Chapter 20|In the Dark
Aspin crinkled his nose in distaste as he mounted the steps of the inn. It was a dirty place, but there was no other in this small town. He paused in front of the door, arms folded across his chest, and turned to survey the surrounding area. The place was a cesspit. A single dirt road meandered through an ugly little town. Ramshackle buildings crowded together, giving the place an oppressive feel. He shook his head. All that beautiful, rolling farmland about, and they had chosen to build in the midst of the only dense forest for miles.
He turned about and strode into the smoky common room. He immediately spotted the innkeeper, a fat, balding man, dozing in a chair on the opposite side of the room. Aspin strode through the room and stopped in front of the man, who did not open his eyes.
“I require a room,” Aspin said, “and a meal.”
“I’m all filled up,” the man said without opening his eyes. “A meal I can give you, but it’ll be cold stew and day old bread.”
Aspin put the ball of his foot on the front rung of the man’s chair. He stomped down, slamming the chair to the floor, and nearly spilling the innkeeper from his seat.
The man bolted up with a curse, but the anger in his eyes instantly turned to fear.
“Forgive me, Seeker,” he said, bowing awkwardly. “I will find you a room.”
“I thank you for your hospitality.”
As the man scurried off, Aspin selected a chair in the corner near the fireplace. He tossed his saddlebags on the floor and sat down. As he took his seat, he drew the edge of his cloak back, exposing the hilt of his sword. No harm in having it within easy reach.
The sound of voices raised in anger penetrated the ceiling of the common room. A few moments later, a paunchy man with thinning ginger hair, dressed in cheap silks, thumped down the stairs. He was followed by a frightened-looking girl who could have seen no more than twelve summers.
“I’ll not believe there’s any seeker in this town until I see him myself,” the man shouted. He took only a few steps into the common room before his eyes settled upon Aspin. He stepped backward toward the stairwell, visibly shaken. After a moment’s hesitation, he nodded, placing his hand over his chest.
“My compliments, Seeker,” he stammered. “Forgive me for my outburst.”
“No apology is necessary,” Aspin lied. “I hope I did not inconvenience you and your daughter too greatly.”
“My daughter?” The man shot an annoyed glance back over his shoulder at the young girl who cowered at the foot of the stairs. His face paled. “Oh, yes, my daughter. No inconvenience at all. We were leaving soon.” He shuffled his feet nervously and looked around the room, as if seeking an escape route.
“You are taking to the road so late in the evening?” Aspin said. “Is that not dangerous?”
“We do not live far from here,” the man mumbled, his face now white.
“I see,” Aspin said. “In your haste, you seem to have forgotten your bags.”
“We have no bags,” the man’s voice was barely perceptible. He turned and snatched the girl by the forearm, and led her roughly out the door.
Aspin closed his eyes and took a deep, calming breath. Was this world truly worth saving? If only he could pick and choose those who reaped the benefits of his work. He laughed to himself.
“Aspin,” he whispered, “you may be getting old, but you don’t have to sound like an old man.”
“Don’t know where he finds these girls,” the innkeeper said. “Comes here from time-to-time with one of them. He’s a wicked one, if you ask me.” He stood with his hands on his hips, staring disapprovingly at the door.
“And yet, you accept his coin.”
The innkeeper looked like a fish out of water. His mouth moved, but he made no sound. He stood like that for a moment, then coughed.
“I’ll have that stew you mentioned, if you will be so kind as to warm it for me.”
“Of course,” the man said. “Ale? Wine?”
“Water will be fine.” Aspin had little taste for ale, and had abstained from wine since Yurg’s death. It was his way of remembering his old friend.
The innkeeper returned shortly with a bowl of thin stew, mostly potatoes and onions with a few scraps of some unidentifiable meat, along with a chunk of bread, and a cup of water.
“Thank you,” Aspin said. “May I have a word?” He motioned to an empty chair on the opposite side of the table.
The innkeeper sat down cautiously. His hands kneaded a dirty cloth that he kept tucked in his apron. His eyes darted around the room as he sought any reason to excuse himself.
“I assume that most travelers in this area stop at your inn,” Aspin said.
The man nodded.
Aspin held his breath for a moment. He had no choice but to ask the question. “I am looking for a group of young people. Two young men, two young women.” He paused, trying to recall the description Malan had given him. “One of the young ladies is a striking young woman, tall with red hair. The other is blonde with blue eyes, a very pretty girl.”
“Not seen the girls.” The innkeeper shook his head. “I would remember either of those.”
“How about the boys? One is a big fellow with brown hair, the other tall and blond with gray eyes.”
The man shrugged. “Not as I remember.”
Aspin wanted to curse. He had been certain he was headed in the right direction.
“We did have a tall girl come through her some time back, with some young lord or such,” the innkeeper offered. “Pretty in her own way, but she had black hair.”
Aspin continued fishing. “How about a group of six men traveling together? Most of them young. One an older man.”
“Purple eyes?” The innkeeper leaned forward, his voice falling to a bare whisper. “Kind of pinched-looking face?”
“That’s the one,” Aspin said, keeping his voice calm.
“They came through here not too long ago. Had drinks, but didn’t take rooms.”
“No?”
“Constable came and got them. Some locals were killed by a strange animal.”
Aspin leaned forward, intrigued by what he was hearing. Strange animals. Could it be?
“He asked the leader of the group to take a look,” the man said. His tongue was unburdened now that it was obvious he had information in which Aspin was interested. “I hear he said it was a Halvalan snow cougar.”
A cold lump formed in Aspin’s stomach. Lerryn might or might not have seen such a beast, but Xaver knew very well that it was not a Halvalan anything.
“They had a sour-looking young boy with them, too. A contrary fellow with beady eyes. Didn’t like him or that purple-eyed man at all. No sir.”
“How long ago was this?” Aspin asked.
“Can’t rightly say.” The innkeeper scratched his head and looked up at the ceiling. “Several days. One day’s the same as the next around here.”
“You can’t say how many days?” Freeze this backwoods lout. How could one be so ignorant?
“No, but the widow of the man who was killed could tell you. Seems a person would remember a thing like that.”
Aspin stopped several paces from the small house, and called out a greeting. “Hello?” A woman living alone would likely be fearful of nighttime visitors. “Hello?”
“Who is there?” A gentle, distinctly feminine voice called out.
“My name is Aspin,” he said. “I am a sai-kur, or a seeker you might call me. May I have a word with you?”
The door opened slightly, and a pair of deep green eyes peered out into the darkness. Aspin stepped into the sliver of light that shone from the house. She regarded him for a moment, then nodded and opened the door.
The house was small but neat. The dirt floor was swept and the room was tidy. A delicious aroma wafted over him, and his stomach growled. Most undignified, he thought.
“Mother?” A tentative voice called from above.
Aspin looked up to see f
our small faces, all little girls, peering over the edge of the second-story loft.
“It’s all right. Go back to bed,” the woman said.
“Why is he dressed so funny?” the oldest girl asked.
“Hush now, Melina,” she scolded, an amused smile illuminating her lovely face. “Go to sleep.”
With a chorus of groans, the girls disappeared from sight.
“May I offer you something to eat?” the woman asked, gesturing to the rough-hewn table pushed against the far wall.
“That would be delightful,” Aspin said with sincerity. “The fare at the Grinning Goat leaves much to be desired.”
“My husband used to say that he wouldn’t give Balman’s food to the hogs. It might ruin the bacon,” she forced a small laugh.
“Again, I am sorry for your loss, mistress…”
“Marya,” she said. Aspin took a seat on one of the benches on either side of the table, and in short order she sat a plate of chicken, beans, and bread in front of him along with a cup of water. “I am sorry I can’t offer you anything else to drink.” She sat down across from Aspin and folded her hands across her lap.
“This is fine,” he assured her. “Your hospitality is most appreciated, I assure you.”
“You’re very polite for a seeker,” she said, staring directly at him in a way that most people did not.
“And you are very blunt for a farm wife.” Aspin cocked an eyebrow. “Have you known many seekers?”
Marya laughed. This time it was not forced, and the sound was like music. “You are not what I expected.”
Aspin nodded. “I am not like most of my order. Perhaps it is because I came to it late.” If she was interested in the story, she did not show it.
“So what business does a seeker have with me?”
Aspin admired her backbone. She was not the least bit intimidated by him or his station.
“I am certain that it is painful for you to discuss, but can you please tell me, on what day did your husband die?’
Marya’s eyes dropped. She sat for a moment, seeming to gather herself. “My husband and my son,” she said softly. “Six days ago they were killed.”
“The men who came to identify the creature, did you happen to hear them say where they were going next?”
“South.”
“Nothing else?” Aspin was disappointed.
“That’s all.” She looked back up at him, staring intensely. “The man who was the leader. The handsome one with brown, curly hair. Who is he?”
Sympathy welled up inside of Aspin. Surely Lerryn would not have taken advantage of this poor creature while her husband’s body was still warm. “His name is Lerryn,” he said.
“He is some sort of noble, isn’t he?” There was something in here eyes that said she was not certain she wanted to know the answer to the question.
“He is.” Aspin had to be careful here.
Marya looked up for a moment, here gaze suddenly far away. “Will he be coming back?” Her voice was soft, and her cheeks flushed pink as she asked the question.
“I cannot say.”
“He seemed so sad. I can’t explain it.” She paused. “He was kind to me, but he seemed…removed in some way.”
“He is a complicated man,” Aspin replied truthfully, “but a good man. Shall I convey your greetings to him?”
“No.” Marya shook her head. “He would not remember me.”
Aspin was surprised to realize he had devoured the all the food she had served him. The empty space the watery stew had left in his stomach was nearly filled.
“It is imperative that I find these men,” he said. “Is there anything else you can tell me?”
“Nothing I can recall.” She shook her head. “Is the man with the purple eyes a friend of yours as well?”
“We,” Aspin paused, trying to decided how to answer, “are not friends.”
Marya nodded, as if that were enough.
“How many were they traveling with?”
“Six, I think.”
Aspin tensed for a moment. So that was their game. “I don’t know the other four. It would help me if you could describe them for me.”
She cupped her chin in her hand, her elbow now propped on the table. “One of them was a large boy. Another had the longest blond hair I’ve ever seen on a man. Another had brown hair and sort of a long nose.” She paused for a moment.
“And the other,” Aspin prompted.
“I didn’t care for him at all. He had black hair down to his shoulders. His eyes were dark and cruel, and his face had a pinched look to it, as if he’d just smelled something foul.”
Aspin nodded and rose from the table. “Mistress Marya, I thank you for the hospitality and the information.” He fished into his money pouch and withdrew a fat, silver coin. “If you will permit me..”
“That is not necessary,” Marya protested. “The man, Lerryn, gave me a very generous gift. My daughters and I are fine.”
“I insist,” Aspin said, and laid the coin on the table. He raised his hand as she opened her mouth to argue. “I know that a gift from a seeker always comes with strings attached. Think of it not as a gift, but as payment for the meal.” When she made no further protest, he bowed and took his leave.
He took his time walking back to the inn. He had not wanted to spend another moment in the saddle this day, and the walk was short. Enveloped in the cloak of darkness, he turned over in his mind the stories he had heard of strange creatures about. Most of them were farmers near the edge of the mountains losing livestock. The beasts were growing bolder. He hoped that things had not gone too far.
As he made his way into town, a faint sense of alarm sounded somewhere in the recesses of his mind. His military training took over, and he dropped to the ground. He heard a hiss and a thud, and looked up to see a crossbow quarrel embedded in the side of a nearby building. He turned his head in time to see a figure vanish around the back of the smithy on the other side of the road.
Leaping to his feet, he drew his sword and gave chase, his mouth forming the words of a spell of shielding. Arriving behind the smithy, he was not surprised to find that the assailant had vanished into the forest. Footsteps sounded behind him, and he turned, sword upraised.
“I seen him,” shouted a skinny man in ragged clothing. “I seen him running away.”
“What did he look like?” Aspin stared at the man, who was perhaps the first person he had ever met who had only half his teeth, but had each tooth represented to some extent.
“I dunno,” the man scratched at his thinning pate. His breath reeked of sour wine. “He had a dark cape, maybe gray. I couldn’t see his face. He got away quick.” The man pointed into the woods.
Aspin took a deep breath and held it for a moment. “Thank you for your help. If you will excuse me, perhaps I can learn something from his tracks.”
The man stood there, a broken-toothed grin on his face. After a moment, Aspin realized what he was waiting for, and rewarded the man with a small copper coin. He bobbed his head in thanks, and hurried away.
The bright moonlight made it easy to locate the tracks in the damp earth. Aspin followed the heavy bootprints, widely spaced, toward the woods. He froze, staring at the ground. Looking all around to make sure no one was watching, he knelt where the outline of the assassin’s boots vanished. A closer look confirmed what he thought he had seen. Where the footprints disappeared, perfectly aligned and in stride, were the clawed, padded tracks of a giant cat.