Michael Sullivan: Wintertide

Royce had just dismounted when a boy ran up. "Take your horses, sirs? One night in a stable for just a silver each. I'll brush them down myself and see they get good oats, too."

Dismounting and pulling back his own hood, Hadrian smiled at the boy. "Will you sing them a lullaby at night?"

"Certainly, sir," the boy replied without losing a beat. "It will cost you two coppers more, but I do have a very fine voice, I does."

"Any stable in the city will quarter a horse for five coppers," Royce challenged.

"Not this month, sir. Wintertide pricing started three days back. Stables and rooms fill up fast. Especially this year. You're lucky you got here early. In another two weeks, they'll be stocking horses in the fields behind hunters' blinds. The only lodgings will be on dirt floors, where people will be stacked like cordwood for five silvers each. I know the best places and the lowest costs in the city. A silver is a good price right now. In a few days it'll cost you twice that."

Royce eyed him closely. "What's your name?"

"Brand the Bold they call me." He straightened up, adjusting the collar of his tunic.

Hadrian chuckled and asked, "Why is that?"

"'Cuz I don't never back down from a fight, sir."

"Is that where you got your tunic?" Royce asked.

The boy looked down as if noticing the garment for the first time. "This old thing? I got five better ones at home. I'm just wearing this rag so I don't get the good ones wet in the snow."

"Well, Brand, do you think you can take these horses to the Bailey Inn at Hall and Coswell and stable them there?"

"I could indeed, sir. And a fine choice, I might add. It's run by a reputable owner charging fair prices. I was just going to suggest that very place."

Royce gave him a smirk. He turned his attention to two boys who stood at a distance, pretending not to know Brand. Royce waved for them to come over. The boys appeared hesitant, but when he repeated the gesture, they reluctantly obliged.

"What are your names?" he asked.

"Elbright, sir," the taller of the two replied. This boy was older than Brand and had a knife concealed beneath his cloak. Royce guessed he was the real leader of their group and had sent Brand over to make the play.

"Mince, sir," said the other, who looked to be the youngest and whose hair showed recent evidence of being cut with a dull knife. The boy wore little more than rags of stained, worn wool. His shirt and pants exposed the bright pink skin of his wrists and shins. Of all his clothing, the item that fit best was a torn woven bag draped over his shoulders. The same material wrapped his feet, secured around his ankles by twine.

Hadrian checked through the gear on his horse, removed his spadone blade, and slid it into the sheath, which he wore on his back beneath his cloak.

Royce handed two silver tenents to the first boy, then addressing all three said, "Brand here is going to have our horses stabled at the Bailey and reserve us a room. While he's gone, you two will stay here and answer some questions."

"But ah, sir, we can't-" Elbright started but Royce ignored him.

"When Brand returns with a receipt from the Bailey, I will pay each of you a silver. If he doesn't return, if instead he runs off and sells the horses, I shall slit both of your throats and hang you on the palace gate by your feet. I'll let your blood drip into a pail then paint a sign with it to notify the city that Brand the Bold is a horse thief. Then I'll track him down, with the help of the imperial guard and other connections I have in this city, and see he gets the same treatment." Royce glared at the boy. "Do we understand each other, Brand?"

The three boys stared at him with mouths agape.

"By Mar! Not a very trusting fellow are ya, sir?" Mince said.

Royce grinned ominously. "Make the reservation under the names of Grim and Baldwin. Run along now, Brand, but do hurry back. You don't want your friends to worry."

Brand led the horses away while the other two boys watched him go. Elbright gave a little shake of his head when Brand looked back.

"Now boys, why don't you tell us what is planned for this year's festivities."

"Well…" Elbright started, "I suspect this will be the most memorable Wintertide in a hundred years on account of the empress's marriage and all."

"Marriage?" Hadrian asked.

"Yes, sir. I thought everyone knew about that. Invitations went out months ago, and all the rich folk, even kings and queens, have been coming from all over."

"Who's she marrying?" Royce asked.

"Lard Ethelred," Mince said.

Elbright lowered his voice. "Shut it, Mince."

"He's a snake."

Elbright growled and cuffed him on the ear. "Talk like that will get you dead." Turning back to Royce and Hadrian, he said, "Mince has a bit of a crush on the empress. He's not too pleased with the old king on account of him marrying her and all."

"She's like a goddess, she is," Mince declared, misty-eyed. "I seen her once. I climbed to that roof for a better view when she gave a speech last summer. She shimmered like a star, she did. By Mar, she's beautiful. Ya can tell she's the daughter of Novron. I've never seen anyone so pretty."

"See what I mean? Mince is a bit crazy when it comes to the empress," Elbright apologized. "He's got to get used to Regent Ethelred running things again. Not that he ever really stopped on account of the empress being sick and all."

"She was hurt by the beast she killed up north," Mince explained. "The Empress Modina was dying from the poison, and healers came from all over, but no one could help. Then Regent Saldur prayed for seven days and nights without food or water. Maribor showed him that the pure heart of a servant girl named Amilia from Tarin Vale had the power to heal the empress. And she did. Lady Amilia has been nursing the empress back to health and doing a fine job." He took a breath, his eyes brightened, and a smile grew across his face.

"Mince, enough," Elbright said.

"What's all this about?" Royce asked, pointing at bleachers that were being built in the center of the square. "They aren't holding the wedding out here, are they?"

"No, the wedding will be at the cathedral. Those are for folks to watch the execution. They're gonna kill the rebel leader."

"Yeah, that piece of news we heard about," Hadrian said softly.

"Oh, so you came for the execution?"

"More or less."

"I've got our spots all picked out," Elbright said. "I'm gonna have Mince go up the night before and save us a good seat."

"Hey, why do I have to go?" Mince asked.

"Brand and I have to carry all the stuff. You're too small to help and Kine's still sick, so you need to-"

"But you have the cloak and it's gonna be cold just sitting up there."

The two boys went on arguing, but Royce could tell Hadrian was no longer listening. His friend's eyes scanned the palace gates, walls, and front entrance. Hadrian was counting guards.

Rooms at the Bailey were the same as at every inn-small and drab, with worn wooden floors and musty odors. A small pile of firewood was stacked next to the hearth in each room but never enough for the whole night. Patrons were forced to buy more at exorbitant prices if they wanted to stay warm. Royce made his usual rounds, circling the block, watching for faces that appeared too many times. He returned to their room confident that no one had noticed their arrival-at least no one that mattered.

"Room eight. Been here almost a week," Royce said.

"A week? Why so early?" Hadrian asked.

"If you were living in a monastery for ten months a year, wouldn't you show up early for Wintertide?"

Hadrian grabbed his swords and the two moved down the hall. Royce picked the lock of a weathered door and slid it open. On the far side of the room, two candles burned on a small table set with plates, glasses, and a bottle of wine. A man, dressed in velvet and silk, stood before a wall mirror, checking the tie that held back his blond hair and adjusting the high collar of his coat.