Brothers in Arms; the re-awakening
Chapter 7

Outside the inn a young boy took their horses, promising to feed, water, and brush them down well, although he looked at Donal’s great war-horse with some trepidation; he was warned that his handiwork would be minutely inspected. He nodded, thoroughly awed by the travellers, and scurried off to fetch fresh waterand oats.

The inn was quiet; it was early in the afternoon, and as yet they were the only customers.

“Landlord, attend on us at once,” shouted Donal, stomping gratefully up to the bar, leaning on it and thumping it loudly, “You have thirsty customers who urgently require succour.”

“Yeah, and a few beers as well,” said Ethan, pleased to see Donal’s good humour. The Irishman had been through hard times and deserved to loosen up a bit, he thought, and what better way to do that than with a few beers in good company.

A small fat man rushed out from a back room, wiping his hands on a white apron, steam billowing after him through the swinging doors. He greeted Kitti and Targon warmly and urged the company to take their seats by the fireside and make themselves comfortable, assuring them that any hospitality would be considered as part of the fee for Kitti and Targon’s performance later that night.

“Drinks are on the house, are they?” said Ethan, “If I have anything to do with it, they’ll be sorry for that before the end of the night.”

Jac ordered a tankard of ale, and in spite of, or maybe because of, Ethan’s visible impatience, sampled it carefully before ordering a round for the men, as well as a mulled wine for Kitti. The room was airy but warm and a fire burned in a rude and cheerful hearth. The bartender came over and stoked up the fire, and it’s flame-light flickered in the carved awnings; though the sun still shone outside the room was dark, as the windows were small and had their shutters half-drawn. The wooden chairs were roughly-hewn but they were lined with deep comfortable cushions, and the company sank into them with great sighs of relief and contentment.

“This is a damn sight better than the dingy taverns in your old country, Donal,” said Ethan, “As I remember it there was always too much smoke, and always some old guy in the corner cadging drinks and spinning yarns and singing though his nose and talking about football; although on reflection,” he mused, “some of those stories weren’t too bad either, and the music was usually pretty good too.”

“You must have spent much time in our taverns, Ethan; much time indeed, I’ll warrant, to remember them so vividly and well,” replied Donal, who had already drained his ale, and was looking at Jac expectantly, though the younger man had only managed a few sips by this time.

“Perhaps we should chance another,” he suggested, “whenever you are ready, Jac, of course; such a fine ale should be well savoured, and not rushed.”

Ethan stood up by the hearth, enjoying the warmth of the fire on the back of his legs, a large tankard fitted snugly in his hand. He regarded his companions benignly; maybe this place isn’t so bad after all, he thought, his confidence and contentment beginning to flow back as his alcohol level surged up. A new world and new enemies for sure, and plenty of them, it seemed, but new friends, people that would stand by you in a fix, and new challenges as well; he would take whatever it offered him with a heart and a half. Donal had spoken the truth truly on one matter he knew; he would not be an actor in this world.

“I can see that you share my taste for strong ale, Ethan,” laughed Donal, “We seem more and more alike each day.”

“Yeah”, replied Ethan, “but I’ll bet you can’t hold your liquor as well as I can; and don’t worry, when you pass out, me and the lad will carry you up to bed.”

“We shall see,” said Donal, “Landlord! More beer for the company! Or for Ethan and myself anyway,” he called impatiently, no longer waiting for Jac to finish.

Kitti glanced up sharply at this exchange, looking keenly first at Ethan, then at Donal, but Targon had been very quiet for a while.

“Come on, big fella,” urged Ethan, “Drink up, you’re even falling behind the doc.”

But Targon was preoccupied; “Am I so ugly that even the children must be afraid of me?” he said sadly.

“Do not upset yourself, Targon,” said Jac, “They are only snivelling cowardly brats and they fear what they do not understand. Should you be made to suffer for their ignorance and stupidity and prejudice? Appearances can be utterly deceptive. Why, I think even Ethan and Donal were afraid of me when we first met, until they found out what a reliable and diverting companion I was.”

Targon chuckled despite himself, and Kitti smiled at Jac. Ethan and Donal nodded at each other in approval.

“Yeah, that’s right” said Ethan, “Nearly scared the pants off us, you did. Ain’t that so, Donal?”

“Jac was a most fearsome and distressing sight, and my very bones were shaking in fright,” agreed Donal generously.

All evening the tankards were filled and then emptied with different brown brews, both Ethan and Donal eager to see what their new world had to offer in terms of strong beer and spirits. Ethan had by now completely shaken off his earlier melancholy and was determined to enjoy himself. Kitti and Targon had retired early to prepare for their evening performance. Kitti had warned them before she left that they should not be overly loud and rowdy and attract unwanted attention, and they had agreed to this instruction with palpable sincerity and then proceeded to blithely ignore it. Jac had remained with them, to ensure, so he insisted, that the others displayed appropriate decorum and discretion. A substantial meal of roast beef and potatoes was received with almost as much gratification as the ale, and all three men were in high spirits as the room slowly became more crowded in anticipation of the evening performance. Most of the drinkers were men, but there was a decorative sprinkling of women, most of whom eyed the newcomers with poorly concealed interest.

Ethan nudged Donal.

“That dark-eyed gal at the bar has shoulders as creamy as the head on a good pint, and if I know anything about women, which I reckon I do, I’d say she likes the cut of your jib,” he said, winking knowingly.

“Possibly,” admitted Donal, “And her bottom is like the peaches of Araby - the large and plump ones, of course.”

“And she is probably married,” Jac reminded them, “or betrothed or promised, and the last thing we need is Donal being horse-whipped round the town by a jealous husband and his family.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time, I’ll bet,” said Ethan, “Lighten up, young fella; a horse-whipping sounds like fun compared to some of the things you’ve put us through.”

“Unlike you, I have my reputation to consider, and hanging round with fly-by-nights and philanderers will not help it,” said Jac loftily.

“And remember, Ethan,” said Donal, “Jac has spent many years in a monastery and would have no time for any romantic dalliance, would he?”

“Yeah,” said Ethan, “No interest at all; for sure; absolutely; too busy with hisstudies, the thought would never enter his head, I’m certain of that, you could bet your life on it, he should have become one of those monks, good monk material, I knew it the moment I set eyes on him.”

Their amicable bickering was interrupted by the reappearance of Kitti, now wearing her mask again, and Targon, both of them carrying a variety of musical instruments. They tuned up in a corner on the far side of the room, and then began to play, ignoring Ethan’s good-natured wave.

“Getting pretty uppity, aren’t they?” he said, a bit disgruntled at being dismissed in such an offhand manner.

“Do not be offended,” said Donal, more understanding, “They are serious musicians and their concentration needs to be very deep. The minstrels in my country were always thus; afterward they might be merry, often excessively so, but before a performance they were very solemn indeed.”

Kitti and Targon began by playing two stringed instruments, which to Ethan’s eyes looked a bit like small guitars and which Jac told him were called dulcimers. The melodies and counterpoints were extremely delicate, seemingly quite unsuited to such a smokey, claustrophobic tavern, but the music was tantalizing and evocative and liquid with meaning, and gradually the room, which had been noisy and full of chat when they started, began to hush. Then Kitti carefully set aside her

dulcimer, stood up and stepped forward into the centre of the room, where a small space had been cleared among the crowd.

Without ceremony she took off her mask and began to sing, backed by Targon’s accompaniment on the harp; there were gasps from one or two of the audience, but it was obvious that her disfigurement was no surprise to most of those in attendance. A few lamps had been lit to aid the fire’s light as the night began to draw in, their amber glow accentuating her scars. Her hair seemed to be spun of golden thread, with reeds of silver glistening in the soft lamplight. Ethan could see how she had even further emphasised the scars by a judicious application of

face-paint, and he thought that they only made her all the more striking. She was dressed in a long flowing, darkly purple robe; he had thought her a pretty girl before, but now he realized that she was much more than just pretty. She was truly, truly radiant and beautiful, and he could see that Jac, seated beside him and with eyes only for Kitti, was even more beguiled.

He nudged Donal discreetly.

“Now we know why he’s been acting so damn temperamental,” he whispered, “The young fella’s head-over-heels in love; put the tag on his toe, close the door, he’s well and truly hooked. I must admit, though, her outfit ain’t to my taste; it’s a bit grim for me. In spring, I prefer a gal like her to be dressed in pretty pastels, rather than all this dark gloomy stuff. I reckon we need to have a real serious heart-to-heart talk with both these kids, and we need to have it real soon.”

Donal, rapt and enchanted by the music, was barely listening to Ethan, and he did not reply. The singing was as pure and sweet as he remembered, and it was perfectly complimented by Targon’s skilled accompaniment, the hunchback’s dexterous fingers mocking his clumsy shape. After a while they switched roles. Kitti produced a thin flute, and Targon began to sing in a deep, guttural voice, his rasping breaths enhancing the theatricality of the lyric. Donal could not understand most of the words, but gradually he became aware of a constantly repeated refrain; the audience then began to take up the chorus, chanting and swaying slightly in time to the hypnotic rhythms of the hunchback’s song.

“Through seas of red, skies of fire and ice,

Our swords cleaving, and our spears biting;

In an alien land, beneath a gibbous moon,

We slew the Incubus and all her Brood.”

Donal glanced sideways at Jac; the young man’s lips were also mouthing the words, and Donal determined to replace out more about the meaning of the song at a later time. Perhaps, he mused, it was just a popular cumalye, but it had a fey air to it, as if there was deeper truth to be discovered. An Incubus, he knew, was a demon of some kind, there had been rumours of them on the Crusade, a female demon that could suck out a man’s life and leave him like a dried-out husk. He had dismissed them then as yet more fanciful tales, but now he was less certain. Perhaps they really existed in this world, and if so, how had they been slain?

The music continued through the night, and it was not all soft, slow airs. At one stage Kitti produced a fiddle and played a series of wild reels and jigs which had the crowd whooping and stamping and clapping in time. Several impromptu dances broke out across the floor, the steps fine and intricate, belying the frenzied energy of the participants. Ethan was pulled to his feet by the dark-haired woman he had pointed out to Donal earlier and he eagerly joined the whirl of dancers, only to disengage himself after a few minutes, breathless and puffed with the exertion.

“Boy,” he grinned hugely, “They really know how to enjoy themselves here, don’t they? Hey, Donal, why don’t you take a turn? It reminds me of one of your Irish jigs.”

After what seemed hours of wild diversion the music finally stopped, to warm and appreciative applause, though not till after several encores had been demanded and performed. As they finished, Donal could see the minstrels visibly relax, the tension draining slowly from their faces. They first set down their instruments, putting them away and leaving them in a safe place with the greatest of care before making their way over to join their friends at the fireside, although they were somewhat delayed by the many plaudits and compliments they received on the

way.

Accordingly, their drinks arrived well before them, sent down by the grateful patrons, and they sat down in relief.

“I had not realized,” said Jac, looking at Targon with a new respect, “You are a Word-Smith.”

“A Word-Smith is a skilled writer whose lyrics can also stand alone as unaccompanied poems,” he continued, in reply to Donal’s questioning look, “and “The Lay of the Incubus”, is one of the most famous songs throughout the Free Nations; you saw how many of our audience knew the words.”

Kitti smiled with delight, ruffling the hunchback’s hair playfully.

“Yes, he has many gifts,” she laughed, “Modesty being among the greatest of them.”

“But obviously not such a problem to you,” said Jac, “You wear your scars more lightly tonight, I see.”

Ethan drew a sharp breath, expecting a reaction from Kitti. It’s as clear as day how he really feels about the girl, he thought, so why does he say these stupid things? Then he saw the young man’s intense face and smiled to himself; because he’s young, he thought, and he’s shy and he’s in love and he’s confused and he doesn’t know what to do and every time the mouth opens, the foot moves in; and he couldn’t say the right thing even if Cole Porter himself was writing the script for him; and I’ve been there myself, many times, because I was young once myself.

So Ethan was agreeably surprised when Kitti only shrugged and grimaced resignedly.

“It is a part of our act; nothing more, nothing less. I would as easily be ashamed of the costumes I wear, or my voice, or the instruments I play. And sometimes, sometimes, I do not understand why, it is easier to reveal unpleasant truths in public than in private. It can sometimes be less hurtful,” she said.

“It was a performance of very great merit,” observed Donal, “You take your musical skills very seriously.”

“They are a gift to both of us,” said Kitti, “Beyond all magic, and beyond all deceit. It is a gift that helps us to forget how different we are from others – others like you.”

“Perhaps not so different,” mused Donal, half to himself.

Eavesdropper joined the company, rubbing his hands gleefully in satisfaction at what had obviously been a very satisfactory night’s takings. After a number of generous toasts, including one to “The good old U.S. of A.,” which the others did not entirely understand, but still partook of with considerable enthusiasm, Kitti suggested firmly that it was time for them to retire for the night.

After “a last one for the road”, on Ethan’s insistence, they reluctantly obeyed, ascending the stairs in a noisy good humour, the farewells from the other patrons echoing behind them. The men were all billeted together, Kitti having a smaller room to herself at the other end of the corridor.

They filed into the men’s bedroom.

“Real tidy joint you brought us to,” said Ethan, pulling great strands of cobwebs from his hair, as the air quickly became rank with beer-fumes. Kitti cast a withering eye at him.

“We will have to be far more careful,” she hissed. “Targon mind-searched the crowd while ye were too busy enjoying yourselves. He could detect nothing specific; there are ways of warding against the mind-search, by those who have the art. But there was much suspicion and greed in the air. Targon and I may have many enemies of our own, but tonight all the suspicion was directed at Ethan and Donal.”

“Could it not just be their strange appearance?” said Jac, patting his stomach and burping elegantly, “After all, they are twice as tall, ...and fat, ...and gross, and sang twice as loudly, and drank twice as much ale, as anyone else in this town.”

“This is no laughing matter,” Kitti glared at him, “There is danger here – here and now! We must share this room and set a watch again.”

“Won’t that be a bit embarrassing?” said Ethan, “Four men sharing a room with a young single lady?”

“You should have thought of that when you and your friends were getting drunk downstairs and drawing unwanted attention on us,” said Kitti.

“We could always leave Jac to guard you; we can spare him, and then you’d be quite safe.” said Donal with an innocent expression on his face. Ethan’s guffaws were interrupted by a light tap on the door. It opened slowly, and Eavesdropper looked in.

“Well,” he said to Targon, “Anything suspicious?”

“You knew he was mind-searching!” said Kitti in surprise, “Does everybody know our secret by now? We should be selling tickets! How long have you known?”

“Innkeepers have to know these things,” said the little man, tapping the side of his nose with a gnarled forefinger, “Especially when we see some musicians earning twice as much as any of the others - even if they do play much superior music. I do not consider my customers to be as discerning as I am myself, so there must be other forces at play.”

“I am uncertain if you mean that to be a compliment or not, my old friend,“ said Targon, “There was indeed interest there, but it was hard to be sure, and I could not tell exactly from where and from who it was coming; for sure, there was danger about - so much greed and avarice”, he shook his big head in distress at the memory, “But then, that is always the case.”

“I had wished to tell you this earlier,” said Eavesdropper, “But all the discreet enquiries, all the questions that were being asked, were about you and Kitti, not Donal and Ethan. Someone must be very eager to replace you, and may not have the best of intentions toward you. I’d thought at first it was probably some unhappy patron who had been “persuaded” to contribute rather more to your purse than he had originally planned, and had then found himself fiscally challenged. But then you show up with these two tall and bizarrely clad strangers. And as if they were not already noticeable enough - this evening you could have heard their laughter and carousing on the far side of town; not exactly a clandestine manoeuvre. The questioners, by contrast,” he looked at Donal and Ethan in mild reproof, “were most discreet. However, one of them was just careless enough to leave his pockets unsecured, and this just happened to fall out.”

He opened his hand slowly; Kitti swore and Targon muttered under his breath. A silver cross, embellished with ebony, lay in his palm.

“What does that thing mean?” asked Ethan, sensing from the other’s reactions that it was something very significant and very sinister.

“It is the mark of the Inquisitors,” said Eavesdropper sombrely, “The Mfecane is coming for us, but first of all it is coming for you”.