The Key To The Grave (#2 The Price Of Freedom)

by Chris Northern

  We followed the guard into the keep, and climbed a narrow stair. I could have brought him down then, but there was another guard at the entrance behind us. We would not get out of here without raising an alarm, so for now I decided to wait and see what happened. I was tense, yet oddly calm. If it came to violence, as I was now half convinced it must, then I was ready. The stairway led to a chamber some twenty feet square; a spiral stair led off to the left, and ahead of us a larger doorway into a hall. To the right was another door and our guide gestured that way. “Wait in there,” he said.

  The three of us stepped inside. It was a small chamber, simply furnished. A wrought iron brazier filled with hot coals stood against one wall; a large table set four-square in the middle of the room; a chest, a bench and a single comfortable chair near the brazier. A deeply cut arrow slit provided light enough to see by. The shutters and heavy curtain that would keep out the cold of the night were pulled back. The keep walls were smoothly plastered and painted white, marked with the simple geometric shapes favored in the north.

  He left us there, and we were alone for the moment.

  “You have a plan?” Sapphire asked.

  “Not really, no. If we have to fight our way out of here the entrance isn't far.” I looked around the room. “It could be worse, he could have brought us into the main hall, we could have been greeted by Tahal and Ishal and been surrounded by the chieftain's warriors and Ishal's men.”

  “And then?” Dubaku asked.

  “Then it would have gotten ugly,” I said.

  #

  We three turned to the door when it opened. The guard was back, and with him an older man, something over fifty years. The chieftain himself. His clothing was expensive, imported from the west. I recognized the style. I guessed he was wearing something in the region of three hundred coins of material. He was not a poor man, but he was a worried one. His bearded face was creased in a frown of concern and he assessed us warily as he entered the room and crossed to the head of the table. He bowed to me respectfully as the guard closed the door and stood with his back to it.

  “Ernath Epwhel,” he introduced himself. “Welcome to my domain, citizen.” He spoke the language of the city with some skill but a poor accent.

  “Sumto Merian Ichatha Cerulian, patron of the city. What gave me away?”

  He looked puzzled. “You wear a stone of the city magic in your forehead, Sumto Cerulian. If not a noble of the city, what would you be; an agent? An enemy thief of city magic?”

  I am, I sometimes have to admit to myself, an idiot. I turned to Sapphire, then remembered the moment when we had been discussing going into the town, when he had gestured to my face, saying that it was unwise to underestimate the intelligence of the enemy. I'd completely failed to interpret the gesture. He'd been indicating the stone, as much as saying; “How can you keep your origin secret with that fixed to your skull? Who won't recognize you?” That is what he had meant. Yet he had said nothing. At some time I would ask him about it, but now didn't seem a good moment.

  There was nothing left to do but brazen it out. “Ishal Laharek is an enemy of the city, he holds captive a noblewoman of the city. I want her freed.”

  He nodded, as though he already knew these things. Maybe he did. “I regret I dare not act against the Necromancer, much as I desire good relations with you and your people. And Tahal is also a city man; either way I offend one of you.”

  Damn. I hadn't thought of that, but decided to focus on the Necromancer “Why not? Ishal is one man, with perhaps a dozen warriors, you command more men than he.”

  Ernath lowered his gaze, then looked up, pleading. “Sumto Cerulian, he and his kind hold members of my family. If I do not cooperate with them, he has promised they will be returned to me, not living and yet not dead.” The fear of anticipated pain was clear in his eyes, his face and his voice. “I am taking a risk even talking to you, even here in my own keep where my word is law. He has my daughters. If he knew...”

  I nodded. I have no children of my own so I could not imagine what fear he must be feeling. The lives of his daughters meant nothing to me, but I did understand that they meant everything to him. I had never felt anything remotely similar, yet I knew he would do nothing that risked their lives. What would it be like, to have your daughters brought back to you as zombies? Their spirits trapped in unliving and unresponsive flesh? What would you feel? What would you do? I had no idea, and didn't want to know. I noticed that the guard was watching me intently, as though judging my reaction. “Yet you are taking this risk. Why?”

  “The lives and well-being of my people are in my hands. Their lives are my responsibility. Ishal and his kind rule by terror, they care nothing for the people they rule and make no provision for their well-being. I would not have my people labor under their yoke. I've heard of the places they rule; the people have nothing; everything is taken from them to be “redistributed” at the whim of their masters. They say they serve the people, but to us the lie is so obvious as to be obscene. They take the best for themselves, their minions control the rest, and the people receive back little or nothing of what they themselves produce. Those who object are punished; in each square there are severed heads begging for release; in each town there are living dead, once members of the community, who act as guards to the Necromancers; and as a reminder. The people live in fear of a similar fate, and in poverty, as nothing they produce belongs to them. Like many in the mountains, I dare not oppose them openly, yet what little I can do, I will do.”

  What could he do? I gave it some thought.

  “How many are they? What lands do they control? How close simmers rebellion to the surface?” Sapphire was suddenly animated and full of questions. “How many men do they have under arms? How loyal are they? Spread over how large an area?”

  Ernath raised one hand to stem the tide. “Wait. I understand what it is you need and I will set pen to paper and answer all those questions and more, but now I think it best that you leave. If we are seen talking...” he gestured to my face, and this time I knew what was meant. Who I was was written there for anyone with wit to see it. His lack of loyalty would be plainly seen also, and punished.

  “Write your letter. We will wait, north of town. Send it to us when we you are done. We'll watch for you.”

  Sapphire nodded, seemingly satisfied.

  “I will send my son, Dannat,” he gestured to the guard and the man inclined his head, acknowledging the order.

  “Just past the mill-race at the north of town there is path into some woodland. At the end of the path is a ruin, I can find you there, if that suits you,” Dannat said.

  It did.

  #

  “We are followed.”

  I wasn't surprised as I twisted in the saddle to look back. After all, we were expecting Dannat to follow us; though it was a bit soon. We were barely out of the town, the bridges still in sight. Behind us I could see two riders. That was one rider too many.

  I looked ahead; here was the mill that Dannat had mentioned, squat brick by the side of the river. I could hear the mill race, see the turning of the wheel that powered the mill. City work, like the bridge.

  “We'll take the path Dannat told us about,” I decided, “then wait for them, if they follow us, and challenge them out of sight.”

  Sapphire nodded.

  “Could be nothing to do with us,” I muttered.

  Sapphire nodded again.

  The trail up into the woods was rocky and narrow and muddy; made by sheep. Good enough but we had to follow it in single file. Not ideal. Still I didn't doubt that this was the path Dannat had mentioned and he had said it led to a ruin and where there is a ruin there is a flat area around it. As it happens we didn't go so far; after a few hundred yards of mild incline the path spilled suddenly onto a broad meadow that sloped gently down to the south. I turned and rode onto the meadow, turning in a circle and pulling in tight to a dense hedge. No one on the path would see me. It would do.

  Withou
t a word Sapphire took up station a little behind and beside me. Dubaku further back. I drew my sword and heard Sapphire do likewise.

  We didn't have to wait long. It felt like forever. Long enough to worry. Here I was, sword in hand, ready to kill; but I wasn't ready. Memories surfaced; faces of men as I killed them. Blood. Pain, horror and anguish on their faces. Surprise. The waiting moments as they froze, mind and body waiting, trying to cope with the new experience, the dawning horror that the blade was in them, cold and killing them. Working mouth with no words, or sometimes foolish words I tried not to think about. I tried not to think at all. Sapphire had said something about that once; I tried to remember what it was but couldn't. Apart from trying to remember, and listening, there was nothing to think about apart from who was on our trail and why. There were candidates but I was still surprised when they appeared.

  And relieved.

  It was Meran and an army scout.

  The scout came first; he had his eyes on the path and jumped in the saddle when he became aware of us, reaching for his sword.

  “Hold!” I commanded. By then Meran had come into sight. “Relax, soldier! You have found who you are looking for.”

  Meran grinned and pointed unerringly at where the soldier's arse was raised out of the saddle. “I think you made him shit himself, patron.”

  Only the release of tension made me laugh. It wasn't that funny. Certainly the scout didn't think so; red-faced he growled something about 'hostile territory' and glowered about generally, turning his horse this way and that as though expecting sudden attack from another source.

  I slipped my sword back to where it could do no harm and slid out of the saddle, wincing from the still painful burns.

  “We will stop here for now,” I ordered, gesturing down the meadow, which was clear of trees and gave a good enough view of Twobridges below.

  “Across the trail, in the trees,” Sapphire added. “From here we can be seen.”

  I looked. I could just make out figures moving in the town. I could pick out the individual masons working on the walls of the keep. He was right. From there, in this open space we could be seen by enemy and ally alike.

  I didn't make a fuss about being corrected, just led my horse across the trail and into the woods, talking as I went.

  “Why are you here, Meran? I thought I made my instructions clear.”

  “You did, patron. Lead them north at no great speed. Well enough, but Lendrin Treleth has been difficult. He was expecting you, patron. He is of equestrian rank. I am a freedman. He refuses to accept my authority over the men, and the first centurion is his man.” Meran shrugged. “There was little I could do there, except give him your instructions to me. He accepted that, at least. He is moving slowly.”

  I was frowning. Trying not to grind my teeth. Trying not to let the anger rise and get a hold of me. As far as I was concerned this knight was questioning my authority and subverting my troops, usurping my command. Even if I wasn't there, it was my command and I placed officers where I saw fit. I had given Meran a command position, but I had to admit I had given him no symbol of authority. I had intended to, but hadn't done it. It was, in part my own fault, and making mistakes made me angry. I guess I am no different than most men in that regard.

  “I'll put it in writing,” I growled. “Let the first centurion ignore my written command and I'll hang the bastard.”

  Meran was rummaging through his pack, having tied the reins of his mount to a branch. “There is a letter from Lendrin Treleth.”

  “You!” I barked at the lightly armored scout. “What's your rank?”

  He saluted, still in the saddle. “I am an auxiliary scout, sir.”

  I jerked a thumb at Meran. “This man is my deputy commander, understood?”

  “Yes, patron. Understood, patron.”

  “Good. Now get off that damn horse and go keep an eye on the town. I want to know if anyone leaves.”

  He saluted again and moved to obey.

  I took the letter that Meran was holding for me and broke the seal. As I started to read my face flushed with further ire. It was basically a list of complaints, demands, commands, and orders. I was aware of Meran pulling a portable writing tablet from behind his saddle, fixing the legs, unfolding a camp chair, and setting out paper and ink and a pen. I ignored it while I paced up and down and read, muttering such epithets as 'impudent bastard' under my breath, dropping the letter to my side as I seethed for a moment before I lifted the letter and read on.

  “The white rod is in my saddlebags,” I growled to him. I didn't have my seal but the white rod had an imperial symbol engraved into one end, and that would do well enough.

  I wrote this letter:

  Lendrin Treleth,

  I am Sumto Merian Ichatha Cerulian. My ancestors include Chatha Ceru and Rian Ian, whom you may have heard of if you have read the histories of the city I am proud to be a patron of; they are, should you be in ignorance, two of the founders of the city. My ancestors are of the Founding Families, and my family has served as Patrons since that time, and all have held public office to the highest office for over seven hundred years. That is who I am. My roots go deep; my family is ancient and vast.

  Who are you, Lendrin Treleth? A client of my father, I am informed. I do not recognize your name and that tells me that it is not a name worthy of recognition, that your family has sprung up overnight like a mushroom and may be picked and eaten as a passing fancy.

  The men you are commanding are mine! You are a private citizen! You have no authority over my command. Should you order them to any action you are inviting my men to mutiny. Should they obey you they are guilty of mutiny.

  You I will prosecute.

  Them I will hang.

  Meran Cerulian (note the name!) is a member of my family, my freedman and my client and my officer in a command position as my aide. His orders are my orders and are to be obeyed by all of my command. For your sake I hope this is all clear to you, Lendrin Treleth.

  Now to other matters.

  There are Alendi and other refugees from the battle of the Eyrie in the north fomenting unrest among the clans of the hills. This may effect your plans to set up a trading post here, though I have not witnessed sufficient numbers to seriously threaten two hundred soldiers of the city. My orders to my men, through my Aide, are that they continue north and engage such Alendi and others who present a clear threat. Otherwise, the communities they may encounter are to be circumvented and bypassed, this is to include the town of Twobridges specifically, due to intelligence gathered by myself. That, Lendrin Treleth, is why I will not be returning to your position as 'requested' in your letter to me. I will continue north as far as I choose and continue to send intelligence back to my Aide who may relay that intelligence to you should he decide it is necessary. My men will follow me, at a pace set by my Aide. You may choose to continue with them and under their protection. Yourself, your drovers, your mules and your trade goods will be protected should you choose to continue. Do not think to approach any settlement or begin to construct a trading post until such time as I approve your action. This is a military decision and you will, as a private citizen, obey it on pain of confiscation of your goods by my authority. When I have approved, and you have agreed an appropriate location, my men will safeguard you until such protection is deemed unnecessary.

  Sumto Merian Ichatha Cerulian

  I signed with care and attention and reached for the sand that Meran was waiting to pass to me. I folded the letter, took the wax he had burning by then and sealed the letter using the embossed symbol of the white rod. I then wrote a brief letter of authority, naming him my aide and second in command, with full authority in my absence. I put the seal and my signature to that, also.

  “Parade the men and read this to them. If you get any arguments from the first centurion, remove him, hang him. Don't hesitate.”

  Meran saluted. “Yes patron.”

  “Your orders are to be obeyed. Don't leave anyone in any
doubt about it. And as for this merchant client of my father's, when you speak to him remember that you are Meran Cerulian, a member of my family by law and that he is only an equestes; any slight to you is a slight to me and to my father and my ancestors. Don't tolerate it.”

  He bowed his head, “I accept the honor and the responsibility.”

  “You already did. Don't forget it again, my friend. Now, let's get something to eat and relax. I have questions for you.”

  #

  “Did you ever travel here?”

  Dusk was settling around us. We had cooked and eaten around a single fire. I'd asked Sapphire to relieve the scout and send him back to eat.

  Meran shrugged. “Only to raid, just as they raided us.”

  I frowned. “But the Alendi far outnumber the clans...” I made it a question.

  He shook his head. “Only in times of war. In other times the clans of the Alendi are the same as here, scattered chieftains looking to their own people. I think,” he said, “that it's the main difference between what you call barbarians and civilized lands.”

  I thought about this for a moment. “So the Alendi here won't form another army?”

  He shrugged. “Who can say? The warlord died at the Eyrie, so maybe the remaining warbands will unite under a new warlord, maybe not. Maybe some of the clans will join them, maybe not. Who can say?” He chewed his lip and thought about; I didn't press him. “The survivors and latecomers to the battle at the Eyrie may join up briefly,” he said, “but there will be new chieftains to be chosen, and then they must elect a warlord if enough of them desire it. Then the clans must be won over, and after they have heard word of the Eyrie they will not be keen on the idea, I'd guess. Either the Alendi and the others band together or they go their separate ways, but for certain there is no going back to their own lands. Either some of the clans join with them, are destroyed by them, are conquered, or raided or flee, depending...” he shrugged. “And add into this the necromancers and what influence they have and who can say?” He shrugged again.