by Greg Curtis
There didn't seem to be a third option though.
Hendrick wondered whether he should get use the third spell he had been gifted with and get a second opinion from his sage. Truthfully he already knew what the sage would say. Things like how he could even think to bother him with such a boring question. And why he would ask him questions about things the sage couldn't possibly know given he wasn't from Styrion and knew none of the people involved. And after that Val would probably lecture him about his great many short comings. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately.
There was little useful that the sage could tell him. He was good when it came to matters of logic and science, but not much else.
Still Hendrick decided to do it, if for no other reason that he tended to think of the sage as a friend – albeit a cantankerous one – and he needed a friend. So he cast the spell to talk to him. A moment later, Valendacious Di Molena of the Third Chord was with him. Or the image of him was. Actually it was only the image of his head and the top half of his body floating in the air in front of him. It was a somewhat disconcerting sight.
“Oh not you again!” The sage immediately burst into his usual complaints. He had a litany of them that he trotted out every time Hendrick summoned him.
It was difficult to take them seriously though from a man who had a great mammoth's trunk hanging down where his nose should be and spines instead of hair. Every time he saw him Hendrick kept thinking of him as some sort of comical cross between a man, a mammoth and a hedgehog. Though he kept those thoughts to himself for the most part. Val was actually quite vain about his appearance. He even claimed that he was considered quite handsome among his people.
“Don't you know that I'm busy!”
“I know.” And he did know because Val kept telling him so. The sage was always busy, mostly because he had somehow been made the focus of a spell in which anyone who knew the spell could call on him for wisdom. There were likely many others calling on his time. And unfortunately for Val, the spell overrode his free will. He had to come when he was called and he had to answer the questions he was asked. Hendrick knew it must be a constant source of annoyance for him.
“I'm sorry for disturbing you. But as you can see I've been quite busy myself.” Hendrick gestured at the collection of blood soaked bodies all around, knowing that the magic that allowed him to see the sage's visage in front of him when he was actually a dweller in another world, would allow the sage to see what he saw in turn.
“An outbreak of shaving cuts?!” The sage seemed unimpressed.
“They came to kill me.”
“Men of noble purpose then! And what do you want me to do about it?”
Wordlessly Hendrick unrolled the warrant again in front of him to let the sage read it and then waited patiently.
“And so let me guess, you want to know why the Chief Magistrate would issue such a warrant and whether your father is involved. And you thought you'd waste my time and ask me?!” It was hard to tell his emotions from his face but the sage was either annoyed or had eaten a particularly sour lemon.
“More or less,” Hendrick admitted.
“By the honoured ones, you surely have to be one of the dimmest of souls among an already dim witted people!” Val raised his trunk to reveal a mouth full of tusks in what was probably irritation. “And so ugly too! Now listen very carefully.”
“I DON’T KNOW!” The sage raised his voice and made sure to emphasise each word distinctly. “I can't possibly know! The only ones who can know for sure are the Chief Magistrate and your father! And approaching the Chief Magistrate at least is likely to be dangerous.”
“I know that. But what do you think I should do?” And that was the key question he needed answered, Hendrick thought. Because he just didn't know what to do now.
“You have a few choices.” The sage managed a sound that might have been a sigh aimed at his foolishness – or else he was just releasing air. “You can go and investigate – but it's likely to get you killed. Still, you now have a brief window as the Chief Magistrate won't know for a little while yet that you're still alive. The longer you keep him ignorant of that fact, the better.”
“Next you could choose to do nothing and keep your head down. Of course doing nothing is also likely to get you killed. Sooner or later the Chief Magistrate will realise that his agents have failed and send more. And the next time they’re likely to be better prepared. Staying in one place will simply mean that they don't have to chase you.”
“Third you could run, though you’d probably still end up being killed since you don't know what you're running from and either the Chief Magistrate or your father can send hunters. Whatever you do though, you should dispose of the bodies. They’ll be used as proof that you're dangerous and a criminal.”
“But they attacked me!”
“And since when did that matter?” Val stared at him coolly. “You're afflicted.”
He had a point Hendrick knew. Justice did not favour the afflicted. Often they weren't even given a chance to defend themselves in a trial. If there was a trial.
“The most dangerous thing you could do though,” Val continued, “is to ask your father, since as King I assume he has the best soldiers to defend him. If he is responsible, you'll die quickly. And if he isn't you may start a civil war and be killed in that. I doubt very much that an appointed official would simply choose to sign a death warrant against the King's son all by himself.”
“And your recommendation is?”
“That you stop annoying me with pointless questions like a dithering old mumblecrust! Now is your question answered?”
Hendrick sighed resignedly. “Question answered. Thank you Val.”
Hendrick let the magic go and immediately the image of the sage's head vanished. He knew there was little more the sage could tell him and that if he kept bothering him by asking more questions the insults would only grow worse. It was Val's way lately.
Not for the first time he had to wonder though how he could have been so unlucky to have picked up a spell to summon the most annoying sage in all the worlds. Sometimes the spell felt more like a curse. More likely, he suspected the spell simply sought out the wisest man in all the worlds for him to speak to, without thought as to the man’s personality, That he was also an annoying, short tempered, intolerant pillock didn’t factor in.
But Val had set out his choices logically. And the point about the bodies was a good one. He needed to hide the evidence of what had happened.
What should he to do? Investigate, run or do nothing? Neither ignoring the threat or running seemed like good options for all the reasons the sage had mentioned. Added to that, among the other papers in the leather cylinder Hendrick had found a likeness of him. Not a good one, but still good enough for people to recognise him if shown the picture and told of his mithril markings. He had to assume that whoever the Chief Magistrate sent next would have the same likeness. That only left him the possibility of investigating. And that was dangerous.
But even as he watched the flames rising from his house he realised that just as Val had said, everything was dangerous.
For the moment though, he decided, his first priority had to be covering up what had happened here. Quickly. Because he only lived about an hour from the town of Burbage and soon people would see the smoke and come out to find out what had happened. He didn't want them to know that a royal warrant had been issued against him. That could end in another battle when the Mayor of Burbage found out. He was always desperate to do whatever the nobles told him to do, and if that meant fulfilling a royal warrant against one of his own townspeople, he would do it. Besides; he had never really liked Hendrick. He was one of those who disliked all the afflicted on principle. Mayor Sten was a pillock!
So Hendrick set to work hiding the evidence. That began with the warrant which had to be hidden and then getting rid of the bodies and the horses – those that still lived. The bodies could go in the fire he decided and the horses could simply be rel
eased and set wandering. And if some more bodies were found, he would simply name them as brigands. There wasn't a lot of difference between mercenaries and brigands anyway and they hadn't been wearing the King's colours. He would say they had attacked his home, tried to steal from him and that he had driven them off.
Hendrick began by chasing down the horses and stripping them of their saddles and bridles. He might sell some of the weapons and saddles in time Hendrick thought. They were good leather and he might get a few noble stynes for them. Enough in time for him to start rebuilding his home. It was a pity he would have to drive most of the surviving horses off though, since they all looked to be good animals in peak condition. He might even have got a few royal stynes for some of them. But he couldn't hide the horses the way he could hide the rest. Guns, swords and saddles could go in the empty ale casks. Not horses. And if people realised how many brigands had attacked him, questions would be asked. This was a peaceful part of Styrion. The roads were patrolled even if they weren't properly maintained. And brigands if they were around usually only travelled in small groups and did not ride the best of horses. A dozen brigands on well conditioned mounts with good equipment? That would not quite ring true. Questions would be asked and eventually Mayor Sten would learn about the warrant.
He decided though to keep one horse. A mare with a coat of two shades of brown that looked like ale and mead, that he promptly named Allomeader. She seemed a remarkably calm and tolerant animal, which was good as he wasn't an expert rider. The others he stripped the saddles and bridles off one by one and sent them running. They were already skittish after the attack and easy to panic.
Once the horses had been freed of their saddles and bridles and set free he turned to the rather more grizzly task of dealing with the riders. The panther had largely left the horses alone, but the riders had been torn apart. Too often he found himself dealing with parts of bodies rather than a full corpse. But at least they were lighter to carry or drag over to his burning house. By then the heavy timbers of the frame were well alight and the flames were leaping twenty feet into the air. It would make a perfect funeral pyre he thought.
It was a horrible task. Something he would never have wanted to do and he felt like a ghoul doing it. But as he worked, quickly stripping the bodies one by one of anything useful or worth selling, and then hiding the stuff in his oast house before tossing the remains into his burning house, an unexpected thought crossed his mind. Now he finally had a reason not to attend his father's latest wedding.
Chapter Two
Burbage was busy as usual when Hendrick arrived. People were out and going about their business and trying to keep their feet free from the mud that had formed after the rain of the previous night. The shops were all open and the market in the centre square was busy. Here and there he could see children cutting a lark as they played in the streets while their parents looked elsewhere. A number of street entertainers could be seen in the alehouses playing the odd song for a styne or two. Some were even out in the open, despite the Mayor's ban on such things. Few of them gave him a second glance as he walked into town.
There weren't a lot of men about of course. It wasn't the end of the working day, and those who worked in the various mills wouldn't be home until six bells had rung. It didn't matter whether they worked in one of the saw mills, the cotton mill or even the tannery; working hours were working hours and no one flaunted them. Of course, those who toiled in the fields or hunted, fished or felled trees worked much longer hours and hardly ever came to town at all. But that was normal in most towns.
The men he saw were either too old or too young to work, or had work in the various stores and the market. Everyone though, worked. This was not a town where idleness was tolerated. The town guards were quick to round up drunks off the streets, and send loiterers on their way. Likewise they didn't allow begging. It was the Mayor's doing. Mayor Sten believed strongly that Burbage needed to present a picture of a town that was thriving. And that picture didn't include beggars, guttersnipes and drunkards. The Mayor wasn't that keen on street performers either, so bards could only work from alehouses and inns or the common market. He was an arrogant, callous man.
Despite the Mayor's intolerance Burbage was actually a good town to live in. Particularly for one of the afflicted. Not because the people were generally any better than people anywhere else, but because it was a temple town. How could it not be when there was the giant Abbey of the Benevolent One right in its heart and priests walking the streets? Priests who supported the plight of the afflicted ones. The local Magistrate might not always be able to stop trouble or even enforce the law, but no one wanted to annoy the priests. No one wanted to get a lecture from them about the rights and wrongs of their actions.
Other towns weren't so tolerant of his kind. He had heard of places where the afflicted were called churls and spat on as if they were less than people. And the agents of the different magistrates weren't always so quick or likely to enforce the law with an even hand when it came to the afflicted. And it was definitely better then living at the Court! Here at least he didn't have to worry about who might be spying on him or whether his actions might bring shame on the family. Or whether his mother might sit him down for another long lecture about propriety. He had hated those as he recalled.
Of course, there was another reason he found Burbage a good place to live. His friends were here. And he had a good number of friends despite being afflicted. Mainly because he'd grown up in the Abbey with fifty other orphans. Children didn't care that a person might have an affliction. And having grown into adults with him they still didn't care. To them he wasn't afflicted. Nor was he Prince Hendrick. To them he was just Hendrick. Sometimes Bean because he was tall and thin. But not someone to be shunned. It would be a hard thing for him to leave if it turned out he had to.
He had initially been worried that people would come out to check on him before he had properly disposed of the bodies. That hadn’t happened and strangely now he found himself annoyed that no one had come out to see him when the smoke from the fire had risen high into the sky for people in town to see it. He would have thought someone would have bothered. A couple of guards had ridden by, but they had not stopped. Possibly that was because he was afflicted and they didn't see it as their purpose to help him. Maybe they'd had urgent business further afield? At least he hoped that was the reason. Because the other possibility was that they already knew there was a warrant out for his head, and simply didn't want to become involved.
That was one of the reasons he'd come to town. To see if any of the town guards tried to arrest him. Or kill him. He had to know if he was already a wanted man and had to flee. Another was that he needed to buy some supplies for the journey now that it seemed he wasn't going to be riding to Styrion Might with an escort.
But as he'd walked into town, passing people in the fields and on the roads, no one had seemed any different to him. Those who were friendly to him normally, were still friendly. Those who were never so friendly, were much the same as usual. Certainly no one had come rushing out to arrest him. None had run from him either. And the town guards had fairly much ignored him as they usually did. It made him think it was safe enough to do some shopping.
As he walked down the street, his bulging pack swung over his shoulder, Hendrick greeted some of the townsfolk. There were a few who were friendly even knowing he was afflicted. Mostly those he did business with. The innkeepers and barkeeps and their staff. Others gave him a disapproving stare as he passed. Most though simply ignored him. He wasn't important enough for them to bother with. He paid careful attention to the town guards as he passed them, just in case some may have heard of the warrant against him. Fortunately, they paid him no mind. Even if they weren't willing to risk trying to arrest or shoot him, if they'd known of the warrant he was certain they would at least have looked his way. That they didn't suggested they didn't know which was good.
But it didn't mean that they weren't going to find out in
time. Perhaps the Magistrate did know but simply hadn't passed the information on yet? He was old and doddery now. Still, he was cautious. If he knew of the warrant, he might not act on it himself but he might well give it to the Mayor to deal with. Things could change quickly. So even as he wandered on through the town he kept watching the guards closely. Just in case.
“Bean!”
Hendrick stopped and turned as he heard himself called by Jessaline. Seeing her standing on the porch of Mena's house he waved.
He liked Jessaline. and had done for a long time. Once he had thought that what was between them might become something more than just liking. But despite their both enjoying some activities that it was best the priests never found out about, things hadn't gone as he might have wanted. She'd decided that she favoured the local miller more. Now the two of them had three children and a fourth on the way. He supposed he couldn't blame her for that. Though some days he found himself wondering what might have been when he saw her with her children.
Of course his mother would have had a fit if she had heard he had wed a commoner – hedge born as she might have called her. He was a prince after all! And maybe that was a part of what had initially attracted him to Jessaline – the thought of his mother falling over in shock!
