Warrior Baptism Chapter 4

by Jonathan Techlin

  “Why, may I ask, do you work at this?” Theel heard Pitch ask. “Why construct a weapon with the throwaways of others? Why not carry your own spear at all times?”

  “I do not carry weapons,” Yenia answered.

  “You don’t carry weapons?” Pitch asked. “Do you leave all the fighting to your brother?”

  “Yenia does not carry weapons because she has no need for them,” Theel cut in. “She, herself, is weapon enough.”

  Pitch chuckled. “Your brother mocks you.”

  “It is his way,” Yenia said nonchalantly.

  “I am not jesting,” Theel said. “Yenia has no need for weapons.”

  “Is that right?” Pitch said.

  “I am terrified of my sister,” Theel said. “Her most terrible attack is her menacing stare of disapproval.”

  “Must you reveal all my secrets, brother?” Yenia asked.

  “You are both fools, for certain,” Pitch said.

  “Even fools have a role in the orbit of the sun,” Theel added.

  “So why do you toil to make a weapon when your brother carries two swords?” Pitch asked. “Why not take one of those?”

  “Because the swords Theel carries belong to him,” Yenia answered. “And, as I explained, I do not carry weapons.”

  “Why build a spear if you don’t carry weapons?” Pitch asked.

  “The spear isn’t for me,” Yenia said. “It’s for you.”

  “For me?” Pitch asked. “I’m not a fighter.”

  “You will be soon,” Theel cut in. “You and I have a disagreement with the Crowlord that needs settling.”

  “I will fight if you insist,” Pitch said. “But I would rather aim a crossbow.”

  “I cannot make a crossbow,” Yenia asked. “I haven’t the parts.”

  “You haven’t the parts for a spear, either, and yet you work to make one.”

  “It is the best I can do,” Yenia explained. “The moonblade is in good condition.”

  “How wonderful,” Pitch said blandly.

  “The gingo wood is from the merchant’s wagon,” Yenia went on. “He used it for his trading guidon.”

  “So, you wish for me to fight with a fork on the end of a flagpole?”

  “Yes, but it’s a really big fork,” Theel chuckled.

  “It is a moonblade,” Yenia corrected. “It would be deadly as a pole arm, or a long spear, or from horseback against foot soldiers.”

  “How comforting,” Pitch said. “Since I don’t have a horse.”

  “When battle comes, you will need something more formidable than your charm to defend yourself,” Yenia said.

  “I’d rather have a crossbow,” Pitch said. “I have no experience in spearwork.”

  “It doesn’t matter what you would prefer or where your experience lies,” Theel stated. “You will not stand at the rear, aiming a crossbow at our backs. You will fight at my side, with a spear, and you will lead the charge.”

  “We’ll have us quite a short charge then,” Pitch sighed. “I’m not certain I’m the charging sort.”

  “You’ll learn soon enough,” Theel said.

  “I may need you to instruct me on the intricacies of…um, charging.”

  “Point your spear and run,” Theel stated.

  “That sounds excellent, friend.” Pitch took a loud pull from his liquor bubbler. “With your tutelage, I cannot fail. Consider me an expert spearman. I will conduct demonstrations of technique before the royal court of Embriss when this adventure is concluded. After I’ve led our intrepid band to victory in the Narrows, of course. Gallant Lord Pitchford Wicker of Aramorun. Hero of the Seven Kingdoms. Champion of the Iatan Wars.”

  “Pitch,” Theel sighed. “Shut up.”

  “Very well,” Pitch said. “I will busy myself in discourse with your sister. Yenia, where did you learn to construct weapons?”

  “Pitch,” Yenia said. “Shut up.”

  “Must the situation be so uncongenial?” Pitch asked.

  “Yes,” both siblings said simultaneously.

  “Do they not teach squires of the knighthood manners?” Pitch asked. “Or is it the rigors of Warrior Baptism that steals one’s humor?”

  “Warrior Baptism?” Theel asked. “What do you mean?”

  “Unless my ears have deceived me, I understand I am in the presence of a squire of the King’s Cross Knights,” Pitch explained. “One who is on his quest for Warrior’s Baptism?”

  “How is it you know that?” Theel asked.

  “You were ranting about it just an hour ago in this very tunnel, if you’ve forgotten,” Pitch explained, sipping from his bubbler. “You said you were on a quest. What is it you are seeking?”

  “None of your concern.”

  “You made it my concern, friend, when you beat me and threatened my life,” Pitch said. “Those were some frightening moments you put me through.”

  “There may be more of those,” Theel retorted. “If you’d like.”

  “What brought you to Widow Hatch?” Pitch asked. “Is it this Warrior Baptism?”

  “Silence yourself,” Theel ordered. “You’re drunk.”

  “A man has to pass the time somehow.” Pitch sighed. “Am I to sit here with you in this darkness for hours without a single word?”

  “Do you wish to talk, Pitch?” Theel asked. “Let us talk, then, and let us start with this: What is your real name? Where are you from?”

  “My proper name was never said,” Pitch said. “I was orphaned before my nameday, of both my family and my homeland.”

  “Where is your homeland?” Yenia asked.

  “The Greater Clan of Aramorun is my ancestral home, though I’ve not walked that soil in years,” Pitch answered. “It is the birthplace of the Noble House of Wicker, or so I’ve been told.”

  “You still claim nobility?” Theel said.

  “I am banished from my homeland,” Pitch said. “A lesser lord, in exile, but a lord I remain.”

  “A lesser lord,” Yenia chuckled.

  “How splendid it was for us to find our very own lord, chirping in his birdcage,” Theel added. “As lords come, they don’t come lesser than that.”

  “No, they don’t,” Pitch said mournfully. “The Wickers lost everything in the War of the Eastern Scepters. Our gold and our lands were seized, all of us killed or banished. The Wickers are a dead house. I am the last.”

  “How do you know this if you were orphaned so young?” Yenia asked.

  “They say my mother was a whore,” Pitch said. “Lord Wicker supposedly planted me in her belly before he died. But I can’t prove any of it.”

  “You may or may not be the heir to a dead house, with no holdings, in a land from which you are banished,” Theel said. “Depending on the word of a whore?”

  “You have a keen eye for these matters, my liege,” Pitch replied. “A keen eye.”

  “Do not call me liege,” Theel said. “I am no one’s lord.”

  “I owe you my life, my liege,” Pitch said. “It is you who freed me from that crow cage, and in doing so, spared me a slow death of thirst or starvation. My family owes you everything. House Wicker lives on because of you.”

  “No, it doesn’t,” Theel said.

  “The noble bloodlines of House Wicker were nearly severed due to the cruelty and injustice inflicted by the greater Lords of Aramorun,” Pitch said. “But the blood of my family beats strongly within me, and House Wicker will live again, because of your kindness. You are my liege lord from this day forward.”

  “No,” Theel insisted. “I am not.”

  “All that is House Wicker is now yours, by the oath of fealty I speak,” Pitch went on. “I swear on the blood of Wicker that flows through my veins that I will always be loyal to you, milord, will never bring harm to you or your family, or to the good name of your ancestral house, and will observe my homage to you completely against all persons in good faith, and without deceit.”

  “Pitch,” Theel said. “This isn’t necessary.”


  “My sword is yours.”

  “You don’t have a sword,” Theel retorted.

  “My gold is yours.”

  “What gold?”

  “All the lands and holdings of House Wicker are yours.”

  “Pitch,” Theel said. “Please stop.”

  “It is done,” Pitch announced. “I am now your loyal servant for all time.”

  “God help me,” Theel said.

  “How may I serve you, my liege?” Pitch asked.

  “You may stop calling me your liege.”

  “If you wish, my liege,” Pitch said. “I am your faithful servant.”

  “You are not,” Theel said. “Don’t you understand? I don’t want a servant.”

  “Are you certain of that, my liege?” Pitch asked. “One day, you may need one.”

  “I will never need a servant.”

  “Only a foolish lord would say such things,” Pitch said. “Now is a time of peace, but when war comes, a lord invariably needs his vassals. A man without allies is only one sword.”

  “Where have you learned this nonsense?” Theel asked.

  “I am born of noble blood, if you recall,” Pitch said. “And you know I speak wisdom, my liege. One day you might find yourself on your back with no one to help you, and I will be there. You will reach out for help and I will give you my sword. You’ll see.”

  “Why were you in that cage?” Yenia asked.

  “And tell the truth this time,” Theel added.

  “If I must,” Pitch said. “It was a great injustice, I swear it. I was beaten and robbed by Overlie men. Three of them, wearing the diamonds and oaks. They stuffed me in that cage—and were quite rude about it.”

  “Who were they?” Yenia asked.

  “Sellswords, they said,” Pitch answered. “Travelling south from Korsiren.”

  “Deserters,” Theel spat.

  “I wouldn’t doubt it,” Pitch said. “They did seem to be riding in the opposite direction of the fighting. And they didn’t seem to hold much regard for the diamonds and oaks they wore on their surcoats. I have grave doubts Lord Overlie would approve of their treatment of me.”

  “What became of them?” Yenia asked.

  “I believe their plan was to accost travelers fleeing south from the war,” Pitch said. “When they saw a wagon coming through town, they hid in the Narrows for an ambush. They didn’t come back out. I never saw them again.”

  “That wagon coming through town,” Yenia said. “Was it driven by the merchant?”

  “The poor fellow who lost his eyes? Yes,” Pitch said. “That was him. The zoths took him. I wonder if they took the Overlie men as well.”

  “I think we are camped on the spot where they fought the zoths,” Yenia answered. “And lost.”

  “The Crowlord took them all,” Theel mumbled around his pipe stem. “Merchant and deserters both. Don’t doubt it.”

  “Then what of the children?” Pitch asked.

  “All we can do is pray,” Theel answered.

  “My, you are the cheerful sort, aren’t you?” Pitch said.

  “I’m sorry my pragmatic view of things impedes the health of your delusions,” Theel retorted. “Never forget how your greed and selfishness have contributed to this mess.”

  “You are correct, my liege,” Pitch admitted. “There is no cheer in that.”

  “Why did you send those children into danger?” Yenia asked.

  “I saw no danger in what I did,” Pitch said. “I didn’t know the zoths ruled the Narrows, I swear it.”

  “You knew bandits hid in the Narrows,” Theel said. “You did nothing to protect the children from that danger.”

  “Those men you call deserters were Overlie swords,” Pitch said. “They’d find no gain in harming the offspring of their lord.”

  “You hoped,” Theel added.

  “I knew,” Pitch protested. “Only great fools wouldn’t see the potential for reward in offering their protection to the children of a man as powerful as Lord Overlie. I was thinking of the safety of those two wonderful sweetlings.”

  “How noble of you,” Yenia said.

  “Yes,” Pitch responded. “Nobility is in my blood, you see.”

  “Truly a selfless gesture,” Theel said sarcastically. “Stealing from a little girl of only six seasons for her betterment.”

  “Life presents many unfortunate choices, my liege,” Pitch said. “It was the only way I could compel those young ones to listen to me. Children can be so willful.”

  “But why did you need them to enter the Narrows?” Yenia asked.

  “I needed them to find those Overlie men,” Pitch answered. “I felt it was the only way those children might find salvation.”

  “And those Overlie men also had the key to your cage,” Theel said.

  “A minor detail,” Pitch mumbled.

  “You wanted them to find those men and bring back the key,” Theel said.

  “Perhaps,” Pitch said. “Perhaps they might provide my salvation after finding their own. Why shouldn’t we all benefit?”

  “No one benefitted,” Theel said.

  “It was a gamble.”

  “You gambled and you lost,” Theel accused. “You forced two little children to accept all the risk while you enjoyed all the potential for gain. And what has come of it? Those children may be dead because of you.”

  “My plan may not have resulted in success.”

  “It may not have,” Theel said. “Because it may have been a foolish plan.”

  “It was a flawed plan, I’ll admit,” Pitch said. “But not a foolish one.”

  “You will see how flawed your plan was on the Dead Man’s Bridge,” Theel stated.

  “As you wish, my liege.”

  “Do not call me that.”

  “I will die fighting the Crowlord, if you command it, my liege,” Pitch said. “But please let me die with the good reputation of House Wicker intact.”

  “What reputation?” Theel asked.

  “Whatever reputation we Wickers retain after all the evil that has befallen us,” Pitch explained. “Please understand, I meant no ill when I sent those two sweetlings into the Narrows. My reasoning certainly was unsound, but I was in that cage for days, my wits ravaged by hunger and thirst. I wasn’t my right self when I did those things.”

  “It’s possible you still aren’t,” Theel added.

  “I cannot undo my misdeeds,” Pitch whimpered. “All I can do is beg the forgiveness of my liege lord and give myself fully to the effort of delivering those children safely from harm.”

  “Which you will do,” Theel said.

  “If it please you, my liege,” Pitch said solemnly.

  “It pleases me,” Theel stated. “You will march, and you will fight. And if you survive the Dead Man’s Bridge, I will see that you live long enough to place those diamonds and oak leaves in the hand of the little girl you stole them from.”

  “Nothing would give me greater joy,” Pitch claimed. “All I wish for is a chance to atone for my sins. And there are many.”

  “Very many,” Theel said.

  “No man is clean, least of all, I,” Pitch agreed.

  “That is true,” Yenia said. “Father always said that.”

  “I’ve done the best I can with the meager tools allotted me,” Pitch went on. “But some men are destined to wear ill deeds like a second skin. My sinfulness sticks to me no matter how hard I scrub at it.”

  Theel had no reply for that. He knew how the man felt.

  “I’m no worse than many others in these dark days,” Pitch said. “This war has made scoundrels of many a good man. Every good thing must one day perish, and sometimes that good thing is a man’s decency.”

  “That’s not true,” Yenia stated.

  “Perhaps,” Pitch said. “Perhaps not. But I was a decent person once, I swear it. Unfortunately, moral difficulties tend to arise when a person hasn’t seen a meal in days. Hunger will drive a man to do what is necessary to s
ee his belly filled, even things he might one day regret.”

  “What did you do before the war?” Yenia asked. “How did you spend your time when you were a decent person?”

  “I am a performing man,” Pitch answered.

  “A mummer?” Yenia asked.

  “At times,” Pitch said. “Mumming is a narrow skill, while my talents cover a broader range.”

  “Such as storytelling,” Theel said. “Many, many stories of questionable veracity.”

  “Yes, storytelling,” Pitch retorted. “But my primary talent is the gift of song.”

  “Do you play an instrument?” Yenia asked.

  “I play them all,” Pitch answered. “Story and song were my primary winners of coin. I sang a hundred songs, told a hundred tales; but that wasn’t all. I was also accomplished at some minor feats of acrobatics, tumbling, and juggling. I did some trick shooting for a time. I could handle a crossbow rather well.”

  “Ever shoot a man?” Theel asked. “Or a zoth?”

  “Goodness no, my liege,” Pitch answered. “Zoths were a rare sight at our performances. And the goal of trick shooting was to avoid hurting the other performers.”

  “What did you shoot at, then?” Theel asked.

  “My fellows would juggle fruit, usually apples,” Pitch explained. “I would shoot the apples out of the air. The crowd would give us the apples, but we didn’t give them back. They thought they were providing us targets for our show. In truth, they were often providing our next meal.”

  “Ever handle a weapon other than a crossbow?” Theel asked.

  “I juggled hammers once.”

  “Well then,” Theel said. “If we find some hammers in these tunnels, you may juggle them for the zoths. If not, you will carry a spear into battle.”