Chapter 35 - Soulbound Servant

Mune and I wandered over to what seemed to pass for an inn in this shithole of a town. I began to appreciate the nomad’s epithet for city folks as we approached. The place was a run down two story wooden structure with the barriers needed to pen animals set to one side. A boy ran out and spoke to Mune as we approached then bolted back inside.

As the pair of us arrived at the door a fat man in a stained apron bustled out and gave us a suspicious glance. Mune nodded politely and I waited as he stepped forward to offer the innkeeper his arm.

“None of that. Feed’s gone up, so has board. How much have you got?” he snapped.

“Enough for a week's worth of board and feed,” smiled Mune as he weighed the sack in his hand. The other man held his own hand out palm up and Mune placed the sack down, carefully keeping hold of the tie string. The bag bounced twice in the innkeepers palm before he snorted and pulled his hand back to cross his arms.

“Two days for six beasts.”

“Sir, that’s three onz of fine salt! It’s worth at least five days! You’ll get the manure for your garden as well!” Mune sounded wounded and I didn’t think he was faking it.

“Two or fuck off out of town. You might be happier if you did.”

“Is there a problem in Gethanel?” Mune asked. “I could perhaps settle for four days?”

“No problem I’d waste words with the likes of you about. Two.” Mune sighed and handed the bag over.

“I expect good grains at this rate! No swill or kitchen leftovers!” Mune said firmly, locking eyes with the man who shrugged in response.

“They’ll get what they get. Are you coming in or not?” he snapped as the pouch of salt vanished somewhere on his person.

“We’ll get the animals settled first,” I chimed in. He glanced up at me and seemed to fight down the urge to bark at me like he had Mune. Something in my tone might have tipped him off that it would be a bad idea.

We went back to the wagon and unhitched the first pair of aurox, Mune muttering and cursing the whole time.

“Bloody robbery! They’re always thieves and crooks but two days?” he grumbled.

“How long should it have been?” I asked.

“We should have settled on four,” he said as we began leading the first pair of aurox to the fenced off area. “Things must be bad here for prices to be twice the norm.” We guided the aurox through the gate and closed it behind them. They began snorting and snuffling across the mud like they were looking for truffles.

“Sorry girls, it’s only shit in there,” Mune muttered as we headed back for the rest. Once all the aurox were put away and we had a moment, I raised my own bag of salt and waved it at Mune.

“Fancy a drink and some hot food?” I asked with a grin. Hermune was surprised at the contents of the bag.

“You’re going to get ripped off!” he said but we headed back towards the entrance of the inn. The door swung aside and we entered the gloom within.

“Smells like death in here,” I complained quietly. The inn had a reed covered floor, a handful of tables and chairs and a wooden table set opposite the door. The only furniture I’d seen other than simple raised beds and Hakubin’s “throne” did not impress me. Functional was about the best way I could describe it.

Against one wall another bandaged man stood like a stone. I ignored him and approached the table with Mune.

“Hey! What’s on the fire?” called Mune, slapping a hand on the table.

The fat man walked out muttering and wiping his hands on his apron. I was confident neither his hands nor the cloth got any cleaner as a result.

“Stew. Ale if you can cover it,” he said unhappily. I waved my bag of salt.

“Meat stew?” I asked.

“Lamb, freshly killed. Let me get my scales,” he replied before disappearing behind the door again.

“He’s got lamb in the stew but didn’t weigh the bag before?” I looked at Mune questioningly.

“That bag was a three onz sack. It always has the same amount of salt. He doesn’t know how much is in your pouch.”

The man returned and set up a primitive set of scales. He added small stone weights to one side and looked at me expectantly. Mune laughed and shook his head.

“Two full onz for a meal and a drink?” he scoffed. “Let me check your weights at least?” The innkeeper scowled but nodded. Mune produced a small stone figure of a shapely woman from a pouch on his belt and set it opposite the man’s weights. He picked two off until the scales balanced against his stone and grunted in approval.

“Well you’re not cheating us with your weights at least! Two mugs of ale though!” Mune snapped. The innkeeper grimaced, glanced at the immobile bandaged man behind us then looked back and nodded.

“Fine but you eat outside! Don’t need stinking nomads infesting my hall!”

“Pay the ‘man’,” Mune said coldly. I didn’t fully grasp what was happening here. I didn’t want to leave the wagons any longer than necessary though, towns meant thieves after all, so I poured out salt until the bronze scales balanced. The innkeeper tipped the salt into a clay pot and nodded his head at the door.

“I’ll bring the food out, noble wanderers,” he sneered. I fixed him with a look intended to communicate how annoyed I’d be if he didn’t produce the food in short order and he blinked before nodding. “It’ll be with you shortly.” His tone was marginally more polite this time.

“What the hell was that about?” I asked as we moved back to the wagon. There was almost no one on the streets and those I did see turned and hurried away when they spotted the wagon.

“This isn’t normal. The shit-sitters have brains made of the shit they sit in all day and they hate us for sure but they’re usually more polite to trade wagons.”

We sat down on the ground and rested our backs against the wagon’s wheels while we waited for our food and drinks. The boy who’d first greeted us scurried out not long later with a bowl in each hand.

“The master wants the bowls back when you’re done,” he said.

“And he’ll get them. The ale?” asked Mune. The boy ran back inside and returned a short while later grasping the handles of two small tankards in each hand. He set them down at our feet and vanished into the inn without a word.

“Is it normally this quiet?” I asked, waving a mug at the streets leading away from the traders area. The ale was bitter and dark. The taste was not entirely pleasant and I was certain it was about as alcoholic as the first piss of a hangover. There was probably some small percentage of alcohol in there but not a lot.

“The small folk usually come out with trinkets and food to trade for hides. At least they did three summers ago when I last went with a caravan. Never came here before so maybe this is normal for Gethanel?”

“I’m not from around here so I have no idea.” He smirked in response and lifted a hand to finger the fang hanging from his neck.

We finished the stew, I found a total of three small lumps that may or may not have been lamb in it, and set the bowls aside as we drank our ale. The other two mugs were put on the wagon drivers seat to wait for Hatrikandos and Jandak. The oppressive mood of the town began to seep into my bones. Something felt wrong about this place but I couldn’t put my finger on exactly what was making me feel so uncomfortable. The thought of sleeping here wasn’t a happy one and I wondered if I could switch out with one of the others we’d left outside the walls.

“The bandaged men. Ever seen them before?” I asked as a pair marched smoothly down to the gate and the ones that had been outside when we arrived marched back towards the centre of town.

“Never. Nothing like them in the other towns I’ve seen. You think that’s what’s setting the peasants on edge?” Mune asked as the heavily wrapped figures moved out of sight. Just as they did so a man in fine clothing, a richly coloured tunic and cloak, appeared around a corner and headed towards us. A giant of a bandaged man followed in his wake like a dog behind his master.

“Traders. Where is your chit?” the man demanded harshly. He was another fat one. All the peasants I’d seen, bar the innkeeper, had been rake thin but this chap had somehow managed to keep his weight up above what I’d consider to be healthy.

“Our trade master has gone to visit his old friend Patenys,” replied Mune affably without even looking up at the man.

“No one will trade with you until my master has had his pick. Lord Getha will pay a fair price.” The look in his eyes told me that was a lie. The bandaged man had stopped a few paces behind and seemed to be staring impassively at the wall behind us. I didn't fail to note the sword sheathed at his hip.

“We’ve got some fine ivory if it appeals to him,” said Mune.

“Brath, fetch a chair from the inn. I’ll wait for the trade master,” he snapped over his shoulder and the bandaged man moved away like an automaton to enter the inn. He returned carrying a crude chair a moment later. The innkeeper stuck his head out of the door with an angry look on his face then ducked back as soon as he saw our new friends.

The big bandaged man set the chair down to one side and resumed his statuesque stance. The sword he wore was perhaps only two feet long but it had clearly crossed the transition from “big knife” to actual sword. We sat in silence and the well dressed man stared down at us. Mune shrugged and resumed nursing his ale so I followed suit and ignored the minion of the local potentate.

Not long after our drinks were finished Jandak and Hatrikandos came back down the street. Hatrikandos was in a foul mood judging from his gesticulating and the cursing that carried across the space between us. The servant rose and turned to face them as they got close. Hatrikandos suddenly clapped his mouth shut and put on a smarmy expression.

“Ah, noble friend of the lord, I trust?” he asked as ingratiatingly as he could manage.

“Indeed. I am Hansa. My lord wishes to speak with you before you can trade with any others. You are earlier than we were expecting this year. Apologies for your inconsiderate welcome. Leave one man here and come along, if you would be so kind.” It wasn’t an invitation. Jandak shared a look with Mune and myself. Mune shrugged and made some gestures with his hands that I didn’t understand. Some kind of sign language or simple obscenity? I made a note to ask about it later.

“Mond will join us,” Jandak said. “Trade master, please lead the way.” Hatrikandos glanced back and forth between the servant, the bandaged man and the wagon with all our goods in it, then nodded reluctantly.

We were led through winding streets covered in mud and shit towards the peak of the small hill the town had been built on. Brath stalked along behind us silently like a spectre, the scent of decay he gave off lost in the general miasma of a town that had never heard of sewer systems.

The lord lived in a three storey complex that looked markedly sturdier than the homes of his people. We’d seen more and more of them as we headed uphill. They had all been thin and looked sick, with pale faces and hacking coughs that echoed around the narrow streets. They hurried away as we passed them, disappearing into buildings or down adjoining roads as soon as they saw us.

Hansa led us into the main hall, a wide space with a fire pit in the centre. Ventilation. Must remember to introduce ventilation to the Areskyn. Carbon monoxide was no joke. At one side a set of stairs led up to the next floor. Brath remained behind us as we followed Hansa. He pulled aside a door and led us into a room with the shutters thrown open. A fresh breeze, relatively untainted by the smell of the town, blew in making it pleasantly cool and relatively unscented in the room.

“My lord Getha, the barbarian traders are here to present you with your due and first choice of their goods!” Hansa barked as he stepped to the side and waved an arm for us to step forward.

At the end of a short table sat a narrow looking man. Everything was angular and precise. A cup was placed at just the right angle so it didn't interfere with his movements as he spooned broth into his mouth from a bowl but would be instantly available should he need to drink. Dark hair framed high cheekbones. Dark brown eyes looked up from his meal and narrowed in our direction. He finished his mouthful and pushed the bowl carefully aside. Behind him, framing him like curtains on a window, loomed two more bandaged men, even larger than our old friend Brath who had stopped to one side of the door. The crossbows in their hands were primitive but undeniably a huge step beyond the ranged weapons I’d seen among the Areskyn.

“Nomads. What have you brought me?” he asked in a nasal voice. His tone set my teeth on edge and I narrowed my eyes at him the same moment he glared at me specifically. As I met his gaze something I’d never seen before appeared in my vision, pale red letters floating over his head.

Soulbound Servant:

Body: F+ Mind: E- Souls: F