Chapter 6 - Radan
As they walked toward the large city gate, they wondered what they were going to do. They could afford to stay at a cheap inn for a while if necessary but that would consume much of their money and leave them very little to get by on until they could get to Groden and find work to pay for passage on a ship. Then Nev had a sudden thought.
"Brey! I have it!" he said excitedly. "The letter! The one Barlow gave us. We could find his friend and maybe he can help us." He had stopped walking when the revelation hit him.
"Come along, boys." called the sergeant, who had been walking ahead of them.
"Sorry." said Brey quickly. He pulled Nev along to keep up with the taller soldier whose pace was quick enough already. "Do you think we could find him?"
Nev reached in his cloak and pulled out the scroll with the red ribbon. Written on the outside of the scroll was the name Kale Radan. There was also the name of a road and a number. Nev called to the sergeant, "Excuse me. Sergeant Gant?"
The tall man stopped and turned, "Yes?"
Nev showed him the scroll and asked, "Do you know where this is?"
The soldier looked at the name and number for a moment then turned his gaze back to the boys in front of him. "Do you know this man?" he asked in a strange tone.
"Well," began Brey, "no. He is a friend of a friend. This is a letter we’re supposed to give to him if we needed help while in Wellton."
The sergeant looked at them a moment longer and slowly handed the scroll back to Nev. "You must have some friend. General Radan is the former garrison commander of Wellton; once a top military figure in Merridon." he explained. He looked each of the young men in the eye. "I can take you there, but for your sake I hope this is not some prank; this is not a man one plays with." With that, the sergeant turned and continued on to the gate.
As they approached the gate, the adventurers saw just how large it was. It was easily twice the size of the gate at Newellen and much thicker. The gate itself was made of oak timber in two layers, at least two feet in thickness. In addition to the gate itself there was a large "sheath" made of steel set to slide down into place at the far end of a tunnel over twenty feet in length. Clearly, it would have been impossible for an enemy to assault such a gate without taking very serious losses. When Brey made this observation aloud, Sergeant Gant smiled proudly and said, "There has never in the history of Wellton been a successful assault made on these gates. Nor the walls for that matter."
The young men were led through the gate and down the broad avenue that ran in a straight line from the gate toward the center of the city. The thoroughfare they walked was lined with carts and stalls of all sorts, most hawking trinkets or foodstuffs for the traveler just passing through from the main gate. They walked for nearly a quarter of an hour, and then they were led down a narrower side street where a number of shops selling various goods stood side by side. The sergeant led them to a small shop with a curtained window facing the street. The sign above the door read 'K. Radan, Cartographer'. He stepped to the door and opened it, allowing Brey and Nev to precede him, then stepped inside himself and closed the door.
There did not appear to be anyone about. Sergeant Gant called out, "General Radan? Are you in, sir?"
There was a muffled call from the back area of the shop. "Be there in a moment!" Presently, a man of approximately seventy years of age, his back ramrod straight came walking through the door behind the counter. "Good day, Sergeant. You should know by now, however, that I am retired and no longer need to be addressed as General."
"Respect does not retire, sir." was Gant's only reply, as he stood at attention.
Radan sighed heavily, looking at the sergeant with a grin. "Gant, you have a very good chance of becoming a politician with all the crap you can shovel about."
The young sergeant finally broke and chuckled as well. "Uncle, you know very well that politics will never be my calling."
"Then I suggest you never rise above your current rank, or you will have little choice in the matter." he replied. "And who are these?" he said pointing to the travelers standing to one side of Gant.
Brey and Nev were actually staring at Sergeant Gant. They had been caught unawares when he addressed Radan as his uncle. The question about them brought their attention back to the old man before them.
"They have a letter to present to you, uncle. It seems you had a friend once." said Gant with a grin.
"Not bloody likely." snorted the old soldier. "Who's this friend of mine then?" he asked looking each young man in the eye.
Nev held out the scroll to the man and was about to say the name when the older man looked at the seal and snapped, "Say nothing! Gant, let down the door shade."
The young man did as he was told and turned to see what was to happen. He hadn't seen this kind of behavior in his uncle before and wasn't sure if there was going to be trouble. He resolved to be ready in any case.
Radan's gaze bore into the boys before him. "You," he said pointing at Brey, "describe the man who gave this to you."
Brey described Barlow as best he could, not sure what the problem was; he did know that Gant was obviously right when he said this was not a man to be taken lightly.
The old man held them riveted by his gaze, tapping the scroll lightly on the counter before him. He seemed to come to a decision and set the scroll down and seemed to relax a little. "So, which of you is Aubrey?"
The questioned stunned Brey and Nev as well as Sergeant Gant, who made a noise of surprise from behind the boys.
Radan began to laugh loudly. "You should see the faces I am looking at right now!" He continued to laugh for a few minutes while the young men all looked at him in astonishment.
"Before you start thinking I am a witch, let me enlighten you all." He pulled over his stool and sat down with a sigh. "About a year back, my old friend wrote me about a couple of apt students who seemed to be as romantically minded as he about seeking fame, fortune, and adventure. Something I assure you he had aplenty, though not in the way you seek it. He told me their names and that he might give them a letter of introduction in case they should step in something along the way and need my help."
Seeing that Gant still didn't quite understand, he continued. "Please, lads, put down your packs. And Gant, for the love of the Creator, stand at ease!" he looked at his nephew a moment longer and said, "What I am going to say here, son, must remain a secret. Do you understand?" Gant nodded. "I will assume you lads are already aware of the need for secrecy."
Radan settled himself a bit more comfortably and began stuffing a pipe with tobacco as he began his tale in earnest. "More years ago than I care to remember, I had a friend in the army who enlisted about the same time I did. In fact, we had the same sergeant for our initial training. This friend was eager to become the very best soldier in the entire Army with a single purpose in mind; he wanted to be part of the famed Queen's Regiment." The old general paused to light his pipe. He inhaled deeply and allowed the smoke to wreath is head, then continued. "This lad was more than just eager; he was also a very gifted soldier. I have trained many men in my time and I have yet to see his equal. He kept pushing the limits and moving himself forward until fortune smiled on the fool and he got his wish, though at great cost. He was given a place in the QR and began to make a name for himself there as well. As we were both stationed in Wellton, he and I saw each other often and our friendship continued. In time, he became what even he could not have dreamed – Hero of the Realm." At this, Gant gasped.
Radan smiled kindly at his nephew. "That's right, lad. This friend was none other than Braydon. Throughout those greater years, he never forgot our friendship and did me several good turns, though none I did not also merit on experience, skill, or knowledge. It was he, in fact, who appointed me to garrison commander of this fair city." He smiled at the memory. "Boys, those were truly the days of heroes and men of honor. Sadly, there are not a
s many in these times of peace. No chance to separate the soldiers from the politicians, I'm afraid."
"Well," he said after a moment lost in the memory, "to make a grand tale nothing more than a short story, my friend wanted to retire and couldn't think of a way to do it without being pestered by fans or potential acolytes." Radan chuckled. "He came to me one night to ask a favor, something he rarely ever did. He wished to disappear.
"Now, to make a national figure and Hero of the Realm thrice over just disappear takes a bit of doing, I can tell you." Radan pulled on his pipe, making another cloud of aromatic smoke float in the still air of the shop. "We had to plan every step of this operation and also arrange for a safe method of communication. Fortunately, the old scoundrel had already chosen a place to go. He fancied a little town very far removed from any major roads or garrisons; he chose your hometown, lads, Carsby village. He said it reminded him of his home, a little town that was wiped from existence during one of the many wars we had back in those dangerous days.
"When I got him safely delivered to Newellen, I left him in the hands of a capable old sergeant whom he and I had both fought with and knew to be a reliable man."
"Sergeant Bergen!" blurted Nev in his excitement.
The old general looked a Nev with a glint in his eye. "I see you've met. What else did that old windbag let out about it?"
"Nothing at all, sir!" said Nev defensively. "It was he who recognized the name Barlow and let us know he knew who it was; but he didn't say anything out loud. He-"
Radan gently cut Nev off. "I believe you, lad, I believe you. In fact, that is why he is there instead of here, where he was until shortly before Braydon retired." He nodded in approval, though clearly Nev was a bit put out by the insinuation that Bergen was less than completely trustworthy.
"Well then, to finish this tale quickly. Bergen got him sent off to his new home in Carsby and served to divert the curious who might come looking for him. In fact, we have a man in nearly every large garrison in the land. We have gone to a great deal of trouble to let Barlow have his peace in life." He picked up the scroll and pointed to the seal. "This seal is most unusual too. In point of fact, it is only half of a seal. The day he retired, he broke his seal in half. He has one half and I have the other. So you see that is how I knew you were not a fake, coming in search of the great Braydon. And since he mentioned a couple lads in his last letter a year ago, you two could only be them. Though I can't seem to remember the other name. Something with an N in it I think."
"Neville, sir. Neville Morton." interjected Nev.
Radan nodded. "So, now that we are all up to speed, what brings you to my door? Are you in trouble?" he asked, glancing at the young sergeant. Gant shook his head slightly.
"No, sir. At least I don't think so." Brey went on to explain what had transpired and why they decided to find him.
"The gang has been brought to the garrison for further questioning." added Gant. "Captain Melkin is going to question them personally." he added with a wry smile.
"Hah! I bet he is." laughed the old soldier. "That man is a politician through and through; if he can find them guilty that would be a big feather in his cap." He shook his head in disgust. "It's a shame true ability and leadership don't carry the weight they used to."
He turned and regarded the young men before him once more. "Now, let's see what Barlow would have me do with you." He broke the seal and read the letter silently.
Nev and Brey stood silently, waiting for him to finish. They weren't quite sure what to make of the retired general. He seemed quite different from their mentor in so many ways; it was hard to imagine they were close friends. Where Barlow was calm and patient, Radan was loud and almost harsh in his speaking. Where Barlow smiled readily and talked often, the former garrison commander was prone to staring, examining in a way that was quite disconcerting. He made the young travelers nervous.
As he finished reading the note, he laughed shortly. "The man will never change." He looked up at them for a moment and then seemed to come to a decision. "Well, lads, it seems I am asked to offer my help and hospitality should you ask for it. Since you have come to my door I will assume you are asking."
"Well," began Nev, "we really just need someplace to stay until we are allowed to continue on our trip- if that's all right with you, that is!" he added hastily, not wanting to seem impertinent.
"I am an unmarried man with a large enough home to accommodate you. It would be not imposing at all to allow you to stay for a bit." He grinned a bit at Nev and added, "Besides, our friend has asked one more favor of me, and it very much involves you."
The travelers and Radan bid Gant goodbye and then the old man led the boys to the back of the store and up a steep stairway to the next floor.
"You can sleep in that room there." he said, pointing to a room at the back of the building. "You'll need to haul your own water and clean your own pots. I may be hospitable, but I am not an innkeeper."
"Thank you, sir." said Brey. "We really appreciate this."
"No need. I owe Braydon a few favors and this one doesn't cost me much." He stopped and turned back from the stairs he was about to descend. "And don't call me 'sir'. My army days are done and, like old Barlow, I am getting to like it. Just call me Radan."
"Um, Radan? What did Barlow ask you do with me?" Nev had been afraid to ask before now. The former general scared him a little and he was very nervous about this unknown 'favor'.
He grinned at the youth and said, "Stow your gear and come on down when you're set. Bring your blades with you." With that, he went downstairs.
They prepared their bedrolls, to save time later and washed their faces in the bowl in the room. When they felt ready, they went down the stairs. They found the old man sitting behind the counter of his shop going over several different maps with a grizzled looking character in a shabby blue cloak. The stranger glared at them suspiciously. Radan looked over his shoulder at them. "Would you lads mind waiting for me in the back?"
They went back to the kitchen area and sat down. In a few minutes, the old man came back to join them. "Sorry about that. Some of my customers are a might suspicious; especially if they are heading north to look for gold or silver."
He went to the stove and set a kettle on to boil. "I wager you are wondering what Barlow had to say about you in his letter, eh?" he asked with a grin.
Nev shifted nervously on his seat. "Well, I am a bit curious."
Radan came to the table and sat across from them. "He wrote that you are a fair swordsman, but you have a little problem that he is not best equipped to deal with. He is too blind." He pointed a finger across the table. "You have a problem that is fairly common and not often properly dealt with. I have dealt with it before and I know what to do to fix it." He got up and went back to the stove to remove the boiling water for tea.
"Your problem, young man, is that you have got to get comfortable with your swordplay and get your head back in the fight. Frustration will get you killed as surely as any lack of skill." Radan brought the kettle to the table and retrieved three cups from the sideboard. "I am going to finish your training in a way that Barlow cannot. He can teach you every move with a sword known to man, but he cannot teach critical thought in swordplay. His problem is that he does it without knowing he does it and the rest of us have to try. That is what I am going to teach you."
That evening after Radan closed his shop, he took them to the small courtyard behind his home and began the training. At first, he had the young men spar. They went on until Brey had gotten his fifth touch and he asked them to stop.
"I will make the most obvious observation first. Aubrey, you are a superior swordsman. You have a bit of what Barlow has, fighting with mind and body without having to give it much thought. That alone makes you a poor sparring partner for Neville. Your skill and your presence of mind are too much for him to handle just yet. He will spar wit
h me or perhaps Gant from now on." He turned to Nev with a smile on his face. "My old friend exaggerated your situation a bit. You are a good swordsman; you would make a solid soldier or constable. From what I can see, your main problem is not being able to anticipate your foe. Let me show you what you are not grasping."
Radan spent the next hour showing the lines of attack or defense from a given sword position. If the enemy attacks this way, he will have to go this way or that way because it is the only thing he can do. The elder swordsman showed Nev each scenario in turn and reviewed what the enemy could do. Then he sparred with the younger pupil, leading him through each series. In another hour, Nev was able to successfully defend every attack that Radan launched. His confidence was up and he was able to think clearly, now that he had a way to better anticipate his enemy. The old man halted training as the sun was beginning to set.
"Now do you see what Barlow tried to show you before?" he asked. "What he sometimes forgets to tell his students is this; not all lines of attack are open in all fighting situations. He just knows what's possible and it doesn't occur to him that you don't see it that way too. You are looking for too many things that might happen when only one or two are possible. Understand?
"I do, I really do." replied Nev excitedly. "I didn't understand it before, but I can see it now." He swished his sword dramatically a few times before returning it to his scabbard.
Nev went inside with a glow of accomplishment about him. He felt sure with a bit of practice he could handle himself well enough in a fight now.
The young men waited at Radan’s home for three days, practicing and occasionally venturing out to explore the neighborhood around the shop. Late on the fourth day, after a meal of bacon and cheese, the three sat around the table talking. A knock was heard on the door of the shop, loud and insistent. The old man got up and went to the door, and called, "I'm closed! Come back tomorrow."
"General Radan! Please open in the name of the Queen's Chamberlain!" called a voice from outside the door.
He peered through the screen and then opened the door. "What does that old windbag want of me now? I'm retired and happily so." He barked at the young officer standing outside. "Tell him I –".
"I am not here for you, sir." the lieutenant interrupted. "I bear a message for the young men staying with you." He looked a scroll he carried. "Aubrey Cousins and Neville Morton."
Radan squinted at the young man closely. "Magar, isn't it?"
"Yes, sir." was the prompt reply.
"Have you come to arrest them?"
"No, sir! In fact, quite the opposite. I bear a proclamation from her Majesty. Chamberlain Osten has bid me deliver it."
Radan's eyebrows shot up. "Indeed? Well then, come in, Magar." He led the officer to the rear of the house and introduced him to the young men. "It seems, lads, you are to have a letter read to you."
The lieutenant came to attention, opened the scroll with a smooth motion, and began to read.
"In the name of Her Majesty, Queen Arriana, thanks are extended to Aubrey Cousins and Neville Morton of the village of Carsby for their part in the discovery and arrest of traitors to the Crown. Further, let it be known that these men are known as Friends of the Crown for their loyalty and their action.
By way of reward, these men are to be awarded the sum of five gold pieces each.
Their service to the Crown shall be remembered and valued.
With gratitude,
Osten, Chamberlain to Arriana, Queen of all Merridon"
When he finished reading, Magar rolled the parchment back up and replaced the ribbon. He solemnly handed the scroll to Nev, who held it carefully, as though it may break in his hands. He reached inside his tunic and removed a heavy pouch, passing it to Brey.
“To be named Friend of the Crown means your name is known to the Queen and that She acknowledges you personally. This is a rare honor for a commoner and one that is not to be regarded lightly. Think of it as Her Majesty’s way of shaking your hand in thanks, while being unable to actually do it in person.” He said with a wry smile.
"You two are to be congratulated;” he continued more conversationally, “it seems after one of the men finally broke, we were able to ascertain the true identity of the man you knew as Callum.” Turning to Radan he continued. “He was none other than Chalakan, a spy from the south who has sought the overthrow of the Merridonian crown for many years. It was he who sent a message to Jasper under the code name of Hawk regarding some action that was to take place today."
Radan breathed in sharply. "Chalakan!? Why would he have put himself in such danger? I understood he was a very crafty individual."
The lieutenant chuckled, "It seems he saddled himself with the wrong underlings. One of them broke without any torture at all." Then he frowned slightly. "Though I understand none would speak of what they had planned in the city, for surely they had something planned here, or Chalakan would not have put himself in peril."
"It is fairly well known that some of the lesser families still feel they have a claim on the crown, and it would be simple to place one of them on the throne and control them from behind the curtain, so to speak." replied Radan.
"Indeed." said Magar.
"I'm not sure I understand." interjected Brey. "Hasn't the royal family been on the throne for a long time?"
"They have, lad, but some folks just don't know how to forget. Or forgive." replied the general. "That's why there were so many little wars back in my younger days. Some of those families thought they could take back the power by force. Now it seems our enemy to the south believes they can move on Merridon by placing a puppet ruler on the throne. Clever really."
The four men talked a while longer about Callum, his plot, and his capture, then Magar excused himself and bid them a good night. Radan and the young men decided to call it an early night and went to bed.
The next morning, the boys arose and went downstairs; the old soldier was just coming in from the courtyard, stripped to the waist and slick with sweat. "Good morning, lads, I trust you slept well." he said as he wiped off the perspiration with a towel.
"Yes, thank you." replied Nev, looking at the man in askance.
Radan caught the look and explained, "I keep myself in shape daily. Just because I am retired does not mean I should allow myself to go to fat."
"Barlow does much the same." replied Brey. "We have seen him taking long walks in the morning and he still practices with his sword often."
"I'd be surprised if he didn't, some habits are too old to break." laughed the older man. "I have several appointments this morning. Perhaps you should walk around a bit and take in the capitol of our fair Merridon. You can also decide your best way to continue on to Groden, now that you're free to leave, though you are welcome stay as long as you care to."
Friends of the Crown - Book 1 of Heroes of the Realm Page 6
