Crusade - James Lowder [81]
"Get up, you bastard. You're not dead."
Razor John stood and turned toward another commotion that was breaking out near the door. The innkeeper, followed by two soldiers and a member of the city watch, was pushing his way through the crowd. The fletcher recognized one of the soldiers as Farl Bloodaxe, commander of the Alliance's infantry.
"I knew this would happen," the barkeep babbled as he got close. He pointed to Mal. "I could tell he was a bad sort from the moment he walked in here."
"We'll all be glad when your troops leave," the watchman said loudly. Like all of Telflamm's city watch, this man wore a long, bright red overcoat, sashed tight at the waist with shiny black cloth. His high, square black hat was tassled in silver, and a broad, curved sword hung prominently at his side. The guard kicked a chair with the silver toecap of a well-polished boot. "You've been nothing but trouble since you arrived."
"That's enough," Farl said. The ebony-skinned general sighed and looked around. "Any of you care to tell me what happened?"
Over the next fifteen minutes, Razor John, Mal, and a few others told their versions of the incident. Unsurprisingly, Mal claimed the dalesman had drawn a blade. No one corroborated his story, but Mal seemed unaffected by that.
When John denied the tale's veracity, the murderer narrowed his eyes and shook his head.
All the time that Farl was conducting his interviews, John felt a growing wave of nausea wash over him. He had never really liked Mal. In fact, the fletcher had agreed to look for the soldier only because he was a fellow Cormyrian and an acquaintance of Kiri's. Still, he had never really disliked him either. Now John saw his countryman for what he really was-a drunken, violent bully.
As quickly as the murder had occurred, Mal's fate was decided. The soldier suddenly became very calm, more quiet, in fact, than John had ever seen him. Irons were placed on his large hands, and Farl ordered the dalesman's body to be taken out and burned. Before the red-coated guardsman could lead Mal to his fate, the doomed Cormyrian soldier leaned close to the fletcher.
"I thought you would have stuck by me," Mal whispered through clenched teeth. "Backed up my story. We're two of a kind, you and me."
"No," Razor John said sharply. "I came to find you because we're both from Cormyr, but-"
"Not that," Mal said. The guard tugged on the irons and pulled the soldier a step away from John. "What you did aboard the Sarnath and all." As the watchman pulled Mal another step away, he snapped viciously, "All right.
You'll have me hanging soon enough."
Razor John watched in numbed silence as the crowd parted for the watchman and his prisoner. Nausea washed over the fletcher again, and he slumped into a chair. The inn's customers went back to their business, though subdued slightly. John sat for a moment, turning Mal's words over and over in his mind. Then his eyes drifted to the floor, where the dented tankard still lay.
Silently the fletcher picked up the tarnished mug. In his mind, John saw his bow and the arrows he'd used to kill the sailor and the priest who'd visited the plague ship. He'd believed his conscience reconciled with those deeds, but he wondered now how an officer's orders had made his act any different from Mal's.
Tucking the silver tankard under his cloak, John rose swiftly and made his way out of the city to find Kiri and begin the march into Thesk. Thoughts of the incidents at the Broken Lance and aboard the Sarnath plagued the fletcher all through the long, hard march away from the coast.
10
Birds of Prey Malmondes of Suzail dangled from a rope on a makeshift scaffold south of Telflamm for eight days, a stark example of military justice. In that time, Alusair and the dwarven army made their way south across the green rolling hills of the Great Dale. Now, ten days and almost seventy miles after parting with King Azoun, Torg's soldiers stood on the