Jovan's Gaze. Aaron Ph.D. Dov
not waver. He had seen far too much in his life to be bothered by a sickly drunk.
After several minutes of retching, and several more of deep breathing, I picked up my head.
"Water, please," I pleaded.
Erik's strength and force caught me off guard. He grabbed me by the back of the neck, and forced me forward. I stumbled, trying to keep upright. He led me along, his hand a steel grip around my neck. The world seemed to move in spurts, as though I were blinking so quickly that everything flashed before me. He led me to the next house over, where an open rain barrel stood. He thrust my head into its open top.
The cold water was a shock, and I gasped. The water rushed down my throat, and I struggled against Erik's insurmountable grip. After a moment, He pulled me backward, out of the water. I gasped for air, and between the gasp, and me vomiting up the water, I heard the three villagers goading Erik on. In I went again, this time thrust deeper into the barrel, until I fear he would upend me and leave me to drown with my head at the bottom, and my arms trapped at my sides. Instead, he simply held me until the water reached my shoulder blades. My arms flailed helplessly, but at least I held my mouth shut this time.
After perhaps half a minute, he pulled me out. The force of his arm threw me backward. I tripped over something and fell, my head smacking into the cobblestone road. I heard the crack, and so did Erik's three hangers-on. The villagers winced. I heard their voices. I did not see them, though, as the world went black.
***
"Wake up, Jovan."
It was Erik's voice, reaching out to me from behind those horrid eyes. The blackness about me was dreamless, save for those relentless statue-eyes. That damned statue seemed to gloat, and smirk, to snarl in vile pleasure at my predicament. Erik's voice, angry as it was, was a savior, pulling me away from the endless glare of the nameless Dark Lord's eyes which haunted my dreams.
"Wake up," he said again, nudging me with a boot.
I awoke to find myself lying in a storage room. It was full of sealed barrels, the sweet smell of fruit preserves all about me. The small room had shelves with jars, all full of fruit. The barrels had honey and other such things. The floor, boarded, creaked as I shifted my weight away from my sore right shoulder. A crack in the door allowed in some light, streaks of it which shot at me like bolts of a mage's magic.
Erik stood between the door and I, his massive frame illuminated by the fierce sun that peeked through the cracks in the door. I knew this place. It was the storage room behind Janell's house. My first encounter with Jeannine had been in here. It had been dark then, the moon barely visible through the clouds. The floor had been covered with a blanket she had stolen away with, when she slipped away from her Uncle's house. The room had seemed so much nicer then, though the embrace of a beautiful young woman would likely make anything more kind to the eye. Now the room was a prison.
Erik was still as fierce as before. He was quiet, but his eyes were anything but kind. He threw a bladder of water at me.
"Drink it," he said.
I uncapped the small bladder and drank. There was a bitter taste to it. A restorative, no doubt. I recognized the taste from my days as a soldier. I felt my head quickly clear.
"Better?" he asked, not at all concerned for my health.
I simply nodded, setting the bladder aside.
"Good," he said, sitting down on one of the barrels nearest him. "Now, tell me what happened."
I reached for the back of my head. It was sticky, and my fingers came away with blood. My shoulder was sore. Both came from striking the cobblestone. Erik's doing.
"I cannot remember," I whispered. "I really cannot."
His face twisted in disgust. "You had better remember, and do it fast, Jovan." He pointed to the closed door. "Right out there, on the other side of that door, there are a lot of angry people. They want me to drag you out and hand you over to them. I doubt they will care what you say. They have already decided on your guilt."
I coughed, spat. After taking a breath, I replied. "I did not kill Gern, Erik. I could never hurt him. We argued, sure. I remember that much. Kill him?" I shook my head. "Never."
Erik shifted his weight slightly, and crossed his arms. "I saw you about an hour after Jeannine threw you out. You were already very drunk. Gern said you were on your second bottle."
I nodded. "I drank a lot, but I do not remember how much."
He pulled a small coin purse from inside his jacket. He jingled it. It was full.
"Based on what was in his pockets, I think it was quite a bit. Three or more bottles of that high-priced sludge you like."
"How do you know all of that was mine?" I asked.
"You were the only one in the tavern that night who paid in coin." He dropped the purse at my feet. "The others all paid in barter."
I knew he was right. I collected coin as payment for my runs between the villages. Most villagers, who rarely left Clearlake at all, generally used their own work as barter for what they needed. I hefted the purse. It was indeed very full. I did not have to open the purse to know that they were Esian ten-pieces, given to me when I left Meekwood a few days ago, before visiting the keep.
"When I saw you," he continued, "like I said, you were on your second bottle. You could barely stay upright, and could not even get out of your chair."
"I do not remember you,' I said. His face was a blur in the evening, and I could not be sure of anything before he awoke me from the gutter.
"If you drank three bottles, Jovan, I doubt you could have found Gern with a man to guide you, let alone do him any harm when you found him."
I nodded. "I told you, I did him no harm."
He pointed to my leather coat, which had been stripped from me. It was draped on a nearby barrel. I had not even noticed until now that I had been stripped down to my pants and shirt. My jacket and shoes were off. I was barefoot, and my feet were shackled.
"Where did the blood come from?" he asked.
I just shook my head.
"Unless you killed an animal that we have not found," he went on, "I cannot imagine that it came from anyone else. Gern was gutted. He was bled white."
I sat in stunned silence, awaiting his next words. Instead, he reached behind him and took hold of a sword that had been resting against the door. He held it by a cloth, so as not to touch it. I recognized it as my own. It was covered in blood.
"This was found beside him, Jovan. It was driven into the ground, like a stake."
I felt the color in my face drain away. "I do not know what to say."
"Jeannine says she tossed your sword out into the rain, along with your pack, a few minutes after she slammed the door on you." He watched me closely, waiting for some sign, as though he suspected I was lying. I had seen him do this to soldiers under his command who had been caught stealing. He never missed the cues.
"I do not remember, Erik, honestly." I pleaded.
"The pack is gone," he continued as though he did not hear me. "Of course, the sword is proof all on its own."
"Anyone can swing a sword, Erik," I returned. "Remember last year, when Arno's son..."
He interrupted me. "Jovan, Arno's son can barely pick up your sword anymore." He shook his head. "What was done to Gern was not done by some flailing, incompetent fool with a good blade." He swallowed hard, shaking his head with closed eyes. After a deep breath, he continued. "I have seen that sort of bloody work before. So have you."