"There is much more to it. I know that now." Marcellus gazed into the contents of his glass as if for answers. "Someone desperately wants a war, Cully."
"A war?" Cully winced at the twinge in his bad leg. "Do you truly think that's what all of this is about? Seems too complicated. Wars are started by bad blood and greed. Not by pulling strings from Kaerleon to Bruallia."
"Depends on who's pulling the strings," Marcellus said. "Right now the most fearsome warlord in the Outlands has the perfect excuse to bring his forces over the Dragonspine. Thanks to Lucretius' mad decisions, the kingdom is the most fragile it's ever been. We won't be able to make a stand in time. Not against fighters like the Bruallians. Leodia will shatter like pottery."
Cully cursed softly. "Bloody chasms. If that's true then what can you possibly do, Marcellus?"
"It is what I must do that torments me," Marcellus said softly. "It is good to see you, old friend. I would speak more at length, but there isn't any time. Be sure to awaken me before daybreak."
BEFORE DAWN, CULLY provided his friend and the lady with fresh horses and full saddlebags. "Deis watch over you, my friend," he said as Marcellus mounted.
"If He will." Marcellus looked to the western horizon. "Stay away from Kaerleon. A storm is coming."
The lady appeared as if to say something, but Marcellus spurred his horse forward. She gave Cully a regretful look and galloped swiftly after Marcellus, toward the expanse where thunder rumbled in the dark clouds. Cully watched until they were lost to sight, then sighed as he turned away.
"No point in worrying, old fool," he muttered. "There's nothing you can do."
When Cully returned to the inn, Gile Noman sat at the bar. The bulky, disheveled man downed a tankard of ale and wiped his mouth with the back of a calloused hand, scrubbing the stubble on his face with a scraping sound.
"Word is I just missed some guests. Bloody hate when that happens."
Cully gazed at Marilee, the serving girl who practically cowered behind the bar counter. Her pale face and furtive glances toward Gile made it obvious that she was terrified.
"Go upstairs, Marilee. There's linens that need changing."
The girl practically ran out of the room. Cully swallowed, trying to summon his nerve as he turned to his visitor. Gile had a notched, well-honed dagger in hand, using it to trim his filthy fingernails.
"Heard it was a dark-haired fighting man and a pretty young girl with golden brown hair." Gile's pale, blind eye glimmered in the firelight. The other one was lost in the shadows of his face. "Just the description I gave to you not two nights ago."
Cully folded his arms. "Maybe it was. I get a lot of guests. And I never told you that I was looking for your amber. Not if it comes at the price of betrayal."
Gile snorted a laugh. "You know him, do you? Friends with the Champion of Kaerleon. Not a lot of men who can make that claim. Bloody good for you. That means you can tell me all about what he said. What his plans are. Where he's going." He peered at his nails, never looking at Cully.
"Maybe you can take your inquiries elsewhere," Cully said. "The Town Watch don't stand for folks that threaten the good folk around here. You'd best move on before you get clapped in irons for your trouble."
Gile's leg snapped out and slammed into Cully's bad knee with an iron-shod boot. Something crunched, and Cully gasped as he crumpled ungracefully to the freshly swept floor. A groan escaped his clenched teeth from the fire that lanced through his leg. Panic seized him as he tried to gauge the damage, wondering if he'd ever use that leg again.
Gile was on him in an instant. Cully's breath exploded from his lungs when Gile slammed a boot into his chest. He wheezed and fought for air as Gile drove a knee into his abdomen and seized one of his hands. There was a glint of steel and the stinging bite of a razor's edge on his little finger.
Cully screamed when the finger was cut off. His feet kicked helplessly, but Gile held him down as easily as a child. Cully gritted his teeth as his hand throbbed and twitched, streaming blood.
Gile grinned as his thrust the severed digit in Cully's face. "I thought you were a soldier, fat man. I've raped wenches with more balls than you. One little finger and you're squalling like a bloody tot." He flung the finger across the floor and brought his leering face close to Cully's. "I know you're counting on your scrawny barmaid to fetch the Town Watch in time to save you, right? Might happen. But it might be you want the rest of the fingers on your hand, too. So you better start talking and don't bother with telling lies. Gile knows a tale when he hears it, and for every one you spit, I cut off another fat finger." His lips peeled back in a wolfish grin.
"How many you keep is up to you."
Interlude: Worran
Worran and his band came across the pair of travelers near the stream. He smiled inwardly. Where there was water, there would always be victims. With all the marauder bands roaming the countryside, word had spread and travelers were scarce. When they did risk crossing the long roads, they usually did so in armed groups. It was a wonder that he and his men came across anything short of fully guarded caravans. Running across two travelers alone was the equivalent of gold raining from the heavens, especially since one of them was a woman.
The man turned at the sound of hooves, eyeing them warily as he pulled the lady's mare to the side to let them pass. Worran smiled. Their saddlebags looked quite full, a bonus. Pickings had been slim for days. Worran and his four mates slowly circled the pair.
Worran's best mate Iram juggled five brightly-colored balls as he guided his horse with his knees. He'd been a former menagerie entertainer, but purses were lean these days. He'd reunited with Worran a month back. "And what have we got here, lads?" His throaty voice was rich with amusement. "A lady and her guard, perhaps? Brave souls to be traveling alone, aren't they?" The rest of the band laughed.
Strangely enough, the man did not display any fear of the armed band. "Has the arm of Parand become so lax that criminals like you are allowed free rein?"
Worran smiled as he continued to guide his dappled gelding slowly around the pair. "The arm of Parand been lopped off, wanderer. Thanks to the great King Lucretius. His order is that none in Parand bear arms except Leodian soldiers." His grin widened. "And they are far and few. The law of the sword is what rules Parand now, and there are five swords to your one, sir. Best if you submit to our rule now, yeah?" His band snickered at his wit.
Steel glimmered from the stranger's eyes, though his voice was emotionless. "You and your friends should leave. Just turn back and keep going. There's no need for you to die, boy."
The man was serious. Worran almost hesitated but barked a laugh instead. "Let's see how brave you are with a sword in your gut."
The lady held out her hand warningly. "Please. You must listen. He will kill you all if you don't."
Worran threw back his head and laughed. "You have pretty eyes, but no grasp of numbers, milady. Not to worry, we'll make this quick," he said. "Quick for your bodyguard, anyway. We may have to spend a bit more time with you, yeah?" His band laughed again.
Scarcely had they moved when Iram's laughter cut off with a gurgle. His eyes bulged as he clutched his ruined throat. The balls he'd been juggling toppled unceremoniously to the ground.
The stranger wheeled his horse around, a bloodied sword in hand. His eyes blazed. The woman pulled her mount back, gasping. Worran stared. He hadn't even seen the man draw the blade. It was impossible.
The others scrambled for their arms as their horses shied at the scent of blood. Two of them died before they could pull the blades from their scabbards. Their bodies toppled almost peacefully as the stranger's horse reared. It hardly seemed enough time for all of it to happen.