David Mcintee - The Light of Heaven

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It made me the man I am today. Besides, it wasn't you who did it. The Confessor who burned her died in the war."

"Did you… Were you — "

"Involved in that?" he finished for her. "Revenge would have been… interesting. But no, a mercenary company from somewhere in Pontaine managed that one all by themselves. I didn't even get that satisfaction." He looked down for a moment, then visibly forced himself to cheer up. "All right, my little God-girl. What say we pitch a tent and settle in to Freedom?

CHAPTER 18

Crowe stretched and looked up as the last tent peg was finally secured. They had set up their canvas against a rock wall, so there was only one approach to their position. The Glass Mountain loomed above them, proud and impossible to ignore or dismiss as a fevered memory. Absently, Crowe rubbed at the scarring on his face.

"Newcomers!" a woman called. Crowe started and looked round. The woman was wearing casual trews and robes in rich greens and blues.

"Welcome to Freedom."

"I… Thank you."

The woman laughed. "Listen to you! So stiff! I'm sorry, I don't mean to mock. We've all gone through it."

"Through what?"

"The doubting stage. You come here, you think 'hey, I can do what I like, without worrying about the Confessors or anyone.' Then you think 'No, it can't be true,' and you daren't do anything in case a troop of the Swords leap out of hiding and drag you away."

"Yes… Something like that."

"It's natural. It'll pass, believe me.

"So, this is Freedom?"

"Indeed, there's no Empire here, no Kingdom, no Duchies."

"No Faith?" Crowe looked sideways at Gabriella.

The woman shrugged. "Everyone here believes in the same God. We celebrate the Tenthday. But there are no impositions here; no false superiority."

"No Enlightened Ones then," Crowe said cheerfully. "My kind of place. What about Brotherhood priests?"

"One or two, but they know better than to insist that their way is best. There's no place for that in Freedom. Kell has shown us a better life."

"It sounds as nice as we were led to believe. A damn shame, though. That it needs hired mercenaries to guard it."

"Hired? We have hired no mercenaries."

"The soldiers on the gates — "

She laughed and it was quite a musical sound. Crowe wondered what other sounds she might make under interesting circumstances, and decided he would like to find out. "Are volunteers. All have come to Freedom to live out their lives in peace, without interference. Some who had been warriors outside have volunteered to donate their time and experience to protect the city in case of need." The woman looked across at someone who had beckoned to her. "I have to go, but welcome again."

"Thanks." Crowe could feel his smile freeze as she left. He turned to Gabriella after the woman was out of sight. "Let me get this straight; the city's whole force is made up of a few retired ex-mercenaries who couldn't get employed anywhere else, or who've had their arses handed to them on a plate often enough that they've taken the hint and quit?"

"Pretty much. It's madness."

"It's not much bloody use, is it? A class from your seminary could probably take this place without too much trouble. This place is a rat-trap and I can't believe they drove the goblins out."

"Neither can I, to be honest," she admitted.

"What did you expect to find here?"

"For one thing, a lot of whores and whoremongers, gamblers and drunkards."

"We don't seem to be short of those," Crowe said admiringly, watching a man stagger past on a lower terrace with a painted tart on each arm. This sort of thing seemed normal here. The girls wore little, the air smelled of Dreamweed and booze, and there seemed to be very little authority.

"And Goran Kell."

She pointed up to the staircases that were cut into the crystalline face of the peak itself. "If these terraces and tunnels really are Dwarven there may be a wider complex inside the mountain."

"Even if they're not, it's still a reasonable assumption. There wouldn't be openings otherwise." His brows knotted. "But what about the other terraces on the mountains facing this one? Isn't it as likely he'd hole up there?"

"Somehow I doubt it. But tomorrow we'll investigate them all just the same."

"Yeah, let's do that," he urged. "That's a much better idea."

Gabriella could see that something was troubling Crowe; there was a frantic look in his eyes that was unmistakable. It was obviously something to do with what had happened on the Isle of the Star.

"Travis," she said, "I know we're in danger here, not just from the Brotherhood or Kell, but from… from something beyond them, something that you saw at the Isle of the Star. Tell me what you saw there. Please."

"It was two, nearly three years ago," Crowe said at last. "I needed to get out of Freiport, as quickly as possible."

"Trouble?"

He shook his head. "Just sick of the place. I get itchy feet after more than a couple of months in one place.

"Tell me."

And he did.

Travis Crowe had needed to get out of Freiport and neither the peasant fields of Pontaine nor the Faith-ridden Vos Empire had sounded appealing. It wasn't that he was being hunted — not then, anyway — but he was sick of hearing the screams from the basements of every other tavern. You had to be careful not to get so paralytic that you couldn't stop yourself being dragged into some back-street temple and sent as a messenger to some minor god nobody ever heard of.

He needed a breath of fresh air.

He had first thought of looking in the Anclas for a mercenary company that was hiring, but quickly discarded the idea. These past couple of years, peace had been breaking out everywhere and the number of unemployed mercenaries turning up to look for work in the cities had been steadily increasing. Besides, he didn't feel like being a bodyguard to some merchant who thought selling a few baubles made him some kind of chosen one. The chances were too high that he would end up throttling his own employer within a week.

Fortune was with him, as he received a visitor just as he was packing up a bedroll and preparing to leave the inn where he had been staying for a short while. The visitor was a balding man with close-cropped greying hair and a drooping moustache. He was wearing trews and leather jerkin, but Crowe took him for a nautical man as soon as he took a step. He had that rolling movement peculiar to someone so used to keeping himself upright on a floor that was always tilting this way and that.

"Travis Crowe?" the man asked from the doorway of the common sleeping room.

"Never heard of him," Crowe said cautiously. "What's he look like?"

"Truth to tell I don't know; I've never met him, but I was told I could find him here. He came highly recommended."

Crowe didn't stop packing, but was intrigued all the same. Still, anyone could use a line like that if they were coming to pick a fight. "I can't imagine anyone living in a place like this being highly recommended for anything."

The man looked around at the smeared and stained wood, and the drunken man still snoring in the far corner. "There's something in that, right enough. But when Sandor Feyn tells me a man's a good soldier, that counts for a lot."

Crowe straightened. "Sandor Feyn?"

The man nodded. "I need a good soldier and he said to come here and ask for a Travis Crowe."

"All right… You found him. Who are you?"

"My name is Margrave," he said "Captain of the Belle ."

"What do you need a soldier for?"

"The usual."

"Keep the crew in line, guard the cargo, that kind of thing?"

"Most probably." Margrave hesitated, but Crowe didn't press him. He knew the man would feel obliged to tell him what he wanted to know. At least, he would if he was genuinely keen to hire Crowe. If not, then Crowe would go somewhere else as planned and find a better job. "And fight off any pirates, or any ships that try to board us."