by Wilf Jones
The Lord and his nephew exchanged meaningful glances.
‘You say you have business at Moreda,’ questioned the nephew, ‘Then you may be able to tell me who exactly you intend to meet there?’
‘What an odd question,’ Terrance decided in an incredible display of naievity, ‘I would speak, as seems sensible to the Beltez responsible for contracting business. Who else would I need to speak to?’
‘You have had no news of Moreda, then?’
‘None since I left Gothery and then it was that Morredan prices were high and getting higher because of transportation costs in the face of the new banditry. Am I ill informed?’
Instead of replying the Lord Gumb took his nephew by the arm and led him aside. They spoke in lowered voices. It was obvious that Terrance’s story was being questioned and the companions were relieved when the two returned to offer assistance and advice. They told them of the defeat of the Morredans and explained that the Black Company had taken up residence at the manse. Terrance was suitably amazed. The others, less used to such impromptu acting, said as little as possible.
‘I’ll tell you this for nothing,’ said the red faced Lord, almost smiling now, ‘when we saw you, all dressed in Gotherian clothes, well, we thought you might be something to do with this Black Company but I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt for now.’
‘For now,’ said the nephew, and he gave a short laugh, ‘it seems obvious that you cannot continue your journey, and it would be a shame if your venture should show no reward.’
‘It is more than a shame,?’ said Terrance despairingly, ‘it’s a tragedy. My people are relying on me. Commerce is cruel and no work means no food. What am I to do?’
‘I was about to say, Sir, if you could do us the honour of keeping our company for a while, we will shortly be turning homeward and there you would learn that Beltez is not the only name in forestry. I am certain that Gumb will be able to supply your needs.’
It was quickly arranged after that, and half an hour saw them all heading westward. Angren was confused, to say the least, by the whole chain of events. He didn’t understand why their true quest was such a secret here whilst back in Valdez territory it was no secret at all, and he didn’t understand why Seama had let De Vere get them held up with this Gumb person when they should be making for Moreda, but most of all he didn’t understand De Vere’s role in this. Obviously Seama and Terrance hadn’t simply discussed history on their journey. He wanted to ask Seama about these things but realized that now was not the time. Instead he decided to learn some more about the knights and their business in the forest. He rode a little forward of their group to come up alongside the sergeant who had first spoken to them. He seemed friendly enough.
‘Now then. Come up for a word, have you? Me name’s Arthur: Arthur Thackray,’ he offered a hand over his saddle as Angren was on his left and Angren took it in his firm swordsman’s grip.
‘My name’s Angren Nielderson.’
‘You’re from Terremark then? How come’s th’art in Gothery rags?’
They laughed at the sarcasm.
‘I’ve been working here and there for a long while now; as a matter of fact, I can’t remember when I was home last. Such is life.’
‘It’s not for me. A’ve never been further than River’s Twist, and even then a were workin’.’
‘Well, I’m not exactly on holiday myself. Mind you, I can’t really call this work, can I? I don’t think he needs a guide just at the minute. Where are we off to, by the way?’.
‘Well, tha’ll know soon enough even if a don’t tell thee. Milord Gumb,’ and as he said the name he couldn’t suppress a chuckle, ‘‘is face were a picture when tha called him Gumb. Anyways we’re off to pick up ‘is niece from Stoneybrook. That’s about thirty miles west of ‘ere.’
‘Thirty miles? We’re not going thirty miles to turn around again, are we?’
‘No, never fret. ‘We’ll meet her and her father’s escort about ten miles on.’
‘It’s a lot of effort for just one girl.’
‘We don’t think so,’ the sergeant said, ‘It’s a matter of tradition. For as long as any can mind, the families of Gumb and Travers have given their children a home whenever they come of age. It’s sort of a way of showing we trust each other; that we’ll help if the other’s in need. Now Alan Travers is the young man you’re boss were speaking to and its his sister as we’re picking up. She’s just eighteen and we’re not going t’allow this Black lot to mess up our ways. There’s not usually so many to guard a lass, but then there’s usually no need. You’ve landed lucky anyway: we’ve a big do planned. There’ll be a party and a feast.’
Angren and the sergeant talked of this and that and got on together like old comrades. They were both soldiers of complimentary dispositions. Angren liked to tell people about the places he had been and Arthur liked to listen. He didn’t disapprove of Angren’s womanizing ways but he did warn him to keep his leery grin well disguised, particularly where Helen Travers was concerned. Angren was free with his assurances but then he hadn’t seen her yet.
They travelled without haste as the meeting was intended for early evening. Though the clouds didn’t lift the late afternoon was uncomfortably hot and everyone was expecting a storm. They weren’t expecting that lone, wounded rider.
They’d made a pause at a stream to water the horses. The path wove on ahead through the forest. It was a wide path but the twists and turns prevented much of a view ahead and so the horseman was heard long before he was seen. The cloddering hooves echoed along the green halls of the forest. Gumb called for quiet and they all sat still. The three or four minutes they waited, listening to the erratic advance, seemed like an hour and it was almost a surprise when man and horse rounded the final turn. The man was slumped over the horse’s neck holding on to her mane. The horse was a wonder of patience: when the man slipped a little the horse voluntarily slowed her pace to allow the man time to drag himself up again, and then ran on as fast as possible. She stopped abruptly in front of Gumb and with quivering legs waited for her master to dismount. The poor thing had a great streaming cut on her flank, her eyes were glazed from her mortal effort and still she wouldn’t let her master drop.
Two of Gumb’s knights helped the man to the ground. He was bleeding from several cuts to his back and legs. It was a tragic sight. Seama dismounted as they arrived and ran to the horse. She was beginning to waver as she stood. Laying hands on the horse’s forelock he blessed her and thanked her for her master’s sake and in this extremity he managed to take away much of her pain. ‘Sleep now, faithful Sorrel; sleep: you have won,’ he said and slowly she sank to her knees. Her breathing was laboured and her muscles locked in spasms and gradually she fell over to one side and died.
Lord Gumb and his men barely noticed the horse but crowded around the wounded man: they were not Valdanas.
The wounded knight was given whisky from Lord Gumb’s hip flask and the sharpness of it brought him to life. At first he stared wildly about him, terrified, but upon seeing the colours and the boar’s head on the coats of those around him he calmed down. He began to speak slowly but deliberately, concentrating on each word in turn. He wanted no mistakes. Volume was the problem.
‘Speak up, man. We can’t hear you. What’s happened?’
A cough brought blood from his mouth. His teeth were broken. He tried again.
‘Lady Travers’ guard. We were… attacked, black sorcerers. All killed – no, no, Lady and maids taken. Travers killed. Bastards called a demon. All dead.’
‘Where? When? Come on man. C’mon. Damn it!’
The knight had told all he could and then collapsed. It would be days before he recovered enough to tell more. Gumb sprang to his feet and stalked off back to the horses. His anger was frightening.
‘Nephew! Alan Travers come here
!’ he bawled at the young man. Alan was standing dumbstruck as he tried to comprehend the immensity of the knight’s news. He was too shocked to cry. His sister was taken; his father murdered.
‘Come on, lad. Get up on your horse. You can’t help her by gawping like that. Sergeant Thackray! Take that man back home. De Vere will help you. Him and his people.’
At last it was time for Seama to speak. Things were moving; Angren was ready. The wizard stepped up to stop Lord Gumb moving off.
‘My Lord Gumb, may we ride with you instead? My friends and I are not what we seem. No, do not mistake my meaning. I am charged with a task by the High Council of Errensea and by King Mador of Pars to bring an end to this evil, to challenge and defeat the Black Company for the good of all. I had considered stealth my best ally but now I understand the need for armed strength. I was intending, over the next few days, to sound you out on the possibility of action at Moreda but if you’re ready to go now, then so are we.’
‘Errensea, eh? So who the devil are you, and who’s he, that deveerey fellow? And why on earth should I believe you?’
‘Are we to leave at once?’
‘That’s my aim.’
‘And will we have cause to stop at a town or village on the way?’
‘Shouldn’t think so. Why do you ask?’
‘I would prefer to come to Moreda unannounced, My Lord Gumb. It is certain that if I’m recognized too soon then words will travel quicker than we can. However, it seems there’s no chance of that.’
The Lord Gumb wore a sarcastic, doubting face but his manner changed when the wizard said:
‘My name is Seama, I am sometimes known as the Wizard Beltomé. You may have heard of me.’
After an unguarded sagging of the chin, Gumb’s eyes narrowed. He was suspicious and had a right to be so.
‘And how would I know if you are telling the truth or not. I’ve heard a deal about the Lord Seama but he’s never been to Rippon. You could be anyone.’
‘True. There’s no way I can prove my identity beyond doubt. My friends could vouch for me but they’re suspect too. We could be spies for the Black Company, though I’d hope—’
‘If you’ll forgive me, My Lords?’ It was Sergeant Thackray, ‘I can vouch for the Lord Seama.’
‘You? What the hell would you know about it?’ Gumb was rarely polite to his men. ‘How could you know anything?’
‘Well Milord, you’ll remember a was wi’thee father’s guard afore he died. Once a was part of his escort when he went to meet the king at River’s Twist. It were a big do: the King was having Mador of Pars to a hunt. All the local gentry went to a banquet in their honour.’
‘That’s right, that’s right! Just a year before the old boy passed on. Had quite a time as I remember. Left me to look after the shop while he went off enjoying himself. Canny old beggar he was: came back with a deal or two I can tell you.’ Clearly Gumb had been fond of his father but he didn’t let the nostalgia distract him: ‘But I still don’t see… Ah yes: now I remember. He complained that some damned wizard had been there and he didn’t like it. Had a notion this ‘Lord Wizard’ was a troublemaker; something always happened whenever the chap was around… Ah, no offence intended of course. So, Thackray, we have a wizard here and a wizard there and you reckon they’re the same? Can you be sure of his face after all these years?’
‘No question, milord. You see he’d a way about him: a habit of talking to us lot, commoners as well as nobs… er our betters. Spoke to ‘im myself a few times. A don’t forget that sort. That there is the Lord Wizard Seama o’Belto, but a doubt a’d have placed him if he hadn’t spoken up.’
Seama nodded a couple of times as if counting. ‘Of course, Arthur isn’t it? I’d been trying to place your face. You weren’t a sergeant then, were you?’
‘No sir, made up last year.’
Gumb cleared his throat. He was convinced and now the question was cleared up he was impatient to get started.
‘Shall we get on then?’ he said.
Seama nodded briefly. ‘Arthur, when you get home I’d appreciate you keeping quiet about me being here.’
‘No problem, Lord Seama.’
‘Good. Now before we rush off, Lord Gumb, couldn’t we have a brief word about what exactly you are planning to do?’
‘DIE, FOUL SEED OF DEMONS!’
El Seño 3037.8.5
It was Gumb’s plan to catch the villains and attack them before they could gain safe refuge. He didn’t want any discussion about it. To this effect they were soon travelling a diagonal route through the forest, abandoning the dog leg of the main road, in the hope of crossing the villains’ path some six miles northwest of Moreda. The problem with the scheme was that the wounded man hadn’t told them where or when Travers’ caravan had been attacked
Angren hoped they’d be too late to catch up with the Company. Sudden battle was not a problem for him, but there would be confusion on both sides and that was the last thing they needed: the Travers girl was more likely to end up dead than rescued. As far as Angren was concerned she’d have to suffer a little while longer if she wanted to escape.
Not that he’d evolved any specific means of rescue as yet. He knew next to nothing about Moreda, and he needed to know more about the Black Company. In the absence of Sergeant Thackray he moved up the line to speak with the nephew. Given the circumstances the lad had regained his composure well and Angren thought him an easier prospect than Lord Gumb.
Alan Travers was taken aback when a man who had been introduced as a servant had the temerity to approach the Heir of Hartest unbidden. Angren bridled at the condescension in his eyes and the tone of his voice.
‘Yes sirrah, what do you want?’
‘My name is Angren Nielderson, sir.’
‘Well Nielderson, again, what is it you want to say?’
Angren decided to be polite.
‘I was looking for information. My friend Seama and I have only old news about this Black Company. I thought you might be able to tell us something new.’
Travers’ eyes widened. Angren had been right to use his familiarity with Seama as a lever. Putting aside his first impressions the young man was now willing to talk. In fact his tongue was loosened too much.
It was quickly apparent that he couldn’t provide anything more than rumours they’d already heard. He described how the Black Company had ravaged the land of the Valdesians before coming south to the Forest. He dwelled on the atrocities. ‘Rape, torture and murder their stock in trade’ he said, ‘Their victims, often as not, children. Imagine that!’ How many were there? ‘Oh about twenty, or fifty, or a hundred.’ The figure changed with every attack but the number wasn’t important: they won each battle with the help of sorcery. Demons sided with them, striking terror into everyone in their path.
And how do we know all this? Apparently news of their villainy came from this habit of letting some few live to tell the tale – ‘My father’s man: that’s what he was for. These monsters delight in killing and they want the world to know about it.’ Angren asked about the Gothery connection. ‘They’re from Gothery. No doubt about it. Everyone says so. Their clothes, their speech. The people they spare always say so. That’s what I heard.’
Angren wasn’t impressed. ‘Gothery cloth’ was a phrase that implied a quality of material, that and a tendency to use subdued greys and blacks rather than the bright blues and greens and reds common in rural Aegarde. But you could buy Gothery clothes in markets all the way from the border to Garassa. And the question of their tongue was hardly any more useful. In Angren’s experience, in this confused continent, every five miles travelled threw up another accent but Gothery, famously, had three main styles of speech. You could easily tell a bayman from a northerner, from a plainsman by his accent. But accents can be copied. Angren could do a northerner better th
an he could do a bayman but he’d be confident that he could pass himself off as either, providing he was outside Gothery that is. It didn’t take much to fool people. No, he didn’t believe any of it. He already had his clue from Bassalo: if Trant was in charge then these people were most likely from somewhere in western Aegarde. The problem, when it came down to it, was that misinformation was easy to seed and difficult to overcome.
But there was no shifting Alan Travers from his view that Gothery was at the root of this villainy. He had no notion as to why the Black Company did what it did, but political manipulation, he was sure, had nothing to do with it. ‘It’s simple, they’re murderers, and they come from Gothery.’ He told Angren that the whole forest region was up in arms, ‘or would be if they dared’ and, as far as he was concerned, ‘If there’s blood to be spilled, and children butchered, and women attacked, then better it was over the border than over here. If I had my way, we’d drive these ‘demons’ back to where they were spawned, and teach Gothery a lesson it wouldn’t forget.’
The Heir of Hartest was surprised by the look of distaste on Angren’s face. He matched it with a snarl.
‘Traitor!’ he accused.
Angren took a deep breath and somehow managed to keep in his seat.
‘Now let’s calm down a little shall we?’ he said, aware that he was in need of a little calm himself. ‘I’m sure, when you think about it you’ll realise where you might be going wrong. I keep my likes and dislikes to myself, and I’d advise you to do the same, particularly in front of Lord Seama. Like you, he’s sometimes quick to judge. Difference between you and him is that he knows what he’s talking about.’