Fates Choice

by Tristan Fairfield

  In any other scenario, Torr would have swelled with pride that his father was bringing him along to such an event. However, it was the absence of trust in his judgment in the first place that meant he now sat next to his father as they lurched past the large iron gates of the church school boundary.

  Torr did not recall the road being this rough for caravans. Most of his own journeys to school had been by horse and therefore along the tracks that led from the back of Home Manor, along the banks of The Daret itself before skirting around the southern edge of Paega’s high stone wall.

  Those tracks were not suitable for caravans and so their current journey had taken them a longer way round. Torr turned round to look at their cargo. They had taken the largest caravan they had, which meant that four of their larger workhorses had been required to pull it. Torr had been made to assist the workers in pouring their cargo into the wooden barrels. Aelboric had hoped that exposing Torr to more of their own cider so early after the party would also help instil some sense of moderation into him.

  The cider was bound for Sha Haram on their ships’ next voyage. It was a delicacy that could not be grown, at least properly, that far south, even though the island of Sha Haram itself was more temperate than the lands of Suthras immediately below The Island of Trade, as it was known.

  They had taken the cider with them as the new ships in their fleet were of a size that the old supply caravans were not big enough. Any cargo that had to be fetched or transported to Paegas docks now required two or three more trips than before. As such, any trip made at all was an opportunity to cram some more goods into whatever caravan they were travelling in.

  Torr had at least established from his father that they would still be going to the guild’s headquarters in the centre of Paega, where they would leave the caravan to be collected by the dockworkers whilst they were in their meeting.

  Paega, due to its topography, was very steep. Most of the resident’s boasted they had a commanding view of the bay but this meant very little when even the less fortunate shanty town dwellers could share the same view as the rich, for free.

  It would be an easy matter to run the caravan down to the docks on the excellent tramlines and pulleys set up many years ago, to ease the loading and unloading of cargo. This meant less risk of runaway or out of control caravans on the steep slopes, minimising the risk of bodily injury but, more importantly, loss of profit for the merchants’.

  Two horses could therefore be left for Torr and Aelboric to return home on, if that was indeed his father’s wishes. Torr wondered if his father secretly intended to press gang him onto one of their ships to serve as a galley hand for a few months, in the hope of teaching him the lesson of a lifetime.

  This gave Torr plenty to fret about as they entered the port of Paega itself, under the main stone archway and thick double oak gates and into the walled town itself. The road was smoother in the town, having been paved a long time ago. Unfortunately, the cost of upkeep of the road outside Paega was disputed and often took up much of the guilds meetings with various deputations from merchants, both domestic and foreign, about the travesty of the state of the main toll road, particularly into the season of Stormsen, when the winds became stronger and rain lashed the west weald coasts.

  Torr’s musings about his upcoming fate meant he paid little attention to the busy nature of the first part of Paega that they passed through, where the wagon loading area and warehouses were a hive of activity and getting busier season by season, as Paegas importance as a safe port had been growing.

  The smell of brine on the wind mixed with the comparatively small market area and the exotic flavours of spices, tars, and animals that were traded here. Most traders and merchants though treated Paega purely as a loading port. The market town of Tantes, miles in land and more conveniently situated at the junction of key toll roads, had captured the moniker of the main market in Sommerswake or, at least, on its western side.

  They pulled up outside the merchant’s guild grand headquarters, to the south of the market and just before the entrance to the docks district itself. Judging from the number of horses already stabled, the Skarsdales looked like they may have been one of the last to arrive.

  In fact, their journey had been so slow that the dockhands sent by Aelfsige were already waiting for Torr and Aelboric. Mercifully, his father did not cudgel Torr unconscious and shove him in a crate or net, a form of recruiting still popular in Suthras and the far off continent of Num, if Aelboric’s tales were to be believed.

  They were greeted by the concierge and made their way right to the top of the recently refurbished and refurnished building which had originally been the first motte and bailey built by the original keepers of Paega’s Bay. At that time, it was at the edge of the town but now, not many centuries later, it was barely half way in. It was still warm enough to climb the outside spiral staircase encased in the narrow towers, one on each corner of the building, rather than use the main internal stairs. Torr regained his focus and marvelled at the unparalleled view across the town, over the low stone spiralling parapet.

  Although he was of course rather partisan, given he was born and raised in Paega, the perspective gained from here of the whole town and surrounding countryside never ceased to amaze him. He wished they would stop so he could soak up the busy landscape, the bustle of the port. Most people would never get the opportunity to share this view as they worked, ant-like now to Torr, in this town to which his family had now become quite integral. Indeed, their ships could be seen quite clearly from here, at their own pontoons, which had to be specially extended to take their size. Three were moored, another was out and the fifth was in the process of being decked, with orders for at least three more. They easily dwarfed the other merchant’s vessels from Sha Haram, Suthras and the far southern ports of Telf and Mikat, just outside the wealds.

  There was also a military cutter, the origin of which Torr could not discern which was no bigger, and possibly no better armed, than their own ships. There was still an awkward silence between them. Torr felt it was still not the right time to start asking his father more questions.

  They entered the high merchants meeting room, therefore, in a rather sullen fashion. The grandest, but not largest, room in the already extended building, was full of tapestries and rich furnishings, to which each merchant seemed to add on each trip, somehow without the room becoming more cluttered after each journey. All fifteen pairs of eyes turned towards them. “Ah, Aelboric, we were just wondering where you had gotten to. We thought you had forgotten about us and gone off on one of your fancy ships again” said the large gentleman at the head of the obsidian table, a gift (more likely plunder) from a former royal court of a Suthrasian shoulker or warlord.

  This was greeted by a ripple of laughter from the rest of the table, except for one gentleman whom Torr had never seen before.

  The meeting was chaired by Efaen Valheimer, Lord Valheimer’s brother. The portly, but actually quite impartial and fair, head of Paega’s merchants had presided over the guild for many years now. Torr could not recall who held the title before. He was one of the few Valheimer’s who would actually come up to the Skarsdale’s during their social functions, held in the far larger grand hall that took up the entirety of the floor below, albeit perhaps seemingly out of professional courtesy as opposed to showing any genuine liking for them. However, that just appeared to be his nature.

  He was flanked by the town’s head magistrate: Cuhlaed Tiri, to whom Raeknor would now be answerable. Torr looked around half hoping that Raeknor had been summoned as well to school him in his new magisterial duties but, instead, Tiri had bought with him his chief scribe, who already appeared to be busily scribbling, even though the meeting had not even started.

  On the other side of Efaen was his other brother, Garel Valheimer, the commander of Paegas garrison. It was situated a couple of hour’s march north outside the town on the highest prominence possible, overlooking the bay, but also looking up to the moor
of Daret itself.

  Abbot Cleaves was also present, the head of Paega’s Abbey and smaller churches, so the meeting was clearly important if it needed the blessing and input of The Sunlord’s Church. Torr knew very well that Cleaves would recognise him as a former pupil but his austerity and snobbery precluded ‘Ol Big Nose’ (as he was known to all the students), from uttering a friendly greeting or enquiring about Torr’s welfare.

  In fact, Cleave’s expression seemed more austere than usual. This was either a mark of the nature of their meeting to come, Torr thought, or that blabbering apothecary had gone back to the church and spilled his guts about what Torr had got up to over Highsun. In fact, the more Cleave’s glowered at Torr the more he thought option two was the winner.

  Oh great, Torr thought to himself. In fact, Torr wondered if the meeting had been specifically called so that every adult of importance in Paega’s Bay and beyond could have a go at him.

  As Torr averted his own gaze around the rest of the merchants who made up the meeting, he saw a second individual he did not recognise. He was clearly foreign, possibly Sha Haramian, Suthrasian or from beyond the far southern borders of the wealds, into the hills of Balak Crag. He was clad in dark studied leather armour. As he was seated, Torr could not see if he was armed and, if so, with what. His teachings so far had included the equipment preferences of armies and groups from afar, how this was used and how best to defend against them.

  There was also the gentleman who had not laughed at Efaen’s opening remark, but, from his dress, Torr just presumed this was another merchant, albeit perhaps one from farther afield for some reason. However, this individual had an air of amused and confident inscrutability about him. There was something almost palpable, an aura which seemed to make the hairs on the back of Torr’s neck stand on end. In fact, as Torr and his father sat as directed, he put one hand to the back of his neck, at which point the man looked directly at Torr and smiled.

  “Gentleman, you all know why we are here” began Efaen, just as Torr and Aelboric were seating themselves. Champion’s Balls, they really were waiting for us, Torr thought. His chair was heavy and he didn’t want to draw further attention to himself by scraping it across the floor just after the opening comments. He glanced at his father next to him who appeared to have the same problem. Aelboric actually smiled at Torr for the first time since his return to Paega.

  “Rather than stick to our usual protocols and opening speeches, I’ll just hand you straight over to Commander Valheimer, given our situation”. Efaen addressed the comment to his brother, who stood up to address the group, with a slight bow, as was custom. “Gentleman, you have all been briefed on our predicament which, unfortunately, only appears to be getting worse”. Well, I haven’t so would someone mind filling me in, thought Torr.

  “The bandit raids south of Tantes have simply been getting larger and more organised as each season passes”, Garel continued, “to the point where the southern road into Bereofs Town has been cut off to us and all caravans on it on more than one occasion this year”. This appeared to be news to one or two of the merchants who started to exclaim but Garel continued, in a more commanding tone befitting his station, palm outstretched to halt any interruptions. “We have not made this public as you will appreciate the fundamental damage this information would do to the reputation of Paega’s Bay as a safe trading port and I would therefore appreciate it if you refrained from sharing this information with anyone”. Garel fixed those merchants who did not appear to know this before the meeting with a grim stare to emphasise his point.

  “It is believed that the bandit group in question has been growing steadily over the last couple years and is entirely non human”. Over one or two gasps Garel continued, “Specifically, the bandits are gaestnips and some are believed to be giantkin rather than their smaller cousins”.

  This appeared to be news to his father as well from what Torr could see of Aelboric’s reaction. Torr was also familiar with the types of creatures that made up the known world of Gaerd from his schooling and that included any animal known to be the largest of its kind, giantkin. He knew that the armies of men faced giants and giantkin of all types and manner of creatures in the wars to the north that had raged for the last hundred years or so.

  “It is believed they are firmly established in an old civil war palisade that they have re- fortified just to the north of Bereofs Town. From here they now raid with impunity”.

  “Gods” exclaimed one of the merchants “why in the name of hells have they been allowed to fester and grow?”

  “Why, would you have been willing to have entered their camp and ask them to leave even if there were just two of them?” Garel gazed harshly at the merchant, who snorted his derision in response, typical of a man who presumed his wealth meant that everyone else would do his bidding without even the courtesy of gratitude or respect.

  “The fact is gentleman” Garel continued to stare down the merchant as he resumed his address, “that the bandit’s existence and growth is a reflection of The Giant Wars to the north. Quite simply, we have struggled to gain sufficient forces to deal with the problem and, every time we think we have, calls for reinforcements to the north have taken precedence”.

  The general exclamations and chatter had died down as Garel had continued.

  “However we believe we now have sufficient manpower and, importantly now, information about their camp to put an end to their activities”. Garel nodded at the foreign gentleman and Aelboric as he continued. “We have just secured the services of the well repudiated mercenary company, The Dog Pack of Kartha, whose Captain, Ahred Ulher, kindly sits with us today. They have sailed back with Aelboric on his last trip from Sha Haram. They are fifty men strong, all seasoned in battle, with twice as many war dogs”. Ahred bowed his head in acknowledgment.

  “We have also taken all the men we can spare from my garrison but I suspect many of you will be surprised to learn that will only account for twenty or so more”. Again, there were gasps as this information was disclosed. All of Paegas Bay and the surrounding area relied on such a small number for peace and protection.

  “We have also been pledged twenty men from Tantes and the same number from the guard of Oaks Keep”. At this last comment, Garel inclined his head to the individual who had made the hairs on the back of Torr’s neck stand out. Holy Days, thought Torr, Oaks Keep, but that’s the mage’s tower to the south of Tantes. Torr looked at the man he thought was a merchant again, who just smiled politely.

  “We still believe we will need a few more men to storm the bandits camp, which is why we have summoned this meeting gentleman as we are hoping that you can assist with our remaining manpower requirements”. Garel motioned to the man from Oaks Keep who stood up just as Garel introduced him. “May I allow Master Wizard Bernhart Rowe to address you further on the information that he has gathered on the current strength of our enemy”.

  The man introduced as the head of one of Gaerds few known and recognised sorcerer’s towers stood up. Torr was even more convinced when he stood that he was a merchant, not a powerful mage which, surely, he would have to be from the title just given to him.

  In fact, there were only four accepted wizards towers that he had learnt about at Paega’s church school: Eadreds Tower, a soft and academic affair just outside the capital city of Wincaston, in the Weald of Middleswake. The tower in the centre of Pa Parag, far to the east in the commercial heart of Alrunia and also the legendary Tower of Theat itself, just to the north of The Dragonsteeth Hills, where most of the famed warrior mages of legend had been trained, including, if Torr’s teachings were to be believed, the right hand and lieutenant of God’s Chosen himself, in the battle against the Arch Dragon some seven hundred years ago.

  By comparison, Oaks Keep, was quite a modest affair, just a few days ride to the south of Tantes. Still, it was a renowned place of learning and record keeping so anyone being introduced as the head of this faculty was clearly a man of considerable magical power a
nd knowledge.

  “Good day gentlemen, thank you for your time and hospitality. I have personally undertaken a trip to our friend’s camp which, as your good commander has just pointed out, is in fact an old civil war palisade”.

  Bernhart carried on as the stunned silence continued. Torr gained the impression that everyone else in the room thought the same as he; surely this short mild mannered and seemingly middle aged gentleman was the most unlikely person to go anywhere near a gaestnip camp, let alone actively undertake a scouting mission to it.

  Torr gained the impression that Bernhart had perceptively picked up on the scepticism as he continued. “I suspect they have been there for quite a few years now, from what I could see and I would estimate there number to be around fifty now and”, he paused, “some do indeed unfortunately appear to be giantkin”.

  As murmurs began across the table, Bernhart continued. “I suspect their strength has gathered over time, suggesting the reputation of their leader has grown as the raids have continued to meet with success. Even the walls of Oaks Keep have now proved to be an attractive target for them as well so....” The merchant who had interrupted Garel earlier now stood up, his face going a deeper red as his verbal thunder erupted. “So are we to understand my good wizard that you have known about this camp for quite some time and yet, it is only now because your own walls have been targeted that you choose to ask us for help? If you want to save your own skin then you should have....”

  “As your good commander has pointed out to you earlier”, Bernhart raised a single finger to the merchant, which surprisingly for all the merchants bluster and rage, had the desired effect of shutting him up, “what would you have done had I come to you before now, without the manpower to deal with the problem then?”

  It was a good enough question to ensure that the merchant sat down and allowed Bernhart to continue. “The camp is well hidden by a surrounding wood but still with surprisingly good lookout positions, so any single direct assault would prove difficult”.