by C S Vass
He had not anticipated getting caught up in something like this. Not when news about Lyra waited to be heard. Lord Rockhelm had been courteous enough when Godwin arrived at the castle. He had even given a rare smile when he saw that the Shigata had arrived with an easterner, no doubt anticipating using the optics to improve whatever relations he had with the Tarsurian delegate. But after a polite introduction, Godwin was denied any further audience with Saebyl’s lord, and was instead told to wait until after these obligatory feasts.
“Do you think I’ll get to speak with him?” Robert asked from Godwin’s right.
“What? Who?”
“Commander Octovos, of course,” Robert said while he stroked his mustache. “He’s something of a legend to those of my political persuasion. I’ve admired him for many years.”
“Is that right?” Godwin said, uninterested.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Robert said. “The bad blood between nations. The attack on Black Wolf. But Godwin, I assure you that if you’re harboring resentment against that man, then your anger is misplaced. Jon Octovos has spent twenty years doing absolutely everything in his power to produce a peace between our nations and freedoms for the people in the East. He is a good man.”
“How relieving to hear that,” Godwin said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Fine, be that way if you must,” Robert said through a mouthful of buttered bread. “But understand that if Octovos is here, despite everything that’s happening, it’s because he’s working hard to prevent future bloodshed. You can count on that.”
“You must forgive my skepticism,” Godwin said. “I’m clearly blinded by the prejudice of having seen men on his orders line the streets of Saebyl with scaffolds.”
“And Rockhelm was as innocent as a virgin maid at her nightly prayers? Is that what you’re saying?”
Godwin turned and scowled right at Robert’s red-cheeked face. Memory of the outrageous bill the easterner had accrued while Godwin had recovered at the Three Sisters suddenly sprang into his mind. All the money they had earned from Yegvellen, gone.
“I’m not sitting here singing Rockhelm’s praises, you blockhead,” Godwin grunted. “But even if I were, I don’t recall his ships landing on Tarsurian shores and burning their cities. Bringing their citizens to the scaffold and the headsmen’s block. Raping their wives and daughters. Do you?”
To Godwin’s surprise, Robert was not deterred. “Let me guess,” Robert said. “The Tarsurian armies showed up one day because we’re the evil empire. Raping and reaving and setting up colonies for no reason at all while you innocents burned. It had nothing to do with western monks continually breaking the terms of their presence in our lands. Nothing to do with Boldfrost lying through his teeth time and time again about the terms of our trade agreements. Nothing to do—”
“I wish you could have seen Saebyl, Robert. I really do. I wish you could have seen this city burn. Smelled the flesh of dogs roasting inside of homes. The shrieks of little children watching their parents put to the sword.”
“Horrible as those things are,” Robert pressed. “That is what war is. And wars are not started by renegade soldiers sailing out to murder. They’re started—or averted—in rooms like this, with people like that.” Robert gestured towards the high table where Rockhelm and Octovos sat.
“He’s right you know,” a slurred voice said. Turning, Godwin saw that the man who spoke was a Tarsurian with beer dripping from the thick black hair of his coarse beard. “I fought in Bloodwater,” the man went on. “You think I wanted to do that? Sail a thousand miles from home, leave my wife to milk cows and fend off the degenerates that sought her attention while she was alone? Soldiers follow orders, my friend. When I was here last, I didn’t give a damn about which side won so long as I ended up back home again. So if the high ones up there want to talk through an option that doesn’t make me relive that hell, let’s let them get on with it.”
“You bloody coward,” one of the Tarsurians yelled.
“What?” the man who initially spoke asked.
“You really mean that? You didn’t care who won?”
“What’s it to you?”
“What’s it to us?” a third Tarsurian shouted. “You just said plain as day you don’t give a damn about your own country!”
Robert cleared his throat diplomatically. “Gentlemen, may I suggest we calm down—”
“This fucking prick is saying he don’t care about his brothers in arms!” a Tarsurian slurred. “We should string you up by your balls!”
“I was only making a point about war,” the first Tarsurian growled, fire in his eyes. “You idiots want to have another one? Be my bloody guests. Just don’t expect me to go sailing around the world killing folk because you have a bloody hard-on for your patriotic honor!”
Robert tried again to calm them down as the drunken Tarsurians continued to rabble amongst themselves. Godwin kept himself decidedly and strategically quiet, having the foresight to see exactly where this was going.
“Perhaps if we all just fill our glasses and—”
“Why don’t you just take that armor off and wear the silver paw?” a Tarsurian shouted over him. “At least we’d know what we were dealing with!”
“I never said anything of the sort,” the first Tarsurian said. “If you brutes want to jump into a fight, that’s your business. All I’m saying is that if Octovos and Rockhelm can keep the peace, we better let them.”
“Keep the peace,” the bushy-bearded Tarsurian shouted. His eyes were so blood shot that Godwin thought it would be a miracle if he could still see. “Fuck the peace. Fuck you. And fuck Rockhelm too while we’re at it.”
Godwin had seen many unhappy chances befall men in his time, but never had he seen someone so ill-fated as to say what that drunken Tarsurian did just as a coincidental silence swept through the hall.
Every man in that room heard the comment. Nobody dared breath.
Godwin eyed the situation anxiously. This was not going to end well.
The offending Tarsurian, who had broken out in a cold sweat, raised his tankard. “A joke. A poor joke. To our honorable host, Rockhelm, may Sacred Jeresemeno bless him for all his days.”
Nobody raised a glass. Denver Rockhelm stared curiously at the man, and then towards Jon Octovos, whose face twitched with rage. “Out!” Octovos roared. “Get him out! Clasp the scoundrel in irons, and put him in the brig immediately. I shall decide what to do with him later.”
Several of the neighboring Tarsurians grabbed the man, who was trembling like a twig by a fire. It was over in moments. Godwin did not fail to notice the barely visible wry smile on Rockhelm’s face. Such an incident would surely only strengthen his hand during whatever negotiations the two would have.
Awkwardly, the room returned to the feast.
The evening meal concluded without further incident. Godwin had spent the night with a firm resolve to keep his mouth shut while Robert had contented himself with making small talk with the Tarsurians. After some brief entertainment by a trio of musicians, the two groups were sent to their respective camps.
Godwin and Robert, uncertain what was expected of them, waited at the tables while the hall cleared. “I suppose it’s back into the city then?” Robert asked uncertainly.
“With what money will we pay for a room?” Godwin asked darkly while Robert blushed. This was why Godwin preferred to take smaller contracts from the towns and villages in the countryside. The pay was less, but the people were more hospitable, and at the end of the day making camp in the woods was far better than sleeping in a gutter.
As the two were getting up to leave, a man in a sleek golden jerkin approached them. “Lord Rockhelm would like to speak with you, master Godwin.” Turning to Robert he added, “You are welcome as well. Please follow me.”
Shrugging, Godwin followed. The sooner he heard what he needed to from Rockhelm the better, and then they could be off to find Lyra. The manservant led them through gloomy p
assageways lined with gargoyles that resembled those found in the scattered temples throughout the continent.
Godwin, who had some experience in dealing with lords, expected to be brought into the impressive central room where Rockhelm held court. Such tactics were common from lords attempting to hold meetings in an atmosphere where they could negotiate from a position of strength and intimidation.
Instead Godwin and Robert found themselves diverted through a series of hallways in a far corner of the castle and led into a small, modest room illuminated by a fireplace. Before the great fire sat Denver Rockhelm and Jon Octovos in plush, leather chairs.
“Thank you, Geoffrey, that will be all,” Rockhelm said.
The servant nodded and departed, closing the door behind him.
“My lord. Commander.” Godwin said, politely bowing to each of them in turn.
“Sit,” Rockhelm said, gesturing to the modest couch before them. “Pour yourselves some ale.”
Godwin started to say that he was fine, but seeing the look in Rockhelm’s steely eyes made him hold his tongue and pour a glass for himself and Robert.
“I’m sorry,” Robert said after taking a sip from his cup. “Before we begin I have to say that it is such an honor to meet you, Commander. I’ve admired you from both sides of the Dark Sea, and it’s truly humbling to be in your presence.”
Commander Octovos, who was apparently of much kinder spirits than Lord Rockhelm, smiled. “Please, no need for such formality. Thank you for the kind words.”
Rockhelm’s deathly glare suggested that he was just daring either of them to drop the formalities with him.
“Well, you’ve summoned us, and we’re here,” Godwin said. “What can I do for you?”
“Straight to the point,” Rockhelm said with an approving nod. “This is good. But first, let us get the other order of business out of the way. Odruri, what would you have of me?”
Godwin glanced quickly at Octovos, uncertain if he could bring the subject up in front of the eastern commander. Reading his look, Rockhelm said, “It’s quite all right, Godwin. Commander Octovos has given me his word that he will not speak of any military business he hears about back in the East. Given his track record of diligently working for peace and against Hercinium’s warlike idiocies, I’m inclined to trust him.”
“Please, my lord,” Octovos jumped in with a good-natured smile. “I would never deign to suggest that I am working against my emperor, or that his mental faculties are anything but perfect. However, I do work with my full heart towards peace between our nations, and so anything I can do to further that goal, I will. To be clear, Godwin, I am not happy about what happened to your home. The attack against Unduyo was a disgrace, and those behind the decision should be punished.”
It took Godwin’s entire will not to roll his eyes. “Do you mean to tell me that the order did not come from the top? From Emperor Hercinium?”
Octovos did not turn from Godwin’s gaze. “That is exactly what I’m telling you, Godwin. I know how you must feel, but I promise you we have not reached the point of no return. Bloodshed—further bloodshed—can still be avoided if we act with speed and wisdom.”
Godwin nodded. There was no point in saying anything else about the matter. “I’m relieved to hear that, Commander. Very well. Lord Rockhelm, given that you know the situation on Black Wolf, I’m here to request that you order an official proclamation ordering any Shigata home to our island.”
Rockhelm’s solid grey-green eyes stared unmoved. “Your island was the first line of defense against a Tarsurian invasion. In that regard, the Shigata have failed miserably. Why would we order them back to the site of the slaughter?”
“Lord Rockhelm, my brothers and sisters were largely away from home during the attack. I suspect only about a tenth of our numbers were in Unduyo when it was taken. Most of us were in the Southlands, dealing with the new threat—”
“Yes, killing demons for coin instead of protecting the homeland. I understand very well, Odruri. Another threat your order has failed to handle, thus giving these miserable invaders the opportunity they needed to send forces into the waters of the South Shield unimpeded. Who knows where they will strike next? Perhaps the third Bloodwater War will take place in Iryllium.”
Godwin stared icily into Denver Rockhelm’s face. He had expected as much. There was a time when every soul in Saebyl was singing Godwin’s praises, but when Godwin met with the city’s lord before leaving for Black Wolf all those years ago, Rockhelm had simply told him that he had adequately completed his duties.
To Octovos’s and Robert’s surprise, Godwin nodded. “Your assessment is correct, Lord Rockhelm. To make matters worse, the Sages have been kidnapped by a Tarsurian agent and likely taken across the Dark Sea. Should the Shigata not reconvene and rebuild immediately, our order may not survive the coming months.” The Shigata let the words float in the air. Rockhelm knew exactly what a Western Gaellos without the Shigata would look like, particularly in this age of demons.
Smiling horribly, Godwin added, “Also, if I may humbly ask, please call me by my proper name: Godwin. I am no longer the person you refer to me as.”
Rockhelm smirked, visibly amused. “Yes, I can see you are not. The Odruri was a warrior unlike any other, not some second-rate hired killer.”
To Godwin’s surprise Commander Octovos seemed upset by the comment. “Lord Rockhelm, might I request a modicum of decorum? After all, we need—”
“Your wish is granted, Godwin,” Rockhelm said as he held his hand up to silence Octovos. “I will issue this proclamation, cancel any outstanding contracts I have offered to the Shigata in the region, and after consulting with my officers, I will determine an appropriate number of soldiers to send to Black Wolf to assist in guarding the island until the Shigata can be rebuilt.”
“My lord is too kind,” Godwin said. He did not miss the anxious look the two easterners in the room gave each other, uncertain which direction the conversation would go.
“Very good,” Rockhelm said. “The first order of business is complete. A toast. No, put down that glass, a toast with something appropriate.” Rockhelm stood and took a clay jar from the mantle, along with four tumblers. He poured each of them a measure of what smelled like pure grain alcohol. Jon Octovos sniffed at his and was unable to keep his nose from wrinkling.
“Za zdarovje,” Godwin said without missing a beat. They clinked tumblers and Godwin drank what was certainly something near pure alcohol. With all of his force of will, the Shigata was able to keep his expression plain. Commander Octovos’s face twisted into a series of unpleasant contortions, while Robert openly gagged and sputtered, barely able to keep the beverage down. Rockhelm watched them all with that same steely look that only betrayed a slight amusement, his face a mask all the while. The Lord of Saebyl said nothing about it.
Finally when everyone had settled, it was Jon Octovos who spoke. “Godwin, it has come to my attention that you and I have a similar concern.”
That was something that Godwin did not anticipate. “Do we, Commander Octovos? Please, let me know what it is that you mean.”
“When you were traveling to Saebyl from Meno, you had a third traveling companion, did you not? A young woman named Lyra.”
Godwin and Robert glanced at each other. What could Octovos have to do with her? “We did,” Godwin admitted. “Lyra is very dear to me. I feel responsible for her predicament. We were in a shipwreck and have been trying to locate her ever since. We heard a rumor that she made it safely to Saebyl.”
“Your rumor was correct,” Octovos said. “She made it safely here to the city and then departed.”
Robert shifted in his seat. “Forgive me, Commander. May I ask how it is that you know of Lyra?”
Octovos nodded. “Surely as a Tarsurian you are aware of her father, Markus Jantos? It’s all right. I’m not trying to hurt the man. He has done good work for a better world, and what’s more he is a distant cousin of mine.”
Robert
gasped. “Of all the strange coincidences…I never would have guessed.”
“And you’ll never repeat it,” Octovos said seriously. “Markus’s reputation is worse than dog shit in the East, as you well know. I’m afraid he became quite a different person after he was exiled. Bitter, filled with hatred.”
“That certainly sounds like the man I met,” Godwin said darkly.
“I’m not asking you to forgive him for whatever wrongs he’s done,” Commander Octovos said. “Nor am I asking you to concern yourself with him. He is out of my life. It is Lyra that worries me. As a niece of mine, I feel I have an obligation to help her.”
“You told Grushenka about her,” Godwin said, suddenly. It was the only thing that made sense. Lyra would surely have used a different name in Saebyl. How else would anybody recognize her?
“Quite the opposite,” Octovos said. “She told me.”
Godwin leaned in and took a sip of his ale to give himself a moment to think. “Please, Commander, explain yourself.”
“Grushenka is an agent of mine. I planted her in this city after the last Bloodwater War. Come, don’t look so offended. You expect me to believe that old Rockhelm here doesn’t have informants in Andreji?”
Lord Rockhelm looked like he was considering calling the headsman after being referred to as ‘old Rockhelm,’ but before he could say anything, Godwin spoke. “Am I supposed to pretend I didn’t just hear that a foreign Commander placed a powerful vampire in one of the most populated cities in the West?”
“She harms no one,” Octovos said with a wave of his hands. Then, blushing somewhat, “I’m sorry about the mage, Lord Rockhelm, but surely you see she did not start that fight.”
Rockhelm brushed the comment off. “Yegvellen was an intrusive fop from Brentos. Saebyl will be better without him poking his nose in my court.”
“In any case,” Octovos went on, “Grushenka was to keep an eye out for Lyra. She never personally saw the girl, but one of her own informants did.”
