The Warder

by D K Williamson

  Dech’s map made it clear that efficient routes around Brunly to his destination were non-existent. With nothing to lose, he decided to ride to the city and see for himself in the chance the route was open. If not, he would take the long way to Lond.

  Dech stopped just outside of Brunly and watered his horses at a busy inn. Letting them graze, he sought the hostler and asked after the merchant Brock.

  “Don’t know him personal, but he passes through enough to know of him. Fancy carriage and armed riders along with all those cargo wagons makes it hard to forget. You looking to work for him?”

  “Something like that,” Dech replied.

  “They was headed for Lond. That’s where they come from. That would’ve been better than a week ago, more like ten days I’d say. Seek a man named Frye. He’s the cargo master and does the hiring so I hear. Watch it going that way though. Word from up there says a battle’s coming.”

  “The word at the border said the fight was in Brunly.”

  “Then the word there is wrong. North of here near Crisden Castle. Sits on the trade route. That’s where the fight is, but if they are letting traffic pass until the dying starts, you might get through. If not, take the road east to Chero. It’ll loop you to Lond. A bit longer than the others, but a sound road and no banditry.”

  Dech thanked the man and ate a quick meal at the inn before setting out. The passage through the city was an easy one, but few were going north for fear of entanglement in the rumored battle.

  Dech went on, though he couldn’t say why. Whether it was confidence, hope that the road was still open, or something else, he rode.

  He passed a few southbound travelers who neither waved nor said a word and soon drew within sight of the castle the hostler had mentioned. As he rode closer, he could see the route north ran through the middle of the battlefield to be, a wide and flat area to the west of the castle. At the crossroads ahead, a mounted man-at-arms sat ready.

  “You might move swiftly, friend,” the man-at-arms called as he gestured at the area near the castle and the men and animals that were forming into lines. “Battle comes soon enough and you best find another route. Go east, west, or go back.”

  Dech recognized the man, a comrade and friend within the order named Ben who deserted two years before. The man’s demeanor changed when he recognized Dech as well.

  “Perhaps battle comes even sooner than I thought,” Ben said as his right hand came to grasp the hilt of the war sword on his saddle. “Warder Dech.”

  “Ben.”

  “You don’t wear the emblem on your surcoat, but I know you didn’t desert the order. Not like me. On order business, but what? Here to serve honor at any cost?”

  “Honor is important to those in our profession. Order or not.”

  “Yes, Dech,” Ben said in a sour tone. “You and your honor. Raised to hold it dear. It's easy when that's all you have. I have a family. A wife, children. I will see them again. What has your precious honor brought you? Your wife and child are dead. I know the story,” he said, his tone softening. “Honor is all this world has left you and if it suits you, then keep it. I still have something else to live for. Something real, not a concept like honor. Honor be damned, Dech. I've suffered enough for my crime. I have served enough. Six years in the order for shooting a deer to feed an infant child and pregnant wife. Two years as a sell-sword. I’ve never seen my youngest. I want my life back.”

  “Then have it. I’m not here for you.”

  “And what of the code? You’ll break your precious code and not kill me? You know I won’t go back to Arataine with you. We both know what the code says. We’ve both done it. We’ve both killed our brothers,” he said, his voice cracking.

  “Yes, we have,” Dech replied in a pained voice. “There are more important things afoot. More important than codes. More important than honor.”

  “Ah, Malig,” Ben said with a roll of his eyes. “I’ve heard the rumors. Kings and ex-kings dragging others to their deaths for nothing more than a crown.”

  Dech nodded and said, “Partly, but more important than kingdoms, kings, and crowns. More dangerous than the wars we know.”

  Ben narrowed his eyes and looked at Dech for several seconds. “I’ve not seen that look before. What is it, do the Sarantines invade? No… it’s more. A Cataclysm?”

  “Perhaps. I am looking into the possibility.”

  “I do not envy you. What of me? Will you tell them where I am?”

  “If they were to ask, yes, I would tell them. I’ll not lie for you, but I won’t volunteer the information either. They have no reason to ask.”

  “A relief. I cannot ask for more.”

  “You could, but there is no surety you’d receive it.”

  Ben nodded. “For what it is worth, thank you.”

  “It is the thanks of an old and trusted comrade. That is worth a great deal.”

  Ben shook his head. “You do carry something more than honor now. You are not the same man I knew two years ago. You are… more. You are however, still the strangest man I’ve ever known.”

  “Do not let the pursuit of wealth get you killed before you rejoin your family.”

  “This is my last and I depart for home when it’s done. The pay for this action will put me where I wish.”

  “If you survive.” Dech’s eyes scanned the battlefield to be and then returned to Ben. “Looks like a tough field.”

  Ben looked as well and nodded. “It does.”

  “What is the pay for this one?”

  “Five Megium guilders. That’d be just shy of an Aratainian half-mark.”

  Dech drew his money pouch and retrieved an Aratainian half-mark piece and tossed it the distance to Ben’s hands. “Go. Go to your family before it’s too late.”

  The ex-contrition knight looked at the coin before raising his eyes to meet Dech’s. “I agreed to fight here. It’s my—”

  “Honor be damned, you said. Go. Before it’s too late.”

  “It is the old threat, isn’t it? The Cataclysm.”

  “If it is and we fail… go see to your family. I pray you never know what it is to lose them. It is not something I would wish on any man. They’ll need a strong and skilled knight should the worst come.”

  Ben’s eyes welled with tears. “Honor be… it isn’t damned, Dech. I’ll see you again someday. I’ll settle up somehow.”

  “Comrades owe nothing. You know that.”

  “Then it’ll be a favor for a friend. If ever you have need of me, call and I’ll answer. Seek me in the Destrian Highlands where my wife and I have kin. Ben Huston’s the name. I’ll not forget this, brother,” he said as tears ran down his cheeks. He wheeled his mount and rode west.

  Dech looked back to the battlefield and shook his head at the deployments. “The field will be red by the end of the day and no one will be victorious but the carrion eaters,” he muttered. He looked at the departing form of Ben Huston and the corners of his mouth twitched with smile. A glance at the road sign prompted a nod. “To Chero then.”

  . . .

  It was well after dark by the time Dech reached the place called Parfin. Due to the impending battle near Crisden Castle, traffic on the road to Chero was heavy, but paled in comparison to that from there to Lond. Despite the clog of travelers, the trip was a steady one, if slow.

  Not a city, Parfin still had stone walls that surrounded the area and guarded gate towers. Despite the late hour, Dech decided to ride past Brock-cum-Ludd’s manse, if for nothing else, to familiarize himself with the area.

  Guards at the gate stopped him and asked his business.

  “I was hoping to catch the merchant Henry Brock before it grows too late. I was delayed due to the battle at—”

  “Down Brunly way,” one of the guards said. “Heard about it. Yes, bear the left street and you’ll see the name. Left side of the street. They all have their names on plaques or gates or cut in stone. Guess if you’re rich as them you can afford to have your name remembere
d for eternity. Mind he has company, that Brock. A carriage took a group to his manse not fifteen minutes past.”

  Dech thanked them and started his horses into a walk.

  “Mind you don’t be galloping or none of that. They likes it quiet,” the other guard called after him.

  “Another knight errant summoned by our betters,” Dech heard one of them say.

  “Likely be dead soon enough. Better knights then them sending us, eh?” his partner replied.

  The area was much as Bayanard had described. Even in the moonlight much of the opulence was apparent, some of it ranging well into the realm of gaudy by the warder’s estimation.

  Dech soon rode by Ludd’s manse, the name BROCK in tasteful lettering on each of the closed gates. No lights were visible within the manse and the only carriage he saw was parked beyond the fence that marked the edge of the boundary tucked snuggly against the tree line well off the road. This raised the warder’s suspicions.

  He continued at the slow walk keeping his head forward but looking to his left for anything more. A motion in the shadows on the right side of the manse registered in his peripheral vision, but he maintained the relaxed pace until past where the view of the manse was blocked by trees and continued until he reached the carriage. He stopped and found no one there, not even a driver.

  He dismounted and looked inside. Piled on the seats were clothes, expensive and fashionable ones at that. Quickly going through the finery, he heard the rustle of paper and found it was a twice-folded page. Stepping clear of the carriage, he used the light of the moons to read it.

  The notes described how to find Brock’s manse and instructions on how to utilize a magical device called a wartalypht, built and enchanted to lift wards.

  Malig and Olk’s work, Dech thought. Considering equipping his helm, he decided against it because it would diminish his hearing. Keeping his kettle hat in place, he quickly tethered his horses to a nearby tree and moved rapidly toward Ludd’s manse.

  Dech stopped and knelt next to a large tree. Leaning around the shadowed side, he looked into the darkness that stretched all the way down the right side of Ludd’s manse and saw a pair of legs sliding into the house through a window while a pair of men clad in muted clothing crouched below.

  The warder stood, drawing his sword as he walked swiftly and smoothly across the grass toward the men. He was just five paces away when one of the men rose to enter the window and saw the closing threat. A partial whisper of warning was all the assassin managed before a hard downstroke cleaved his head to the shoulders.

  The remaining man spun and drew a short-bladed weapon, its edge catching enough light to cast a glint within the shadows. Backing away and hissing at the window, the assassin crouched in a wide stance and circled to Dech’s right.

  A smooth and practiced motion brought the warder’s shield from his back to his left arm, drawing a snarl from his opponent.

  Realizing he was lacking in armor and blade length in comparison to his opponent, the assassin sought to exploit his few possible advantages: maneuverability, speed, and guile. Feinting high with a left-handed stab and then rolling low while transitioning the knife to his right, the assassin hoped to strike under Dech’s shield and wound one or both of his legs, a technique the warder had seen innumerable times.

  Driving his shield downward to block the slashing attack, Dech simultaneously cut vertically as if splitting a log, severing his opponent’s legs at the shins. A howl of anguish cut the night air as the assassin rolled onto his back and flailed his arms and streaming legs in pain.

  From somewhere on the second story came the thundering barks of two large dogs followed soon after by the sounds of footfalls and items hitting the floor inside the manse.

  Dech turned toward the open window as the footless man quieted and went limp. The footfalls drew nearer. As he moved closer, a head became visible as a person leaned out and tumbled gracefully to the ground. When the figure came upright, he could see it was a woman and she in turn saw she was confronted by a knight.

  Without hesitation, she charged and leaped at the warder as she nimbly shifted a dagger from right to left in midair.

  Guessing she sought to draw his shield down with her weight while striking at his head or neck, Dech braced for impact and thrust past the edge of his shield. Force pushed against his sword arm just before a greater impact struck his shield and a dagger passed dangerously close to his face as he stepped to the right. The woman fell away unable to hold the shield, her weight tugging at his blade.

  “Hack! I’m killed!” the woman called in a shrill voice as Dech hauled his weapon free of her midsection. Even in the shadows of foliage and the manse, the warder could see a growing stain on the ground beneath her.

  “How?” she managed as blood stained her chin. She reached feebly upward mouthing silent words before her head fell back and arm dropped to her side.

  A canine growl and human cry came from inside the manse, then curses before a man looked from the window. He grimaced and looked back as the sounds of snapping jaws caused another cry of pain before leaping from the window and landing far less gracefully than the woman.

  Dech closed as the man painfully gained his feet. Looking past Dech at the woman, the man directed a hateful glare at the warder and grasped the hilt of a short sword he wore across his back.

  “You’ll die before I do,” he said as he limped toward the closing knight.

  Wounded by dogs already and enraged by the death of the woman, the assassin fought like a cornered beast, savage and swift, but it did him little good. Wishing to take the man alive, Dech found such an undertaking to be a risky proposition and elected to end the fight with a deep cut a few inches above the man’s left hip.

  The assassin fell to his side, and after kicking the man’s weapon clear, Dech rolled him onto his back.

  “Who sent you?” Dech said.

  “The man that would be king,” he struggled to say, “but Malig said nothing of order knights in Marador.” The man coughed as his eyes rolled in his head and his face went slack.

  “Malig?” said an incredulous voice above and behind Dech. He stood and found a man leaning out of a second story window.

  “This is bad business,” the man continued. “Bad business indeed. We had a contract. Signed by honorable parties and carried out to the letter by all sides to conclusion. Why kill me now?”

  “I must assume Malig thinks you know things that might harm him,” Dech replied.

  “Harm him? Ridiculous. Those that funneled gold my way, perhaps. The dead man at your feet, he said you are an order knight. You are here on Arataine’s behalf?”

  “I am. Are you sure this is all of them?”

  “I can safely assume so. My dogs and servants would certainly say something were someone still lurking. Why, I might ask, is an Aratainian knight lurking in the dark of my manse? This is Marador you know.”

  “I sought to ask you about Malig and dealings you might have had with him. I planned to call on you in the morning and rode by to familiarize myself with the place.”

  “Do you seek to harm me? The Contrition Order has some rather unsavory characters within its ranks I hear. Assassins among them?”

  “If I did seek your death, I treated my allies rather poorly,” Dech said with a gesture at the four bodies on the ground.

  Ludd studied Dech for a few seconds and then laughed. “Then I owe Arataine a debt it seems. Go to the front door. Give me time to make my way there and I’ll let you in.”

  “Let me retrieve my horses near the road.”

  Dech found the gate simply latched with no lock securing it when he brought his horses through. He was tethering them at the front of the house when the front doors opened revealing a small man built much like Ives, though older and dark haired.

  “The assassins came in a carriage,” Dech said with a point up the street. “It’s parked just out of sight.”

  Ludd nodded. “I’ll have it and the bodies removed b
y dawn. How did they gain entry I wonder?”

  The warder gestured toward the side of the manse as he drew the note he had found. He handed it to the man. “A window. They used a device to drop the ward I assume you use.”

  Ludd grimaced. “That must have taken some doing. Some doing indeed. Let’s go inside. My neighbors might wonder what goes on after the screams you elicited from my visitors.”

  “Noise was not at the forefront of my thoughts.”

  Ludd smiled. “I was not complaining.”

  Dech stepped inside the manse and found a pair of large hounds sitting in the middle of a polished wood-planked floor. “You need not worry about them,” his host said as he closed the doors. “They are quite agreeable provided one is not breaking into my home or trying to harm me.”

  The warder let them sniff one of his hands. “I am happy to remain on their good side. Do I address you as Mister Brock?”

  “I presume you know my real name. Yes, Brock it is should the need arise.” Ludd directed his guest to sit in a well-padded chair and took a seat in a matching piece on the opposite side of a low table. A pair of servants swept dirt from a toppled planter on the far side of the room.

  “What is it you wished to ask me?”

  Dech looked at the servants without answering.

  Ludd chuckled. “You need not worry about them either. I would not have asked the question if there was a threat of compromise. I assume you are here seeking information on those within Arataine’s highest nobility that desire Harold’s fall.”

  “I am. Are they connected to Malig Tancar? Supporting his claim to the throne?”

  “Connected, yes, but not wishing Malig’s regaining the throne. It is those that would rule in Harold’s place I believe. Philip, Duke of Highwall. As far as I can tell, he has placed more gold in Malig’s war chest than the Queen of Destria has.”

  “You have evidence of this?”

  “Of Philip’s involvement? Certainly.”

  “Is Malig aware of Philip’s efforts?”