Knight's Justice

by P. J. Cherubino

  “Oh,” Tarkon warned, “and remember—“

  “I know, I know.” She held up her hand. “I’ll remember to put my clothes back on.” She didn’t sound happy about it.

  Vinnie walked slowly around the edge of the cavern, running his hand along the walls. “Tarkon,” he called suddenly, “Do you have a sense of the glowing gems?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, can you feel them like you feel other minerals?”

  The Forge Monk scratched his chin and thought for a moment. “I think so. Let me see.”

  Tarkon’s eyes turned black, then glowed again with Forge fire. He turned in a slow circle and extended his palms toward the walls. “Yes,” he said. “I can feel them, but I can’t pull them out like I do the sacred minerals.”

  “That makes sense,” Vinnie replied, stroking his pointed beard.

  “It does?” Tarkon asked, releasing the magic. “I’m growing more confused and uncertain by the minute.”

  “A picture emerges,” Vinnie replied. He smiled and raised his index finger the way he did when he was on the trail of some scientific mystery. “But right now I need you to point to where the stones are. Show me the biggest concentration.”

  Tarkon immediately turned to a section of wall on the opposite side, where there had been no digging. “I feel them strongly there.”

  Taking several deep breaths to marshal his energy, Vinnie walked across the cavern. The rest among the magical stones in the cavern below had somehow fully restored his energy.

  His eyes turned black, then glowed as what looked like lava moved inside them. The rock wall parted for him like a silk curtain as he stepped into the tunnel that appeared.

  He wasn’t sure why he couldn’t feel where the strange gems were, since Irth and the soil often spoke to him, but it was silent regarding these.

  Vinnie moved in a zigzag pattern, displacing solid stone the way a mole might move through dirt. It took a lot of energy and he was almost drained when he found them.

  A thick vein of red, green, and clear gems ran at a diagonal in front of him. He plucked them from the surrounding stone and gathered them in his arms, using his loose death shroud to hold as many as he could.

  When he popped out of the wall he was nearly out of energy. Breathing hard, he let his aching arms go and a hundred pounds of gems spilled onto the ground.

  “Where did you go?” Tarkon asked. “I was beginning to worry.”

  “Me too,” Vinnie said. “If I ever run out of magic inside of solid rock I’ll never come out again. Instant fossil.”

  “Well,” Tarkon said, “looks like it was worth it.”

  “I think it was,” Vinnie said. “But now I really need a good meal.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The Dissenters

  “You’ve got a nice setup here,” Hagan declared. She stood by a low wall that separated the Wilfred Estate from the common fields of the nearby village. “I can see the Keep 49 watchtower from here, and your village is right there.” She pointed at the huts that were clearly visible on top of a low rise. Otherwise, the land was completely flat and entirely farmable.

  “Yes,” Wilfred replied, and leaned against a battlewagon with its tall, thick-spoked wheels. “The smell of cow shit still gets me in the summertime. I make them farm the fields to the west.”

  Hagan scoffed. “Consider yourself lucky you can pick and choose where your tribute crops go. My great-grandfather picked out his land based on defensibility, not farming, and it’s limited our growth somewhat.”

  Wilfred smiled. Since his estate was the closest to hers, Hagan’s shortfalls regularly required her to buy grain from him.

  But suddenly things had changed. Hagan’s defensible land was now more valuable than this wide-open and vulnerable estate.

  “Well, yes,” Wilfred replied. “Another reason I keep the crops away is so I can see trouble coming across the flat land.”

  “Sure,” Hagan said, turning her attention away from the view. She stepped up to Wilfred. “You keep telling yourself that.” She took a moment to give him a toothy grin that didn’t reach her eyes. She left the tension going just long enough, then patted the heavy wheel. “Nice wagon. Bet it hasn’t seen action in a very long time.”

  Grateful for the change of subject, Wilfred looked the wagon over.

  Everything about it was heavy. This was no farm wagon. No, this was a fortress on wheels.

  It was rectangular, and twenty feet long. Its frame was built from six-inch-square posts and beams, and plates of half-inch-thick iron sheathing covered the entire length. Slots at regular intervals allowed the fighters inside to fire crossbow bolts in all directions. Three axles held the body off the ground with dual stacks of leaf springs between.

  The wagon was driven from an armored compartment at the front.

  “It took a dozen draft horses to pull the thing,” Wilfred explained. “You could plow it into the middle of a battle and discharge fifty fully-armed fighters, and the people who weren’t crushed outright would be forced to scatter. My grandfather told us many stories about it.”

  “But the best thing about the wagon is that it can be used as a battering ram. It was designed to be pushed by a hundred or more fighters behind a shield wall. It weighs more than two tons, and with enough manpower and the right ground it can go right through the strongest gate or even stone walls.”

  It hadn’t been used in decades, since the protectorates didn’t fight each other anymore. There were often border skirmishes, but that involved small groups of fighters. More often than not, though, disputes were settled by duels between magic-wielding officers.

  “Why did your family keep this thing?” Hagan asked.

  Wilfred laughed. “Probably because it can’t be destroyed. It’s about a hundred years old.”

  “I can see it’s been used,” Hagan said, noting numerous burns, scars, dents, and dings from stem to stern. It had been repaired repeatedly.

  “Let’s hope it won’t need to be used again,” he said.

  “No,” Hagan replied. “I think its mere presence will be enough to open the gates of Keep 49.”

  Wilfred made a bitter face. “The gates should not be closed to me at all. When I see that commissioner— “

  “I know, I know,” Hagan soothed. “It’s gonna be difficult, but killing commissioners is how we got into this mess in the first place,” Wilfred growled in response and Hagan continued. “Like it or not, persuasion is what’s needed here.”

  “And if he can’t be persuaded?” Wilfred asked, his hand resting on his sword.

  “I understand you have a nice dungeon here.” Hagan smiled.

  The sound of marching feet drew their attention to the gates of the main courtyard. Three hundred troops came toward the cart in a tight formation. Roughly half the total force of each estate was combined into a single army for the task at hand. Morgon rode ahead with his first charge right behind.

  Dragging out the war wagon was primarily a show of force. That, the soldiers, and the presence of Movers on horseback should signal to the Civil Guard and the keep administrator that compliance would be in their best interests. The hope was that the display would preclude any fighting.

  As the first charge inspected the small army, stable hands brought out the twelve-horse team and attached the beasts to the heavy harness.

  Wilfred cocked his head and regarded Hagan with an unusual expression in his eyes. Hagan was about to challenge him when he smiled and said, “I would be honored if you would command this procession.”

  The gesture was unexpected, and offered with a formal bow in front of all the troops. Hagan straightened to a rigid posture, then bowed from the waist and declared, “I accept, with great respect for your estate.”

  As per protocol, they stood side-by-side with Wilfred on her left.

  Gooseflesh spread over her skin. Even though there would likely be no fighting, commanding a deadly force was what Hagan lived for. She had been
born and bred for it. She was a first lieutenant, and had earned her command through training in magical combat.

  “Together our estates are strong…strong because you are strong! Today we show those who would oppose this Protectorate that they cannot challenge our rightful authority without facing our full might!”

  It was an excellent speech. The troops were so pumped up they practically shook. What Hagan didn’t say, and what very few of the rank-and-file allowed themselves to ask, was who the Protector would be after Astrid was dead.

  Hagan had some ideas on that subject.

  Grooms brought out horses, and Hagan and Wilfred mounted. The gates opened as the battlewagon moved out, flanked on either side by troops. The three lieutenants led the way.

  Just as Hagan had hoped, the keep’s gates opened for them without so much as an angry word.

  The Civil Guard at Keep 49 had had the good sense to assemble in the keep courtyard in their normal uniforms. Hagan saw none of the distinctive armbands she had heard the rebel guard wore.

  Then she noticed something: the guard compliment looked light. The keep should have had close to two hundred people, but the group assembled there looked to be about half that number.

  “Where is the commissioner of this keep?” Hagan boomed. It was then that she noticed there was no guard commander in front of the assembly. When nobody answered, a red flush rose to her olive cheeks. “I want the highest-ranking Civil Guard front and center right now!”

  A chubby and unshaven older man stepped forward. “I-I guess that would be me, First Lieutenant,” the man stammered, and tried to look at least competent.

  Hagan repressed her urge to pin him to the ground with a touchless hold. Instead she took a deep breath, dismounted, and marched up to him. “What is your name?”

  To his credit, the man met her eyes and stood as tall as he could on trembling knees. “Watch Charge Philippi, First Lieutenant.”

  “You are now Guard Commander of this keep. Your loyalty is rewarded.” She stepped forward and clapped a strong hand on his shoulder. Quietly, so nobody else could hear, she leaned forward and said, “You better live up to this promotion.” The man swallowed hard. Weakling, she thought. “Take some of your men and go find the keep’s commissioner.”

  Philippi turned on his heel and started barking orders. He pointed at five men in rapid order. “Run up to the commissioner’s office. Find him, and don’t be gentle when you bring him back here.” He selected three others. “Check the barracks. I want to know if footlockers are empty. Are weapons missing? Shit like that. Hurry!”

  He ordered a few more to look for people who might be hiding. Hagan revised her low estimate of the man. He did indeed rise to the occasion.

  A minute or two later one of the guards on the wall shouted, “The commissioner is trying to escape. He has a group with him!”

  “To the horses! I need—“ Philippi shouted, but Hagan silenced him.

  “Good work, Commander,” Hagan interrupted. “I’ll take it from here. You stay here and secure this keep.” With a nod to one of her Movers, she jumped back onto her horse and put her heels into its ribs

  Hagan streaked past the keep gates and around to the wall from which the guard had shouted, and as soon as they crested a low rise on the rolling land Hagan saw them. There were more than twenty, and they rode hard with the commissioner in the center of a circular formation. She knew it was the commissioner because of his distinctive black cloak.

  But farther ahead, a much larger group approached. That must be our guests, Hagan thought. And just in time, too.

  The escapees took no chances. They veered away from the group coming toward them, then spotted Hagan and her Mover. They must have known they were fucked, but they didn’t act like it.

  They kept running as Hagan and the mining party closed on them like pincers.

  When she was about fifty feet out, Hagan knocked an unfortunate guard from his horse with a touchless strike. The man hit the ground and flopped around like a ragdoll. If he wasn’t dead, he soon would be. It was hard to survive that many broken bones.

  “Stop!” Hagan shouted. She didn’t really want to have to kill all these guards; they probably still had friends back at the keep. Of course, she would have to kill a couple of the most defiant ones. The rest she planned to send to Wilfred’s dungeon.

  The commissioner ordered his guards to surrender. He knew what would happen otherwise.

  The guards dismounted and laid their weapons on the ground.

  Then Hagan noticed who was leading the other group. “Oh, shit on toast,” she lamented. “Not this peacock.”

  Gerolf offered her his smarmiest smile and bowed pretentiously. “How lovely it is to see the capable yet surly First Lieutenant Hagan again.”

  “If I’d’a known you were the contact,” Hagan shot back, “I wouldn’t have made this deal.” She was half-serious.

  “Oh, come now.” Gerolf tsked three times. “Are you still angry over that labor enforcement contract?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I’d love to talk to you about that after our guests are comfortable,” Gerolf said.

  A woman and an old man rode forward. Both had long objects that resembled staves strapped to their backs at an angle, but they had crossbow stocks at one end.

  “This,” Gerolf said, “is Yarik Ruggerd and his daughter Liesel.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Liesel said, extending her hand.

  Hagan was pleased to find the handshake as firm and unwavering as Liesel’s eyes.

  “Your arrival is welcome and timely,” Hagan said. She turned to the old man, who rode a horse laden with several lumpy bags that looked as if they would tear open at any moment. “You are most welcome. We have only taken one of our keeps from these filthy traitors who were about to escape.”

  The commissioner stepped forward, finding his bravery at precisely the wrong time. “I would only ask that you don’t hold these men responsible for the orders I gave them. Please, don’t punish these men; punish me.”

  “Be careful what you wish for,” Hagan said. She pointed her right palm at the Commissioner and lifted her arm. The man shot upward, and his feet ended up where his head was. Hagan turned her arm in a half circle, then swung it down.

  The tops of the commissioner’s feet hit several guards in the head. The man’s shriek ended when he hit the ground hard and Hagan pressed him into the snow-covered ground.

  “Impressive magic,” Yarik said as he dismounted. “Would you like to see a demonstration of ours?”

  Hagan released her hold and the commissioner tried to rise. “Stay down!” she hissed. He stayed down.

  Liesel grinned with a cold expression that further reinforced the feeling that they would get along just fine. “Which of these men needs to become a one-time example for the rest?”

  Fear dropped like a veil over the guard’s faces. “Any volunteers?” Hagan asked sadistically.

  Liesel swung her weapon off her shoulder and held it at an angle toward the guards.

  “Pick at random, then,” Hagan said. Liesel raised her weapon, put the stock to her shoulder, and scanned the crowd.

  A small man pushed through the crowd, although people tried to pull him back. “Take me,” he told the lieutenant in a quavering voice.

  “Why so eager to die?” Hagan wanted to know.

  “I’m not,” he said, tears streamed down his face, “but I have no family. No kids. Parents gone. I don’t want to die, but I won’t leave that big a trail of hurt.”

  “Bullshit!” someone shouted. There was jostling to silence the man.

  “Don’t fuck this up!” the would-be hero said. “I know what I’m doing!”

  “I doubt that very much, you silly fool. Move over here,” Liesel ordered. She followed him with the rifle as he stepped away from the crowd.

  “I swore to serve,” the man spoke fast. “It’s an honor to give my life so that you might li—”

 
Tweeeeee… A faint high-pitched hum came from the weapon and there was a flash of light and a crack, then what had once been a man exploded into a red cloud of blood and bone. The arms, head, and legs were all that remained.

  Men wept and wailed without shame. Some dropped to their knees, and others just stood in total shock with pale faces and vacant eyes. A few vomited into the snow.

  Hagan looked at her Mover and Gerolf, then studied Liesel and Yarik in turn. “Sold,” she declared. “I will purchase from you as many of these beautiful weapons as you can make. I look forward to discussing terms.”

  “Well,” Yarik said. “Your timing is most opportune. As the New Ancients used to say, you are getting in on the ground floor of this operation. Grant us access to your keep and you will have direct access to the manufactory source.”

  Hagan’s laugh sounded much like the cackle of a crow. She ordered the shivering commissioner to his feet. “There,” she spat. “You wanted to take responsibility for these men? This is the result. You got that man killed.”

  Gerolf had his men use a long rope to tie all the guards together into a prisoner gang.

  “Take them to Wilfred’s estate,” Hagan ordered. “The commissioner is coming with us. Locking him up in his own keep seems fitting for now.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Astrid on the Road

  The ride to Keep 52 was uneventful. They only saw one of the crazy wagon contraptions loaded with salt. Vinnie had come up with the design and distributed it freely to the village scribes and nearly every village in the Eastern District had built some version of it.

  Not only did it scape the snow and ice, but the real innovation was a spinning paddle wheel driven by the rear axle that threw out rock salt as the wagon moved along.

  The only problem was that demand for salt had increased dramatically. Tarkon and Vinnie had found a great supply in the highlands controlled by the woods people, but there was only so much they could extract at any time.