Peril & Profit

by M. H. Johnson

  Halence sighed before giving Sorn a further concerned look, perhaps fearing that Sorn's hope of a return voyage was all that was allowing Sorn to accept the necessity of leaving at this point. He needn't have worried, however, as Sorn's enigmatic smile so obviously indicated.

  Sorn flashed Halence a quick, cryptic grin. "No need to trouble yourself, Halence. I am not asking you to make the return voyage with me. I know the route now." He grinned at the captain's expression. If Sorn was put anywhere in the path that he had been on, he would know immediately where he was relative to where he had been on the original voyage, once he had a few moments to orient himself. Even in his quarters, he would have a rough sense of where they were in the newly formed world map he was slowly fleshing out in his mind's eye.

  Halence, of course, could only give Sorn a look of quizzical concern. "As you will, Sorn," Halence said at last. "Though I do hope you will speak of it to me further when we return to York, allow us to talk over your plans with calm heads on our shoulders."

  Sorn only smiled. "Come, Captain. I fear we have kept our host waiting long enough."

  Halence chuckled at this, and they proceeded to the front door where they were presently escorted by an officious looking servant to the foyer beyond. They were brought before a man of only modest stature, though with a natural presence, born perhaps through generations of noble lineage. Dark salt and pepper hair cut short, the man possessed a brooding countenance and was elegantly attired, albeit more conservatively dressed than some Sorn had seen at the palace. He gave Sorn and Halence a slight nod, indicating by way of gesture for drinks to be poured for the pair, which his servant immediately did so with a quiet efficiency.

  Chairs as well were available for their ease, elegantly crafted red oak almost but not quite clashing with the burgundy rug laid out over the cozy receiving room, fireplace crackling merrily despite the relative warmth of the evening.

  The man in question, Lord Salevin, was seated behind a large burnished writing desk, also of hardwood, though Sorn could not put a name to it.

  Lord Salevin, it appeared, was in no hurry to speak, simply taking their measure, eyes reflective as he took occasional sips from the drink at hand. Halence, for his part, sat in the chair provided, lounging with an elegant grace and favoring Lord Salevin with a bemused stare, fully aware of the game that was being played. Sorn sat as well, though somewhat uncomfortably, not quite sure what the rules were, or how he should respond.

  Halence, however, just sat with a polite half smile, eyes never leaving Lord Salevin's face.

  "Captain," Salevin finally said, being the one to break the uncomfortable silence. "I understand you have just made it to port. I hope your journey was not cause for undue alarm?"

  At this Halence managed to look downright smug, so strong was his demeanor of casual confidence. "Oh, there were complications. Rest assured, they were rather effortlessly resolved. And without question could be so again, should the need arise."

  Lord Salevin gave a calculated nod. "A daring voyage, some would say. Fraught with peril. I would assume it unlikely that you would care to take such a risky voyage back, and so perhaps you shall be enjoying the hospitality of our fair city for a while, at least until the inconvenience of this siege passes?"

  At this Halence broke into a sardonic grin, as if amused at the Lord's opening volley. "My lord, before we continue, as we have matters of personal confidence to speak of, I would count it a great courtesy were I to have your undivided confidence. For though no doubt you know your man through long service and trust him in all things, I, unfortunately, know him not at all. So it is my sincere hope that he has the grace to match his loyalty to you and will not take it amiss if I were to request our mutual privacy before we discuss matters of a perhaps... sensitive nature between ourselves?"

  Lord Salevin gave Halence an unfathomable look before shifting his gaze to his butler. "Makes. If you would be so kind?"

  Makes, of short stature himself, but lacking his lord’s thick salt and pepper hair, indeed, lacking any hair at all save a barely detectable fringe, only bowed politely and quietly closed the doors behind him.

  "Now, sir, if I may be frank?" Halence inquired, receiving a cool nod in turn, though Sorn noted the sharp acrid scent, so similar to fear. Anxiety, he thought. Lord Salevin, Sorn realized, was nowhere near as cool as he tried to make himself out to be.

  "As to our voyage. Rest assured, Lord Salevin, my men and I have every intention of making the return voyage, within several days, no less. And as for the inconvenience of a siege, this isn't a band of several hundred malcontents or rogues, or even several thousand troops from the ragtag army of some neighboring city-state. These are the combined legions, well organized and disciplined, of a new southern empire forging itself in violence and blood that has so far managed to crush near the entirety of this continent, and now seeks to bring its might to bear on the one remaining city-state presently out of its grasp. By rough estimates, there are fifty thousand or more well-trained troops out there, and not just infantry."

  Halence's eyes locked upon the noble before him. Though his face was stony, Lord Salevin's hand trembled upon his glass.

  "They have siege engines, Salevin, and by all accounts, they know how to use them to deadly effect. Have you ever seen a trebuchet in action, Lord Salevin? A boulder hurled from one of those highly sophisticated catapults could obliterate your average building, or even put a dent in the side of a cliff. The rough count is the enemy force has well over forty of them. It looks like they are keeping themselves quite busy with their little siege, aren't they?"

  Halence smiled, taking a sip of his drink.

  "Excellent brandy, by the way. Did you know, sir, that rumor has it that once this army conquers a new city, it confiscates all land, property, and wealth, declaring it the rightful property of their empress? Hardly what you would expect in these civilized times, I know. At least they don't slaughter every man, woman, and child on sight and raise the city to the ground like the Huns did a thousand years prior, but that would hardly be conducive to securing fresh streams of tribute and supplies for their armies. They are far more efficient than that. My understanding is that they will even let former merchants and businessmen, should they prove skilled, continue to run what are now the empress's business interests.

  "An interesting change, however, in cities claimed by the Empire is that the lives of every citizen officially belong to the empress as well. So though they may get little more than a cloth sack to wear, a symbolic iron chain about their neck, and a single bowl of soup per day if they are lucky, my understanding is that they are still highly motivated to turn a profit. The penalties for failure are, I am given to understand, quite severe." Halence chuckled dryly. "They run a bit steeper than not being able to purchase the latest fashions that year. The empress, it seems, takes business losses personally, and exacts a penalty in flesh from the failed merchant or trader."

  Halence shook his head and tisked. "You really should read some of the accounts I have." At this point, Halence casually pulled out one of the vellum sheets from the bundle he held loosely in hand, seemingly at random. "Take this poor merchant. He was once a very profitable trader in the neighboring city-state of Svalentia. Did quite well, too. Had two beautiful daughters and two sons with bright prospects. Oh. Interesting note, they too had rather sturdy city walls. My understanding is that Caverenoc and Svalentia became trade partners only because you could not conquer each other in earlier times. The Empire, on the other hand, washed over Svalentia in a flood of blood and tears just as effortlessly as it will no doubt wash over Cavernoc. But I digress. In any case, the poor ragged pitiable creature, minus four fingers of his left hand and his right eye, has had a very bad year indeed. What with war disrupting trade routes and profit and such, it was no wonder at all that he couldn't turn a profit. Indeed, it is amazing he had kept his losses as modest as he had. Didn't cut him any slack of course. The empress is not a very forgiving girl, from what I underst
and.

  "In any case, his family only needed one trader, and in truth, his sons were a bit too young to provide any notable assistance to their father's, excuse me, the empress's enterprise. The Empire, however, in its infinite grace had originally deemed to let him keep both his sons as incentive for his success.

  "Alas, that first year was a bad one for the merchant and cost him his right eye, seared out with a hot poker, I believe, most of his left hand, and both of his sons who were indentured off to the copper mines north of the city. I hear workers rarely last for more than five years without becoming fatally sick and dying shortly thereafter, and that is a shame. I shudder to think of what the conditions at the mines are like now. The trader was allowed to keep his tongue, of course. A merchant is not a common laborer, and so needs that important tool to his trade. Besides, it allows him to give thanks aloud to the empress for her infinite mercy daily. An off-hand, however, is not so important for a merchant, nor are boys too young to pull their own weight. Save in the copper mines, of course."

  Halence's smile was cold. "But fear not, at least suitable marriages free from the cares of trade or the poisons of the copper mines were found for both of his daughters. They were married to common troopers. My impression is that the imperial troops are not the most thoughtful of spouses. The youngest has already miscarried. It seems due to the fact that she was beaten so hard it killed her unborn child. The oldest apparently committed suicide. At least that's what the family was told, and they were threatened for it. Though some would argue strangulation was what had occurred in truth, none would dare say it allowed. They were twelve and fourteen years old, by the way."

  Halence's gaze turned flinty hard. "Both the father and his youngest daughter actually managed to escape. They have found shelter here, though penniless and destitute. The poor girl does little more than shudder and keen when a man approaches her now. The true tragedy of it is that it is only a matter of time before the Empire washes over Caverenoc the same way as they had Svalentia. Whereupon, rest assured, the process of indoctrination will be as brutal here as it has been in every other city-state so overrun: Stripping all esteemed families of their wealth and prestige, drafting their sons into the mines of the west or to work as slaves in plantations to the east, auctioning their daughters into marriages that are apparently, as often as not, so brutal that the poor girls go insane or kill themselves. And we would be fooling ourselves if we thought the conjugal atmosphere was anything but rape. The only hope these families have is to desperately struggle to make the empress's new assets prosperous, success equaling a bowl of soup and a hunk of bread and the occasional clout in the ear from a soldier lording over all. Rapturous bliss, compared to the horrific price of failure: Torture, mutilation, one's sons being sold as slaves to the Empire's mines, and one's daughters auctioned off as whores to the Empire's men.

  "And that, sir, is what Caverenoc has in store for its future. Not the inconvenience of a month-long siege, but the utter destruction, enslavement, and degradation of every man, woman, and child in this city. Families who for generations had known naught but prosperity now have little more than lives of horror and despair to look forward to. Fortune has indeed cast a baleful eye on Caverenoc, or so it seems. Rest assured, Lord Salevin, my men and I plan on leaving this doomed city as soon as we possibly can."

  Lord Salevin, calm demeanor steadily cracking, his scent sharpening from that tang denoting anxiety to the acrid stench of panic, still made a pretense of control. "What you're speaking of is mere rumor, sir. And further, our walls are mighty and will definitely hold. Furthermore, we have catapults of our own on our walls. Our walls are mighty enough to hold such structures."

  Halence just stared at Lord Salevin coldly, before enunciating with careful precision. "Forty Trebuchets, Lord Salevin. Comparing the small catapults on the city's walls with the trebuchets below is like comparing a child's sling to a crossbow. And, need I remind you, Svalentia fell within two weeks. The Empire is prudent, in its own way. It does not waste its own men. It simply masses its forces, isolates its target, then obliterates its defenses. Even should they get bored pounding holes into your walls, those same trebuchets can hurl tremendous wads of fiery pitch to spread out and set the city ablaze. In fact, they might do so just to have a well-lit backdrop with which to finish pounding your walls to smithereens. All that your twenty-foot thick walls promise you is, perhaps, a few extra weeks to enjoy the pounding, and all the longer to enjoy the burning. Your houses are not made entirely of stone, Lord Salevin, and those siege engines have terrible range.

  “Ah. But that leads us to your final argument, doesn't it? Rumor. Well then, I offer for your perusal several signed testimonies, and a signed letter indicating their veracity as well as his own personal observations, by none other than the royal personage himself."

  With those words, Halence negligently tossed the bundle of papers that he had been holding onto the table, and with trembling hands, Lord Salevin glanced over them. Though he made as if to study them for a number of minutes, his reaction was never in doubt when he shoved them away with a hitched sigh.

  "So what of it, Captain Halence. What exactly are you suggesting, that I risk my life and the lives of my family boarding ship with you, just to be slaughtered at sea by the blockade? I don't think so. That, sir, is tantamount to suicide."

  "First off, sir," Halence began coldly, "if it was an impossible deed, we would never have gotten through. Secondly, sir, I can all but promise you that when Caverenoc falls in flames, screams, and the tears of the ravaged as the soldiers make their way through the city, that your loved ones would pray for a quick death rather than have to endure what would happen next. Tell me true, sir. Which would you rather, your loved ones perhaps perishing, quickly and cleanly, in the cool waters of the sea in a brave bid for freedom, or seeing your daughter’s panicked tear-stricken face as she is sold to some sneering monster who would use her so terribly she could only wish for such a quick release as a clean death? Or perhaps, like the daughter of the merchant whose testimony you just looked so thoroughly over, your shattered child would actually seek that release on her own. Assuming, of course, she hadn't simply been strangled outright by her so-called husband."

  Lord Salevin turned a blotched white at those words, and he looked at Halence with utter fury. "How dare you!" he choked out.

  "How dare I nothing!" Halence roared. "Quit your damn posturing! I am offering to save you, you fool! Save you and your family both! You, who feel such terrible wrath at me even mentioning these possibilities. Yes, you could well throw me out of your house, and good riddance to you if you do. For what, pray tell, will you do sir, when these nightmarish occurrences you don't even wish to think about actually happen to you and your children? You will not be able to throw out the Empire's soldiers, I can assure you of that! Furthermore, you will not have to simply experience the thought of their pain and degradation, but live the reality!

  "Indeed, I know for a fact that you have a son as well as daughters. Smart and good-natured, from what one of my dinner companions had mentioned. Yet a bit sickly, lacking constitution. I hear you hope one day he might actually be apprenticed as a mage. Worthy dreams. Tell me, Lord Salevin, how long do you think his weak lungs will last in the copper mines? How many blows of the work master's whip do you think he will be able to stand before, too shattered for tears any longer, mourning for parents he will never see again in his short and desperate life, he simply collapses, too weak and exhausted and defeated to even move, and is simply thrown into the waste heap to slowly expire? Never given a second thought as the labor crew, too drained for any worries but their own, work on. And your daughters, sir. My understanding is that neither is over sixteen. Hardly of marriageable age, yet twelve is just fine for a life of servitude, rape, and regular beatings as whores in the Empire's army."

  Halence's voice had gone from a roar to a deadly whisper, Lord Salevin being too shocked or stunned to even speak. "Listen, Salevin, and listen well. U
se all your brains and wily trader's sense. I have three questions that you yourself can answer. One. How did I break through the blockade no one else has successfully broken through before? Two. Why do I come to you, the richest trader in the entire city? And three. Answer this one for yourself. Does your family have any hope? Any hope at all, save my ship?"

  Halence took a deep breath, sat down with his characteristic grace, and continued to sip his drink. "And Lord Salevin? On the off chance I have misjudged your savvy, please note that I can't stay here for long. I do have other trips to make on this night, to other homes whose owners have a perhaps more realistic appreciation for the situation at hand. Once I leave, I will not come back."

  Sorn, for his part, felt troubled by the whole conversation. He understood the reality at least as well as Halence. He knew that they could well end up saving this man's life, as well as saving his children from a horribly brutal and short existence. Yet the ruthless way Halence had addressed this man, with the nightmarish, serenity-shattering images he painted, left Sorn feeling slightly sickened. Nonetheless, he understood without question what Halence's rebuttal would be. That being forced to recognize the image, however painful it was, was a thousand times better than being forced to live with the terrible reality, forced to endure it, unable to change it. Far, far better to have the courage to face the difficult choice, to have the capability to do that which could well lead to your own salvation or that of your loved ones, allowing for a life of peace and joy, than to hide from the difficult decision, make no choice at all, and let a cruel fate make that choice for you and suffer consequences far, far worse than the images that had troubled you in the first place.