by Rex Jameson
But the Vossens had resisted Mallory marriages for centuries. Julian believed they would never relent; that the Vossens somehow knew of the cancer within the Mallory family. Maybe they had heard the rumors about his mother falling out of favor with his father, and Jaynah’s mother a year before that. They had likely heard rumors of the liberties his father Janus had taken with some of the local nobles, women who only too gladly left their husbands for a weekend. Perhaps the Vossens even knew what Julian and Jayna had been doing all these years—that the scion of the Mallory line was in his sister’s room right now.
She kissed him, and the world began to spin. She pulled him by the buttocks toward the bed, and he went only too willingly. Any memory of his nightmares was gone. There was only his lust and their chemistry.
“Quiet,” she reminded him in his ear.
“I’m not the one who makes noises,” he said.
She smiled and he breathed deeply, filling his nose with her natural musk that dulled his mind like she was the strongest alcohol in existence.
“Then help me, brother,” she said as she grabbed his hand and brought it to her mouth. She gently bit his palm and pressed it against her face.
He left her room an hour or two later, but in the darkness, after they had both been spent multiple times, they cuddled and spoke of a world they knew would never exist. It was her dream, but it was one that they both shared. She lived in a house on the sea where she could live apart from her father. Two sons and a daughter played near a warm hearth.
Every night, in this dream, she lay the entire night on her crimson sheets nestled onto the chest of her beloved. He always squeezed her when she finished her story there, and then closed his eyes until the afterglow of his lover’s dream and the warmth of her body against him washed away his worries. Then he left her bed like a thief in the night and hoped that the memory of her warmth was enough to get him through his terrors.
That night was no different. He hoped their liaison might calm his mind and help him forget. But the memory of her warmth was not enough to keep the screams of the villagers in Perketh out of his nightmares.
8
Lord Vossen’s Response
Lord Edward Vossen rubbed the bald patch on the top of his head as he sat forward in his wolf-hide leather chair, listening intently. He looked to his tall, armor-clad, brown-bearded son Jeremy frequently as the lanky man before him tumbled over each word, weaving a fantastical tale of banditry, necromancy, and treachery from his neighbor Lord Mallory.
“I mean no offense, Milord,” the man with the matted brown hair croaked. “I was paid by Lord Mallory to raid your caravans. To kill your men. Honest. He paid, and I did the work.”
The elder Vossen nodded. “And you stopped because an undead man killed your friends?”
“I tell you… the thing was unnatural!” the man stammered. “I put three arrows into him. Three arrows!”
“Perhaps you missed,” Jeremy said from his rigid stance beside his father.
“I never miss!” the man said. “The arrows were sticking out of his chest. They call me the Archer. Perhaps you’ve heard of me? I’m a legend in the eastern wood!”
“Sure, you are,” Jeremy said.
For the briefest moment, the man eyed the young lord dangerously, but the look was gone in seconds. He must have remembered why he was here—that he was begging Lord Vossen for protection from the necromancer and the retribution of Lord Mallory for leaving his post along the roads and forests.
“I’ve never seen a necromancer,” Edward said, “never even heard of one outside of old fables.”
“That’s because they don’t exist,” Jeremy said.
“Two arrows were in the man’s heart,” the Archer said. “I tell you I never miss!”
“Perhaps he had armor,” Jeremy said.
“Perhaps he died of his wounds later,” Edward said.
The Archer shook his head. “He was completely unfazed by them. Lifted a boulder above him and smashed it through my friend’s head, down through his shoulder blades. I’ve never seen anything like it. I’ve seen death… I’ve seen horrors… I’ve committed…”
Lord Edward raised his large eyebrows, waiting for the man to finish—to admit that some of those atrocities had been against Edward’s own men.
“I’m done with that life now,” the Archer said.
“Then what use do I have of you?” Lord Edward asked. “What possible purpose would I have of a mangy bandit in my keep? You want me to put you up in one of my kennels so you can lounge around with my dogs?”
“He has the smell of them,” Jeremy said. “They’d probably assume he was one of them.”
The Archer fretted with a bent old cap between his hands.
“There’d be upkeep for me though,” Edward said. “I’d have to feed another mongrel.”
“I could earn my keep,” the Archer said earnestly. “I can hunt for you. I can hit a bird from a hundred paces.”
“I don’t need birds,” Edward said, “and I have my own huntsmen. Are you saying my huntsmen are deficient?”
“N-n-n-o, Milord,” the Archer said, bowing and nearly falling all over himself. “I mean how would I know? I only mean to be of service. I could chop wood.”
“I have my own woodcutters.”
“Can you sing?” Jeremy asked with a smirk on his face.
The Archer panicked as he massaged his throat. Edward thought he might try to belt out a tune, but the man shook his head instead.
“Then what good are you?” Jeremy asked, unsheathing his sword with a twang and marching so quickly toward the man that this Archer character fell over in fear.
“Please!” the Archer begged. “I’ll do whatever you want! Just don’t send me back into the eastern wood!”
Lord Edward rubbed his head, thinking of his options. The King had paid off the ransom to Lord Mallory, and Edward expected the banditry of his tax payments to Eldenwald to cease immediately. He wondered if this entreaty was just another Mallory trick. He fumed inwardly, seething at Mallory’s games and the way he had manipulated Edward’s defense of the southern border from orcish incursion.
He wanted to repay the treachery on Lord Mallory with something big—something that would teach Mallory to never play another game with him or his family again. Where Mallory had used small parties of bandits, Edward would send a much larger force to teach a bigger lesson. He couldn’t send an army of knights, pikemen, and archers because King Eldenwald would undoubtedly interfere to keep the peace. He needed an army, but one that could not be so easily traced to himself. What he needed was an army of derelicts. Bandits. Archers.
“I have something for you,” Edward said, “a task for which I believe your history and talents are more suited to than chopping wood or lying with dogs.”
“Milord?” the Archer asked.
“Your friends that were killed. I assume they weren’t your only friends.”
The Archer shrugged, oblivious.
“You have other friends somewhere,” Edward said, “other bandits that you can pass orders to.”
“Bandits aren’t very good at following orders,” the Archer said. “I mean no offense, Milord, but we vagrants are defined by a sort of rebellious spirit…”
“Payments then,” Edward said. “Other bandits that you can pass payments to…”
“Aye,” the Archer said. “Coin’ll move ‘em.”
“How many such friends do you have?” Jeremy asked.
Edward smiled at the thought of how effortlessly his son understood him. He was proud.
“How much money do you plan on passing out?” the Archer asked. “I’ve noticed that the more money I have, the more friends I tend to gather.”
“Friends are like that,” Edward agreed. “I’m looking for about 500 friends.”
“That’s not a group of friends,” the Archer said, still not completely catching on or maybe just acting more shrewdly than was necessary. “That’s an army.”
“Indeed,” Edward said. “I need an army. Loyal to me but not bannered. Willing to do what needs to be done.”
“Done to what?” the Archer asked.
“Not what,” Jeremy said, “to whom.”
Edward continued smiling under his hands as he nodded to his son.
“You’ll have food,” Edward said. “You’ll find shelter if you need to fall back to my lands. You’ll lead your men to each town—”
“Milord,” the Archer interrupted. “I’m afraid I’m not much of a leader. I can spread the word, as discreetly as I can. I think I can get the men, but keeping them in line is not… how I work, I guess. I tend to stick to a plan, string up my bow, and aim it at what needs shooting.”
Edward nodded in understanding. He needed someone he could trust to lead these vagabonds anyway—someone to keep the pillaging and raping in check enough to keep the King out of his business. He folded his arms across his blue doublet and looked at his son. Jeremy nodded.
“You can’t wear your armor,” Edward said.
“I know,” Jeremy replied.
“No one can recognize you.”
“I’ll keep my distance,” Jeremy promised. “If Lord Mallory sees me up close, he’ll know me. He has sought me out at parties, asked me if I favor his daughter.”
Edward guffawed. “That chance!”
“Nonetheless,” Jeremy said, “I could paint my face, keep my helmet on and remove my colors.”
“You don’t have to be out front,” Edward reminded him. “Perhaps you should bring someone you trust, someone who can keep you out of the limelight and advise you. We could delay a couple of days for you to seek out Freddie in the capital.”
“He’s a black-and-white kind of guy,” Jeremy said. “He’d be more likely to report us than help us. Besides, he’s on a secret assignment.”
“Secret assignment?” Edward asked. “What secret assignment?”
“He was recently promoted. The King sent him on a mission.”
“Ah,” Lord Edward said, “probably scouting the Southern Peaks for orcish incursions. He’s always been the type to seek out adventures. Well, you know what to do. If someone notices you, kill them. This isn’t something a Vossen can be found doing.”
“I understand,” Jeremy said, grunting in acknowledgement. “Bribery would only last so long. A loose tongue must be cut out.”
Edward nodded in agreement and smiled at the Archer, who appeared to grasp the implications all too well. It wasn’t his son Jeremy’s style to not lead the charges, but this incursion was not the stuff of songs and legends. Whoever led this raid would be known in infamy. His son must be anonymous and only leading from the shadows. The evil must be named elsewhere. The Devil’s Archer, perhaps.
“I want every town between our keep and Mallory’s burned to the ground. I want you to take this Archer’s friends to the very gates of Mallory’s base of power, and I want you to burn an image of our might into that land’s memory.”
“But Milord,” Archer said. “Mallory is a malicious man. He is unlikely to learn a lesson from you killing his subjects.”
“The lesson is not just for Mallory,” Jeremy said. “It’s for the commoners. If such actions happen again, it will not be a Mallory that suffers. It will be the families of the bandits. It will be the families of everyone who knew the bandits.”
“You will pillage your countrymen,” Edward said to the Archer. “You will sow fear. You will rape. You will murder. In short, you will do those many things to which you have grown accustomed.”
“But I—”
“And if you don’t,” Edward said, “or if any harm comes to my son after he steps foot in Mallory’s lands, I will bring down the wrath of the titans on everyone you’ve ever known. You will feel my wrath. Your family will be wiped from existence. Everyone who has ever met your family will taste their own blood in their mouths.”
“Yes, Milord.”
“It will be done,” Jeremy agreed.
“And…” the Archer said squeakily, “we’ll be paid?”
Lord Vossen let out a hearty laugh. “Take this man to the treasury. See that he gets his purse filled. And hand him as many purses as he needs to pay his friends.”
Jeremy nodded. He started to walk out but Edward grabbed him by his vambrace.
“Make sure Lord Mallory gets my lesson,” Edward said. “Janus plays with toy soldiers. We play with armies.”
Jeremy walked through the door from the main admittance hall. The haggard Archer followed him, bowing to Edward and offering his thanks and praise.
Edward placed his chin against his fist and imagined a fire that stretched from his property line all the way to Mallory Keep. He smiled widely and genuinely before closing his eyes and leaning back into the wolf-hide leather chair.
9
The Bandit Incursion
Frederick Ross rode on a prized white steed, a gift from his father Godfrey after being promoted to Captain—the third captain in the Ross family in the past three generations. Along with the war stallion, he had been given a new set of steel armor with curved armaments meant to deflect most long arrows that glanced and didn’t hit center mass. He wore a high white plume of feathers, in the style of his family, and his visor was up, revealing his manicured goatee with long mustache flare-out and strands of blond hair.
Frederick was on loan to Lord Mallory from the capital, a part of the payment provided to end the hostilities between Vossen and Mallory over travel costs in the last orcish incursion. Frederick had only been promoted to Captain a few months prior, and Godfrey had been immensely proud. A feast had been held in his son Frederick’s honor, and his father embarrassed him with accolades and boasts that his eldest son would outdo even the storied history of Lord General Godfrey Ross, hero of multiple orcish aggressions.
In truth, Frederick had only excelled in administrative and training tasks in the military so far, earning top marks for the small but effective ways he had managed his assignments. He was eager to prove to his father and the world that these accolades might be in some small way true. He eagerly yearned for battle, outside of the relative safety of tournaments, in which he was a champion several times over.
When news broke out in the Mallory Keep that a bandit force had begun pillaging the western border of the Mallory territory, Frederick had volunteered and suggested a small reconnaissance force. The men he led were mostly Mallory regulars in chain mail, all personally vouched for by the Mallory master at arms. Nine men, not counting himself, and all accomplished horse riders. Two archers brought up the rear, and he led from the front, like his father.
As he rode atop a hill south of Perketh, near Dona, a small column of smoke could be seen rising from the west. He stopped his horse Lightning and waited for his men to catch up.
“You think it’s them?” a knight named Simon asked.
Frederick nodded as he surveilled the field ahead of them. If they moved straight toward the smoke, they were a bit exposed on the approach to the wood. He pointed along the backside of the hill and waved his hand in a 90 degree angle indicating the group should enter the wood along the crest and work their way through the forest. Simon nodded and passed the order down the line.
Frederick again led the way at a canter, eyeing the forest warily. Birds chirped and the breeze carried the smell of charred timber to them. He lowered his visor, ready for combat. He checked behind him and found the others in varying degrees of preparedness.
“Take this seriously,” Frederick commanded. “We have reports that there are dozens of bandits working together.”
“Sir,” an archer said, “we go into these woods and we’ll have little to no warning if we encounter anyone in mass.”
“Agreed,” he replied, “but if we go across that field, we could be walking into a hail of arrows. I’m the best armored here, but if I move against 20 arrows, I’m more likely to meet one that finds me disagreeable. Besides, I like my horse.”
The men chuckle
d.
“Bandit groups are usually small,” Simon said from the Captain’s right. “I’ve never seen more than five or six at a time. I’ve never heard of anything like this ever happening before. Bandits don’t just form militias.”
“They have some claim against Lord Mallory,” Frederick said. “The word we have from scouts is they call themselves the Red Army. I’ve heard they have a red flag and fashion themselves with red sashes.”
“What do you think they want?” Simon asked.
“What does any bandit want?” Frederick answered rhetorically. “Your sack of gold, your food and whatever else you might have on you. Maybe your life.”
“Sure,” Simon said, “but bandits don’t need an army for that. They’re opportunists. They rely on the element of surprise. What do they want? This doesn’t add up.”
“Perhaps if you come across one, you can ask him…”
Simon chuckled.
As they worked their way slowly along the tree line, Frederick noticed movement in the grove ahead. He motioned for his two archers and Simon to accompany him while the other six men guarded the horses. He moved cautiously with his well-oiled gear along the bare ground and grass where possible, avoiding leaves whenever he could. Ahead, a small commotion rose from two men encamped at the edge of the small forest outside of Perketh.
“You think Mallory will send anyone?” a man asked his companion. Between both of them were two bows and quivers of arrows leaning against a massive, tall maple tree.
“Eventually,” the brown-haired companion said. “The boss man says we should expect a few scout parties first.”
“You mean knights?”
“Maybe,” the companion said.
