We waited, and much like waiting for Henlester’s underpriest to show himself at the temple, it was about the least calm anticipation I could imagine. I tried to distract myself from the fact that our lives were very likely hanging in the balance or could be snuffed out in mere moments by focusing on the small details around me, but given my state of mind, all I dwelt on were things unpleasant, uncomfortable, and nearly unbearable. The heavy stench of urine in the alley from animals, drunks, or thieves, that was like a damp blanket wrapped around my head. The dead rat’s siblings, nibbling away at decay and rot in the deep shadows and the droppings and most rotten leavings even unfit for them. The pocked and crumbling wall at my back that had surely been pissed on, as it felt like barely congealed powder and paste. The fact that the last time I sat waiting like this, I at least had Lloi there to keep me company, but now there were only the deadly Syldoon and even more mysterious or perplexing Memoridons.
It was almost better to think of the impending battle and bloodshed.
Braylar turned to me. “Ready your weapon, Arki. When we move out, stay near Vendurro until that proves impossible, then remain in the rear. But do not loose the bolter unless you absolutely have to and you are in mortal peril. And maybe not even then. I’m still not sure I trust you not to shoot someone I like in the face.”
Or maybe urine and decay were preferable.
Suddenly Braylar raised a hand. I wondered if he sensed the approach through Bloodsounder, but then I realized why-the very faint but detectable sound of many feet on the cobblestones of Broadbeef Lane. They weren’t marching or tromping, and any other time of day, the sound would have been lost amid the clamor of other noises. As it was even with all senses alert, it was still very difficult to hear the approach of the men. I looked between some crates, saw them heading west on Broadbeef toward the Grieving Dog, passing the intersection with Bulwark. They were armed men, to be certain, and many in mail hauberks as far as I could tell. Just as the captain had predicted. Foreseen. All of them were moving as quietly as men could while in armor in a city before it truly wakes up.
I was counting them as they passed and disappeared from view when I noticed something else that threw me off. They were all wearing baldrics. As most of them were right-handed and had their swords and daggers on their left, I did catch one of them turning to look down Bulwark and glimpsed the horn handing on the end of the baldric on his other hip.
So it was Hornmen and not Brunesmen approaching stealthily with intent to capture or kill us-there were at least thirty soldiers. Possibly more. It seemed the Hornmen thought their jurisdiction included Alespell inns after all, or at least they were willing to risk Brune’s wrath in taking the Syldoon.
I was certain Braylar must have noted the baldrics as well, but just in case he hadn’t, I heard Vendurro whisper from right behind my shoulder, “Not Brune’s boys at all, Cap. You sure do know how to piss off them Hornmen, though. Real glad we ain’t still in bed.”
Braylar turned toward me as he responded. “It would indeed be a bad day to still be abed.” While the dawn light was working its way down the buildings, it didn’t penetrate the alley at all, and even if it had, with his face obscured by mail and his eyes lost in shadow, I couldn’t make out the slightest expression, but I could feel the malevolence in the stare. The fact that I only heard it somehow made it even worse.
I had advocated sparing the young Hornman in the grass, and I had been spotted by him in the bazaar. I had trouble swallowing, realizing that whatever blood was spilled this day would be in large part due to me.
“Where are their horses?” I asked in a croak.
Vendurro replied, “Probably got them stowed a couple blocks away. Figure easier to sneak up on foot, guessing.”
A Syldoon stepped out from a doorway near the intersection that I hadn’t even known was there. He’d been ten feet from all the soldiers who’d passed. He gave some hand signal that meant nothing to me, which clearly put me in the minority, as it immediately set us in motion. Braylar stepped out into Bulwark, crossbow still relaxed but ready to dispatch death from a distance. We followed him out, and without another word, he turned away from Broadbeef and started walking pretty quickly in the opposite direction. This didn’t seem an oddity to anyone else except me either, as the Syldoon fell in behind him and we were all on the move, even if it seemed to be going the wrong way. I tried holding my crossbow like the soldiers around me, so if it somehow discharged, it would angle up and away from anyone in the company. Though the same couldn’t be said for anyone who happened to pop their head out a second story window to empty a chamber pot or see what the commotion was about. Still, it was smarter than aiming it at my feet.
When we got to the end of the block though, the decision to head in this direction made more sense. We turned onto Furl Street, heading northwest, and kept up a brisk pace as it slowly angled toward the Grieving Dog as well.
Closing in on the intersection, Braylar slowed down and crept closer to the facades and locked doorways which were still resisting the dawn with all the stark shadowiness they could muster. As the street slowly curved toward Broadbeef, I had to fight off the sudden and mad urge to laugh. Skulking through the shadows was like being a boy, playing Stalk the Stalkers, only the men were armed with real weapons, not sticks, and blood was about to be spilled. Quite a bit of it.
As we approached the intersection, I was sure we would be heard, just as we had heard the Hornmen. While our party wasn’t as large, and we were attempting to move with stealth, armor can’t be quieted completely, and there were still quite a few of us. But as we crept to the end of the building on Furl street, I realized two things: we had been expecting them and listening intently, while they were expecting to raid an inn without men sneaking up on them; and the Grieving Dog seemed to be occupying the Hornmen’s complete attention.
They all had their backs turned to us, as they stopped in front of the main entrance, with the leader gesturing toward the stables we had recently left.
We stepped out onto Broadbeef and approached. The moment was at hand. As commanded, I stayed near the rear of the group, not far from the Memoridons, careful to keep my hand away from the long steel trigger, even if the crossbow was pointed up.
The Hornmen seemed ready to begin their raid to capture or kill the handful of Syldoon they assumed were inside. They clearly didn’t expect those same men to attack them from the rear just then.
Syldoon spread out into a single line, and Braylar brought his crossbow up and sighted down the length, and the other Syldoon did as well. That left the Memoridons and myself as a much smaller second line. Skeelana looked at me, and seeing that I still wasn’t aiming my crossbow at a Hornman, raised both pierced eyebrows in surprise before returning her attention to the silhouettes in front of us as the first volley was loosed. She seemed remarkably calm for someone unarmored in an armed conflict.
We were less than a hundred paces away, but the Syldoon were excellent shots on horse, and twice as able lining up their aim on foot-I don’t think many missed their targets, even without much light to aim by. While the Hornmen Braylar drove off in the Green Sea had been poorly armored in gambesons, many in this group had hauberks. So while more than a dozen of them were struck by bolts and cried out or grunted, only a handful dropped to the ground, most in the gambesons as far as I could tell, though some in mail appeared to have been hit in the backs of the legs. It took the Hornmen a moment to recover from the shock of being ambushed, but they figured out the threat was from the rear quickly enough, all of them spinning around, shields up.