“To be honest, sir, I thought you were a bit of a—well, not a fighter,” said Gern. “I’ve seen people insult you before, but you never said anything. You just ignored them. Some people reckoned you were violent because you’re a Northerner, but I always said, ‘No, Arren’s not like that. He’s too nice for that sort of thing. Wouldn’t hurt a fly.’ But you—I got your dagger back, by the way. That poor sod pulled it out of his leg and I picked it up.” He was holding it wrapped in a corner of his tunic and removed it rather gingerly, holding it between two fingers. “It’s—uh, it probably needs a bit of cleaning, sir.”
Bran waved him into silence. “Yeh ain’t been yerself lately, Arren. Flell said—”
“I told them I had a feeling you weren’t as well as you kept saying,” said Flell. “I knew you couldn’t be. Not after what happened. I know you had to be depressed and feeling guilty, but . . . you’re so jumpy all of a sudden. Haven’t you realised it? You keep looking at corners and doorways and things, and you won’t talk about what happened at Rivermeet. I’ve seen you walking around. You’ve got a—well, a hunted look. What is it, Arren? Have people been harassing you or something? You know we can help you with that sort of thing.”
Arren shook his head. “It’s nothing.”
Flell paused to restrain Thrain, who was looking rather jittery. “No, it’s not,” she said firmly, almost sternly. “There’s something going on, and I want to know what it is. You’re hiding something.”
Arren said nothing, but his eyes darted toward the alley’s entrance.
“I’m here, Arren,” said Flell. “There’s no-one there.”
“Please, sir, you can trust us,” said Gern. “We trust you, right?”
“Course we do,” said Bran.
“I can’t tell you,” Arren blurted. “Please, just believe me. If I tell you, something awful will happen.”
Bran touched the hilt of his sword. “Arren, for gods’ sakes, if yer in danger—”
“I’m not,” said Arren. “But I will be if I tell you, and so will you.”
“Did someone threaten you?” said Flell.
Arren hesitated. “Yes. They said that if I told anyone, I would die and so would the person I told. No matter who they were.”
“Who was it?” said Bran. “Can yeh tell us?”
“No.”
Flell took hold of his hand. “But Arren, for gods’ sakes, you can’t let someone get away with this! It’s criminal! My father has to know about it, I’m sure he can do something.”
Arren grabbed her by the shoulder and pulled her into his arms. As he held on to her, he laid his head on her shoulder and whispered, “It is your father.” He spoke griffish and kept his voice so low that even he could scarcely hear it, but he felt Flell stiffen as he said it and knew she had heard.
He let go of her and she pulled away, staring at him. She opened her mouth to speak and stopped, half-reached toward him and then turned abruptly and left the alley, carrying Thrain under one arm.
“Flell, where are you going?” Gern called after her, but she didn’t look back.
Arren got up. “I should go home,” he said.
“But Arren—”
“No, Bran,” said Arren. “I can’t. I won’t. And it doesn’t matter any more. It’s too late for anyone to do anything. If you ask me about this again, I’ll pretend I don’t know what you’re talking about. Goodnight.” He left the alley at a quick stride, and as soon as he was back in the street he broke into a run. He didn’t stop until he reached his own home, and then he slammed the door behind him. But he didn’t relax until he had locked and barred it, and blocked up the windows.
Arren spent the next two days in agony. Every moment he expected someone to come after him, at home or at work or out in the street. No-one did. He didn’t see Flell, either; he avoided her, and she was probably doing the same. He avoided Bran and Gern as well, and when he wasn’t at work, he spent every moment barricaded in his house. He began carrying his sword with him wherever he went and wore his leather breastplate under his tunic. When nothing happened, his tension didn’t decrease—in fact, it worsened.
Roland was quick to notice the change in his demeanour. “What’s the matter, lad?” he inquired. “You look terrible. And why do you have your sword