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

by Chris Northern

  Dubaku looped it round my chest, found the other end and tightened it, slipping the tongue through the eye and securing the buckle. I moved, rolled my shoulders, raised my arms above my head, then tightened the belt at my waist another notch, all the while watched by my men, though I could see little enough of them. I didn't doubt they saw me as a shadow against the light behind me. I didn't worry about the archers. Their night vision was ruined by the torches. I could walk half way across the square without them seeing a thing. Satisfied that the sheathed weapon wasn't going anywhere, I could move.

  “What are you doing?” The drover whispered, his surprise at my actions and obvious intent bringing him to something like sanity.

  “The roof,” I whispered back. “The archers have to go. Dannat, bring the men on when I'm up. Dubaku, can you blind them?”

  “I hope, Sumto, that I can.”

  Gods. Sometimes the spirits didn't come when called, I remembered. Hope wasn't good enough.

  “If not that, think of something else. Quickly.”

  “I will. I am. Good luck.”

  “Luck be damned.” I turned and moved away before I could think more on the matter. It would work. Tonight these bastards died. The fear was feeding my anger.

  I walked softly, watching the bowmen and giving Dubaku time, letting him judge it. I snatched glances at the corner of the building where I intended to climb. I made it seventeen or eighteen feet straight up. The darkness made me unsure but it looked climbable. A big block to start, a couple of paving slabs worked into the corner, another bigger block. Foot on one block, hand on the other and other hand on the third. I was tall. I could do it. The archers fell silent. I moved faster.

  “What the...”

  I didn't pay any more attention to them, a few fast paces and I was at the corner, reaching high, foot up and just finding purchase, other foot higher, I gripped and pulled. It hurt my hand but I reached and pulled again, moving one limb at a time. I moved as fast as I dared, ignoring the voices that questioned, then cursed. The belt across my chest snagged on the bottom of a block and I had to stop, drop, lean back and move on, mindful not to let it happen again. The roof was close. I didn't know how long I had. I tried not to think about it. My head came over the lip of the roof and I snatched a glance before pulling myself over, unmindful now of the noise I made. Any noise might be covered by the din coming from below and I didn't have time to be fussy. I scrambled over the top and got to my feet, reaching back for the hilt of my blade and hoping I'd find it. The archers were together at the edge of the roof, each with a hand on the other's shoulder, bitching about their plight and cursing but not doing anything. I grinned fiercely, finding the hilt of my sword, pulled it awkwardly free and moved forward.

  Then their darkness lifted. The one facing me over the shoulder of his fellow saw me and pushed him into turning and bellowed a warning. That one reached for a knife as he was turning. His eyes widened as he saw me and he began to crouch, pulling the knife free and trying to step away from my thrusting blade, much too late. As my blade slid into him I relaxed my sword arm and shouldered into him, knocking him back and all but jumping over him; he fell into his fellow, who went down under our combined weight. I landed on the dying man with one knee and pushed myself up with the other, my foot well braced on the roof. I wrenched my blade free of him as I lurched forward, bringing the sword in front of me and stabbing down as I stepped forward heavily to catch my balance. My foot came down at his side and the point of my blade slammed into the centre of his forehead, knocking his head back and bashing his skull on the roof. He howled and twisted, rolled hard against my leg and overturned me. My guts lurched as I went over the edge with no hope of doing anything else. The fall lasted long enough to swear and twist pointlessly in the air before I hit the ground hard. The wind came out of me explosively and I found myself lying on my side facing the door. Nothing hurt until I moved. Then my left arm screamed at me. I wanted to swear but couldn't breathe. I tucked my left arm slowly against my chest and hoped it wasn't broken, then forced myself to my knees, taking my weight partly on my one good arm. I was a foot from the door, facing it.

  “The drunk probably fell of the damn roof,” a voice said, coming from just the other side of the door.

  True, I thought. I'd lost my sword; I looked for it and saw it behind me and to my right, turned to reach for it and sucked in my first lungful of air just as the door opened. A big gutted man with a heavy black beard looked down at me.

  “Who the...?”

  The sword was too far away. I had only a moment to act. I bunched my fist and slammed it into his groin, ducking into the blow and putting my shoulder into it. He folded and I slammed my head up so that the back of my skull smashed into his face. I remembered to grit my teeth just in time. A flash of white light burst behind my eyes. My grunt of pain was for the movement in my arm not the impact. I was aware that he went over backwards, crumbled into a heap in the doorway, though I wasn't paying attention. I got one foot under me and reached back for my sword, stepped up as soon as I had a grip on it, turned into the open doorway and walked through.

  Only two men were aware of me, the rest intent on their own business. I grinned as I stepped in, left arm still pressed against my chest, swinging my blade hard and fast to kill one and then the other before they could do much more than begin to move. A couple of shocked faces turned my way but still the room was mostly unaware of me. The lower spine above a pair of pale, bare buttocks was my next target; I slid the blade home with deliberate care, not wanting to slice open the slender legs that he was holding up with both hands

  “Why, you bast...” A big man, maybe a blacksmith who'd been sitting and watching, didn't finish his thought before he felt my sword in his mouth. He wasn't even reaching for a weapon.

  I maimed or killed two more before the room was full enough of my own men that I could put my back to the wall and let them get on with it. They didn't hold back.

  I was drinking beer long before they were done, but when the drovers wanted to settle into torturing the survivors I put a stop to it.

  It took time to get control of them. Time to finish the survivors and more to loot the place and get the men moving. Every moment's delay made me nervous and I longed for more experienced soldiers. Luck alone kept other scavengers from finding us in disarray.

  I was sick at heart as we trudged back through the town. I could hear other screams in the night, other laughter. The women could hear it as well and every scream was echoed with a sob or a whimper, a gasp. I didn't dare try and bring anyone else out of it. It would have to wait. They would have to suffer. I hated myself for it but if we stayed longer there was a chance of a force gathering against us. It was a risk I was already taking and counted us lucky as, although we weren't alone in the streets, all of those we saw were small groups and none came close enough to threaten. Every available hand was laden with sacks, bundles and boxes and casks containing hams, cheeses, bread, and most importantly, beer. All the way back through the city I hoped we wouldn't run into a mob; if you drop a cask of beer to reach for a weapon, the cask breaks.

  When we got back to the enclosure Jek was waiting for me. He'd brought the magistrate in and the magistrate had brought over a hundred people with him.

  #

  The compound was bristling with activity.

  The population of my embryonic community had more than doubled in my absence. The open space between the warehouses was full of people. Cooking fires and torches burned everywhere. The well was in constant use. Dozens of men carried a variety of goods from the warehouses and stacked them against walls outside. The space was needed for people. Through the efforts of Jek and Pradas, many had come to shelter beneath the protective wing of the patron who had come from the city bringing a cohort of city soldiers with him, a cohort or a legion depending on who was spinning the tale. I wondered how many had come out of fear of us.

  I stood on the steps to the merchant's house and watched them. And th
ey watched me. I could see them looking as they went about their tasks, settled to eat what might be their first decent meal in days, talked, comforted each other, swapped news and gossip. Some smiled as their gazes rested on me; some frowned thoughtfully. My clients, every one of them.

  Including the man who stood at my side. Tal Ephalan, the magistrate who had brought twenty soldiers with him. He had also brought the siege stores from the tower he had held. And a hundred suits of chain, helms, shields, spears and swords. He had brought bows, bundles of arrows, javelins and darts. Not a man in sight went without armor and weapons; even though I wouldn't let a man under twenty bare arms, there were no suits of armor unfilled. I could make out one or two of the younger men as I scanned the roofs. They were armed with javelins and darts and, for those who could use them, bows; including the one I had brought back with me. The second bowman had escaped in the confusion but I remembered his face on the off-chance that we might meet again. Not that I am vindictive or anything. I could move the fingers of my left hand so I knew the break wasn't bad. My hand hurt some but the wrist ached bone deep. I'd landed on my right side, left arm across my body, hand to the ground in a stupid and futile attempt to break my fall. If had been wearing physical armor I didn't doubt the damage would be greater. Luck, I thought again. Pure, blind, stupid luck.

  “Well?”

  I'd forgotten that Tal Ephalan had asked me something. I was hungry and tired and hurt. I wanted a bath so bad I could taste it. And sleep. And far more beer than I had allowed myself so far.

  “No.” I'd been thinking about it. Fatigue and beer didn't help. I had to take it slow and debate every decision with myself. Asking myself questions and getting answers, projecting into the future to guess or reason out the consequences of each action.

  “But they might turn to our side. I know them. If I can get a message to them...”

  “I said no; did you think I meant maybe? Listen,” I said into the abrupt silence, “a message means a messenger and a messenger will know our exact numbers and disposition. I won't risk sending intelligence to the enemy. The risk doesn't balance the potential gain. Your colleagues have made their choices. Look at what they have reaped and sown already. Would you have them pay no price for their betrayal?”

  He was a tall man, Tal Ephalan, and filled the stylized scale armor he wore with a bulk that was half again my own. I had to tilt my head slightly back to meet his glare. He gestured to the crowd. “You can't think to keep this secret,” he almost made it a question.

  “There is a difference between an enemy knowing where you are and knowing exactly who you are and how many, Tal Ephalan. Forget my question and think of my statement. I'm not motivated by revenge but military sense. If we send a messenger he will be taken and questioned and I will not permit that. Now remember that you have sworn an oath and are my client.”

  I saw him bite back a response and wondered what it was as he reluctantly nodded acquiescence, still holding my gaze and glaring. It wasn't enough. I held his gaze and took a deliberate breath before speaking.

  “I've had to kill friends before,” I lied. “It's a hard thing to realize that a friend has so badly erred that he must pay with his life. The temptation to spare them is strong, I know. But those men have turned on their own people and caused deaths, violation of women and children, and ruin to your town by joining with the enemies of your people. They must be punished for that if there is to be any justice here. Doubtless some few will escape with their crimes unknown and live the rest of their days without paying the price, but not these public figures who betrayed their people.”

  He frowned on for a moment after I stopped speaking. Then he nodded agreement and blew out a sigh as he looked away.

  For a moment there I had felt the temptation of dictatorship. I'd wanted to tell him to shut up and do as he was bid or die. I'd had to force it away and try to persuade him to my view. I was glad I had succeeded. Had he not accepted my order the next step would have been necessary but would have risked starting a conflict within our own ranks.

  I had to get them all to understand that they were under military discipline and I couldn't even start on that until the morning.

  “But send someone to track down Shel Epthir, if you wish.” This Magistrate had fled the town with his men rather than fight to restore order or join the Necromancer. He didn't sound promising to me but one man could be spared for the task. I'd confirmed Tal Ephalan in his rank as Magistrate; the people he had brought to me already looked to him and I needed a command structure. I'd given Tain and Jek pro-tem rank equal to Tal Ephalan and command of equal numbers. I now had one hundred and thirty men under arms. I'd split them into three units of forty, taking one under my direct command, Tal another, and Tain the third. I'd given Jek command of ten men, plus the youths for whom there was no armor.

  Tal Ephalan turned his face back to me. “And how many of our people will become slaves of the city?”

  Damn, but I was tired.

  “Only those men taken prisoner in an armed encounter. That may yet be none, Tal Ephalan. It may be that tomorrow my maniple marches over the breast of the hill behind us and crosses the river. It may be that all opposition crumbles at that point.” It was possible. “I know you think me the lesser of two evils, but the constitution of the city is clear, we offer freedom for those who want it or security and safety for those who don't. You can't have both. Or equality,” I shrugged. We are not born equal, in ability or circumstance. Free men are not equal and equal men are not free; equal men cannot be free because equality must cater to the average at best, and penalize the exceptional. “But that isn't my point. Look at what I offer and will deliver. Autonomy of rule; I won't make myself some petty tyrant. There will be a trade post,” I was counting on it, I needed the source of revenue that Lendrin Treleth would provide, “and safe passage for goods and people. Paid for, but real.” The system was simple; travellers paid a fee to the Roadwardens and received compensation should they fall prey to bandits on the road. “And I will not tax the town a single coin, ever.”

  “But you will take our men to war.”

  “Should the need arise I'll recruit those willing and able, yes. And should they sign up for a twenty-five year stint as auxiliaries they will receive citizenship on retirement and a gift of land.”

  “You will turn them into men of the city.” And that was his real fear. That his people would no longer be his, but mine.

  I shrugged. “Only those who want it. Compare what I offer with what Hathen Elt, Ishal Laharek and the Brotherhood offer. No, don't,” I held up a hand to forestall further comment. “You already have made the comparison and the decision, Tal Ephalan; and sworn the oath. You are my client and your people will have friend and ally status as a consequence. It's done. We can talk about these things later as much as you will, but now I need as much sleep as I dare steal.” A bath first, if I could get one. Food. More time with Jocasta than the brief moments I'd snatched since bringing the drovers' families out of the city. And I needed to make sure they were made secure.

  Later, it could wait till later.

  “You have made the right decision, man. Now go reassure them,” I gestured to the crowds, “that they also have made the right decision.”

  He accepted it. “We will talk later, then.”

  I turned and limped into the merchant's home. My ankle had started to complain. Damage I'd sustained in the fall but not noticed at the time. I hate it when that happens.

  #

  I stood naked and looked at the clean water with a deep appreciation.

  The bath was enormous, carved from a solid block of soapstone. There was room to spread out and soak. There was a plug hole in the bottom and a tiled channel leading to a hole in the wall. There was soap, cloths, scented oils, towels and a clean robe. Luxury. Better if the water were steaming but I knew my healing skin wouldn't tolerate that.

  I climbed in, leaned back in the bath, and settled in to soak and relax and, after a while,
think.

  I couldn't understand Tal Ephalan's attitude. We rule with such a light touch that it can hardly even be called ruling. Certainly compared to other cultures, that restrict movement and enforce a thousand petty laws that restricted freedom of thought, speech, movement trade and action. Free people were often less free than the slaves in our culture.

  In what other culture could a conquered people really expect to rise to the ruling class? Accepting, of course, that there had to be a ruling class. True, it was only just possible that a freeman of whatever background could raise his status to that of Patron and hold the highest elected office; it was a monumental task and usually took generations. In practice it was usually men lucky enough, if you hankered after responsibility, to be born into the top two classes of the city who became its elected officials. There had been philosophical works that toyed with the idea of a perfect culture; I read some of them and dismissed them on the grounds that they seemed to require that people not be what they are for the abstract house of straw not to collapse. Well, people are what they are and no culture or society or political system is perfect. Movements for political change occurred every now and again and the king was sometimes persuaded to stand on the chair with the noose around his neck and make the proposal to the patrons' assembly. It didn't happen often. Most were hanged. Any patron could cross the floor and kick the chair out from under him. To be fair, any Patron could move to restrain another. A dangerous proposition with consequences of its own; the enmity of a patron is not something desired even by another of equal power and influence. All in all the checks and balances to our political system were fair and ensured that no one person held the power of the entire state in his hands. Of other systems, benevolent dictatorship functioned well enough but relied on the character of the ruler, and the obvious problem with that is that such benevolence might not exist. Fifty percent of people are below average, after all, regardless of the quality being measured. There are as many people who want to tell people how to live, think, act, who want to interfere in people's lives, as there are people who have no such desire and the basis of all politics was right there – the latter keeping the former at bay. There are as many cruel people as kind, as many at either extreme of any quality anyone might care to name. Having a ruling class at least ensured that half the people in government were not those who desired control, and would be inclined to restrict draconian laws proposed by the other half. And any who entered government had to be willing to risk their lives in order to take the first steps along the course of honors by serving in the military. Still, we are all flawed - hadn't I just been tempted to play the dictator myself? - and it was as well to recognize that fact in all aspects of life, let alone politics.