“Rojer, what is the matter with you?” Leesha demanded. “If this is about sending you away before…”
Rojer waved his hand dismissively, taking a pull from his glass. Leesha could tell he was already very drunk. “Don’t care how you and Arlen said goodbye in the stable.”
Leesha glared. “I didn’t stick him, if that’s what you’re implying.”
Rojer shrugged. “Your business if you did.”
“Then what is it?” Leesha asked softly, coming over to him. Rojer looked at her a moment, then reached into his bag of marvels again, producing a slim wooden box he opened to reveal a heavy gold medallion.
“Minister Janson gave this to me,” Rojer said. “It’s a Royal Medal of Valor. The duke gave it to Arrick for saving me the night Riverbridge fell. I never knew.”
“You miss him,” Leesha said. “It’s only natural. He saved your life.”
“The Core he did!” Rojer cried, grabbing the chain and hurling the medal across the room. It struck the wall with a heavy thunk and dropped to the floor with a clatter.
Leesha put her hands on Rojer’s shoulders, but his lips curled and for a moment, she thought he might strike her. “Rojer, what happened?” she asked softly.
Rojer pulled away from her hands and turned away. For a moment she thought he would remain silent, but then he began to speak.
“I used to think it was just a nightmare.” His voice was strained and tight, as if it might break at any moment. “We were dancing, my mother and I, while Arrick played the fiddle. My father and a Messenger, Geral, were clapping along. It was off-season, and there was no one else in the inn that night.”
He drew a deep breath, swallowing hard. “There was a crash, as something hit the door. I remember my father had been arguing that morning with Master Piter, the Warder, but he and Geral said not to worry.” He chuckled mirthlessly, sniffling. “I guess we should have, because as we all turned to the sound, a rock demon burst through the door.”
“Oh, Rojer!” Leesha said, covering her mouth, but Rojer did not turn.
“The rock was followed by a blaze of flame demons, pouring in around its legs as it smashed the lintel and jambs of the doorway to fit through. My mother snatched me up in her arms, and everyone started shouting at once, but I don’t remember what was said, except…” He sobbed, and Leesha had to fight the urge to go to him.
Rojer composed himself quickly. “Geral threw his warded shield to Arrick and told him to get my mother and me to safety. Geral took his spear and my father an iron poker from the fireplace, and they turned to hold off the corelings.”
Rojer was silent a long time. When he spoke again, it was a cold monotone, lacking any emotion at all. “My mother ran to him, but Arrick shoved her aside, snatched up his bag of marvels, and ran from the room.”
Leesha gasped, and Rojer nodded. “Honest word. Arrick only helped me because my mother shoved me into the bolt-hole with him, just before the demons took her. Even then, he tried to leave me.”
He reached out to Arrick’s bag of marvels, running his fingers across the worn velvet and cracked leather patches. “It wasn’t threadbare and faded then. Arrick was the duke’s man, and this bag was bright and new, as befit a royal herald.
“That’s the truth of Arrick’s valor,” he said through clenched teeth. “Saving a bag of toys!” He snatched up the bag in his good hand, clenching it so tightly his knuckles showed white. “A bag I carry around with me everywhere, like it’s just as important to me!” He shook the bag in Leesha’s face, then his eyes flicked to the fire roaring in the hearth, and he moved around the desk toward the fireplace.
“Rojer, no!” Leesha shouted, moving to intercept him and grabbing the bag. Rojer held on tightly so she could not pull it away, but he did not try to push past her. They locked stares, Rojer’s eyes wide like a cornered animal. Leesha put her arms around him, and he buried his face in her bosom, weeping for some time.
When his convulsions finally eased, Leesha let go, but Rojer held her tight. His eyes were closed, but his mouth moved toward hers. She pulled back quickly, catching Rojer as he stumbled drunkenly.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“It’s all right,” she said, guiding him back to the desk chair where he sat heavily and held a breath, as if to suppress a roiling stomach. His face was pale and sweaty.
“Drink my tea,” Leesha said. She took the bag of marvels from him, and Rojer let it go without resistance. She set the bag in a dark corner, well away from the fire, and retrieved Arrick’s gold medallion from where it lay on the floor.
“Why did he leave it behind?” Rojer asked, looking at the medallion. “When the duke threw us out, he took everything in our chambers that wasn’t staked to the floor. He could have sold that medal along with all the other things he peddled over the years we drifted. It could have fed and boarded us for months. Night, it could have paid every bar tab Arrick had in the city, and that’s saying something.”
“Maybe he knew he didn’t deserve it,” Leesha said. “Maybe he was ashamed of what he’d done.”
Rojer nodded. “I think so. And for some reason, it’s worse. I want to hate him…”
“But he was like a father to you, and you can’t bring yourself to do it,” Leesha finished. She shook her head. “I know that feeling well.”
Leesha turned the medallion over in her hands, feeling the smooth back. “Rojer, what were your parents’ names?”
“Kally and Jessum,” Rojer said. “Why?”
Leesha laid the medallion on the desk and reached into one of the many pockets of her apron, pulling forth the small leather bundle that held her ward-etching tools. “If this medal is meant to honor your being saved from the massacre at Riverbridge, then it should honor everyone.”
With a smooth, flowing script, she etched KALLY, JESSUM, and GERAL into the soft metal. When she was finished, the names glittered in the firelight. Rojer looked at them with wide eyes as Leesha took the heavy chain and put it over his head. “When you look at this, don’t think of Arrick’s failure. Remember those whose sacrifice went unsung.”
Rojer touched the medallion, tears falling onto the gold. “I’ll never let it out of reach.”
Leesha put a hand on his shoulder. “I think you will, if it comes down to saving the medal, or someone’s life. You’re not Arrick, Rojer. You’re made of sterner stuff.”
Rojer nodded. “Time I proved it.” He got to his feet, but wobbled so unsteadily he had to slap a hand onto the desk for balance.
“In the morning,” he amended.
“Hold on to your wits and let me do the talking,” Rojer told Gared as they entered the Jongleurs’ Guildhouse. “Don’t be fooled by the bright smiles and motley. Half the men in here can slip the purse right from your pocket without you ever knowing.”
Gared reflexively slapped his hand to his pocket.
“Don’t clutch it, either,” Rojer added. “You’re just advertising where you keep it.”
“So what should I do?” Gared asked.
“Just keep your hands at your sides and don’t let anyone bump into you,” Rojer said. Gared nodded and followed close behind as Rojer navigated the halls. The giant Cutter, his warded axes crossed on his back, drew a few stares in the guildhouse, but not too many. The Jongleurs’ Guild was all about spectacle, and those who stared were likely only wondering what part the big man was playing, and in what production.