The Andarian Affair

by Jones, Loren K.

  “But he’s done all of his required expeditions and I haven’t,” Stavin said to complete the thought. He heaved another huge sigh, and nodded. “I understand, Sir.”

  Charvil chuckled and patted Stavin’s shoulder. “We’ll be taking your four wagons and six that belong to the town. It’s a good thing you bought them last year. Three of the wagons the town owns aren’t in the best shape.”

  Stavin had to smile at his father-in-law as he asked, “When are we leaving?”

  “First light,” Charvil answered.

  Chapter 2

  “FIRST LIGHT, MY FOOT,” STAVIN GRUMBLED in the dark. “First light isn’t for seven or eight spans,” he continued as he harnessed the mules to his wagon. All around him were other men harnessing mules for their wagons.

  Bahrandik, his next older brother, was holding a lantern for him, and heard his complaint. “What are you complaining about, Stave? You’re just going to be driving a wagon all day.”

  Charvil and Kahndar walked up then and Charvil checked Stavin’s harness. “We’re all ready, Stavin. Where is your vest?”

  “In the box under the seat, Sir,” Stavin answered as he automatically came to attention.

  “And your weapons?”

  “My knives are in their sheaths and I built a holder for my Dragon’s Tongue, Sir. I’m also bringing that big knife, like you said,” he hesitated and then shrugged, “but I’m still not very good with it.”

  “We’ll be working on that when time allows. Probably every day while we’re waiting for the evening meal.” Charvil turned to his son and clasped him by both shoulders. “Let’s go home for a few moments. You go home, too, Stavin. Say your goodbyes and meet us at the gate in two spans.” Charvil and Kahndar climbed up on the wagon he was going to drive and rolled away.

  Stavin did as he was told and pulled the mules to a stop in front of his father’s house. Going in, he heard his mother and wife in the kitchen.

  “I’m going to miss him so much,” Sharindis said as Stavin walked up to the kitchen door.

  “Don’t start missing me yet,” Stavin said as he chuckled. He walked in and hugged Sharindis tightly. “We’re only going to be gone for twenty-four or twenty-five days. A moon at the most.”

  Sharindis held him tightly and bent her head down to kiss him. “Be careful, Stavi. Come home safe to me.”

  Stavin closed his eyes tightly against the tears that were trying to force their way out and held her closely, then had to ease his grip. There was another farewell he had to say. Little Karlin was asleep in a cradle near the door and he knelt to brush the baby’s dark hair with his fingertips. He kissed his fingers, then placed them on his son’s forehead, and stood.

  “Shari, Mom, I’ll be back soon.” That said, he left the house and drove away toward the gate. He stuffed his helmet on so no one could see the tears he couldn’t hold back. Leaving was getting harder and harder each year.

  Charvil took the lead as the wagons rolled out of the town gate, and Stavin found himself in the last position. Junior, as always. He tied a bandanna across his nose and mouth and let the mules follow the ninth wagon as he squinted against the dust. Stavin looked at Arandar as He rose above the horizon and had to admit that Charvil had told the truth: Arandar wasn’t even completely above the horizon. He held out his hand flat to the sun and nodded. The top of the sun disk wasn’t even one finger-span above the horizon. First light, by definition.

  The wagons traveled for two days down the road toward Trade Town before they turned north again on the road that led to Kahrant’s Pass. True to their training and traditions, rations on the road consisted of mostly boiled beans or grain, salted meat, and rock-hard journey bread. To his own surprise, Stavin found himself daydreaming of Endar Bel’Vandar’s delicious meals.

  It took eleven days for the wagons to make the journey to the old city of Kahrant’s Pass. Once the city walls came into view, Charvil called Stavin to the front.

  “All right, Master Trader Stavin, it’s time for you to put on your vest and lead our caravan.”

  Stavin and Charvil spent a few moments knocking the worst of the dust from his armor, then Stavin shrugged his vest into place. Once it was settled, he flipped the reins to get his mules walking again and drove down to the caravansary.

  A portly little man in a Master Trader’s vest with the badge of the Kahrant’s Pass Traders’ Council met them as soon as they entered the caravansary grounds. “Good day, good sirs.” He peered at Stavin’s vest intently for a moment, squinting as if he was having trouble with his eyes. “Is that--? Yes, an Evandian Master Trader. We get few Traders from Evandia this far north.”

  Stavin nodded to the man. “We are in search of supplies,” he explained. “Where are the grain merchants located?”

  The man blinked several times as he looked behind Stavin. He seemed to be realizing for the first time that every driver was in armor. “What house do you represent?” he asked cautiously. Armed and armored men could be dangerous.

  Stavin grimaced. Damn! “Forgive me, I should have introduced myself. I am Master Trader Stavin of the Evandian House of Kel’Aniston.” Stavin touched the dragon on his vest as he gave the man a half bow from his seat.

  “I ask your forgiveness in return, Master Stavin, for I’ve never heard of your House.” The man bowed, but not all the way.

  “I founded it last year. The grain merchants?” Stavin prompted.

  The man almost shook himself, then looked around. “Master Stavin, the grain merchants are all located along Emperor Zel’Borkanal Way.” He pointed up a road to the right.

  Stavin bowed minimally from the seat of his wagon and said, “Thank you.” He flipped his reins and guided the mules toward the indicated street. Think, Stavin! Of course they’ve never heard of you or your House. They probably haven’t heard of Friend Stavin, either! Then his sense of the ridiculous exerted itself and he chuckled softly. Wouldn’t matter here anyway.

  Six merchant houses showed the bundled sheaves of the Grain Merchants, and Stavin pulled to a stop in front of the second one. It had a familiar name: Zel’Vandar. Charvil followed him into the warehouse office while the rest of the warriors stayed with the wagons. Inside, Stavin and Charvil were greeted by a prosperous-looking man in the ubiquitous vest of a Master Trader.

  “Ah, good Master Trader. What can I do for you?” he asked, smiling down at Stavin but keeping one eye on Charvil.

  Stavin bowed slightly. “I am Master Trader Stavin of the Evandian House of Kel’Aniston. I’m seeking a supply of assorted grains and beans.”

  “I’ve never heard of your house before, Master Stavin. I am Master Trader Doran, of the Zel’Vandar Trading House. How much grain are you seeking, and of what kinds?”

  Stavin bowed again. “I just founded the House last year. We are seeking one hundred bags each of wheat, rye, and barley, and two hundred of beans.”

  The trader was nodding thoughtfully as he said, “A substantial shipment, Master Stavin.” The trader looked past Stavin to the wagons outside. “I see you have your own wagons. Very well, for such a large supply this early in the year, I must ask for seventy gold crowns.”

  Stavin settled into the game of bargaining, applying the lessons that Sahren, Kethlan, and Rahlina had taught him. He and Master Doran traded bids and counter-bids, each seeking to out-do the other in the ancient game of haggling. Three spans passed before an agreement was reached, and they clasped forearms.

  “Fifteen gold crowns it is,” Master Doran said, shaking his head. “You are a very talented trader, Master Stavin.”

  Stavin smiled and chuckled a little. “If I was very talented I would have gotten you down farther. Where do we take the wagons?”

  “I’ll accompany you,” Master Doran said, and joined Stavin on the lead wagon. He guided them down the street and around a corner, then back up another street to the back of the warehouse. Ten men were waiting for them.

  “Begin loading the wagons,” Master Doran said as he climbe
d from the seat of Stavin’s wagon directly onto a platform. “One hundred bags each of wheat, rye, and barley, and two hundred of beans.” Turning back to Stavin, he indicated the back of the wagon. “Count with me, if you will, Master Stavin.”

  Each driver counted the load that was placed on his wagon, turning to bow to Charvil when their load was complete. When the warehouse workers were done, Stavin accepted the town’s purse from Charvil and laid out fifteen gold Farindian crowns. They were slightly smaller than the Evandian crowns he had earned in the south, and he felt very good about the bargain he’d made.

  Once the wagons were loaded and the payment made, tarps that had been folded over the wagon seats were spread out and lashed down to protect the grain. Master Doran got Stavin’s attention while the ropes were being tied.

  “Your pardon, Master Stavin, but why are all of your wagons being driven by warriors?” he asked in a puzzled tone.

  Stavin looked at him in silence for a moment, then replied, “We are from Kavinston in the Kel’Kavin valley. Every man of our people is a warrior.”

  “This is the Kavinston shipment?” Master Doran asked in a breathy whisper as he stared wide-eyed at the nearly legendary Royal Guards.

  “It is,” Stavin agreed with a bow.

  Master Doran was visibly confused. “But I thought--your House is in Evandia. How is it that you are from Kel’Kavin?”

  “I founded my House last year when I was working as a guard for the caravan led by Sahren Kel’Vandar, of the Kavadian House of Zel’Vandar.” He paused to smile as Trader Doran took a step back as his expression turned to one of surprise. “Master Trader Sahren and the other two masters with the caravan were killed, and I founded my House so I could bring them home.”

  Master Trader Doran shook his head slowly. “We heard a rumor, but no one believed it.” He looked at the armored men by each of the wagons. “A minstrel was spreading the story through the winter. We aren’t affiliated with the Kavadian Zel’Vandars. We just share a common ancestor somewhere along the line. But there are going to be some very upset men when they find out that you are taking this shipment.”

  “Not nearly as upset as I am,” Charvil said from behind Stavin’s shoulder. “This same shipment last year cost us fifty-one crowns.”

  Master Trader Doran looked at Charvil and swallowed convulsively. “You have to include shipping,” he almost whispered.

  Charvil glared for a moment, then shifted his attention to Stavin. “We should be going.”

  “Yes, Sir,” Stavin snapped. He nodded to Master Doran, then all but leaped onto his wagon. All of the drivers had taken their seats, and Stavin led the way back to the caravansary. Stavin paid the five silver crowns to park in the caravansary, and they pulled the wagons into a tight square. Once their wagons were parked and the teams seen to, Charvil called his men together.

  “It would seem that Stavin is even more valuable to us than we thought. He got our shipment at less than half the usual price. Jorvan, take Stoval and Ander with you to get whatever it is you needed. I’d like to hit the road first thing tomorrow.”

  The warriors set an unusual camp for the caravansary. Two tents were set up at each corner of the squared wagons, and Stavin and Charvil set their tents in the center of the sides facing the fences. That was the most likely direction for someone to try and sneak into their wagons.

  Jorvan and the others returned after a short time with several large boxes, and added them to the loads on their wagons. Once all of them were present, Charvil gave his orders.

  “We’ll patrol four and four. Corner pairs will change off at midnight. Stavin, go see if you can get an inn to deliver us some good food. I swear, out of the ten of us I would have thought at least one man would know how to cook.” There was some chuckling, but no argument, from the others. It was hard to mess up boiled beans, but they had managed a time or two on the trip down.

  “I’ll go with him,” Darak Kel’Norlan said, receiving a nod from Charvil. As a Warleader Third, Darak was second in command of their little team.

  Stavin and Darak walked out of the gate and immediately spotted an inn with a sign advertising that they catered to the Traders parked in the caravansary. It was a simple matter to arrange for ten meals to be delivered for just two silver crowns, and Stavin added two silver crowns of his own to get the morning meal delivered as well. He and Darak were walking past another inn when an altercation broke out.

  A sturdy teenage girl in a blue dress scrambled down the steps of the inn, seeming desperate to escape the man behind her. She reached the road and started running, but the man threw a heavy clay mug and knocked her from her feet. She sprawled face down in the dirt of the road, and the man was on her in an instant.

  “I’ll teach you to tell me no, you little slut!” he almost shouted.

  “No! Please, no!” the girl cried as he rolled her over. She held up her hands, but the man punched her in the face anyway. “You swore you’d take care of me! You swore!” The man drew his hand back for a second punch, but froze when a cubit of brightly shining steel appeared in front of his eyes.

  “Stand up and back away,” Stavin commanded.

  “This is no business of yours,” the man snarled, keeping his eyes focused on the huge knife that was just inches from his face. He didn’t move otherwise, and kept hold of the girl’s dress.

  “Perhaps not, but that’s never stopped me before,” Stavin said in a soft voice.

  Darak was just behind Stavin’s shoulder and asked, “Who is this girl?” in a strong, angry voice.

  The man shifted his gaze to Darak, but if he hoped someone was interceding on his behalf, he quickly realized that the big man in armor was not. “A foundling, nothing more. No business of yours, Warrior.”

  “You’re my uncle,” the girl whimpered. “You shouldn’t do those things to me.”

  Stavin’s hand hadn’t wavered at all up to this point, but now he shook with rage. He snarled, “What have you been doing to her?”

  “Nothing! I--”

  “He raped me!” the girl cried. “He’s been forcing me since my aunt died at mid winter.”

  “She’s your blood--” Stavin began, but the man interrupted him.

  “She’s no kin of mine! She’s my wife’s niece. There’s no blood between--”

  “It’s still incest,” Darak growled, silencing the man.

  “What’s going on here?” a loud voice demanded, and a big man in rich clothing forced his way to the front of the crowd. He demanded, “What’s the trouble here?” as he hooked his thumbs in his belt.

  Several people began shouting explanations all at once, but the man was focusing his attention on Stavin. “By what right do you hold this man at sword point?” he asked as he moved into Stavin’s field of view.

  “By Right of Justice, under the Code of the Warrior,” Stavin answered without moving his eyes or his big knife.

  The newcomer tilted his head to the side. “Name yourself.”

  “Stavin, of House Kel’Aniston, Warleader Fifth of Kel’Kavin.” Whispers ran through the crowd as the words “Royal Guardsmen” were repeated over and over.

  The man shifted his gaze to Darak, but seemed unsure of himself now. “And you?”

  “Darak, of House Kel’Norlan, Warleader Third of Kel’Kavin.”

  The man swallowed convulsively and bobbed his head in a minimal bow. “Do you claim Right of Justice against Innkeeper Gorlav?”

  Stavin answered. “I do. The girl claims she is his niece, and he has been forcing her to have sex with him since mid winter.”

  “She’s not my--”

  “Silence!” Stavin snapped, moving the blade a hair closer to the innkeeper’s eyes.

  Darak looked at the man who had been questioning them and asked his own question. “Who are you?”

  The man looked startled, then bowed his head. “I am Chardin, of House Fel’Junval.”

  “What is your position?” Darak asked, watching the man closely.

>   “I am third assistant to the caravansary manager.”

  “And your interest in this man?”

  The man looked at the innkeeper and said, “He’s my cousin.”

  Stavin asked, “And the girl?”

  “His sister-in-law’s daughter. They are not blood kin.”

  “By kin-law,” Stavin said, keeping his focus on the innkeeper, “they are.”

  “Not by our law, Guardsman. Not by the laws of Kahrant’s Pass.”

  Stavin’s eyes narrowed as he looked at the innkeeper and motioned with his sword. “Stand up,” he commanded. When the innkeeper was standing, Stavin looked at the girl and asked, “How old are you?”

  “Fourteen this spring, Sir,” she answered timidly, remaining on the ground.

  “Do you have any experience taking care of babies?”

  The girl looked puzzled, but answered, “Yes, Sir. I was oldest of six.”

  Stavin nodded and sheathed his knife. “I would like to hire you to help my wife with our baby.”

  “Now just a moment,” the innkeeper said loudly, drawing Stavin’s attention again. “She’s my property, not a freeman to be hired.”

  Stavin looked at him, then at the girl, then back at the innkeeper. “Name a price, but don’t try my patience. Anger me and I’ll pay you with steel.”

  The innkeeper swallowed and looked at his cousin for help, but there was no help there. “Five gold crowns,” he snapped, but when Stavin’s hand fell on the hilt of the big knife again, he quickly changed his price. “One! One gold crown.”

  Stavin pulled out his pouch and drew out a gold Kavadian crown, holding it up for everyone to see, then let it roll off the back of his hand to fall in the dust at his feet. He held out his hand to the girl and said, “Come with me.” She glanced at her uncle, then scrambled to her feet and took Stavin’s hand as she stepped forward to his side. Stavin kept her beside him on the walk back to the caravansary, and Darak followed a step behind them. The sound was faint, but Stavin was certain Darak was laughing at his back.