The Bound Folio

by Rob J. Hayes

  Higson and Kernard stood, but Tristan struggled with his wound. Higson took his arm without a word and helped him to his feet.

  “Not many are brave enough to take on a Wight. I've seen just one of those foul creatures kill ten knights. You three did a great deed here. Be proud. Now, get that wound seen to,” he instructed Tristan. “And then all three of you report to Falcon Keep soon as you're fit to ride.”

  With that, Prince General Sir Jerard Fulf strode away, leaving three young knights to help each other from the field.

  #

  Tristan lay on a pallet, a groggy jumbled mess from the half bottle of whiskey the healer had made him drink. They were saving the poppy for those worse off. The healer was almost finished with her stitching.

  Kernard and Higson hung about, trying not to get in anyone’s way. Whatever had given rise to the hostility between them seemed gone. They had both saved each other's lives on the battlefield. The three of them had killed a Wight together, been knighted together, and Tristan likened them all as long-time friends now.

  Archie lay on a pallet on the other side of the tent. He had been dragged from the battlefield by a fellow squire who had seen him fall. The healer said Archie would live, but his war was over; the injury to his right leg would forever give him a pronounced limp.

  “All done,” the healer proclaimed, giving Tristan a reassuring touch on the shoulder. “You're staying here for the night. Doubt you could move if you wanted to.”

  Tristan grinned up at the woman, thinking she might have been pretty some twenty years ago.

  “That must be some good stuff you gave our friend,” Kernard said.

  “Just whiskey,” she said, looking up.

  “Ah. More to spare then for a couple newly dubbed knights?” Higson gave her a chubby-cheeked grin.

  The healer stood, brushing her hands on her bloody apron, and looked them over appraisingly. “Barely a scratch on either of you. I don’t think so. Let your friend rest in peace. Off to the taverns with you.”

  “But I got me a fierce black eye,” Kernard protested. He wasn't wrong, his face had swollen with a bruise where the Wight had struck him.

  “I think you'll live. Out. Come visit your comrade tomorrow.”

  “G'night, guys,” Tristan slurred from his pallet, eyes already closed.

  The Merchant of Truridge

  Victoria bounced as one of the carriage wheels hit a bump. She gasped, a shudder running through her. Sirion grinned and kissed her.

  The young noble bit her lip and stared into Sirion's eyes, their faces close. Sirion had often tried to put into words his feelings for Victoria; not once had those words seemed adequate.

  “Stop, Sirion,” Victoria said between heavy breaths.

  “You're sure about that?” he asked with another grin. “You don't seem so sure.”

  “We're almost there,” she said.

  Sirion didn't stop. “So? The carriage can wait in the courtyard for a while. No one will notice.”

  Victoria giggled, then gasped, her eyes going wide. She removed Sirion's hand from between her legs and smoothed down her dress.

  “There will be plenty of time later, my love,” she said, just as the carriage came to a stop. “See? We’re here.”

  She gave him one last quick kiss with a longing in her eyes that set Sirion's blood on fire. He would have locked the carriage door there and then and taken her, if she'd but let him. But Victoria was much too thoughtful. They were expected, and it wouldn't do to be late, or even worse, not turn up at all. Sirion often noted how Victoria's organization perfectly offset his impulsiveness; in truth, it was one of the many things he loved about her.

  The carriage door opened, and the driver stood aside to let them out. Sirion leapt from the carriage to the gravel courtyard and held his hand for Victoria to step down.

  “Full of vigor tonight, aren't we?” she said, taking his hand and stepping down, wincing slightly as her feet touched the gravel.

  Sirion noticed the pained expression and recollected how she complained of her slippers on gravel always pained her. He scooped her up into his arms and carried her to the entrance to the manor. The greeter at the entrance smiled, no doubt amused.

  Sirion lowered Victoria's feet to the stone foyer, now they were past the gravel, and the greeter bowed low. “If you would follow me, merchants.” With that the man turned and led the grinning Sirion and the embarrassed Victoria towards the great hall of the manor.

  Upon arriving, the greeter opened the doors to the great hall, had a quick word with the announcer and, with another low bow, disappeared to greet any other newcomers.

  The announcer coughed and raised his voice.

  “Presenting merchants Sirion and Victoria Tell.”

  Victoria's parents were already on their way towards them before their names had even been announced. Neither of them had seen her parents since they had married almost six months ago. In truth, Sirion had not wanted to return to Truridge at all, but events seemed to have conspired to bring them back.

  “Oh, it's so good to see you both!” Victoria's mother, Janice Bel'zane, kissed her daughter on each cheek, then gave the same traditional greeting to Sirion.

  Janice Bel'zane was a round woman with long brown hair that framed her plump face. Not for the first time Sirion noted that his mother-in-law looked more like a matron or a nanny than the wife of one of the richest merchants in Truridge.

  James Bel'zane, however, looked just as Sirion thought he should, tall with a long face, balding black hair, and flinty blue eyes. He looked like an eagle always on watch for its next meal.

  In the days of old, before the title had been abandoned, James Bel'zane would have been known as a merchant lord. He was the type of man who always got what he wanted, whether he had to buy it, trade for it, or coerce it; as a consequence, he had as many enemies among the merchants of Truridge as friends.

  Sirion's father had been a shorter, less bald version of James Bel'zane. It was for that reason that Victoria's father had agreed to the marriage between her and Sirion. A pairing between two of the richest merchant houses only served to consolidate both their influences within Truridge.

  “I'm sorry about your father.” Without so much as a hint of emotion, James Bel'zane grasped his son-in-law's hand in a firm grip and shook it. “He was a great man.”

  “And a great father,” Sirion said. “I hope one day to be half the man he was.” It was the respectful thing to say.

  “And half the merchant, no doubt,” James Bel'zane added.

  “Of course.” Sirion almost thought the man to be sizing him up as he did his competition. In a way, he had to admit, they were now.

  “Though his unfortunate death has cut our honeymoon a little short,” Victoria added, smiling.

  It was an understatement. Sirion and Victoria had been in Sarth, intending to establish their own merchant business as far from Truridge as possible. It wasn't that Truridge was a bad locale, but both Sirion and Victoria had agreed it belonged to their parents; in Truridge they would never escape those larger-than-life shadows. However, the death of Sirion's father had forced their return, if temporarily. Sirion's mother had died in labor, and his father had never remarried, never produced another heir, so Sirion and his beautiful newlywed now owned the entire Tell fortune, including a thriving business that required running. Even if they did decide to move to Sarth, it would take a long time to sell off the business and all the other assets his father had amassed. It might well be months, if not years, before they were able to leave now.

  “Some things are of more import than taking a holiday,” James Bel'zane said, peering down his hawkish nose at them. “You have responsibilities now.”

  “Of course we understand that, father...” Victoria started.

  He cut her off. “Yes, and I don't see any signs of a child on the way. What has it been? Six months already?”

  “James, leave them be,” said
Janice, then winked at her daughter. “I'm sure it's not for lack of trying. So how are you finding your father's business, Sirion?”

  “Complicated,” he had to admit. “Father had his hands in a lot of pots, as they say. There's so many books and ledgers to pore through, just to understand where all of my family's assets lie.”

  James Bel'zane frowned. “If you need help, I can have a look through them.”

  Sirion knew Victoria's father would love nothing more than to completely take over the Tell business in Truridge; in truth, Sirion found the offer tempting. “Thank you, James,” he said, and both men knew by his tone it was the diplomatic way of saying 'no-thank-you.'

  “Mhm, well…” James Bel'zane continued after a subtle grunt. “There are some people you should meet. Acquaintances of your father. I'll introduce you before the banquet starts, give your wife and her mother some time to catch up.”

  With that, the man turned and walked away, not even looking back to see if Sirion followed.

  Sirion bowed his head to his wife’s mother, kissed Victoria’s cheek, then strode after her father. An enlightening half hour followed. He had spent days since arriving back in Truridge going over his father's books. They contained detailed notes on every deal, trade, and transaction, and Sirion had caught several discrepancies in the records. His father appeared to be procuring certain rare, valuable goods at a fraction of their worth. Fire stones from the Dragon Empire were said to be crystallised Dragon tears glowing with an inner fire that disappeared with even the slightest crack or chip. They were the rarest gem stones in Acanthia, maybe even in the known world. Sirion himself had bought a golden ring with a fiery red stone set in it for Victoria when their marriage had been agreed. It had cost him a small fortune. Sirion's father had bought a small chest of fire stones for the same price.

  Drurr-cured leather armor was near as tough as steel plate, but retained the flexibility of leather. It was near-impossible to deal in, as the Drurr refused to trade with humans and guarded their secrets with their lives. Yet, Sirion's father had sold fifty suits to the king of Acanthia. The armor was almost a gift at such a discounted price, but still his father had made twice as much as he had paid.

  Now, after meeting some of his father's associates, Sirion was starting to understand. One man bowed low and said, “I had a most profitable business arrangement with your father, Merchant Tell. You have now inherited that agreement and the responsibilities that come with it.”

  Sirion had smiled and shaken the man's hand in friendship, despite his introduction sounding suspiciously like a threat. He tried to hide the fact that he recognized the man's name. He had been introduced as Lord Drake Morrass, but Sirion knew he was no lord. Drake Morrass was a pirate. Sirion had heard about the young pirate whilst in Sarth. He had a sizeable bounty on his head.

  Another man Sirion was introduced to was the city's harbormaster, a short, bald man with a pudgy face and dark, greedy eyes. Sirion couldn't help but take an immediate dislike to the man.

  All the pieces started to fit. The pirate sold rare stolen goods to Sirion's father, who could find a better price for them than the pirate could with his limited contacts. The harbormaster made sure the cargo was listed as something other than it was in order to reduce import tax and, no doubt, earning a fair wage for such services.

  Sirion realized that his father wasn't, in actual fact, the food merchant he had always believed him to be; instead, it dawned on him he had inherited a position at the center of a criminal import/export business. It was exactly the type of operation the authorities of Truridge were trying to put a stop to, and both Sirion's and Victoria's father had long been outspoken supporters of the crackdown.

  James Bel'zane was studying Sirion. Whilst not admitting to anything the man had just indicated, he was also involved in the criminal enterprise. No doubt he was deciding whether he could trust his son-in-law. Sirion was suddenly concerned what the man might do if he decided Sirion could not be trusted.

  “I never knew my father was involved...” Sirion started but was stopped by a warning glare from his father-in-law.

  “We'll discuss this in more detail later, Sirion,” said James Bel'zane, his tone stern and uncompromising. “The banquet is almost ready.

  Sirion didn't doubt that he would receive a visit from merchant Bel'zane and the pirate Drake Morrass. They would, of course, want to lay pressure on Sirion in a more private setting.

  Again, Sirion considered selling his family's business to merchant Bel'zane. He wondered whether his father, watching them from death's isle, would be disappointed if he saw Sirion selling the business he'd created. Truth be told, Sirion wasn't sure he still cared how his father's ghost would feel.

  The banquet passed quickly. He was distracted by his thoughts, barely touching the food in front of him.

  Victoria had always been very attuned to his feelings, even when they had been children playing together whilst their fathers met and discussed business. She laid a hand on Sirion's arm, a small way of offering comfort. He wanted nothing more than to discuss the matter with her, to gain her perspective on the situation. He promised her they would talk soon and tried to focus on the banquet.

  After the meal, all the guests returned to the great hall. There, bards had set up and music filled the hall, creating a cacophony of interacting musical notes underpinned by the quiet drone of constant chatter from hundreds of mouths.

  Guests formed into allied groups of merchants and talked amongst themselves, all whilst sending paranoid stares at other groups. James Bel'zane lorded over the gathered merchants like some sort of merchant king. Sirion found himself standing by his father-in-law. It seemed to him his allegiance had been pre-determined.

  This is how it will always be. Sirion thought. I will always be in his shadow, just as I was always in my father's shadow. The thought terrified him more than he could understand.

  A messenger arrived and ran straight to James Bel'zane. The merchant frowned as he listened, and then dismissed the messenger. He turned to Sirion. “There's a fire at the docks. It appears one of your warehouses is aflame. They have it under control so it won't spread, but they believe it to be arson.”

  Sirion sighed, one more worry to the list. “I should go down there. Oversee the matter.”

  James Bel'zane nodded his agreement. “Victoria can stay here for the night.”

  Sirion smiled. “Our estate is on the way. I can have her dropped off before heading to the docks.” The last thing Sirion wanted was to arrive home and not have Victoria there to greet him.

  “Very well,” James Bel'zane agreed. “We shall arrange a private meeting soon, Sirion.”

  “As you wish.” Sirion shook his father-in-law's hand and hurried off to find Victoria.

  #

  Once they were in the carriage and well under way, Sirion took Victoria’s hand. “We're leaving,” he said. “Truridge. We're leaving for good.”

  “I know,” Victoria said with a smile. “I was just waiting for you to decide.”

  Sirion looked into his wife's dark brown eyes, her soft features, her perfect pale skin. At times it was as if she knew him better than he knew himself, and that just made him want her more.

  “I'll sell the business to your father as soon as possible. I don't even care if he gives us a poor price, as long as it's enough to start again somewhere else, somewhere...”

  “Away from here.”

  “Exactly.”

  The carriage pulled to a stop, and Sirion heard the driver dismount. Footsteps hurried away from the carriage.

  Sirion poked his head out. They weren't at his family estate. He had no idea where they were, but it was dark and deserted and, by the smell, they were near the river that led to the sea. The river was often used as a dumping ground for waste this close to its mouth; it made the smell... unpleasant.

  Sirion swivelled his head round to look at the driver’s position. The man was long gone, but why had h
e left them? Without warning, strong hands grabbed him underneath his shoulders. He was pulled from the carriage window and dumped in a heap on the floor.

  He struggled to his feet. “Look, I don't know who you are, but we don't have any mon...”

  He never saw the blow coming. A meaty fist slammed into the left side of his head, interrupting him mid-sentence. Sirion slumped backwards into strong arms that held him tight. Blood filled his mouth, and he spat it onto the floor. There was something white and hard in the blood; it took a moment for Sirion to realize it was one of his teeth.

  Two men held him. Struggling would be pointless: they were bigger and stronger than him, and they had an arm each. Sirion looked up to see two more men dragging Victoria out of the carriage. One of them had a ragged scar leading from the fulcrum of his nose to the top of his lip, had a hand clamped over Victoria's mouth. She looked unharmed. They dragged her so she was facing Sirion, terror in her eyes.

  A fifth man stepped between Sirion and Victoria. He was a big man with long greasy hair and cruel, sharp features. He walked with a confidence that revealed him as being in charge. Though his ears were still ringing from the punch, Sirion he felt like throwing up when he recognized the emblem on the pommel of the sword that hung on the man's belt. A sergeant in the city guard.

  “I suggest you don't scream,” the sergeant said, waiting for Victoria to nod. He signalled to the man with the scar and he removed his hand from her mouth. She kept silent.

  “Good.” The sergeant grinned. “First rule: any noise from either of you, the other pays the price.”

  “What do you want?” Sirion blurted out.

  The sergeant spun and struck Victoria on the side of her face with the back of his hand. Victoria slumped against her captors and let out a sob. The sergeant turned and sent a fist into Sirion's ribs. Sirion doubled over in pain, his arms still held fast by the sergeant’s brutes.

  “Are we clear on the first rule?”

  Sirion looked up defiantly, but nodded. Victoria didn't look up, but she nodded as well.

  “Good.” The sergeant signalled to another of his men nearby. “Belding, do it.”