Lots of angry looks, but no words, until a woman’s voice from off to the side said, “And now who speaks rudely?”
Sayeed and Zeeahd turned to see a tall, strongly built woman with long red hair walking toward the crowd. Sayeed would have thought her attractive had he still felt such things.
The cats at Zeeahd’s feet hissed at the woman as she approached, and her step faltered, her eyes on the creatures.
“You mind your tongue, woman,” Zeeahd said. “Lest. . ”
Sayeed’s hand on his brother’s arm halted whatever threat he might have uttered, but the woman took his point and would have none of it. She put her hands on her hips and stuck out her chin.
“Lest what, goodsir?”
“Elle,” said another woman in the crowd, a small, mousy looking woman with a mane of black tresses.
“No, Ana,” Elle said, and glared at Zeeahd. “Say what you would, sir.”
“Yes, lest what?” said another man in the back.
Most of the villagers’ expressions grew vaguely hostile, although a few looked frightened. The children in the crowd, perhaps sensing the rising tension, looked upon events with wide, fearful eyes.
“Now, now,” Minser the peddler said, as he lowered himself from the deck, huffing with the exertion of moving his fat. The crowd parted to let him through. He wore a fake, vacuous smile that annoyed Sayeed. “Things have gotten off poorly for no reason that I can see. I can assure you, goodsirs, that Fairelm is a village of unparalleled hospitality.”
“Our homes are not hovels,” spat a large, bearded man near the front of the crowd. Nodded heads greeted his assertion.
“Nor our women to be threatened,” added another.
Minser gestured grandly, a king granting dispensation. Sweat beaded his brow. “Of course not! And I’m sure these men meant no offense! They misspoke, is all.”
The cats lined up before Zeeahd, eyeing Minser coldly. The peddler’s eyes went to them, to Zeeahd, back to the cats. He licked his lips nervously.
“Yes, well, um, perhaps you two could explain what brings you to Fairelm? If the good people here can be of assistance, I’m sure you’ll have it. Within reason. And if not, well, then you can be on your way. Much of the day remains, and this is the best time to be traveling.”
A round of “ayes” arose from the villagers.
Zeeahd stiffened, leaned forward, looking at Minser closely. “What’s that?” “What’s what?” asked Minser.
“On your neck, what is that?”
Zeeahd advanced on the peddler, who nearly stumbled over himself backtracking. The crowd surged forward a step, but that was all. Sayeed put his hand to the hilt of his blade.
Zeeahd snatched at a lanyard hanging from Minser’s neck and yanked it hard, snapping it.
“Sir!” Minser said, his face blotching red.
Zeeahd held the lanyard before him. A medallion hung from it, a medallion that featured a rose and a sun. The cats crept forward, gathering at Zeeahd’s feet. Zeeahd’s tone was sharp enough to cut flesh. “How did you come by this?”
The peddler stuck out his chest. “That is none of your-”
Zeeahd grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him close. His brother was much stronger than his slight frame would suggest. “How did you get this, peddler?”
“Let him go,” Elle said, and angry murmurs formed in the crowd. They moved closer.
“Aye! Let him go.”
The cats at Zeeahd’s feet arched their backs, hissed, showed fangs. Sayeed moved to his brother’s side, eyes cold.
“Keep your distance,” Sayeed ordered them.
“Speak, Minser,” Zeeahd said. “Your life depends on truth.”
The peddler sputtered, terrified. “My life? You threaten me? What is this?”
“Speak!” Sayeed said, his eyes still on the crowd.
“I got. . I got it at an abbey.”
Zeeahd’s hand gathered more of the peddler’s shirt into his fist. His voice was as tight as bowstring, his eyes on Minser’s face. “The Abbey of the Rose?”
Minser hesitated, nodded, his eyes moving from Zeeahd to Sayeed.
Sayeed glanced at the peddler, hope rising in him, making him as giddy as his brother.
“And while you were at the Abbey of the Rose, you saw. . the Oracle?”
Several in the crowd made a sign with their hands: three fingers raised to the sky.
Minser gulped, nodded. “And. . the sacred tomb of Dawnlord Abelar.”
Sayeed whirled on him. “Who?”
“Did you say sacred?” Zeeahd asked, his voice low.
“He did,” Sayeed said.
Sweat poured off of Minser’s brow. He swabbed at it with a dirty hand, streaking his face with filth.
Hearing the name of Abelar Corrinthal, hearing him given a hallowed titled, his resting place called “sacred,” all of it made Sayeed want to puke.
Zeeahd released Minser, and the fat peddler adjusted his shirt and his dignity.
“Thank you, Minser,” Zeeahd said, faking a smile. “You must know where the abbey is, then.”
Minser huffed. “No one knows where it is exactly. The Oracle sees who will come and sends Dawnswords to fetch them. But I doubt that you two-”
“And they fetched you?” Zeeahd asked.
Minser’s mind seemed to be catching up with his mouth, so he held his tongue.
“Speak, man!” Sayeed said, his shout startling the peddler.
“Yes, they fetched me. I. . wanted to see the Dawnlord’s tomb.”
“The sacred tomb,” Zeeahd said, closing his fist over the medallion. “Of Dawnlord Abelar.”
Minser chewed the corner of his moustache. He seemed unable to make sense of things. “You. . think him other than a good man?”
Zeeahd smacked Minser across the face, eliciting gasps from the crowd. “I know him to be other than a good man!”
Minser’s mouth moved but no word emerged. A trickle of blood leaked from the corner of his lips.
“Something to say?” Zeeahd asked. “Say it, fat man.”
The peddler’s face reddened but still he made no sound.
Sayeed, caught up in Zeeahd’s growing anger, held up his maimed hand, showing the stump of his thumb. “Your Dawnlord took my thumb and that of scores of other unarmed men. He was a coward.”
Gasps and uncomfortable expressions answered his proclamation.
“You’re mad,” someone said. “Leave here!”
“Dawnlord Abelar died a hundred years ago,” said a burly man in a thick homespun, probably the village’s smith.
“He’s jesting,” said the fat peddler, rubbing his cheek, then blanched before Sayeed’s hard gaze. “Aren’t you?”
Another man’s voice from deeper in the crowd said, “You look hale for a man of a hundred winters.”
Uncertain laughter.
Sayeed sought the source of the voice in the crowd. His gaze killed the laughter.
“Jest?” Sayeed snarled. “You think I jest? About this?”
The smith’s wife, Ana, tried to pull the man away from the front of the crowd. “Come on, Corl. Let’s go now. Breakfast is ready.”
“No one is going anywhere,” Sayeed snapped, and whisked his blade free. He knew now how events would unfold. The cats did, too, for they meowed in excitement.
The crowd went wide-eyed at the sight of Sayeed’s blade. A child wailed.
The red-haired woman, Elle, stepped forward, her arms held out to her sides as if she would protect the entire village with them.
“Why don’t you put your blade back and be on your way, now? Please, just leave.”
The villagers nodded heads, murmured agreement.
Zeeahd shoved Minser away, causing the fat man to stumble, and glared at Elle until she took a step back.
“I take no orders from you, woman.”
“I meant no offense.”
Zeeahd paced before all of the villagers, staring at them, fists clenched.
“Ah, but now I am offended! By this place! By all of you!” He glared at the crowd. “My brother spoke truth. One hundred years ago Abelar maimed unarmed men, us among them.” He held up his own severed thumb. “Dawnlord Abelar stole our livelihood, stole our lives.” His voice rose as he spoke, spit flying. He made wild gestures with his hands. The cats trailed him like angry shadows, hackles raised, hissing. “Dawnlord Abelar condemned us to a cursed existence, a living hell, with only a devil’s promise to give us hope. And you venerate him. You simplistic idiots. You wish to see? Do you?”