“You will be outside the Inn every morning before I am. You will begin your day by breaking the ice in the water barrel. Then we will run, with rocks. Then wrestling and boxing, the rudiments of riding, whatever work I can help you manage with the spear. You will still need to attend to whatever other chores or tasks you have, and the bow, on your own time. If you do this for the next month, every day, to my satisfaction, you may continue for a second month.”
Norbert nodded again, enthusiastically. Allystaire cut him off before he could speak.
“Fine. Go into the armory and fetch two spears and the longest, heaviest sword.” Norbert took a step, Allystaire bellowed, “Run!” and both of them knew that a squirehood had begun.
CHAPTER 14
A Conspiracy
Timmar’s Inn was crowded with folk enjoying their midday meal together, but when Allystaire pushed open the door and brought a gust of cold inside, his eyes were drawn to the hearth. Idgen Marte occupied two chairs near it, sitting in one, her legs lifted and crossed at the ankles on the second. She nodded towards him and lifted her feet clear as he made his way over. He eased himself down, tried not to groan too loudly at the protests from his legs and his back. Idgen Marte’s snickering let him know he’d failed.
“Training schedule not treatin’ you too well, old man?”
Allystaire snorted, waving a hand dismissively. “Nonsense. Best I have felt in years.”
“Ya know, I almost believe that,” she said as she lifted a mug to her lips. “You’re not happy unless you’re miserable or in pain.” She glanced over as Norbert made his way inside, stripping off winter clothing as he made his way to a table where a cluster of village men greeted him. Allystaire saw Giraud slip a hand into a large coat pocket and bring forth a round wrapped bundle and push it in front of Norbert, who unwrapped it to find a fresh brown loaf that he tore into with abandon. Sweat slicked his brown hair to his head, and his clothing steamed in the heat of the room.
“How goes it, then, two weeks along?”
“He is willing and he never tires, I will give him that,” Allystaire admitted grudgingly, shaking his head very slightly from side to side. “I have not spoken with Keegan on his progress with the bow, and there is only so much I can teach him with a spear. He is hopeless with his fists, as a wrestler,” he added with a sigh.
“He needs to put on weight for that,” Idgen Marte said. “It’ll come if Lenoir has anything t’say about it.”
“Giraud’s daughter?”
She nodded. She leaned close, opening her mouth to say something else, when the door swung open again, silencing the buzz of conversation and the sounds of eating and drinking. Allystaire slowly turned his eyes to find Harrys, the Delondeur horseman, standing unconcernedly in the doorway. He saw Allystaire and from across the room and called out.
“Paladin. Need t’talk to ya.”
Allystaire waved him over, but the old soldier shook his head. “Private, if ya please.”
Eyes flitted from the soldier to the paladin and back. Allystaire saw Giraud, Henri, and Norbert all start to rise slightly from their seats. The two older men watched Allystaire uncertainly.
With a bit of pride, Allystaire saw that Norbert stepped clear of the table, gave himself space, and never took his eyes off of Harrys.
Good for you, lad, Allystaire thought. He’d knock you senseless faster than you could blink, but you’re learning.
With a deep sigh that Allystaire felt probably came from his knees, he pushed himself from his chair and waved the three village men away.
“I will be fine, goodmen. Go back to your lunch.”
Giraud and Henri sat immediately, but Norbert continued to watch intently until Allystaire eyed him directly and pointed a finger to the bench. Then, slowly, the lad sat down, eyeing Harrys still.
The old soldier held the door open for Allystaire, who felt the shock of the outdoors like a hard slap across his face.
“Who’s that boy tryin’ to give me the hairy eye,” Harrys asked wryly as Allystaire shut the door and tugged his cloak tightly around him.
“Just a village lad. Pay it no mind. You said you needed to talk to me, so talk.”
Harrys nodded and started walking along the edge of the snow-and-frost covered green, cutting away from the wind to take at least a bit off of its edge.
“This is, ah…delicate,” Harrys said. “I need to tell you somethin’ so it can be stopped, but I’m thinkin’ you’re not gonna want to get your hands in it.”
“Harrys. I am cold, and I am sore, and you have dragged me away from a fire and food and warm wine. There is a point to this, yes?”
“Aye, there’s a point, your lordship,” Harrys muttered, spitting out of the side of his mouth. He paused, having led Allystaire halfway around the oval of the green, and squinted off at the buildings beyond it, and the wall beyond them. “I’m thinkin’ it’s somethin’ the Baroness needs to hear. But I can’t be the one who tells her.”
Allystaire’s brows knitted. “This bodes ill. I cannot promise that anything you tell me will be kept in confidence. If I speak of something, I must speak the truth; I think my Goddess would look ill on lies of omission, if it came to that.”
Harrys grunted. “Well, try t’keep my name out of it. What I’ve come t’tell ya is this. There’s two Delondeur knights o’er in the prison tent who’re plottin’ against the Baroness. Sayin’ she’s lost her head, come under too much o’your influence. They’re takin’ issue wi’ her proclamations regardin’ Lord Chaddin. They don’t like the idea o’a bastard born sergeant bein’ set o’er them.”
Allystaire felt his jaw clench, a fist tighten. “You were right; I cannot be the one to step in here. It will be up to Chaddin and Landen to do what must be done. Why did you come to me?”
Harrys continued to look off into the village, biting at his bottom lip for a moment. “If I tell the Baroness, it’s my word against theirs. Chosen man against knights. Now, I’m not afraid o’any man in a straight fight,” he said, turning to eye Allystaire directly, his brown eyes hard underneath heavy brows. “But I say a word against them, it’s my throat cut in my sleep. I’m old, but I’m not aimin’ to die just yet.”
“If you bring this to Chaddin, I am sure he will see justice done.”
“They say no man can lie t’ya. That true?”
“Aye.”
“Then ask ‘em. They’ll speak the truth, and no one can deny it.”
“It begins with Chaddin and Landen. If they ask for my aid in judging a man’s guilt or innocence using the Goddess’s gifts, I will consider it,” Allystaire replied.
“They’re aren’t just talkin’, mind you. They’re askin’ around, feelin’ the men out. Could be they’ve got half or more o’what’s left on their side by now. Two men are already missin’, spirits are low.”
Allystaire frowned. “Two men are missing? Since when?”
“Week now,” Harrys replied. “Must be they decided t’try an’ get somewhere else. Don’t seem likely they made it. Point is, it doesn’t do a man any good to think on that, to hear of knights talkin’ open treason when the Baroness ain’t around.”
“Bring this to Chaddin. I will come with you.”
“I do that,” Harrys said, “speak out straight against my Brothers o’Battle, see ‘em hung, maybe? I can’t go back to Londray. Can’t go back t’my life.”
“Then you need to decide what it is you treasure more, Harrys. The life you have in Londray, or the future of the whole Barony.”
Harrys grunted, looked away again, squinting his eyes so tightly they seemed shut. “Then what would I do?”
“Stay here. Go north, go west. I daresay that the Baroness would be happy to have you with her, no matter what you think.”
“Pfah,” Harrys spat. “You know what I mean. You betray a man you’ve fought beside, even if he dese
rves it, you’re no man’s Brother o’Battle any longer. Not so long as anyone knows what ya did.”
“Some things are larger, more important, than our desires or our brothers, Harrys, whether of battle or blood. I think what Landen and Chaddin aim to do could be one of those things.”
“What you aim t’do through them, ya mean,” Harrys said. “Not that I disagree with ya, mind. Too much war, for too long. And for what? Spaces a man can walk in a day or two. Cold, I hardly remember the last king. I was barely in the saddle when he died in the Vale.” He stopped, balled his fists and exclaimed, “Cold! Damn fool thing for an old soldier, t’start lookin’ back.”
“Looking back at what?” Allystaire could read the indecision in Harrys’s features, the deepening lines on the sides of his face, the downward set of his lips, the twitch in his deep-set eyes. Draw him out, he thought. See if you can guide him where he needs to go.
“Score and a half o’years o’soldierin’ and what have I got? Medals, ribbons, and my horse. Which is in yer stables now, along with my tack and weapons.”
“Family?”
“Had,” Harrys said, with a shrug. “Daughter, married, off somewhere with her sailor husband. She’s not lettered and folk such as us can’t afford scriveners often, so I don’t hear much. Son.” He swallowed hard. “Came back in a box from his first campaign on the north border, fightin’ the Islandmen pushin’ into Vyndamere. His ma blamed me, left.”
Allystaire winced, but said, “If you have names, a place, we can help you get a letter to your daughter.”
Harrys shrugged, met Allystaire’s eyes again. “I could stay here, ya said? And do what?”
It was Allystaire’s turn to shrug. “Help on a farm. Help at the stables.”
“I’m a soldier. My only trade. Only animal I know aught about’s a horse and I ain’t held a shovel since I figured out how t’keep rank and find the soft jobs.”
“You helped dig the graves but two weeks ago,” Allystaire countered. “Regardless, we could find you something if you wished to stay.”
Harrys made a small disparaging grunt. “Doin’ what? Diggin’ graves? Didn’t say I wished t’stay. Only that if I do as y’ask I can’t go back. Not the same.”
“No, they are not,” Allystaire agreed. “Yet you must go somewhere, and I would not have you throw your life away.”
“Just stop talkin,” Harrys said. “If ya would. Cold, but you like to fill up what ought t’be silent.”
Allystaire felt his jaw clench. “You came to me, Harrys,” he said with a quiet edge behind his voice. “You sought my counsel, and I have given it. I would not have thought you a coward.”
Harry’s face swung towards Allystaire, his eyes alight with anger, shouting, “No man gets t’call me coward!”
“Then why do you need to speak in circles with me to convince yourself to do what must be done,” Allystaire shot back. “If you cannot look straight at this and know what it is you ought to do then no counsel I give is going to help.”
Harrys clenched his jaw, nearly baring his teeth. He lifted a balled fist but forced it back to his side. “Fine. I’ll go speak to Lord Freezing Chaddin, who I knew when he was trooper Chaddin and Sergeant Chaddin and I didn’t much like him then. But I’ve a condition for my speakin’ o’ what I’ve heard.”
“Name it,” Allystaire said.
“After it’s done, you give over my horse, tack, gear, and provisions, and ya let me leave this Freezin’ village before you turn all o’it into a graveyard wi’ all your suggestin’ and preachin’.”
“Done. Will you go see Lord Chaddin now or do you need more time to work up sufficient courage?”
Harrys spat to one side of Allystaire’s boots. “I’ll go now. I’ll not be needin’ ya.” Harrys stomped off, his hands flexing at his sides.
As the old soldier stomped off, Allystaire lowered his head and sighed faintly, muttered a curse, then shook the thought away and headed back inside.
* * *
Landen and Chaddin came looking for Allystaire in the Inn less than a full turn later, finding him by the fire, looking at a stack of crudely lettered parchment. The latter was armed, sword at his side, and Allystaire could tell from the way the former kept hitching at her belt that Landen wished she were as well.
Before either could open their mouths, Allystaire held up a hand. “I know what you come to speak of. What I do not know is why you are coming to me.”
His declaration met with confusion and surprise, Landen and Chaddin turning to each other. Allystaire wanted to laugh at how closely their expressions mirrored one another.
“It is a potential crisis,” Landen began.
“Aye, that it is,” Allystaire said. “And it is precisely the kind of crisis you have appointed him to deal with,” he added, lifting a hand from the page in front of him to point it at Chaddin. “He is the instrument of your justice, not me.”
“You could bring the truth from the conspirators in front of an assize,” Landen pointed out.
“Aye,” Allystaire said. “I can. And if I am properly petitioned to do so, I will. But I will do only that. I will not pass judgment or mete out a sentence.”
“You seem unconcerned with the success or failure of the very process you have put into place,” Landen muttered. Chaddin crossed his arms over his chest, lips pursing.
“Far from it. I want to see it succeed even more than the pair of you,” Allystaire protested. “Which is precisely why I must not intervene except as a way of making certain that the truth is spoken before the magistrate. Do you understand?”
“If you step in, root out the conspiracy, and deal with the traitors,” Chaddin said, “then you have taken sides. Other lords will believe that Landen is your puppet. No peace is made that way.”
“There’s a chance they will believe that anyway,” Landen pointed out.
“You are not wrong,” Allystaire admitted. “There is certainly that chance. Yet if I were to act directly in your interest, shield you from the work of conspirators, then surely I sow the seeds of future treachery.”
“You are subtler than my father gave you credit for,” Landen said after a moment’s reflection.
“Not at all,” Allystaire said, setting aside the parchment and standing. “I am among the least subtle men you are likely to know. I want peace. I do not wish it to be the peace of the graveyard. Hold that fact firmly in mind and you will understand me. Now,” he said, “if you would like me present for the arrest of the men named as conspirators, allow me to dress appropriately.”
“I thought you wanted no part of this,” Landen said, “except at trial.”
“I do not,” Allystaire replied. “However, if it turns violent, I have people to protect. And the Lord of Highgate may find himself curious over events so near to his own camp.” He picked up the stack of paper and walked over to another table, setting them down in front of Norbert, whose long form was folded over a sheet, a stick of charcoal clutched awkwardly in his fist. “Your lettering is more legible but remains, on the whole, atrocious,” Allystaire muttered. “Though it is better than before.”
Norbert looked up, blinking at the sudden shift in perspective. He straightened at the praise, faint though it was. Allystaire patted his shoulder. “Remember,” he said quietly, “no man is fit to be a knight who is not lettered. Now come with me,” he said. “We are off to the armory.”
The boy stood quickly, smoothly. In just the two weeks of training, Norbert had changed noticeably, no longer quite as gangly, with the beginnings of muscle mass gathering on his chest. He moved more confidently, less hesitation in his steps, fidgeted less, looked even Allystaire in the eye when he talked.
“We’ve already gone and done—”
Allystaire met Norbert’s brown eyes and waited. The boy quieted immediately and lowered his head in apology.
“We ar
e not after practicing now, lad. I hope it will be no more than a bit of show.” He flicked his eyes towards Chaddin. “Might want to consider gathering your men and arming them.” No orders, he thought to himself, merely suggestions. “Landen,” he went on, “if you would come with us.”
Chaddin departed with a nod—towards Landen, and not himself, Allystaire noted. “We’ll be ready in half a turn.”
It wasn’t a long walk to the armory, such as it was, but it was a cold one, forcing all three to burrow into what winter clothing they had. Allystaire heard raised voices as they approached. This quickened his steps, leaving Norbert and Landen behind him for a quick, surprised moment. They made up the distance embarrassingly fast, Allystaire thought.
They found Torvul standing in front of the shed, holding his cudgel at his side, while Harrys stood a few feet away. The dwarf lifted the metal shod end of his stick, and shouted at the old soldier in his unmistakable rumble.
“Move another hand towards me, you tshakavitnamar, and I’ll break every bone in it,” the dwarf shouted. Harrys feinted to a side and Torvul swiped at the air mere inches from Harrys’s snarl-set face.
“HOLD,” Allystaire bellowed.
Torvul didn’t bother to turn towards him, but Harrys did, his face set in a grimace.
“Ya told me I could have m’gear and be gone, but this cursed stack o’shit won’t let me near,” Harrys growled.
“I did say you could have them,” Allystaire admitted, “but I had no idea your cowardice would drive you to flee the village quite so soon. Before your lords could organize an assize, even.”
Torvul lifted his cudgel threateningly, with one hand, while the other crept for a pouch.
Don’t, Allystaire thought, knowing Torvul would hear him. He is no real danger.
“What is the meaning of this, Bannerman?” Landen’s words were quiet. “Desertion, is it?”
“M’current time expires the start o’the new year and that can’t be far. Might even be passed,” Harrys spat back. “And I’ve no intention of stayin’ around men who know I’ll go behind their backs t’see ‘em hung.”
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