‘My Lord, the enemy general wishes to parley with you. He has approached the gates under a flag of truce carrying the Book of Artorus. His sword is tied to his scabbard as is that of the standard-bearer, who is with him. What shall I tell General Rordan?’
‘Tell him I will be there very shortly. The two of us will go out to meet him unarmed.’ The man bowed and left to return to the wall. Varen excused himself and followed, muttering quietly ‘What sort of a war is this? Everyone wants to talk and no one wants to fight. As if the times weren’t strange enough already.’ His thoughts were at variance with his words, though, for he was as sick of fighting as he was of the cold.
It was as the man had said. The enemy general and standard-bearer sat on their horses close to the gates. The general held aloft a white flag with the Book of Artorus resting against the pommel of his saddle, the traditional accoutrements of a soldier wishing to talk to those he would otherwise be trying to kill. Rordan was already waiting on his steed, which was snorting and swishing its tail impatiently, its breath steaming and white sweat glistening on its flanks.
‘He is eager to get going,’ Rordan said as Varen mounted his own horse, handing his sword belt over to the nearby man-at-arms.
‘Then let us not disappoint him,’ Varen replied, signalling for the gate to be opened. ‘Let us see what this man has to say for himself. Keep the archers alert. This may just be an attempt to buy time for something. I want no one trusting them for a second.’
Rordan was smiling at him. ‘Anything wrong?’ Varen asked.
‘No, my Lord, I was just thinking that your time away has been the making of you. There is no way you would have been shouting out orders like this before you left here.’
Varen was impassive. ‘I have had good teachers.’
Fenchard’s general was a tall fair-haired man with a week’s growth of beard and cold ice-blue eyes. He hailed the two men even before the gates had closed behind them.
‘Hello to you both. I am General Cannefar, now in the service of King Fenchard of West Arshuma. I am here to negotiate the terms of your surrender and the incorporation of Shayer Ridge into his new realm. If everyone is willing to cooperate, then this can be done with no bloodshed or loss of life. Of course, if either party is obstructive, then there could be a very different outcome indeed.’
Rordan could not help but snigger. ‘King Fenchard? West Arshuma?’
Cannefar was not amused. ‘Things are changing. The old order has crumbled in the last ten years. It has done nothing for the people here except leave them starving and displaced. Fenchard is the man who deals with the nobles, but all of us here follow Trask. He has ideas for the new country, one free of barons and self-serving lordlings; in time, you will all see this to be true.’
‘There does indeed seem to be a difference,’ said Varen haughtily. ‘The people now are starving, displaced and enslaved. Or, in your determination to run down Lasgaart, have you missed the slave gangs running around these very woods?’
Cannefar recoiled a little at this; it was obviously a development that he himself was not too happy with. ‘We needed men; Arshuma had the money for them. It was part of the deal Fenchard cut with them in return for their coin. In war sometimes the things that are necessary are not always the most palatable. I have been assured that they will all be gone by spring.’
‘And you believe that?’ said Rordan gruffly.
Cannefar ignored the question. ‘I am here to tell you that you no longer control access to Claw Pass. It was taken two days ago; its tower now holds our men. Once your food stocks have gone, that is it. There will be no more unless you capitulate.’
‘We have stocks to last us months,’ said Rordan. ‘Have you? There are not enough of you to take the town by force, so are you just going to sit there in the cold and wait?’
‘Yes,’ said Cannefar. ‘Fresh relays of men will replace those here regularly. You cannot come out; you have no choice but to join us. There will be no retribution, no punishment, if you surrender quickly. Join us in West Arshuma; it will mean only Felmere holds out against us and that all the land east of the Kada and north of the Marassans are ours.’
‘But for how long?’ asked Varen. ‘The Grand Duke waits with a large army in Athkaril and the new Baron Felmere is obdurate and will not surrender to you. In the spring you will lose all the lands you gained through treachery.’
Cannefar gave a cold smile. ‘I think you underestimate us. Trask will be dealing with Morgan the farmer’s boy in good time. And, as for the Grand Duke, he is in a far from secure position. If you have not heard, he is trying to rebuild the city while having to feed thousands of refugees who have no homes and no shelter. He is making sure the army gets fed first and has sent a lot of his men out foraging. It is the right decision that he has made in terms of the war, but just think how the idea of letting his subjects starve will play out with his countrymen. Also, a restless baron was assassinated just north of Tanaren City recently. People are blaming him. There are riots in his heartlands; he has sent even more men back west to deal with it. His army is only just over half the size it once was. He has sent cavalry over the river trying to raid our new lands but he is no general. We have sent his men scuttling back to Athkaril every time. No. Our position is strong. I ask you again, join us, we are not Arshumans; their king just wants his cut from the gem mines like this one. Nothing more. Think about it – this war could be over in months and we could all benefit under the new regime. All of us.’
Rordan was silent, leaving it to Varen to reply. ‘If you have not noticed. I am a knight of the Eagle Claw, sworn to the Grand Duke. It is as simple as that. You are in league with our ancient enemy and with men who are selling our people into slavery. Shayer Ridge has held out against armies ten times larger than yours. Do your worst, Cannefar, for when spring comes it will be your turn to be sent fleeing back to whatever hovel will still harbour your treacherous hide.’
Cannefar’s expression was flinty, merciless. ‘Very well, the offer has been made. Look at your city walls, Knight, then imagine them with your head staring out over them stuck on a pike, for that is how it will be. We are done here. May Artorus look on your soul kindlier than I look upon your living body.’ With that, he spurred his horse viciously and rode back to join his men.
‘You spoke bravely,’ Rordan said as they trotted back through the gate. ‘I hope you have the conviction of your words, for it will be a hard few months for us.’
‘We hold out,’ ‘Varen said, ‘until the Grand Duke gets here, and he will. The world looks a lot different once the weather starts to warm the land.’
As they rode through the gate, which was then shut and barred, he could not help but think. ‘When the Grand Duke gets here. Not if, when.’ He kept saying it until darkness clothed the land but, even by then, he was still not convinced. Deeds were what mattered not words, and nothing the Grand Duke had done so far gave him any reassurance at all.
24
In the brief span of time between leaving the room and descending the stairs into the inn proper, Willem managed to conjure up a decent mental picture of exactly how he expected Odo Kegertsa to appear. Stocky, with a shaven head and a scar, he thought, clad in leathers and carrying a cudgel and dagger – the epitome of the successful thug. Imagine how surprised he was then to see a man in his mid-thirties with long, slicked-back black hair and a pencil-thin moustache dancing over his upper lip like some kind of weedy caterpillar. His breeches were of the finest black leather and his surcoat was of a rich dark-blue velvet with gold embroidery circling the buttonholes and engraved silver buttons. His eyes were dark and unmistakeably cruel, and he regarded the new arrivals into the room as one might look at a gravy stain on an expensive silk shirt. Willem’s picture of him would have been far better applied to the two men standing directly behind him, where he was sitting at a table placed at the centre of the room. There was also another man at the door as well as one leaning over the bar. The rest of the inn was
empty – closing time had obviously been called early tonight. As Marten came up to him, Odo pulled off his blue velvet gauntlet and started to admire his rings, one on each finger, all gold with some housing the sort of gems that could amount to a lifetime’s earnings for the average farmworker.
‘Marten,’ – his voice was thin and disdainful and gave the impression that he was in the sort of place that he would normally only frequent under pain of death – ‘my boys require ale; I require wine – your best of course. Also fetch two ales for these gentlemen. And Marten...’
‘Yes, Master Odo.’
‘I thank you for paying for all of them.’
Marten’s shoulders sagged. ‘Think nothing of it, Master Odo.’
After Marten had gone to fetch the drinks, Odo gestured to both Willem and Haelward to take a seat opposite him. After they had done so he was silent for a while, firstly cracking his finger joints and then flipping a silver coin from one finger to another, demonstrating a degree of adroitness that could only come with much practice. Finally he looked up at them, holding the coin in the palm of his hand.
‘A Kudreyan spenit,’ he said. ‘Rare, as they mint few coins in Kudreya. They tend to steal the ones they need, after all.’ He slipped it into a pouch at his waist. ‘Now, to business. Marten here tells me you are interested in one of my marketable assets.’
Willem was about to speak indignantly but Haelward quietened him with a gesture. ‘That is so,’ he said. ‘One of your more recent ... acquisitions.’
Odo looked at Willem’s flushed and angry face. ‘Am I to take it that the young man here is somewhat enamoured of the lady in question?’
‘Yes, I am!’ Willem would not be silenced this time. ‘And she is not an acquisition; you kidnapped her and that is the truth.’
Odo’s eyes briefly alighted on Willem before moving on. Marten brought the drinks and Odo sipped briefly at his wine before speaking again.
‘It may be a good idea,’ he said to Haelward, ‘to let this fellow know exactly who I am and why it might be advisable for him to rein in his tongue a little. I kidnapped no one. A gang of men arrived here with a girl; we decided she could be of use to us and paid them off accordingly. This is how things are done in New Perego.’
‘Indeed,’ Haelward replied. ‘But as you can now see she was not theirs to sell. This man plans to wed her as soon as he possibly can. So we would like her back.’ He put both elbows on the table and leaned forward so that his face was inches from Odo’s. ‘Please.’
Odo’s expression did not change. ‘I am afraid she is spoiled goods by now.’ Willem ground his teeth in anger, biting his tongue to keep quiet. ‘But I am a reasonable man. I see that the girl was given to us in error and I always like to see two people in love reunited. Like all Kegertsas I am a romantic at heart. All I require is simple recompense – the amount I paid for her plus compensation for future loss of earnings.’ He drummed his fingers on the table and appeared to be counting figures in his head. ‘Let us say fifty crowns and she is yours again.’
Willem spluttered, ‘Fifty crowns! No one has that sort of money!’
Odo smiled for the first time, though it was a completely mirthless one. ‘The boy is amusing, is he not? Fifty crowns is my final offer. Pay it or leave without her.’
Haelward stroked his chin thoughtfully. ‘I am sure you are perfectly aware that we do not have that kind of money. Therefore you must have another proposal for us; I am quite sure you have not come here for a simple chat.’
‘You are no fool, Haelward of the marines. Very well, if you cannot pay me, you must earn the money and I know just the way that you can.’
Haelward sat back in his chair, raising his eyes to the ceiling. ‘I am not going to like this, am I?’
Odo ignored him and continued. ‘We are currently in dispute with another organisation here, the Skor family; they are relatively new arrivals but have already bought a controlling share in one of the warehouses and have extensive gambling interests, interests that are beginning to eat into our own. This is unacceptable. What is more, they have a fighter, Coron Degg, a Kudreyan pirate who came here looking for work after the war. Have you heard of him?’
Haelward and Willem shook their heads. Marten, who was busying himself wiping tables close by, chipped in: ‘Coron Degg is the most feared fighter in the fleapit. He hasn’t lost a duel in over two years. Everyone here knows him and those that come here to wager on the fights hear his name soon enough. He is fighting again in a couple of days.’
‘As you can imagine, any odds going on him are rather short. No one here bets on his fights anymore, but the visitors we have more than make up for that. Lennark Skor runs the books on his fights. If Degg were to lose, they would have to pay out a fortune,’
‘And who is his next opponent?’ Haelward asked warily.
Odo gave a thin, barely perceptible smile. ‘It will be a fighter chosen by the Kegertsas. Normally we would bet on Degg and pick up a small profit, but if he were to lose we could make upwards of say ... fifty crowns on the deal.’
‘You want me to fight him.’
‘Very few people here know you or remember what you did the last time you were here and those that do will keep quiet to keep the odds high. You fight him, you win, I get fifty crowns, you get the girl and Skor loses a fortune. A desirable outcome for everyone, don’t you think?’
‘And if I lose?’
‘That would be ... bad. You would owe me for my lost wager and the girl stays with us. So you would have a major incentive to do well, wouldn’t you?’
Haelward looked at Willem, who looked horrified ‘We have important friends. Release the girl now and I could promise you sixty crowns, all to be paid in the next six months, ten crowns a month. What do you say?’
Odo could not have looked less impressed. ‘That I have important friends, too, and they often promise more than they deliver. You fight in two days or I keep the girl. Your choice.’
‘What do you say, Willem?’ Haelward asked.
‘Can you win?’ Willem asked.
‘I really do not know. I have never seen this man fight.’
Willem bowed his head. ‘We do not have a choice, do we?’
Haelward shook his head then turned back to Odo who was flipping his coin again. ‘Your offer is accepted. I will fight this man in two days.’
Odo stood, put the coin away and waited as one of his henchmen placed a thick black cloak over his shoulders. ‘A wise decision. Perhaps you should take the boy to the fleapit, show him exactly what goes on there.’ He drained his goblet and headed for the door. Then he stopped and turned back towards them.
‘Just to let you know, the rules are still the same – first blood wins the fight. With Degg, though, first blood can still be quite final. Six of his last ten fights have ended in fatalities, so, if you have affairs to put in order, then I would advise that you do so. A good night to you, gentlemen. May Artorus keep you fit and healthy, for the next two days at least.’ And with that Odo and his men left the inn, leaving the door swinging open in the night wind. Despite that, the temperature in the room seemed to rise a little with his departure.
Marten went and shut the door.
Willem leaned forward, elbows on table and put his head in his hands. ‘What are we going to do now? Can you really fight this man?’
‘I can fight him, yes; whether I can beat him is another matter entirely.’
‘But Odo stands to lose money, if you don’t win. You must have a chance, surely?’
Marten came over to them with fresh ale. ‘These families never lose, my boy; they spread their betting ... bet on both sides. There will be a dozen fights over the evening and they will come out of it with their pockets lined with visitors’ money. It has always been this way. No gangs get into gambling because they might lose. They do it because they know they will win.’
‘Besides,’ Haelward said, ‘if I lose, he will probably rope me into more fights until the debt is paid off. If
I start making him money, he will probably think of a way to keep me here.’
‘Can’t you refuse?’ Willem asked.
‘Only if you want to see me floating face down in the harbour at dawn. No. I have to fight and I have to win – there is no other way; Marten, what is this Coron Degg like? A giant? Small and fast? Lucky?’
‘None of those things,’ Marten replied, ‘and all of them. He is taller than you and well-built, but not excessively so. Fast, but I have seen faster... Lucky? Well, maybe a little but the plain fact is he is good at everything. I have seen men trying to find a weakness, something to exploit in him, but none of them have succeeded so far. The most important thing maybe is that the man is merciless and ruthless to a fault. There is nothing of the gentleman in him, just the winner; maybe that is why so many of his opponents have died. It will be tough, Haelward, really tough; you must not let up for a second against him and you must bury that streak of chivalry you carry around with you. Spike fights are not the domain of the knightly orders.’
They had a couple more drinks and retired for the evening. Willem, though, was unable to sleep. After listening to Haelward’s rhythmic snoring for what seemed like hours an idea came to him. Quietly he got up, checked his purse and, like a practised footpad, crept down the stairs and out of the rear entrance of the inn which was only ever secured by a latch.
The streets at night were malodorous, cold and full of people. New Perego was a town built for nocturnal activities, after all. He passed one man vomiting over the wall of a cottage and plenty of other men passing their cheap ale, dark rivers of urine pooling into the dips and hollows of the street’s uneven surface. From the darker shadows between the houses were other noises, noises of muted passion. Not all the girls here worked in the warehouses; others preferred the greater freedom and danger of the street. He passed groups of sailors and young men singing bawdy songs; a heavily painted girl invited him over for a little friendly company; the tonic salesmen were still working even at this hour. He saw a couple of halberd-armed guards but, if trouble were to break out, he could easily see them fleeing into the nearest tavern. He could hear angry words, shouting, aggression and threat from many of the people he passed. There was a barely contained undercurrent of violence to this place that could be unleashed at the slightest provocation. Haelward would be apoplectic if he knew that he was walking around alone.
The Forgotten War Page 108
