by Brad Clark
The crowd quickly dispersed, but the whispers continued. Lord Martin was left alone, fuming with embarrassment and anger.
The moment they were in the castle behind closed doors, Elissa turned to Marik and grabbed him by the shoulders. Her eyes were wide and hopeful.
“Did you find him?” she asked.
“We need to talk about Lord Martin,” Marik said. “He could be a problem.”
Tears were in her eyes, but she held them back. “Where is Conner?”
Marik slowly shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said softly.
At first disappointment flashed on her face as her heart sank at the thought of him far away and alone. But then realization struck her as she recognized the true meaning of the sadness of Marik’s face. The shaking of the head was not because he had not been found, but because he had been.
She could not hold them back any longer and the tears fell down her cheeks and her lip quivered. There were no more words to say. Marik put his hands on her shoulders and squeezed gently. With her cheeks stained, she took a deep breath and gave Marik a slight nod. Then she turned and walked briskly to her apartments to grieve alone.
***
Berrien watched from the dark shadows near the stables. Lord Martin had performed exactly as expected, but the end result and certainly had surprised him. Queen Elissa was described to him as being barely older than a child, who was emotional and incapable of making a hard decision. For days he had built up Lord Martin’s confidence to confront the queen, to challenge her authority. With each conversation, Lord Martin’s arrogance and pompousness grew, until he firmly believed that he was more capable of ruling the kingdom than the queen.
A coup would have been only days away. Once Lord Martin’s authority had been established and he had called the knights back together, the rest of the soldiers would follow. And with the soldiers behind Lord Martin, the people would be as well. With Lord Martin in place on the throne as King Martin, Berrien would have been able to do what his old friend Hibold could not: put a puppet upon the throne of Karmon. If had been able to do that, he would have returned to the empire as a hero, and he would never have to leave Tara City again. He would have been able to spend the rest of his life living in luxury, enjoying the depravity of the empire.
But Lord Martin’s true self was left on the ground of the courtyard in a puddle. Queen Elissa had proved herself to be much more courageous than expected. Drawing the sword had been sheer genius. It had proved her own power and given light to Lord Martin’s cowardice. The plump man would likely lose his lordship and would return back to his estate in shame. If he had an ounce of honor, he would take his own life. But he doubted that would happen.
Berrien slipped away through the stables and took the back halls to his chambers. He could no longer be associated with Lord Martin, as his fall from power was quick and sure. Doubt was starting to seep into his thoughts as he faced failure for the first time. He had been so sure that he could maneuver Lord Martin onto the throne that he had not even thought about other options. The thought of success had been so powerful; the thought of failure was never considered.
As soon as he stepped into their living quarters, Peter stood up, expecting good news. “Well? How did it go?”
Berrien shook his head and walked over to the fire two warm himself. “Not well. Lord Martin ended up being a bigger coward than I expected. He did and said exactly what we had discussed, but the queen drew a sword on him and he folded.”
“She drew a sword on him?” Peter asked with a chuckle.
Berrien, despite the failure, let a smile come out. “Yeah, it was actually a sight to see. He was so afraid, he stained himself.”
Peter let out a burst of laughter.
As the two of them were laughing in hysterics, the door burst open and Lord Martin rushed in, slamming the door behind him.
“You!” Lord Martin spat out. His face with filled with rage. “How could I have listened to you!”
Berrien, his laughter still on his lips, replied, “What are you talking about?”
“You did this to me! You convinced me to go against the queen! And now look at me, I have been embarrassed and I am disgraced.” He stalked around the chamber, mumbling to himself. “How could I have listened to you?”
Berrien shrugged his shoulders and gave a surprised look. “I do not understand what you are saying? Are you saying that I convinced you to betray your queen?”
Lord Martin stopped in his tracks. “Do not play me the fool.”
“I fear that is too late!” Peter burst out and continued his laugh.
“Enough, Peter,” Berrien said. He wanted to laugh himself, but he had other ideas. “Leave us, now.”
Peter did not move.
“Now!” Berrien said with more force in his tone. “Leave us.”
Peter opened his mouth to protest, but he knew his place in this charade. Without another word, he left the chamber.
With Peter gone, Berrien strolled over to a table that held a large pitcher of wine. He poured two goblets, handing one to Lord Martin. “Drink up, it will relax your mind.”
“Relax?” Lord Martin cried out. “I have insulted the queen. She has probably already sent out her guards to look for me and arrest me!”
Berrien set himself down in one of the chamber’s plush chairs. “Relax, Lord Martin. It is not as bad as it seems.”
Although he said the words, he was not sure that he believed them himself. He had hoped that Lord Martin would have just gone away, but now that he was here, maybe their fates were going to be intertwined. Many of the courtiers, including that weasel of man Denlin knew that Berrien and Lord Martin had met often in the past few days. He could not stay in the castle if Lord Martin was not here, so if he wanted to continue living in the warmth of the chamber, he would have to come up with a new plan.
Lord Martin plopped himself down on another chair and took a big gulp of wine from his goblet. “What now?”
“It’s simple,” Berrien said. “You beg for forgiveness.”
“She drew a sword on me and threatened to kill me!”
Berrien chuckled. “It was an overly dramatic show, but she was simply asserting her authority. Now that your roles have been established, you must beg your way back into her good graces. It is the only way for you to save your kingdom.”
Lord Martin narrowed his eyes. “Just yesterday you said the only way to save the kingdom was for me to be upon the throne.”
Berrien took a sip from his goblet. Indeed, he had said that. “But times change. Circumstances change. Do you want the kingdom to survive, or not?”
“Of course I do.”
“Then we must do it from inside. And you cannot save it if you are not involved in the decision making process.”
“You think she’ll have me anywhere near her after that scene?”
“It depends upon on how well you beg and plead your case.”
“She probably is already searching the castle right now for me. To arrest me.”
“Likely not. Give her time, though. In the morning her emotions will have run its course and you will be able to plead your case. You will ask for forgiveness and she will give it to you.”
“And if she does not?”
“You are still a powerful figure in the kingdom. Others will likely be speaking for you already. I am sure she will listen to your apologies and explanations. You will tell her you were simply overwhelmed by her absence and you spoke out of turn.”
“And you think she’ll believe me?”
Berrien was truly not so sure, but he had to let this plan play out. If Lord Martin was cast out, or worse yet arrested for treason, he would be right beside him. Unless of course, he was not in the city at the time. As soon as Lord Martin left, he would have Peter ensure they had a way to quickly escape the castle and the city if their plans went bad.
“Of course she’ll believe you,” Berrien said. Berrien watched Lord Martin as he brooded in silence, thankful th
at he had been able to find a cowardly puppet that he could control and manipulate. There was no telling how far he could go with Lord Martin in his pocket.
Lord Martin finished his goblet in silence, mired in his own thoughts. He had almost thrown his entire career, and maybe his life, away. But Berrien was right, Queen Elissa would accept his apology and he would quickly get back in her good graces. She was a young and emotional woman who would surely see the error of her actions once she had time to reflect upon it. He looked up at Berrien, thankful that the Taran dignitary had shown up just at the right time. They needed to maintain a friendly relationship with the empire in order to keep their high standard of living. A Taran adversary would not be good for the kingdom. He just hoped that Queen Elissa clearly understood that.
Lord Martin, having caught Berrien’s eye, raised his goblet and said, “To peace.”
Berrien lifted his own goblet and repeated, “To peace.”
Chapter Twelve
Sergeant Farrus strode through the open door of the barracks in only a nightshirt. The scent of death hung heavy in the air and mixed dangerously with silence from his men. There was no mourning, as these were soldiers who were numb to death. Some felt a slight sense of relief that they were on night watch, or were home with their families. But all were furious at the slaughter of their brothers-in-arms. With no proper outlet for their anger, they could only stomp around, cursing and muttering under their breath. There were no enemies to assault and mutilate, only the cold morning sun that was slowly rising in the east.
He walked among the dead, looking at each one, making sure that none truly survived. Their execution was performed perfectly. The only solace that he could take from looking at the dead was that their deaths were quick and painless. Not one appeared to fight back. Each had a single dagger thrust directly through their heart, killing them instantly. Most men who died in battle did so anguishing from mortal wounds, waiting to bleed out or for their bodies to fail. Some died with mercy. A quick head strike or an arrow through the heart. At least this wasn’t a merciless slaughter. To that end, their executioners would get the same treatment. His men wouldn’t like it, but it was the way of the soldier. Well, at least after he was able to get answers out of them.
After taking the time to touch the forehead of each young man who had died under his command, he walked out into the fresh morning snow. The mayor of Iseron was waiting for him, surrounded by a motley crew of his mercenary guards. Normally, the protection of the city fell under the watchful eye of the local garrison, but the mayor was clearly not taking any chances today. With the rumor of the deaths of soldiers having quickly spread to the city, the mayor made sure that he was fully protected from whatever threat existed.
“Paulson,” Farrus said with a nod.
“Where is Commander Roland?” the mayor asked stiffly.
“He has gone east with the army. In fact, he left some weeks ago. I have been given command of the garrison.”
The mayor chuckled. “You?”
“Is that a problem?”
With laughter still in his eyes, the mayor replied, “Of course not. I had not known the empire was so short of worthy officers that they would have to resort to giving command to a sergeant.”
Farrus’ anger was already at the boiling point because seventeen of his men were executed in their sleep. The last thing he needed right now was this pompous mayor insulting him. He had been serving as a centurion for nineteen years, the last three as second-in-command of the Iseron garrison. In those three years, twelve Commanders had come and gone as they were moved up through the ranks. Iseron might be a lowly stepping stone for officers of the army, but it was his home. He was not the ultimate authority or decision maker, but he pretty much ran things within the walls of the garrison. It was a cushy job where the only battle action he saw was out on patrol looking for bandits. Until today.
The only thing that saved his career and the mayor’s life were those nineteen years of service. He held his military bearing and kept his mouth shut while he looked over Paulson more closely. At one time he had been a strong man and the way he stood still showed off muscle he had earned during his youth. But age and circumstance had softened him in many ways. The mayor held power and sway in this little corner of the empire, so he couldn’t treat him as he would a first year soldier. But he was also not in his chain-of-command, so he didn’t have to answer to him, either.
“So, what are you to do about this, Sergeant?” the mayor asked when Farrus did not react to his insult.
“I will bury my dead,” Farrus replied stoically. “That is what I will do.”
“You will not chase after them?”
“Not today.”
“Well, that’s what Commander Roland would do. With a proper commander in charge, your men would already be combing the forest for your killers. I would suggest that you just do that, although it might be too late.”
“Half our numbers have already been taken to march east, for the gods only know why. That left me with only a skeleton force to provide your city with peace and protection. If I were to chase after these murderers, I would only weaken our already weak force. It is my sworn duty to protect this city and its inhabitants, and I will continue to do that with whatever force is here. As it is, I will be unable to continue patrols into the forest to keep the bandits at bay. Once they figure out they have free run of the forest, travel will become dangerous. I have already sent a messenger to Tara City to request another three companies of men. But with the army on the move, I doubt my message will be answered any time soon.”
“Then if you will not do your duty, I will send my men out to find these killers.”
Farrus turned and spat on the ground. “Your men are cowards. Scum of the earth. I respect the bandits of the forest more than your filth. If your men come upon these killers, they will not survive.”
Paulson looked over his men, who had started to fidget at being insulted. He snapped back, “I have these ten and fifty more, ready to join the search for the murderers. We will find them and march them back here with their heads on our pikes. We’ll show your men who the real soldiers are!”
“Fine,” Farrus said with a wave. “You do as you will. You can have your men chase after the ghosts. I have soldiers to bury.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Paulson let out a grunt and left without another word with his men.
The cold suddenly hit him, causing him to cross his arms across his chest. He stood his ground, waiting for Mayor Paulson and his mercenaries to depart. He knew most of them. Some had tried to join the ranks of the centurions, but none were deemed able-bodied candidates. Others had been bandits that were caught and given the choice of serving the mayor or being executed. Whether they were former bandits forced to serve the mayor, or they were simply not qualified to be serve as a centurion, all were unskilled, undisciplined, and dangerous to themselves and others. He was glad to see them leave and hopefully he would not come across them in the field. The last thing he needed to deal with was a ragtag group of bloodthirsty men rampaging through the woods, killing anything in sight. The mercenaries would likely just kill the murderers in the woods and then parade the dead bodies through the city, something that a civilized people could not allow. Whether they deserved it or not, he needed to find the murders alive and give them justice.
Once Paulson and his men were out of sight, Farrus walked back towards the barracks to assist the burial. Two centurions were standing directly in front the barrack’s entrance. One was properly dressed in leather armor and a long red cloak. His face had been freshly shaved and his hair was neatly combed back. The other was a disheveled mess. He was dirty and smelled of bodily fluids. His head also hung low and would not meet Farrus’ gaze.
“What is it Simon?” Farrus said to the neatly clad centurion.
“Gorman, here, was on duty last night.” Simon had a strong grip on the front of Gorman’s dirty tunic.
“Is that so?” Farrus asked, an
odd relief passing through him. Maybe he’d be able to have an outlet of his anger after all.
Gorman didn’t move or make a sound.
“I double-checked the duty roster,” Simon said. “He was supposed to be in the barracks all night.”
Farrus stepped forward, lifted his hand, and struck the back of it across Gorman’s face. Everyone within earshot heard the slap and stopped what they were doing. Gorman dropped to his knees, holding his hand to his cheek. Tears and sobs followed. Farrus’ anger grew.
“Get him up,” Farrus ordered, his words coming out slowly and between clenched teeth.
Simon pulled Gorman up, who continued to let tears fly.
Farrus’ face was inches away from Gorman’s as he spoke. “I will not allow a coward to serve under me. I will not accept dereliction of duty. Do you understand me? DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?!”
Gorman let out a whimper and said, “Yes.”
“There were three prisoners locked in a cell. How did they get out?”
“I don’t know!” Gorman cried out. He tried to drop back to his knees again, but Simon pulled him back up.
“Why do you not know? Is it because you smell of ale? Don’t lie, because you reek of it. You thought you could sneak out in the middle of the night and pass the time away by sipping on a mug or two of ale. Is that right?”
Gorman nodded his head.
“Did you see them do it? Did you see them kill each and every one of your fellow soldiers? Your brothers who would have given their lives for you in battle?”
Gorman violently shook his head. “No! No! I only saw them dead when I came back in. And then I ran! I knew I should have been dead, too. But I got scared and I ran!”
“We found him cowering behind the woodpile on the other side of the wall,” Simon said. “What do we do with him?”
“An example must be made,” Farrus replied. All anger had left him. There was no joy in punishing any of his men, even it was for cowardice. But it had to be done, not only for punishment and as a deterrent for others. He needed to make sure that his men would not lose faith in him as a leader.
