by SL Figuhr
He sobbed, great, gut-wrenching sobs as he lay prostrate beside the body of his wife and their short-lived son. Chadrick was barely aware of the whispers and careful footsteps of the slaves and his mother. His world had shattered. His beautiful, kind Alise, whom he had only had for three years, and their newborn son. Hands rubbed his back, his mother’s voice was kind even as it was tearful.
“No! No! Alise! Alise! Why? Why?” He clutched at the dead woman even as well-meaning slaves gently but firmly pried him away from the cooling bodies.
Chadrick stood pale and resolute before his father. “I will not!”
“You will do as I say, or I shall disinherit you! Your younger brother is dead, branded a traitor for killing the king. The name of Sydney has been soiled! I wish to the gods it was you—it should have been; yet it is your brother who lies dead!”
“How dare you speak of the woman I love that way? Disinherit me. It will be a welcome relief if it means I will not have to listen to you soil the memory of a wife who was good and kind.”
He stood up from the desk where he’d been, alone, going over his accounts, as his mother entered the room. The woman, heavily covered and veiled, sat in an attitude of utter exhaustion in the room’s only comfortable chair. “Please son, I am begging you. For my sake, make amends with your father.”
“Please, Chadrick, there have been rumors of assassins again.” “Yes, Mother, the army is already alerted.”
“They say there is to be a celebration on the birth of a royal son. What better way to add to the festivities than to come back to us and ask your father’s forgiveness?”
Rain fell like tears into the open grave. He stood ramrod straight, at attention across from his parents as the body of his eldest brother was laid to rest. As the grave was filled in, his mother crumpled to the ground. The old earl turned away from the display. Her body-slaves comforted her, his eyes met those of his middle son. They burned with hatred and rage. He dismissed the man and walked to his carriage.
“You are the only son I have left. I can’t even acknowledge you still live. I have buried two grown sons already. Please, Chadrick, I beg you, for my sake. Please speak with your father. Please don’t let our family end with your father. Please.”
“I’m dying, Chadrick,” his mother said quietly. “I would rest easier if I knew you and your father had mended the rift between you. That one son of mine at least is earl and continues the family name.” She paused for breath. He could see she spoke the truth.
“I know how immeasurable Alise was to you, but my son, it has been six years. I beg of you, a deathbed request, make amends with your father. Marry whom he chooses and continue the line. In your heart, keep her memory close.”
“I am not asking you to. Do you think your father loved me when we married? No, it was arranged by our parents. He has treated me well and given me the sons I wanted. It has not been a bad life. It was a business arrangement which worked for the best.”
His mother broke down weeping, and left his spartan rooms. He tried to see her during her illness, but his father barred him from the house. She sent word she would not see him unless he made amends. Another year passed, his mother slowly wasting away, and finally he relented.
“Father.”
“Have you come to your senses, boy?”
“I despise you and everything you stand for, but for my mother’s sake only, I will do what she asks of me.” He was pale, exhausted and sick at heart.
The old man grunted, spitting into the fire. “I expect you to sign a contract, and follow to the very letter of it. You will marry whom I choose, and you will plant children within her. Sons, preferably. When I die, if you have not disgraced me or her, and fulfilled the terms of our agreement, you shall inherit the earldom and all my lands and wealth.”
* * * Morning came too soon for the earl. He woke alone, washed, dressed, and headed to his office. He ordered breakfast and began to go
over the accounts with his steward. He was determined to bury himself in work, ignoring his wife and her chilly silences which had only grown over the years. He despised his cowardice, and the life he was living. He felt himself growing cold, uncaring, turning into his father. Nothing brought joy to him anymore. If only the king would grant his request for divorce; he intended to try asking again.
Sydney realized his steward was looking at him oddly; the man had finished listing the losses they endured at the hands of the bandits. It was only some slaves, some wealth, a portion of his wife’s jewels, some animals. He was still rich enough; what went missing would not matter, except for the jewels. His wife would demand he send out their personal guard to hunt the bandits down and get them back. Or barring that, buy her new ones.
“I think you are too hard on yourself, m’lord. I remember when you were a young man, full of dreams and the courage to go after them. It’s a shame what your father did to you, m’lord. Pardon my liberties; he is long dead, and you are still letting him win, letting him bully you.”
The earl stared at his desktop as the man’s words penetrated; was it true? He thought back to his first wife, knowing she would be ashamed of the man he had become. He wasn’t sure he remembered how to be the person he had once been. The person Alise had been proud of.
“Shall I give you the report on your farms, m’lord?”
“They are still producing? The bandits have not raided them?”
Sydney left the merchant’s hall, oddly pleased with himself. He negotiated for new weapons and armor on behalf of the soon-to-bereformed sheriff’s office at reasonable enough prices. He was just remounting his horse when he saw Lord Nicky and Lady Illyria riding toward him. They were surrounded by the advisor’s personal guard; neither looked to be pleased with the other.
The advisor ignored him. She acknowledged his greeting with a graceful nod of her head and a smile. He watched them pass, noting her riding costume was the one about which his wife had fulminated: the leather pants and long, full-skirted coat. He wondered if her ladyship had the intelligence and wits to outthink Nicky. The lady had such a strong will he couldn’t conceive of her bending to anyone’s demands, least of all a man like Nicky.
She would need to be more careful, he thought. Her appointment by the king had no doubt already incurred the young man’s wrath and would bring pain and suffering down on her head. Sydney turned his horse toward the slave markets; the men there owed him a few favors. He had an idea on how he could collect.
“Hahahahaaaa!” The slaver sprayed crumbs as he laughed. “No disrespect meant, your lordship, but you’re crazy! I know as well as you that His Majesty never gave no such orders.”
“That might have been true before, but with this new attack on his person, he is determined to see the sheriff’s office set to rights with men loyal to him. Just imagine who might seize power if he were murdered because you refused to fulfill such a little request.”
The slaver blanched, whining. “M’lord, fighting men are worth a lot of coin. I would be taking a terrible loss, and well, what with winter coming on and these raids by the bandits...”
“You will not have a business when the bandits come back and destroy the town. Who will buy your slaves then, when no one has the coin? You will take a loss just trying to move them to another town with buyers. I am not asking for all your fighters, only the six whom I deem best for the job. Two from each of the slavers.”
He waited a beat, adding, “I am giving you the chance to make of them a royal gift before they are seized by the king’s orders. Which would you prefer?” The earl lied without remorse, knowing it to be for a good cause. He knew the man before him would believe him; Sydney was known to be a man of principle.
“New recruits, willing to sign and swear their lives to obey and uphold the laws of the kingdom upon pain of a prolonged death should they disgrace the badge.”
Saizar looked over the men in silence, scrutinizing them. He took each one to the side, questioning him privately, before addressing them as
a group. “I am your commander. You will obey my orders and only my orders or I shall hand you over to the head questioner. I will tell you now why you are the only men here: because the last sheriff was corrupt, along with his men. They are now in the dungeons, cursing the day their mothers bore them.”
He paused to let that sink in, continuing, “We will train together, eat together, live together. You will treat each citizen of this town with courtesy and respect, no matter their station in life. You will not use your position to force people to pay you, whether money or food or drink, or have sex with you. When you are on duty, you will be sober. You will be on time. You will do all I ask of you.”
The men continued to watch him in silence. “When you have passed your training and trial period, you will take your oaths to remain lawmen, thus gaining your full freedom. If you have problems, speak now, and you will be returned to the slavers. At any point should you attempt to deceive me, and it will be your death.”
The earl stood off to one side, watching the faces of the men, hoping, and praying he was still a good judge of character. The men eyeballed each other. One spoke up.
“If you pay for it, and do not demand it be given to you. We are under most intense scrutiny from the king and his advisor. They are expecting you to fail; do not give them a reason to doubt you further. We are not here to start fights, nor show we are the best fighters. We are here to enforce the king’s peace.”
There was some grumblings. The men knew they could have made more in the fighting pits, if they lived. Here, they were being promised liberty without almost having to die for it a lot sooner.
There was more silence, but the man who had asked the questions was the first to come forward; after that, the rest followed. The earl had never been inside the sheriff’s barracks. He was surprised at the filth. The army kept much cleaner quarters. By the time each man claimed a bed, Raynauld was at the back with some slaves and food for the new recruits.
The earl managed to conceal his wince at dirty plates, only gave a slight pause at drinking from the equally filthy cups, joining in the new meal. It was eaten in silence, each man eyeballing his new brother, or Saizar, or the earl. When the simple but filling meal was over, the men had their first task.
Saizar set them to cleaning out the dormitory. There was some grumbling before the men slowly got down to the job. The earl stood by the only stair and watched, conversing with the new sheriff in low tones.
“I have known men like them before, and lived with them, too. I remember all too well how to handle them.” He gave a grim smile. “It is food and drink I worry about. We used to have a cook after a fashion, but it was an old woman and she died. After that, we had to fend for ourselves. I do not wish for these men to do that. I think it would be too onerous to deal with and bring about rebellion sooner, but I have no skill with food.”
“The former sheriff hid the coins he received each month for our pay and upkeep. I have searched everywhere and cannot find it. I do not even know what kind of budget he was getting. I can find no papers from His Majesty, no charter, nothing. I am loath to go begging after what happened; what if he refuses?”
“I negotiated with the merchants to supply arms and armor at a reasonable price. They will bill you; you in turn will pass it off to the royal treasurer to be paid. The same arrangements can be made with the butcher, and farmers.” Sydney was happy to solve these problems.
There was the barest hint of displeasure. “What if they don’t get paid? The townspeople will consider me no better than Jake. I shall lose my life and those of these men for something I could have prevented.”
“Such documents must be here, hidden behind a loose floorboard or some such thing. You will have to search in what spare time is provided, without the men knowing.”
“I do not see a lot of that in my future,” Saizar remarked sourly. “I will train them starting at first light; look then.”
The man mulled this over, only breaking his silence to say a few harsh words to break up a blossoming fight. “Your lordship, not to question you, but why are you doing this? Why dirty your hands like a common man, risking the displeasure and scorn of your peers?”
The earl took a breath in, meaning to deny the question, but the answer came out. “I was happiest when I was an army man. I had a wife I loved, honest respect from the men under me, a place I had earned which was my own. A place my father didn’t buy for me and couldn’t threaten to take from me. I had freedom. Even though I was bound by rules and regulations, it was still freedom.”
Alise. Dear, sweet, gentle Alise. Will you like me better now? “No.” His tone let the other man know he shouldn’t ask any more questions on the subject.
They stood in silence, watching the new men scrub and clean as the sun sank, the room growing darker. It was near midnight when the earl started for home. The streets were empty, the sunset curfew having cleared them. He encountered one of the palace guards on patrol; though they grumbled, they let him pass. He was almost at the bridge when a dark horse and rider came down, turning toward the forest.
What is she doing out at this hour, cloaked and hooded in such a way? Maybe someone is borrowing her horse? He didn’t think it boded well, and doubted that anyone but she was able to ride the stallion. It was also none of his business. He toyed with the idea of stopping at the Silver Thorn until noticing the shut gate.
The earl snuck out of his mansion just past daybreak, like a common thief! His wife had already moved into another bedroom, he noted. The cook had a pot of porridge ready, loaves of bread, hard-boiled eggs, and half a barrel of ale. The meal should make the men happy, he thought as his grooms loaded up a packhorse. The town was just waking up as he came down off the bridge. The new recruits were in the yard dunking their heads in a barrel of icy water.
Saizar came into the still-filthy eating area in time to hear the reply. “We have no cook as yet. The earl has consented to gift our endeavors, as has Lady Illyria. This is part of a tax the king has ordered the nobles to pay to help get our numbers back up. In addition, the earl was an army man. He will be helping me train you until we can get a new master of arms.”
The earl managed to keep his face neutral. He knew the tax section to be a lie, wondering who had thought it up. Something told him her ladyship was behind the latest ploy. He wondered how she was going to get Lord Nicky go along with it as Saizar sat, helping himself to a share of the food and drink. Sydney joined them. It was another mainly silent meal; after finishing, all the men trooped out into the dirt practice yard. Under a crude wooden shed was a pile of mismatched weapons, armor, saddles, bridles and other detritus. The men got to work sorting it out, tidying up before Saizar unlocked the door to the armaments room. He brought out wooden practice shields, swords and quilted jerkins.
The earl dearly wanted to know where it had all come from. He had a bad feeling Lady Illyria had done some raiding herself, or ordered it done.
Immediately, the yard rang to the clack of wood on wood, the occasional grunt as a blow landed. Sydney walked around the perimeter of the yard, watching the men. Three had some skill, one had none at all, and the other two middling. After a good bout, he called a halt.
“I’m Gordy. I was in the army across the sea. We were defeated in battle. My company was taken hostage, marched to the coast, then sold into slavery. We were bound for the fighting pits when pirates sank the ship. I was resold here.” A man in his late twenties, with short blond hair, blue eyes, corded with muscles and a few scars.
“I’m Toras. My father was a slave; I was born a slave. My master saw I liked to fight, so he trained me to be one of his guards. He was betrayed, I ran—not very far, it seems, as I am still a slave.” He spat upon the ground. The man was built like a bull, thick upper body and neck, massive thighs and legs yet with a particular lightness on his feet all the same.
“I’m Guts. I haven’t got any other name. I was a butcher. My town was overrun by bandits and slavers. I was sold, same as the others
, to fight in the pits. I managed to survive, but my owner lost all his money. We were all sold again to slavers who brought us here.” He was in his thirties, thinning brown hair and muddy brown eyes.
“You three are good and will get better. Guts and Toras, I want you to work with the two who are middling, help make them better. Gordy, you will work with the one who has no skill, so he may benefit the most from your knowledge,” Sydney instructed them before turning to the three remaining men.
“I am Merrit. I was just a simple farmer before my crops failed and I joined the army. I was not with them long before our company was ambushed. Those who could fight were killed, and those of us like me who hadn’t real skill yet and managed not to get dead were enslaved and sold.” He had long black, wavy hair and dark eyes.
“I’m Cregen, his brother,” he pointed to Merrit. “We joined the same army, same company, same story.” His hair was short and curly, and he had his brother’s eyes.
“I’m Frog. I was just a simple fisherman. Pirates captured me one day, selling me to slavers. They called me Frog ’cause they liked to make me jump and take orders.” He was tall, with sandy hair and brown eyes.
“From now on, these will be your sparring partners unless we are learning melees or combinations. Those of you with longer hair, cut it short like Gordy’s. Long hair is a liability in a fight. Your opponent can grab it, like this.” Sydney grabbed Merrit’s hair, yanking his head back, putting his dagger to the man’s throat. “You will be dead, just as quickly. Keep it short.” He released the now-scowling man, continuing to address them.
“You will keep clean, both your person and your clothing. I want no stink that could warn others you are nearby. Do not give them any advantage which can be prevented. Can anyone ride?”
Gordy was a decent rider, and the farmers after a fashion, but the other three not at all. “We will learn riding, and one other weapon to start: either bows or staves. It is not safe to rely on one weapon only, not when your enemies are bandits.”
