by Damien Lake
Spirratta surprised Marik all over. During his last visit, he had come to believe that the city areas he traveled could not possibly exist within the walls as seen from outside. Having wandered it afoot for an entire day, he would have bet all his coin that no district this large could have remained undiscovered.
Kineta turned north at one intersection. They passed buildings whose structures changed, becoming larger and losing the privacy walls. Except for the last. The road split west and east, curving to surround an estate located in the city’s center. A ten-foot wall protected the grounds, constructed from dissimilar stones mortared together. Square pillars interrupted the wall’s smoothness every twenty feet. Similar lamps as graced the main roads were set atop each.
Wrought iron fencing lined the wall top. The lethal nature of the top spikes were unquestionable despite the delicate design. A man could climb over the ironwork with a bit of caution, except it would take several long moments, during which the inevitable guards would surely notice the intruder in the lamplight.
The main gate rested within the east wall, framed by two guards standing to either side. Their appearance differed from the cityguard. Neither did they imitate statues, rigid at their duties. Instead, the two seemed interested in nothing around them save the conversation they engaged in. Kineta drew their gazes when the mercenaries rode closer.
“Yes?”
“We are bodyguards to three of your fosterlings participating in the tournament. We have come to escort our charges.”
Marik, his experiences with guards of any sort foremost in his mind, expected an obstinate, uncooperative attitude. Instead… “Right, then. Their names?”
“Eberhard, Valerian and Hilliard.”
“Please show me any documents you have at hand.”
They began producing their contracts while Marik marveled at these guards. Perhaps serving door duty for the duke of a large city quickly taught one to be polite when dealing with strangers. Of course, if they lacked the official Crimson Kings paperwork, the guards might turn nasty.
His thought nearly turned into prophecy. As he pulled the papers from his personal pouch, his horse made a snatch with its teeth. Marik barely yanked it away in time. He was greatly tempted to kick the damned horse hard, but the amused glint in the guard’s eye stopped him. For an instant he almost gave in to the temptation anyway as he imagined what Janus would have to say if he returned to Kingshome for a new copy of the contract after the first had been eaten by his own horse.
The guard thoroughly read the contracts and examined the Kings’ seal on each with care, then studied papers of his own which he retrieved from a third guard behind the iron grillwork. At last he nodded in satisfaction. He opened the gate with a massive key hanging from his belt. Inside, the third man stood beside a guard shack and explained he would escort them to the house.
‘House’ proved a singularly inaccurate word, Marik decided once they were on the grounds. A sizable lawn trimmed low stretched a hundred yards from the gate to the building. The building looked a hybrid of the upper-class homes they had passed and the major merchant buildings. Were it stone rather than wood, glass and plaster, it would reflect many of the border holdings he had visited during the war.
Except there was little chance of this building weathering a war, should the walls around the city fall. A few fire arrows would spell the end of the duke’s residence. Obviously it had been constructed long after the Unification.
Several men met them for the purpose of collecting their mounts. The mercenaries brushed the road dust from their clothing before meeting a new man in the entrance foyer. Simply to see him, Marik immediately surmised that he handled the duke’s daily matters. Elderly, he dressed in a long tailcoat buttoned closed, the twin tails hanging to his ankles. His black pants displayed nary a wrinkle, and how the man could breath around the noose-like collar, also buttoned tight, would forever remain a mystery.
“I am Seneschal Locke. Please, come this way.”
Locke brought them to a waiting room eerily similar to the one in the Crimson Kings’ command building. The fancy furniture cost more and the larger shelves contained a greater number of knickknacks for visitors to amuse themselves with. Books on various subjects occupied the most space. Several maps, an impressive compass, and a line of dangling steel balls hanging next to one another on wires drew his gaze. Marik had never seen anything like that last before and puzzled over it.
“I’ve been expecting you to arrive for the young masters,” the seneschal addressed them. “I am glad you have chosen to arrive sooner.”
“Why is that?” Kineta asked.
“We received word, this very day in fact, that the dark guilds may indeed be considering a move on the fosterlings while they travel on the road. The informant, unfortunately, had no specifics other than that.”
“Specifics?” Marik asked, sensing he had missed a detail or two.
“Indeed. This man is not highly placed in the inner circles of Spirratta’s Dark Father, but from talk he heard he guessed what was in the works. If the underworld is considering plans to strike against the fosterlings, it would be best to be on the road quickly before they can organize.”
“Wait a minute,” Kineta exclaimed, voicing the confusion Marik felt. Sloan’s interest, on the other hand, peaked by the minute. “What are you talking about?”
This took the seneschal aback. He considered them for a split instant before reaching a conclusion. “I apologize. I assumed you were versed in the situation regarding your charges.”
“Apparently not,” Kineta snarled. “Tell us.”
“Of course.” Locke paused for a single deep breath. “You must understand the duke first. Of the many responsibilities inherent to his title, corruption and crime are of significant concern to him. Since Tilus has assumed the dukedom of Spirratta, instances of crime have dropped by fifty-eight percent. While his polices on criminal activity have earned him the love of our honest citizens, as you can imagine, it has also earned him no affection from the criminal class.”
“Is that so?” Kineta’s reply was acidic, her mood having worsened in a hurry. She jumped to the end, bypassing the predictable facts. “Why are the fosterlings in danger? They have no say in Duke Tilus’ executive methods.”
“Indeed not,” Locke sniffed. “But the duke cares deeply for those for to whom he is responsible. After repeated attempts on his own life, he—”
“I remember that!” Marik blurted. It occurred to him an eye blink too late that it might have been smarter to keep silent. Everyone shifted their gaze to him so he needed to follow up. “I mean, when I was passing through a few years ago, I remember someone burned down a building he was in.”
“Correct,” Locke continued. “But one of several attempts made by the dark guilds. Having failed to remove the duke, they shifted their sights to the fosterlings, hoping that he would lighten his stances if other skins than his own were imperiled.”
“And?” Edwin asked from Sloan’s shoulder.
“The son of Earl Westcot was slain during a brutal attack. Several guards fell as well, and the assailants escaped.”
Kerwin returned to the issue. “But the duke must not have changed, or else they wouldn’t still be after the fosterlings today.”
Before Locke could reply, Dietrik added his own bit. “If that were true, then they should have abandoned the notion by this time. It would only have proven that assassination by association was a dead-end lane.”
Seneschal Locke replied to Dietrik. “Perhaps it would have been best to act as though the death hadn’t mattered. Unfortunately Duke Tilus did ease up for a brief time. He did not do this out of fear, but out of mourning. However, once he collected his emotions, he renewed his polices with a vengeance.”
Kineta shook her head. “Setting precedence is a very bad idea. And it’s why you’re having trouble today, I’ll warrant.”
“Yes.” Locke bit the word off, his thin lips tightening, clearly annoyed at h
aving anyone, let alone a mercenary, presume to judge the duke. He diplomatically continued with, “The word from our man is that the inner circle of Spirratta’s Dark Father is reexamining that course of action. This brings us to the reason why I’m glad to see you arriving soonest. As your contractors had brought up their concerns with your band, I’d hoped you would make haste to retrieve your charges.”
That bastard Janus! I suppose he thought that wasn’t important enough to mention! A quick study assured him that Kineta would be as happy to skewer the head clerk as he.
“Given that,” Sloan spoke for the first time, “it would be best to be on our way at first light.”
Locke nodded. “Your three have been summoned. When they arrive, you may discuss traveling arrangements. Before you leave, each of you are to sign a notice of delivery.”
“What are they, baggage?” Kineta still smoldered.
“Far from it. Still, I need you to affirm you have taken possession of your charge, as stated in your contracts.”
“Ass covering, in other words.”
Locke’s expression abruptly turned glacial. He made no reply, yet matched Kineta’s cold glare snowflake for ice crystal.
A knock preceded the entrance of two young, fit men. Both flaunted sun-blonde hair, though their features set them apart. Quickly identified as Eberhard and Valerian, they split, belonging to Kineta and Sloan. Kineta’s gender clearly surprised Valerian. He tried to conceal it with limited success. Whether he objected to a female bodyguard or had simply been caught off guard remained to be seen.
In a move to assert himself with the hired staff, Eberhard wanted to set the rules with Sloan, unmindful of the hard mercenary’s utter lack of acknowledgement. When Eberhard finished explaining the proper way for Sloan to defer to him in the presence of other nobles, Sloan nodded once, then flatly stated, “We will leave at first light.”
Eberhard smiled, a world-wise scholar about to explain to his child why he cannot keep frogs under his pillow. “See here, that’s hardly proper. Breakfast is not served until the second morning bell.” Then, as though he spoke to a village idiot of renown, “That’s the second bell after sunrise.”
“We will ride with the dawn,” Sloan repeated. “If you aren’t saddled and ready, I’ll come drag you out of bed.”
Eberhard’s kindly smile lost its sparkle. “You’ll do no such thing at all! My chambers are closed to all but the duke and the servants without invitation!”
Sloan stared into his charge’s eyes. “You try me,” he said, flatter than ever. Several moments passed with the two locking gazes before he continued. “Your father has given control of your life over to me. Until I am no longer your bodyguard, you will do as I say. We ride at first light.”
Before Eberhard could object, Sloan ended the issue by walking from the room. A waiting servant intercepted him outside to lead him away. Sloan’s charge began a slow burn as he recognized an unforeseen challenge.
Dietrik sidled closer to whisper, “Well, this promises to be an interesting journey for those two.”
“I’m glad we didn’t end up with him.”
“Don’t count your eggs yet, mate. Ours may be as bad, if not worse!”
Marik kept silent until a third young man entered. He was shorter than Marik, and less wide, but he walked with a surety that bespoke self-confidence. Brown hair had been trimmed shorter than the shoulder-length locks on his two fellow fosterlings. Over a loose shirt he wore a vest, the entire front embroidered with what must be his family’s crest. The weapon hanging at his side could only be a long sword despite a hilt that would look at home on Dietrik’s rapier.
When he glanced around, Marik raised a hand to capture his attention. Firm strides quickly brought the youth to their small group. “Are you the men my father hired?”
“Yes.”
Extending a hand, as the other two had not, he grasped Marik’s firmly, saying, “I am Hilliard Garroway. Thank you for coming to look after me.”
“Uh, yeah. I mean, yes. We’ve been assigned as your bodyguards during the tournament.”
Hilliard nodded. He ignored Marik’s surprised fumbling. “Father has sent me several letters. We have always been on good terms with the Crimson Kings. I feel safer, knowing I can depend on you.”
“I, uh…I’ve been talking with the duke’s seneschal. It sounds like we might have an eventful journey.”
“Truly?” Hilliard’s forehead wrinkled. Apparently the news had yet to be passed on to the fosterlings. It must indeed be fresh.
“He told us about Earl Westcot’s son,” Marik temporized. “He fell to an attack.”
“Oh. Yes, I imagine there is always a threat, but you take a risk every time you leave your bed in the morning.”
“True enough, and I’m sure any danger from local cutthroats will be left behind once we’ve gotten on the road.”
Slight embarrassment reddened the youth, the reason for which Marik thought he knew. He spoke matter-of-factly so as not to make an issue of it.
“We’ll be heading up Steelpin Road until we can cut over to Capitol Highway. All told, it should only take about two eightdays to reach Thoenar.”
“I’m…sorry…we can’t afford the ferry. My father’s barony…”
Kineta and Sloan would be taking their charges further west to the Varmeese. From there they would take a direct ferry to Thoenar. As expensive as such traveling methods were, the contractors were required to provide additional coin to cover the cost. The contract between Garroway and the Kings specified land travel and had been carefully spelled out by the clerks when writing the document. Baron Garroway’s financial capabilities could not support the extra coin.
“It’s no hassle. I prefer to ride anyway. It gives me room to practice when we make camp.”
Hilliard might doubt the honesty in that statement, yet accepted it with a grateful smile. “I had better be off to pack, then. I will see you tomorrow morning.” The youth departed.
Dietrik commented, “I say! Where did his parents go wrong?”
Marik could not help but grin. “He must be the bad apple. The other nobles must be scandalized by him.” Becoming serious, he added, “I’m glad, though. The last thing we needed was to fight our own charge over every little detail the whole way to Thoenar.”
“It is a pity we shan’t be traveling with Sloan. I’d like to watch him spar with Eberhard’s ego.”
“At least we drew the long straw this time. I’ve become too used to drawing the short one. Let’s go see where we’re going to sleep and get our dinner.”
Landon and Kerwin stayed behind to paw over several maps they had found on a shelf. If they dallied too long, Marik mused, all the food left in the kitchens would be gone, filling his and Dietrik’s bellies.
Chapter 06
Thanks to the information imparted by Seneschal Locke, Marik spent the next two days jumping at shadows. The slightest movement from the corners of his vision would send his hand racing to his hilt while he whirled to confront an old lady selling mushrooms.
Dietrik found this vastly amusing, and Kerwin made sarcastic comments concerning his fitness as leader. When they merged with the Steelpin from a lesser road they had ridden north on from Spirratta, his paranoia lessened somewhat. If the city thieves had only recently begun debating an assassination strike then the Kings had whisked away their charges before the dark guilds could organize. Into the third day, the five discussed idle matters to pass the road-time, riding close enough to each other they could speak without shouting.
“So you weren’t there after all,” Kerwin stated.
“No,” the baron’s son admitted unhappily. “Neither were any of us under the care of Duke Tilus. We were forbidden to join the forces mustering for the war.”
“For the best, I’d say. It turned into a bloody mess.”
Hilliard’s well-schooled posture straightened a little further in his saddle. “Duke Tilus felt our education in matters of warfare was as yet insuf
ficient to have been of any aid. Despite our repeated pleas, he would not allow us to ride.”
“Us? How many fosterlings are in Spirratta?”
“There are eleven noble-born sons fostered to Duke Tilus.”
“And you were all pestering him? I surprised he held out.”
“Oh, well…I, spoke…for most of us. At the time.” Kerwin cocked his head in amusement, which prompted Hilliard to assert, “I am sure we each made individual appeals on his own.”
“I’m sure you all did.”
“But you were there! Tell me about how it was. Giving your all to defend your king and homeland. It must have been exactly like the songs!”
A skeptical Landon said, “War is no picnic, my young friend. Nor is it to be glorified in gilt and splendor.”
Hilliard twisted to face the archer, replying, “I am not unaware of that. My eyes are not blinded. I refer to the honor of the dedicated warrior, not the gore and the bloodshed.”
“They go hand in hand. You can’t walk the path of the warrior without staining your boots.”
“But to be true to your beliefs, to never waver from your ideals; that is what honor is all about. To stand as a rock against the forces which eat away at a man’s core!”
He quickly became enraptured with his own passionate delivery. Marik was unsure what to make of the young man, who struck the four mercenaries as beyond a little naive at first glance. Kerwin delivered his opinion on the matter. “A rock, huh? In my experience, rocks only get stepped on. Or thrown at enemy walls.”
Hilliard apparently realized he had been on the verge of making a speech and smiled sheepishly. “It is part of Duke Tilus’ teachings to those in his care. Anyone can succumb when life becomes difficult and take an easier path by sacrificing his values. The measure of a real man is how long he stands fast under pressure.”
“I imagine he holds to his own words, then. And that’s why these thieves are after you and the rest.”
