Neutral Parties

by Christopher J Taylor

  “You would be right,” said Daniel, reaching for the battered chest plate. “I was on an errand for my lord when I was unlucky enough to be caught in an avalanche. The armor saved my life but has become unusable. I am in need of repairs. I am also in need of a new helm. There is a Calivan smithy I intended to visit, but I am impressed by your operations here.”

  “Thank you, sir knight,” Ransel said with a bow. “I promise you your confidence is not misplaced. If you would, sir, there is a gate just this way. I will have an apprentice collect your armor. We will need measurements to ensure the fit is good. Please, this way, Sir… ?”

  “Sir Daniel Galavyn,” he replied as he followed the smith. He felt some satisfaction as the fat man’s eyes widened in recognition of the name.

  “Sir Daniel,” Ransel said, “your family is known to me, though I have not had the opportunity to serve them before. I am greatly honored. Would you like refreshments provided while we conduct our business.”

  “Yes, Master Ransel, I believe I would,” Daniel replied. The situation was very much improving and he could not help but smile.

  Two hours later, Daniel left his horse with a groomsman at the Red Ox. Payment guaranteed by a guardian of the empire and the honor of serving one of the greater families had motivated Master Ransel to show his best and Daniel was happy to have it. The journeyman talking measurements had been polite and thorough. The repaired armor should fit perfectly. Even better, the master smith had provided a new padded hauberk and two sets of clothing adjusted to fit while he waited. Daniel wore a dark blue doublet and pants with a light blue undershirt. A red and black set along with the hauberk were bundled under his arm. The return to civility was a welcome change.

  Ransel had also offered a variety of decorative options that had caught Daniel’s eye, ranging from a replacement of the gold inlay, to detailed enamels, to an acid etching that left a pattern in the metal seen best in shifting light. Daniel chose to forgo decoration. He cared little for the cost as the guardian was paying. Time, however, was important. He had a hunt to attend to. Decoration could be added later. The repairs would take less than a day, Ransel had promised. However a new helm, of a design the master smith promised would improve vision without sacrificing protection, would take three days.

  Three days in the company of Dame Sarafina. He could find hospitality with any of the local nobles, but that would require social niceties Daniel preferred to avoid. There would be inevitable invitations to a variety of feasts and balls. Honoring all of them would take weeks. Accepting this one or that would insult those he ignored. He didn’t care about the insult, but the complaints they would generate would be endless. He could stand three days with the cow if it meant he could avoid having to choose between weeks of social entanglements or years of enmity.

  When Daniel stepped through the door of the inn, he was greeted by a large main room with high ceilings and a score of tables between him and the bar at the back of the room. A stair to the left led up to what he expected were private rooms. To the right the wall was dominated by a wide fireplace. Hanging over the fire was a brass engraving of an ox. The craftsman had painted the sheet of brass red before engraving the image. Light reflected off the carved lines in an orange and yellow shimmer. The fire within the hearth burned low and gave out little heat or light. Expensive oil lamps lining the walls easily made up for the lack. Doors at either end of the bar led deeper into the inn. The one nearest the fireplace swung in and out, allowing wenches to come and go from what was likely the kitchen. The tables and chairs looked to be of fair quality and there was no sign of dirt or sawdust on the floor. This was not an establishment used to regular brawls.

  Several of the patrons turned to look when Daniel entered, but most either hadn’t noticed or didn’t care. One of those who had looked was his current benefactor. He made his way past tables to the bar where she waited.

  “Dame Sarafina,” Daniel said with a slight nod of the head.

  “Good,” she said with a smile that almost made her acceptably attractive,.“You found us. I trust Master Ransel was able to meet your needs? The blue suits you well.”

  “Yes,” replied Daniel as he claimed a nearby stool and set his bundle on the bar. “He is a surprisingly talented man. He could move his business to the capitol and have little difficulty earning a fair sum for his work.”

  “I mentioned that to him myself, once,” she said. “Master Ransel is of the belief that being closer to the mines that produce the ore he smelts gives him a better price. Seems a fair reason to me.”

  Daniel knew of some women who thought they had a place in business. None excelled without men doing the real work and making the real decision behind closed doors. The cow thought she was a knight so it was little surprise that she thought her opinion of a man’s business mattered. The woman needed to be taught her place and the thought of how Daniel might accomplish that made him smile.

  “Dame Sarafina,” he said, “have you been able to secure rooms here? I would like to put away my new clothes and wash before supper.”

  “Of course, Sir Daniel,” she replied as she waved over the bar man. “Henry, Sir Daniel would like to wash. Can you have someone show him to his room and then to the bath house?”

  And with that, Daniel followed a wench up the stairs. She prattled on about the hot bath the inn had in the back and how soap and a razor could be brought if he wished. Daniel absently agreed to it all. He soaked in a blissfully hot bath and shaved off the weeks-old beard, dried himself and dressed. The entire time, he thought of little else but how he would show this ‘dame’ where she belonged, where any woman belonged. The thoughts were wicked and perhaps a bit brutal, but the cow wouldn’t understand subtlety. Daniel thought forward three days to the resumption of his hunt and the lesson he would teach and smiled.

  ***

  When Therraz arrived in the map room, he found two gods waiting for him. Ryson, the god of war, peered at the map of the great game. Like Therraz, he wore heavy plate armor, though the steel lacked decoration and bore the nicks, dents and scratches of innumerable battles. Today, he had a simple mace tucked in his belt. The weapon was little more than a club with a studded metal head but Ryson was an expert in its use. Of course, the god of war was an expert with every sort of weapon. A shield bearing a clenched fist leaned against the map table a few inches from his left hip while a plain open-faced helm hung from a belt loop on his right. The god of war’s hair was little more than fiery red stubble covering his scalp.

  Caercey, the huntress, lounged on one of the many benches around the room. Her dark eyes followed Therraz as soon as he entered the room. Like his daughter, Ayliaster, she was small and lithe. However, the goddess of the hunt had black hair tied back in a loose braid that reached halfway down her back. She wore her usual dark leather jacket and pants. Caercey was far more practical than her cousin. The only jewelry she wore was the skull of some rodent strung on a leather thong around her neck. The skull had been set with two small diamonds. Like the goddess, the ornament looked out on the world with hard, clear eyes.

  “I trust that the two allies I actually believe have a chance to find my brother or his minions have some good news for me this time?” Therraz asked quickly. He had no more patience for social niceties.

  “Your empire has gotten boring, Therraz,” said Ryson as he turned to face Therraz. “The orcs gather in the southern steppes, but not in numbers to offer any serious chance of conflict. Some offer prayers for war, but most would rather run. Aylathan’s elves are worse! They hide as they have for centuries. Even the dwarves would rather trade than fight.”

  “It’s called stability, Ryson,” said Therraz. “Your followers are supposed to be occupied with something other than battle plans.”

  “Yes, yes,” Ryson replied with a dismissive wave of a hand. “They are scattered across the continent searching for your brother. They should be assembling near the cities. They should be preparing a defense.”

  “A d
efense against what?” Therraz asked. “Do you really think Bartleby will mount a frontal assault? You think HE will lead a campaign of conquest?”

  “That would be the best way to confront your emperor,” replied the god of war, no small amount of uncertainty in this voice.

  “Of course it would,” spat Therraz. “That’s exactly what you would expect a sane general to do. My brother isn’t sane! He won’t do what anyone expects! He will find some loophole, some way to cheat or sneak his way out. We can’t do the sane, expected thing to stop him. We have to figure out what no one would possibly consider doing and then find him before his plans are ready. We have to crush him before he acts because when he does it will be too late! I don’t care if you don’t like it. I don’t care if you can’t apply a strategy to your actions. Just do as you’re told.”

  “Very well,” Ryson replied. Anger rose red in his face,matching the color of his hair. Therraz didn’t care. Perhaps it would be enough motivation to find some success. Nothing else had worked so far.

  “Caercey,” Therraz said as he turned his back on the god of war. “I presume you have some news?”

  “In fact, I do,” she said. The goddess of the hunt laced her fingers together as she stood and turned her palms upward over her head. Like a panther rising from a nap, she stretched every limb at once. In a single smooth move, she collected her black bow and slung it over a shoulder. “There are now two hunters offering prayers for success in finding the shepherd. An elf has added his voice to the minion stolen by Pangon and Felith. Both hunters have the scent of their prey.”

  “Are they close? Are they cooperating?” asked Therraz.

  Caercey wrinkled her nose with irritation. “I don’t know if they are close because Bartleby’s minion is hidden too well. I don’t know how. Not even the map of the great game reveals this rabbit’s location. As for the hunters, they are like the wolf and the lioness. They would not be allies if they met and each hunts in his own way.”

  “You said your skills would succeed where the map had failed,” accused Therraz. “Yet you now claim failure? Or is it betrayal?”

  “I do as I am bid, uncle,” the huntress replied with a sneer. “My hunters have the trail of their quarry. How close are your soldiers to dear uncle Bartleby?”

  “Be wary, niece,” growled Therraz. “If my patience for failure is thin, my tolerance for treachery is nonexistent. You each have your assigned duties. Attend them well and you will be permitted some continued influence on this world. Don’t expect to be thanked for valiant, failed efforts.”

  Therraz turned to the map table and searched its surface. Nowhere did he see any sign of the god of chaos.

  “When Bartleby strikes,” he said, “it will not be from a position of strength. He will not face us openly. It will be a strike from some angle we never thought possible, some shadow we missed. We must illuminate every shadow, strike down every ally. Destroy every last supporter he could possibly have.”

  ***

  Hogarth sat at his fire and ate his stew. While he ate, his two sons made sure the herd of cattle their lives depended on were safe and sound. While they’d been calves, the cattle had been taught to stay away from rope fences with jingling bits of tin hanging from them. Now, they remembered the sound. The temporary corrals didn’t have to physically stop the herd, it just had to sound like it could. Forty animals, mostly bulls but a few cows that had gone dry, would be sold in Blackwall a few days hence and the proceeds split among the farmers around Arnhold. Hogarth and his sons simply had to make the delivery. Even better, this year they’d found two bales of wool in the road. They had to have fallen off some merchant’s wagon, but it was nowhere in sight. It would be an extra bit of profit.

  It was a trip Hogarth had made each year since his father had decided he was old enough to make it. Now even Devon, his youngest, made the trip. The boy meant well and certainly tried hard, just as he always did. There was just something wrong with him. He was either too smart or lacked the wisdom the gods gave a goat; maybe both.

  “Dad, dad!” came a shout from the corral. Hogarth let his head drop and sighed. It was Devon. Again.

  “Not so loud, boy!” he called back. “You stampede them animals and we’re done for.”

  The boy came running into the light of the fire and whispered, “Dad, I think there’s too many animals in the pen.”

  “Now, how is that possible?” he asked. “We put forty of them in there. They ain’t had time to birth calves.”

  “I dunno, dad,” Devon replied. “The herd just looks too big. Come look!”

  With a sigh, Hogarth got to his feet. The boy wouldn’t shut up if he didn’t take a look.

  Hogarth and Devon walked a few yards to the coral. It was dark enough that it was impossible to see all the animals. Willum, Hogarth’s eldest, waited with a smirk.

  “Devon said he heard sheep,” said Willum.

  “Sheep?” said Hogarth. “Devon, please tell me you know the difference between a cow and a sheep.”

  “One of them said ‘Baa.’ I swear it,” said Devon.

  “Devon, cattle go moo, not baa,” said Willum.

  “I know that,” Devon said. “That’s why I think we got sheep.”

  “Sheep don’t hide in a herd of cattle,” said Hogarth. “They ain’t like fleas. No one ever had to take a bath because they got infested with sheep.”

  “But dad-”

  “Hush boy,” interrupted Hogarth. “You in there, you cows or sheep?”

  “Moo?” said a cow.

  “There you go,” said Hogarth. “Cows. Now quit playing games and finish your work.”

  “Yes, dad,” Devon said, hanging his head and scuffing the earth with one foot.

  “Ha! Told you,” said Willum.

  “And you! Quit encouraging your brother or he’s your responsibility the rest of the trip,” warned Hogarth.

  “Yes, dad,” said Willum, shooting his brother a dirty look.

  Briefly, Hogarth wondered if there was a market for boys in Blackwall. Likely not. Just as well, really. Their mother would throw a fit.

  Some time later, after the humans had fallen asleep, Hands poked Chatters in his recently shorn ribs and whispered, “Next time, Grumbles plays the cow.”

  ***

  Taelyn was unprepared for Blackwall. On the morning of the seventh day of travel from Arnhold, Cazmeran had pointed out an oddly shaped hill on the horizon and declared it their destination. Taelyn had thought the city sat on a hill. Over the course of the day’s hike, it had become clear that there was no city on a hill; the hill was the city wall. The wall was a massive black ring that, for every stone of its size, was unable to contain the tremendous number of people within. As he, Cazmeran and Kovol topped the final hill before descending to a gateway through the wall, Taelyn could see dozens, or perhaps hundreds of small wooden houses nestled against the outside of the wall as if they were lambs looking for milk. It seemed that more people lived in the shadow of the great black walls than in the entire valley of Halstead.

  “It is bigger than I expected,” said Kovol.

  Taelyn looked over and saw that the orc was as entranced by the sight of the city as he was. Cazmeran chuckled and continued on down the hill.

  “Blackwall is a small city,” he said. “And they will probably close the gates at dusk. We should get inside before then.”

  Taelyn checked the sun’s position. There was little left to the day, but he thought there would be plenty of time to reach the gate.

  “Cazmeran,” he asked, “what exactly is the plan once we’re inside?”

  “Well,” the old man replied, “I thought we might set a few fires, start a few riots, cause a rebellion and overthrow the local governor, taking control of the city and province.”

  Taelyn look to Kovol to see if the orc thought Cazmeran was serious, but the wide-eyed orc just offered a weak shrug.

  “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” asked Taelyn.

  “Of cou
rse not!” guffawed Cazmeran. “I think I can make do with a bed, a hot meal Kovol hasn’t destroyed with what he refers to as ‘cooking,’ and a bath. Then we’ll rest, resupply and see what rumors are buzzing about.”

  Taelyn’s sigh of relief was loud enough that Cazmeran fell to giggles and even Kovol chuckled. As the three men approached the city gate, Taelyn saw that what had appeared to be a solid wall was actually build from stones so perfectly placed that there was no sign of mortar, nor was there any visible gap between them. Spots here and there hinted the the store was naturally a much lighter color. The black was a layer of greasy soot, as if the entire wall were a massive hearth. The gateway was wide enough for two wagons to pass with room to spare and just as tall.

  The gateway led to a tunnel that revealed the wall to be twenty feet thick. A massive portcullis protruded from the ceiling and gave the gateway the look of a massive mouth swallowing all who entered. Each massive tooth was an entire tree as big as any Taelyn had seen in Halstead. Four guards watched people coming and going through the gateway but stopped no one.

  “My people have besieged cities like this,” Kovol said as they were halfway through the tunnel. “I begin to understand why so few of those sieges were ever successful.”

  “Have you heard of any sieges of this city?” Taelyn asked.

  “I do not remember any tale of a city with massive black walls such as this,” Kovol replied. “I do not think we would have been successful here and tales require survivors for the telling.”

  “Do sieges usually involve fire?” he asked.

  “According to the tales,” said the orc. “I would not be surprised to learn that these black walls bear the stains of many sieges.”

  At the end of the tunnel, another portcullis threatened to bite down at a moments notice. Taelyn could almost feel the weight of the wall above him and he hurried to leave the tunnel. Once out in the open again, Taelyn glanced back at the wall and was surprised to see that the inside was blackened as well.