Jeff Salyards - Scourge of the Betrayer

She was on the pillowy side, but still comely, even in her middle years. I wondered if it was a father or husband who died and left her the inn. As we approached, she recognized Braylar. “Welcome back, my lord. Your suite is the same as you left it. Minus that tray of bones. I took care to have those removed.” This came out as a warm rebuke, as from a slightly exasperated but bemused mother.

“You ought to take more care with your patron’s possessions, Gremete. Who’s to say I didn’t have a particular fondness for those bones? Perhaps I’d even been pining for them.”

“You can do almost anything you like under my roof, so long as you don’t attract vermin.”

Mulldoos said, “You should have thought of that before you let us in the door.”

She inspected the rim of a mug. “So long as you don’t multiply.” Then she looked up. “Your men have the keys. I’ve ordered some hot water for baths I’m awful hopeful you’ll take. And someone will be by to see you get something with new bones in it.” There was a brief smile and she returned to work.

I followed the group up some stairs. At the top, we headed down a hall and Braylar knocked on a door. A moment later, the lock was undone and we entered a fairly large common room that had four doors in it, leading to separate sleeping quarters. Vendurro shut the door behind us and handed Braylar some keys.

Braylar pointed me towards a door. “That room is yours. Lloi has been here already, so there should be a tub in there waiting for you, as Gremete said. Food will follow. After that you, Hew, and I have a visit with… an old friend.”

He didn’t volunteer any more information, and I resisted the urge to ask, knowing it would only lead to frustration. I entered my room, and there was a wooden tub as promised, water still steaming, next to a bed and table.

Setting my supplies down, I heard some laughter outside and walked over to the window. My room overlooked a large courtyard that shared a wall with the stable yard, and it was filled with dozens of oak trees, under which were a multitude of long tables, many still occupied by carousers largely protected from the rain.

There was more laughter and some singing. It wouldn’t be the quietest room, but after our long trek through the empty steppe, it felt good to be in a crowded city again.

After a long soak, I headed towards the common quarters. The smell of food hit me even before I opened my door. The Syldoon were sitting around the table, plates laden with roast grouse, thick cheese, dark bread, and pitchers of ale.

I took a seat on a bench between Vendurro and Glesswik. Hewspear, Vendurro, and Mulldoos were arguing about who made the finest helmets, Glesswik had so much food in his mouth he couldn’t have spoken to anyone, and Braylar was silent.

The grouse smelled so good my fingers were shaking as I filled my plate. It seemed like months ago that I’d last eaten a proper meal.

After sampling some of everything, and washing it down with ale four times as good as what the Canker served in Rivermost, I waited until there was a good break in the conversation before asking Braylar about something that I’d been wondering about for some time. My chances of being bludgeoned to death were likely smaller since returning from the grassland. “At the Three Casks, when that Hornman tried to run you through, you dodged it without seeing what was coming. I thought at the time you must have heard the sword clear the scabbard, or maybe caught a glimpse of something, or maybe even just been lucky, But that wasn’t it, was it? You felt something then, too, didn’t you? Just like you did before the Hornmen appeared in the steppe.”

Vendurro hit me in the arm with the back of his hand. “Told you there was something unnatural-like going on with that wicked flail, didn’t I? Well, I didn’t really, because Mulldoos was near enough to cutting my throat for even hinting at it. Couldn’t say much at all. But now you see what I meant, don’t you? I been riding with the Cap for some time before anyone thought to share anything about it with me. Lot longer than you. Count yourself lucky. Or unlucky. Depending on how you count. But don’t look to me for help on that score. I can’t even count wagons, can I Gless?” He laughed, and I found myself doing the same. And it felt good. Surprisingly good.

Hewspear nodded his approval as he pulled some blackened skin off his grouse. “You picked a sharp one, Captain.”

Braylar only gave the briefest of twitch-smiles, but that was confirmation enough.

I continued, “You obviously got a warning of sorts in the grass, before those other Hornmen came to rob us. You knew how many there would be, and that they meant us harm. But I’m still confused about something. Back at the Casks, you woke me, and said you knew something was coming. Violence. You knew violence was coming. And assumed it would involve you. But it didn’t. Could you, or someone,” I looked at the other Syldoon, “please explain that?”

No one else jumped into the fray so Braylar finally drank and cleared his throat. “The warnings… they’re like dreams, sometimes only slivers of dreams. A fleeting image, a half-felt feeling. My stomach will suddenly churn, my skin will grow hot. Sometimes I’ll taste blood in my mouth where there is none, or hear a scream when no sound has been uttered. Sometimes I’ll smell the shit that soils a man’s hosen as he dies, or feel the rush of an arrow past my cheek when none was shot. Phantom images, sensations. Such was the case at the Casks. I saw a pool of blood on that very table, though who it belonged to, I couldn’t say.

“Other times, more rarely, everything coalesces-image, sound, all the senses, and it becomes clear what I’m seeing is a memory, before it’s made, a memory from someone immersed in this violence. Me, someone else, someone who dies, someone who lives. And if this… advance memory is sharp enough, it sometimes serves as a warning. These flashes of violence I see before they occur, they’ve saved my life several times, and on occasion, my entire company as well.”

Hewspear raised a mug of ale in toast. “Truer words never spoken.”

“But they can be suspect too,” Braylar added. “There have been times I felt sure something was going to play out a certain way, and was proven wrong, almost to my ruin. But if you consult your notes rather than your memory, you’ll find that that night at the Three Casks, I didn’t say we were the targets, or that we were involved at all. I feared as much. Wide difference. But even when I believe I know what will happen for certes, I’ll rarely say as much. Because the warnings deceive. Just as they deceived me that night.”

I thought about that as I nibbled at some cheese-it was crumbly, with red veins that hinted at some obscure spice, and actually much better than I would’ve expected. Washing it down, I asked Braylar, “When the soldier rode past and threw the spear at you. You stayed on the bench, didn’t move or dodge, until it was almost too late. It was amazing, really. Was that another instance Bloodsounder gave you warning?”

Braylar’s mouth curved ever so slightly. “Do you find it so hard to believe that I possess some modicum of unassisted martial prowess?”

The Syldoon laughed, and I said, “But that isn’t really an answer.”

Vendurro wiped some grease off his chin with the back of his hand. “Like to be the only kind you get. Best get used to it.”

Braylar’s smile grew a touch, though was no less enigmatic, as he chose not to elaborate. I tried a different tack, “I’ve been thinking about something else that came up at the Casks. Mulldoos said your emperor insisted you have a chronicler. And in the grass, Captain Killcoin told me that I wasn’t the first.”