Peter Brett - Brayan's Gold

Still, Baron Talor’s mouth fell open with the telling. “You bluffed your way through by waving a thunderstick?”

Arlen smiled. “Never said I was bluffing.”

Talor barked a laugh, and shook his head. “Not sure if that’s the bravest or the craziest thing I ever heard! If it’s true, you’ve got stones like a rock demon.”

“They say a man doesn’t become a Messenger unless he does,” the baroness purred, giving Arlen a look that made him shudder. “But how did they find out about the shipment? Only Mother Cera and I knew the exact date.”

“And Sandar,” Arlen said, “who supposedly broke his leg the morning of.”

“That’s a big accusation, Messenger,” Talor said, a quiet danger to his voice. “Have you any proof?”

Arlen knew his next words could mean life or death for Sandar. He shrugged. “Not accusing anybody. I’m just saying that if I was you, I’d get myself a new Messenger.”

“How do we know you aren’t just trying to get the job yourself?” the baroness asked.

“I’m just an apprentice,” Arlen said. “Guild won’t give me the job regardless.”

“Bah,” the baroness waved dismissively. “We could change that with a flick of a pen, and you know it. If you’re telling the truth, we owe you a great debt.”

Arlen nodded. “’Preciate that, milady, but I got an eye to see the world a bit before I settle on a regular run.”

The baroness tsked. “You young ones always do, but one day you may not think steady work on a familiar path such a bad thing.”

After lunch, the baron and the baroness stood. Arlen quickly got to his feet as well, and Stasy followed, her eyes still hollow.

“You’ll have to excuse us,” Talor said, “but we have some business to attend. Stasy will see you assigned a room and have the boys prepare supplies for your return. Compliments of Count Brayan, of course.”

They vanished in a swirl of expensive fur, and Stasy gave a shallow curtsey. “Daughter Stasy, to serve you,” she mumbled.

“You make it sound like a death sentence,” Arlen said.

Finally, the baron’s daughter met his eyes. “I apologize, Messenger, but the letter you brought from the count may as well have been.” Her tone was the resigned one of someone whose tears are long dried.

“My legs still ache from the climb,” Arlen said, gesturing to the table. “Will you sit with me a little longer?”

Stasy nodded and allowed Arlen to pull her chair. “As you wish.”

Taking his own seat across from her, Arlen leaned over the table, his voice low. “They say if you whisper a secret to a Messenger, it’s safer than a Tender’s ear. No man, nor all the demons of the Core, can pull it unwilling from his lips, save the one it’s meant for.”

“This from the man who spread court gossip to my parents for the last hour.” Stasy noted.

Arlen smiled. “Once those rumors reach the main hall of the Messengers’ Guild, they are no longer secret, but I will tell you something that is.”

Stasy raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Derek still thinks there ent no woman finer than Stasy Talor, and prays you haven’t bled,” Arlen said. “Said I could tell you so.”

Stasy gasped and put a hand to her chest. Her pale cheeks turned bright red and she looked around guiltily, but there was no one to see. She met his eyes fully now.

“Clearly I haven’t,” she said, absently touching the loose lacing about her belly. “But it makes no difference. He is not good enough for me.”

“Are those your words, or your father’s?” Arlen asked.

Stasy shrugged. “What does it matter? My father might have taken the ‘i’ from his name when mother died and he married Count Brayan’s Royal cousin, but amongst the other nobles, he still feels like a Merchant, because his access to Royal circles is only as strong as his marriage vows. He wants better for me, and that means bearing children to a proper Royal husband and attending the Mothers School.”

Arlen resisted the urge to spit on the floor. His father had tried to force him into an arranged marriage when he was eleven, and he remembered how it felt.

“Ent got anyone calling themselves Royal where I come from,” he said. “Reckon we’re better for it.”

“Honest word,” Stasy agreed sadly.

“How will your father arrange that, once your state is known?” Arlen asked.

Stasy laughed mirthlessly. “Likely he won’t be able to, which is why that ‘caravan’ he’s sending will ship me off to Count Brayan’s Court to have my babe in secret amongst the Servants, at which point Countess Mother Cera will present me at court as having just arrived in the city and broker me a ‘proper’ marriage. Derek will never even know he’s a father.”

“You’ll have to pass the waystation,” Arlen said.

“Won’t matter,” Stasy said. “A new keeper will be sent with us to relieve him, and he’ll be on his way back up the mountain before he even knows I’m locked in the coach.”

She looked around to make sure they were not being watched, then reached out and gripped Arlen’s hand. He saw passion in her eyes, and a thirst for adventure. “But if Derek knew what was coming and had supplies hidden, he could sneak down the mountain instead of up. Even if father sent someone after us the moment Derek went missing, we’d have a week’s lead. More than enough to find each other, sell my jewelry, and disappear into the city. We could get married no matter what his station and raise our child together.”

Stasy looked at him, her eyes burning. “If you’ll tell him this, Messenger, with no word to any other or mark in your log, I will pay whatever you ask.”

Arlen looked at her, feeling as protective as an elder brother. He would take her message for nothing, but he could not deny there was something he wanted. Something the baron’s daughter might be able to arrange.

“I need a thunderstick,” he said quietly.

Stasy snorted. “Is that all? I’ll have half a dozen of them packed with your supplies.”

Arlen gaped, shocked at how easy it had been, but it quickly melted into a smile.

“What do you need the stick for?” Stasy asked.

“Gonna kill a rock demon that’s been following me,” Arlen said.

Stasy tilted her head, studying him in that way people had, as if trying to determine if he were joking or simply mad. At last she gave a slight shrug and met his eyes. “Just promise you’ll deliver my message first.”

Arlen took an extra couple of days to catch his breath while the Goldmen finished preparing their messages for his return trip. He still tired easily in the thin mountain air, but the effects bothered him less each day. He spent the time wisely, watching the miners put the new thundersticks to use. Everyone wanted the favor of the new Messenger, so they were quick to answer his questions.

After watching as they reduced a solid rock face into tons of rubble in an ear-splitting instant, Arlen knew the destructive power of the thunderstick had not been exaggerated. If anything in the world could penetrate One Arm’s thick carapace, it was this.

At last all was in order, and on the third day he put his heavy armor back on and headed to the stables. His saddlebags were already packed with supplies, and in them, Arlen found a small box of thundersticks packed in straw, along with a sealed envelope addressed to Derek in flowing script.