by AJ Adams
“It’s done.” The smith sounded cheery. “Very nice. Unusual, too. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Ware let go and stepped back. “Do you have a mirror?”
The shining glass reflected back my image. I saw my eyes, dark and surprised, and the shock of my hair, short and bold. There was something shiny around my neck.
My iron collar, pitted all over and rusty in spots, had been replaced by a silver band. Ware had converted part of his war spoils, a silver cup, into a collar. It was worth a fortune, fifty times what he’d paid for me.
“This will set the city talking,” the smith said. “Fletcher’s thrall and her silver collar will be one of the sights of Prydain.”
Ware’s eyes were gazing into mine. “What do you think, Lind?” he asked softly.
I thought of the living dead on the hurdles and knew I’d reached my limit. Ware wasn’t anything like Jarvis or the others; he was a cunning, devious, dangerous madman, capable of torture and murder.
If I weren’t careful, he might do a lot worse than whip me. I’d get away but I’d have to be careful. I swallowed the screaming rage that swelled in my heart, dipped my head and folded. “I love it. It’s so pretty.”
Ware paused and then smiled. “I thought you would.” His hand moved through my hair, stroking softly in reward. I’d performed, and he was pleased with me. “Tender beauty.”
Chapter Five: Fletcher
She dipped her head, saying, “I love it. It’s so pretty.” Lind made it look good, but I’d seen her eyes.
My little thrall was rebellious, but she’d seen the thugs on the hurdles and she knew I’d been involved. She was thinking I might hurt her, and that fear was making her careful. It also meant she’d run from me the second she thought she was out of my reach. It wasn’t a step backwards; it was a leap.
It was ironic because I’d gone all out to further my quest for revenge. It hadn’t been easy following up the lead on the raven’s crest. It’s one thing to fight off armed robbers, but nobles don’t like it when others try to usurp their powers. I may be a master craftsman and damn useful, but persuading Eward Greenwood, the constable, that I needed access to the thugs had been a job in itself.
At first he thought I’d come to show him my latest work. “Ware, we need a man like you. I’d like to offer you a permanent position.”
“Thank you, sir. I’m honoured. But I must respectfully refuse.”
“We worked well together in Volgard.”
“Yes, but I must decline.”
“Are you worried about the dispute between our cities? The duke holds no grudge, nor do I. We all did our duty.”
“Thank you, sir, but it’s impossible.”
Eward wasn’t giving up. “You’ve been in the eastern continent the last two years, right? If you’re concerned, I should tell you the duke has made true peace with Llanfaes.”
“It’s a relief, but I’m not looking for work.”
The brown eyes raked me briefly. “How about a year-by-year contract?”
“I regret I cannot.”
“Six months.”
“Sorry.”
Eward sighed. “Well, at least show me your latest designs.” That’s when he noticed I wasn’t carrying my gear. “Ware, you came without your equipment. What’s this about?”
“Sir, there was an incident this morning.”
“I heard. Well done. Fine work.”
“Thank you.”
Eward was busy, shoving a pile of scrolls into a secretary’s arms and waving me to sit down. That shows you how much I’m valued. Eward Greenwood is a knight, a cousin of the duke’s and therefore noble. Protocol dictates only nobles sit in the presence of each other. Even the Guild steward doesn’t sit in ducal palaces. But like I said, we’d gotten along well in Volgard. I took a chair.
Eward grinned at me. “You removed three thugs from our streets and I’m grateful. Ever since the Beasts razed Brighthelme, we’ve been flooded with migrants. We don’t have enough housing or work so they take to thieving. Some are worse. We had a nasty murder-rape last week. A thrall out on an errand had her throat cut.”
“The nine cities have been warring too long.”
“It’s the way of the world.” He settled into his chair. Clearly he’d jumped to the wrong conclusion about my coming to see him. “There’s no need to report, you know. Your membership of the Guild means the justiciar will draw the proper conclusions and declare you the victim.”
It hadn’t even occurred to me that they might lodge a counter accusation, but I smiled. “Thank you, sir.”
Eward thought I was living in the past. “The dispute between our cities is over. Some of our people harbour grudges, it’s unavoidable, but very soon we’ll be good friends again.”
“Yes, of course.” At any other time I’d be happy about that and hoping to mend fences, but all I could think about was the funeral pyre back on the farm.
The anger must have shown somehow, and Eward’s instincts were kicking in. “They’ll get ten lashes each, I’ll warrant. But that’s not why you’re here, is it?”
I had to tell him the truth, but I couldn’t find it in me to start. Loss ripped through me.
“Ware?” He was staring at me, his eyes filled with concern. “By Wotan’s spear, what is it?”
“My family are dead, and I think one of those men may know something about the man who ordered it.”
Eward’s eyes snapped to instant attention. “Who?”
“Ranulf, a self-styled knight of Tanweld.”
“Gods! He’s reached Llanfaes?”
“Yes. You know of him?”
“He’s a pest. Other Tanweld lords attack travellers, but he steals to order. He’s rich, cunning and organised.”
“Why hasn’t the Duke of Tanweld dealt with him?”
“He sent a troop of men to take him down, but they were hopelessly unprepared. Ranulf’s manor, Raven’s Keep, lies deep in the forest. They got lost for a month, losing half their men to starvation, and when they finally found the place they were stymied by the keep’s walls. They hung around for a week and then went home.”
“Sounds like a disaster.”
“Well, Tanweld has been disputing with Haven. The duke doesn’t think a robber baron is worth his time.” Eward poured out more wine. “What did your duke say? Will Llanfaes help?”
“I didn’t see him.”
The constable sighed. “You’re still at outs?”
“You could put it that way.” I wasn’t in the mood to discuss the past. “Anyway, the Duke of Llanfaes is at Brighthelme, helping them repair the city. I didn’t think it worth waiting.”
“I think you were right,” Eward said slowly. “The nine dukes are too stretched to deal with problems outside their strongholds.”
Prydain sounded as if it was in trouble, but this wasn’t the time to talk politics. “Can you tell me about Ranulf, sir?”
The constable was thinking. “He has some fifty or sixty men. He robs travellers, mainly.”
“He sent men all the way to Llanfaes.”
“Yes, that is worrisome. We heard he was behind a robbery of a shrine near Haven last year, too,” Eward said quietly.
“Surely that’s something the dukes should put a stop to?”
“Yes, of course. Our official view is that the Duke of Tanweld will deal with Ranulf soon enough.”
Neither of us would say it out loud, but the truth is that Caern was still rebuilding. The duke’s tower was complete, as were the walls and most of the homes that belonged to the rich, but vast areas of the city were in a mess. Caern couldn’t afford to chase Ranulf.
With Tanweld being preoccupied with disputes, too, there was no point in going there, either. Clearly law and order in Prydain was disintegrating.
So I tried again. “Sir, I have just cause for vengeance. And it’s everyone’s interest to crush rogue knights.”
Eward sighed. “I suppose you have a point. But we won’t be invest
igating this.”
“I will. And to help me, may I speak to the three men that were apprehended? One wore Ranulf’s device. They may know something.”
“Those thugs are now subject to the laws of Caern. And you know as well as I that fletchers, even master craftsmen, cannot interfere in our justice system.”
The black need for revenge throbbed in my gut. “Sir, how can I change your mind?”
Eward hesitated. “What happened with the Serif of Flamestead?”
“He wanted to blind me, so I strangled him.”
“And burned down his castle?”
“I needed cover for my escape.”
“Flamestead castle had stood for six generations.”
“Then he should have known a man of honour keeps his word.”
Eward burst out laughing. “By Wotan’s spear, I’ll do it! I’ll help you get to Ranulf, and I look forward to hearing of the whoreson’s demise!”
“Thank you.”
“I believe in you, but my duke doesn’t know you like I do.” Eward was making a bargain. “I will need to persuade him when he returns that I was right to grant you access.” He was smiling at me. “Like I said, we’re looking for the services of a master fletcher.”
I’d get what I wanted in return for service. “Sir, I must go to Tanweld.”
“And you shall. But first you work here, replenishing my stock. After that, you accompany our convoy to Tanweld. We’re sending thirty carts filled with goods, and we’ll be glad of your services. You can go as chief bowman, maybe, or perhaps we can put you in charge of the rangers.”
It irked me, being forced into a deal, but I had no choice. Guild members don’t hire themselves out as bowmen or rangers, but as I had to head for Tanweld there was an upside. The roads are dangerous, so it’s always better to travel with a party.
Also, as I’m a Guild member and a master craftsman, not even a lowly job can touch my honour. At least, that’s what I thought at the time. I really was a damn fool back then. I’d worked as bowman and ranger before but always on a voluntary basis. I had no idea that taking a formal position would be completely different.
So I was sanguine. “How long do you want me here?”
“A month. At Guild rates,” Eward added.
That hurt. As a master craftsman I usually earn triple the set Guild rates. I had the suspicion that despite the protestations of friendship, a small part of the Caern constable was enjoying getting one over on a Llanfaes fletcher.
“You want my Annihilators?” Everyone wants the armour piercing arrows. Also, by fixing exact terms, he couldn’t get his hands on my latest creation, the stone shattering Thunderclap.
Eward isn’t Guild, so the legal niceties of the bargain passed him by. “Yes. A month’s worth of them. And I want some Flamethrowers, too.”
“For one month, I will make you Thunderclaps and Flamethrowers. Agreed.” I gave him an evil grin back. “And you pay top rate for the security job to Tanweld.”
“Done.” Eward put out his hand and we shook on it. “What do you need?”
“A quiet word.”
He stood up. “You can have several noisy ones if you like.”
They’d stripped and chained them, hanging them in shackles. Two were bruised and bleeding, partly from my steel edged boots, but they’d also been badly used. Rape isn’t just punishment for women; it destroys men, too. The third was hanging limply, not breathing. By the look of it, violation had killed him.
The chief jailor was there, making excuses. The justiciar, a small dapper fellow in green velvet, had swelled like a frog. He was bleating like one, too. “Have you tried to revive him?”
“Of course, sir. Water, vinegar and a beating. But he died!”
“The duke expects me to flog him tomorrow,” the frog bleated on. “We can’t whip a dead man. How can justice be done, and be seen to be done, if there’s no punishment?”
Eward interrupted. “Sir! A word with you, Justiciar?”
So they weren’t friends. Eward is an informal man and so the emphasis on rank and title meant he didn’t like the frog. That might complicate matters.
The two murmured together and then the justiciar was looking down in the mouth. “Well then, Constable, if you insist.” He turned to the jailers. “Sir Eward has brought it to my attention that these men may be involved with enemies of Caern. As such, it is a matter for security.”
Now there’s strategy! With a few simple words, Eward had taken control. It was so superbly done that the justiciar walked off, adding a sulky parting shot, “I leave it to you, Constable, to inform the duke of this death.”
Nasty. I could see why Eward loathed the frog. He got his way, but he’d be blamed for a corpse that had nothing to do with him.
He turned to me, “Ware, have you ever been present at an interrogation?”
“No, sir.”
“It’s not like being in the heat of battle.” The brown eyes measured me. “It can be unpleasant.”
“I’ll rip them apart if it gets me to Ranulf.”
“We have an expert who’ll do that.”
The duke’s torturer was a slight man, dark and skinny. He took his orders and went to work.
He set up a pail of burning coals and produced pincers. The two thugs had stiffened, the short one looking petrified and the bear trying but failing to act unconcerned.
“You wear the device of Ranulf, rogue knight of Tanweld,” Eward announced. “Where do we find him?”
The bear shook his head. “You’re mistaken. We don’t know him.”
“Come now. You wear the raven.”
“It’s a mistake!” The little coward squealed. “This is our own design!”
It was patently a lie. “Torturer, put them to the question.”
The torturer pushed the pincers into the burning coals and waited. Time stretched. I knew I was simply a witness, but even so my skin crawled. In my mind, I could feel the pincers burn.
I’d never seen an official questioning, so I wasn’t sure what to expect. However, by looking at the thugs, I would’ve started on the braver bear, just to open up the cowardly short-arse.
The torturer, however, addressed the coward first, “Where do we find Ranulf?”
There was a second’s pause, and then he applied the pincers, twisting a fold of skin at the man’s waist. The coward screamed and the bear vomited. A stench of burning flesh flooded the dungeon.
“Where?”
Another scream.
“Where?”
Scream.
“Where do we find Ranulf?”
Six more burns, and then the scream cut off halfway. The coward had fainted. The whole session had taken less than two minutes.
The torturer turned to the constable. “He’s stubborn. This will take all night.”
“We’ll wait.”
Eward didn’t seem concerned, but to my mind this was inefficient.
“Where do we find Ranulf?”
The bear was now put to question. Just like before, the torturer gave his victim too little time to talk. This was going to be a disaster.
“Sir, a suggestion?”
I spoke softly, persuasively but the torturer turned on me, angry at any interference in his domain. “If you haven’t the stomach for this, leave!”
As he went back to his business, I turned to the constable. “Sir, I think there’s a better way.”
“This works,” he assured me comfortably. “We get results.”
I nodded, but when the bear fainted, unconscious before saying a word, I knew they were wrong.
As the torturer set about reviving his victims, Eward was reassuring me. “The law says we may question them for four bells. They’ll speak well before that.”
That’s Caern law. The duke allows only the justiciar and constable to order torture, and they’re limited to a period of four bells. If the accused doesn’t confess within that time, he goes free. It’s a good law because it protects the innocent from confes
sing to avoid endless agony, but now I was wishing I had the power to overrule it.
“Everyone talks,” Eward assured me. “We’ve plenty of time.”
“Perhaps, sir. But as it is, they’ll be unconscious for most of that time. If I might talk to them, persuade them, I think we’d have a better chance of success.”
“Ware, we all know your ways,” the constable was cheery. “You prefer diplomacy and cunning strategy over confrontation. But this is where we need action.”
That really took me aback. “Sir, I am a fletcher, but I have worked among archers and been in countless battles.” Surely he hadn’t forgotten we’d fought on opposite sides seven years ago. “I am a man of action!”
“You fight to perfect your knowledge for your craft. As for your role in the dispute here, you did that out of loyalty to your own city and even then only as a last resort because your duke’s man was killed.”
Trust Eward to know and remember the details. “Perhaps, but whether I was appointed or not, I got the job done.”
“You’re intelligent, Ware. You know it’s better to win by negotiation than force. Yet when you do engage, you’re ruthless.” The brown eyes were serious. “With better birth, you would’ve made a fine constable. With noble birth, you might have ruled a city.”
I just stared at him. “Thank you, sir.” He was mad. I was nothing like the man he thought me to be.
Eward smiled. “How’s that feisty little thrall of yours?”
“She tried to kill me last night.”
It just slipped out. For a moment I cursed myself but then Eward was collapsing in laughter. “I thought she’d be a handful. What did you do?”
“Took her shopping.”
Eward had to wipe his eyes at that. “Classic,” he hiccoughed. “See? Anyone else would have whipped her! But you choose to engage.”
“Well, sir, a whipping would do no good.”
“Perhaps, although I’m not sure I could’ve stopped myself,” he confessed. “And you’re keeping her? Schooling her like you did that horse of yours?”
“Yes.”
“Promise you’ll tell me how it goes.”