Royce’s head tilted up abruptly. He leaned forward and said, “Prove me wrong.” Then Royce stood and moved for the rear door. A moment later Hadrian heard the sound of footfalls approaching.
Hadrian watched as five men entered. Each wrapped themselves in dark cloaks, but the sound of chain mail was unmistakable and in Hadrian’s mind conjured the smell of blood, the squish of mud, and feet that were never dry. Their faces were flushed from the wind, hair tangled and thrown back. They scanned the room, eyes intent.
“Welcome, lads, name’s Dougan.” He held out his hand but none moved to shake it. “What can I do you for?”
One of the men threw his cloak back over one shoulder, revealing the red underside and a broken crown crest on his chest. He also uncovered a sword-a Tiliner rapier with a knuckle guard and sharpened pommel. Hadrian had seen hundreds. They were the blade of choice among professionals. Made in Tiliner Delgos, it was a solid working weapon, an effective and practical instrument of murder.
“Looking for two men out of Sheridan who knifed a boy,” the man said.
Dougan’s eyebrows rode up. “Are you now?”
“We are.” The men spread out, scraping their heavy boots on the worn wood. They eyed the tinker and the priest; then three made a small circle around the table where Hadrian sat with Lord Marbury. “And who might you two be?”
“That there is Lord Marbury,” Dougan said in gentle warning tone. “He owns most of the land south of the lake.”
Harding turned around. “And he’s had a few to drink, so I wouldn’t say he’s in the best of moods today.”
“I’m not,” Marbury growled at the priest, “and you’re not making it any better.”
“We were told one of the pair carried three swords,” a different man said. Thick eyebrows, a trimmed beard interrupted by a half-moon scar across his chin, he stood hovering over Hadrian. “Some sort of soldier, a mercenary maybe.”
“This here is a friend of mine up from Rhenydd,” Marbury declared. “And he’s a smith. Made those swords himself, am I right?”
Hadrian nodded.
“So you’re saying these are samples of your work, then?” The man hovered over him, his head cocked to the side, one finger pushing and pulling the pommel of the great sword.
“They are,” Hadrian confirmed.
“Let me have a look.” He held out his hand.
Hadrian couldn’t see behind him now without appearing suspicious, but he was certain at least two of the three had moved up. Royce was outside near the sewer waiting in ambush to slit the throat of anyone who followed him out. He was likely listening to every word. Hadrian glanced toward the rear door. If he ran for it, at least two would grab him while the others drew steel. If that happened, he could yell and Royce would hear. It would be a bloody fight then, and afterward…
Prove me wrong.
He was testing him. Arcadius says you’re supposed to know how to fight. Maybe he wanted to know for certain before the job. Maybe he wanted to know he could stomach shoving a foot of steel through a man, and if he could kill innocent bystanders if it came to that.
Prove me wrong.
Hadrian looked across at Lord Marbury and decided he would do just that.
Hadrian drew his short sword from its scabbard and, careful to take it by the blade, extended the pommel to the man hovering over him. He watched how he placed his fingers around the grip. He knew how to handle a sword, but he was shaking hands with the weapon, not planning on shoving it into his chest-not yet.
“Why are seret involved in a petty knife fight?” Marbury asked.
So this is a seret.
“The boy who was stabbed is the son of Baron Lerwick.” He lifted the short sword, flicking it from side to side; then he spun it, rolling the hilt over the back of his hand, catching the grip again.
“Lerwick, eh?” Marbury nodded. “How long ago this happen?”
“Few days.”
“Kid dead?”
“No.” The man turned the blade back and forth in his palm.
“Close to it?”
“No.”
“Seems like a lot of trouble for nothing, then.”
“The baron doesn’t agree and neither does the archbishop.”
Marbury smirked at him. “Oh? My congratulations on owning such fine horses,” Marbury addressed the bar in a loud voice. “These men must have the fastest mounts in Avryn to be able to learn about this knifing, ride to Monreel, speak to the baron, then to Ervanon to speak to the archbishop and get back here, all in one day.”
The man ignored him. “This sword is awfully worn.”
“It gets a lot of use,” Hadrian said.
“I thought you were a sword smith and this was only a sample.”
“Of course it is,” the tinker spoke up. “That’s why it’s so worn. I should know. I’ve been a tinker longer than anyone in this room has been breathing. When you sell tools, you know that people do all kinds of stupid things with them. Hit rocks, chop wood, stab them in the ground … just while trying to decide. You can’t afford to have your stock ruined by such abuse. Instead, you pick one and use it as the sample that everyone beats on.”
The man looked at the weapon again and licked his lips. “Not very pretty work.”
“I’m not a very good smith.”
“How long has this man been here?” The seret holding Hadrian’s sword looked to Dougan.
The bartender shrugged. “Hard to say.”
“Three days,” Marbury said. “Been staying with me at my house on the north shore. I have him working on a new copper tub for boiling the wort for my ale.”
“That right?” the man asked the bartender.
Dougan shrugged. “How would I know what goes on at His Lordship’s house?”
“What about you, Reverend? Can you confirm this man’s story?”
Harding glanced at Marbury. “I would never dispute the word of His Lordship. He’s a fine upstanding member of this community.”
“He is?”
“Absolutely.”
“Anyone else stop by?”
“My nephew’s here too,” Marbury explained. “He’s out back with a chamber pot. Got hold of a bad chicken this afternoon and is still paying for it. You want me to drag the lad in so you can harass him too?”
The man scowled and dropped Hadrian’s sword on the table with a clang. He led the others back to the door, then paused. “We’ll be back this way. The pair we’re looking for is actually a big man and a little guy-dressed in black. If you do notice anyone, I would appreciate you let us know.”
“Will do, and come back again when you can stay and drink.” Dougan smiled and waved as they walked out.
Hadrian looked at Lord Marbury as he returned his sword to its scabbard. “I’ve been building you a copper tub?”
“You’re obviously incredibly lazy, as I don’t think you’ve even started.” He lifted his mug. “Your friend abandon you?”
“No. He’s waiting out back. He was planning an ambush in case they got physical.”
“He’s the one who stabbed that kid, then?”
“Yeah, but he was-”
Marbury held up his free hand. “No need to explain. It’s just a shame he didn’t stick the knife into the baron himself.”
“Don’t care for Lerwick?”
“Not at all. The man is a liar, a cheat, and a disreputable scoundrel.”
“He’s also good friends with his holiness the archbishop,” Harding said.
“Which is how he has a troop of Seret Knights at his disposal.”
“What are seret?”
“Soldiers of the church,” the priest explained.
“Enforcers of the church,” Marbury said. “Bullies and brutes. Started out centuries ago as the Knights of the Order of Lord Darius Seret-another ruddy sod if ever there was one. That whole family was touched. Lerwick is related to that clan somehow, which explains a lot. Mean bastards.”
Hadrian watched the hallway to the back door.
“Maybe you should go look?”