Chains of the Heretic

by Jeff Salyards

  No one else bothered me for the rest of the day. Which gave me the time I needed to finish. Though I wished I hadn’t. There wasn’t anything else about Bloodsounder, rogue priests, early efforts to control witches, or any topic of interest.

  I put my quill down, fingers cramping, back sore, shaking a little, unsure when I last stopped to eat something. But it was for naught.

  Expected. But that did nothing to lessen the disappointment. And there was something else. It wasn’t just a failure to discover what we wanted that left me feeling empty. It was completing the job.

  Perhaps the captain still wanted me around to record the Jackals’ exploits, or serve as a translator in some other capacity. But I couldn’t escape the sensation that I’d finished what I’d been assigned to do. This had always left me feeling a bit melancholy before, when my assignment came to a close. But this time, it was a heavier thing, dangling around my neck, pressing into my chest and stomach.

  I briefly wondered if finishing the translation meant I’d not only concluded my task but outlived my usefulness. Certainly I’d done enough since riding with the Jackals to prove my worth.

  Certainly.

  I wished Vendurro had left the appropriated wine. I could have used some more.

  Still, I wasn’t entirely finished. I found the manuscript that had all the details the priest had compiled about binding and decided to revisit it, to be sure I hadn’t missed anything. The thought that Jackals could die due to my lapse or error made my guts twist.

  I’d uncover nothing new, but at least I could be absolutely certain I hadn’t misinterpreted the references I already found.

  After closing the latch on my case and throwing it over my shoulder, I went searching for the captain.

  He was off by himself in a gulch and the ruins of a river, the water having disappeared ages ago. Braylar was holding Bloodsounder, but at least not whirling it above his head. He heard me approach, turned around and, before I’d said a word, read my face. “You discovered nothing new.”

  I only shook my head, bracing for the worst, wondering if I knew what that was.

  Instead, after a brief sigh, he clapped me on the shoulder. “You have done good work, Arki. What we have will be enough then.”

  He started to turn when I blurted, “Do you believe that? Truly?”

  Braylar looked at me. “All that matters is that my sister and Nustenzia believe it. And Thumaar of course.”

  “And do you have a solid plan, then? For getting them into the Citadel? Getting Thumaar close enough to shift the binds to him? Provided it works, of course.” He opened his mouth and I hastily said, “Which it will.”

  Braylar gave me a level, unreadable look. “Your overflowing optimism is wasteful. You should conserve some, lest this incredibly dry ground simply drink it up. But to answer your question, much will depend on the tight-lipped deposed emperor of ours and what he brings to the event. But yes, I believe we have arrived at as good a plan as any. All things considered.”

  He gave me a look that I interpreted as a dismissal, which I ignored. “May I ask you something, Captain?”

  Braylar looked over at me, surprised I hadn’t left already. “Judging from your tone, no doubt something of import that will make me question my judgment in allowing you to remain in this company.”

  After considering if there were a delicate way to begin, I chose directness instead. “You told me about the failed attempt to kill your father’s murderer. But not about what ultimately happened to him.”

  Braylar stared off at some scrubby grass rimming the entrance of the gulch. “That was not a question. But I will respond as if it were. If life was a romance of old, I would have had a second opportunity once I achieved manhood, a rare double chance to right the wrong, redeem myself, and kill the man once and for all in an epic duel, yes?”

  “But that isn’t what happened, is it?”

  He gave one short laugh. “Of course not, Arki. The bastard was killed by an Anjurian near the border during a skirmish many years later.”

  “And that didn’t bring Soffjian some measure of joy, at least?”

  The captain slipped Bloodsounder back on his belt. “It might have. But she never forgave me for failing to stick him a second time with a blade, as I had promised so many years before.”

  I thought back to what Soffjian had said before, alluded to, really, about other broken promises. I was reluctant to bring that up, but I wasn’t sure if we would ever have another opportunity. “Your sister mentioned something else. In the plague village. About not only failing to avenge your father, but something to do with your people as a whole.”

  Braylar didn’t reply right away, and took so long I was sure he didn’t intend to at all. But then he finally said, “Our rift started after our father’s murder. But that was only the start. After we were captured, during that tenyear before my manumission, hostilities had increased dramatically between my people and the Empire.”

  “Because of your father?”

  “In part. Only in part. Also because the Jackals had taken us, as in the days of old, rather than during a proper Choosing. My uncle Sirk recovered from his grievous wounds, you see. And in time, he managed to unify the neighboring tribes. Well, conquer, if we aren’t being coy. But Sirk eventually grew enough in power, and had so many tribal factions under his sway that he finally challenged the Syldoon when they came to the island again. My uncle slaughtered that small company, and sent word that the tribes no longer were any sort of vassals to the Empire.”

  “That must have gone over well,” I said.

  “Ha. Yes, the Empire wasn’t accustomed to any region trying to throw off their yoke, hinterland or not. So they intended to invade, to squash this rebellion in full, to make an example of my uncle. And they sent the Jackals at the front of the army, as they had the most familiarity with that part of the world.”

  Even with Soffjian alluding to something like this, it was still chilling to hear. “You were sent to kill or capture your own people?”

  Irritation bled in, profusely. “You forget. I had been with the Syldoon and Jackals longer at that point than I had with my own tribe. The Jackals were my people now. While I had no desire to see the Orlu destroyed or enslaved, they were distant, remote, and part of another life altogether. They were no longer my people. And they should have recognized that they were inviting their doom, demanding it, truly.”

  This was difficult to reconcile, since I possessed neither family nor homeland dear to me nor any system or culture that had totally absorbed me. “When Soffjian spoke of this before, she said . . .” I stopped, wondering where curiosity ended and dangerous transgression began.

  Braylar narrowed his eyes. “Out with it.”

  “She said you could have stopped this, should have done more to protect your people. That is, your tribe, your old people.”

  Braylar watched a shadow fall over the gulch, looked up at a large galleon-like cloud. “Why, of course she did. Yes, a young green sergeant is infinitely instrumental in determining imperial policy. I should have only said the word, and Commander Darzaak would have halted the campaign and turned around immediately.”

  There was an edge to his voice that should have halted me, but I found myself asking, “Was this Emperor Thumaar who ordered the invasion?”

  “Yes. Excellent point. I should have simply marched up to the Emperor himself and said, ‘Your Majesty, I know you are intent on bringing the Orlu to heel, but I feel the need to tell you, you are making a grave mistake.’ To which he would have replied, ‘Oh? Why is that, Green Sergeant?’ And I would have said, ‘Because my older sister says as much. And there is no arguing with her.’ Yes. Boundless negligence on my part. A tremendous oversight and unforgivable failure of character.”

  The bile there was unmistakable, but I got the sense that it wasn’t directed solely at his impossible sister. “Did Commander Darzaak invite you, that is, were you a part of his council? Did he solicit your input on how to best p
roceed, given your familiarity with your—with the Orlu?”

  Braylar said, “You’ve met the man. Does he strike you as the type to solicit overmuch? No. No is the answer. He commands. That is what Commanders do best.”

  “So . . . ?”

  The captain looked like he might want to draw Bloodsounder again. “So, what, exactly, Arki? So, should I have done more to dissuade him? To try to encourage him to some course of diplomacy, rather than a brutal incursion into the tribelands to teach tribals a lesson, simply because I had been one of them long ago? Is that what you are truly asking, or failing to ask, for fear that I might strike you down?”

  I forced myself not to take a step back as he advanced on me, stopping only when he was so close I could count the stubble on his cheeks. Quietly, I said, “I’m just trying to understand why your sister so profoundly holds this against you so many years later.”

  Braylar nodded twice, very slowly, nearly nose to nose with me. “I see.” And I felt as if I had well and truly overstepped, expecting him to deliver a flurry of elbows at any moment.

  But then he turned away. “As it so happens, Arki, I didn’t plead. But I did try to convince the Commander that my people were experts at the small war.”

  “The small war?”

  “Yes,” he replied. “Fighting in the dark, using terrain, hitting supply trains, refusing pitched battles, especially against a superior force. The Orlu, like all the tribes in the vicinity, were sneaky bastards and would whittle an enemy down, sap their morale, attack with speed, and withdraw even faster. Rather than appealing from an emotional position, doomed to fail, I hoped to convince the Commander, and through him the Emperor, that it would be a costly and ultimately futile campaign. Not worth the loss of lives.”

  “But this didn’t succeed in deterring them?”

  “Deterring? No,” he said. “It succeeded in preparing them for the small war. And mitigating loss. At Thumaar’s behest, Commander Darzaak mined me for all the information he could, and while I tried to use my proximity to discourage, redirect, or stop the invasion, I only truly succeeded in ensuring they didn’t get drawn into a small war with the Orlu.”

  Though I knew the story wouldn’t end anywhere good, I asked, “What did they do?”

  “The Orlu might be sneaky, but the Syldoon are relentless, cunning, and—with the exception of the Urglovians and their ridiculous reliance on war wagons—adaptable. Before our army arrived, the Jackals sent envoys to visit the other tribes, promised that those who sided with the Syldoon would be richly rewarded, and turned most of the island against the Orlu even before we set foot on tribal soil. Between that, and sending in Memoridons to assassinate the Orlu chieftain—”

  “Your uncle.”

  “My uncle,” he agreed. “The Orlu resistance was doomed. By the time we jumped off our boats, they were broken, scurrying for caves and mountain holdfasts, and no danger of waging a long series of small wars or any kind of war at all. The invasion was a wild success. We enslaved half of them, killed anyone else we could find.” He said this flatly, as if talking about an incident in a dusty history tome. “The Orlu were wiped out that summer. And though I protested, Commander Darzaak promoted me to lieutenant.”

  It all made a horrible kind of sense. “So Soffjian assumed you not only failed to do enough to save your people, but aided the invasion to profit from it.”

  “How remarkably perceptive. You must be a scholar of some kind.” Braylar started walking away as another cloud shadowed the area. “Now leave me, Arki. Wordlessly.”

  I didn’t consider any other choice.

  On that appointed day, I accompanied Braylar, his officers, and his sister as we rode back into the pisshole village of Brassguilt, taking a less direct route to avoid the flatly curious eyes of the villagers and tethering our horses behind the defeated and dilapidated barn—leaning drunkenly to the side with nothing to grab onto, it looked ready to tumble over for good at any moment.

  It was cloudier than it had been the day before, so the shafts and bars of light were weaker inside, the gloom heavier, and the faces of the occupants more difficult to work out.

  Kruzinios walked over as we entered and the Jackals saluted first, which he returned smartly, decades of discipline not easily outdone by gray braids. “On time today,” he said. “My lord will be pleased to see it. Prepared as you are punctual, I hope.”

  Braylar nodded, and the general said, “Good. Very good. Follow me then.” He stopped abruptly, and without turning around spoke more quietly. “And if you choose to ignore my warning again, I won’t be advocating on your behalf. Enough with the deity business. Our liege requires a clear head and direct purpose just now. Do not cloud things. Understood?”

  Braylar twitch-smiled. “Short of lying to our would-be-sovereign, it was hard to avoid, truly. Would you have me lie to the man then?”

  Kruzinios spun on his heel, somewhat slowly but still with gravity and command. “You are one of the more gifted truthbenders I’ve ever met. It was why we sent you into Anjuria, after all. I’m sure you could have concocted some version of events that skirted close to the truth and still didn’t fail to heed my warning. And if he presses you again on the topic, you will deflect and redirect as I know you are all too capable of. Tell me I am understood, Captain.”

  “Understood, sir.”

  The general led us into the barn. As before, a large number of Thumaar’s soldiers were standing watch, not close enough to make out any conversations, but near enough to respond immediately if any threat presented itself. The deposed emperor was also standing roughly where he had been the other day, only this time there were six other figures just behind him.

  Vendurro’s eyes must have been the keenest among us, as he made one of the men there first and whispered, “Plague. Me. We’re fucked, Cap.”

  Braylar didn’t slow down and only whispered back, “Easy there, Lieutenant. Easy. Follow my lead.”

  He said it with a calmness and jocularity that had to be forced, given who was standing before us. I felt my legs wobble and had to resist the urge to reach for Lloi’s saber, despite having little idea how to use it.

  Baron Brune stepped forward, an oversized smile on his brutally handsome face. “Captain Braylar Killcoin! How very good to see you again! I was despairing we might never have such an opportunity.” He turned and looked at Thumaar and gave a deep theatrical bow. “My humble apologies, my lord, for any broken protocols here. When you said the good Captain was going to be attending, I barely allowed myself to dream it was truly possible. I am so very anxious to catch up with the man. You see, he departed my barony rather suddenly and under such unusual circumstances.”

  “I am aware,” Thumaar said, gruffer than quarry stone. “And you are aware, whatever grievances you have are dead and buried as far as I am concerned. Cremated even. Ash on the wind. Are you going to have a problem with that, Baron?”

  “No, no,” he replied. “None whatsoever. Well. Not directly with this man—he was merely a professional saboteur obeying orders at the behest of his Tower Commander. But I do hope some reparations are still in order. His shenanigans left me with a ripper running wild in my streets, which also happened to be littered with the countless dead, and—”

  “I counted,” Braylar offered. “I do like to keep track of my shenanigans.”

  Brune looked back at him, and his expression made it clear he wanted nothing more than to bundle us up and return us to his toyroom in the bowels of his castle in Alespell. “Do you? And do you know how many of my good paying Fairgoers were slaughtered in the streets, or how many escaped with their lives but took their coins with them, never to return? Do you know how much I lost when you and your men—”

  “If anyone has a complaint here, it is me,” Braylar replied. “The security in your city is atrocious, really. A large band of Hornmen walk through the gates to abduct and kill one of your guests and your men just assume they have a legitimate reason? I was sorely disappointed. Anything t
hat happened from that point forward is on you, I’m afraid.”

  “Me?” Brune asked, voice rising.

  “You,” Braylar said, very calmly. “Or Captain Honeycock. Is he here as well, skulking about in the hay?”

  Brune started to shout something I couldn’t make out, but Thumaar thundered over him, “Enough, the both of you!” He walked up to the pair and scowled at the baron. “You can take up further reparations with Commander Darzaak, but the man promised to deliver Henlester’s head to you, did he not? Help put down your little rebellion?”

  The baron didn’t back down. “I would have no rebellion to speak of it wasn’t for his agent here.”

  Braylar said, “I merely hastened what was already occurring naturally on its own, Brune. Do not make the mistake of thinking for a minute that your priest caste would not—”

  Thumaar jabbed a finger in the captain’s sternum. “What part of ‘enough’ wasn’t clear, Syldoon?”

  I feared and expected that Braylar’s tongue would only damn him more, but he wisely kept his mouth closed.

  Thumaar looked back and forth between the captain and baron. “We are not here to mediate your differences. Baron Brune, you will receive your deviant priest as promised, and more importantly, you will be a hero to your people, an instrument that guaranteed the Anjurians were not crushed under Cynead’s heel. If that doesn’t constitute reparations, then nothing plaguing does. But none of that happens until I am back where I belong. And while that might taste like pickled asshole to you, you will keep your mouth shut and speak no more of it.”

  Mulldoos laughed at that and the deposed emperor rounded on the Jackals again. “And you will cease antagonizing the baron or his men. He is in my camp and among my council. Just as you are. And there’s an end to it.”

  Azmorgon’s voice resonated in the barn, and the soldiers furthest away likely had no trouble hearing him as he turned to Braylar and said, “Anjurians? Plaguing Anjurians? Sunwrack will collapse into the Trench before—”