sealed off the first. And the second? His interlaced fingers compressed each other. He’d slammed that door himself.
“I—uh—I have your dinner,” Ulerroth said through the heavy wood. “You didn’t come down, so I brought it up.” The innkeeper coughed. A floorboard creaked. “Uh—are you feeling well?”
And if I wasn’t? Would you do anything for me? Could you? Or would you thank everything that’s holy for delivering you from such as I? Sitting up, he lowered his legs to the floor and stood. “Your consideration is touching, Ulerroth, but I’m quite well. Bring in your tray.”
The door opened. The unsteady light of one candle spilled into the room. “I—uh—hope you don’t mind the candle,” the innkeeper said, wiping his forehead. “I wasn’t sure...”
Sure of what? Me? After at least a dozen years, you’re still not sure of me? His lips compressed into a thin line. “If it makes you more comfortable, why should I mind?”
Be civil, the Voice in his head said . The poor bastard doesn’t know any more about you than you’ve told him. And you know how little that’s been.
Bending slightly at the waist, he gestured to the table. “Are you joining me tonight?”
The innkeeper set the tray on the table and emptied it of bowl, platter and tankard. “No, I—” He rocked on his heels, then mopped his face with his apron.
What’s troubling you, friend? You’re more uncomfortable around me than usual. All because I didn’t come down to dinner? “Is there something else?”
“Last night—” Ulerroth’s beefy hands kneaded the apron gripped in them. “I’m sorry. I—I thought…you seemed as though you wanted…some company…”
The man’s fingers clenched the chair’s back. Perspiration sheened his body, bonding his tunic to it. So it’s you, flesh. You’re the demon in Ulerroth’s nightmare.
“It was my fault, I know,” the innkeeper rushed on. “You’ve made it plain you weren’t interested before, but the woman insisted, and I sent her up because you might’ve changed your mind, and—”
“I haven’t—” the man said, forcing the words through gritted teeth, “—changed my mind.” Refusing yet again took every bit of his willpower, but now he’d done so, he wanted nothing more than to sink into a chair and close his eyes to the consequences before his body realized what it was being denied. But there was no time. Already his loins had begun throbbing, and sweat glued the inner cloth of his hood to his face.
Go ahead, flesh! Remember how you once enjoyed yourself here! One night—one careless, insignificant night—spent within these walls, before he entered that tunnel he saw in his nightmare. Before the world collapsed, crushing under the weight of it everything he knew and everyone he loved and everything he once was, except for this damned, mindless flesh!
“I don’t want a woman,” he enunciated to the open-mouthed innkeeper. “I don’t want any woman.”
Ulerroth stared. His hand fumbled from moustache to ear to forehead and, finally, outward. “Then wh—what do you want?”
Everything! Nothing! Something! The words careened through his mind, clamoring at every wall, every closed door, every lock . Nothing a whore could ever give me! Nothing at all...like...that. But something...something...
He leaned forward heavily, hands spread on the table. He knew the only possible answer. He’d known it ever since he’d entered Ar-Deneth and stood in a dark stable yard, watching and listening. It merely required strength, and acceptance of the risks, to form the words.
Sweat drenched every patch of cloth contacting the man’s body. Under the table, in the concealing shadow, he could feel his thigh muscle twitching. Soon, the dreams would come, and if Ulerroth so much as hinted at procuring a woman, he’d be lost again, this time maybe forever.
“There is something,” he said hoarsely. “I want the boy.”
For the space of heartbeats, the
“I—uh—I have your dinner,” Ulerroth said through the heavy wood. “You didn’t come down, so I brought it up.” The innkeeper coughed. A floorboard creaked. “Uh—are you feeling well?”
And if I wasn’t? Would you do anything for me? Could you? Or would you thank everything that’s holy for delivering you from such as I? Sitting up, he lowered his legs to the floor and stood. “Your consideration is touching, Ulerroth, but I’m quite well. Bring in your tray.”
The door opened. The unsteady light of one candle spilled into the room. “I—uh—hope you don’t mind the candle,” the innkeeper said, wiping his forehead. “I wasn’t sure...”
Sure of what? Me? After at least a dozen years, you’re still not sure of me? His lips compressed into a thin line. “If it makes you more comfortable, why should I mind?”
Be civil, the Voice in his head said . The poor bastard doesn’t know any more about you than you’ve told him. And you know how little that’s been.
Bending slightly at the waist, he gestured to the table. “Are you joining me tonight?”
The innkeeper set the tray on the table and emptied it of bowl, platter and tankard. “No, I—” He rocked on his heels, then mopped his face with his apron.
What’s troubling you, friend? You’re more uncomfortable around me than usual. All because I didn’t come down to dinner? “Is there something else?”
“Last night—” Ulerroth’s beefy hands kneaded the apron gripped in them. “I’m sorry. I—I thought…you seemed as though you wanted…some company…”
The man’s fingers clenched the chair’s back. Perspiration sheened his body, bonding his tunic to it. So it’s you, flesh. You’re the demon in Ulerroth’s nightmare.
“It was my fault, I know,” the innkeeper rushed on. “You’ve made it plain you weren’t interested before, but the woman insisted, and I sent her up because you might’ve changed your mind, and—”
“I haven’t—” the man said, forcing the words through gritted teeth, “—changed my mind.” Refusing yet again took every bit of his willpower, but now he’d done so, he wanted nothing more than to sink into a chair and close his eyes to the consequences before his body realized what it was being denied. But there was no time. Already his loins had begun throbbing, and sweat glued the inner cloth of his hood to his face.
Go ahead, flesh! Remember how you once enjoyed yourself here! One night—one careless, insignificant night—spent within these walls, before he entered that tunnel he saw in his nightmare. Before the world collapsed, crushing under the weight of it everything he knew and everyone he loved and everything he once was, except for this damned, mindless flesh!
“I don’t want a woman,” he enunciated to the open-mouthed innkeeper. “I don’t want any woman.”
Ulerroth stared. His hand fumbled from moustache to ear to forehead and, finally, outward. “Then wh—what do you want?”
Everything! Nothing! Something! The words careened through his mind, clamoring at every wall, every closed door, every lock . Nothing a whore could ever give me! Nothing at all...like...that. But something...something...
He leaned forward heavily, hands spread on the table. He knew the only possible answer. He’d known it ever since he’d entered Ar-Deneth and stood in a dark stable yard, watching and listening. It merely required strength, and acceptance of the risks, to form the words.
Sweat drenched every patch of cloth contacting the man’s body. Under the table, in the concealing shadow, he could feel his thigh muscle twitching. Soon, the dreams would come, and if Ulerroth so much as hinted at procuring a woman, he’d be lost again, this time maybe forever.
“There is something,” he said hoarsely. “I want the boy.”
For the space of heartbeats, the
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