Braylar’s smile never left his face, held there so long it was worrisome. “A Syldoon never overpays, Lady Innkeep. Under on occasion, and accurate to a penny the rest of the time, but never over. Food and lodging, as discussed. The extra is to cover the damage.”
Gremete looked up at the second floor and back to the captain. “About to recant on the good patron part. What all did you do to my rooms, Syldoon?”
“The rooms are in fine shape, Gremete. Never better. Some repairable damage to overall business I imagine. I expect it will be readily apparent soon enough.” He regarded me, smile gone. “I had hoped all the armor and weapons and what not had alerted you to a pending melee. Were those hints overly subtle? Move, Arki.”
He headed out the door, as Gremete started asking another question and just as quickly stopped when it was obvious he was in no mood for more discussion. She looked at me and I shrugged my shoulders. “The man does know something about damage, but I have no idea what he’s talking about either.”
She tucked the purse into her apron, threw a towel over her shoulder, and disappeared into a dark hall, shaking her head as she went.
Hurrying after Braylar, the writing case, satchel, crossbow, and quiver all bounced in various directions.
I walked into the stalls, the hint of the sun flaking the roofs and eaves to the east, but generally still blocked off from all but the castle in Alespell right now. The half-moon and its half-ring was still half-visible above one roof, delicate and white, like some fragile bit of crystal that had already been cracked in two, the missing half crushed to dust or fallen behind the horizon. A lantern hung on a hook just inside the stable door, otherwise we’d be in near darkness still, even with dawn upon us, but it was shuttered most of the way, and so the interior was gloom. Most of the Syldoon were mounted already, and Soffjian and Skeelana were as well.
It was a larger party than I expected, certainly more than had been staying at the Grieving Dog. I did a quick count and came up with eighteen: fifteen soldiers, two Memoridons, plus myself. With the chill in the air, everyone’s breath was ghosting in front of their faces at irregular intervals, and the effect was nearly mesmerizing. All these soldiers, armed and armored and saddled up for some skirmish or battle that only a handful of them had any understanding of, simply trusting that their captain had roused them in the middle of the night with good cause. Which was likely true. So when I shivered, it had less to do with a chill outside the skin as in.
I secured my gear on my horse as best I could, and it looked only marginally less clumsy on the animal than it had on me. But at least it wouldn’t have to bear the added weight of armor. Though if Captain Killcoin was right, I’d probably find myself wishing I had some. When we headed to the temple, I expected I might witness some combat, but never imagined I might be in the thick of it. And there was little question I would be this morning.
The captain turned his helm over, spread the aventail drape out, then tipped his head down as he lifted the helm over, the riveted rings spreading about his shoulders and obscuring every part of his face save for his eyes. It gave him an even more fearsome look than usual.
Mulldoos approached Braylar and reported, “All the men are ready. And the wagons will move out later today, as ordered.”
Braylar nodded and pulled one glove tighter on his hand, flexing the fingers. “Very good. And the rest?”
Mulldoos nodded. “Timing’s like to be tricky, Cap, but the ripper’ll show on cue, or the man that cocks it up will answer to me.”
Braylar nodded. “Who do you have assigned?”
Mulldoos called out, “Lugger, Brunzlo, over here, now.”
Two soldiers came jogging over, lamellar plates clacking.
Mulldoos said, “Cap’s got some questions for you.” Then he moved off to inspect one thing or another, possibly for the third or fourth time, was my guess.
Braylar turned to them. “You boys up to this?”
The taller soldier who had a pronounced dent in his nasal helm said, “Aye, Cap. Got it squared away, no worries.”
“And the keepers?”
The shorter Syldoon chuckled and ran a finger across his neck in a sign that hadn’t required interpretation since the dawn of time. I thought about how angry I’d been at that family for profiting off a caged beast and the foolishness of yokels, but that didn’t mean they deserved to get murdered. My stomach flipped and wrestled with itself.
Braylar nodded. “Timing is critical. Open the cage too soon, and you’re like to spoil the surprise and probably get killed in the bargain. Too late, and you will still end up dead. By sword or claw. Or Mulldoos. Either way, succeed and you’re heroes, fail, and…” he drew a gloved finger across the mail drape, right around throat level.
Both soldiers saluted and walked their horses out of the stable and into the alley leading to the main street. I got my horse moving and sidled alongside the captain. I glanced at the rear entrance to the inn and seeing no one, asked as quietly as I could, “Is this really wise, captain? I’ve seen this creature-it isn’t a trained-”
“It was your suggestion. And safer than the alternative.”
“Which was?”
“Fire.”
“Fire?”
“An element. The hot one.”
I thought about the stables, the hay, the wattle, daub, and old wood in nearly every building. Yes, even a small fire would be more dangerous than a ripper running free.
“But, what if it kills patrons here? Shopkeepers? Fairgoers?”
“It is a ripper. I would be disappointed if it simply nuzzled them and showed its belly for a good rub.” Braylar was trying to make light, but between knowing that the man and his sons were lying in a pool of dried blood somewhere, and the likelihood that others would be soon enough, I felt sick again.
“Is that why you paid Gremete extra, because-”
Braylar lowered his voice, whisper-rasping, “Gremete has been compensated. Grossly, unless I misjudge. I imagine she will be safe indoors in any event. While your affection for battered soldiers, plump pilgrims, scarecrow girls, and flinty old innkeeps is commendable and duly noted, you seem to forget, I do what must be done to protect my men and our mission. And if that required all of Alespell to be turned to ash, I would gladly do it. But with any luck, our enemies will serve as the main course, and the beast will be hunted and killed before it can cause any serious mischief.”
Braylar looked up at the dawnlight, more prominent on the shingles on the upper portions of the roof now, creeping down like a silent thief. “We have to move. Now. But rest assured, my tender scribe, this will likely save lives. Ours, at least. And in the final tally, that is all that truly matters.” He called out to the other soldiers in the barn. “Lead your horses. We go.”
We all rode out onto the main concourse, Broadbeef Lane, and headed east away from the Grieving Dog. It was largely deserted at this early hour, but even if curfew hadn’t been lifted and the first Fairgoers hadn’t crossed the bridges and gates, some Alespell denizens were already up and moving through the streets, though most darted into the shadows or down a side street at the approach of a large party of men on horse, so I never got close enough to make out their purpose. Likely some were bakers or craftsmen, and some thieves or drunkards, though if the latter, sobering up remarkably well, and moving to safer avenues.
Many of the buildings in this district, a mix of commercial residences with the merchants living above the storefronts, were full of variety, the corbelled houses and shop fronts with a wild mix of facades… chipped paint and whitewash, ornamented by irregular paneling, faded murals, enamel mosaics, and decorative tiles both cracked and new. In the still dim light, the colors were muted and largely gray or grayer, but the diversity of construction and decoration still caught the eye, as did the range of signs hanging for the illiterate to make out the purpose of the shops-some wooden silhouettes, like the scissors hanging from the tailor, the saddle from the saddler, and others with the object painted on simple signs, like the boot for the shoemaker, the candle for chandler, and on and on. Some were simple and without frills, but a few merchants had employed talented artists to render hats and purses and wagon wheels and locks and gloves and every other thing someone might sell or buy.