by Mark Teppo
And Andreas surprised himself by turning and putting his hand over Constansa’s mouth. She started, and when she reached up to move his hand, he intercepted it with his other hand. He shook his head and spoke over his shoulder. “I think it is best if Constansa and I have a private conversation.” He listened for any sign of movement, and hearing nothing, he spoke again, his voice harder. “Saluador, Lugo, that is an order. Take Gaucelis and Jacobi with you.”
He heard Saluador mutter something, but the tall man complied. Andreas remained still, staring at Constansa. She made no move to extricate herself from his grip, staring at him with her green eyes. He found himself thinking about the lake nearby, wondering how deep the water was, and he shook himself free of those thoughts. He closed his eyes, and he didn’t let go of Constansa until he heard the chapel door shut.
“I don’t believe in visions,” he said, forestalling any other discussion. As if he could, through sheer force of his will, undo anything that his men might have seen, any thoughts that they might, even now, be having.
“It does not matter if you do,” she replied. “I will still have them.”
“They mean nothing,” he tried to argue, waving a hand at the scattered pieces of parchment. She had pierced his defenses already, but he would not relent so quickly. In battle, being stabbed or cut did not mean immediate defeat. You kept fighting until your heart stopped. Until your spirit was broken.
“They mean whatever you think they mean,” she replied.
“That is nonsense,” he snapped. “You interpret them. You suggest meaning. People act differently because of your suggestions. Jacobi wouldn’t have hired us if you hadn’t told him to.”
“And what harm came from that?” she asked.
Andreas stared at her, his mind tangled with too many thoughts. They had killed Martis, a man who was nothing more than a bandit. They had broken a long-standing illicit toll being levied against the trader. Indeed, what harm lay in those actions? In fact, the encounter with Martis and his men could have been much worse. Some of the Shield-Brethren could have died. The wagons could have been lost. Had they, in fact, done more good than harm by accepting Jacobi’s commission? Would the money not benefit the Shield-Brethren chapter house?
“Do your men not respect you?” she asked, as if reading his thoughts. “Have you not led them well? Are they all safe and without injury?”
“That is not the point,” Andreas growled.
“Were you not afraid of leadership?” she continued, ignoring him. “Have you not been running from your responsibility to your order?”
“That’s enough,” Andreas snapped, raising his hand as if to strike her before she could say anything more. She stared at him, unafraid, and he dropped his hand, ashamed of what he had been about to do.
He heard the rustling sound of the parchment as she retrieved the large sheet. She held it out so that he could see the rose petals falling upon the thick line of spears.
“They’re coming,” she said. “And you’ve been running the wrong way.”
Beneath the spears, the half circle rose from the bottom of the page. The sun, he realized, rising in the east.
Jacobi had been keeping an eye on the chapel door while the rest of the cargo was being distributed, and when Andreas quietly slipped out of the church, he was the only one who witnessed the knight’s return. Andreas seemed distant, a thoughtful expression on his face, and Jacobi hesitated briefly before approaching the knight.
“There is a final matter,” Jacobi said, clearing his throat. He held up the small purse he was holding. “The other half of your commission—or should I call it the proceeds from selling the contents of your wagons?”
A tiny smile flitted across Andreas’s mouth. “What sort of trader am I that I allowed you and the others to dictate prices to me?” he asked.
“Not a very good one,” Jacobi pointed out.
Andreas nodded as he accepted the pouch. “Then I will accept this as our commission. And I apologize for stealing your wagons.”
“No need,” Jacobi said. “It all worked out.”
“I suppose it did.” The distant stare returned to Andreas’s face. “What of de Vilapros?” he asked. “After we leave, will he demand restitution from Estartyol for Martis’s death?”
“He might,” Jacobi said. “But no one will miss Martis, and it is time for us to stand up to men like de Vilapros.”
Andreas looked past Jacobi. “Your man, Tibal—he seems like an old dog that has a little bite in him still.”
Jacobi looked over his shoulder to where the old soldier was barking orders at his reluctant volunteers, who were apparently unloading cargo in the most inefficient manner possible. “He might.”
“If I see de Vilapros, I will warn him about the old dog,” Andreas said.
Jacobi caught the use of the singular in Andreas’s words. “You’re not returning to Barcelona with the others?”
Andreas shook his head. “No, I have been remiss in my duties,” he said. “I have wandered too far west.”
“Did she…?”
“Constansa?” Andreas shook his head. “She is a confused young woman who draws interesting pictures, Jacobi. Do not see too much in them. Nor listen too intently to her words.” He touched the trader lightly on the chest. “Though, she was right about one thing,” he said. “Don’t be afraid, especially of what lies in here.”
Jacobi clasped Andreas’s hand. “Good-bye, Andreas,” he said. “Go without fear.”
Andreas gripped his hand tight. “You too, Jacobi de Reyns.”
The Shield-Brethren were not surprised by his announcement that he would not be returning to Barcelona with them. They stood about awkwardly for a few minutes, pretending to fuss with their gear and their horses, until it became clear they were all avoiding saying good-bye.
Saluador broached the subject in the only way he knew. He strode up to Andreas and embraced him in an enormous bear hug. “May the Virgin watch over you,” he said when he finally released Andreas.
“I believe she does,” Andreas said, a thoughtful note in his voice. “The men are yours, Saluador. Take care of them.”
“I will,” Saluador replied.
“And stay out of de Vilapros’s path.”
“Who?” Saluador asked, mock confusion on his face.
Andreas slapped him on the chest. “It was a well-shot arrow, my friend,” he said. “It may have saved all of us.”
Saluador nodded. “Thank you, my friend. I will continue to pray for forgiveness, but I do not regret my action.”
“That is all any of us can do,” Andreas said.
Lugo couldn’t crush Andreas as readily as Saluador, so he didn’t try. Instead, he offered Andreas the leather purse Andreas had given him earlier. It was lighter, but there was still a weight of silver in it. “We’re not that poor of an order,” Lugo said. “Not as poor as you are, that’s for certain.”
Andreas inclined his head, accepting the gift. “I will spend it foolishly,” he said.
Lugo grinned. “I am sure you will.”
Harald said little, as was his wont, but his embrace was just as strong as Saluador’s.
That left Guillén.
“Have a safe journey,” Andreas said, offering his hand. “You should be back in Barcelona in a few days.”
Guillén snorted as he clasped Andreas’s forearm. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said. “Not for a few days, at least.” He jerked a thumb in the direction of the lake. “I still want to go fishing. These three are just going to have to wait.”
“And if de Vilapros shows up?”
“Who?” Guillén asked.
Andreas laughed. “I hope I meet him first. He definitely needs to be warned off.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” Saluador protested. Lugo, though, looked as if he hoped Andreas would.
Andreas gazed at the four men who had been briefly under his command, and the tightness that had been gripping his chest since he had spoken with Co
nstansa loosened. He laughed, letting go of numerous things: the responsibility of command, a nagging trepidation about what lay ahead of him, and an old fear that he had been carrying for a long time. Longer than he had realized.
These were his Brothers. His kin. They would die for him, and he would do the same.
There was no reason to be afraid anymore.
He knew his place in the world.
About the Author
Photo by Leslie Howle
Mark Teppo is the author of the urban fantasies Heartland, Lightbreaker (part of the Codex of Souls), as well as the eco-thriller Earth Thirst. A bibliophile whose interests include historical martial arts and esoteric traditions, he lives in the Pacific Northwest.
The Foreworld Saga continues in these other great titles from 47North!
Novels
The Mongoliad: Book 1
The Mongoliad: Book 2
The Mongoliad: Book 3
Foreworld SideQuests
Sinner
Dreamer
Seer
The Lion in Chains
The Shield-Maiden
The Beast of Calatrava
And find out more about the Foreworld Saga and forthcoming titles here.
