing himself upright and slowly removing his sword from his scabbard. "I'm afraid you went a little bit too far."

The merchant turned, slowly, and Carfryn saw his face go pale as he came around to face the mercenary.

"What?" he said.

"Well," said the mercenary, "you almost had me convinced, but then you had to go and threaten me, and I can't have that."

Carfryn stared at the mercenary. He glanced at her, over the merchant's shoulder. She moved a little aside from the door, wide of the merchant's fat frame, and planted her feet apart.

"If you heard my words as a threat, that's your lookout," said the merchant. "I was merely stating a fact."

"That's what people say when they threaten people," said the mercenary. "I don't like people threatening me and I don't like you."

"So what are you going to do?" said the merchant shrilly. "Kill me?"

"No, I'm not going to kill you," said the mercenary.

"I should think so," said the merchant, "since I've done nothing to offend you."

"Not quite nothing," said the mercenary, "but little enough, it's true. No, you've done little to offend me."

"Which is why you won't kill me," said the merchant and he started to turn for the door.

"No," said the mercenary. "For I'm not the one with the grievance."

And he tossed the sword, hilt-first, sailing over the merchant's shoulder.

For a moment, all the eyes in the room watched it sailing through the air, glinting dully in the candelight.

Carfryn caught it, both hands grabbing the hilt, and she immediately lifted it to shoulder level, pointing it at the merchant's face.

She took the weight of it in her shoulders. God, it was heavy, but this time, she could not make a fool of herself.

The merchant stared at her, gaping, and then he burst into laughter.

"Oh," he said, "surely, you must be ..."

She swung the sword around, giving it her best effort - it was a heavy weapon, and her bruised arm was still sore - and she was focusing on his neck, hoping to swipe his head clean off.

But it didn't hit there.

It struck the side of the merchant's head, blade-on, just above his left ear, and wedged itself in his head. The merchant goggled at her, his brain rudely invaded by a long piece of sharpened metal, blood flowing out of the wound, his ear, his nose and mouth, but Carfryn found that the damn sword was stuck in the man's head, and even as he sank to the floor, blood pumping out of his skull, he dragged the sword down with him.

"That's not bad," said the mercenary, ambling forward. "Not bad at all, for a beginner."

"I am new to real fighting," she muttered, as the dying merchant reached up and tried to fumble at the sword wedged in the side of his head. She put her foot on his chest and pulled, but the sword was stuck fast.

"I can tell," the mercenary said, "but you've done for him, don't worry. You just need a bit more finesse."

Carfryn put her foot on the fat man's chest and managed to haul the sword free of his head. It came out, dripping blood and white curds of the man's brain.

The merchant reached up vaguely and twitched as his blood spilled over the floor. Carfryn watched him scrabbling at his throat, reaching out to her, desperate for something to stop the blood from flowing. She did not move, but looked down at him dispassionately.

The mercenary stared down at him.

"You really are a twat," he said to the merchant, who lay there, gargling horribly, his blood spreading across the faded rug.

"You're not going to finish him off?" said the mercenary.

"I've never done that before," said Carfryn, trembling. "I don't know how to."

"You could cut his head off, or go for the heart," said the mercenary. "Up to you."

"I think I'd prefer not to," said Carfryn.

"Your choice," said the mercenary. "But let's make sure he's dead. We're not gonna just walk off and assume that he died. That's never good."

They watched, as the merchant choked and spluttered and twitched, and finally lay still in the spreading pool of his own blood.

"That's it," said the mercenary. "But if I were you, just to make sure, sever the neck."

Carfryn swallowed her rising gorge, took a deep breath, lifted the sword and brought it down cleanly, cleaving right through the merchant's neck until his head was attached to his body by nothing more than a shred of bloody skin.

"Nice job," said the mercenary. "Now, let's go."

"What?" she said, staring down at the body of the first man she'd killed. She looked up at the mercenary.

"We can't stay 'ere," he said. "I mean, unless you want to spend the rest of the night in a room with two corpses."

"So what are we doing?" she said.

"We've got to hit the road," he said. "You two and me. You have me to protect you. He's paying good money."

"Where would we go?" she said, feeling dazed.

"Anywhere you want, as long as the contract lasts," he said. "But decide on a direction, because once we're out the door we need to get on the road."

Carfryn took a deep breath and forced the world to stop spinning around her.

"Very well. We'll go north."

"Your choice," he said with a shrug.

"I suppose you want your sword back."

"I wouldn't mind."

"You're not afraid that I'll kill you too?"

"No," said the mercenary. "Not tonight. Maybe later. But right now you need me, so get your sweetheart there and let's be off before someone comes along."

"He's not my sweetheart," said Carfryn, handing him the sword.

"I stand corrected, then. Let's get a move on."

Carfryn looked at the bookman, who was sitting curled up in a ball against the wall.

"Bookman!" the mercenary barked. "Get up off your arse! This is a mess! We have to go before daybreak!"

"That won't work," she said, waving him to silence. She went over to the pale young man and knelt in front of him.

"What's your name?" she said.

"I didn't mean to," he whimpered, staring at the dead body of the youth.

"Sir," she said, "speak to me. Tell me your name."

He managed to tear his gaze away from the bloody corpse on the floor and look at her.

"Dovid," he said. "Berman. Dovid Berman."

"It was a mishap, Dovid," she said. "You acted from the best motives, but it was a mishap. You couldn't have known that that would happen."

"And now the book is defiled," he said, almost in tears.

"We'll take it with us," she said. "Perhaps we can get it cleaned."

"Do we have to?" said the mercenary. "It's fucking heavy."

"We have to," she said over her shoulder at him. She grabbed the bookman's hand and hauled him to his feet, wincing from the ache in her private parts.

"Are you good to ride a horse?" said the mercenary.

"I had better be," she said, wiping some blood off the book with a sheet and handing the book to Dovid.

"You came on one, didn't you?"

"Yes. A roan mare with a white star on her forehead."

The mercenary opened the door and looked both ways, then beckoned with his head. Carfryn helped Dovid to fumble the book into his bag and then watched as the thin young bookman hefted the bag onto his back.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

"For what?" he said.

"For helping me."

"I did nothing except throw my book at a man and kill him," said Dovid, his face bleak.

"Could have been worse," said the mercenary. "You could have missed."

He went out and they went out after him, sidling down the corridor. The house was largely dark, and silent. They slipped out through the front door and stood in the darkened courtyard in the rain, as the mercenary went to get the horses. The eastern sky was grey.

He returned with the horses and it took both of them to help Dovid to get on hers, then she swung up and sat on the saddle, wincing with the pain.

"What's your name, anyway?" said the mercenary suddenly. Carfryn looked up at him.

"Carfryn," she said after a pause. "Of Hargest."

"Right," he said, nodding. "Well, look, about earlier."

"Don't," she said.

"I just wanted to say ..."

"Don't, swordsman. Just don't."

"Sorry, all right?" he said. "Just that."

She stared at him for a long moment, until even in the thin moonlight and the rain, she could see he was uncomfortable. She dearly wished that she had a weapon, so she could point it at him.

"You could keep apologising to me until your tongue turns black and the world falls to dust, and I will still fucking hate you, swordsman," she said. "You will be very lucky if you live out your contract and I don't kill you in your sleep. Abide by your contract and defend us with your sword, that's all I want from you. Don't insult me with your "sorry".'

She glared at him for a long moment, the pain in her lower body reminding her of how much right she had to say what she had said.

"All right," he said. "Good to know."

"Where d'you think you're going?" said a voice behind them.

Carfryn turned her horse. The landlord was in the doorway holding a bow and arrow, which he was pointing at her, she noticed.

"You 'aven't paid your full fee," he said.

On top of everything else that had happened, it was too much. Carfryn felt empty. She couldn't help it, she started to laugh.

"You've got to be fucking joking," said the mercenary. "This is the worst fucking inn I've ever stayed in. The beer's good, I'll grant that, the beer's good, but your meat is tough, the beds are rancid, and did you know that that girl got attacked last night?"

"Attacked?" said the landlord.

"Yes!" said the mercenary. "She'd an outrage committed on her! The men who did it are upstairs at this minute, atoning for their sins, but what sort of place is this, that a noble young lady like herself can't stay here without indignities inflicted on her person? Eh? You ought to refund her fee, you bloody tosspot."

"Oh god," Carfryn spluttered, wanting to weep but unable to stop laughing.

"What is funny?" said Dovid behind her.

"Your porridge is also noticeably lumpy," the mercenary added.

"I - I beg the lady's pardon," said the landlord, red in the face. "I've had to run the place myself since my good lady went on."

"Poisoned by your porridge, I shouldn't wonder," said the mercenary. "And the milk is also sour. That's no way to run a business, friend."

"I am leaving," Carfryn gasped, and she spurred the horse and they started off out of the yard.

"Consider yourself lucky we don't spread the word about your bloody horrible bread, too," said the mercenary, and she heard him start his horse too.

"Safe journey," the landlord called after them weakly.

Carfryn's despairing laughter subsided and she squinted into the rain as they rode, feeling it whip her face.

"Where are we going?" Dovid called behind her, holding onto her black jacket with his thin hands. He was so thin that he barely provided any heat.

"Far away," she said.

They rode on into the night.