The Key To The Grave (#2 The Price Of Freedom)

by Chris Northern

  I snorted. “I bet. It's embedded in my skull. They wanted a way to track me and had another stone attuned to this one. Magically enhanced dogs had the scent of it, to hunt me if I ran.” The other stone was mine, set in a gold ring, and gods knew where that was.

  His eyes widened and he nodded. “I saw them, patron. The dogs. Just before we attacked, they came howling out of nowhere, heading for the Eyrie. They were after you?” He sounded impressed, like I'd fought them myself.

  I nodded. I didn't tell him that one of our own battle mages had set the stone in my skull and created the dogs to track me if I should escape. It didn't seem relevant any more. I didn't blame the man for doing it; he had no choice. The lich had had the last king's amulet; that magical device that made obedience second nature to any who even once obeyed its wearer; it made them deeply susceptible to suggestion; and also, I had later learned, made it impossible for anyone who had obeyed to attack the wearer. And Larner was dead now. I'd killed him. In a way I regretted it now, as the others who had been in thrall to the lich were now free and Larner could have been one of them. Instead, he was dead. Still, I think he had become deranged by his experiences, so maybe it was just as well.

  “I heard that when the Eyrie fell,” the guard interrupted my train of thought, “the stronghold had already surrendered to you, patron. Just you. Is that right?”

  I nodded absently. It was true. I'd needed a drink. The fighting was still going on, our legions pouring through the breeches in the walls. No one needed me for anything, so I'd headed back to the stronghold, the only place I knew I could get a beer. I'd told the Alendi guards at the bridge that if they wanted to live they had better place themselves under my protection; and they had believed me and done it. Looking back it seemed a little reckless. I was trying not to think about these things; had been trying for days. I took out the flask and took a good long swig. When I glanced back at the guard he was stony-faced and looking straight ahead. Suddenly I was back to being Sumto the feckless drunk. From that moment on we ignored each other.

  After a while the first guard returned in the company of his centurion, a hard bitten veteran whose kit was immaculate. He had several phalera, gold and silver disks fixed to his armor, awards for campaigns fought and won. He stopped in front of me and saluted. “Patron, you may enter. The password is bullfinch. The commander-in-chief is expecting you.”

  He was? I didn't even know who was in command of this legion, or the other for that matter. I hadn't asked and no one had seen fit to volunteer the information. I had been content to be ignored while I licked my wounds and recovered a little. Only the Gods knew why he wanted to talk to me now.

  “I'll go and see him, then,” I agreed, although it wasn't why I was here.

  The centurion saluted smartly and stepped aside, the two guards also saluted as I passed them and entered the fort. I didn't return the gesture. I wasn't part of their command chain, of any command chain. Tulian was dead and he had been my nominal superior, and there were no troops under my command. I was in a kind of no-man's land as far as rank was concerned, but considered myself a civilian. My vaunted plans for a military career had been brief, and I considered them foolish now. My political career was over before it began. Ten years' military service was normally required before holding any civic title, but with my august ancestors a mere one year would have done. I had served for about a month. When drunk I had considered that I would renounce my family and join up as an enlisted man, but that would have been stupid and I had known at the time I wouldn't do it. The fact was that I didn't want to be a part of this; I'd tried it and failed. I had an induced drinking habit that basically meant no commander would want me on his staff, and no one would want to follow me in any case, and who could blame them? The fact was, I had no idea what I was going to do, and had been trying not to think about it. I had been left alone and had pretty much wanted it that way. Now, moving through the camp, having been saluted at the gate, I was made aware of what I had lost by my failure. It was depressing.

  The commander's tent was at the centre of a cleared area in the middle of the fort, set to one side of a crossroads, each road heading for one of the four gates. I recognized the flag flying outside and so was not surprised when I entered to find a relative sitting behind the commander's table. He was reading reports and generally getting on with the business of the day, his staff busy around him. I was only glad it was not my father sitting there. That conversation might have become... awkward.

  He looked up as I entered. He was an old man, maybe fifty, but big and strong as an ox. He had a face that looked like it had never smiled and he wasn't smiling now. My Uncle Orlyan and I had never quite hit it off. Actually, none of my male relatives were much fond of me, not without some cause.

  “So, you decided to make something of yourself at last,” he greeted me.

  “Sod off, Uncle, I'm in no mood to be talked down to.”

  The corners of his mouth turned down a fraction. “It's custom to use the word sir when addressing your commander-in-chief.”

  “So it is, but you are not. Tulian was and he is now dead,” I couldn't keep the bitterness out of my voice and he picked up on it at once.

  “You blame yourself for that?”

  “It was my plan that got him killed,” I agreed. I had formed the battle plan, it was me that presented it to him. And then I had recklessly changed it at the last minute and he had died for it. The whole command apart from a handful of battle mages and healers had died for it. “It was my responsibility.”

  He snorted. “Rubbish. He was in command. His orders and his responsibility. From what I hear, it was a plan with a good chance of success. The enemy force was split into three parts. You were unlucky that the other two arrived just as you routed the first.”

  I didn't respond to that. The original plan had been to let the enemy combine and take the town of Undralt, hitting them in the rear with half their forces inside and in disarray, spread out and looting the town. That plan might have worked.

  The command staff around us continued about their business but it was clear they were listening in. My Uncle didn't let the silence last long.

  “I'm offering you a position on my command staff.”

  “I decline.”

  He grunted. “My brother said you would. In that case, there is this.” He leaned down and dragged a satchel off the floor and dumping it on the table. He pulled items out of it, one at a time. The first was a gold and silver torc that he slid across the table. I picked it up and looked at it. We use the torc as an award, specifically for a man who has challenged and killed an enemy commander on the field; the gold and silver bands twisted together indicated an act of spectacular bravery. I frowned at it as I tried to think how this thing might apply to me. The warlord of the Alendi was surely in command of the army, not Kukran Epthel. And I hadn't challenged Kukran, I'd ridden into a mass of the enemy and leapt off my horse onto the bastard's back. I turned the torc over and over in my hands, frowning at it. My Uncle seemed to sense some of my reservations.

  “The assembly of patrons has approved the award. Also there is this,” he tossed a letter across the table. “A vote of thanks from the whole assembly for your efforts in the war and a cash award of fifty thousand coin.”

  I wondered what strings my father had had to pull to make these things happen. What favors had he called in or promised? What bribes made? How much did he think I was obligated to him? Mentally, I shrugged. The deed was done, the assembly had voted me these awards and there was no way I could refuse them. I put on the torc and picked up the letter. Things had gone quiet without my noticing. Then the stillness was broken by applause from the dozen or so command staff present. It didn't last long but it seemed sincere.

  Well. I thanked them. What else could I do? The torc was a fairly rare honor and I could see that I just about deserved it, if I stood back and squinted at events from a certain angle. The letter of thanks was also not that common and the fifty thousand w
as welcome; it meant I wasn't broke.

  “As commander in chief I am also awarding you a share of the booty from this campaign,” he held up his hand to forestall my protestations. “Only an equestes share, comes to about a hundred thousand. You took part in the fighting, commanded a unit, did some damage to the enemy. You earned it. Oh,” he dragged another letter from the satchel and passed it to me. “and there is this. A letter from your father. Dismissed.”

  I saluted and left, slightly dazed. One hundred and fifty thousand. I wasn't rich. Not as these things are measured. But a hundred thousand was a knight's share, plenty enough to live in comfort if I bought a chunk of land. Of course, a patron heading up the course of honors uses money like water. And to gain a seat in the patron's assembly I'd need a million; it is the censor's job to make sure you have it, and I was way short of that. If I went that route I would still have to complete a year's military service, and I had just refused my Uncle's offer. Still, with the torc and the letter of commendation there might be other offers. I stopped thinking about it. It could wait.

  I stood outside the tent, tapping my father's letter and the letter of commendation against the palm of my hand, thinking. Then I passed them to Meran. “Where is Jocasta?”

  “This way.” He tucked the letters away and led off.

  I had known Jocasta would be here somewhere, here or in the other camp, with her brother and sister. Her sister Orelia and I had once been betrothed, until her family had broken it off due to my... well, details don't matter. Suffice it to say they did not approve of me. I wanted to speak to Jocasta but did not want to speak to the others. There would be no choice in that, though. They were there to keep an eye on her and would be doing just that. As unfinished business, I was also curious about Tahal, Orelia's current betrothed. We had met in the vaults of the Eyrie; I'd intended to rescue him; instead he had made off with a ten carat stone that would fuel the spells we had planned that he use in our escape. He hadn't done so. The last time I had caught a glimpse of him was when I had thrown Kukran into the fire; he'd been there, with my other erstwhile companions. I didn't know what had happened to him after that. I wanted to know.

  #

  It was not a happy scene.

  Not my fault. It clearly had not been a happy scene before I arrived. Urik had been reluctant to admit me when Meran had had their slave announce me. Some harsh words were exchanged, some of which I had heard. They made me smile, which made my lip crack and ooze. Nice. I'd taken the handkerchief Meran supplied and dabbed it to my lip. No more smiling.

  Urik was Jocasta's brother; a little older than I, and something of a prude in my book. He stood at the other end of the room - the pavilion was big enough to have rooms - and glowered at me. Orelia shadowed Jocasta, which was clearly annoying her no end.

  “You look a mess,” Jocasta said, coming close and looking up at me critically.

  “Thank you for that, if you hadn't told me I never would have known.” Still, I couldn't help smiling. Orelia wasn't looking at me. The floor, for some reason, was infinitely more interesting.

  “Your lip is bleeding.”

  “It happens when I smile.”

  “So stop smiling.” Her gaze flickered over my face. “You really dragged that thing into a fire, then.” She shook her head. “Didn't you think to throw him in?”

  I shrugged, winced as the cloth rode over sensitive skin. “Tried that. He climbed back out.”

  “Oh.”

  I tried to think of something else to say. There didn't seem to be much. “You look well. Recovered.”

  She did. She looked healthy, vital. Smelled good.

  She blushed and dropped her gaze.

  Can everyone read my mind? I sometimes wondered. It couldn't be my expression, not with the mess my face was in. Some people say you can read people's eyes. Maybe that was it; but I had been looking at them myself a little while earlier and I hadn't know what I had been thinking.

  She looked back up at me. “Will you be all right?”

  “You mean, will I be horribly scarred and disfigured? No, I don't think so. I haven't seen anyone since Lentro healed me, but I'm guessing... I feel as though everything is healing.”

  She reached up to touch the torc at my neck. Her sister gasped and stepped forward to pull her arm away at the same time as her brother took one step forward angrily. I wasn't carrying a weapon but my intent must have been clear because both of them stopped. So did Jocasta, just barely short of touching me. I held Urik's gaze.“We are going to marry, so I think you can relax.” My tone of voice was pretty clear – he had better relax, right now, or involuntarily lie down and rest for a bit. His eyes went wide and he opened his mouth to protest, then thought better of it.

  I guess I understood him. As the head of the household he was supposed to be asked, not told; still, from his point of view the matter was moot. Who would marry his sister? Why not me? A link to my illustrious family by marriage was much better then he could expect now that his sister's virtue was in question. Even if it was only to the black sheep of the family, it was the best deal he was likely to make.

  “Are we?”

  I looked down into her eyes. They were flashing and she wasn't smiling. Probably bad signs. “Didn't we talk about this?”

  She stamped her foot. “Dammit, Sumto, can't you at least ask me nicely?”

  “You travelled five hundred miles alone into enemy territory to break me free from...” I shook my head. “I know you love me. Actions speak louder than words, Jocasta.” I hoped I was right, was almost sure of it.

  “And you?”

  What about me? Oh! “I love you. Marry me. You'll probably regret it but if you do regret it it'll be none of my doing.”

  “There will be no dowry!” Orelia chipped in, sounding outraged for some reason.

  Jocasta shrugged. “Sorry.”

  “Don't be. I have money; a hundred thousand from the campaign and fifty thousand from a letter of commendation from the assembly of patrons.”

  “Gods,” Urik exclaimed, “That is a torc!” It was the first thing he had said since I had entered the room.

  “I thought it was,” Jocasta smiled, touching it. “For challenging and defeating an enemy commander in single combat.”

  I shrugged, winced again. “I don't think anyone is going to argue the point that Kukran Epthel was not the enemy commander. He had the last king's amulet and by virtue of its power was clearly in control of the rising.”

  “I heard that,” Urik was unwinding a little. His wayward sister would marry into a good family. She was not his problem any more. He could afford to be friendly. “The histories say it was destroyed.”

  I shrugged. I had to stop doing that. “The histories lied. I may write something on it. I have time.”

  “What do you plan to do?” Jocasta asked.

  I stopped myself from making a smart remark just in time. Pain is a great teacher. “I don't know, yet. Recover. You didn't say yes.”

  “I'll make the arrangements,” Urik said. “Tomorrow?”

  It was a little unseemly to make the agreement and have the marriage so soon, but Jocasta nodded without hesitation. For myself, I saw no reason to delay. My father wouldn't like it but I had long since given up on trying to please him. He could not stop me; I was over twenty and beyond the point where my family could legally decide these things for me. Of course, were I a good son they could put enormous pressure on me to obey their wishes. But I was not a good son, and at this moment I was glad of it.

  “Tomorrow, then.”

  #

  If you are reading this then you have turned down my brother's offer of a command post. Perhaps this offer will more suit you. A client of mine wishes to establish a trading post in the north. I will supply 100 men to make this happen. You may command them and assist Lendrin Treleth in his endeavour. Also, I need reports from the north. Sapphire will travel with you and gain intelligence on all that is there. You will have imperium on my authority. This wil
l be a command position. Inform Sapphire of your decision.

  I had waited until I was back in the Eyrie before I'd opened the letter. I had not know what I had expected, but it certainly wasn't that. I tossed the letter onto my bed and paced the room, thinking. Not wondering first if it suited me, but why did he need reports from the north? What was he planning? What was on his mind? He had sent Sapphire north to seek and destroy Alendi, and probably also Necromancer spies. He'd known or had some hint of them. But why was he acting in this matter? He had no client kingdoms or states in the north. None. Did he plan to acquire some? Was that why his brother was here? Was my Uncle to lead an army north, acting on our intelligence? Was this client of his, this Lendrin Treleth, to be a precursor of things to come?

  You will have imperium on my authority. Officially I would be on military service; technically I would be a general, with all that implied. The authority to raise troops, not that I would be able to do that in foreign territory, and the authority to prosecute a war. Difficult without troops. Still, a command position, technically a general. Eleven months sniffing about in foreign lands in Sapphire's company and I would have completed a year's service, enough to stand for election as a Ludile; though I would not have enough money to do so. Unless my Uncle led an army north and I joined them. Then there might be loot. But the north was not a popular destination for our armies; it was not wealthy. No gold, silver, gemstones, cloth or dyes. The north was a region of barbarians for good reason. They had iron and tin and vast tracks of wasteland; at least that's how it was further north, beyond the mountains. What was my father thinking? What did Lendrin Treleth want to trade for? Sapphire probably knew more than I did, so I sucked down a beer, picked up the letter from my father and went to see him.

  #

  I found him in the central courtyard of the Eyrie. He was working out, or so I guessed. It looked to me like he was fighting invisible enemies incredibly slowly. He saw me but didn't stop. Dubaku squatted nearby, watching but without any apparent interest. After a while I joined Sapphire, started to copy his movements as best I could. He did not acknowledge me. Just kept moving, turning, stepping and striking with precision but no speed. It was a lot harder than it looked. Slow, controlled, balanced, it took effort and concentration. Three days ago he had been at death's door. He had been systematically beaten. He had lost a lot of blood. His arm had been broken. And ribs. One of the spirits controlled by the shaman, Dubaku, had come at my bidding and healed him. He still looked pale but otherwise seemed his old self. His arm must still hurt if the healing a spirit gave was anything like that that magic provided, and I had reason to believe it was, yet he did not favor it. True, he was putting no weight on his arm, still it must ache bone-deep. He was showed no sign of the discomfort he must be feeling. But after a few minutes exercising with him, I was. Muscles started to protest, small muscles that I didn't know I had. It was an odd sensation.