Insurgency (Tales of the Empire Book 4) Page 19

  ‘There’s two barns out back. Your men can sleep there. Upstairs, we’ve two bunk rooms what can sleep six each, an’ one room wi’ two singles. Sort it out ’owever you wish, but it’ll be twenty-five corona for the night.’

  ‘Twenty-five?’ snapped one of the guards in astonishment.

  Titus glared at him. ‘Twenty-five is a little much, given that I just lost a very lucrative cargo to the deep. Would you take eighteen?’

  ‘Twenty-one.’

  The marshal crossed to the bar and counted out 20 gold corona onto the stained wooden surface. ‘I’m a merchant. Odd numbers don’t sit well with me. But bear in mind we’ll need food and a lot of drink.’

  The room still held a palpable air of suspicion, but at least the locals had now seemingly dismissed them as uninteresting.

  ‘You lot out to the barns,’ the captain gestured to the wet sailors. ‘Dry yourselves off best you can. I’ll have food and drink sent out to you.’ He turned to Titus. ‘Your men joining them?’

  ‘No,’ the marshal replied, looking at the nine men that remained of the 24 he’d brought from home. Six had gone with the message back to Velutio, one had gone in the storm, and the rest had fallen during the set-to with the Pelasian ship. For a moment he’d considered sending them out back with the sailors, but the idea of him and the captain being outnumbered in this room by unfriendly locals was not an encouraging one. ‘They can stay here.’ The sailors, sodden to a man, cast disgruntled looks at the guardsmen, who were dry and now were being allowed to stay in the tavern while they were banished to the barns.

  ‘How many for wine and how many for beer?’ Titus said to the guardsmen once the sailors were gone. ‘The first drink’s on me. The rest are your problem.’

  Each man spoke in turn, and Titus leaned on the counter, from which his 20 corona had already disappeared. ‘Seven wines – the best you have in stock, mind – and four beers, if you will. And can you do us food?’

  ‘Lamb stew,’ the innkeeper said curtly. ‘An’ bread. Nothing fancy.’

  ‘I’m not looking for fancy. Just hot and filling. We’ll have eleven of them in here, then. And can you arrange to send a jar of wine and a small cask of beer out to the barns, and to have food taken out there too?’

  ‘Their food’ll be late. Can’t cater for so many at once,’ the man said gruffly.

  ‘That’s fine. If they have wine and beer they won’t care.’

  ‘Another twelve corona an’ six pennies.’

  Titus gave the man a hard look, but counted out 13 gold coins. ‘I haven’t brought small change.’

  The innkeeper narrowed his eyes and reached into his money belt. With no preamble he slapped 14 bronze coins on the counter and moved to the rear of the bar, straining to lift a large stoppered jar of imported wine bearing the stamp of the Rilva port. Undoubtedly slipped through here without even a nod to the taxman. Titus smiled at the thought and reached for the coins.

  He stopped.

  Frowning, he extended a finger and shuffled the coins around, separating three from the rest. As the innkeeper worked at lifting the jar and filling a row of beakers, the room buzzing with low conversation among the new arrivals, Titus leaned closer to the captain and spoke in quiet tones, pointing at the coins.

  ‘Pelasian scudai. Unusual here, I’d wager. Do the Pelasians smuggle through here a lot?’

  The captain gave him a warning look and motioned for him to lower his voice. ‘Don’t be so loud and stupid, Titus. And no. The Pelasians don’t have to, given the beneficial trade deals they have with the empire. In order to keep ties between the countries tight, their merchants barely pay any tax anyway. It’s our own traders that suffer.’

  Titus nodded, his eyes narrow with calculation.

  ‘Do the locals bring goods in from Pelasia, then?’

  ‘Will you be quiet?’ the captain hissed. ‘And no. The Pelasians have more sense than to endanger their favourable deals by messing around on the wrong side of the authorities. Besides, don’t you think Pelasians and their goods would stand out a bit here? Not good for subtlety. Now shut up before you get us all into trouble. You might outnumber the men in this bar, but there’s a whole village out there.’

  Titus, though, cared less about maintaining their fiction than about the suspicion growing in his mind. ‘So, if the Pelasians have nothing to do with this place, where did three Pelasian scudai come from? They’re not even found in general circulation in Velutio, let alone in the backwaters.’

  The captain shrugged. ‘They’re coins. Just coins.’

  ‘No,’ Titus said, a thrill of suspicion running along his spine, ‘they are not just coins. They are unexpected coins. They are out of place. Odd. Suspicious.’

  The innkeeper returned to the bar with a circular tray full of wine cups, each slopping with thick, dark red liquid. He placed the tray on the bar and was about to turn and find the beer keg when the marshal gently slid the tray of cups away from them, along the grubby surface and leaned forward, tapping the Pelasian coins.

  ‘Where did these come from?’

  The barman clearly had no intention of answering and turned to fetch the beer. Titus’s arm shot out and grabbed his wrist in a vice-like grip, hauling him roughly back. The local’s eyes flashed with anger and his hand scrabbled towards the gap beneath the counter upon which the drinks and coins sat.

  ‘If that hand comes back out with a cosh in it, things might go very badly for you, my friend,’ Titus growled.

  The hand reappeared slowly, empty, but there was fury in the innkeeper’s eyes. Somewhere behind him there was the scrape of a wooden chair sliding backward.

  ‘Same goes for your friends,’ Titus added archly. ‘My men know how to handle themselves and they’re all armed. Now, why don’t we all settle down for a nice little chat?’

  He risked a glance over his shoulder. Two of his men had moved to block the inn’s entrance, and others had sealed off the stairs and the door out back to the barns. The rest were standing in the same place they had been, hands on the pommels of their swords as they looked meaningfully at the few angry locals.

  ‘Now,’ Titus said again, donning a smile with all the warmth of a glacial crevasse, ‘why don’t we talk about coins?’

  ‘I dunno what you mean,’ snapped the innkeeper.

  ‘You gave me my change in Pelasian coinage. Month upon month can go by even in Velutio without me seeing a scudar among my change, and here I have three at once in a small village out in the west. Unusual, I suspect. And while it’s strictly speaking viable currency with the appropriate metal content, I have to wonder how you came by them? Perhaps you might have more in your purse?’

  ‘Nothin’ wrong with Pelasian coins,’ spat the local.

  ‘Indeed, as I just said myself. But you have not answered my question. How did you come by them?’

  ‘What’s it to you?’

  ‘I am a man of only middling patience, armed with a very sharp sword and accompanied by very mean men. Let’s leave it at that. Tell me where they came from.’

  Releasing the man’s wrist, Titus slowly drew his sword, making sure to scrape the flat of the blade against the metal mouth of the scabbard so that it grated with a bone-chilling sound. He then lay the blade on the counter in front of him and fixed the innkeeper with a look. Behind him there was another scraping noise, but the innkeeper peered past Titus and cleared his throat. ‘Leave it, Jonas. I ain’t gettin’ dead for the sake of a bit o’ coin. Besides, we don’t owe that freak an’ his men nothin’.’ He focused on Titus again. ‘Bunch o’ northerners came through a few days back. All blond-haired lads from the northern mountains, I reckon. Not a Pelasian among ’em. But they ’ad plenty of their coins, mind.’

  Titus felt his spirits fall. No Pelasians.

  ‘They came from the sea?’ the captain prompted.

  ‘Yeah. Their ship ’ad been damaged, an’ the sail was useless. Must’ve been slow goin’ gettin’ ’ere. There was more’n a score of ’
em, an’ they’d a few horses an’ a carriage too.’

  Titus perked up. ‘A carriage?’

  ‘Yeah. Whatever they was guardin’ they looked after it careful, like.’

  ‘It’s them,’ Titus hissed to the ship captain. ‘I was wrong about the gods. They brought me exactly where I needed to be. I wonder what happened to them at sea to so wreck their ship, but whatever it was, it slowed them down. We’re only a few days behind them. Holy bell-end of Juvis, what a stroke of luck. The girl must be in the carriage, and her maids probably, too.’

  ‘They was a rough lot,’ the innkeeper said, though his expression made it clear that the same description would later be applied to Titus and his men. ‘They was cagey, too. Hidin’ somethin’. They stopped for food an’ then went on.’

  Titus leaned on the bar, his face coming close to the innkeeper. ‘Where did they go?’

  ‘Up the hillside path.’

  The marshal rolled his eyes. ‘Very helpful.’ For a moment, he wondered whether to reissue his threat, but instead, with a smile, he fished in his belt purse and retrieved ten more gold corona, stacking them on the counter in two piles of five.

  ‘Bet your memory’s improving by the moment.’

  The innkeeper licked his lips in a combination of nervousness and greed, his eyes on both the sword before him and the coins within his reach. His hand snaked out towards the piles of gold.

  ‘Ah, ah,’ Titus said, his own large hand slapping down on them. ‘Information first. Coins later.’

  ‘Calacon,’ the man muttered.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Calacon. It’s a fortress town in…’

  ‘I know where Calacon is. How do you know they went there?’

  ‘I don’t,’ the man admitted, ‘but I ’eard three of his men mention the place.’

  Titus smiled. ‘Three is too much for coincidence.’ He turned to the captain. ‘Right. One night’s rest, then the lads and me have to be on the chase. I take it you’re staying with the Sea Eagle?’ As the man nodded, the marshal clapped a hand on his shoulder. ‘Thank you for everything so far, Captain. If you get back to Velutio, see my people,’ he urged as vaguely as he could, remembering the potential ongoing local threat. ‘My people will see you right for your ship.’

  The captain nodded again, and Titus focused an intense look on the innkeeper. ‘We will be gone at dawn, but I will be back this way very soon, and if anything has happened to my friend and his crew, I will be very upset. Look after him. I’ve paid you plenty to do so, after all.’

  He turned back to the sailor. ‘I don’t think you’ll have trouble.’

  ‘We can handle ourselves, Titus.’

  ‘I know. We have to go at first light. We’re days behind them, but they’ll be moving slow with a carriage. If I can secure horses for the ten of us, we can be on them by the time they get to Calacon.’

  The captain smiled. ‘The gods seem to stand by your shoulders, my friend. I pray they continue to do so and you find the lady. But for tonight, you need to rest and prepare for your journey.’ He gestured to the innkeeper. ‘My friend here will pay for the night’s drinks. Keep the wine and beer coming and get that lamb stew on.’

  Titus collected his sword and sheathed it once more. The innkeeper hurriedly swept the coins from the bar into his pouch and scurried off to get the ale as the marshal lifted two cups of wine and passed one to the captain, clonking his own beaker against the other. ‘Cheers, Captain. To the goddess of luck.’

  ‘To luck.’

  Chapter XV

  Of Trails and Their Ends

  Titus reined in 50 paces from the gatehouse, his horse sweating and fatigued. It had been another hard day’s ride, the latest in a series since they had purchased the best horses available in Nessana and ridden for Calacon with all haste. They had travelled day and night, allowing only frequent breaks to rest the horses, since there had not been enough beasts to purchase in the coastal village to allow each man an extra mount. Instead, the three spare animals carried all the baggage to spread the load and spare the animals.

  The marshal had fretted over each break, though he knew they were required. It would be no good riding hell for leather and only covering half the distance before the horses dropped with exhaustion or went lame. It was just one of many things that played on his nerves, mind and conscience during the journey, not the least of which had been leaving the captain and his men at Nessana under the suspicious eyes of the locals. Yes, the man had retained most of his crew and they were burly and armed, but nagging images plagued Titus whenever he paused to think. Images of the captain waking up among a murdered crew, of the local smugglers roping them and selling them to slavers. After all, the sailors had a small but significant quantity of cargo under the trees near the water.

  Now, though, he could start to rectify things.

  Calacon was the second most powerful fortress in the west after the great imperial city of Vengen. Along with the latter, and the city of Burdium, it played host to a sizeable portion of the Fourth Army. Calacon had once – many centuries ago – been the capital of a powerful native western tribe and its fall into imperial hands had sounded the death knell of western independence and the final conquest and settlement of the region. This was only the third time the marshal had visited the place. He was commander of the First Army and so his jurisdiction out here in the west was minimal. As Quintillian commanded the Third in the east, and Partho the Second in the north, so it was Marshal Sciras who commanded the Fourth here in the west. There was a small chance of him being in Calacon, though he would far more likely be in Vengen – his home.

  The fortress city was an impressive sight. The region, inland, and roughly equidistant between the southern and eastern coasts, was a network of rippling hills and ridges and narrow, hidden river vales. Nestled in a deep valley – a gorge really, at this point – Calacon clung to the cliff on the north side of the river like a lizard to a rock. Atop the crags, heavily fortified towers and walls protected the site, and a double circuit of the same ran from cliff to cliff at the valley floor, encircling the town and running along the river. It boggled the mind how one might even consider trying to take the city. Sadly, while the general who had taken Calacon from the natives back in the early days of the empire had kept a record of his campaigns, three of the books had been lost over the centuries, so no details remained of that particular siege. One thing was certain: Titus was glad he didn’t have to attempt it.

  Beyond the gate and the low, thick, powerful walls he now faced, he could see the second circuit rising higher, with square towers topped with artillery. Then, behind that, the city climbed the cliff. There were no vehicles in Calacon and precious few beasts of burden. Almost every street in the place consisted largely of steps, snaking up the cliff side between buildings and through arches, and sometimes actually underneath those structures too. Nowhere in the place was flat. Half the buildings were nestled in niches and half-formed grottoes in the cliffs, their interiors an odd mix of natural cave, hand-chiselled hollow and purpose-built wall.

  The gate stood open.

  The land was not at war and there was no threat to Calacon – hadn’t been for centuries. Yet soldiers still lined the defences, for all their bored expressions. Calacon may not be sealed tight and defensive, but it was still the province primarily of the military.

  Titus turned to his men.

  ‘Be watchful. We cannot be more than a day behind these villains, and they may still be in Calacon. Do nothing to betray your true nature.’

  The men nodded their understanding. The marshal had made the decision, upon leaving Nessana, that they would continue to dress incognito. Better to be more or less invisible, for that way there was less likelihood of spooking their prey. ‘Come on, then.’

  As they trotted slowly towards the gate, he turned and looked over his shoulder. ‘Anyone here familiar with Calacon?’

  One of the men waved a hand. ‘I know it, sort of.’

  ‘Kno
w the Crossed Swords tavern?’

  ‘On the Street of Blind Butchers. I know it.’

  ‘Take the lads there and arrange rooms. I’ll meet you in time for dinner.’

  The guards at the gate barely registered the newcomers. Travel-worn horsemen would hardly be an unusual sight here. Passing through the outer gate, the small party crossed the killing zone between the two walls, and clattered slowly beneath the heavy twin inner gate under the watchful eye of more guards who failed to stop or query them.

  They were in Calacon. The question was: were the enemy?

  ‘See you soon,’ Titus called to his men as the one who was familiar with the city led them off in the direction of the tavern. Titus, instead, made for the Way of the Gods, the most direct route up the cliff. Although it lay on the edge of the town, rather than at its heart, this zigzagging route was one of the most important in Calacon, connecting the valley floor with the clifftop with the minimum of fuss. Its name derived from the altars that dotted its length. At every turn in the path – and there were many of them – the priests of Calacon had set up an altar to one of the gods. It was said that a century or so ago the stairway was extended and some of the slopes altered to allow for extra bends just to incorporate more altars. After all, it didn’t do to leave a god out of such an affair, even if they were lesser gods. Gods had long memories and held grudges.

  At the bottom, Titus dismounted and led his beast from there on foot. His horse was tired, while he was relatively fresh, even if his backside felt as though it had been beaten repeatedly with rods from the ride. The marshal nodded his respect to the gods that held a direct connection with him as he climbed – the gods who watched over the military, the imperial family, his home town. Vengeance and justice in particular, given his current task.

  Perhaps half an hour later, wobbly-legged and heaving in breaths, the Marshal of the First Army crested the top of the Way of the Gods and emerged into the upper city. The fortress that controlled Calacon was sited here and a wide plaza lay between the edge of the city, clinging to its cliff, and the walls and gates of the army’s domain. With a quick glance around the marshal rode to the gate. Unlike the city’s gateways below, this one was firmly shut and guards above watched him suspiciously.