by Damien Lake
“You treat your guests well, commander. I should ride down more often and run up your supply bills!”
Torrance set the bottle on the small table between the guest chairs and took the matching seat. “We are neighbors, Carrick. It’s only sensible to be on good terms.”
“As practical as ever, too. Looks like you have a decent crop of hopefuls springing up outside. The pickings should be interesting this year.”
“I hope that is so. If luck shines, we might be back up to scratch in another year or two.”
Garroway nodded. “You had a rough time of it during the war, I heard.”
“No worse than others. Perhaps a little better, in point of fact.”
“You’ve always been too modest. But that’s one of the reasons I like you.”
Torrance nodded, letting Garroway move on.
“I was there, you know. Did you know that?”
“Exactly where is ‘there’?”
“At the Hollister. My men and I were pushed south after the northern catapult was fired. We were fighting for our lives when a pair of men stepped forward to take on the entire Nolier army single-handedly.”
“That’s an exaggeration.”
“Not by much! I saw their entire bout, Torrance. And so did countless others. And not just soldiers,” Garroway confided with a lowered eyebrow.
“Should that concern me?”
“I’m not certain. The nobles talk, don’t you know? Every word is measured, weighed and wrapped in silk before it’s spoken. The vying is nonstop. Silk covering a pry-bar doesn’t make it hurt any less when it hits you in the head. The goal of every noble is to rise in stature while toppling the others.”
“This is hardly news to me, baron.”
“Of course not. But I thought you would want to keep it in the forefront of your mind for awhile. The lords don’t much care, but I’ve already heard the lesser nobles using your two boys against each other.”
Torrance frowned. “How do you mean?”
“Oh, you know how the younger set is. Especially the ones who weren’t there.” Garroway’s voice adopted a foppish tone. “They say, ‘I heard a pair of vagabond swords-for-hire had to save you, Danniel.’ ‘Maybe those blood profiteers will be willing to give you sword lessons, Lowell.’ It probably won’t amount to anything in the end. They’ll forget about it soon enough when someone at court disgraces their family name by forgetting their snot-rag.”
“I hope so. Although I doubt you rode south to pass on such a simple warning.”
“No, not at all. I need men next year, of course.”
“I concluded as much. Are you anticipating an increase in bandits due to the war?”
Garroway grimaced. “That might be a problem. We’re not so far from the front, after all. No major roads run through my barony so the highwayguards can’t be counted on for aid. And everyone’s nervous about the problems in Tullainia. Except none of that’s why I rode in person.”
“I wondered at that. You could have as easily sent a representative.”
“Then I wouldn’t enjoy your fine liquor!” Garroway raised his glass in a toast before continuing. “Anyway, this time of year, there’s not much for me to do except sit around and worry over how I’ll afford my barony taxes.”
“Is that why you rode so early? As you noticed, we haven’t even held our applicant trials yet.”
“I wanted to make sure I was your first client this year.”
“For what? You couldn’t afford to hire the entire band, and I don’t think you’d ever need that many men. If the Tullainian aggressors cross the border, no doubt the seneschal will try to conscript us, and hiring fees be damned. We would have to call off any contracts we’d signed. Even one with an old friend.”
Garroway’s grin wiped away his concerned frown. “For the contest, of course! I only need a few of your boys for bodyguards.”
Torrance blinked, then asked, “Are you sure that’s still on? The last rumors I heard said the tournament might be canceled if Tullainia heated up any further. The king will have too many other worries to deal with.”
“It is on. Yesterday I received a notice from the palace that went out to all the nobles. It’s the standard invite with only a couple new lines at the end. Reading between them, I can guess what’s going on.”
“Which would be?”
“Everyone is nervous, you agree? Especially the commoners. Nervous commoners are bad business for the crown, so they’re going to throw the biggest tournament since the Unification!”
“Distract the peasants from the real troubles.” Torrance hid his irritation. The Kings had an extensive intelligence network in place across the kingdom, and this was the first he’d heard about it.
“If trouble stays on the other side of Tullainia’s border, then all well and good. But people rally around a figurehead, which means the king needs an Arm,” Garroway stated, idly rotating one wrist. “With the Arm leading the Galemaran forces, morale will be higher and insurrection will be unlikely.”
“A true case of superstition working for and against you at the same time.”
“You know it. And I know it. But don’t try and explain that to the peasants. As long as the position of the Arm is renewed, the people won’t panic if fighting breaks out.”
“That’s nice in theory. Except I didn’t see the Arm leading the charge against the Noliers.”
Garroway shrugged and refilled his glass. “Well, I don’t know what to say about that, except the obvious. Raymond isn’t exactly a burning ball of fire in the intelligence arena. To his credit, he is smart enough to delegate intelligent people into positions of responsibility. He’s not the best king we’ve ever had, but we could have done far worse.”
“As Nolier has.”
“An excellent case in point. And it’s been over a hundred years since our last actual war. We’ve been effective through our diplomatic channels ever since. We’re out of practice in serious war-time strategy. I think Raymond might have simply overlooked the potential in the Arm. The Arm is only one man after all.”
“The knight-marshal should have known better. What’s the point of renewing the Arm every three years otherwise?”
“For the prize and the prestige, of course!” Garroway raised his glass in a second toast, all mockery this time. “That’s all any of the nobility see in it today. But the knight-marshal’s eyes have been opened to the Arm’s potential. He needs every edge he can get if half the rumors I’ve heard out of Tullainia are true.”
“I wouldn’t want to be the Arm for the next three years.” Torrance shifted his gaze to his guest. “You are going to compete, then?”
“Not I, no. It will be my eldest son. He’s dreamed of it for as long as he’s held a sword. The fault of his damn fool nursery attendant’s tales, no doubt.”
“I see.”
“He’s finally of eligible age, and nothing is going to dissuade him. I’ve never been able to afford many regular fighting men, you know that, and right at this particular time I’ll need every one of them who survived on patrol for the next few seasons.”
Torrance nodded. “For the tournament, we customarily assign four men. That’s enough for bodyguard duty.”
Garroway cleared his throat. “Well, that brings me to the heart of it, my friend.”
“Something else?”
“Maybe not. I hope not.” He paused for a moment. “You know Duke Tilus.”
It had been a statement, not a question, but Torrance replied as such. “Indeed. One of the few nobles who live up to the definition.”
The baron ignored the veiled jibe. “He’s an old friend of mine, actually. We were fostered together at Earl Radburn’s holding as boys, don’t you know? Oh, I could tell you stories about what we got up to at the earl’s place. Did you know all his maids nicknamed him ‘Earl Rugburn’?”
“I’m sure you could, and no I didn’t know that.” Torrance shook his head in feigned solemnity. “How did your class manage to co
nvince the rest of us to call you ‘nobles’?”
“Anyway, Tilus is duke in Spirratta these days. He takes on a greater number of fosterlings than most, and he took on my eldest as we’re good friends.”
The remaining picture solidified for Torrance. “I see. The duke’s been having difficulty the last few years.”
“That’s a mild way of putting it.” Garroway’s grimace returned tenfold. “He’s always been death on the underworld and anyone associated with it ever since we were kids.”
“He’s lived through several attempted assassinations by the dark guilds, yet held fast to his principles.”
“That’s Tilus, for certain. Then last year the thieves switched tactics.”
“I believe one of the fosterlings was killed. A warning to the duke, if I’m not mistaken.”
“It slowed him down for awhile, but he’s renewed his polices against crime with a vengeance. There haven’t been any new attacks against the fosterlings under his care, except that doesn’t mean they’ve given up on the idea.”
“You feel they might think an attack while abroad would be easier than while the fosterlings are under the duke’s roof. That’s a reasonable assumption.”
“And that’s why I wanted to talk with you before you assigned away those two who took down Ronley.”
Torrance cocked his brow. “The band does not accept requests for specific men. It usually leads to trouble.”
“Torrance, you know me better than that. I’m not out to get revenge on any of your men. My boy might be in danger, and I intend to give him the best damned guards the kingdom can offer.”
“It’s nothing personal, Carrick. It’s a matter of never crossing a line you have drawn. Not for any reason.”
“As a long time contractor, and a fair client, I deserve extra consideration, Torrance. I’ve earned good faith credit! You’ve got to assign someone to the job…why not them?”
Torrance bit his cheek while he considered that. Balancing the commanding side of the band with the business aspects at times led to conflicts between the two. “I’ve already had several requests from one of my chief officers to have one man floored for the next fighting season so he can undergo advanced training.”
“Training?” Garroway guffawed. “What’s left to learn for either of them? Didn’t you hear about their fight? Come now, Torrance. I don’t shove my weight around with your band, and we are neighbors after all. I don’t ask for much.”
Torrance refilled his glass. He debated. He sighed. I’m turning into an old man. “Very well, Carrick. I can accede on one of them. Your timing is better than you know. I was about to give in to my officer’s requests.” Sorry, Tollaf, old friend.
“And the other?”
“Your timing is not quite perfect. That was him leaving my office ahead of you. He’s already been assigned to a different duty. I’m afraid I can’t order him out of it.”
The baron drained his glass. “That’s too bad. But at least I’ve got one, whether I end up needing him or not.” He stood, adding, “I’d better go on then. Upon consideration, I realize there are one or two things I need to tend to this time of year after all.”
“I’ll have the clerks draft a copy of the contract and send it to you. I ought to charge you double for such an exceptionally renowned warrior.”
“I can barely afford the normal fee as it is, as you well know. Besides, since I’m the one who told you, you couldn’t charge inflated fees until after I leave.”
“Be that as it may. Have a nice trip back north.”
Torrance opened the door for the baron and found Head Clerk Janus waiting on the other side. I love days that go like this.
Janus nodded both in greeting and farewell to the baron, who nodded back. Once Garroway departed, Torrance shut the door. “What brings you?”
“I was going over the latest reports on the damage we sustained. You need to finalize the date for the trails. Wainright said you were entertaining.”
“Strictly business. We have our first contract for the new year.”
Janus sniffed and ran a hand through his wispy hair. “That’s a bad omen.”
“It’s a bodyguard contract for the next Arm of Galemar tournament. I’m assigning Marik plus three to the detail.”
The old man’s face soured. “That boy again,” he muttered under his breath.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong!” Janus snapped.
Thoughts of the band’s most reluctant mage made Torrance ask, “How is his search progressing? He came to you first, as I recall.”
“How should I know? Ask Tollaf if you want to know!”
“You don’t seem to care for him much.”
“I don’t like people who try to soften me over. First he tells me he has no interest in joining the band, then he butters me up to learn all about the trials. Next thing I know, he’s registering with all the others! Little sneak!”
Torrance hid a smile. He doubted it had occurred quite like that, having spoken with several people regarding Marik’s reasons for joining the band. Still, Janus was invested emotionally in his opinion, and there was no percentage in trying to change his mind.
“I’m surprised you helped him at all. That’s not like you.”
He expected an amusing outburst from Janus. Instead the older man promptly became reserved. “He caught me at a bad time.”
Torrance looked askance at his longtime friend, until he remembered. Janus always grew slightly melancholy during the trials. “Cleary?”
Janus nodded minutely. He rarely spoke of Cleary to anyone. “I was thinking of him, and cursing all these idiot meatheads with nothing on their brains but swords. That boy didn’t have to die.”
Nothing Torrance could say would make the old man feel better about his grandnephew, dead fewer than two months after joining the band. Joining as a clerk at that, not a fighter.
The youth had decided to walk around a training area for fresh air in the late evening. One of the band’s few hiring mistakes found him there, deciding the weaker, younger man could offer him a bit of fun. Men like him were the reason none of the tavern owners would bring their daughters into Kingshome.
“That Marik seemed like an intelligent boy, concerned with his family,” Janus finished, unusually candid. “Otherwise I would have let him rot outside! Now look at him! As obsessed as all the rest.”
“We’re all of us rough men, Janus. We pick the best, but we can’t choose as we’d like. There will always be thugs in our ranks. I like to focus on the good men. Let’s go over those reports, then you can draw up Garroway’s contract.”
* * * * *
A fat candle with three wicks burned beside Marik’s head. He struggled to turn the next page in the book without shifting position. Since the window over his cot faced north, the sun never shone directly through, thus making this a poor location to decipher the tiny words. It beat the alternative, though. The enormous book was propped against his knees and he needed to be careful lest he knock the squat candle from the miniature shelf nailed to his closet’s side as he flipped pages.
Tollaf had been reluctant to let Marik take the book from the Tower, but Marik wanted to stay cooped up inside those enclosed rooms even less. On the promise he would read the book a few marks every day, Tollaf finally assented to its removal. Which worked out better despite the poor lighting. Marik could concentrate more deeply on the tiny words with the ambient sounds of steel-on-steel in the background, drifting through the town, only audible outside Tollaf’s walled realm.
And he needed every ounce of concentration he could muster. Reading this book was akin to sifting through a well-stocked storeroom after an earth tremor. Random thoughts were strewn carelessly over the pages. Also, Galemaran had been Natalie’s second language. Why she had chosen to use it in her diary he did not know, except perhaps that it added additional protection against unauthorized snoopers. It severely increased the reading difficulty.
Natalie
was an…interesting…mage, Marik had come to learn. Seeing her life through her diary’s eyes often brought a blush to his cheeks. In such cases, he would pull the book closer, hiding his bright color from his friends. The last thing he needed was their relentless teasing.
Though still in the book’s opening pages, he had so far discovered two descriptions that might be scrying techniques. Natalie had yet to explain their procedures, instead filling the pages with notes on the best times to use them. She used them primarily to keep a jealous eye on her many lovers.
Which theme succinctly summarized her life. What professional practices she engaged in with her mage gift, he had no idea, yet she certainly employed it in her private affairs. Every page he’d plowed through thus far was devoted to ways for keeping tabs on her partners. Or to mage workings she had apparently invented herself that could enhance her own sexual pleasure. Natalie might not have been promiscuous, but she had certainly been active. Intensely active, he would say.
And imaginative. Marik felt the heat in his face rising again as he deciphered another of her annotations. What in the world is ‘clamraker’s first tool’ supposed to mean?
Without warning, a figure abruptly stormed into the Fourth Unit’s bunk area. A figure who had never been there before.
“Mage!”
Marik fumbled with the book, the shout having surprised him. Colbey stood in the empty space where the half-wall ended. “Colbey? What are you doing in here?”
“Get your sword and follow me.” It was delivered as a directive.
Before Marik could respond, the scout vanished. Now what’s going on?
A break would be in perfect order. He shoved aside the clothes hanging in his closet to retrieve his father’s sword. In the back, the Nolier duke’s giant blade barely fit inside. Shifting the enormous book diagonally, it too just managed to squeeze in.
He took his leather gloves and a cloak as well, hoping he would be prepared for whatever the scout had in mind. Predicting anything regarding Colbey was a waste of time.
The scout stood beside the main door when Marik entered the dining area. He immediately departed without a word. Clearly he expected the apprentice mage to follow.
