Ardent

by Florian Armas

  I swiftly pressed my finger to his lips, stopping him from speaking my real name.

  “Please,” he begged, misunderstanding my reaction, “you are a good man.”

  Undecided, I tried to avoid an answer; delivering the money would delay my return to Severin by more than a week. I might even miss the Winter Solstice Party, and lose my right to see Saliné. Bloody Aron…

  “Please.”

  “Don’t speak. I will do it.”

  “I could not find you in Severin.” Matei’s voice was now just a faint whisper, and I moved closer to his mouth. “Don’t go back. Aron will...”

  His voice died, the same thin smile that greeted me when I have arrived spread on his discolored lips. With a sigh, I closed his eyes.

  “You should have promised faster and let him die in peace. Promises to the dead are...” Cantemir’s left hand gestured left and right, rotating – the Frankis sign for a leaf in the wind. “A good amount for free,” he said, pretending to check the dead men’s colors, but I knew him well enough to feel the hidden trap behind his quiet voice. Even after so long, the thoughtful Master Sage of the Circle was still evaluating me, and I had to keep a growing wave of irritation under control. “Ten hectares of land.”

  “I always keep my word, Cantemir,” I said bluntly. “That you should know about me, at least.”

  “Your choice,” he shrugged, but there was no tension in his gesture. “Let’s go, before you decide to leave me alone and return the money. The road to Boar’s castle is not short.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “Tudor, do you know why he is called Boar?” Cantemir glanced at me.

  “Dangerous?”

  “Strong, wicked and reckless. A lot of muscles linked to a small brain. Sometimes I wonder if he has any. Brain, I mean. The boar. I once witnessed a fight between a boar and a bear. The bear gripped the smaller boar between his strong forelegs, his claws digging deep into the flesh. I even saw the boar’s intestines. Any other animal would have given up. Whatever life still filled him, the boar fought back; his tusks cut into the bear until both beasts fell dead. Be careful.”

  “Dangerous indeed,” I whispered, only to say something. “Vlad, Pintea, make a grave for him,” I gestured toward Matei’s body. Slightly flexed, my index finger signaled them to stay silent about our common past. “Vlad, take his money and sword with you.”

  “That man knew you.” Cantemir also gestured toward Matei. His reaction was unforced; there was no way he could understand the discreet sign language I had taught Vlad and Pintea. It was derived from the Assassins’ teachings, yet different – a time would come when it might be used against them too, and the same gesture having different meaning gives contradictory information.

  “He worked for me once.”

  “So, you do hire ... strangers.” Cantemir frowned; many times I had rejected his offer of soldiers, telling him that I worked only with my own men.

  “He was not my hire,” I said. “Just a limited operation with another team of protectors. Let’s go,” I said, mounting my horse. “Vlad and Pintea will catch up with us.”

  “You seem to be in a hurry.”

  “Now, yes,” I said curtly, pushing my horse forward, and Cantemir followed in silence. “I have an urgent errant in the south,” I tried to sweeten my answer. We still had a half-day ride to Arad in front of us, and most of it was through the forest. “The road to Long Valley may delay me too much.”

  Vlad and Pintea rejoined us after a while, and the road lay quietly under the forest’s late morning shadow. One turn after leaving Matei in his grave, there was no sign of any other traveler to be seen; by habit I took the least used road. There were two northern roads going from Mehadia to Arad, and they ran parallel for a while before merging at Deadly Creek cross. I wished we could leave the small road, and ride through the forest, but, ahead, it passed through the gorge, and there was no way for a horse to climb the rough stones. The road was sinuous, hiding the path both back and forward. At times, I thought I could hear echoes reflected by the stones – the noise made by horseshoes. It was difficult to catch; there was the wind, and the water flowing between the banks. I looked back for a moment, just in time to see Vlad doing the same. Four years ago we were caught in the same way, I glanced at the tall, parallel ridges. My brother and my mentor died that day... Furtively, I touched the Wing Talisman. It vibrated in my hand, then nothing. Just an illusion. Yet, it revealed me the attack on Matei. The Wing Talisman, I had received from Dochia a year ago, was still new to me; the feeling of pain old and remote. The thing acted like having a mind of its own. It could have. I did not know much about those talismans; Dochia never told me how they function. There should be meaning in remembering that bloody day.

  “Faster,” I said, and pushed Zor to a gallop. After one more curve, the road took a straight path, and the gorge’s mouth was now visible far in front of us. From there, it was only open road to Arad, and safe. The narrow path was already wider, as the ridges receded from the small river. That’s when I caught a strong reflection, coming from the top of the large rock towering over the exit from the gorge. A helmet?

  “What is that?” Cantemir asked.

  “A helmet, perhaps,” I shouted back, still staring at that reflection: it was moving left and right. A negligent soldier?

  “Should we stop? There are two reflections now.”

  “No.” I forced Zor to slow, so the others would slow too, waiting for the proper time to speed up again. They all had good destriers, but only Vlad’s was like Zor; there were no horses of his quality on Frankis, only the steppes south-east of Arenia produced them. “Not yet,” I added, feeling Cantemir’s unease. “We must reach the Angle. That rock,” I pointed in front, to a large, peculiar rock that looked like a fifty-foot-high wall, and I slowed Zor even more; we had to approach it at the right speed. Its hidden side was different, smoother, allowing even a horse to climb to the top. I did not know if that was its real name, but someone had scratched the word ‘angle’ in letters the size of a human head on the limestone. The place where we could leave the road had the inconvenience of being less than a hundred paces away from the gorge’s mouth and those, now hidden, helmets.

  In the middle of the straight stretch, the echo caught us from behind, and there was no false impression this time; riders had passed the last curve. Turning briefly, I spied them: at least seven riders, wearing the Boar’s colors.

  “Slow down!” I shouted, and glanced back to check the distance to the enemies. “More,” I warned them again. “Follow me!” In that moment, I turned Zor abruptly to the right, and moved to climb the slow incline. Boar’s riders were now only two hundred paces behind us. A horse neighed somewhere, covering the harsh sound of horseshoes grinding the stones below. The path up was indeed a slow climb, and we arrived on top at the same moment Boar’s riders started to climb it – there were fourteen of them now, riding three abreast. Five more came from the gorge’s mouth.

  “The Boar is coming,” I pointed to the large man leading the riders. “Do you want to speak with him?”

  “It will not help.” Cantemir unsheathed his sword, and weighed it in his hand. Even though he was not a real sword fighter; he was not a coward. Then he raised his hood over his helmet, and tied it tightly, hiding half of his face.

  “Vlad, take the left. Pintea, take the right.” I picked up my bow; the sword would have to wait until they were closer and the numbers more balanced. “Cantemir, hide behind us. I can’t guarantee we can kill all of them. Lenard should not know that you were with the thugs who killed one of his main Knights. Let’s hunt some boars.”

  My bowstring sprang, releasing the arrow. Forty paces away, it pierced Boar’s neck. His body fell like a tree, his large head hitting the ground with a dull sound. Frightened, the horse pranced, lifting the heavy body still caught in the stirrup. A moment later, two more riders slid from their saddles. Vlad and Pintea had learned to hunt in their childhood, and a man is an easi
er target than a deer. Three more arrows flew, hitting their targets, and some riders turned to run away. “Stop!” I ordered, and both Vlad and Pintea froze, their bows tensed.

  “Are you in a charitable mood?” Cantemir asked, strain filling his voice.

  “Take the dead and leave!” I shouted at the riders. “Take them before I change my mind. Lower your bows,” I said to Vlad and Pintea. “They have only swords.”

  Two riders dismounted abruptly, hiding behind their horses. They grabbed Boar and, panting from the effort, raised his huge body onto a horse’s saddle and tied it tightly, then did the same for a second man. The other four seemed not to matter to them.

  “Go now!” I shouted, and Boar’s men left in a hurry. “Charity, eh?” I grinned at Cantemir.

  “Hm,” Cantemir mused, rubbing his chin. “I suppose you have spent your daily portion with that unknown man, friend, whatever he was for you, in the forest.” There was a slight hint of curiosity in his voice, but he was too subtle a man to insist. “You want to arrive in the Long Valley before...” he gestured toward the retreating riders. “The bodies will slow them.”

  “You make a good Secretary,” I laughed, pushing Zor down the slope. “What a pity I can’t afford one.”

  “Sometimes, yes,” he said, with a thin smile on his lips, still watching Boar’s soldiers leaving the gorge.

  “Walk through the forest and take over the rock at the entry,” I gestured at Vlad and Pintea. “There may be some Boar leftovers on it. Leave the horses with us.”

  We dismounted, and silent as shadows, the two brothers vanished inside the forest.

  “You did not give Boar a chance,” I teased Cantemir.

  “Enraged, Boar becomes blind and deaf. Not that his senses are very keen, even when he is calm. It made no sense to talk. And he might have us killed even with a sober mind.”

  “Are you not the Master Sage of the Circle and Grand Seigneur Orban’s Secretary?”

  “So what?” Cantemir shrugged. “Do you know how a Master Sage is named in his last year of tenure? Don’t look at me like that. Orban has no more chance to be named candidate King, after what happened last year in Mehadia and Severin. And even without that...” he shrugged. “The Lame-Imp, that’s the name. It says it all.”

  “Some Sages may be pleased by Orban’s failure.”

  “Oh, some of them are. In a way, I am happy to end this. I never asked to be the Master Sage. I inherited the position from the previous one, who was Secretary of Arad and Orban’s uncle. No one else wanted it. It’s not easy to work with Orban. The Circle put a lot of pressure on me. I was young ... twenty-five years old. Ten years ago...” He seemed lost in his thoughts. “Ten years. How fast time goes, and our lives with it.”

  “A young Master Sage is prone to failure,” I said, without mockery.

  “They might have thought that when pushing me forward, just a year before the new nomination,” Cantemir agreed, and shook his head with the air of a man upset by the whole world around him, “but I still secured Orban’s second term as candidate King.”

  “Would they set someone like Boar on you?”

  “What? No. No Sage would initiate such course of action. It’s a small world, and things may turnaround and hit back when you don’t expect them. Boar had a grudge against Orban, but mostly against me. He received some lands after the Midians were defeated, five years ago. Less than he expected. More than he deserved. I did not expect Malin to die in that battle, and leave Jara a widow. I wanted him defeated for some things done in the past, but I did not want him dead. It disturbed the balance of power too much. He acted as bridge between the Dukes, something that Orban was never able to do. He is to ... stubborn.”

  “To say it mildly,” I laughed. “Boar’s death will help lady Jara.”

  “I pity Jara. A fine woman. She did not deserve all this, but she will not live long enough to grow her grandchildren and to recover her lands, not even from a dead Boar.”

  “That old thing with Cernat refusing the marriage between lady Jara and Orban.” I remembered what Calin had told me in Orhei. “He had chosen Malin for her.”

  “It’s not her fault, but the Circle set a Black Warrant on both Cernat and Jara. It happened before I became Master Sage,” he added, staring at me. “The warrant is dormant until both her daughters are tested. I asked for that, and it was not easy to convince Orban’s uncle. One girl has already passed the test, a few years ago. Next year, if I remember well, her second daughter will have it too. Then Jara and Cernat will be killed. It will not happen under my command,” he shrugged. “I wished I could protect Jara. And Cernat is a true Knight, like the ones you read about in some old books. There are few like him in Frankis. You can number them on a hand’s fingers.”

  “Once Orban is out of the king-making game...”

  “A Black Warrant can’t be undone,” Cantemir whispered, looking unhappy, then remained silent.

  Not far, in front, an owl’s cry filled the silence, then a second and a third.

  “Let’s go,” I said, “the passage is clear.”

  Under the long shadows of the early evening, we left Cantemir at the main gate of Arad, and hurried toward the Long Valley. There was a slight chance we could arrive using a small road before the riders carrying the bodies got there on the main one, or at least before the commotion about Boar’s death could spread in the valley and affect Matei’s family. For a reason I could not explain, with his death, I considered myself responsible for his wife and children. A peculiar feeling, but I often relied on them.

  “There was a letter with Matei’s purse,” Vlad said, after we put some distance between us and the gate. “I thought it important. There is a ‘C’ written on it.” He lent me the paper.

  “We can’t know the addressee without opening it,” I broke the seal.

  The letter was indeed for me.

  “It’s from Valer. A recommendation to stay away from Severin, as Aron wants my head. Again. It would be his third attempt. He requested Valer a team of mercenaries to kill me, but was refused. It looks like another mercenary captain may accept the warrant, but Valer doesn’t know who. How many captains are in Frankis? We need to learn more; I don’t know any of them apart Valer.”

  “Matei went to Severin to give the letter to you,” Vlad said, thoughtfully.

  “Yes. It’s a pity that we could not save him. Isn’t that strange? Aron wanted me out of Severin, and … he knows that I spend most of my time in Arad Seigneury. Let’s go.” I pushed Zor to a gallop with my knees, trying in vain to stop some dark thoughts, stirred by the letter still gripped between my fingers. It took me a while until hiding it under my ring-mail. Such a lucky man, Aron. I could not kill him before as he was too close to Mohor. Now, because of the Duke’s protection, killing him would endanger both Jara and Mohor. And Saliné. One day… An accident far from Severin... If his mercenaries don’t kill me first.

  ***

  There were seven horses in Matei’s courtyard. It wasn’t difficult to find his house; he was a half-Knight and a well-known man in the Long Valley. Kneeling in the dust, two adults and two youngsters were facing five soldiers dressed in Boar’s colors. Two soldiers must be in the house … and Matei’s wife. One child is missing. A girl, if I remember well. She may be in the house too. Matei’s wife could be in a more dangerous situation than her children outside, and the girl too, even when I did not know her age. In silence, we dismounted at a safe distance. Having their backs to us, none of the soldiers saw our slow advance on foot. Pintea stayed behind with the horses, his bow nocked. The kneeling men feigned ignorance, letting us come closer. We were strangers to them, but they could read our intentions.

  “Damian,” the leading solider continued his harassment; the blade of his sword playing unfriendly with the skin of one captive’s neck, a small spot of red spreading on it. “Your vagrant father bragged everywhere what a good swordsman you are.” The youngster, some eighteen years old, resembled Matei. “Why did tha
t stupid man say such a thing? You are a weakling, and half of the castle could be your father.” Showing good restraint, Damian swallowed hard; his face reddened, and his veins pulsed on his neck, but he did not move to give the soldier a reason to react harder. “It could be me, our master, the soldiers here. Your mother’s legs are always restless; they open at the smallest sign. Just like that,” the soldier snapped his fingers. “You may have another sibling soon. Our master’s brother is working hard for that,” he gestured toward the house. “I can hear their noise of pleasure from here. Your mother is enjoying it, and I will be the next one to please that hot slice between her legs.” The man’s left hand went to his ear as if trying to listen.

  There was no sound coming from the house, just a heavy silence urging us to act faster.

  “All drunkards hear something in their heads,” I said when close enough to strike him if needed. I must solve this bloodlessly. We may put them down easily, but Matei’s family would suffer even more after we leave. The soldiers were mere thugs.

  “Are you calling me drunk?” the soldier snarled, turning quickly. Seeing only two men, he stopped, his sword going back to the boy’s neck.

  “Drunk, lying, I don’t see much difference.”

  “Boar is my master, and he will make you pay.” He decided that it was safer to hide behind a higher authority rather than fight. His sword left the young man’s neck. Still kneeling, Damian stepped instinctively a half-foot back, enough to stay out of the sword’s range. The other four soldiers grouped behind their leader, and the prisoners jumped up and ran in a half circle behind Vlad and me. One of them grabbed a hayfork from the ground; the other three picked up stones. In a way, it reminded me of the day I met Vlad and his family in Litvonia.