03 - Liar's Peak

by Robin D. Laws - (ebook by Undead)

  Finally Curran finished calumnising them, and called on Angelika: “how do you defend yourself against this monstrous charge, witnessed in the light of day by three of us here?”

  “May I be freed of my bonds, to speak and gesture freely?”

  “No you may not.”

  A woman juror smirked as Curran made his ruling.

  “In that case, I protest the manifest injustice of this proceeding. What does your charter say as to the dignity in which a prisoner is permitted to plead his case?”

  She could see that Franziskus was displeased by this line of argument, but it was she that Curran had called on to speak, not him.

  Suddenly she understood why this was: Curran knew her temper. He wanted her to annoy the jurors.

  She regarded their prim, disapproving faces. She wanted to slap them.

  Angelika swallowed. If she could fight goblins, hold her own against orcs, and survive climbs up icy glaciers, she could summon the willpower to be pleasant to a covey of sour-faced townsfolk.

  “The charter makes no specific provisions for a criminal’s dignity,” Curran announced.

  “But as we have, of yet, not been proven to be criminals, surely you will show me the justice you’d expect yourselves, if you were tried in some other town.”

  A rejoinder formed on Curran’s lips, but before he could give voice to it, Deely stepped forward to untie her. “It is only fair, brother,” he said. The crowd murmured its displeasure at the halfling’s gesture of decency. Angelika took care to thank him as she stepped from the chair, but pleasantries were not her specialty, and her words seemed forced. She rubbed her wrists and wondered what to say.

  “I won’t lie to you,” she began. “Nor will I dispute your friend’s account. Yes, I was looting a fallen soldier on the battlefield. And if Curran identifies the dead man as one of your neighbours, then of course, he is right.”

  Curran dangled the locket, which he’d confiscated from her during the forced march to the village. “This is what you took.”

  “Yes, I took that locket,” said Angelika.

  Unprepared for honesty, the jurors exchanged confused glances.

  In an attempt to put herself on eye level with the seated jurors, she perched herself on her chair’s unsteady arm. “I have two things to say to you. The first, and most important, is that my companion here, Franziskus, is not guilty of this theft. Curran told you as much—he described me searching the bodies. Me taking the locket. Franziskus did neither of those things. Though he does not despise me, he does despise the act of looting, as he will tell you, if you ask him. He takes no part in it. He had no part in this.”

  “He protects you,” Curran interjected. “He is therefore your accomplice.”

  “How did he protect me? You came at us and we ran. You pursued us and waited in ambush. Your brother hit him with a rock, and he fell to the ground. He neither assisted me, nor impeded you.”

  Curran moved close to her, propelled by a jabbing finger. “He would have, though.”

  “If you were to start prosecuting folk for what they might have done, given the chance, I daresay you’ll have to string up half the Empire.”

  A snort of laughter erupted from the crowd. It was Filch, covering his mouth. Beside him stood two other halflings, both of whom seemed at least partially amused.

  Curran glared at his sibling. “Shut it, you,” he demanded.

  Emboldened, Filch stepped forward. “But she’s got you there, hasn’t she? We didn’t wait and give the fellow a chance to see if he was good or bad.” He addressed Franziskus, who was still yoked to his chair. “If it turns out you aren’t bad, I’m sorry for hitting you with that rock. Normally my aim’s not that good.”

  A few townsfolk suppressed snickers and grins. More shushed Filch and waved him back into place.

  He adopted a hangdog look. “Can’t a fellow be sorry now?”

  “Shut it,” Curran hoarsely cried.

  Filch sheepishly melted back into the crowd, but soon his friends were lowly conversing with him, adding a distracting buzz to the proceedings.

  “The tribunal has heard this first point you wished to make,” said Curran. “You seek mercy for your accomplice.”

  “The point is that he is not an accomplice.”

  “Speak to your second point.”

  “All right. Everyone here knows one thing. You may dislike the thought of people removing goods from a battlefield—”

  Curran interrupted. “Desecrating the corpses of our loved ones, you mean.”

  “It may not please you to think it, but the day the first war was fought, the first looters cleaned up afterwards. I don’t pretend it’s a reputable undertaking. You’ve caught me with something that belongs to one of you. Normally this would not embarrass me in the slightest. I have never believed in the existence of good and honest folk, outside the stories and fables we tell each other. Certainly I have never met any—though perhaps you’re the ones who’ll prove me wrong.”

  “A peculiar line of defence,” muttered Curran.

  Angelika shrugged. “You may find many of my beliefs peculiar. Franziskus certainly does. But here is one thing we can agree on: I did not bring sorrow on your heads today. It’s the war. Blame who you want. Blame the hordes of Chaos. They’re the ones who want nothing from you but your complete eradication. Blame the Empire, for not protecting you, so you had to send farmers out to do the work of soldiers.

  “Me, I prefer to direct my rage at fate itself, at this entire stinking world of death and falseness. As someone who’s seen it, I can tell you—life’s all sorrows and betrayals. It rewards and punishes us at random, whether we are good or bad.

  “You grieve, and wish to feel better. You can’t behead Chaos, or the Empire, or fate, so you seek solace in killing me. I seem to have no way of stopping you, except to warn you that my blood won’t lighten your hearts, not for the tiniest moment. You’ll feel sick and empty, and nothing more. If you really are the clean, honest, hardworking people you think you are, I suggest you stay spotless, and not stain your hands with yet another pointless slaying.”

  Curran’s spear rested against the fortress wall. He dashed to grab it and wheeled on Angelika. “A disgraceful plea. An obscene plea.”

  She stood her ground and he stopped just short of stabbing her. “Lies are soothing. The truth is not.”

  “You call that the truth?” Curran yowled. He turned to the jurors. “I say we have heard enough. Now’s the time for our righteous verdict—a verdict of death.”

  Angelika decided to grab Curran’s spear. Her odds against an entire angry village were terrible, but she would not go meekly to her—

  Franziskus, she saw, had a dagger against his throat, held by a gaunt human townsman.

  Damn, she thought. She would have to find another way.

  Then came a shout from the back of the crowd: “Soldiers! Soldiers are here.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The knot of townsfolk turned in rough unison, giving Angelika their backs. Curran, she was annoyed to see, had shifted his gaze from her only slightly—and his spear, not at all. The bony human, however, had enthusiastically abandoned his post at Franziskus’ throat, sliding his knife into his belt and pushing into the crowd, craning his neck to see what they saw. Curran grimaced and called him back; he returned grumpily to hover over the prisoner. The knife, Angelika noted, remained on his hip. She feigned a relaxed and casual posture, vowing to find a moment she could exploit. At the same time she rehearsed a new clemency plea for use on whatever new authority was entering the village. If made aware of her crimes, any officer would want to make her an easy example of his stern discipline. Perhaps she could somehow pit townsmen against soldiers…

  Wooden sticks beat against the tight skin of a kettledrum and their echoes hit the fortress walls like cracking muskets.

  A head bobbed above the crowd. It was Jonas Rassau, on horseback.

  The villagers parted, revealing an entire company of mi
xed Stirland forces, finishing its ride up the dirt-road to the old fort. Angelika quickly counted upwards of threescore men. At the rear of the approaching column she spotted Rassau’s sergeant. Even though the lieutenant seemed unconcerned by her looting activities, and his sudden appearance could theoretically offer up a useful distraction, instinct told Angelika that her troubles had taken a sharp turn for the worse.

  The inky sky lent a sharp backdrop to flatter Rassau’s sculpted features. He peered down at the thronging civilians. “Who speaks for you townsmen?” he called.

  Deely approached Rassau, signalling meekly that it was him. “Our headman went out with a dozen volunteers to join this morning’s battle,” he said. “If the fight had gone well lieutenant, he’d be back by now. I am the village reeve, though.”

  Jonas smiled and swung from his horse’s saddle. Deely tugged nervously at the collar of his tunic. Angelika wondered why. Curran chewed his lip impatiently throughout these formalities, as if he thought he should take charge of the parley.

  “Ah, I was hoping this would be your village up here. Deely, wasn’t it?” said Jonas, thrusting out his hand for the halfling to shake. Deely shyly complied.

  “Yes, I am Deely.”

  Jonas swept his head around. Angelika was sure he could see her, but he gave no sign of it. “Did you find the looter you were seeking?”

  Angelika figured it out: they’d already met. The halflings had asked if they’d seen her. Then, later, in the vineyard, they’d hidden from the lieutenant as he attempted to recruit Angelika. Hence Deely’s nervousness. Jonas might be displeased if he realised they’d been skulking around on him.

  “Ah,” said Jonas, his gaze landing showily on Angelika and Franziskus. “Would this be them?”

  Feeling suddenly light-hearted, Angelika happily retook her spot in the chair she’d been bound to. A fascinating performance was about to commence. The halflings knew Jonas had already seen and spoken to her, but couldn’t accuse him without also admitting to spying on him. Angelika savoured the disconcerted mix of anger and dismay on Curran’s one-eared face. Finally he’d grown distracted, and lowered his spear.

  Rassau’s soldiers coolly ringed themselves around her—she was as trapped as before.

  “This would be them,” Curran announced, “and you have interrupted our tribunal.”

  Jonas’ expression turned grave. “They stand accused of battlefield looting?”

  Curran puffed out his tiny chest. “Indeed they do.”

  Jonas scratched his stubbly chin as if wrestling with a delicate conundrum. “Then as a commissioned officer in time of war, it is I who have jurisdiction over crimes committed on the battlefield. We’ll take these wrongdoers off your hands, good Deely and Curran, and subject them to military justice.”

  He nodded to his men. Two swordsmen moved to clap a hand on each of Angelika’s shoulders. Another pair marched to Franziskus. Curran wheeled with his spear to hold them off. “No you don’t,” he growled.

  The men stood their ground, hands slowly drifting to sword hilts. The other soldiers reached for their own weapons.

  “Curran, don’t,” Deely said.

  Curran stamped his foot like a bull announcing a charge. “This is our village and it’s our friends they defiled.”

  “They are soldiers,” said Deely.

  “I uphold the charter of our village.”

  Jonas moved between the men Curran held at bay. He held up his hands. “It is you, and your kind, we soldiers are sworn to protect. Do not make us draw on you.”

  Curran flushed with helpless rage. “It’s our friends they defiled.” Other townsmen gathered behind him. The gaunt one pulled his knife.

  “Stop this, all of you,” Deely cried.

  Curran pointed his spear at Jonas, the motion was half gesture, half threat. “You know what he’ll do if we hand them over? Nothing. He wants her to scout for him.”

  Jonas stayed still. “Why do you say that, Curran?”

  Curran looked to his fellow villagers for support. “Do you deny it?”

  “I ask you what makes you say it.”

  Curran addressed the townsmen. “As we waited for an opportune moment to seize these vile desecrators, we heard you make that offer.”

  Jonas sternly crossed his arms. “You hid from us?”

  Curran increased his volume, but also trod back a step. “We heard you with our own ears.”

  “Why did you not come forward, to press your claim?”

  Curran sputtered. “We heard you say you did not care.”

  “You mean to say you eavesdropped on us? Like vile and furtive sneaks?”

  The flustered halfling failed to summon an answer.

  Jonas turned to address the other villagers, turning his back to Curran’s spear. Angelika followed the ready gazes of the two swordsmen who flanked him; if Curran lunged, they’d cut him down. “Yes, this is what I said: we are at war, my friends, and today the enemy has dealt us a fearsome blow. This village has been spared the foeman’s merciless attack. Your neighbours have not been so lucky. Even now, the Kurgan horde rampages further into the heart of our land. And in those mountains”—he pointed to the looming peaks of the World’s Edge range—“that malefic army will fester and grow. They will come sweeping down again, and soon, you can be sure of that.

  “Who is there to staunch their hideous advance? Only we few soldiers. A mere handful of men. To protect this village, here, and all the others around here, and our very nation. Curran is correct to mourn the dead. He makes the gravest error, however, if he blinds himself to the true nature of the threat we face today. Do not spare these criminals. Force them to serve you, by binding them over to me. This woman’s skills, honed in a loathsome trade, must now be bent to the most righteous of causes. I assure you, my friends, it is not a fate she relishes.”

  He paused to let the crowd confer with itself. He waited till the murmuring had crested. “And further, my friends, I beg you this: if you truly wish to avenge your fallen, you’ll send men with us, to join our fight. We need every able-bodied slinger or spearman your village can spare. Take up the weapons of your forefathers. Fight so that you may have descendants to pass them onto. Fight lest these lands become a blasted plain, a graveyard for your women and children.”

  The people of Hochmoor nodded in glum agreement. Angelika had to credit his eloquence. Filch and his friends seemed especially roused by Rassau’s words. She checked Curran’s attitude, he would be the key.

  He stuck his spear into the dirt, his fist tightly balled around its haft. “Don’t listen to him. He doesn’t care a fig for us. If there are more of them coming, we need every able man here.”

  “Perhaps, brother, it’d be better to stop them from getting this far,” said Filch, his voice meekly trailing.

  Curran spat. “The hope he offers you is nothing but a lie.”

  Rassau turned on him. “I’ve had all I’m ready to stand from you, little man.”

  He stopped himself short, but it was too late. Offended muttering broke out among the village’s halflings. Curran sizzled with happy spite.

  “Hope is never a lie,” said Jonas. It was a game try, but he’d punctured his own authority.

  Curran pressed his case, gesturing to Angelika. “You wish a decision from our people. Well then, let’s have the defendant speak. You do, I suppose, wish to be spared, so that you may be press-ganged by this fiery hobnail?”

  “I wish to be spared,” said Angelika.

  “And should we send our soldiers with him?”

  “That’s none of my concern.”

  “Would you do it, in our shoes?”

  You don’t wear shoes was the first answer that came to mind. After discarding that response, Angelika said, “I don’t know what you want to hear, so I’ll tell you the truth. You’re probably doomed no matter what you do. If you send men with him, they’ll likely die. If you hole up here and wait for the enemy to come and get you, I imagine it will. Get you, that is. Ma
ybe your best bet is to abandon your homes and flee—though with that barbarian horde rampaging unchecked through the land, that’s not such a safe bet, either.”

  She was sitting, so the tightly grinning halfling was able to go nose-to-nose with her. “But if you had to choose?”

  “If it were up to me, I’d do whatever let me feel free, till my moment of reckoning came.”

  Curran broke from her to confront Jonas. “The scout you want so badly has little regard for your chances, lieutenant. I guess you were wrong about her.”

  Jonas was unfazed. “She doesn’t know me yet.”

  Curran poked his spear at Franziskus. “What about you?”

  “I go where she goes.”

  The halfling’s air of bloodthirsty amusement returned to him. “In that case, my friend, I daresay you’re accompanying her to hell. Tribunal, what say you? Render your judgement.”

  Jonas had withdrawn from the circle and was conferring with his sergeant. Angelika took this as proof that a fight would break out between villagers and soldiers if the tribunal refused to bind her over. That would be her time to bolt. She looked to Franziskus, and saw that he was ready, too.

  The sentry bells rang briefly, then fell silent. Kurgan war horns blasted from below. Half a dozen figures pounded up the road, astride dark horses. Angelika looked down the hillside; barbarian fighters swarmed up all sides of the slope.

  The village burned.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Townsmen dashed to the lip of the hilltop. When they saw their homes afire, they ran down toward them. Humans and halflings spilled down the slope in scattered groups. Curran ran among them, trying to block them, crying out for order. Women and children fled for the doubtful safety of the crumbling fort.

  Angelika looked for the hillside escape route most likely to bypass the swarming barbarians. She was still unarmed.

  “Stay up here,” Jonas cried. “Defend in good formation!”

  The townsmen, drawn like moths to the flames of their blazing homes, ignored him.

  Mounted Chaos marauders threw up clouds of dirt as they thundered up the road. Townsmen scattered as they came, diving into the bushes and saplings that grew alongside it. A rotund halfling tumbled beneath the hooves of a black steed and squeaked as it trampled him.