“Oh, just making my way out of town. Seeking a new venue. I’ve grown tired of this place.”
“Or is it the place has grown tired of you? Let me guess, a woman.”
The bard smiled. “Was she ever. Been awhile, Sir Dech. I would dearly love to converse about the lady in question and other topics, but I’m in a rush just now.”
The warder scowled. “It has been quite a while. Maybe not long enough. You have a horse?”
A look of surprise came over the bard’s handsome face. “Ah, so you still deign to help lowly performers of song and poem.”
Dech sighed. “You didn’t answer the question.”
“A horse? Yes I do have one. A big brown gelded thing I took in lieu of coin some weeks back, but he may be difficult to obtain. I left him in the care of an acquaintance who is a castle guard for the local lord.”
Dech closed his eyes with a pained expression on his face. “Do not tell me the lady in question is the wife of this local lord.”
“I will not because she is not,” the man said with a look of feigned offense before smiling. “She is one of his daughters.”
Dech growled. “How close is the pursuit?”
“I haven’t seen them, but it’s coming, hence my haste. I thought contrition knights were forbidden old allies and law breaking. You mentioned it the previous times we’ve crossed since you took up that,” he said with distasteful expression and a point at the emblem on Dech’s surcoat.
“We are, but I seem to find myself circumventing regulations with regularity lately.”
“What exactly does that mean?”
Dech pointed at the nearest gate tower. “It means you need to exit the city and find a vantage point where you can see me when I leave with your horse,” he said in a disgusted tone.
“And how—?”
“I thought you were in a hurry.”
“A rush. By the way, since old friends are crossing paths, you might want to know that Josip is in town,” the man said.
“Erie? Where? I might have use of his knowledge.”
“Do you know another Josip? And what does a contrition knight need with a thief?”
“I thought you were in a rush, bard. Where’s Erie?”
“The castle tower where they hold prisoners. It’s not what you think.”
“So he’s not a prisoner?”
“He is that, but he didn’t do what he is accused of doing… or so I hear.”
Dech grimaced.
“Since you might aid Erie and recover my horse… mayhap you’d retrieve my belongings from the inn?” the bard said with a hopeful look.
Dech glared at the man and uttered not a word.
“I’ll be going now,” the bard said after a shrug.
“What name are you going by these days?” Dech said as the man walked away.
“Homer Thrillwort,” he said without looking back.
Dech said nothing as he watched the man walk quickly to the gate only to slow to an amble and briefly chat with the guardsmen as he passed through with an amiable wave. Once out of sight, Dech shook his head and started Ridan toward the castle.
The sentries at the gate passed the warder through and he made his way to the tower he was certain held the guardhouse and holding facilities.
After tethering Ridan and Otto near the entrance, he made his way up the steps leading into the guardhouse and encountered the smell typical of such places. Dank stone walls enclosing a large, stuffy, and dark holding area below with an overcrowded guard’s quarters above made for ripe conditions.
“Ah, a warder,” the man seated at the desk near the door said. “What might bring one of your rare rank to our rather rank abode?”
“I’m looking for someone. I was told he might be in custody here.”
“And who might this someone be, this person you seek?”
“A bard and troublemaker called Homer Thrillwort, but I have it on good authority it’s not his given name.”
The man laughed. “I’d wager it’s not. I’d also wager if it is, it won’t be for long. He’s got trouble on his heels, but he’s not here. If you be looking for him, I do believe the baron would be wanting to see you likely as not. Let me work the quill and I’ll take you myself.”
The man began writing, tongue protruding as he worked.
“The baron has an interest in a bard?”
“No,” the man said as he continued to write. “He has interest in a thief… of sorts.”
“And what did he steal?”
“The heart of the baron’s eldest daughter.” The man burst into laughter while holding the quill away from the paper on his desk. “Perhaps more than that.”
“I see. He has a history of such behavior. Do you have a man named Erie below?”
“We do. You’ve an interest in him as well?”
“If Thrillwort isn’t here, yes.”
“Then let me work the quill just a bit more. The fewer rank men below, the less rankness up here.” Not long after, the man stood and set the quill aside. Folding the paper, he said, “Follow me.”
He led Dech from the tower and across the bailey to the keep. Once inside, they went to the great hall and found the baron was not there.
“Wait here if you will,” the guard said with irritation.
A few minutes later, a heavily built and well-dressed man entered the hall.
“I am Baron Philsbee. On whose business are you?”
“The Order of Contrition Knights, milord,” Dech replied.
“And your interest in the blackguard Thrillwort?”
“That is an order matter,” Dech lied. “I will not discuss the details.”
The baron smiled. “Delightful. The idea of that dog being gelded suits me fine. That’s what the order does, geld criminals, yes?”
“It’s not gelding exactly, milord. There is another process that—”
“Ah, the order and their secrets. I understand completely. But still, a eunuch is still a eunuch no matter the process or whichever way the bits may fall, yes?”
“I suppose that’s true, milord.”
“Fair enough, but my guard captain says he is not in custody.”
“I am aware of that. You do have a man in the tower that may help me in my pursuit of this bard.”
The baron looked at the paper in his hand. “Yes. A thief. I see. Didn’t actually take anything it seems, but another thief who did pointed out this Josip Erie as a known accomplice in past misdeeds. If you will remove him from my lands, take him. It will cost but the fine he incurred for keeping company with thieves.”
“And how much is this fine?”
“Inquire at the guard tower.”
“I need no documentation authorizing Erie’s release?”
“My word is law here. Tell them I ordered it and it will be so,”
“Thank you, milord. I will not take any more of your time.”
“Whatever you do, be sure to take the dog far from here. Put him to work in the mines below that fortress of yours.”
Mines beneath the Fortress of the Order was a myth Dech had not heard before. “Mines, milord?”
“Ah, I see,” the baron said with a knowing nod and smile. “More secrets. I’ll not say a word.”
“The baron is as discreet as he is gracious, milord,” Dech said in parting.
He made his way back to the guard tower and found the same man as before at the desk.
“The baron ordered Erie’s release,” he said. “There is the matter of a fine for associating with thieves.”
The man laughed. “Is that what he called it? It’s his way to make up for the lack of death taxes King Harold forbade last year. It’s a silver and Erie is yours.”
Dech drew a coin from his purse and placed it on the desk.
The guard swept it into the drawer and bent over a grate in the floor, bellowing, “Bring the prisoner Erie up.”
Several minutes later, the sound of a heavy wooden door striking stone reverberated in t
he guardhouse followed soon after by plodding steps and the clink of chains. Two guards brought a small and wiry man of Dech’s age hindered by shackles up the stairs and deposited him at the desk. The rank smell grew tenfold and Dech knew it was as much the guards from below as it was Josip Erie. The prisoner looked up with mischievous eyes that glanced left and right before settling on the warder. A look of pleased surprise crossed his face for just a moment before he scowled.
“Oh no, not the order!” the man said convincingly. “I’d rather rot here.”
Dech maintained a straight face as the guards laughed. Eventually one of them crouched and unlocked the shackles around Erie’s ankles. Once free, one of them pushed Erie toward the warder.
“He’s all yours.”
Grabbing him by the collar, Dech bid the guards farewell and led Erie from the guardhouse.
“A certain bard we both know told me you were here,” he said as they descended the stairs.
“Awfully nice of him,” Erie replied as he pulled something from his tangled brown hair and tossed it aside. “I heard he was in town, but he keeps better company than I.”
“That better company wants his head just now.”
“I heard that too. It’s like old times, you pulling the bard from the jaws of trouble.”
“Among others,” Dech said with a glance at the man. “I take it you’re still not employed in honest work?”
“More honest than king or clergy. I have a code and honor. I’d go so far as to say I am more like a knight than criminal.”
“That’s going a bit—”
“I steal honestly and never from those that cannot afford it or do not deserve it. Nobles that suck the lifeblood from peasants for nothing in return, merchants who buy cheap and sell dear, priests who sell salvation, bandits who slit throats for pocket lint. I am none of those things, though they are my preferred targets. I harm no one who isn’t trying to harm someone else. I’d wager you’re the only man I know more honest than me. I am Josip Erie and am proud of it.”
Dech smiled. “Yes you are. The same as always. Keep the lawbreaking to a minimum while we’re traveling together, please.”
“Same agreement as the good old days. Fair enough. You got work for me?”
“I just might. Do you happen to know where the baron’s stables are?”
“I just might.”
Dech glared at Erie before saying, “Our bard friend has his horse there.”
“And we’re going to retrieve it? I’m surprised the local lord didn’t keep it so he could sell it.”
“I didn’t ask if I could recover it.”
“Just see we’re not both thrown back in there,” he said with a gesture at the guardhouse.
Dech had little trouble gaining the horse and saddle the bard had left behind. A few scowls and terse orders did the trick. Before long, Erie and the warder were on their way out of town by way of the same gate the ex-Homer Thrillwort had departed.
A few minutes up the road, the bard stepped from the trees at their approach.
“Erie and my horse,” the bard said. “With not a sign of pursuit. The order must be far different than I imagined.”
“Hello, Thrillwort,” Erie said. “Been awhile.”
“Josip,” the bard replied with a deep and theatrical bow. “It has been some time, but I am no longer Thrillwort. I’ll need a new name it seems. Mayhap you have a suggestion?”
“Mayhap you might stop using mayhap,” Erie said with a grin. “You do so more than anyone I’ve ever met. Might just lead someone right to you if you’re not careful, Thrill—bard.”
“Is that so? I ask for a name and get criticism on my diction.”
“How about you climb aboard with Josip and we put some distance between us and trouble?” Dech said with a gesture toward the town.
“The sooner the better. That giant brown beast should be able to carry the two of us with ease.”
Erie helped the bard up and it took little time for Thrillwort to notice the odor.
“Ack, you reek of the grave, Erie.”
“Likely I do. Remember this is what your abode would have smelled like if it weren’t for me and the warder there.”
“A debt you allude to? Dech, yes. How do you factor into my escape?”
“This giant brown beast you call a horse, that’s how I factor.”
“Dech, is this true?” the bard asked.
Dech shook his head. “I know better than to be dragged into the conversation.”
“Without me, Dech would still be looking for the stable,” Erie said.
“That’s all you did? You directed him to the stable?”
“You think he would have found it on his own?”
“That is ridiculous. I’ll—”
Dech tried unsuccessfully to suppress a smile but failed. “Just like the old days,” he muttered to himself.
The argument went on for some time, changing subjects every few minutes, but never letting up for long. Finally, during a rare lull, the bard asked, “Where are we going exactly?”
Dech looked at the sun and replied, “West right now. Why, do you plan on accompanying me?”
“Seeing as Josip and I lack weapons, having an armed and armored companion could be advantageous.”
Dech gestured at Thrillwort’s pack. “I assume you still have your instrument?”
“I’d sooner give up Josip here than my lute! You know this.”
“Doesn’t that fabulous lute of yours have a concealed blade?” Dech said.
“It does, but you may recall drawing and replacing said blade entails an extensive tuning on my part. Easier to let the large and trained knight deal with such issues.”
Dech expected such an answer and sighed. “Ultimately I’m bound for Creator’s Rock. We can find accommodations for you.”
“The Fortress? No, Dech, holy places inhabited by armed men who aren’t allowed the companionship of women is a sure place for me to get hacked into bits. You know I’ll say something that will rile.”
“It’s not such a bad place, bard,” Erie said. “I have been there a time or two, but my money lies in another direction. A field near the hamlet of Lantic is where. You get us there on this monster and I’ll make up what you lost back in Gryspen.”
“That’s a most generous offer,” the bard replied. He pointed at the warder. “We’ll kit up and join you down the road somewhere away from the Fortress. I have an idea why you need Erie here. Recall I have knowledge and talents as well.”
“A stellar idea,” Erie said. “Catch our wind, soak off the stink, refit, and we’ll be ready to go. Like we agreed, Dech, I’m your man. Looks like you have two stalwart companions for the road ahead.”
“I take it the arguing is still just for entertainment purposes?” Dech said.
“No. They are genuine disagreements as always,” the bard replied. “A debate.”
“A discourse of important issues,” Erie said.
“And buying our bard friend gear is…?”
“He’s a friend, Dech. Same as you pulling our bacon from the pot after so long. He may be wrong about many a thing, but a friend in need….”
“Wrong about many a thing?” the bard spat. “I think that describes you perfectly.”
“Is that so? Well I’ll have you know—”
The arguments continued until they reached a crossroads where Dech interjected with, “I’ll meet you in Langston in two or three weeks,” Dech said. “If you can make it without my sword.”
“We’ll be fine,” the bard said with a grin. “I have a blade in my lute after all. Besides, this brown monstrosity we ride will frighten most anyone.”
“I reckon we can spend all of my stashed coin in three weeks if we apply ourselves to the endeavor,” Erie replied. “We’ll be there.”
“I’ll provide Josip with all the aid I can manage.”
The two bid Dech farewell and turned north, their banter and laughter resuming. As Dech took up his journey once a
gain, he shook his head as he recalled the conversation he had with Rob about rules. I’ve certainly bent them since I joined the order,” he thought, but I do not recall breaking a single one until I visited Gerald’s. There are costs on both sides of the ledger and I suspect mine are imbalanced. I’ll discuss this with Dealan.
. . .
Chapter 13
Dech left the road and followed a narrow trail toward Cashel Abbey. Known as bandit trails, such routes presented less hazards than riding cross-country and enabled those familiar with them rapid transit of unpopulated areas. Dech’s knowledge of the terrain around Creator’s Rock saved him more than an hour of road travel.
Arriving at the abbey, he dismounted and walked his horses toward the fence that surrounded the stable
“You are Warder Dech?” called a woman’s voice from behind him.
“I am,” Dech said as he looked toward the source. He saw two of the sisters from the abbey.
“The abbess said we should expect you,” one of them said. “I’ll take you to her study. She is with a guest, but she felt your visit held importance. Sister Ellen will see to your horses.”
After passing the reins to Sister Ellen, he followed the other inside to Abbess Dealan’s office. Opening the door for Dech, she closed it behind him as he entered.
Dech stopped in his tracks when he saw the woman seated across from Dealan as the two spoke. She was yet another person from his past, a woman called Muriel North. Her straw-blonde hair was the same shade as it was years before when he’d first met her and she was but in her early teens. Her beauty was the same as the last time they’d spoken before he had entered the order. His hand started for the scar on his jaw line unconsciously before he stopped its movement.
The woman saw Dech and stood with an expression much the same as the warder’s. “Dech Crouse? I thought you were dead.”
“Many were led to believe that,” Dech replied. “I’m sorry.”
“You know one another,” Dealan said as she rose. “Breaking with the past is a part of being in the order, one that can be difficult.”
“I am aware of that,” Muriel replied. “It’s just a shock. A pleasant one, but most unexpected.”
“I had no idea you knew one another,” Dealan said to Dech. “Muriel Durham visits a few times a year to teach here. She is quite a talented and knowledgeable healer.”
The Warder Page 17
