Vesteal 01 – 01 – Ghost in the Yew

by Blake Hausladen

  A voice stabbed through all the clamorous dead that whispered at the ghosts who possessed me. ‘He needed to win only once. Take care.’

  Solon’s grip weakened for a moment, and I got hold of my voice. “Who sent you?”

  He did not care for my words and continued forward. His second thrust allowed us to find his elbow and his third allowed us to prick the side of his neck. He backed away after each and closed his guard again.

  We retreated to draw him further out of guard, and as he crossed his feet, we leapt back across his guard, turned his blade, and found his right eye through the narrow window in his helm.

  Growling, he backed away. We raced after him, slapped his sword aside, and jammed our blade between the plated knuckles of his sword hand. The blade fell, and as he turned to look for it, we leapt around and ran our steel deep into his healthy eye.

  He shrieked, sank to his knees, and wrapped his arms around his eyes.

  The ghosts howled and shrieked with glee. But Solon was weary. He let go of me, and I was left to look from blade to branch. Neither could open the hardened steel.

  ‘Use his broadsword,’ Solon whispered as the smoke and fire of my family began to let go. The cold touch of the Hessier began to dig again into my guts.

  I snatched up the massive broadsword, struggled across, and hacked it down upon the kneeling devil’s head. The helm dented split and a spray of gray blood arched through the air. My kin reveled, my second blow smashed open the thick helmet, and ashen wafts of Edonia’s fallen king curled inside to dig free great flaming scoops of sick gray tissue.

  The black touch vanished, and the elation of a fallen people lifted my limbs and my voice. Together, we screamed at the sky.

  One by one they drifted wearily toward their timber tombs and a cold calm replaced the ancient rage. I had come north for a reason. I cast the sword aside and took a knee before the great tree.

  “Kyoden, please stay for a time. I need your counsel.”

  He was weary and his voice was a tortured rasp. ‘You seek knowledge I do not have. This enemy was beyond me. These two are the first I have seen slain. Zoviya has hundreds more.’

  “But my people, my province. They need a leader. I was raised a child and a villain. I am blind to all the simple things that move men through their day.”

  ‘No. The villains lay before you. Stand tall, Barok Vesteal. We hear your voice. You are strong and just.’

  “But Kyoden, I am too much a Yentif.”

  ‘This is perhaps for the best. Your enemies are great, and to defeat them, you will have to be close. Much closer than an Edonian could ever get.’

  “Befriend my father?”

  ‘You have killed Hessier,’ he wailed with pride. ‘What man, what Yentif can brag it? What would a Yentif prince do with such a prize? If you mean to kill the king of the wolves, you will have to be a wolf, for a time. You and I, Barok, will never know peace. Your grandsons might, and that is why you must make such a clever fight of it that all of Zoviya will call you friend before you put out its eyes and cut off its head. I fear for you, my heir, but also have hope. You were a wolf today. I say howl.’

  His form wavered and diminished, spent by his passion. I was left with his words and the taste and smell of battle in my mouth and nose. Could I act as the beast Vall had raised without becoming one again?

  As with the innocent horse I had stabbed, the choice before me needed no pondering. If I did not act a wolf, the rest would catch my true scent. I would be the beast, though I doubted Kyoden had any idea of the grisly detail of what his counsel informed me to do. My father had gained from my survival, even if it was he who meant to end me, and the bodies were of unequalled value to a Prince of Zoviya.

  I cleaned the sick liquid from my sword and began to gather the spoils of war.

  61

  Colonel Leger Mertone

  The 54th of Summer, 1195

  The morning after my return started where I preferred—beneath the keep, axe in hand. The heavy half moon of iron had been given a keen edge, and a mountain of short, fat logs waited for me. Thell was too kind.

  I looked up at Barok’s window a time or two. I hoped the day would see his mood improved. Mine had not. I had not slept well upon the wide soft bed in the apartment above my store. Urs and his wife had done an amazing job furnishing the space for me while I was gone, and I was as glad to be done climbing the keep’s winding stairs as my body was in need of such a comfortable bed, but the space was still too foreign. I had never owned the place where I slept.

  The work warmed away these thoughts as quickly as it did the ache in my back and knees. Sahin met me there as I was finishing. We were due at a consortium meeting.

  The bowyer already had the look of business about him. His day had started in Ojesti with the greencoats. He stunk of wood smoke.

  “Forgive the smell,” he greeted. “I stayed at my cousin’s place in Ojesti last night. It’s from the pine needle smoke they use to keep the bees calm. The smell of it permeates the place.”

  “Their work goes well?”

  “Yes. Merit approved his proposal. More men work tending hives now than work the orchard. It has become quite an effort. The village is growing quickly.”

  “That is good to hear. And at the camp? The men are organized?”

  “Yes. It’s as we discussed. Gern’s father and two troops will establish a garrison a day up the road at the village of Hippoli so we’ll have men in range of any trouble in the villages. The other senior men and I will conduct the next round of training. Gern and the rest will garrison at the keep. They’re all moving to it now. The prince is still asleep?”

  “No sign of him yet this morning. Should we invite him to the meeting?”

  “No, I don’t want to go before him again until we have some good news about how we have the new men organized.”

  I agreed, and we made our way to the rapidly filling meeting hall.

  The gathering was not a formal one, more a second round of introductions without wine and wild tales. Sahin made good use of the occasion to shake hands and press them on the details of their trades in the same way he had the men we hired in Almidi. To the Bessradi men, he must have seemed overbearing, but our chairman was more clever than he looked. A man did not become a master craftsman without being the kind who loved to talk about his trade, so with each probing question they answered, Sahin’s authority grew.

  The meeting eventually moved to its only real order of business when Sahin introduced our man Merit. The carpenter was much more like Barok than Sahin when it came to speaking to a crowd. His speech was a garbled affair and hard to watch. He twitched, bit his nails, and shook when he remembered to breathe. His plan was masterfully straightforward, though, so it did not suffer from his bumbling.

  The plan was agreed to, and the rest of the morning was given back to the new men so they could better organize the haphazard crescent of tents, wagon, and horses that enveloped the town.

  I was on my way back toward the keep to report the day to the prince when Gern and Barok’s bodyguards met me at a run.

  “Have you seen him?”

  “What? No. Why?”

  “The courier bearing his stipend has arrived, but I cannot find him.”

  “Explain.”

  “He’s not in the keep, and no one’s seen him since he went up to his room last night.”

  “I don’t know what he had planned for this morning, either. Does Dia know where he is?”

  “She says he was gone when she woke—thought he would be with you at this morning’s meeting.”

  “Could he have gone for a ride? Are all the horses accounted for?”

  Gern waved at one of the guardsman, the man already a half step toward the stable.

  “Rot,” I cursed. “It will be hard to argue to Barok that we are better organized if we cannot even find the man to tell him. How many days have passed since the courier was due?”

  “Seven.”

  “Whe
re has he been that he’s so late? Did he say?”

  “He blames it on our road.”

  “Rot. By law, he can leave after six days if the stipend is not delivered and signed for. If we don’t find Barok soon, the man can claim expiration and take the gold back with him. The chancellor would love that.”

  “Do you think something could have—”

  “Hold your tongue, Lieutenant. This is Enhedu, not Bessradi. If the horses are all accounted for, he must be in town, if not, he went for a ride, perhaps north. We have no reason to believe anything has happened to him.”

  “Leger, we are talking about Bessradi and Bessradi’s gold. 9,000 new faces show up, Barok goes missing, and then the courier arrives? We have every reason to think something has happened.”

  Gern was right. When it came to Bessradi gold, there was no such thing as coincidence.

  The guardsman returned at a run. “One pony is missing.”

  “No one saw him ride out?”

  “It must have been very early.”

  “Find out. The blacksmith is usually the first awake in town. He might have seen the prince go. Have the courier brought up to the hall. I will keep him there. Send riders down every trail. Find him and get Haton working on finding out if anyone is unaccounted for.”

  I met the courier in the hall. I had expected the space to be empty but found Dia and Fana in the gallery above with a man I did not know—a scribe perhaps. He was not one of those I’d brought north. Eyes that intense could not be missed. He glanced at me once before fixing his gaze back onto the courier. I did the same.

  The small man stood near the fireplace, casually inspecting the antlers mounted above it. He was proper-looking and clearly a veteran of the road.

  “Good day,” I greeted.

  He turned and bowed but asked abruptly, “Where is the prince?”

  “My apologies. He is out riding but will be back shortly. Would you care for some food?”

  “No, sir. The poor condition of your road has already put me beyond my scheduled return.”

  “The prince will be here presently. Have a seat.”

  “You miss my meaning. I am leaving now, and you cannot detain me.”

  He was right, but thankfully Gern appeared. The lad was white-faced. He pointed and said only, “He is coming.”

  I was confused by his urgency. He grabbed my arm and yanked me toward a window. The prince crossed the practice field below, his body heavy in the saddle, a long line of horses tied behind him. Each bore the weight of a dead man. The blued-steel worn by two could not be missed.

  The courier and the scribes above found their way to other windows. Fana and Dia gasped, and the courier made a panicked animal kind of noise. My face hardened. I stepped slowly away from the window and drew my sword.

  “He is here now,” I said to the small man. “It appears he ran into some friends of yours. Tell me who paid you, and you can leave here alive.”

  The Dame stepped into the great hall then with a kettle of soup, steam rising wildly from it. Instead of fleeing, she stepped around the table and changed her grip on the pot. The courier’s eyes moved from the sword to the soup and back again before he sat himself down and pressed his palms into the table.

  “You have the gold?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  “It was to be your payment?”

  “Yes.”

  I heard Barok’s voice and those of the guardsmen.

  “Stay on the stairs, Prince,” I said loudly. “Another of them is here.”

  He did not stop but slowed as he entered and drew his rapier. Barok’s bodyguards surrounded the courier while Barok slowly approached. He reeked of his work. Dia rushed down the stairs but shrank away from the stench. Fana followed and hid behind Gern. The new man above, I noted, had rightfully stayed at his station.

  “He has your stipend,” I told Barok, “which was to be payment for your assassination. How many attacked you?”

  “I killed fourteen and two Hessier,” he replied before asking the courier with an eerily even tone, “How many were you total?”

  The deed seemed unreal. The ghosts in the yew must have stood their ground in death in a way they could not in life. The prince wore the heavy look of a lad back from a long campaign. He had Kyoden’s eyes.

  The courier had not answered his questions. “How many were you?” Barok asked again with the same casual tone, though his arm tensed as if he were about to skewer the man. I worried he would kill him regardless.

  “Me, the fourteen, and the Hessier.”

  The tension spread to Barok’s shoulder and neck. His body slowly coiled.

  “The count was fourteen. One troop of guards. I swear it. The Hessier ... you killed them? You killed both Hessier?”

  Barok relaxed and began to examine the edge of his sword. “Nicked my blade, too. Who sent you?”

  “I left Bessradi with the escort required by the amount I bore. The Hessier waylaid us on the road and ordered us into their service. Who put them to it, I do not know. Hessier discuss their business with no one.”

  Barok sheathed his sword and smiled pleasantly at the man. “You have something for me to sign?”

  “Yes, Lord Prince. I have the gold here as well.”

  He was barely able to stand. With Gern’s supervision he produced a thin case and five purses from their respective hiding places on his person.

  Barok, meanwhile, crossed to the writing desk and began to compose a letter. He looked across at the man with the same pleasant expression. “If the count is right, you can live.”

  “It is all there.”

  “Good. Then after you strip the dead, you can deliver them and this letter to my father.”

  “Strip?”

  “Spoils of war. Everything but their souls belongs to me. Be glad you did not draw a sword yourself, or you would be going home naked as well. The troop that came with you, they were soldiers, friends of yours?”

  “Yes, my lord. They’ve ridden escort for me countless times.”

  “They fought and died well. You can convey my regrets and respect to their families. I bear them no enmity.”

  “Thank you, my lord. They were good men. The Hessier’s cause was not our own.”

  I finished counting as Barok finished writing. “It is all here,” I told him.

  Barok carefully read the man’s receipt before signing and returning it. Then he handed me the letter he’d written.

  * * *

  The 54th of Summer, 1195

  Vall, Sovereign, Exaltier, and Father of all Zoviya,

  A gift for you, dear father—Hessier who meant to end your line, slain by me with your steel. I send with this their rotting bodies and the barbute helmets they wore. All else they brought, I keep as spoils.

  The rest are a troop of courier guards that the Hessier pressed into service. Please send to their families from my stipend what compensation you deem proper for the injustice they have suffered.

  I beg of you also, father, please tell me my place in this struggle. What power moves against you that calls Hessier to its banner?

  Your humble sword arm,

  Barok, Prince of Zoviya and Arilas of Enhedu

  * * *

  I did not speak my reservations. He’d wanted me to read it, not give him my counsel. He sealed and stamped the letter and handed it to the courier.

  “Fail to deliver this to my father, and I will hunt you personally. Leger, see that he leaves as I charged. The Akal belong to Thell. The rest of it goes to the garrison.”

  Then the prince stalked out of the room with Dia and his bodyguards in pursuit. I did not have to guess how badly the brothers felt or how unlikely it was they would ever willingly leave Barok unguarded again.

  The courier shook like a waking drunk, but he was able to take hold of the letter cases and make his way outside. The smell of the opened bodies was a thousand-fold worse than what Barok had brought inside, even in the breeze. It had a familiar flavor, but the ta
ng of the dead on my tongue was a trifle to the sight of what had been done to them. Four were so damaged, it was difficult to call them men. Fingers, feet, hands, and one head were missing. The bits still attached were sliced and punctured as if by a hundred angry blades. The flesh of the Hessier was less torn, but like a filet from a bottom feeder, the meat just seemed to have started bad. The gray flesh oozed off-colored blood that refused to clot, and I doubted six days in the sun could make them smell any worse.

  The greencoats and others came in groups of two and three to see it for themselves. Only Gern and Sahin had the stomach to stay.

  The courier was far more polite with the bodies of the men who had shared his misfortune and asked for something to wrap them in. His trembling got worse as he worked, but he was eventually able to pile the dead into a small cart.

  When the work was done I asked, “You have family?”

  He cheered a touch, but said only, “Two sons.”

  “Get them and yourself as far from the capital as fast as you can. Tell no one where you are going,” I said to him while I hung the Hessier’s broken helmets atop the cart’s forward posts. “Keep your thoughts on your boys.”

  “What do I tell them?”

  “If you are able to deliver these and clever enough to escape the capital alive, you can tell them that an alsman to a Yentif arilas has offered you a job.”

  He nodded but rode away as pale as the dead stacked behind him.

  The gear left upon the field was of the highest quality, and the sum of gold and silver from their purses large. Riding escort had gotten more lucrative—and dangerous. Gern stooped over the Hessiers’ armor.

  “You have no sense of smell?”

  Gern asked, “Who will wear the armor?”

  “Are you mad?”

  “What do you mean? Is it cursed or something?”

  “No, but …”

  “Then I would say you are being superstitious. It should be used,” he stated and then eyed me and Sahin. “Too big for any of us to use.”