Peril & Profit

by M. H. Johnson

  "Don't worry about it, guys. Even though I question Halence's style of bargaining, far better for Halence to take a fat cut of their wealth, than for the Empire to take every last copper feather. I guess I feel guilty because on some level I sort of got a kick out of seeing Halence so adroitly take control of the negotiations like he did tonight; ripping that poor man's vulnerabilities free from all his arrogance, laying bare his worst fears, and forcing him to yield himself entire for salvation. It was ruthless. And what chills me, I guess, is the rush I got seeing Halence take this man for a fortune."

  "What's wrong with that?" Fitz asked quizzically. "Halence and the merchant challenged each other, and Halence forced him to yield, all awkward and keening like a baby clutchling. He won, and it's fun to watch your friends crush their opponents. There's nothing wrong with that, Sorn."

  "Never mind, Fitz," Sorn said, reflecting once again that his cousins were just voicing the common opinions of their people.

  "Think of it this way Sorn," Lieberman said, trying to be helpful. "Halence is forcing his challenged opponent to yield with his snout in the dirt, as is his right as the victor, and he is doing it to save his opponent as well. That's sort of noble, I guess, when you think about it. After all, Halence isn't just taking this guy's money, he is helping to save his family!"

  Sorn just shook his head. "Maybe it’s me, guys. Maybe I just find it hard to admit that I get a kick out of dominating my opponent. Maybe I just wanted to think that I was different."

  "That's your problem, Sorn, you always want to be different. It's okay to be like everyone else, you know. We will love you just the same!" Fitz said affectionately to his cousin.

  Sorn smiled. "Thanks, guys. Don't worry about it. This is my dilemma, I guess, not yours. It's time I got some sleep, cousins. I've got to get up early as Halence wants me to join him when he goes out tomorrow morning to 'talk' to other merchants and nobles. Enjoy your gold."

  With that, Sorn turned over and tried to fall asleep, putting his troubled mind at ease with the consolation that, whatever else the case may be, Halence's ship was saving these peoples’ lives. That Sorn felt awkward about getting such a rush watching Halence scare these nobles silly and make a fortune in gold while doing so was quite beside the point.

  "Sorn," Fitz said softly a few minutes later. When Sorn grunted he continued. "I'm puzzled. I know how concerned you are about these merchants and that you believe this city is going to fall, right? You told us you met a girl named Elissa and that she was a princess, and that you liked her. Aren't you worried about what's going to happen to her if she stays?"

  Sorn was glad that he was turned around at this point. "Oh. Yeah. Don't worry about that, Fitz. I have a plan for that. Those bastards out there aren’t going to touch a hair on her head. But I'm really tired, okay? We can talk more later."

  And the matter would be dropped and forgotten, Sorn hoped. For the one thing he hadn't mentioned was the simmering rage he had for this invading Empire, subjecting its conquered peoples to horrors brutal and terrible, in some cases worse, than what his own people did. The abstract compassion he had for these people as a whole crystallized to diamond hard resolution when he thought of Elissa, his symbol for this city and its people, a people he cared for even though he hardly knew them. And just as his fury at the callous cruelties committed by this Empire grew, so too did his resolve.

  He knew what needed to be done, but for the nonce, he had a contract to honor and cousins to protect. Once they were back, and his cousins safe at York, their assets being overseen by the factor Jesere, Sorn could go forward with his own plan. Perhaps, Sorn thought, Jesere would be willing to invest their newfound wealth in other voyages for a share of the profits. Or, perhaps, investment opportunities in York would be flooded once these nobles hit port. No matter. Jesere could help advise them on keeping their gold secure, and they would probably return with such a fortune that even his cousins’ appetites could be sated for centuries, whether they owned a dozen farms or no.

  Sorn smiled at the comforting thought. What was to come made worrying about the hurt feelings of the richest of Caverenoc's citizens an almost laughable concern. So why not savor the moment with Halence? Even were they not saving these peoples' very lives, what Sorn intended would make up for sharp bargaining a million times over. But that was later. For now, he need only focus on taking care of the moment. With that, a Sorn considerably more at peace with himself found refuge in sleep.

  5

  The following morning found a still yawning Sorn enjoying the bumpy comforts of a carriage next to an all too chipper Halence, freshly attired in a very fine looking doeskin vest and pants. The colorful silk shirt Halence wore underneath his leather ensemble gave him a bit of an exotic flair compared to the plainer garbed townsfolk to be seen making their anxious way on the streets they passed. The tension of the siege was plainly writ on everyone's faces, now that Sorn thought to look for it.

  Yet the irony was that Halence’s shirt was not so very exotic at all for this part of the world. Sorn couldn’t help finding it puzzling that despite the fact that Caverenoc was itself a major exporter of silk from the continental interior, nonetheless, the citizens of this city rarely chose to wear the comfortable looking garments.

  "It's tradition," Halence replied knowingly to Sorn's puzzled observation, his eyes all the while twinkling with barely repressed excitement at the gold he hoped to make that day. "Most people are slaves to tradition or custom and follow its unwritten doctrine unthinkingly. All too often it forms a steel cage of the mind, making it difficult to consider other options or ways of living, if not outright impossible. Whether it's clothing, eating habits, religion, or even cultural beliefs such as, say, the invulnerability of a given city to attack. All too often people's beliefs can leave them complacent to predators that see the weaknesses their prey is blind to, until it is too late."

  "Ah," Sorn said, nodding his head. "So that is why you focus on those siege engines, the trebuchets, and place particular emphasis on what happened to Caverenoc's closest trading partner Svalentia, also possessing rather impressive walls. Walls that in the end proved no defense at all."

  Halence nodded his approval. "You understand perfectly, my young friend. And that is also why I went into such detail last night with Lord Salevin regarding the sorry plight of the poor souls who all too soon found themselves vassals of this new Empire, and the terrible toll this had on their lives and those of their children. Only then did it begin to dawn on the man what truly is at stake here, and the easiest way I know of to get someone to question their beliefs is to show them what has happened to others who did not. Such as, say, the citizens of Svalentia who were so convinced of the impregnability of their city."

  With a smile Halence pulled out one of a number of large envelopes that the king had given to him, containing a number of reports of the invasion, as well as signed eyewitness accounts written on behalf of various refugees who had managed to escape, describing the misery of life under the Empire in chilling detail. Each packet had also been marked with the king's personal wax seal, and he had notarized each report as well so that there would be no question in the north as to the authenticity of the package, or the threat that this Empire posed for them. Halence was holding the packet with the broken seal, of course, the same one he had used to such devastating effect the night before.

  Somehow, Sorn thought wryly, he doubted that the king had expected Halence to use one of the packets as a leverage tool in his negotiations for passage fares. Yet as a tool it had already proven itself extremely effective, as had been the case with Lord Salevin, whose calm poise had evaporated within moments of reading the first account.

  "It's a sad thing when the beliefs that form the cornerstone of one's identity are shaken to their foundations, much like the walls of this city will be when the trebuchets start hurling their boulders. It can leave one feeling a tad bit… vulnerable. Not a position of strength at the bargaining table, I'll tell you that, Sorn.
" Halence, of course, was smiling the entire time he said this.

  "Somehow I doubt the king had expected his packet to be used in quite such a fashion," Sorn said wryly.

  Halence chuckled. "The king, my friend, owes me. He is in no position to debate the issue. He needs me if there is to be any hope of delivering these packets to those he desperately hopes will send him aid. Furthermore, I had grace enough to remove the king’s personal missive that had been included in the packet I opened."

  Sorn's eyebrows rose at that.

  "Give me some credit, Sorn. I would be loath to personally embarrass my host in any case. And let's be honest, if he ever did find out about the packet, he would be far more forgiving with the knowledge that I have indeed exercised discretion. The one thing you don't want to do, my friend, is embarrass royalty. You can get away with a lot of things, if you have the panache for it. Unfortunately, that is not one of them."

  "I have to ask. What did the missive state?" A bemused Sorn queried.

  "Oh, it was just his highness begging every Northern ruler he could think of to bring aid, to at least use their warships and cutters to harry the blockade, and of course to send supplies to Caverenoc so that it could hold out. His argument is that as long Caverenoc remained free, it would greatly hinder the Empire's efforts to solidify their control of the continent, and thus would serve as the ideal bulwark for the North against the expanding Empire. Far better for it to crash against the walls of Caverenoc, the king argued, than to let it capture this last bastion of southern independence, whereupon it would be free to spread forth unchecked, disrupting vital trade routes with their navy before overrunning northern territories at will.

  "This, of course, glosses over the fact that the Empire appears more than seaworthy as it stands, and could go campaigning in the north at leisure. Nonetheless, his highness does make a valid point, for it does seem that they want to consolidate their hold on the continent, lest they face hostile forces on multiple fronts. The king, however, is quite determinedly ignoring the fact that forty plus trebuchets are more than likely to bring even his vaunted city walls crashing down by the time support could be organized in the north, in any case." Halence sighed. "Truly, my friend, cultural blindspots are hard to overcome, particularly when you are the ruler of that culture."

  It was shortly thereafter that their carriage stopped at their first call of the morning, the estate of a Lord Salsbruce. A stately demesne, the gate door was opened by a polite guard to reveal a luxurious garden deep in the bloom of spring. The air was alive with the scents of roses and wildflowers, the pleasant trickle of a fountain a delightful counterpoint to the melodic chirping of the birds in the trees above.

  Lord Salsbruce apparently thought to make it an informal affair as he politely waved them over to an outdoor family breakfast, introducing Halence as the brave sea captain who had risked all to bring grain to their fair city. He was rather young for a lord and family man, not yet thirty, if Sorn was any judge. The two young children sitting with their father at the breakfast table and presently arguing over the merits of knights and dogs turned out to be his son Fill, and his daughter Bruciell. Fill, a dark-haired six-year-old, was quite adamant in his position that a good dog was a person's most loyal friend. This despite the efforts of Bruciell, a dark blond of seven, who meticulously pointed out that knights swore an oath of fealty, whereas dogs couldn't even talk, so knights were the true holders of loyalty, being oathbound.

  Sorn smiled at their conversation and allowed himself to relax for the moment, pleased to see that Halence was content to breakfast with the lord and keep things light, perhaps because he was, after all, arriving on the fame of his daring as opposed to actual invitation.

  It was, Sorn had to admit, quite pleasant joining the lord's breakfast in his beautiful garden, hearing out the merits of the children's animated discussion. He enjoyed the family atmosphere despite the fact that their mother was conspicuously absent. Besides, he was hungry.

  "My wife is near the end of term with our littlest," Lord Salsbruce said fondly toward the end of their family repast. His warm smile at the mention of his beloved gave him a demeanor of youth and innocence Sorn found strangely touching. "So she has been taking breakfast in her quarters. It’s been a bit hard on her and she has trouble with breakfast still. Elizabeth said she wished to spare the children the sight of their mother turning green every morning." They all chuckled politely at this as the children were escorted to the far end of the garden by a bemused caretaker who emphasized to Fill and Bruciell both that knights and dogs each had their merits, though Sorn had the impression that the caretaker, much like Fill, would prefer dogs if given a choice.

  "Well," Lord Salsbruce opened with a smile, "it is indeed an honor to receive a personal visit from the brave captain who so nobly brought grain to our fair city, though I don't see what I have done to merit the pleasure?" Lord Salsbruce's query was both warm and polite, much like his breakfast had been.

  "You seem a gentle man, who genuinely loves and cares for his family. I am glad indeed that I chose your house as one to come to," Halence began solemnly. "Tell me, my lord, what do you think of the siege, truly?" Halence then politely listened to the young lord's animated reiteration of all the city's strengths, including its massive fortifications, unimpeachable city walls, and heavily defended port.

  "Why, we even have catapults on our city walls! Truly, I fear the so-called Empire is going to be spending quite a bit of time enjoying the countryside out there before they get bored and wander off for something better to do," Salsbruce said with flippant humor.

  "Forgive the query, but doesn't Svalentia have similar fortifications, and that's why your city and theirs were never able to successfully invade one another? That is how you know how impregnable your walls are, correct?" Halence asked, seemingly at random.

  "Well, their walls are not quite so thick or high as ours, more like twelve feet thick by thirty high, but an impressive wall, nonetheless. They too have catapults and mounted crossbows on their walls, and the range this extra height gives them assures that the range of their catapults exceeds that of an invading force's, so that the moment an enemy brings his siege engines to bear, his men will already be suffering casualties at the hands of Svalentia's men. And the Empire, unlike us, has no walls to defend their troops from siege weaponry. So you see, good Captain Halence, there is no real reason to worry on our behalf. As soon as that swarm of fleas gets within sufficient range to fire their catapults, we will already be bombarding them with stones."

  Halence solemnly gazed at their gentle host some moments before beginning to speak. "My Lord, I hesitate to tell you this amidst the beauty of your garden, this sanctuary you have obviously worked so hard to build for the sake of your loved ones. I hesitate to tell you news that would send your confidence and peace of mind tumbling to dust. My only consolation is that the fortuitousness of our meeting might save you from an even worse fate than mere disillusionment, the horror of everything you have ever known and loved being savagely torn away from you."

  "What are you talking about!?" Salsbruce demanded angrily, alarm and concern clearly written on his face.

  "I am talking about Svalentia. Fellow impregnable city with wall-mounted catapults. Tell me, my lord, have you not wondered why all trade has stopped between your two cities? All contact as well, I assume?"

  "Well, we are under siege, after all."

  "Yes, point taken. But consider, my lord, that you have received neither trade good nor word from Svalentia for over a year."

  "I suppose it’s possible that they too are under siege. Stands to reason certainly," Lord Salsbruce allowed.

  "What if I were to tell you, Lord Salsbruce, that Svalentia has already fallen?"

  Lord Salsbruce looked momentarily speechless, the garden silent save for birds, fountain, and the barely discernible chatter of children at the far end of the yard. Salsbruce's troubled look indicated that he too had at least contemplated the possibility in his mos
t sleepless nights, however cavalier a front he put on for his guest's benefit. "I suppose, I suppose it's possible," he allowed at last. "But we have no proof, no word indicating such was the case. Surely, some refugees would have made it here. Someone would have a report of this."

  With that, Halence slowly pulled out his packet. "And what if I were to tell you that Svalentia didn't just fall after a protracted siege, but after only two short weeks? And that the reason why not a word was heard was because the Empire had done such an efficient job of both terrorizing its citizens as well as securing the city?"

  Lord Salsbruce blanched at those words.

  “You see, Lord Salsbruce, they are big believers in both slavery and vassalage. All men whose skills are not essential for the efficient running of the city are collared and sent to the mines or other forced labor camps. All women over the age of twelve without children already are deemed fit for marriage as well, and as soon as a boy reaches ten he too is seen fit for the forced labor camps, to live what we believe to be exceptionally short and brutal lives. Sometimes, when a family has nothing better to offer, or the Empire wishes to make an example, the children are sent the camps even younger.

  "Furthermore, all wealth is declared property of the Empire, the empress to be exact, and no matter what one's former station, he is accorded no more respect than a serf and treated as such, not able to touch a penny of his former fortunes. No matter how well off a man once was, he now lives as a pauper, his whole family living on the equivalent of one soldier's rations, forced to run his former estate efficiently nonetheless to keep at bay the threat of his loved ones being auctioned off one by one. This, sir, is the fate that has befallen the citizens of Svalentia."