by Garon Whited
“I agree,” Hazir stated, surprising me. “He may be your downfall, nonetheless.”
“He’ll have to wait his turn.”
“Troubles?”
“Yes. Maybe I’ll tell you about them, sometime.”
“I look forward to it.”
“Actually,” I said, as the thought occurred to me, “there is something I’d like to ask.”
“Of course.”
“You work for local law enforcement. Do you know where I can find a list of laws regarding vendetta? I’d like to have a better idea of how it works, what’s allowed, what the formalities are, and so on.”
“You are most fortunate. The Hall of Ruling has a complete library of law.”
“And it’s available to the public?”
“For a small fee, yes.”
“Great. How many books are we talking about?”
“Oh, some few thousand, including scrolls.”
“Thousand?” I echoed. “I meant about vendetta. Sorry.”
“What part?”
“What part of what? What do you mean?”
“The law is written chronologically, with the eldest laws taking precedence. As the laws have grown over the centuries, new laws must abide by the strictures of the old. Do you want the first laws of vendetta? Or do you wish to study the more recent refinements of the laws?”
“How many different books am I going to have to read to understand vendetta?”
“Thirty or forty should give you a basic understanding.”
“Basic?” I squeaked. “Maybe I’m not cut out to be a lawyer.”
“What is a lawyer?”
“One who studies the law in order to use it.”
“A type of mahrani?” he asked, doubtfully.
“They certainly think so. But I don’t think I’ll be spending so much time reading up on the technicalities. It boils down to hitting the other House until they quit, right?”
“That… is not how I would phrase it, but the essence is there.”
“Good. If I have questions, can I ask you?”
“I would be honored to advise you,” he agreed.
“Fantastic. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
I stood up, gathered my people, and headed out of the arena. The whole warmeet wasn’t over, but the important parts were. I’d seen other members of the First leave after the practice sessions started. It might be a breach of etiquette, but it couldn’t be more than a minor one.
Outside, the two rented servants met me by Bronze. Both had news and directions. One I sent off with Tellith to work out more details. The other guided us through Sarashda to the House of Sarcana. It was more of a compound than a house, but I suppose it was fairly typical of a wealthy House.
Velina was not amused. She looked at the three-storey block of masonry and frowned.
“You know they want to kill you, sir.”
“I know. I’m going to put a stop to it.”
She glanced at the hole in my breastplate and blinked. It was materially smaller than before. The repair spell was still running.
“I’m not sure you can take them all. I’m not sure we can take them all, sir.”
“We won’t have to. I’m going to give them what they want.”
“Your death?”
“Do you think they’ll simply try to murder us for walking in?”
“No. But it still isn’t safe, sir!”
“You sound concerned.”
“It happens when I’m about to die with my Mazhani.”
“It’s really that dangerous, hmm? All right, what would you suggest?”
“Send messengers. Messengers are safer. If you’re in a hurry, hire a wizard and his enchanted glass. You can talk to Naskarl of Sarcana through it. He’s bound to have one of his own.”
“I suppose. I guess we’re hiring a wizard, then. Hey, you. Rent-a-retainer. Where does one hire a wizard in this town?”
Hiring a wizard turned out to be more difficult than I expected. If they aren’t on permanent retainer with some House, they’re independent business owners, not labor for hire. This struck me as weird. Warriors are a higher social caste than wizards, yet warriors—those who aren’t independently wealthy—are hired and fired. Wizards are fewer in number and own their shops. People come to them, rather than the wizards going out and looking for jobs. If I didn’t know better, I’d say wizards scored higher on the social scale than warriors. Then again, there are fewer wizards than there are warriors.
How did it get to this point? Is it a matter of numbers? Supply and demand? Or is the prosperity of wizards a more recent development? Maybe it’s an income inequality between high-ranking warriors and lower-ranked warriors. I have no idea.
What I do know is hiring a wizard away from his shop is difficult. We visited three shops in rapid succession. The wizards running them were polite, firm, and nervous. Well, when a First dressed in the black armor of death walks into your shop and wants you to uproot and move into the hinterlands, it might be somewhat distressing. They all declined with as much politeness as possible.
After the third one, I noticed Velina frowning. It doesn’t really suit her face.
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t like it, sir.”
“Don’t like what?”
“They’re not coming.”
“I don’t like it either, but I’m sure I can work around it.”
“No, sir. I’ve never known a wizard to turn down gold. They have expenses.”
“Maybe they don’t like my armor.”
“Doubt it, sir.”
“All right, let’s find the one wizard who came out to visit. He didn’t stay, but maybe he can tell us why he didn’t want to. If we can fix it, we might be more attractive as a place of employment.”
Velina grunted an affirmative and I sent the servants out to hunt him down, telling them to meet us at the eatery down the street. The rest of us went to the eatery and ate at it. Comments were made about finding a real cook for the camp.
I noticed they still called it “the camp,” rather than “the village.” Not enough civilians to make it a village instead of a military encampment, I guess.
We were done and killed some time, waiting, before the first of the servants showed up. I wanted a wizard named Kellonol, a long-time employee of House Sarcana. It wasn’t what I wanted to hear, but it did make me wonder more forcefully if he came to the valley to spy, rather than seeking employment.
Reminded of job hunting and of imminent death, I sent the servant off on another errand, extending an invitation to the gentleman who wanted final employment.
“What shall I say, sir?”
“Tell him I have monsters to hunt.”
“Monsters?”
“Huge green things with teeth, claws, scales. Horrible roaring. Payment in advance if he’ll come to me in the valley, and payment for his time if he simply shows up and declines my offer. Run along.”
He ran along. Shortly after, the other five servants trickled back to us. I bought them a meal, tipped them for their excellent work, and paid the proprietor of the establishment for the sixth man’s meal—he would have it when he returned. With this, I dismissed them and we went back to our hotel for some naps. We had a long road, tonight.
Night fell while I was in my room. The windows were shuttered, of course, and the drapes drawn, but I still relied on my armor for most of the light-proofing. As soon as I get back, I’m putting full-on enchantments in the thing. I did some preliminary work in that regard as soon as I was alone in my room.
Shortly after sunset, we set off with me on Bronze and everyone else in the cart. The kids ranged from eight to twelve and enjoyed the ride. My guards, on the other hand, were alert. I gathered they expected to be ambushed in the street. I kept both eyes peeled and a hand on Firebrand.
Nope, Firebrand confirmed. No hostile thoughts. No one is looking at you and actively thinking of doing you harm.
Good. Thanks.
We made it out of Sarashda without incident. No bricks thrown from high windows, no arrows from the darkness, no gangs of thugs from alleyways. I was almost disappointed, but that’s the grumpy me talking. At least it’s talking instead of murdering.
We crossed the open farmland surrounding Sarashda and the dirt track wound through a somewhat-wooded area on the way to an outlying village. Ahead, I saw the characteristic glow of live men and horses.
Okay, so, ambushed outside the city, where no one would see. Therefore, it had to be illegal. If I understand it properly, in a formal vendetta, violence is expected and condoned. I don’t know if there are any limits. As a result, Sarcana wouldn’t care where they hit us. So… a hit squad sponsored by the temple? I didn’t see the characteristic celestial blaze, but maybe they need to concentrate to summon holy powers. Or Tobar’s angrier employees and students? The ambushers were hard to sort out, but I counted at least ten. Were there so many people who would risk their lives to avenge his death? Or did they feel it wasn’t much of a risk at two-to-one odds?
I turned around and moved to sit on Bronze’s rump, facing backward while continued at a trot. Her version of a trot, that is.
“Velina?”
“Sir?” she answered, still jouncing and bouncing, riding out the irregularities of the Empire’s roads.
“Ambush up ahead, about ten people, with horses. Is there a road going around? Or do we charge through at high speed? Or do we force them into the open and fight?”
“Fight, by preference,” she decided. “There’s no other road, and I’m not keen on finding out what you call ‘high speed’.”
“Coming up.” I moved back into the saddle and we slowed to the speed of a normal trot—normal for a regular horse. I started conjuring. We were close enough together I could put a minor deflection spell on everyone. Minor in the sense it was specifically for low-velocity projectiles, not bullets. The locals might not go in for a lot of archery, but one arrow, even one well-placed sling stone, would be all it took.
Besides, it would make me feel even more guilty and angry if I lost someone, especially one of their adopted kids. Nobody wants that.
We continued to approach, slowing gradually, and finally stopped about a hundred yards away. We emerged from the woody area along the road, facing an open space like a meadow. The road ran through it and into another, more densely-wooded area.
Our would-be bushwhackers stayed in the shadows of the far treeline. At this distance, I couldn’t do much with tendrils, but I could touch them. There were ten. Eight of them wore heavy armor and the other two carried bows. I felt the magic of their arrows—some sort of penetrators, magical armor-piercing arrows. The bowmen only had two apiece. I presume they were expensive.
Everyone but the archers had defensive charms, which made me wonder. Were the archers less well-funded and therefore more vulnerable? Or did they feel safer at longer ranges, so they didn’t feel the need for such charms? Or was there some other reason?
I really need to look into their archery. As far as I can tell, they only have sharp, bladed arrowheads. If so, I’m not surprised they don’t regard archery as too useful. Those don’t penetrate armor well, but they do serious damage to flesh. If they only have hunting heads, not armor-piercing bodkin points, no wonder archery is less respected. Of course, it may also be regarded as socially inferior, as well. Not a lot of honor involved in shooting someone, perhaps.
When we stopped, everyone hopped off the cart and used it as cover. The guards strapped on shields and drew swords while the younger warriors picked up sticks and rocks, stacking them on the rear end of the cart. The ambushers didn’t like that we stopped, didn’t like that the troops in the cart deployed, and really didn’t like that I drew Firebrand. I left my saber locked in its scabbard. It was still a functional sword and by now quite sharp, but it deserved a little time off to recuperate.
By the light of Firebrand’s burning blade, I put my helmet on. I wanted them to see. On the other hand…
“Velina?” I called, quietly.
“Sir!”
“Stay there. Turn away. Shield your eyes to preserve your vision until it gets dark again.”
“Yes, sir.”
Firebrand burned white, shedding brilliance everywhere. I pulled the cords to release Bronze from the cart and stood up in the saddle to make myself a target. I held Firebrand over my head.
“I know you’re there,” I called. “Your ambush is ruined. All you have left is retreat or open combat. What will it be?”
Eight men in armor urged their horses onto the road, emerging from the shadow of the trees ahead. They picked their spot well. The road here was wide and ran through a clear, mostly-level area. If we had continued another fifty or more yards forward, anyone running would be an easy target for at least one, possibly two shots from each archer before reaching any sort of cover. If they were smart, they would have shot Bronze to ruin our mobility, swept in from the sides while the archers put armor-piercers into me, and finished us off in melee.
Of course, they clearly didn’t know what they were facing. But ignorance is not the same thing as stupidity.
“You provoked Tobar into a duel,” one shouted back. “You could not challenge him, so you tricked him.”
“Yep!”
“You admit it?”
“I’m proud of it. It proved his vanity was more important than his honor.”
They drew swords. Firebrand brightened further.
“Can you see me?” I called. “You see the fiery sword and the black armor? Do you have any idea what you’re getting into?”
Two arrows came my way and I whirled Firebrand in a blazing figure-eight. My deflection spell diverted the arrows, but nobody could tell why they missed. The glare and trailing white fire had to ruin the details. It was likely all they could tell was they missed—parried, perhaps, right out of the air. Bronze walked forward, slowly, to about halfway. We stopped there. Two more arrows came at me and I whirled Firebrand again, as though parrying the arrows.
“Seriously. You should get better archers.”
“Attack!”
Well, at least they used up their armor-piercing arrows. I still haven’t enchanted my armor. I’m not accustomed to enchanting suits of armor. Diogenes kept replacing them! But I’m about to enchant this one!
The cavalry kicked their horses and thundered toward us. From the spread of their line, the center two planned to engage me while the flankers headed for the cart.
Bronze said something to the horses. They all stopped short, completely without warning, quivering and snorting. No one was unseated, but a collection of curses rang through the night.
Firebrand blazed like an exploding searchlight, then dimmed to mere metal as we cut left, circling the immobile line. My cloak flowed onto my arm to become a shield. We took a run behind them, coming from their right to avoid their shields, and Firebrand’s greater reach cut into six of them. Most stayed on their horses as I swept by. They twisted in the saddle to try and engage me, but their night vision was gone, their horses not behaving correctly, and Bronze was too quiet to be an accurate gauge of our proximity and their danger.
Two were smarter than the rest. They immediately gave up on their horses. Clearly, something magical was happening, so they dismounted immediately and sprinted for the treeline until I finished my attacks on the others. Fearing they would be trampled, they stopped and went back-to-back. I don’t know how well they could see, but they might have had a chance to watch as the ones I hit either fell from the saddle. None of the fallen rose, but none of them died on the spot, either. Two started to crawl away.
I hooked us around to my left, heading into the trees on their side. This discouraged the two upright warriors from continuing into the trees and gave me a chance to find the archers. A cloud of inky, invisible tendrils persuaded the archers—still blinking and trying to see—to lie down.
Bronze gave the horses another order and the whole line of them moved off to
stand by the cart. They didn’t seem to mind the blood and fire, but being told what to do by Bronze was outside their normal experience. They didn’t like it one bit.
My warriors closed the distance quickly, seeing better by moonlight than the would-be ambushers. I took a moment to consume what I could of the archers’ spirits. Simply jerking the energies wholesale out of someone doesn’t imprint what they know all that well. Taking my time does a much better job of transferring their experience and memories. It’s like reading a book. Skimming over it quickly, you get the gist of it. Reading it slowly and carefully, you get the details. Of course, I don’t remember the details for long, but the impression remains.
When I finished, I turned my attention to the melee. The ones I wounded weren’t fighting much, if at all, being separated and half-blind. My warriors rolled over them like a steel dragon—all scales and sharpness. I checked quickly on the cart and kids. They still carried sticks and rocks, ready to swing or throw, but were now up on the cart, watching. The twelve-year-old, the eldest, was watching everything but the fight. The other two were watching their adopted mothers sprint into battle and kill people.
Shouldn’t there be a guard with the kids? Or is twelve old enough to act as sentry and guard? I guess it depends on the kid and how they’re raised. I’m not sure I trust a twelve-year-old to babysit, but, circumstances being what they are…
The two unwounded First were still back-to-back, defending themselves as their vision adapted to the dark again. Their shields and armor were a major advantage, and having a partner to defend one’s back made their fight a serious one. By the time my warriors finished the others, the other two were ready. I don’t know where I would have put my money. Two-to-one odds, yes, but heavy armor versus lighter swords? There were a lot of factors to consider.
Bronze carried me up to the melee. I dismounted and Firebrand flickered slightly.
“You four—work on the other one. I’ll take this one.”
They redeployed on the taller one while I faced the other. He licked his lips and couldn’t take his eyes off the lines of fire tracing Firebrand’s striations.