Dech managed to suppress a smile and said, “He should be more discreet than Earl White.”
“There is that,” Leophric agreed.
“And he does have contacts throughout the mercantile community,” Ives added. He glared at Dech once more. “Still, that was a vile thing to do, Sir Dech.”
“I sympathize. I’ve suffered manipulation just recently myself.”
Leophric nodded. “Of course. Other than to do us the favor of providing a new source of information, what brings you here?”
“The matter concerning Marquess Neville Harwood. You said he is involved in a financial issue that concerns the king. Can you provide specifics?”
“We could, provided you relay to us your findings,” Ives said.
“Fair enough.”
“Do you know the marquess?” Leophric asked.
“I have never met him, but I know of him and have seen him though it has been some time.”
Leophric nodded and leaned over his desk to scan a sheet of paper before speaking. “The marquess has several business ventures, hence his acquaintance with Sir John. These business ventures are not limited to Drumming or even the local duchy and involve other members of the peerage. One of these is Duke Philip. The precise details of this arrangement are not clear, but are rumored to extend beyond Arataine.”
“And these rumors indicate there is a threat linked to this venture?”
“Vaguely,” Ives replied. “We do not like vagueness. Clarity would be welcome.”
“Does Harwood hold any ill will toward the king? I know he fought on Harold’s side in the Throne War.”
“Ill will?” Leophric said. “Not with Harold or Lord Arundel. He is also on good terms with Duke Frederick. His reputation is most sound, but those in the peerage are quite self-serving. Perhaps he seeks something else… or not. The answer to your question lies within the vagueness mentioned previously.”
Dech nodded. “How does the search for derkunblod information proceed?”
“It was proceeding most splendidly,” Leophric responded.
“And likely will again once you depart,” Ives finished.
Dech gave them dirty look before leaving without saying a word.
As Dech walked to his horse, the grey skies began to spit rain and before long, a steady drizzle came down. Looking at the darkening skies to the west, the warder elected to return to the order house with the intention of seeing the marquess the following morning.
. . .
The estate of Marquess Neville Harwood was a few miles from the city walls of Drumming. Possessing its own walls and a large stone keep along with a force of knights, the marquess was not without security.
The pair of guards at the outer gate waved Dech through and as he neared the towering keep, it became clear the structure was largely for shelter under siege conditions as a nearby manse provided far more comfortable dwelling space than a stone fortress.
Dech met an attendant near the manse who directed him to the rear of the building with a terse, “I’ll see the marquess is aware of your presence.” Knowing it was an intentional slight by the attendant, Dech did as requested with no complaint. Such discourtesies were not uncommon and often did not represent the feelings of the lord.
A wide, open area stretching behind the keep and manse contained an ornate garden area with winding walkways and drill areas for the lord’s men-at-arms near the dwelling. Beyond was a large pond, stables, and what appeared to be pastureland.
A few knights sparred on the drill grounds while a gathering of boys not far from them performed simpler martial acts of their own.
As Dech dismounted and tethered Ridan near the walkway leading to the back of the manse, he heard the boys squabbling. A look revealed the largest of the group, a boy of thirteen or fourteen, berating a smaller child. Armed with wooden swords and equipped with shields appropriate to their size, the two clashed and the smaller boy took the worst of it.
Dech stood and watched as the episode repeated itself and he noted the older of the two relied mostly on his size and weight advantage, exhibiting little in the way of skill. Dech shook his head as he recalled similar experiences from his own past.
Noticing Dech’s observation, the bully glared at him.
“You’re not one of our knights,” the boy said. “What business do you have here?”
“Are you Marquess Neville Harwood?” Dech replied.
“He is my father.”
“Then my business is not yours.”
“I will be marquess one day. I demand you tell me.”
Dech smiled. “The day you become marquess is when such a demand may mean something. Until then, it does not.”
The marquess’ son snarled with outrage and threw sword and shield to the ground before stomping off toward the manse with all but one boy following him.
Dech laughed quietly and thought of Gerald and Robert Moore.
“I apologize for my brother,” the remaining boy said after the others entered the manse. He was the recipient of the older boy’s abuse.
“He is headstrong and brash. He will likely outgrow it,” Dech said.
“Until then, I’ll need a thicker gambeson to lessen the bruises.”
Dech smiled. “Or learn to avoid the blows.”
“Were it so easy, sir knight. He is skilful.”
“He believes he has more skill than he actually does. You are the opposite. You lack confidence and that in turn guarantees defeat.”
“If that is so, he is still bigger and stronger than I.”
“True. Why do you challenge him where he has advantage? What do you do better than him?”
“I am more nimble and quicker of hand. My father’s knights have told me this.”
“Why not use those advantages to counter his?”
“Challenge strength with speed?”
“I think you know the answer to that.”
“He’ll get mad if—”
“An angry opponent rarely thinks clearly. Once he realizes you are not prey, he’ll learn to respect you, even if he doesn’t like it. I assume you wish to become a skilled knight.”
“I do.”
“Then start acting like one. Learn the skills, master them and your emotions and you’ll do well for yourself. Or, let others like your brother pound on you at will.”
The boy thought for a moment before nodding resolutely. “Might you show me a skill or two?”
Dech smiled. “I can.”
. . .
Dech stood near a fence and watched the marquess’ younger son practice the techniques he’d showed him. A quick study, the boy replicated the moves well.
The crunch of footsteps on gravel drew the warder’s attention and he saw one of the marquess’ knights approach. As the knight closed, the other boys clamored from the manse and returned to their sparring.
“You would presume to instruct the marquess’ son?” the knight said as he stopped and leaned against the fence.
Dech spared a hard glance at the knight before looking back to the youths. “The boy asked a question. I provided an answer.”
“You think you’re qualified to teach martial skills? Knights such as myself begin learning from childhood, not late in life like those in your order.”
“Yet the Contrition House has a long history of martial prowess.”
Quickly dismissing Dech’s reply, the knight gestured at Ridan tethered nearby. “A mare? You ride a mare?”
Dech sighed without looking at the knight. “You’re very observant.”
“I would think a mare lacks the aggression of a stallion in battle.”
“Perhaps, but that horse has faced monsters far more fierce and frightening than any mounted knight and does so with courage and calmness.”
“And how does this mare fare on the jousting lists?”
“She is not a destrier and I am not a tourney knight, but we would fare well enough.”
The knight grimaced in distaste. “Care to test her
abilities and your skills against the likes of me?”
“I would not,” Dech replied as the marquess’ sons squared off with one another. “I am on mission.”
“So you speak boldly but decline a challenge like a—”
“It is fortunate for you he is engaged on a mission and not engaging you on the field, Sir Peter,” a mature voice said from behind the two knights. “As skilled as you are, you would not fare well. Believe me.”
The two turned and looked at the speaker, a distinguished and formidable man of middle age.
“You know this knight, Marquess?” Sir Peter asked.
“Not personally, but I know who he is. I have seen him in action. Trust me, it is best to fight alongside him rather than against. Malig Tancar would agree.”
Peter nodded and after considering his lord’s words looked at the warder. “You helped King Harold to the throne. Forgive me if I gave offense, sir knight.”
“You did not offend,” Dech replied. “I would imagine the marquess is not endeared with timid knights.”
A cry went up from the group of boys cutting off the marquess’ laugh. A quick look revealed the younger son standing over his downed sibling. The older boy quickly regained his feet and shoved his brother, prompting the marquess and Sir Peter to move swiftly to break up the scuffle before it became a fight. Within a minute, the boys returned to their sparring.
Sir Peter looked to Dech and smiled before touching his forehead and returning his attention to the boys while the marquess returned to Dech.
With a gesture from the marquess, the two walked along a stone wall that edged a garden.
“I take it that was your doing?” the marquess said with a look back at the group of boys.
“It was. Your youngest son is a swift student.”
“He is, but lacking in confidence. Perhaps that might change after today. My eldest insisted I throw you off our lands for impertinence,” he said with a smile. “I was the same at his age. As I did in time, he learned a couple of life’s lessons this day. Perhaps you have aided both my lads. You are Dech Crouse. We never met during the Throne War or after. I did see you at Creator’s Rock when you attacked Malig’s baggage train, wrecked his siege engines, and fought Malig’s best outnumbered.”
“There were many of us there that day, milord. I was but one and the man you mentioned is no longer.”
Harwood nodded with a pained expression. “Yes. A matter on which I feel the king and Duke Frederick erred. I am not the only one who holds that position.”
“Kind of you to say, but the situation remains.”
“True enough for now, but situations often change. What may I do for the order?”
“I am looking into some things for our king. I—”
“Malig and his latest scheming.”
“Yes, milord. I am pursuing several threads of intrigue, one of which is business dealings outside of Arataine. Sir John Kirwan, among others, has aided me in this. While dealing—”
“Am I suspect of wrongdoing?” the marquess asked.
“No, milord. Quite the opposite. While dealing with an issue for Sir John, I came into possession of this,” Dech said presenting the note. “As a way of showing I mean no ill and in exchange for your assistance, I give this to you. I know your time is valuable.”
Harwood looked at the note. “And what assistance do you expect in return?”
“Information concerning business dealings with Duke Philip.”
The marquess nodded warily. “Sir John is aware of this venture?”
“He is not, milord. He did state you were fair and honest in dealing with him. That, and based on your past actions and current reputation, led me to seek your assistance. It is of a sensitive nature.”
He nodded again. “And fifteen hundred guilders is fifteen hundred guilders. I have business interests in Philip’s duchy. He is a difficult man, as you well know and arrangements must be made to conduct business within his domain. Such an arrangement ensures my interests do not gain the duke’s ire. The arrangement is not so different than ours. Trading debt for debt or relief of debt for favor or information. That said, I did not deal with Philip, rather it was one of his associates, Lord Loring. Even this was not a direct payment as I said. Loring directed me to pay another party.”
“Do you know the identity of this party you paid?”
“I do. A cloth merchant from Byrmont called Henry Brock.”
“And you have a record of this payment, milord?”
“I most certainly do. I will show it to you.”
“That is not necessary, milord. Your word is not in question and is largely why I sought your aid. Others with information about Duke Philip might let slip there are inquiries being made. I need nothing else and I thank you for your time.”
Harwood held up the note. “That we could all make such coin for so little effort. I appreciate you and Sir John as well. Do you need lodgings for the night?”
“No, milord. I have further business in the city, but I thank you for the kind offer.”
. . .
Dech returned to Leophric and Ives. As soon as he entered, the deskman walked to the door leading into their office and gestured for him to step inside.
“Not a long visit this morning it seems,” Ives said. “No sign of combat and no glaring or grimacing on your part so we must assume Harwood was helpful. Does this mean he remains loyal to crown and kingdom?”
“It seems so, but you tell me. Harwood says that in exchange for doing business within the Duchy of Highwall, he was directed by one of Duke Philip’s men to make payment to a Byrmont cloth merchant named Henry Brock.”
Ives laughed his expressionless laugh before Leophric spoke.
“Would Philip’s man be Lord Loring?”
“Yes.”
Leophric nodded. “Brock is one of many identities used by a Maradoran facilitator named Roland Ludd,” he said. “We have a man in Byrmont that owes us several favors. He should be able to divulge Ludd’s dealings and his location should you wish to speak with him.”
Dech nodded. “What outcomes does this Ludd help others with?”
“Anything,” Ives said, “provided he estimates he can deliver.”
“And your man in Byrmont, is he to be trusted?”
“The man himself? Never. That he will aid you to relieve part of his debt to us? Absolutely. Brewster is his current name, residing in Ke’Ammar. A letter you’ll carry will see to it he complies. Interesting that Philip deals with such people, yes?”
“Indeed,” Dech replied. “What do you know of Ludd?”
“Little but what he does,” Leophric said. “He is a native of Marador it seems. He has survived doing what he does for more than two decades. He maintains a very low profile. Should you learn more and relate it to us….”
“Same as always,” Dech said.
Dech gathered his belongings from the order house and prepared Otto and Ridan for the road. Soon they were clear of Drumming and on their way northwest ultimately bound for Byrmont with two stops to check on leads for the mages in Cruxford.
. . .
Chapter 16
Dech removed his surcoat at his last stop before entering Byrmont and exchanged it for an unadorned one of butternut hue. Such a change was not intended to hide his identity as an order knight, but present a lower profile. With his shield and sword marking him, anyone looking close enough would know what manner of knight he was, but at first glance or with distance, many might take him to be little more than a sell-sword.
Ke’Ammar was an ancient city established well before the current realms of the Southerlies and even those states that existed before them came to be. Situated at the crossroads of two historic trade routes, Ke’Ammar had long held importance and much like Calad far to the east, possessed a population of many races, tongues, and beliefs.
Dech passed through the southeastern gate following the road that led from Arataine. A short distance from this entry rested the sprawling
Festig’s Bazaar and its nearly limitless array of wares ranging from mundane to exotic. Tradition held that an ancient ruler created the bazaar and the city grew around it. Factual or not, the truth of it was hidden in the past.
Dech joined the slow procession that crossed through the middle of the bazaar. Hawkers, beggars, and people selling personal services ranging from caravan guard or servant to assassin and prostitute badgered every traveler possible. The slow pace also provided ample opportunity for predators seeking to acquire monies and property via the oldest means known, theft.
The warder kept Otto on a short lead and maintained a roving eye for those with quick hands and sticky fingers. Having tightly secured everything on each horse bought time to stop anyone tempted to steal. Common opinion said only the desperate or stupid might attempt stealing from an armed and armored knight, but the warder knew there were many of both kinds in the world.
In the middle of the crossing, Dech felt a tug on his left boot as he eyed a young man pacing him on the right. A quick look left revealed a girl with hard eyes presenting an open palm and feigned sad expression.
“A coin to feed my sick child?” she asked in a trembling voice.
A hand pulled at the war sword lashed into its scabbard affixed to the front of Dech’s saddle drawing an agitated squeal from Ridan and a backhanded blow from the warder.
Dech turned and saw the teen who had been pacing now sprawled on the ground with a hand pressed to his left eye. A low sound from Otto prompted the thief to roll clear of the closing hooves.
Drawing his left foot from the stirrup, Dech looked to that side and saw the girl drawing a small dagger, those nearest her pulling away from what they assumed would soon be bloodshed. A hard and fast shove with his foot took the girl off her feet and she landed awkwardly on her back, the knife coming free. With a swift and opportunistic grab, a small boy had the knife in hand and raced into the shuffle of the crowd.
The outraged girl spared Dech a hard glare before pursuing the boy, screaming for the guards to come to her aid.
Dech returned to vigilance looking in all directions for more trouble. He passed stalls selling furs and bolts of cloth, burlap, and canvas. Others offered metal cookware and utensils, glassware, pottery, drinks of many forms, dozens of enticing foods, and weaponry of nearly every sort. Wares, however, were not what Dech sought from the city, it was a man named Brewster and the information he held that drew the warder.
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