Blood of the Red

Chapter 16 - Dain

Chapter 16 – Dain

The severed head regarded Dain evenly, eyeless and gaping. He struggled to escape. His jerkin, new that morning, ripped along a seam, and he was up. Knocking aside the fish-head he clambered from the waste heap. Its empty sockets watched him, from their new position in a drift of refuse, while he disentangled himself from the splintered crates.

Dain brushed off the worse of the mess, and looked up at the window through which he had escaped. A tight squeeze, a long drop and a soft though unpleasant landing. He scowled, and redistributed the grime across his face with a wipe of his sleeve. Without looking back he made off down the alley.

Mistress Maidel had been kind to Dain. Considering the number of silver coins that fell from Ingold's hand into her meaty paws, nothing less should be expected. They had thought him asleep, but Dain had seen the intrigue between Ingold and the innkeep's wife. All the money the bard had earned, from playing to the tavern on their first night, changed hands. And plenty more coins besides. Ingold had played for hours, his music a spell that led men through battles, into joy and under years. He made them love women woven from nothing but the melody of his voice. The bard had wrought magic in Oak Tree Tavern, miracles he sold for silvers and coppers.

He made that pale woman cry. She ran without paying. Dain remembered the pale woman, unnatural green eyes and short hair dyed black, very striking. But he remembered her more for her aura than for her looks or her tears. So complex and so dark.

When at last Ingold had climbed the stairs to bed, Dain still lay awake. He had watched the bard through slitted eyes. Ingold had looked deep in cups but when Dain woke at dawn, torn from a black dream with a startled cry, he found himself alone, the bard gone, pack and all. In an empty moment he understood the payment.

"Said 'e 'ad dangerous work ahead 'e did," Maidel set down a bowl of porridge before Dain.

Maidel was thick waisted, kind hearted, iron at the core, a breed Dain knew well from begging at the doors of many an inn.

"Said I 'ad to keep an eye on you, laddie. Said you weren't to run off. Said you'd sing like an angel and would earn your keep."

Maidel had been as good as her word. Dain's first escape attempt was foiled by the surprisingly quick interposition of her bulk 'twixt himself and door. His second had got him locked in the 'top room', a prison cell, albeit one equipped with clean clothes, bread and milk. When she'd discovered his way with locks a heavy barrel had kept the door closed instead. A week ago I'd have given anything for food and a warm place to sleep.

Now, freed from his cell after daring the drop from the window, Dain made his way through the narrow streets of Glorsa. He followed the cry of the gulls and made for the docks. The day was clear, the air cold despite the sunshine. High tails of cloud trailed against the pale wash of the sky. Dain had his freedom, but no direction. Ingold was three days gone. The bard had chosen his gaoler well and left no trail that Dain could follow. And why should I follow him? He doesn't want me.

"Because he needs you."

Dain stopped walking. The street stood empty save for an old man up ahead, coughing and leaning against the wall. A clatter of hooves came, and went. It's the voice again. The voice hardly ever spoke to him, not since his mother died. If he needs me, he'll come back. If I've got something he needs - he'll come back.

Dain walked on, past the old man who spat a green mess on the cobbles as he went by. Dain could see the canker in the ancient's lungs, a brown corruption in the feeble flame of his aura. He turned left into Port Street, angling down toward the harbour.