Glen Cook - Splinter Of The Mind's Eye

"Easy, son. We won't rob you."

"Do what he says, Haaken."

A minute later, "Good. Now move back five paces."

The leader examined their things. Bragi's heirlooms generated questions.

"Our father gave them to us before he died. He told us to take them to a man in the City."

"What man?"

"Someone named Yalmar."

The officer asked, "You think they're telling the truth?"

"Too scared not to. This Yalmar probably fences for the coast raiders. Their father probably saw this succession crisis coming and made arrangements."

"What should we do with them?"

"We have no quarrel with them, sir. And they've done us a favor."

"They're Trolledyngjans," the sergeant observed. "Ought to hang them as a warning to the next bunch."

"A point," the officer agreed. "But I've no stomach for it. Not children."

"These children killed four men, sir."

"Majneric's men."

"What's going on?" Bragi asked nervously.

The scout chuckled. "Sergeant Weatherkind wants to hang you. Sir Cleve, on the other hand, is willing to let you go. Provided you let him have these bodies."

"That's fine by us."

"Watch that sergeant," said Haaken. "He'll get us killed yet." The soldier was arguing something with his commander.

"He wants Sir Cleve to confiscate your packs."

"Friendly sort."

"He's from West Wapentake, where the raiders strike first every spring."

"Look out!" Haaken dove into Bragi's legs.

But the sergeant's arrow was not meant for his brother. It brought a howl from down the trail.

Twenty hillmen charged from the forest.

The youths and scout braced for the charge. And Bragi marveled at the way it melted before the Itaskians' arrows.

It was a lesson he would not forget.

A few of those hillmen bore stolen weapons, mail and shields. The first to reach Bragi was one such, and skilled with his blade. Haaken's axe, screaming across after slashing a spearman, saved Bragi.

While Sir Cleve and his soldiers sorted themselves out, the youths and woodsman dropped three more hillmen.

The remainder scattered before the horsemen, who harried them into the forest. "Finish the wounded before they escape," Sir Cleve called back.

"This is some day's work," the scout observed once the grisly business ended. "A quarter of Majneric's men dead within an hour. Makes a week spent chasing them worthwhile."

"Why?" Bragi asked.

"What? Ah. Hard times in the hills. Majneric brought his bucks down to raid. Can't really hate them for it. They're trying to take care of their families. At the expense of ours. We caught them near Mendalayas, killed a dozen. They scattered. We started hunting them down. Have to make this raiding too expensive for them."

The soldiers returned. They had corpses across their saddles and prisoners on tethers. Sir Cleve spoke.

"He says thanks for the help. Some of us would've been killed if you hadn't been in their way."

Even the sergeant seemed well disposed.

"Now's the time to make any requests. He's happy. He'll be in good odor when the Duke hears about this."

"Could he give us some kind of traveling pass? To get us to the City?"

"Good thinking, lad. I'll see."

They were ready to travel when the knight finished writing.

Later, after his lips stopped quivering, Bragi started whistling. But his brother never stopped looking back.

Haaken was still watching for a change of heart when they reached the capital.

The Red Hart Inn was a slum tavern. It was large, rambling, boisterous and appeared on the verge of collapse. Evening shadows masked its more disreputable features.

The clientele fell silent at their advent. Fifty pairs of eyes stared. Some were curious, some wary, some challenging, none friendly.

"I don't think we belong here," Haaken whispered.

"Easy," Bragi cautioned, concealing his own nervousness. "Yalmar?"

No response.

He tried again. "Is there a man named Yalmar here? I come from Ragnar of Draukenbring."

The Itaskians muttered amongst themselves.

"Come here." A man beckoned from shadows at the rear.

The murmur picked up. Bragi avoided hard eyes. These were men Haaken and he had best not offend.

"In here."

The speaker was lean, stooped, ginger-haired, about thirty-five. He limped, but looked as tough as the others.

"I'm Yalmar. You named Ragnar of Draukenbring. Would that be the Wolf?"

"Yes."

"So?"

"He sent us."

"Why?"

"How do we know you're Yalmar?"

"How do I know you're from Ragnar?"

"He sent proof."

"A map? A dagger, and an amulet of Ilkazar?"

"Yes."

Yalmar's grin revealed surprisingly perfect teeth. "So. How is the crazy bastard? We swung some profitable deals, us two. I picked the ships. He took them. I fenced the goods."

Haaken grunted sullenly.

"What's with him?"

"Ragnar's dead. He was our father."

"The infamous Bragi and Haaken. You've got no idea how he bored me silly bragging you up. Passed over, eh? I'm sorry. And not just for the loss of a profitable partnership. He was my friend."

Neither youth responded. Bragi studied the man. This was an honest innkeeper? How far could he be trusted?

Their silence unsettled Yalmar. "So. What do you want? Or are you just going to sit there like a couple of clams?"

"I don't know," Bragi said. "Father was dying. He said to go to you, you owed him. We're here."

"I noticed. Better begin at the beginning, then. Maybe give me an idea what he was thinking."

Bragi told the story. It did not hurt as much now.

"I see," Yalmar said when he finished. He pinched his nose, tugged his golden chin whiskers, frowned. "You got any skills? Carpentry? Masonry? Smithery?"

Bragi shook his head.

"Thought not. All you people do is fight. Not your safest way to make a living. And it don't leave you many openings here. Been at peace for fifteen years. And nobody in my business would use you. Too visible. And bodyguarding is out. Not enough experience. Tell you what. Give me a couple days. I'll put you up meantime. Upstairs. Try to stay out of sight. I'll put the word out that you're protected, but that won't keep the drunks from cutting you up. Or the police from breaking in to find out why I'm keeping Trolledyngjans."

With no better option available, Bragi and Haaken agreed.

They spent a week at the Red Hart. Yalmar told them things about Ragnar they had never heard at home. The Itaskian proved likable, despite an overpowering tyranny when he made them study his language.

Strange, hard men visited Yalmar late at night, though he steadfastly denied their existence. It finally dawned on Bragi that Yalmar did not trust them completely either.

One night he asked, "About the amulet, map and dagger... "

Yalmar laid a finger across his lips. He checked the windows and doors. "They're why I owe your father. If I have to run, I can go knowing he provided means elsewhere. Now forget about it. The Brothers would be displeased. There's honor on the Inside. There's fear or friendship. Your father and I were friends."

Later, he told them, "I'm sorry. There's nothing for you here. I'd say go south. Try to catch on with the Mercenary's Guild. High Crag is taking on recruits."

Next afternoon, Haaken grumped, "This loafing is getting old, Bragi. What're we going to do?"

Bragi touched his mother's locket. "There's Hellin Daimiel. I'll talk to Yalmar."

The day following Yalmar announced, "I've gotten you guard jobs with a caravan leaving tomorrow. There's a job you can do for me while you're at it. A man named Magnolo will be traveling with the caravan. He'll be carrying something for me. I don't trust him. Watch him." He added some details. "If he takes the package to anyone but Stavros, kill him." Grimly, Bragi nodded.