Oooookay, had not planned this chapter to be this long. Huh. Oh well c: A nice, big, juicy Gilan section x3
A quick reminder – Gilan left Araluen by ship over a week after Halt and Horace. Yes, the transition was very clumsy. I appologise.
~28~ Chance Meetings
Gilan strode wobbly-legged down the gangplank onto Port Ostia's northernmost docks, trying not to stagger off the edge and into the harbour.
"Amazing what a couple weeks at sea will do to you," he muttered as he swayed, his feet constantly overcompensating for balance. His uninjured arm wavered to keep himself steady.
"Indeed," said his companion, who appeared just as intoxicated as he. "Nothing a few hours of exploring won't cure."
Gilan and his hooded company were practically ignored as they departed the mail ship and blended in with the dock's activities. The captain, after all, had received a lashing from both an Araluan Ranger and a king's Courier, a reprimand that wouldn't fade as fast as the marks of a whip, after he had initially refused to take them on as passengers. He wasn't unhappy to see them go.
"Stick close to me. Don't want any pickpockets making away with all we've got," Gilan muttered, casting surreptitious glances at others from beneath his hood. He wasn't as conspicuous as some characters he saw (he couldn't help but grimace at the sight of an entire stuffed peacock sitting on a plump lady's hat) but the strange pattern of his mottled cloak wasn't as incognito as could be desired. Be that as it may, few paid him or his companion any heed, and those that did had no choice, for they would have walked right into them otherwise.
"Good Lord, it smells here," his friend snorted, waving a hand before her face.
Gilan opened his mouth to let loose a witty remark, but just then someone brushed against his casted arm, and he recoiled, turning and reaching for his blade in one smooth movement.
The youth responsible stared, eyes wide in terror, holding a small crate in his hands.
"Mi perdoni!" he squeaked before hastening off, nearly tripping over a discarded coil of rope.
Gilan sighed. "I'm going to be jumpy the entire time we are here. Let's get this over with." He glanced around. "This way."
He led his friend to a rapid stream of motion, where the probability that the group was leaving the docks was high, and slipped into the stream of people like a fish. True to his assumptions, they entered Ostia proper via the portcullis set in an ancient stone wall. They were immediately bombarded with colours and smells and sights, each more exotic and captivating than the last.
"I suppose we'll have to ask for directions," Gilan's companion said simply, glancing up and down every street. Gilan lifted an eyebrow.
"Alyss, we don't need to ask for directions. Romena lies east of here, so it would make sense that stables where we could purchase horses would be in the eastern district."
Alyss glanced witheringly at him. "What is it with men and simply asking for directions?"
"Come on, lady diplomat. We'll be fine, you'll see."
Gilan led the way down the street, keeping as straight as he could. The paths were not as straight as could be hoped, however, and, judging by the sun, they found that their street gently curved north, and then suddenly split into five others.
Gilan considered the two easternmost paths intently.
"It's probably that one. I can smell horse manure."
"Gilan, we haven't stopped smelling horse manure since we stepped in this town. You're going to get us lost."
He held up his hands in surrender. "All right, all right." He walked to the nearest vendor. "Excuse me, sir," he said. "Could you tell us where—"
The vendor barged in with a loud, boisterous voice, speaking only Toscan. Gilan shrugged helplessly.
"Herein lies our problem. How many people here can speak the common tongue?"
Alyss rolled her eyes with a half smirk. She turned to the vendor.
"Scusi, signore. Dove possiamo comprare dei cavalli?"
The man, calming down, pointed down a street, giving brief directions to the city-run stables.
Gilan gawped at her as she fell back in step with him. "Since when do you know how to speak Toscan?"
The unbecoming expression was met with one of maternal sternness, one eyebrow in a valiant attempt to lift above the other. "I told you I would be helpful if I came with you. I've been teaching myself for the past two years."
The Ranger smiled, admiring. Before departing Castle Araluen almost three weeks ago, he had been met with Will's wife, who insisted on joining him in the adventure to Toscana. Though slightly reluctant, as he didn't want to drag her into something he might not be able to pull her free of, she quickly proved her worth by helping him convince the stubborn sea captain to give them special passage to Ostia. It would seem that her talent for tongue covered even more than he had supposed.
"You're full of surprises, Lady Alyss," he said.
She smiled in return. "Let us hope that our luck will hold and I'll be able to wane off the price of horses. I can be a real bargainer when I need to be."
"I can vouch for that—you got Will to marry you."
Alyss gave him a shove, and he chuckled as he staggered, grinning.
The crowds thickened as they progressed through Ostia, Gilan's awareness suddenly honed. He kept Alyss close to him protectively, though he was well aware of the fact that, as a Courier, she could handle herself if need be. But because this was a Ranger mission, he felt that she was his responsibility, and he knew Will would never forgive him if something were to happen to her on his watch. At the same time, however, she was his protection as much as he was hers. His arm, still aching from the arrow wound received at the Cliffs of Clamour, prevented him from using his bow effectively. He still had his sword and knives, but it was comforting to know that there was always someone there to cover his weakened flank.
"The vendor said this was a shortcut," Alyss said suddenly, pointing down a narrower street that was only just wide enough to avoid being deemed an alleyway. "If we continue the way we're going, he said that the crowds get so thick you can barely move."
Gilan glanced down the street, a small bell of his instincts chiming gently. There were people walking that street, and there were a fair few stalls set up, but something was telling him that staying in the larger crowds would be more wise.
"I don't know," he said uneasily. "I think we should..."
"A thief would have a better chance if you're lulled into unawareness from being constantly jostled by countless people," Alyss reasoned. "At least down there, you can see anyone coming at you, and it's easier to avoid brushing against others."
Her logic was sound, but as he followed her down into the street, Gilan couldn't ignore his bristling senses. It was as though some primitive, animal instinct was urging him to beware.
A small handful of lads were playing a game near a boarded-up building. They kicked a small sack of what sounded like dried beans or sand between them, laughing and joking. Gilan watched them, envying their bliss, and therefore lowered his guard for half a moment.
It was in that half a moment that someone gently brushed against his side, the small sic of a blade cutting string penetrating the sounds of the street. Gilan's eyes widened at the small boy who was dashing off into the crowd, a pouch of coins now clutched in his greedy fingers.
"OI!"
The lad bolted away without looking back, Gilan on his heels instantly. He could hear Alyss in hot pursuit, and they darted in and out of groups of astonished people, hounding the thieving youth.
The boys who had been playing their game suddenly scattered like a swarm of bees. One of them almost collided with the little thief, but Gilan's quick eyes saw that the thief had discreetly passed the coin pouch to him, trying to throw the Ranger. Gilan turned to pursue the new boy, reaching out to snag his ragged shirt, but then the boy threw the pouch and yet another, smaller child caught it, ducking beneath the legs of oblivious bystanders.
"Come back here, you!"
A cloak stand was suddenly knocked over, and Gilan tripped, crashing face down onto the cobbles. He saw stars as his injured shoulder paid the price, but then felt Alyss' hand grabbing his other arm to help him to his feet, and once he was up, he was able to see that the last of the thieving youths were making themselves scarce.
"This way!" Alyss, having seen where the last boy had dashed off to, led the way through the annoyed throng. Gilan ignored a scraped knee and his pounding shoulder, and swallowed an even more injured pride. His eyes locked on the small filthy head just before them.
"Gotcha!" Gilan grabbed the boy by the shirt, and the lad squirmed.
"I don' hav'it!" he protested, thrashing with little fists and short legs. "Lemme go!"
"Gilan, there!"
The Ranger glanced to where Alyss was pointing, and saw the smallest boy—the one he'd seen holding his money last—ducking into an alleyway. He released the youth he was holding, who scurried away quickly, and ran after the other one.
He had to squeeze through piles and stacks of discarded rubbish, an endeavour his small quarry found infinitely more effortless, in order to enter the alley. The going was continuously dangerous with the loose debris underfoot. But he could see the thief ahead of him, and hear Alyss right behind, so he pressed on, desperate to get their money back. Without it, they would be unable to make it to Romena in decent time.
The thief, terrified of being caught, suddenly changed tactics. Instead of continuing down the alley, he turned sharply and ran straight up the wall. He caught the edge of a low rooftop, hauling himself up with uncanny ease for one so young. Gilan stared, but then charged forward. Being tall, he was able to easily jump straight up and grab onto the edge with his uninjured arm, using a crate and then a window ledge to make it to the rooftops.
Alyss would be unable to follow him up, he knew, but she could continue the pursuit on the ground, and she did, doing her best to remain with her companion even when the alley descended onto stairs and opened into a main street.
Curved shingles of orange clay clacked ominously as Gilan chased the youth across the rooftops. Some threatened to break and slide free, over the edge to the streets below, but fortune smiled upon him and he was not destined to follow them down. The boy, fleet and sure-footed, tried to lose him in the maze of chimneys or else ducked beneath eaves to cut the line of sight, but his terror betrayed him repeatedly – no one had ever been able to make it to the rooftops after him – and he kept breaking cover when Gilan drew too near.
"Lee me alone!" the boy yelled, his simple common tongue heavy with Toscan accent.
"Return what you stole!" Gilan barked, barely panting. His foot slipped on loose shingles, banging his knee again, but he refused to relent. They needed that money.
The clay roof ended, dropping several feet onto a shorter building topped with thatch. The limber boy leaped, neatly landing on the building's chimney and bounding off again onto the next clay roof. Gilan knew he would not be able to make such a graceful jump, and instead dropped down onto the thatch top. That was his worst mistake.
The roof caved, and Gilan was only able to emit a single startled cry before he plunged through, into darkness. He hit a rafter, then another and another, tumbling down with the cascade of shattered wood and straw. After a final seven foot drop, he landed on a loft with a crash.
The pain nearly dragged him down into the abyss of unconsciousness, his shoulder flaming in agony. He gasped, winded and stunned, as he stared up into the stream of sunlight beaming down from the ragged hole he had made.
"Ooooooow..."
It took him several moments to realize that he had heard a startled shuffling, and was still hearing uneasy breathing. Someone was in there with him.
He rolled onto his front, groaning, and pushed himself up with one arm. His vision swam drunkenly, but when his head cleared, he sat on his heels, squinting into the darkness.
"Chi sei?" demanded a small but forcefully-strong voice.
Gilan glanced over to spot a pale face hidden in shadow. It was a boy, he could see, and by a thin flash of light, the Ranger could see that he was holding a small dagger.
He held up a pacifying hand. "I mean you no harm, lad." He pointed to his chest. "Gilan."
"Geelan." The boy did not lower the dagger, but he inched forward. "You...not live Ostia?"
The Ranger shook his head. "What is your name?"
"All call me Occhi. Eyes. I...watch for tings," he said hesitantly. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Why you here?"
It took a while for Gilan to realize that he was hearing frantic scrambling, as though someone was hastening up to the loft. Then a small voice sounded up from below, speaking in rapid Toscan. Eyes replied in the same tongue, not looking away from Gilan, and the newcomer finished the assent warily, climbing up a ladder until he was on the loft.
It was an older boy, couldn't have been more than twelve, and he had an air of leadership about him. It would seem that Gilan and literally fallen into a gang's hideout.
"I am Lupo, Wolf," he said, his common speech much smoother. He glanced up at the hole Gilan had created, and scowled. "You made a mess. Why are you here?"
The Ranger winced apologetically. "I was chasing a thief. He stole my money, and I need it for something very important."
Lupo barked with laughter. "You chased Falco? No one ever chase Hawk onto rooftops! You must be skilled."
"Yes, and look where that's gotten me," Gilan said flatly, his shoulder still throbbing. Lupo noticed his pain.
"You are hurt?"
Gilan waved a candid hand. "A few weeks ago. Only time can heal it." He glanced around, his eyes more accustomed to the darkness. "Where are we?"
"Our home," said Wolf. He pointed skyward. "And now we must fix it, or move. You showed world where we are by coming here!"
"I'm sorry," Gilan said, genuinely sympathetic. "I did not know." He stood up, stepping unawares into the light. "I will go at once. I—"
A funny sound emitted from Lupo's throat, and he stared not at Gilan's face, but at his cloak.
"I seen that colour before!"
Gilan glanced down at himself, puzzled. "You mean...you've seen a Ranger? I only just arrived today."
Lupo was almost shaking with excitement, and fear. "I seen another of you, an old one. He...he be taken..." He stuttered into nonsense, but then lurched forward, taking Gilan's hand. "Come, come! I must take you to him."
"To who?" Gilan demanded, bewildered.
"To Volpe."
They descended a ladder down to the next level. The floor had been padded with relatively clean but stale straw and ragged blankets. Along one wall were barrels, some open to reveal a stash of food or small treasures of little value. A single lantern was lit, right in the middle where there was no flammable straw, to illuminate the score of small, apprehensive faces that sat around it.
Gilan felt self-conscious as they all stared at him, Wolf introducing him in Toscan. Some scowled at him, mistrusting, while others continued to look scared. None of them, including Eyes, welcomed him, it would seem, except for Lupo himself.
"Dove è la Volpe?" the gang leader demanded, glancing around. A small, scruffy girl replied tentatively in her native tongue, not taking her eyes off of Gilan.
"Volpe is learning right now, but will be back very soon," said Lupo to the Ranger.
"Learning what?" Gilan asked.
"How to be like us."
"Like thieves?" he blurted before he could stop himself. Wolf took no offence.
"We are...how you say? Orfani. We are our family. We take what we need to survive from those who have more than they need."
"But Falco took all that I had, and I need it, desperately, for my mission."
Lupo shrugged. "He did not know. He will return soon, and he will give it back."
He couldn't stop staring, Gilan noticed, at his mottled grey and green cloak. He kept glancing at it furtively, studying its seemingly aimless pattern. The others were keeping a steady, wary silence, and he felt as though he was being regarded by a parliament of barn owls, pale faces impassive yet underlined with fear. He shifted, and some of them flinched.
Ten minutes passed with the haste of eternity, but soon scuffling was heard below on the ground floor, and then three youths appeared, one at a time, up a ladder to the loft.
The first Gilan recognized as the boy who had led him onto the rooftops, Falco. He froze when he saw Gilan, turning an ashen grey, but then a brown-haired boy behind him pushed him out of the way, clambering onto the loft before turning to help the last youth up.
As soon as the third small face appeared, Gilan felt his jaw unhinge.
"Crowley?!"
Halt's son was so surprised he nearly fell off the ladder.
"Uncle Gil!"
In a blur of motion, Crowley had closed the distance between them and hugged Gilan in a head-on charge that nearly knocked him over.
"UncleGilyoufoun'mehowdidyoufindme—?"
Gilan had difficulty prying him loose so he could return the hug at his level, but he managed, kneeling to embrace his old mentor's only son, ignoring the astonished faces around him. The tightness in his chest that had been with him since Crowley had evaded him and sneaked aboard the Wolfwing with his father unravelled, and suddenly the world seemed brighter.
"Oh, Crowley, I was so worried." He pulled away, stern. "Don't you ever pull that on me again. If your father—"
"Where Papa, Uncle? Where Papa? He with you?" Crowley looked imploringly at him, eyes wide with longing. There were tears there, and Gilan felt his heart throb achingly.
"I don't know, lad. I thought you were with him."
The tears fell freely now, and the boy wept into the Ranger's cloak, muttering incoherently. Lupo stepped forward.
"I knew I seen that cloak before," he said, pointing at the mottled attire. "I saw it on an old man several days ago, before..." He faded off, and Gilan stared hard at him.
"Before, what?"
Crowley continued to babble wordlessly into his uncle's chest. Wolf shook his head.
"I will tell you everything."
Gilan stared sightlessly at a small crack in the wall, a sliver of light beaming through in a feeble attempt to add its illumination to the loft. Lupo's tale had finished, and Crowley was still weeping softly in Alyss' arms. The Courier had been found wandering the streets, having lost sight of both her companion and Falco from the ground, and brought to the hideout.
"So...Halt and Horace have been taken captive," the Ranger finally blurted, and Lupo nodded.
"I saw it myself. Guards took them both. I managed to save Volpe, but that was all."
Gilan stared at his shuddering nephew, who was so relieved to be with family that he could barely speak. He had been named Volpe, Fox, for the skill Halt had already taught him. Gilan smiled grimly at how his former mentor would take the knowledge that his son had been learning the ways of a city vagabond for over a week. Being so young, Crowley would be as malleable as pottery clay.
"What was the name of the nobleman who warranted their arrest?" Alyss asked.
"Vieri Albani. Everyone knows him here," Wolf replied with a shrug. "He lives several miles from Ostia, in a villa in the countryside."
"He's a wealthy man, then."
"Sì, one of the wealthiest in the city. He controls the guards, they say."
Gilan nodded absentmindedly. For sure this Vieri had been one of the men who was instrumental in kidnapping Will. And now he had his friends.
"We have to free them," he said, looking hard at Alyss. "With them, we have a stronger chance of...you know."
Alyss nodded. "I suppose you're right. But the delay..."
"Is unavoidable," said Gilan. "I'm injured, and you can convince an apple it's an orange but that won't necessarily help us when stealth is the answer. Or brawn," he added, thinking of Horace.
He turned to Lupo, who looked puzzled at the exchange. "I can't thank you enough, Wolf. You may very well have saved this boy's life, and I owe you a great debt."
"A debt I shall hold you to, amico mio," Lupo replied, grinning toothily.
Horses, they found out, were beyond their reach. Even one of them cost nearly double of what they had, including the older, less healthy ones. Gilan growled in frustration, mentally cursing the skipper who had brought them to Ostia for not allowing them to bring their horses, too.
"No bartering. What a load of—"
"Look, it's late," said Alyss calmly. "We'll rent a room, then seek other transportation in the morning. A carriage perhaps. We'll get to Romena and then figure things out from there."
The Arena, they knew, was on no map. They had planned on buying horses in order to have the freedom of seeking out the Arena without question from guides or anyone else who could prove problematic to their mission should they find out what it was. A lot of gold and a lot of blood would be involved in keeping the Arena's location secret.
They stopped at a nearby, promising inn called The Giggling Goose. Hanging from the eave was a sign painted with a chortling white goose, a feather tickling its foot. The ale was good and the food was better, and though it was difficult to fall asleep on a bed not rocking with the swells of the sea, it was refreshing all the same.
Gilan woke up the next morning a throbbing ball of pain. The bruises from his little tumble through the gang hideout roof, along with his pierced shoulder, had stiffened during the night and now ached deeply and incessantly, each demanding his attention.
Groaning, he sat up, rubbing his eyes and yawning. He felt somewhat rejuvenated, but then he remembered their current toils and suddenly felt like he hadn't slept at all. He sat on the edge of his bed, head in his hands.
There was a tap on the door, and he glanced up, hair akimbo. He noticed that the bed Alyss and Crowley had slept in was empty.
"Come in," he grunted sleepily, and the landlord's wife poked her head in, rosy cheeks like apples as she smiled.
"Buongiorno, messere," she said cheerily, stepping in with a basket of clean sheets. "I trust you slept well?"
"Yes, very well, thank you."
Her eyes, he noticed, were flitting about the room as though searching for something. After glancing casually at the back of the door, it would seem that she finally found it.
"Breakfast is being served below, if you are so inclined," she said, simpering. Gilan forced a warm smile, feeling slightly unsettled by her behaviour.
"Thank you, signora."
She curtsied, taking the basket of sheets with her as she left. Gilan stared at the back of the door, at what the woman had seen before suddenly being uninterested with the room.
His cloak. His Ranger cloak was hanging on the back of the door.
"Let's go," he muttered to Alyss.
"And a good morning to you, too, Gilan," the diplomat replied, mockingly terse. Crowley was wolfing down eggs and Toscan sausages. It was like he hadn't eaten in, well, a week.
"Something's afoot here," he said lowly in reply, pretending to be speaking normally to her. "That landlady...I think she was looking out for us." He told her what happened in the room, and Alyss looked thoughtful.
"You said she was carrying a basket of laundry. Perhaps she was looking for anything that needed cleaning."
"Even so, we should leave. Come, Crowley, you can bring that with you."
The morning was already pleasantly warm, but they knew it would curdle into stifling hot in the next few hours. People were wandering about, doing early chores and setting up businesses, and paid no heed to the three Araluans.
"This way," said Gilan. "I remember the stables being over there. We can probably rent a carriage nearby."
Perhaps it was because Gilan had been so easily robbed the previous day, but he felt eyes on him as soon as he stepped into a busy square. It took all of his willpower to not glance around.
"Stay close."
The steadily increasing throng swallowed them up, and keeping on the right track should have made Gilan forget about their ghost. But he could not shake the feeling of being watched.
"Uncle Gil?"
"Yes, lad?"
"I hafta pee."
Gilan blinked. "Why didn't you go at the inn?"
"I dinna hafta go at the inn."
The Ranger sighed, exchanging a look with Alyss. "All right then."
There were grooves that ran along the buildings, miniature canals that would prevent excess water and other fluids from flooding the streets. Many vanished into alleyways or else drained into the ground. An alley would be concealed enough, but Crowley, however, seemed to realize what Gilan was thinking.
"I can't pee on the road! It no respec'ful."
"I'll bring him into this inn," said Alyss, managing to retain a dignified expression. "He can go in there."
"Good. I'll wait here," said Gilan, eager for the chance to broaden his view of the street to see if anyone was watching. Alyss recognized his alertness and said nothing of his unnerved behaviour.
She and Crowley went inside Fallen Steed Inn while the Ranger remained on the veranda, leaning against the wall casually. Appearing to have dozed off, his hidden eyes were wide awake, scanning the oblivious mass fleetingly. It was a constant flow of motion, and so it was the lack of motion in a certain spot that caught his attention.
It was a horse, standing at the entrance of a dark doorway. It wasn't relaxed, and in fact seemed to be waiting patiently for something. Gilan frowned at the lack of visible rider, but did nothing. Perhaps his attention was drawn less to the matter that it wasn't moving and more towards the realization that it wasn't tethered to anything either.
Crowley and Alyss reappeared moments later, and they continued on, towards the eastern district where they had found the stables the day before.
"Keep going," said Gilan softly. "Meet me at the stables. I have to make sure we're not being followed. If the same lot who had kidnapped Halt and Horace is here..."
Alyss knew better than to argue with a Ranger's senses, and simply smiled as though he had said something mildly funny. Crowley clung to her hand as they quickened pace, Gilan using a group striding in the opposite direction to pull away from them and melt into the darkness of an alleyway. His cloak, though better for foliage, served him well in the city shadows.
All right, show yourself, Gilan thought as Alyss disappeared around the next corner.
Several moments past, but the Ranger's limitless patience need not be tried that day.
There.
It was the same horse, a deep chestnut with a star mark on its forehead. Only now it had a master.
The man led it by the bridle, face concealed by a nondescript travelling cloak, but he was glancing around, clearly in search of the green-clad figure that had simply vanished from view. He was probably one of Vieri Albani's men, and could lead Gilan to Halt.
All right, you sod. I'll make it easy for you.
Gilan stepped back into the light, intentionally in front of a pair of gentlemen on horseback. The action forced him to hastily jump out of the way, flashing his green cloak. The disgruntled barks from the gentlemen also served the purpose of bringing subtle attention to the Ranger.
He turned casually, calling out apologies to their backs, but at the same time, catching sight of his pursuer noticing him. There was a slight hesitation in the henchman's gait, but then it hastily resumed to normal, trying to appear indifferent to the world around him. Yep, he was following Gilan all right.
The Ranger lured his follower left, into a different street, aptly chosen because of the new alleyway that opened up after the first building on the corner. Taking it slow, he made sure the steady clop of the follower's horse was just coming towards the bend before slipping back into the darkness, once more out of sight.
Vieri's man gradually came abreast with the entrance, hesitant now. Gilan watched, a snake in the rushes, preparing to strike. It was by fortune that he hadn't needed to lure the stalker to his side of the road, and so it was so simple to come up from behind him, clap a hand over his mouth and yard him into the darkness, sudden and silent. The horse snorted at the sudden movement, its hindquarters skittering, but otherwise, it did nothing after its lead was dropped.
Gilan dragged him deeper into the alley and then pushed him against the filthy wall.
"One squeal and I'll feed your tongue to the pigs," he growled, pressing his throwing knife against the man's throat.
The stalker, young, he could see, gasped around Gilan's hand, trying to speak. He looked road weary, exhausted from hard travel, with dirt all over his face and dark, fatigued eye sockets. His hair was matted with sweat and he smelled strongly of horse. Fear filled his wide eyes, and the Ranger could see no malice there, no hate. It made him pause.
"I'm going to let you speak. Do not scream." Gilan pulled his hand from the man's mouth, which instantly opened to inhale startled air.
"Please, don't hurt me, messere," he whispered, voice thick with accent and terror. "I—"
"Why were you following me?"
The question was not met with denial. "I...I know your kind. That is...I know where you're from, who you are."
"Of course you do," Gilan growled. "You and your little friends kidnapped Will Treaty—"
The Toscan swallowed. "I...I had no choice. Had I known...had I known who..." He tapered off, swallowing against the blade. "He saved my life."
Gilan blinked. "Come again?"
"Will Treaty. He saved my life." The Toscan suddenly seemed to gain confidence, as though he had been reminded of his quest. "My name is Niccolò. I am here to help you."
Guys, I just finished reading Lost Stories. Now I'm sad.
IF ANY ONE OF YOU DIDN'T SHED EVEN A SINGLE BLOODY TEAR THEN YOU HAVE NO SOUL!
