by Tim Stead
“I am. Who are you?”
“I am Tarbo, head councillor of Woodside. You must make a ruling on this matter.”
He dismounted.
“We will go into the Kalla House,” he said. “Then you will tell me the matter, and I will decide if a ruling is needed.”
Inside the building they sat together on the dais of the great chamber. Christo sat to one side, attentive.
“Now, Tarbo, tell me what the matter is.”
“Simply that one of the White Rock guard has committed a crime and they will not permit the council to judge him.”
“What crime is he accused of?”
“Theft.”
“My lord, he took some food,” the sergeant protested.
“Tarbo?”
“Yes he took food. No it was not a great deal of food, but it is a principle. He stole.”
“Sergeant, the man admitted taking the food?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Then he should be heard by the council, assuming that the council would wish to press such a matter.”
There was a pause.
“Why would we not?” Tarbo asked.
“Indeed, why not? All of the men here have risked their lives in the field against bandits, and most of them were present when Bragga was defeated. Punishing one of them for something so minor may lead them to question their commitment, but if it is a principle, head councillor Tarbo, then you may go ahead.”
Tarbo looked at his feet for a minute. The sergeant tried not to look at anyone. Christo smiled.
“What do you suggest?” Tarbo asked eventually.
“If it sits well with you, Tarbo, I will pay for the food out of my own pocket, I will speak to the man in question, and if you wish I will post him back to White Rock. Such a thing will not occur again, will it sergeant?”
“No, my lord. You can be sure of that.”
“Tarbo?”
“It is acceptable. You need not post him back to White Rock,” the old man sighed. “Too much has been stolen by bandits for us to permit the same thing to start again. We have an agreement to provide a certain amount, but anything else must be bought and paid for.”
“I understand, Tarbo, and I am glad that you also understand. This new way of doing things is very important to me and I appreciate your flexibility. I will ensure that the men of the guard understand. Thank you.”
Tarbo nodded, thanked him and left. When he had gone the sergeant was the first to speak.
“That was well managed, my lord. I could not have submitted a man to such a hearing.”
“You misunderstand my purpose, sergeant. If Tarbo had insisted I would have permitted the hearing, even supported it. We must all try to live just lives in the eyes of our people. What your man did was wrong. It was theft. The guard of White Rock does not steal. There is an agreed tax that buys our protection, and anything else must be paid for. If we act in any other way then we are no better than the bandits that we fought.”
“You would support them against White Rock?” The sergeant seemed shocked, upset.
“Sergeant, they are White Rock. Without them we starve, without them there are no more guardsmen, without them we have no purpose other than Gerique’s games. Steal from each other before you steal from our people.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Do not think that I do not value you and the men stationed here, sergeant. You are my eyes and ears, my strong right arm. You are the sword that protects this village, but we must be better than those that we protect. We have discipline; we are prepared to sacrifice where they perhaps are not. We must be better because we can be. They must trust us, and they have little reason to do so. Do you understand?”
“Yes, my lord. We are the guard.”
“Exactly. Now where can the lord Christo and I get some food before we rest? We have ridden many hours today.”
The sergeant showed them to the guard quarters where a long table had been set up. With the escort, the ten guards stationed here, and the two seneschals it was a very crowded table, but the food was plentiful and good.
After the meal Serhan and Christo walked round the village unescorted. It was quiet, but a few people were sitting under the Kalla Tree talking, sharing a drink.
“I see what you are trying to do,” Christo said. “And I see how you are trying to do it, but I do not understand why you are doing it.”
“Peoples’ lives are getting better. Is that not reason enough?”
“I do not know. Is it?”
“At first I wondered why Gerique permitted it. After all, I am making men stronger, setting up an authority other than his own. The answer is obvious. He wants it done. He cannot do it himself because he is Faer Karan, and they rule by fear, magic, and force of will. I am his friendly face, the part of Gerique that they can trust. As to why he wants it done – have you noticed the decline in the villages around Stone Island?”
“Of course. There are many that have been abandoned.”
“Every year there are fewer farmers and more bandits. Every year there are fewer people trying to live off less food. I am convinced that Gerique was waiting for me, or someone like me. If men die out, starve to death, it is a tragedy for us, but also for the Faer Karan. What would four hundred Faer Karan do in an empty world?”
Christo was silent for a moment.
“I had not thought that it would come to that,” he said. “But what you say makes sense. They need people to play their games. They need us.”
By his expression Serhan could see that this had not occurred to him before. Mankind did not need the Faer Karan, but the reverse was not true. Men were the dice they threw, the energy they fed off, and the reason that their lives were worth living. This knowledge gave some people strength, the will to better their position. For Rollo it had only been a spur to his hatred. Rollo would have taken all humanity to the grave with him if he could have, just to deny them to the Faer Karan.
They talked more that night, and in the morning rode on to two further villages before returning to White Rock as evening came upon it. Serhan persuaded Christo to stay and dine in his chambers before returning to Stone Island, and when they parted at the end of the night they parted as friends and allies.
“I will press Kalnistine as hard as I dare to adopt the changes that you have made here,” he said before stepping through. “I think that he will. White Rock has become a sponge drawing in people from all the surrounding domains, and that alone should be enough for him. I am glad to have made this trip,” he added. “You may be sure of my support in this, and I will listen eagerly to any further ideas that you may wish to advance.”
“I hope that we may see each other again, Lord Christo.”
He stepped through the door and was gone, back to Kalnistine, and the swamp, and the great circular stone fortress that was Stone Island.
* * * *
The next morning he was awoken by a gentle shaking.
“Mai?” He had not felt her rise. His eyes opened to see Alder’s face, frowning and grave, looking down on him.
“My lord, you must rise at once,” he said.
He struggled upright, there was a tension in Alder that drew him to full alertness quickly.
“What has happened?” he asked.
“The captains Grand and Bantassin are here to see you, my lord.”
“Why? Is something wrong?”
“Quickly, please, my lord.”
He responded to the urgency and rolled out of bed, wrapping a blanket around him. He came out into the main room of his apartments to find Darius and Cora sitting at the table there. Cora would not meet his eyes, and Darius looked troubled.
“Tell me what it is.”
Alder had moved to stand in front of the main door to his apartments.
“It is your secretary, Mai,” Darius said. There was pain in his voice, and in a moment of prescience Serhan felt the abyss open up beneath him. His friend took a deep breath. “She is dead,” he said.
25 The Free
“Bandits!” the man said it again.
“Where?” The sergeant and Delf asked in chorus. The man just pointed out of the door. The sergeant put his head out and looked, and quickly came back inside.
“About twenty,” he said. “Mounted. Swords only by the look of it.”
“What do we do?” Delf asked.
“Can you use a weapon?”
“Barely.”
The sergeant stood for a few moments looking into space; thinking.
“All right,” he said. “Get as many of your builders as you can find. Take them to the guard quarters and have them put on helmets and take bows. We have plenty of spare gear. If any can use a bow that’s good, but just get them all up onto the roof so that they look like a lot of archers.”
Delf nodded and ran back to the great hall. Eight of his people were there.
“Can any of you use bows?” he asked. Two men raised their hands. “All of you come with me.”
Back in the guard quarters it was organised chaos. They all seemed to know what they were doing, though, and the sergeant was speaking quickly and quietly to a group of men. He heard the word ‘bluff’ and the word ‘lances’, but could make no sense of it. He got all of his men into helmets and found the bows, stuck one in each pair of hands. The builders who had claimed they could use them also picked up arrows.
They ran up the stairs onto the roof and saw that two guard archers were already there, crouched low against the wall facing the square. They gestured for the builders to stay hidden also, and so they moved quietly into position against the same wall.
“Do you know what’s going on?” Delf asked one of the archers.
“Wait for the signal,” the man said. “Then stand.”
Delf waited. Now that they were still, he could hear a loud voice speaking on the other side of the square. That would be the bandit leader. He moved so that he could see past part of the wall into the square below.
The bandits had pushed a crowd of about a hundred people into a bunch in front of the Good Harvest, and their leader was shouting at them, telling them what he wanted, and how quickly he wanted it. As Delf watched he caught a movement below him out of the corner of his eye and shifted to see what it was. The sergeant and five guards were moving out into the street. The five were carrying lances, but as he watched they dropped them by their feet and drew their swords. The position they had chosen was directly in front of the Kalla House, and the street was very narrow there. Standing only two feet apart they just about spanned the entire gap. The sergeant spoke a word to them and then began to walk, almost to saunter across the square towards the bandits. He got half way there before he was even noticed. The bandit chief stopped talking and took in the situation for a moment. There was one man standing in the square and five more in a line across the street. Delf saw his head turn as he looked for other threats, and seeing none, look back at the sergeant.
He spurred his horse forwards gently until he was only a few feet from the guardsman. Four others followed him. Now that the bandits had turned around Delf could hear them clearly.
“The mighty White Rock guard,” the chief said. “Are you lost?”
“I see,” the sergeant said, “that you are already under sentence of death. Your hand is marked.”
“Yes. You bastards burned me when you killed Bragga. This time I have the advantage.”
Delf had to admit that it looked that way, but the sergeant didn’t seem worried.
“If you run now, you might just get out of this town alive,” he said. “But I doubt it.”
“I’m going to burn this town like you burned me,” the bandit said. “But I’ll kill you first.”
The sergeant’s sword lifted, a signal, and as if by magic two arrows sprouted from the bandit’s neck. He dropped from his horse and didn’t move. Delf was sure that the archers here hadn’t shot. The other two must be hidden elsewhere.
The death of their leader threw the bandits into chaos, but the four closest to the sergeant urged their horses forwards and rode at him. He dived to one side and rolled out of their path, coming back to his feet again as they turned.
Two more arrows struck home, and the guardsmen on the roof with Delf stood and shot with a practiced motion. Delf stood with all the others, and arrows flew across the square. Three more bandits fell, and the rest were seized by panic and rode across the square towards the five guardsmen holding the narrowest exit.
The five men dropped their swords and picked up lances, setting them firmly to the ground and raising the points. Three horses were impaled, and the bandits turned again and rode across the square the other way. More arrows were loosed. More men fell.
While this was going on the sergeant was faced with two dismounted bandits, who attacked him desperately. They were no match for him in skill, but it is hard to fight two men, and one of them got in a blow before being dispatched.
In a few moments more the fight was over. Eight bandits fled the town via another road, seven were dead, and two were captured. Delf was stunned at the speed of the whole thing. It had taken no more than five minutes from the moment the man had come through the Kalla House door. He made his way quickly down to the square. Just outside in the street he saw that one of the guard who had been holding lances was badly injured, and the others were tending to him. He continued until he got to the sergeant.
The man had been cut on the arm, and it looked quite serious. Another guardsman was dressing the wound.
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” he said. “There’s a lot of blood, but no real damage to the arm. If I keep it clean I should be all right.”
“That was amazing,” Delf said. “It was almost as if you knew what they would do.”
“Bandits are not hard to beat,” the sergeant said. “Captain Grand says they don’t know anything about defence, and they have no command structure, so if you cut the head off they behave like a big animal. They could either run away, which would have been fine by me, or charge the line. The one thing they never do is take a position and try to hold it. They tend to be poor fighters, and they have no cause but personal gain. Nobody wants to die for that.”
While they were talking the townspeople who had been penned by the bandits had crowded round them, and Delf could hear Granis speaking to people, trying to calm them down. Eventually the mayor reached the front of the crowd.
“Thank you,” he said to Delf.
“Not me,” Delf said. “Thank the guard.”
“Thank you, sergeant,” Granis said, turning to the wounded man. “Your men have saved us from considerable harm.”
“It’s what we do, mayor Granis. We are the guard.”
There was a boy of about fifteen standing next to Granis. He was a serious looking boy, and he was looking from Delf to the sergeant and back with a faintly puzzled expression. Otherwise he seemed almost unnaturally composed.
“You risked your lives to protect the town,” he said.
“It’s part of the job, lad,” the sergeant said.
“You could have stayed in your fort and been quite safe, but you came out.”
“We wouldn’t be much use as guardsmen if we hid from a fight.”
Delf noticed that Granis was looking uneasy standing next to the boy. He was edging slowly away.
“You are not the enemies of this town,” the boy pronounced gravely.
“That’s a fair observation,” the sergeant said. He got to his feet and tried moving his bandaged arm, winced. “I won’t be swinging a sword for a couple of weeks,” he said.
A guardsman pushed through the crowd.
“Darvel’s dead,” he said. “Too much blood loss; we couldn’t do anything.”
“Damn.” The sergeant’s face darkened. “I hate losing men. Did he have any people? He wasn’t married, was he?”
“No, Sergeant. He never talked about anyone,” the guardsman said. “I’ll ask the others.”
The boy stepped in fro
nt of the sergeant.
“What do you want, lad?” he asked. Delf could see that he was impatient to get back to the Kalla House, to talk to his men.
“The attacks on you will cease,” the boy said.
“What?”
“You will not be troubled by The Free again, sergeant.” He turned and walked into the crowd.
“What was all that about?”
Delf turned to Granis.
“Who was that boy, mayor Granis?”
Granis seemed pensive, and perhaps a little surprised.
“That was Jinari,” he said. “Rollo’s son. If he says that The Free will leave you alone, then they probably will. Most people in Sorocaba are a little scared of Jinari. There’s a lot of his father in him. Some people say that he knows magic, but I’ve never seen it.”
They walked back to the Kalla House with the mayor. It was a show of solidarity that probably benefited both parties. For a brief while the guard were heroes, and the Kalla House was the centre of town.
“We will hold a celebration for your victory,” Granis said. “Yes, and we will honour your fallen guardsman. Is there any preferred ceremony?”
“We burn them,” the sergeant said. “Guardsmen always burn. Too many die for burials. We have no fancy words. We show respect for a good man, then move on.”
Granis picked up something in the sergeant’s tone.
“Is there an objection?” he asked.
“We don’t usually share our dead, Mayor Granis.”
Delf saw this as another opportunity. If the guard were to cremate their fallen comrade in private it could split apart the fragile feeling of community that existed between the town and White Rock. It was this victory that seemed to him even more important than the one over the bandits.
“Sergeant,” he said. “Perhaps you should allow the townspeople to honour the man who fell defending them. You were, after all, fighting on behalf of the town. He might have appreciated the honour.”
“You think Serhan would want it?”
“Yes.”
“We will do the burning,” the sergeant said. “The townspeople may be present. As is the custom we will light the pyre at dusk, outside the town on the road back to White Rock.”
