About midafternoon they rode into a sizable town where merchants in variously colored mantles called to them from booths and stalls which lined the streets, imploring them to stop and look at merchandise.
“They sound almost desperate,” Durnik said.
“Tolnedrans hate to see a customer get away,” Silk told him. “They’re greedy.”
Ahead, in a small square, a disturbance suddenly broke out. A half dozen slovenly, unshaven soldiers had accosted an arrogant-looking man in a green mantle.
“Stand aside, I say,” the arrogant man protested sharply.
“We just want a word or two with you, Lembor,” one of the.soldiers said with an evil-looking leer. He was a lean man with a long scar down one side of his face.
“What an idiot,” a passer-by observed with a callous laugh. “Lembor’s gotten so important that he doesn’t think he has to take any precautions.”
“Is he being arrested, friend?” Durnik inquired politely.
“Only temporarily,” the passer-by said dryly.
“What are they going to do to him?” Durnik asked.
“The usual.”
“What’s the usual?”
“Watch and see. The fool should have known better than to come out without his bodyguards.”
The soldiers had surrounded the man in the green mantle, and two of them took hold of his arms roughly.
“Let me go,” Lembor protested. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Just come along quietly, Lembor,” the scar-faced soldier ordered. “It will be a lot easier that way.” They began pulling him toward a narrow alleyway.
“Help!” Lembor shouted, desperately trying to struggle.
One of the soldiers smashed the captive in the mouth with his fist, and they pulled him into the alley. There was a single, short scream and the sounds of a brief scuffle. There were other sounds as well, a few grunts and the grating sound of steel on bone, then a long, sighing moan. A wide rivulet of bright blood trickled out of the mouth of the alley and ran into the gutter. A minute or so later, the soldiers came back out into the square, grinning and wiping their swords.
“We’ve got to do something,” Garion said, sick with outrage and horror.
“No,” Silk said bluntly. “What we have to do is mind our own business. We’re not here to get involved in local politics.”
“Politics?” Garion objected. “That was deliberate murder. Shouldn’t we at least see if he’s still alive?”
“Not too likely,” Barak said. “Six men with swords can usually do a pretty thorough job.”
A dozen other soldiers, as shabby-looking as the first group, ran into the square with drawn swords.
“Too late, Rabbas.” The scar-faced soldier laughed harshly to the leader of the newcomers. “Lembor doesn’t need you anymore. He just came down with a bad case of dead. It looks like you’re out of work.”
The one called Rabbas stopped, his expression dark. Then a look of brutal cunning spread across his face. “Maybe you’re right, Kragger.” His voice was also harsh. “But then again we might be able to create a few vacancies in Elgon’s garrison. I’m sure he’d be happy to hire good replacements.” He began to move forward again, his short sword swinging in a low, dangerous arc.
Then there came the sound of a jingling trot, and twenty legionnaires in a double column came into the square, their feet striking the cobblestones in unison. They carried short lances, and they stopped between the two groups of soldiers. Each column turned to face one group, their lances leveled. The breastplates of the legionnaires were brightly burnished, and their equipment was spotless.
“All right, Rabbas, Kragger, that’s enough,” the sergeant in charge said sharply. “I want both of you off the street immediately.”
“These swine killed Lembor, Sergeant,” Rabbas protested.
“That’s too bad,” the sergeant said without much sympathy. “Now clear the street. There’s not going to be any brawling while I’m on duty.”
“Aren’t you going to do something?” Rabbas demanded.
“I am,” the legionnaire said. “I’m clearing the street. Now get out of here.”
Sullenly, Rabbas turned and led his men out of the square.
“That goes for you too, Kragger,” the sergeant ordered.
“Of course, Sergeant,” Kragger said with an oily smirk. “We were just leaving anyway.”
A crowd had gathered, and there were several boos as the legionnaires herded the sloppy-looking soldiers out of the square.
The sergeant looked around, his face dangerous, and the boos died immediately.
Durnik hissed sharply. “Over there on the far side of the square,” he said to Wolf in a hoarse whisper. “Isn’t that Brill?”
“Again?” Wolf’s voice held exasperation. “How does he keep getting ahead of us like this?”
“Let’s find out what he’s up to,” Silk suggested, his eyes bright.
“He’d recognize any of us if we tried to follow him,” Barak warned.
“Leave that to me,” Silk said, sliding out of his saddle.
“Did he see us?” Garion asked.
“I don’t think so,” Durnik said. “He’s talking to those men over there. He isn’t looking this way.”
“There’s an inn near the south end of town,” Silk said quickly, pulling off his vest and tying it to his saddle. “I’ll meet you there in an hour or so.” Then the little man turned and disappeared into the crowd.
“Get down off your horses,” Mister Wolf ordered tersely. “We’ll lead them.”
They all dismounted and led their mounts slowly around the edge of the square, staying close to the buildings and keeping the animals between them and Brill as much as possible.
Garion glanced once up the narrow alleyway where Kragger and his men had dragged the protesting Lembor. He shuddered and looked away quickly. A green-mantled heap lay in a grimy corner, and there was blood splashed thickly on the walls and the filthy cobblestones in the alley.
After they had moved out of the square, they found the entire town seething with excitement and in some cases consternation. “Lembor, you say?” an ashen-faced merchant in a blue mantle exclaimed to another shaken man. “Impossible.”
“My brother just talked to a man who was there,” the second merchant said. “Forty of Elgon’s soldiers attacked him in the street and cut him down right in front of the crowd.”
“What’s going to happen to us?” the first man asked in a shaking voice.
“I don’t know about you, but I’m going to hide. Now that Lembor’s dead, Elgon’s soldiers are probably going to try to kill us all.”
“They wouldn’t dare.”
“Who’s going to stop them? I’m going home.”
“Why did we listen to Lembor?” the first merchant wailed. “We could have stayed out of the whole business.”
“It’s too late now,” the second man said. “I’m going to go home and bar my doors.” He turned and scurried away.
The first man stared after him and then he too turned and fled.
“They play for keeps, don’t they?” Barak observed.
“Why do the legions allow it?” Mandorallen asked.
“The legions stay neutral in these affairs,” Wolf said. “It’s part of their oath.”
The inn to which Silk had directed them was a neat, square building surrounded by a low wall. They tied their horses in the courtyard and went inside. “We might as well eat, father,” Aunt Pol said, seating herself at a table of well-scrubbed oak in the sunny common room.
“I was just- ” Wolf looked toward the door which led into the taproom.
“I know,” she said, “but I think we should eat first.”
Wolf sighed. “All right, Pol.”
The serving-man brought them a platter of smoking cutlets and heavy slabs of brown bread soaked in butter. Garion’s stomach was still a bit shaky after what he had witnessed in the square, but the smell of the cutlets soon overcame that. They had nearly finished eating when a shabby-looking little man in a linen shirt, leather apron and a ragged hat came in and plunked himself unceremoniously at the end of their table. His face looked vaguely familiar somehow. “Wine!” he bawled at the serving-man, “and food.” He squinted around in the golden light streaming through the yellow glass windows of the common room.
“There are other tables, friend,” Mandorallen said coldly.
“I like this one,” the stranger said. He peered at each of them in turn, and then he suddenly laughed. Garion stared in amazement as the man’s face relaxed, the muscles seeming to shift under his skin back into their normal positions. It was Silk.
“How did you do that?” Barak asked, startled.
Silk grinned at him and then reached up to massage his cheeks with his fingertips. “Concentration, Barak. Concentration and lots of practice. It makes my jaws ache a bit, though.”
“Useful skill, I’d imagine – under the right circumstances,” Hettar said blandly.
“Particularly for a spy,” Barak said.
Silk bowed mockingly.
“Where did you get the clothes?” Durnik asked,
“Stole them.” Silk shrugged, peeling off the apron.
“What’s Brill doing here?” Wolf asked.
“Stirring up trouble, the same as always,” Silk replied. “He’s telling people that a Murgo named Asharak is offering a reward for any information about us. He describes you quite well, old friend – not very flatteringly, but quite well.”