by Adrian Selby
I recalled the two other black coins I’d seen recently, as perfect as this one. The Prince had shown them to me in his cabin aboard one of the Quartet’s galleys only a few months ago. The Quartet were an influential merchant guild across most of the Old Kingdoms, and it was as fine a cabin as I’d ever seen him in, satin cushions, exquisitely carved chests and lockers, some of them the work of masters I had had the good fortune to commission myself at my wife Araliah’s recommendation.
I’d travelled to see The Prince after he’d sent an escort bidding me to return with him.
“These coins were found with Harlain and Milu,” he said. “I will try and find out more.”
“How did they die?” I asked.
“Harlain returned to his homeland, Tetswana, became their leader, the Kaan of Tetswana no less. It was the gathering before the rains. Leaders and retinues of nine tribes. Seventy or so dead, the black coin in his hand only.”
Harlain would not join us at Snakewood, the last time any of the Twenty were together. He had wanted to leave us some time before the end. Paying the colour had taken from all of us, but it took his heart. It was only as we embraced for a final time and I helped him with his saddle that I realised I hadn’t heard him singing for some months. I was glad he made it home.
“Milu?” I asked.
“He became a horse-singer out in Alagar. They found him lying at the side of a singer’s pit. Someone had been with him, footprints in the sand around his body, the coin in his hand.”
“Poison?” I asked.
“Almost certainly. No way of placing it.”
Milu had also been at Snakewood, but stayed only for a drink and to buy supplies before leaving with Kheld. They had lost heart as much as Harlain had; no talk of purses or where in the world was at war; they did not discuss, as did Sho or Shale, how my name could be put to work to bolster the gold of a purse.
I never tired of watching Milu work, his grotesquely big chest and baggy jowls filling with the songs that brought the wild horses to his side, training them to hold firm in the charge. It seemed that he, like Harlain, had been able to let go of the mercenary life before the colour took everything.
“Their deaths are connected, Kailen. It must be the Twenty.”
“You’ve heard from nobody else?”
“Only that Dithnir had died. He went back home to Tarantrea; one of their envoys that negotiates with the Quartet I represent knows me well and shared the news with me. I asked about a coin but there was none. Apart from that I keep in touch with Kheld when I’m in Handar, but the rest, no word.”
I breathed deeply of the morning breeze that blew across the deck and slapped at the fringes of the awning we were beneath. Dithnir was a bowman, almost a match for Stixie, shy and inadvisedly romantic with whores, cold and implacable in the field.
“I remember Snakewood,” said The Prince.
Our eyes met briefly. “No. That was dealt with.” I’d said it more sharply than I’d intended. Why did I feel a thread of doubt?
He reached across the table, took the carafe and refilled our glasses with the wine I’d brought for him.
“Your estate is improving,” he said, holding up his glass for a toast.
“Yes, these vines were planted two winters ago; they’ll improve. I only wish for Jua’s cooler summers, perhaps an estate nearer the hills. How is the Quartet? I hear you have brokered a treaty with the Shalec to cross their waters. Not even the Post could manage it. Have you considered lending them your talents?”
“Why would I toil through its ranks to High Reeve or Fieldsman when I can be a Partner with the Quartet? The Post–The Red himself–could learn something from the Quartet regarding our softening of the Shalec, but I’m glad he hasn’t, I’m lining my pockets beautifully. Remarkable as the Post runs so much trade elsewhere. They can bid lower than us at almost every turn; we can’t match the subs, but we can work with lower margins, give Shalec a fee on the nutmeg, a pittance of course. But every investor north of the Gulf believes the Post controls the winds.”
“While the Post can sub dividends over fewer summers than anyone else, the flatbacks will flock,” I said, “but enough of trade: congratulations, Prince, I’m glad to see things are going well; being a Partner suits you. Will you get a message to me if you find Kheld? It would be good to know he’s still alive.”
He nodded.
The Prince had been the difference at Ahmstad, turning three prominent families under the noses of Vilmor’s king, extending the borders and fortifying them in a stroke. The mad king is still being strangled in the noose The Prince tied. His death proved that whoever of us was alive was in danger. I signed our purses. This could only be about getting at me.
Achi had fallen asleep.
I poured him some of the dreadful brandy that was the best The Riddle had to offer.
Shale and Gant were taking a purse only weeks south. If they were still anything like the soldiers of old I would have need of them. Achi’s crew would be glad to be going back to Harudan. I needed good men with my wife, Araliah. Still, there was one more thing I needed to ask of Achi himself, one person I needed to confirm was dead.
The Prince and the Ahmstad
An account by a Fieldsman of the Post regarding Kailen and The Prince. Fieldsmen are the most elite Agents of the Post, from the ranks of which The Red himself, the head of the Post, is often promoted.
This Fieldsman was disguised as a bodyguard to the Ahmstad’s “Ladus” (chief), present at the negotiation by which Kailen and The Prince secured a bloodless victory for Ahmstad over Vilmor, nine years before Snakewood.
Goran
Destination: Candar Prime, Q4 649 OE
Eastern Sar Westmain routed
CONFIDENTIAL FOR THE RED ONLY
Report of: Fieldsman 71
You are aware of Vilmorian expansionism under their King Turis. They have been amassing an army for assaults on two fronts, the Luzhan Province and Ahmstad.
A clan leader for Ahmstad brought a mercenary known as Kailen to their war council. To say the Ladus was displeased was to put it mildly. The clan leader, Hasike, asked that the Ladus hear him out.
What follows is a transcript of the meeting as best as I can relay it. It is evident that Kailen, and his fellow that he called The Prince, displayed a formidable understanding of both sides of the potential conflict. He is a most unusual mercenary and a compelling speaker, though of course this does not come across half so well in my approximation of the meeting.
“May I ask the Ladus the size of the army he is amassing?” said Kailen.
“The clans represented here have committed to me near eighteen thousand men and women. Do I speak right?” Raised voices, eliciting approval and some banging of cups.
“And what would the Ladus say losses of such men might be, were Vilmor to bring to bear an army estimated at twenty-five thousand?”
“Where do you get such numbers, soldier?”
The Prince speaks then. “We served with Vilmor, as you no doubt already know. They have seventy-six fiefs, variously providing twenty to two hundred men and women.”
“With these numbers, in open battle, the losses would be?” This was Kailen.
“Far higher on their side.” More cups were banged at this point.
“Ladus,” said Hasike, somewhat frustrated, “who bears the brunt of their aggression? My clan. We are your border with Vilmor.”
“As we border the Wilds,” said another, “but we do not cry to the Ladus over it.”
“The Wilds do not bring in twenty thousand men in front of a fortified supply line,” said Kailen. “Bang your cups and brag if it pleases you, but you stand over a map that shows clearly where Vilmor will push, through Hasike’s land and to the heart of Ahmstad.”
The Ladus raised his arms to quieten the shouts.
“My council waits with bated breath for the wisdom of a Harudanian mercenary on its own affairs. You have disappointed me, Hasike, bringing to our gathering men pai
d to chop up soldiers when what we need is to outwit Turis’s generals.”
“You ought to consider Hasike wise, Ladus. I will gladly demonstrate why.” Remarkably, the mercenary sounded angry. I had expected him to be run through at that point, for the Ladus enjoyed nothing more than disembowelling everyone from servants to his own family for sleights of honour or even dark looks.
“You have not begun to muster from your war communes, the sheriffs and quarters are still securing your supplies: wood, cattle, grain. The men at this table await their levies, and the last time I fought Ahmstad I would not hold such hope for the weak and ill-equipped majority that are enrolled. Hasike’s lands will be pillaged and burned, some fifth of your tithe in buffalo, a seventh of all your guira and ska crops.” He had the room now, though the Ladus’s fist was white as it gripped the handle of his axe.
Kailen swept the arranged blocks from the map and reset them. He laid out the routes the Vilmorian army would take, the challenge for the Ahmstad forces, and every way that he laid out their options they were to expect heavy losses, even in victory.
The room was silent, for each anticipated deployment and stratagem had been devised and its consequences presented soundly.
“I have a question,” said the Ladus: “if we are likely to lose, why have you sold Hasike your services? Do you and your friend of some dubious royal lineage plan to defeat Turis with your own hands?”
“No. For one hundred and fifty gold pieces my friend of dubious royal lineage will explain why you need not raise a sword to defeat the forces of Vilmor, gain yourselves land and new allies and weaken Turis significantly.”
The Ladus erupted with laughter. “If I’d wanted a fool I would have left my first consort alive. I suppose you wish to be paid before you share your grand plan with us as well?”
“Listen to him, for my people’s sake,” said Hasike.
The Ladus was always a big and intimidating man, easily a foot taller than anyone else in a room, and I’d seen him press and win, time and again, from Hasike more cattle for the northern Ahmstad clans he favoured. Hasike was desperate. The Ladus took a deep breath.
“Fifty gold pieces. If I like what I hear you’ll get your hundred more, if not you’ll swallow them and I’ll cut them out of your belly.” He turned his head slightly towards where I stood with his treasurer, and a nod commanded the treasurer to count out the coins. Kailen took the proffered pouch as calmly as a man receiving payment for food, suggesting that, uniquely in my experience, his purses were of a not dissimilar amount.
Kailen’s man, The Prince, was, I learned shortly afterwards, called so because he was an heir to the throne of Old Ceirad. He had the Old Kingdoms aristocracy in every bone, an educated, persuasive speaker. He also used Ladus’s map and his blocks to explain his argument.
“Vilmor, as I have said, is comprised of seventy-six fiefs. Your lands border eleven of those fiefs. Of those eleven there are three that matter. These three share a common ancestry with Hasike’s clan. You will have noted how peaceful the border is there, compared to the Wilds and Razhani borders. Only Lagrad is more peaceful, and precisely because of your longstanding treaty.
“These three fiefs, comprising two clans, do not, shall we say, dine at the top table with Turis and the bigger fiefs. Indeed, he has seen fit to put to a vote the redrawing of the fiefdoms in favour of a cousin whose land lies behind theirs. His mistake, as I see it, has been to give his cousin the oversight and control of levies, in the name of Turis, to see to the construction of the forts that now press against your borders, in those three lands.
“As many of you in the room will testify, if the Ladus here designated Hasike or anyone else to command your own men to build forts in the Ladus’s name, irrespective of the cost to your lands and your harvests, you would be displeased.” This earned a few grunts of approval.
“Two castles have been built, at great cost to those fiefs, along with seven other wooden forts and the construction of bridges through some of the marshlands that edge your borders, giving Vilmor the advantage of which we speak.
“I would suggest that the hundred gold pieces not be paid now, as I summarise our plan, but upon its execution. Will you bind to that, Ladus?”
You now understand how interesting these two mercenaries are. The Ladus is a great warrior, but a vain and ridiculous man. They understood this, as they must have understood Hasike’s position as well as the intelligence they had gathered on the border before they approached Hasike and the Ladus. I was struck at that moment by the thought that one hundred and fifty gold pieces was not as preposterous as it initially seemed. Nor did Kailen’s demeanour shift for a moment at this change in the agreement, as though it too had been rehearsed.
The Ladus looked about the room, and I noted Kailen’s satisfaction. He had concluded much as I did that this gesture indicated Ladus did not have the initiative or command here. He sought the faces of his clan leaders for their view on this offer, though it would have been madness to refuse.
“Explain your plan,” he said.
The Prince continued. “Enfeoff the three clans, give them freehold land, at the cost of one quarter of Hasike’s own lands and four of his herds. Make also a gift to each clan of five hundred gold pieces, along with two hundred jars each of cocklebur seeds and the recipes for them. Commit also to fund a war commune there and give them a place on the council. In return…”
There were cries of “Disgrace” and others much more colourful, but The Prince continued over them.
“In return you have extended your borders, united four clans that Hasike will soon get control of, gained two castles and a number of forts, and weakened Turis considerably on this front.”
Though the hubbub continued a moment, the Ladus raised his hand for silence.
“Hasike?” he said.
“I believe with some suitable marriages, the war commune in what remains of my territory and my family’s lineage in respect of these clans, I and my sons after me will take overall control of these lands, though I expect, as The Prince has said, that they will accede to our offer willingly. I can commit from my own men enough, with Kailen’s help, to secure the castles while we secure the lands.”
The Ladus nodded. Hasike had improved his standing immensely. He took some time, looking over the map, lost in thought.
“Return with the agreements and I will have the payments ready, both for those clans and these two mercenaries.”
The territory was duly won, Kailen and The Prince were proved right.
I understand from some of the soldiers that I’d questioned regarding them that Kailen commands only a crew of twenty, and they have been making a name for themselves wherever they’ve signed. They have not yet signed a purse for a general that lost a battle.
I recommend an introduction, we may learn much from this remarkable man.
Chapter 2
Gant
Sunshine.
I was laid on a straw mat in a tent where men were either sleeping or yelling and babbling with whatever the drudha had forced down them or up them. My ass was stinging, I needed a shit. Bones were creaking from the brew as I paid for the measures I took with the usual spasms and headaches and sores. All these years on brews meant the down was harder and longer each time.
I didn’t know how Shale got us back. I needed to eat and get my compounds on. I just managed to crawl on a bucket thick with flies and get out a few squirts when he come in, a shirt and breeches on him stinking enough to have been what he wore on the raid. He kept his head shaved so the grey coming through wasn’t too obvious, but his skin was so weathered and dark from paying the colour it didn’t help, for when you drink fightbrews they change your blood and how your skin is, turning it different colours according to how much you have or where it’s from or its quality. You tell a soldier by his colour.
“You fuckin’ woman. Blackhand sauce an’ you din’t put your guaia to it?” he said, helping me up from the bucket and giving me a wipe with the
stick.
“I were killing or dead anyway,” I said. “I killed me boys, lost us the ambush. Stepped in a fucking birds’ nest.”
He put his hand on my shoulder, sat me down and kneeled next to me. He stared at me, looking for something in my face, it seemed. He shook his head a little, disagreeing with something. He set firm then, he was holding something back in his way.
“Did what I could wi’ that wound, but it was a mess. Not sure you can, you know, be made up. We need some plant, good plant, but…” He took a deep sigh. He was trying to deal with what it meant. “It in’t good, Gant. It…” His words wouldn’t come out. He swallowed and bowed his head and I let him be.
I looked down at my side, wrapped up and cotton gummed to it. With your life all about killing, it was still something that hit like a mace; my guts felt the drop like I was on a ship at sea. He was straight up, though. I had weeks maybe.
“I’m going north then,” I said, “see me sister if I can. I want to go back in the world at Lagrad. Near me da.”
He had recovered somewhat. “In’t a drudha goin’ straight north from here to Upper Lagrad worth a shit, Gant. You won’t make it home. Harudan High Commune, unless we can find some plant on the Hiscan Road an’ a cooker whose kit we can use. We can get there in a few weeks, fix you up tight an’ give you a chance to get up there. Good plant will slow the poison down a good bit. Fer now we get some decent brandy an’ cheer usselves up.” He kissed my head and stood straight.
“Harudan’s over southwest, it’s more than a few weeks. We go through Hisca,” I said.
“A few weeks that way’ll buy more ’n a few for goin’ north.”
“We won then?” I said, referring to the effect of our sortie on the Blackhands.
“Three o’ the Red Hills hasts moved in from east an’ pushed Trukhar’s lot back north. Reckon they’re cut off, but the confeds say we sit here an’ fort. Wi’ the caravan took out, we secured the border again.”
