The Heresy Within (39 page)

The Captain turned to face Thanquil. “If you'll come with me please, Arbiter.” His tone made it clear that he was to escort Thanquil alone from here on.

Thanquil hesitated. “Of course. Jezzet, you will accompany me.”

The Captain narrowed his eyes. “The rest of your men will stay here. They are welcome to enjoy the hospitality of our barracks. We have food and ale.”

“Two of my favourite words,” Swift said but with none of his usual grin. “Got a whore or two in there an' all an' I may have ta kiss ya.”

The Captain eyed Swift for a moment, then grunted and turned to march towards the mansion. The Black Thorn caught Thanquil's arm before he could follow and pulled him close to whisper in his ear. “Do ya job, Arbiter. We'll do ours.”

Thanquil nodded once and followed the Captain into the mansion with Jezzet just a step behind.

An old grizzled sergeant with long grey hair that merged with his short grey beard led them to the barracks mess hall. Groups of soldiers were seated all around eating and drinking, jesting and laughing, gaming and gambling. Some looked up and gave them a queer look as they entered but most didn't even spare the crew a glance. It was a good sign as far as the Black Thorn was concerned, drunk soldiers may be more rowdy but they were also less useful if it boiled down to a fight. Though looking at the odds six against sixty did not fill him with confidence no matter how drunk the sixty.

The sergeant waved them to a free table and watched as they all took seats, the Boss slumped into his and his eyes sagged closed.

“Your southerner don't look so good,” the old grey sergeant said. He had good teeth, missing one of his canines but all mostly white and not too many gaps.

“Arrow wound... in back,” the Boss managed to say though his voice was thick and slurred.

“Bandits?”

“There are a lot of them around the Jorl these days despite ya fancy army camped outside,” Swift put in. “How long ya been workin' fer H'ost, old man?”

“Near four years. Used to soldier for the
Sun's Sons
; free company out of Toros. Weren't a lot of us, maybe three hundred in a good year but Lord H'ost bought us an' said we could join him for good an' all and get fed and paid an' have a home in Hostown. Cap'n Bart said we'd rather be free men than soldiers but then the Cap'n didn't wake up next mornin'. Been Lord H'osts since.”

“Look like ya seen ya fair share o' battle.”

The old veteran laughed. “Reckon I've seen at least ten's fair share of battles. Somehow managed to come out of all them unhurt. Bless the Gods.”

“Which Gods?” Betrim asked.

“Any that care to listen, lad. There's plenty of food an' help yourselves to ale. It's coming up to harvest festival time an' Lord H'ost is always free with the ale round now.”

The old, grey sergeant walked off to talk with some other soldiers and was soon sat down supping at a drink of his own. This would be about the time the Boss would tell them all to be careful, not to get themselves good and drunk but the Boss didn't seem to be in much of a condition to tell them anything. Betrim decided he should shoulder that burden himself.

“One ale a piece, ain't worth gettin' drunk. Might be we're needed fer that distraction the Arbiter wanted,” he whispered.

Henry snorted. “Seems ta me this situation has gone from hopeless ta shit storm. Look around you, Thorn,” she hissed. “We're surrounded by H'ost's soldiers. The Arbiter an' his whore are gone an' the Boss... I say we cut our losses an' get the fuck out of here.”

Betrim couldn't say he didn't agree if truth be told.

“No,” the Boss growled through gritted teeth. “We stick ta the plan.”

“What plan?”

That seemed to confuse the Boss. “The Arbiter's plan. He'll do his part an' we all walk away with a million bits.”

Betrim didn't know what a million was but it sure sounded like a lot of bits. Worth a little risk of his life. Though this seemed like more than a little risk.

Truth was something was nagging at the back of Betrim's mind. Something about the mess hall didn't seem right. He looked around, staring at each table in turn, watching the folk drinking, laughing. It all seemed... quiet.

Betrim had been a sell-sword for the better half of his life and if there was one thing he had learned it was that if you put a group of men together with ale things tended to turn loud and messy. Here there were plenty of men and the ale was free and plentiful but the mood was sombre. Soldiers supped at their cups, talking in hushed voices. Every one of them was still armed and armoured. Then his eyes fell on the Captain, he wasn't sure when the man had returned from escorting the Arbiter but he stood by the entrance to the mess hall and watched the crew with icy eyes.

He was just about to warn the rest of the crew when a giant stopped by the table. The big man had short black hair, a squashed, brutish face with a heavy brow and a bulbous nose and a ruddy glow to his cheeks. His arms and chest strained against his doublet.

“Well stand up then, lets 'ave a proper look at ya,” the giant spluttered at Bones.

Bones pushed the chair away from the table and stood up. He and the giant stood as tall as each other but Bones was still stooped. Betrim guessed the bone loving giant had a good four inches on the ruddy cheeked giant.

“Well fuck me with a rusty spear, the boys were right. You are bigger than me.” The ruddy faced giant turned and shouted across the room. “You were right, lads. He's a damned bit bigger than me.”

Bones looked right uncomfortable but the other giant took no notice. “Never met another giant as big as me before,” ruddy face continued, “let alone one bigger. Your father must 'ave been a bear. Hah!”

As the ruddy face giant laughed a few nearby tables joined in with him. Bones wasn't fooled, big man though he may be he was not so stupid as many folk took him for. “My ma weren't no weird. She didn't lie with bears.”

The smile dropped from the ruddy faced giant's mouth. “Was only a joke, big man. How about a friendly contest of strength?”

“An arm wrestle?”

“Hell no, I mean a real test of strength. A good ol' fashioned rope pull. Two men, ten foot of rope and a line between 'em. First one to be pulled across the line loses.”

“What's the point?” Bones asked.

“To prove which of us is stronger.”

Bones shrugged. “Can't say I care.”

The Boss struggled to his feet; he had to keep both hands on the table to steady himself. “Seems ta me it might make fer a welcome
distraction
.”

Bones nodded. “Aye, alright then.”

“Good,” the big ruddy faced giant said. “Your lads can come cheer you on. Your lady too.”

Henry snorted and spat. It wouldn't have surprised Betrim if that was the first time she had ever been called a lady and she didn't look too pleased about it.

It didn't take long once they were outside for Betrim to notice the change. Before the yard had been mostly empty save for a fair number of soldiers milling about doing very little. Now the yard was mostly empty save for the same fair number of soldiers all pointing crossbows at the crew. It was a fairly obvious change and a none too welcome one.

“Reckon we might have been sold out,” said Swift, his voice as low and dangerous as a wolf's growl.

The Captain with the icy eyes walked out behind them. “Take their weapons,” he ordered his men.

None of the crew made any move to resist and they took everything. They even patted Betrim down and took the hidden blades he kept in his coat, most of them anyways. Afterwards the Captain stood facing them, his face a cold stone mask. The Boss swayed on his feet to Betrim's left, Henry seethed on hers to his right.

“Which one of you is the Black Thorn?” the Captain asked in his quiet voice.

Before Betrim could answer Green stepped forward. “That one there,” the lad pointed at Betrim.

“Good,” the Captain continued. “Him we'll send back to Chade. The rest of you will be hanged once his Lordship gives the order.”

“When do I get my reward?” Green asked.

“You sold us out?” Bones asked.

“Sent word we was coming back in Bittersprings. Cost all my coin fer a bird but it's like Thorn is always saying, '
folk don't last long in this game
.'”

“Actually it's boys like you don't last long in this game.”

“Fuck you, Thorn. Looks like I'll be around long after you're gone eh. So when...” The back of the Captain's left hand took Green full in the face and the boy went down spitting teeth and coughing blood.  Betrim always found it amazing how much damage a gauntlet could do to a face; a deep gash had torn the lad's cheek right open and Green screamed.

“Silence him,” the Captain said in his quiet voice. His cold blue eyes swept over the rest of the crew as the ruddy faced giant picked the screaming Green up and delivered a thunderous punch to the lad's gut that drove all the wind out of him and left him gasping.

“Don't reckon you should start screaming again,” the giant said. “For the best if you just stay quiet.”

“His Lordship will decide just what kind of reward you deserve. Bind their hands, sergeant.”

The old, grey haired, grey bearded man moved to obey, apologising even as he tied rope around their wrists.

Then the Captain smiled. “His Lordship will be done with your witch hunter soon enough. Then he will sentence you.”

As far as halls went it wasn't a bad one, Jezzet was sure it could fit a small house inside. Wooden floors all polished and slippery, paintings on the walls; one of H'ost himself if Jezzet remembered what he looked like. More candles than was necessary to light a room three times the size and all were lit; seemed to give the room a thick atmosphere. One large table dominated the centre of the hall. It was long enough to seat thirty folk but at the moment it had only four chairs.

One for me, one for Thanquil, one for H'ost and one for Constance.
Does he mean to feed us to death?

There was, as yet, no food on the table but it was all set out with plates and cutlery for four people.
Maybe he means to poison us?
Jez thought H'ost was more than capable of such deception but Constance... Constance would want to kill Jezzet with her own hands.

The Captain had escorted them to the room, instructed them to wait and departed. Since then Jezzet and Thanquil had been alone in the room and for all those five minutes neither had spoken. The Arbiter had taken a seat at the table and seemed content just to wait. Jezzet did not feel so relaxed; she paced, she muttered, she loosened her sword in its scabbard, she made an entire circuit of the room and glared at each painting at turn, considered smashing a very old, very expensive-looking vase, she stopped and stared into the large empty fireplace, walked to each of the windows in turn and looked out; a short drop to the ground below, Constance wouldn't baulk at following her out of these windows.

“Jez, I need you to do something for me,” Thanquil said from his seat at the table. He was looking at her with those pretty blue eyes of his.

“Aye. Last time you asked me to do something for you it ended with you turning the Boss into a walking, talking corpse. Well actually he does very little of either these days but he still looks very corpse-like.”

“I need you to make Constance angry.”

“My breathing makes her angry.”

“Then breathe a lot. I want her to attack you.”

“Why? Why don't I just attack her?” Jezzet asked though truth was she expected Constance to try and kill her on sight.

“They're less likely to call for more guards if she attacks you. After that feel free to kill her.” Thanquil was sporting that thoughtful, far-away look he sometimes got. Strange but it made Jezzet want to smile.

“While you question H'ost?”

“Aye.”

“What about the guards?” she asked.

“I'll deal with the guards.”

Jezzet sighed and sank down into the chair next to him. Truth was he looked tired and more than a little nervous.
Reckon you look any better, Jez?

“Thanquil, what is this all about? I mean, why are we here?”

The Arbiter winced and ran a hand through his dark oak hair; it was getting long, almost down to his shoulders.
He looks better with short hair.

“Not here, Jez. I promise you, if we both survive, I'll tell you everything.”

That seemed to be about all the answer he was willing to give at the moment so Jezzet turned her attention to the table and decided to wait. There was a fork missing from the spot at the head of the table, she noticed, some poor servant would receive a whipping for that. There were plenty of spoons though.

“Ever killed anyone with a spoon, Arbiter?” she asked. Thanquil only laughed in reply.

The two big doors at the far end of the room swung open and a man in servant's garb scuttled through. “Lord Gregor H'ost, Lord of Hostown and head of the family H'ost. Victor of Sefly's Point, Short Hill, Mooson and Baskville. Warden of the Jorl and rightful king of the wilds.”

Rightful king of the wilds? That one's new.

The man who swept into the room was just as Jezzet remembered. Tall, handsome, short-cropped auburn hair with a little more grey in it now. His face had sharp features that some would call hard and cold but Jezzet had seen the man laugh and smile and she knew better. He wore a simple shirt of green on red along with similar trousers. No sword hung from his belt but he did have a large purse.
Still carrying around a small fortune in bits, H'ost?

“Arbiter Thanquil Darkheart,” H'ost said in a merry tone. “I've been expecting you.”

That made the Arbiter pause. For a moment he looked lost. Jezzet saw Thanquil glance around the room before finding his tongue.

“Lord H'ost. On behalf of the Inquisition I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“Of course,” H'ost dismissed the Arbiter's comment with a wave of his hand. “Jezzet Vel'urn, It has been a long time. You look well... of sorts.”

Constance strode in just behind her master. As much a giant as she had ever been she stood at close to seven feet and was as muscled as the Boss. Her face had long, awkward features that Jez had compared to a donkey on more than one occasion and her hair was the colour of dirty straw, tied back on top of her head in a tight tail. She wore mail on top of boiled leather and a heavy long sword on her left hip with an equally heavy short sword on her right. Constance's left eye, glazed and white glared at Jezzet unseeing, her right eye held all the fury of a particularly violent storm.