by Ulysses Troy
“Did he ever stop?”
“Yes,” Merlon soured again. “But only when he received the news of Lady LaPellás’ death. Then, he did not speak a single word about her until his speech to Edmond on his dying bed.”
“How did she die?” Conrad asked with a sad tone of voice.
“They never told us the details, but everyone in Loussión knows she committed suicide.”
“A morbid story.”
“Indeed. And now, we are all drawn into it again,” Merlon said looking down.
“Then let’s make sure it will be short.” Conrad stood from the table. “We need to get under weigh.”
“It would be disrespectful to the cook to leave his meal uneaten!” In a glance, Merlon started to eat again, and his bites were much faster, having seen Conrad’s intention of setting forth. Then, as she observed what was happening, a young waitress with dark hair approached them to milk Merlon’s money bag even more.
“Would you like to drink more beer? We also have some Vanheimian variety from the North.” She said, with a beautiful smile. Of course, she will smile; she wants to rob us to death.
Yet Merlon was not aware of that. On the contrary, one could easily say that he was excited about what he had just heard.
“Of course!” he said with a cheerful voice. “Gerrame always said, in Vanheim, they know how to make a beer! I want one mug for me and one for my friend!” He looked at Conrad. “This one is from me for your patience.”
Conrad quickly intervened before the waitress could head to the kitchen. “No, don’t bring any more ale. We need to go.” The waitress nodded to him and started to clear the table, as Merlon gave him a disappointed look.
“You are too stubborn to be reasoned with.” He gave the necessary amount of tourins to the waitress, but just as she was about to leave, he stopped her and gave her one more.
“This one is a tip for your good service.” He smiled, as the waitress stood there surprised.
“Only a tourin as a tip for all the things you have ordered? It would be better if you gave none at all!”
Merlon was a hot-tempered man and quickly got angry. “Then find me a fucking egg next time! I won’t give a single more tourin as a tip for dinner without an egg!”
Conrad grabbed the man’s arm and pulled him towards the door. “We need to go.”
***
“Lady Gannát gave me this Lamellen mare and a large bag of tourins as if they would make me take the miles like it is nothing. And when I asked her for security, she handed me this fucking bread knife!” He showed Conrad the sword in his belt. “Can you believe it!”
Conrad examined the blade, “To be honest, it doesn’t look so bad, Merlon. It’s made of good quality steel, probably forged in a castle.”
“But to me, cutting bread is its only use! How her ladyship could think I can keep my damned soul in my body if it comes to this, while she knows I did not wield a fucking sword in my whole life!” He was angry again, unfortunately.
The two had been traveling on the main road for more than two hours, and more they rode, the worse the servant’s babbling got. After he talked about how Gannáts tormented him with their stupid requests a hundred times, Conrad felt like he had to speak about that.
“I have never met someone who has as much hatred for the house he serves as you, or at least someone who can make it as clear.”
“Hatred? I have had nothing but bad luck because of that fucking family. What do you expect me to do, sting a spear to my arse and wait to die!? I was nearly slain by bandits because of that senile fool, Baron Geoffrey de Gannát, who fell in love with a hoe who flirts with everyone who comes near her window! Damn that promise the old fool made Edmond make in the first place! Damn that trash of a Baron with a bee in the bonnet about honor for taking seriously the words of an old fool with one foot in the grave and no sign of sanity!”
Even though it had been two hours on the road, they had only encountered a single wandering merchant along the road, who told them about a local bandit group called the “Brotherhood of The Dark Horse.” He said these bandits were nothing like their counterparts, as they were better armed, more fearless, and fiercer than any other bandit in Baltaire. They would always dress black and carry banners with the same color without any heraldry or symbol on it. And they had a mysterious figure as their leader: The Dark Rider. An unknown man with a mask who mounted the strongest and most horrifying war stallion in all of Bralon. According to the merchant, This Brotherhood of the Dark Horse had been harassing the local Baronies for months, but most knights hadn’t been able to find their tracks, as the bandits always traveled under the large trees of the Jade Forest and used hidden caves as their temporary bases. And while a few men were able to follow their tracks, none of them were able to remain alive after their encounter with the Brotherhood. The merchant’s last words to them were about rumors going round of how some folks saw them near these roads. He said they had to be very careful on the road, as they could come across the Brotherhood any time. As Conrad knew much about the kind of bandits and how smallfolk tended to exaggerate even their smallest deeds, he did not take the merchant’s words too seriously. But on the other hand, they were convincing enough to Merlon, who tried to persuade Conrad to return, and even took the risk of facing her lady’s anger. But after Conrad made it clear that he had no intention of going back, he had to continue riding beside him towards the plains, as he was too terrified to travel alone now.
They rode on a while to the lands of LaPellás and didn’t talk too much until a frail The peasant with ragged clothes and a brown cap appeared on the road. He was carrying a big wooden basket that seemed to be full of vegetables. Conrad turned to Merlon, slowing his horse down.
“I will ask him about the Baron,” he pointed at the man with his head.
“Ah, I know when I see a rube. I bet this one does not know much,” Merlon replied.
“It is still better than nothing.” Conrad approached the man, riding his horse towards him, “Good evening.”
The peasant squinted his eyes as if he was surprised.
“Are you talking to me?”
“Yes.” Before Conrad could speak another word, Merlon quickly interrupted their conversation.
“This basket of yours? What’s inside?” He pointed to the wooden basket on the peasant’s back.
“What are you, a bloody bandit? Why would I answer that?”
“I can pay well if you got something in there,” Merlon touched his bag of coins with a smile on his face. The peasant thought for a moment.
“I can only sell the eggs.”
“Eggs?” Merlon licked his lips heartily. “What do you want for . . . ten of them?”
The peasant smiled cunningly. He had been waiting for this opportunity.
“Five tourins.”
Merlon moved to open his coin bag. But the peasant hadn’t finished his offer yet.
“For each egg.”
The servant immediately pulled his hand out of the bag as his face got red with anger.
“Five tourins? Are these eggs golden or did a groachel fuck your mind? At this price, I can easily eat an overcooked steak in Gannadár!”
“If you do not like the price, just don’t buy it. Why complain?” the peasant said with an annoying expression on his face, making Merlon angrier, as if he was not angry enough already.
“Because I am fucking starving, but a bloody fool offers me a ruddy egg for five tourins. Five fucking tourins!”
The peasant stood behind his offer with no sign of hesitation. “The price is very fair. You cannot find a single egg as hard as these in all of Baltaire.”
“And what would I do with a hard egg, breach the gates of a fucking castle? I need to eat, you idiot! Do you really think I am stupid enough to give a damned egg five tourins?”
“As I said, the price is fair,” he said, crossing his arms. “Just before you, I sold five of them at double the price to a noble knight.”
�
��Double the price? What kind of fool is he?” Merlon paused for a moment. “Wait, what was he wearing?”
The peasant smiled cunningly. “I don’t know. But some say tourins are really helpful with refreshing the memory.”
Conrad talked to the man. “We don’t have tourins, just as we don’t have time.” Conrad showed the man his steel. He was bluffing of course but had no other choice apart from trying to scare the man, as Merlon would never pay him. Thank the Holy One, his bluff worked, and the peasant quickly abandoned his lust for money with a sense of fear in his eyes.
“Okay, okay, I will speak! No need to do harm. He was wearing a chain mail armor with plated shoulders.”
“What were his colors and herald, swindler!” Merlon shouted at the man in anger.
“Ah, it was a red monster with an ugly look, sharp claws, and a long tail.”
Conrad looked at Merlon. “The Red Alphyn of Gannát.”
“I knew it was Edmond!” Merlon said. “Only he could be foolish enough to give a goddamn egg ten tourins!”
“A goddamn egg?” The peasant took Merlon’s words as an offense. “I will show how hard these can be on your bald head!” He approached Merlon, walking aggressively and holding the hardest egg among his collection in his right hand. As for Merlon, he covered his bald head with a fast move, as if he were really afraid the eggs would have the potential their owner claimed. Yet before the two could start a fight, Conrad intervened.
“Hey, stop. Enough about eggs,” he said while settling the two, and then turned to the peasant. “Do you have anything else with you, apart from the eggs and their exaggerated price?”
The peasant thought for a moment, but apparently couldn’t find another thing to swing them with. “No.”
Conrad looked at Merlon. “You won’t starve to death if you don’t eat for a few more hours. It’s not too far to LaPellás.”
“LaPellás? So, you are heading for the contest?” the peasant spoke again, this time with excitement. “Just like that Knight.”
“The knight, do you know where he was headed for?” Conrad asked.
“Of course!” the peasant answered. “He was on his way towards the LaPellás, but when I told him about the bandits that plundered Hern’s house, he said he would deal with them and give justice to the townsfolk first.”
“You see, that stupid-ass Edmond cannot stand for a moment without trying to get himself killed.” Merlon was grouching again. “It looks as if he has a problem with his arse, seeing as how he can’t make it stop. Just last month, he went after a Jamedian mercenary band that had been harassing the folk, taking only three guards with himself. I say he went after an entire unit with three men! Guiard was crippled by the Jamedians because of that dolt. I don’t even want to think about what would happen to them if Count Martell’s men hadn’t arrived at the right time.”
“Then let’s hope these bandits are not as good as Jamedians with their steel.”
***
They had been riding for an hour, yet Merlon was still grumbling about his master’s foolish deeds and did not have the slightest intention of stopping. “Even at his mother’s knees, he was one half-witted fucker who jumped into every single opportunity,” he said while trying to steer his horse away from another snake on the road. “Once, when he was only seven years old, that idiot charged two war hounds with a wooden sword because they chased his little bunny. If I had not acted quickly and saved that brat, we could have a Baron whose head was screwed on the right now. And most importantly, I wouldn’t have to make that shitty way! Damn me for saving him that day!”
“I hope you can say these to his face, Merlon,” Conrad looked at the servant while speaking, “as I hope he is skilled enough to keep himself alive to give you the chance.”
“He may be a bloody fucker, but Edmond is a fine swordsman,” Merlon said. “A five-year-old lady with a purple dress could be that good if she trained for hours a day like him, though.” He sighed. “Ah, if he had only listened to his mother rather than sparring and reading the holy texts all the time.”
“I also hope your definition and my definition of ‘skilled’ are the same.” Or he may not last long around these cutthroats.
Merlon looked at Conrad’s face in surprise. “What do you know about the swords to raise your horn over a knight?” he asked. “Sure, you seem to know how to use them, but . . .”
Conrad could say many things, such as that out of a hundred fights he had encountered through the years, he had taken part in eighty, and no matter how quick his enemies were, how strong, wise, or noble, none of them had managed to beat him a single time. In his entire life, he had only had one defeat with the swords, a bitter memory of a bitter past. But instead of saying this, he just gave a simple response, “I know enough.” He never enjoyed bragging.
They rode on for some more minutes without speaking. Birds were singing their songs, creating a relaxing atmosphere. It was a great joy to listen to them, and even Merlon seemed to be enjoying it. I wonder how long this will last. This peaceful ambience . . . Sure enough, after they rode some more, the birds stopped singing, and silence began to rule. The worst thing about beautiful things is, they never last long . . .
Presently, Conrad noticed a small well near the road.
“The horses must be thirsty,” he said to his companion. “We should . . .”
“The horses? I am thirsty!” Merlon said, riding his horse to the well, and dismounted it to drink some water. “Oh, it’s freezing and fresh, just as I like it!” He drank for a few seconds, but then strangely stopped. “Do you hear it, too?” he said, turning to Conrad with an anxious expression. I hear what?
Instead of answering Merlon, Conrad dismounted his horse too, and approached the well with silent steps. Only then did he hear the voices that the servant was talking about.
“Why don’t we just rob him and leave him to die here? That shiny armor must make enough tourins to lie with a hundred whores.” The voice belonged to a lowborn, judging from his accent, and it had come from behind a thicket a short distance from the well.
“Because if we leave him here, the only things to get fucked would be our asses, you fool! Believe me, Retlaff can take care of it.” The other voice was much more aggressive and angrier. “And we couldn’t find his little essence yet, either! That would make him twice as angry!”
Still silent, Conrad walked towards Merlon and whispered to Merlon’s ear. “These must be those bandits that the peasants talked about. They appear to have caught someone, probably the Baron. Wait here and look after the horses, I will go and see how many of them there are.”
Merlon did not seem to like the idea, as his eyes displayed his fear. “And what if you can’t come back?”
Conrad reached for his horse’s bridles, grabbed them, and gave them to him. “Call for help.” Then, he quickly turned around and started to advance towards the thicket behind which the voices seemed to come from. His feet were swift but also silent, just like a Jamedian panther after its hunt. The leaves and bushes of the wilderness swished with his every step, yet the noises he made were drowned out by the birdcalls.
As he walked more, he came upon an open area encircled by trees. Conrad crouched and hid himself behind a tree. He squinted his eyes to see if any bandits were there. Yet, instead of bandits, he saw a man tied to a tree with some rope. He was a young man with long, light brown hair. He was wearing chain mail, supported by plate armor in some areas. Judging from its appearance, it was something only a noble could afford. On the other hand, he could also be any other Knight. Conrad had to see the coat of arms that he was carrying to understand which. So, he tried to examine the waffenrock on him, better to make sure he was the Baron and not another random noble. After approaching the man some more to see him better, he saw that the waffenrock was white and a red monster was placed on it, a red alphyn. This was the Baron of Gannadár without a doubt. But where were the bandits?
Thanks to the Holy One, they appeared from behind
some trees nearby and approached the tree the Baron was tied to on foot. Two men in dirty gambesons, leather gloves and boots, and kettle helmets. Their armor was not the best, but as Conrad could see from where he was, their weaponry looked fine enough. One of them was carrying a steel mace on him, and the other was wielding a longsword in his right hand. Of course, an ordinary bandit could get hold of such weapons with ease, yet these men had a difference. They were both carrying the same black color on their coats. This meant that, if the merchant on the road was right, they had to be the men of the Brotherhood.
“I think at least we can take his money bag for ourselves,” the one with the mace said. He was larger and stronger than the other, but not the one to give the commands, as the other bandit punched his arm and romped on him.
“What if he rats it out to Retlaff, you fucking idiot!” he said, sheathing his longsword. It was without blood. “Don’t speak if you don’t have something clever to say.”
The other man opened his hands. “Well, we can cut his tongue, and he can’t talk it about.”
His words only made the other bandit angrier. “Shut up or I will cut yours!” He advanced towards the other with fury, to beat him good. This was the opportunity Conrad had been waiting for. He had to act now if he wanted to save the Baron from these bandits. He touched the scabbard of his sword, to feel it one more time.
From the woods, a shadow appeared. Before the bandits could even notice it, it showed up beside them and pierced his sword into the unprotected leg of the bandit with the mace. As the bandit screamed with pain, the other one saw him and tried to unsheathe his sword, the one he had placed into its scabbard seconds before. But he was no match for Conrad of Battum’s speed, and Conrad severed the arm he used to reach his sword in an instant. The bandit fell to the ground as blood squirted from his severed arm. It was a horrible sight. Conrad loved fighting, as it was what he did best, although it nearly always ended with the thing he most hated: killing. Yet, he had no other choice. He had to kill sources of chaos, in order to make sure others would live in peace.