Blackstone (Book 2) (25 page)

The food was set in front of them
with a clatter of plates, and the issue of friendship was abruptly shelved as
he was presented with real food. Like a voracious wolf, he devoured all three
chickens, the four pieces of flatbread and two tankards of cider without
pausing for breath.

Siobhan’s hand came up and she
patted him on the shoulder. “Slow down, man, slow down. Eat too fast, and your
stomach will rebel.”

She was right. He forced himself
to stop and breathe.

“Now. Tell me, how did you lose
the hand and how long ago was that?”

Looking into those innocent eyes,
he found he couldn’t tell her the full gory story and instead shortened it to
the basics. “In a fight, three months ago.”

“So it’s healed?”

He shook his head. “No.”

Concerned, she put her tankard
down. “What, it’s still not healed?”

“Infection set in at first,” he
explained hesitantly. He didn’t want her to think that she’d have to spend even
more money on him. Medicines were expensive. “But that’s cleared up now. I just
kept bumping it against things, and it kept re-opening. It’s healing now,
though.”

Not taking his word for it, she
drew his hand to her, and unwrapped it. He studied her expression as the filthy
wrapping fell free. Her eyes went wide with horror, mouth opening.

“You call
that
healing?!”
she demanded incredulously. “Look at it! So red and puffy, and…no. No, this
won’t do. Goodman, where’s a decent surgeon or apothecary?”

The goodman leaned over the side
of the cart to take a look. He let out a low whistle before saying, “That’s
nasty looking. Vidal is who you want. Down this street, take a right at the
white tent, and two streets over. His clinic is on the corner, has a red door
on it. He’s a bit pricey, but his medicine works the best.”

Siobhan nodded understanding. “He
needs that right now. How much do I owe you?”

“Four coppers.”

Erik found himself floundering,
not sure how to reassure her that if he just had time to clean it properly and
wrap it, the arm would heal. That expression on her face reminded him eerily of
his mother when she had a mad-on, and he didn’t want to open his mouth and
cross her. Besides, she hadn’t flinched at the idea of buying medicine for him.
He had not yet seen the end of her generosity.

Siobhan paid the man, slipped off
the stool, and once again towed Erik by the hand after her. This time, he kept
his injured hand close to his chest, more leery of it being banged against
something with the bandage off. He found the hand, so dainty and slim in his
own, comforting and strange in equal measure. It was with great care that he
returned the grip without crushing her fingers.

They followed the goodman’s
directions, weaving their way in and out of people, small herds of animals, and
carts, and found the clinic without trouble. Giving a single knock on the door,
Siobhan pushed the red door aside and stepped in. “Hello!”

“Hello!” a male voice returned
from just out of sight.

Erik blinked as he came through,
eyes adjusting to the dimmer interior. The place smelled odd, probably because
of all the herbs tacked to the ceiling hanging out to dry. But it was clean and
tidy. Two narrow beds were side by side against the far wall, there was a table
to his immediate left filled with herbs, jars, and a stone pedestal. From a
back door, a man appeared, looking clean cut and presentable, if older. He had
to be at least in his fifties with that grey streaked hair. A professional
smile creased his face as he greeted, “I’m Vidal. What can I help you with?”

“I’m Siobhan Maley,” she returned,
then gestured to Erik. “This is my friend, Erik Wolfinsky. As you can see, his
arm is in a bad way. We’re here to get treatment for it.”

The apothecary’s eyes went between
them, probably noting the difference in how they were dressed and their overall
condition, but asked no questions. He came to Erik, gesturing to let him see
the arm. Lowering it, he let the man take a good look.

“Hmmm,” Vidal hummed in
disapproval. “This is bad, bad indeed. Infection is setting in. If we don’t
give it a strong treatment, it’ll lead to rot. How long has it been like this?”

“Three months,” Erik answered
quietly.

“Good heavens, man, your body is
strong to fight it off this long. Well, take a seat. I’ll make a poultice for
this, and wrap it good for you.” As he went to the table, he asked, “Are you
citizens here?”

“No, from Goldschmidt,” Siobhan
denied. “We’re passing through.”

“Then I’ll make up some medicine
to go. Make sure you clean the arm, apply the medicine, and change those
bandages twice a day. Once in the morning, once before retiring. It’s vital to
keep it clean. Oh, and I’ll give you something to drink before you go.” Vidal’s
tone became cheerful, in an evil way. “It’ll taste awful, but work wonders.”

Erik snorted. Medicine always
tasted awful.

Vidal was quick and efficient. The
poultice was applied, the arm wrapped neatly in white linen, and the medicine
(otherwise known as toxic green sludge) was given to him within minutes.  As
the apothecary wrapped up a jar of the poultice to go, Siobhan dug out the
coins to pay him with.

Only to himself would Erik admit
that the arm already felt better. It no longer ached and itched. Vidal knew his
trade well.

They gave cordial goodbyes and
exited the clinic. Siobhan stopped in the doorway and looked about her. “Well,
I think we’ve done everything we need to. Wolfinsky, how about we return to the
inn and give you a proper haircut? And a shave? I don’t mind if you have a
beard or not—you’ve seen Beirly’s—but yours is so matted that I think you best
start from scratch.”

“I don’t actually prefer beards,”
he told her honestly.

“Then let’s get rid of it.” With a
wink, she took his hand again and started off. “Inn’s this way.”

Siobhan didn’t cut his hair or
beard herself, but had someone else at the inn do it. She told him without
guile that she was terrible at cutting hair and it’d be best for him if someone
else do it. But she stayed nearby as his hair was cut, and explained a few
things to him.

Deepwoods was an escorting guild that
had barely been in business for the past few months. They were still building
up a client list and getting the word out, but they were doing well for
themselves. Mostly because one of the members, a man called Grae, was a
Pathmaker. In fact, it was for his sake that the guild had been formed. She,
Grae, and Beirly were apparently childhood friends, all from Widstoe. They had
moved to Goldschmidt and started a guild there because they’d heard it would be
the best place to start. So far, it seemed to be true, as they were making a
decent living at it.

This seemed a humble description
to Erik, as he had just seen this woman spend an incredible amount of money on
him in just two hours. If she could afford to do that, then she was doing
better than ‘decent.’

Beirly came in just after the
haircut was finished, two wrapped bundles in his arms. He took in the sight of
Erik and gave a grudging nod of approval. “You look better. Don’t think we were
properly introduced before. Name’s Beirly Kierkegaard.”

Erik stood and offered a hand,
even though it was his left one. “Erik Wolfinsky.”

Pleased by this show of manners,
Beirly set everything aside on a table and accepted the handshake, clasping it
firmly. “Well, now, Wolfinsky. Seems you have quite a story to tell. But we’ll
wait for Grae to show up so you don’t have to repeat yourself. For now, why
don’t you follow me up to my room and try on these clothes, see what fits.”

Nodding acceptance, he scooped up
one bundle with his good hand and followed the man up the stairs.

The inn was a nice one, tidy if
not perfectly clean, and the rooms a fair size. There were two beds in the
room, large enough even for him, with a washstand in a corner and a window that
looked out over a busy street. Erik put the bundle down on one bed and opened
it clumsily with his hand, the twining giving him some trouble.

Without a word, Beirly came over
and yanked the knot free, then stepped back again so he could unwrap it and
sort through the clothes. The silent help, without mockery, was a kindness that
he appreciated.

The clothes were obviously used
but all of good quality and in fair condition. He counted three shirts—one of
which might not fit—two pairs of pants, a vest, several pairs of socks and
underwear, and one pair of boots that looked scuffed but serviceable. Without
any real care of coloring or style, he tried on the first thing that came to
hand and found the fit decent, if a bit tight in the shoulders and thighs.

“When she gets you back up to
weight, we’ll have to special order clothes for you,” Beirly noted aloud,
almost idly. “As it is, you’re half-starved and barely fitting into these.”

Truly. But oh, the feel of proper
clothes on and a full belly. He felt human again. It was perhaps because of
this feeling that he asked what he should not have. “Why…did you let us go off
alone?”

Beirly didn’t answer him, just
looked back at him steadily.

“I’m a former mercenary, a dark
guildsman,” Erik pressed, becoming more indignant as the words tumbled free.
“Even with this,” he waved his missing hand in the air, “gone, didn’t you
realize how easily I can hurt her? Why by sweet mercy would you be so reckless
with her?”

Beirly’s shoulders slumped and he
let out a slow breath. “Just once, just
once
, she’s going to be wrong.”

“What?” he demanded in confusion.

“It hasn’t happened yet, but
surely it will at some point.” Beirly shook his head, seeming more amused than
anything. “Wolfinsky, I’ll tell you straight. In all the years I’ve known that
girl, she’s never been wrong about a man’s character. She sees straight to the
heart of people. It’s why me and Grae insisted she be the guildmaster. She
looked at you, she saw something I didn’t see, and that was what made her trust
you. I knew that look on her face well, and it’s why I didn’t argue. Not much
good comes from arguing with her. Stubborn, that one.”

“But she could have been wrong,”
he insisted, becoming agitated.

“Oh, true, she could have been.
But the way you’re taking me to task about her safety says clear as day she
wasn’t. For that matter, the look on your face back there told me she was
right.”

Look on his face…what was the man
talking about?

“Don’t know what I’m saying, eh?”
Beirly chuckled. “Your heart was in your eyes then. Still is, whenever you look
at her. And that’s why, Erik Wolfinsky, I knew that she wouldn’t be hurt by
you.”

Erik rubbed his hand over his face
in despair. Fools. They were all fools. Kind and generous ones, but fools
nonetheless. The idea that they would try this again in the future, with some
other dark guildsman made his heart drop into this stomach and writhe.

Beirly nodded toward the door.
“Let’s go back down. She’ll want to see you dressed properly.”

 He obediently trooped back down
the stairs, but his indignation and worry didn’t ease. Erik was not a deep or
complicated man. He was good to the people that were good to him, it was simple
as that. That beautiful redhead downstairs had saved him from hell itself and
shown him kindness and sympathy, but not pity. He wanted to give whatever he
could in return for that grace. He might have spent seven years in darkness but
he still remembered what kindness and integrity was. Or at least, he thought he
did.

And it seemed to him, that with
these reckless habits of hers, she needed his help. Whether she realized it or
not.

Erik had to duck to clear the door
back into the taproom. In the middle of the room, Siobhan sat at a table with a
man he didn’t recognize beside her. Erik’s first impression of the man was
‘frail.’ Thin, in body and face, with high cheeks, brown hair but with tan
skin. He dressed well, like a scholar, and his eyes spoke of intelligence. When
Erik stopped at the table, those blue eyes went wide with surprise and
nervousness. Ah, finally, a normal reaction.

Siobhan either didn’t note this
reaction of her companion (unlikely) or didn’t care, as she blithely introduced
them. “Grae, this is Erik Wolfinsky. He’ll serve as our translator and guide
when we go into Wynngaard next month. Wolfinsky, this is Grae Masson, our
Pathmaker.”

So. This was the man responsible
for Deepwoods’ creation. Erik saw immediately why he didn’t work alone like
most Pathmakers. This was not a man that would be able to handle the world on
his own. He wouldn’t do well in confrontations. Putting the thought aside, he
ducked his head at the man. “Masson.”

“Wolfinsky,” Grae returned, manner
and tone cautious. The look he shot Siobhan was one of incredulity. “So, ah, we
are traveling into Wynngaard with him. Then what?”

“Well, then we meet up with his
family and return him home.”

That let Grae breathe a little
easier. “Ah.”

“Let’s eat an early dinner, shall
we?” Siobhan suggested, already turning to wave down one of the serving girls.
“I’d rather leave early in the morning and get home soon. We have a lot to do.”
She placed an order for food, and lots of it before settling back. “Wolfinsky,
you don’t have to go into details, give me a basic history. Where are you from
exactly?”

“Reske.” 

Grae shrunk back in his chair at
the tone.

“Reske?” Siobhan parroted,
expression blank. “Where’s that?”

She really wasn’t that familiar
with Wynngaardian geography, was she. “Far western coast, up in the mountains.”

“Hmmm.” Siobhan screwed her mouth
up sideways in a gesture of contemplation. “That’s an area where we have no
paths. We’ll have to travel the usual way, I suppose. From Brevik to Reske, how
far is it?”

“Five days on horseback, more or
less.” Why, why wasn’t she asking any of the usual questions? Frustrated, he
frowned darkly at her. “Why aren’t you asking me how I came to be a slave?”

“I would love to have the story,”
she admitted with open frankness. “But the way you’ve been growling at me makes
me think you don’t want to tell it.”

She had that right. As grateful as
he was, Erik was not at all sure he trusted this woman enough to tell his full
history to. Still, if she were to take him back home, she’d have to know at
least the bare bones of it. Grudgingly, he pried his mouth open just enough to
give her basic facts.

“I was kidnapped from Reske when I
was fourteen. A dark guild bought me as a fighter. I stayed there seven years
until I lost the hand. After that, my guild was wiped out by another guild.
They took anyone that survived and sold them to a slave merchant.”

Beirly let out a low whistle. “Seven
years in a dark guild? That’s a long stretch to survive in for a guild like
that. You’re either insanely lucky or insanely strong.”

Not seeing any condemnation, he
relaxed a hair. “A little of both,” he agreed. “Even the loss of the hand is
turning out to be good luck.”

“Yes, it is,” Siobhan confirmed
with a wink. “After all, I wouldn’t have met you if you hadn’t lost it.”

He’d realized at some point that
losing the hand meant getting him free of the dark guilds. But it wasn’t until
she said it that he understood their paths would never have crossed if he’d not
lost his hand. Struck by this thought, he looked down at the clean bandage
covering his stump.

Was fate cruel to him, or kind?

ӜӜӜ

Siobhan got an extra room just for
him, one with a larger bed that he could stretch out on. In spite of this
comfort, he found he couldn’t sleep. He was in the best situation he had been
in in seven years, so he should have dropped off immediately, but his mind spun
and wouldn’t let him rest.

Restless, edgy, he threw back the
covers and slipped his new boots back on before stealing out of the room and to
the one next door. With a careful motion, he turned the handle and eased the
door open soundlessly. Then he just stopped in the doorway and stared at the
woman sleeping so peacefully. Moonlight came in through the window and
highlighted her hair, her cheeks, making her look even more vulnerable than she
had in the daylight. Watching her, a long forgotten instinct surged within him,
clamoring at the back of the mind.

Protect.

He shoved that protective instinct
aside and focused on more practical thoughts. What was truly bothering him was
that she had assumed his family would pay her back for expenses. That was clear
from the conversation over dinner. And she was likely right, but he was not a
man that went along for a free ride. Yes, that was what set ill with him. He
wouldn’t just hang about waiting to answer whatever questions she had. The
other two men weren’t unskilled at fighting, but they were certainly inferior to
him. He’d talk her into buying him a sword and shield before leaving, and then
he’d work off what she had paid out for him. That was the best way.

Satisfied, he turned and retreated
back to his own room as quietly as he had come.

ӜӜӜ

“A sword and shield?” Siobhan
repeated in surprise over breakfast the next morning.

“You don’t have an enforcer in
this guild,”
which is suicide
, he wanted to add. “And it doesn’t sit
well with me for you to just support me until we get to my home. So, buy me a
sword and shield and I’ll work as your enforcer until we get to Reske.”

Siobhan gestured to his injured
arm with her fork. “Can you fight with your arm like that?”

Erik gave her quite the look for
that question.

She held up a hand in surrender,
eyes laughing. “Fine, fine, it was a stupid question. A sword and shield, eh?
Well, I admit it would be nice to have a designated enforcer in the guild, even
if for a short spell. Beirly, Grae, what do you think?”

Grae clearly thought that putting
weapons into the hands of a former dark guildsman was madness and a sure method
to get stabbed in the back. Beirly seemed more impartial to this and lifted one
shoulder in a shrug. “Don’t see why not. Reckon it would help, as the caravan
is bigger than we first planned on. But how you’re going to hold a shield with
that arm, that’s what I’d like to know.”

“Oh?” Siobhan arched a brow at
him, challengingly. “And here I thought a fix-it man like yourself could figure
out how to modify a shield so he could hold it.”

Beirly rolled his eyes. “Yes,
guildmaster, I’ll figure it out.”

“Thank you, dearling.” Satisfied,
she turned back to Erik. “We’ll go shopping after this. I warn you, my purse is
a bit sparse at the moment. If we don’t find something at a good price here, we
might wait until we reach Goldschmidt and shop again there. I can access guild
funds and give us a better price range to work in.”

“If that’s the case, let’s just
wait until we’re back at your guild hall.”

“That we’ll do, then.” 

They finished breakfast in
silence, amiable on Beirly and Siobhan’s part, and in nervous tension from
Grae’s. The man was truly not comfortable in Erik’s presence. But he was used
to such a reaction and tried not to let it bother him much.

Grae escaped upstairs first with
the excuse of packing his bag, and they all did likewise. Siobhan surprised him
by following him straight up and inside. He stopped dead in the middle of the
room and gave her a look askance.

“We have to reapply your poultice
and put new bandages on, remember?” she responded as if he had asked the
question aloud.

Oh, right. It wouldn’t be
something he could do with just one hand.

Erik sat on the edge of the bed
and waited as she dug out clean bandages, the jar of medicine, and a towel from
the washbasin. She sat directly across from him, one leg tucked up under the
other, and spread the towel across her lap. Then she took his arm and with
gentle fingers undid the bandage.