by Brian Bakos
I approach Lieutenant Talbot. He looks up at me from his place on the ground with a weary, ironic expression.
“Let me see that arm,” I say.
“Certainly, my lord.”
Talbot offers his injured limb. I probe the bones with my fingers, seeking evidence of fracture. He flinches whenever I touch a painful spot.
“How did this happen?”
“I blocked a club stroke intended for my head,” Talbot replies in his oddly mellow voice. “And this after I’d already dropped my sword and attempted to surrender.”
Clyde stands nearby leaning on his poleax. Anger hovers around him like a poisoned cloud.
“Too bad they didn’t break your arm clean off!” he says.
A melancholy smile crosses Talbot’s lips.
“It seems we have found our messenger,” he says.
“That’s right, Talbot,” Clyde says. “And I shall identify you to the King so’s he’ll know you belong with those to be hanged.”
Talbot gives a slight nod. “Many thanks.”
“Please, Clyde,” I say. “Whatever this man’s crimes are, he is paying for them now.”
“That suits me fine,” Clyde says.
I complete the examination.
“There aren’t any broken bones, so far as I can tell. I’ll have the Physician check you later to make sure.”
“It ought be healed just in time for your hanging,” Clyde says.
“Get me a sling, will you?” I say. “There are some at the hospital wagon.”
With a final angry glance at Talbot, Clyde trots off.
“He’s become a blood-thirsty sort,” Talbot says.
“If he is, then he learned it from you and your kind,” I say.
Again the tired, melancholy smile. Talbot shifts position, grimacing with pain.
“And how of Your Lordship?” he says. “You seem to be doing better than when last I saw you – hiding in the underbrush like a frightened rabbit.”
I flinch as if I’ve been poked by a dagger.
“So, you did see us! Why didn’t you capture us, then?”
“Perhaps I should have.”
I want to speak further with this mysterious man, but Clyde has already returned. I secure Talbot’s injured arm in the sling.
“Life has many surprises, don’t you agree, Lieutenant?” I say, giving the sling a sharp, tightening jerk.
Talbot winces.
“Quite so, my lord.”
Part Three: The Eastlands
22: Rat Attack
I stretch out in my bed, exhausted after many hours of archery practice and intense study with the Royal Physician. I am developing into both killer and healer.
We returned to the capital city a week ago. The people went mad with joy, bearing our soldiers aloft through the streets. Even stony old General Colfax received a raucous, undignified ride upon the people’s shoulders. The arrogant noblemen of our cavalry detachment pranced about as if they’d gained the victory all by themselves, while anyone who was there knows it was our common men who battered down the enemy.
Wiltone and the other grumblers that stayed home can only look on with envy. Yes, why did Wiltone stay behind – was it because he wanted to be in charge if anything happened to the King?
Father then led the troops out to inspect our borders and reassure our jittery populace. The captured bandits took up residence in the castle dungeon as the first prisoners within living memory. When he returns, Father will hold the court of inquiry to determine their fates.
I mean to speak on behalf of Lieutenant Talbot to the King. Talbot’s rank marks him for execution, yet he does not seem to be cut from the same vicious cloth as Mulgar and his sort. Besides, Talbot allowed me and Clyde to escape from the Eastlands when he could have easily captured us, so I feel myself to be in his debt.
Father has granted Clyde’s family a holding around Windy Gap as reward for the services of Clyde and Eric. These hardy settlers will also help to secure our border. I’ve given Clyde leave to assist them and have loaned him my horse as an added distinction.
I am convinced that our future lies eastward, even if Father and the noblemen think we can resume our old, isolated ways. Already the battle is becoming ancient history. Stone masons and carpenters are rapidly erasing any scars caused by the fire.
How long before this conflict is forgotten and the smashed mirrors in people’s minds get glued back together – how can our people be so backward? There must be answers to these questions, shrouded in the ancient mists of our country, but I am too tired to seek them now.
I blow out the candle, expecting a night of sweet repose. Instead, the nightmare begins.
In the dream, I see thousands of rats welling up from a hole. They run madly, yellow fangs gleaming, eyes burning red. Their greasy gray bodies move as one, guided by some fiendish intelligence.
The rats dash up a stairway. They are loose in the castle!
They are rushing down the corridor now, noses twitching, searching, searching. The beasts poke into every doorway and cranny, overpowering anyone in their way. They are coming closer.
They are coming after me!
I struggle to waken but cannot. The rats are pouring into my chamber now, flattening themselves to slither under the door, forcing the latch. Their leader climbs onto my chest and flashes razor teeth.
I awake to cold steel at my throat.
“Silence!” Afflis hisses.
The dagger presses against my skin, forcing my head back. The entire universe narrows to this sharp point and to Afflis’ hardened face. A score of other bandits crowd around, like ghosts in the moonlight that bleeds through my window.
“Tie him up,” Afflis commands.
I am beyond horror as I see Mulgar approach. He jams a gag into my mouth.
“Is that to your liking, young master?” he says.
Soon I am bound hand and foot.
“Talbot – the note,” Afflis says.
Lieutenant Talbot steps forward. He gazes at me with a peculiar, almost regretful look. For a mad instant I think that he might rescue me, but the hope soon dies. He holds a piece of my stationery in one hand, a lit candle in the other.
“Read it to me,” Afflis said.
“Follow us and the Prince dies,” Talbot reads from the note. “Send a representative to the mountain pass to discuss ransom.”
“Excellent,” Afflis says.
He scrawls his mark on the paper and places it on my night stand.
“Let’s go.”
I am hoisted into Mulgar’s massive arms like a sack of flour and carried down the corridor. Here and there guards who have been beaten senseless litter the floor.
“You’ll pay for this,” I try to say, but all that comes out is a strangled mumble.
“Quiet,” Mulgar says, “or I’ll break your neck.”
Our cursed party exits the castle and rushes to the stables. Afflis and several others enter. I hear a brief struggle. Jonathan cries out, and is then silenced. The bandits emerge with several horses.
“Talbot, Mulgar, take these,” Afflis indicates the best mounts. “The rest of you double up.”
A few men are left standing.
“What about us, Cap’n?” one of them pleads.
“What about you?” Afflis shoots back. “Can’t you see there ain’t enough horses? Get away as best you can.”
Then we are off.
23: Prisoner in the Eastlands
I sprawl upon a heap of straw in the dingy hut – quite a change from my comfortable bed at the castle, for sure. The rope binding my wrists chafes my skin, but the rest of me is so battered that I hardly notice. I reckon the time to be mid afternoon, my first day of captivity.
Despair, anger, and fear squirm in my mind, along with bitter loneliness. The final Sopronians I saw were the guards at Windy Gap last night.
“Let us pass or the Prince dies!” Afflis growled at them, and the soldiers meekly stepped aside.
It had been just that simple for our enemies to deal Sopronia a heavy blow.
The door cracks open admitting dim sunlight. At first I think it is just the guard, but then I recognize the tall, slender figures of Afflis and Talbot. I struggle to my feet and try to present myself with as much dignity as possible.
“Your Royal Highness has enjoyed a pleasant night?” Afflis says, offering an insolent bow.
I do not reply.
“Well, boy? You can still talk, can’t you?” Afflis says.
I know it is unwise to provoke him, but I cannot resist: “Yes, I can talk. I can also see how you repay mercy. Were it not for my foolish intervention, you would have already swung from a rope.”
“Is that so?” Afflis says.
The mockery has left his voice. His face becomes lifeless, except for his glittering eyes. He springs, slashing a hand toward me. I try to duck, but the slap catches me hard on the face. I fall back, stunned.
“How’s that for mercy?” he cries.
I taste blood in my mouth and spit it at him.
“Why, you little pup. I’ll teach you proper manners!”
Afflis advances, but Talbot blocks the way, holding out his hands in a placating gesture.
“Hold it, sir ... please!” Talbot says. “Harm this lad and King Bertram’s vengeance will be terrible.”
Afflis backs off, trembling with rage – and with fear as well. I smile to see how Father’s name strikes terror into wicked men.
Afflis jabs a finger at Talbot.
“Maybe you’re right. But if you’re going soft on me, you’ll have the devil to pay!”
Talbot bows his head.
“Yes, sir. Please forgive my disrespect.”
Afflis flings the door open and stomps away. The guard closes it again.
I lift a bound hand to nurse my face. Talbot lowers himself to one knee and offers a clean handkerchief. I take it without comment.
“It seems that we are not the only ungrateful ones,” he says.
“You were only protecting your own skin,” I say. “And I do not express gratitude to thieves and cut throats.”
“Thieves, yes, but not all of us are cut throats,” Talbot says. “You realized that yourself when you tempered the King’s anger against us.”
I rub my eyes with the handkerchief.
“I only realize my stupidity. Father was right, you should have all been executed without delay.”
“Perhaps if life in your country was as harsh as it is here, you would understand us better,” Talbot says.
“How so?”
Talbot spreads his hands.
“Well ... you’d know how a barren land curdles men’s spirits. How poverty turns their minds to pillage. I myself toiled as a shepherd until I learned that hard work and honesty do not pay.”
“So, now you steal from those who do work hard and who are honest?”
“Yes ... that’s true.”
“I sense that you are not proud of this, Lieutenant,” I say. “Why not stop, then?”
“It’s a way of life, that’s why,” Talbot says. “You can’t give it up just like that.”
He snaps his fingers to emphasize his point. He is waiting for me to say something, but I remain silent.
“Besides, where would I go?” he continues. “This is the only chance for a better existence.”
“Well then, since you are a good thief, Lieutenant, I can thank you for helping me just now.”
I turn aside in a gesture of dismissal. After some hesitation, Talbot rises and moves toward the door. Then he spins back toward me.
“I have a right to survive, don’t I?” he says. “You don’t understand how things are here.”
“I am not interested in your excuses,” I reply. “Now surely you have duties to perform. I shall not detain you further.”
“Pardon me, Your Royal Highness!” Talbot snaps. “Not everyone is born with the advantages of a prince.”
“Quite true.” I gesture with bound hands at the miserable hovel. “And as you can see, I have the best of everything.”
Talbot tries to reply, but I cut him off.
“If you are not happy with your choices, Lieutenant, then make different ones. Or stay the way you are, but I am weary of this conversation.”
Talbot strides to the door and grips the latch. Even in the dim light his face looks crimson. He flings the door open and stomps away. The guard reaches in and closes it again.
“Doesn’t anybody know how to leave a room properly?” I remark.
24: A New Plot
I spend the day pacing and napping, forcing myself to eat the coarse porridge brought to me so as to keep up my strength. I bandage my ear with Talbot’s handkerchief, a cumbersome task using my bound hands.
And I wait for Talbot to return. He wants something from me, I am certain, although I do not yet know what it is.
Night comes, bringing the harsh talk and laughter of brutish men. I glance through a chink in the wall and spy a campfire around which several bandits play at dice.
I continue to wait.
***
Sometime later, Talbot comes in bearing a candle and a length of rope. The racket of the dice players becomes louder briefly, then muffles again when Talbot shuts the door behind him.
“Good evening, Lieutenant,” I say. “What took you so long?”
“You were expecting me?”
“Yes,” I say. “Any why the rope, is there to be a hanging?”
“No, of course not!”
Talbot sticks the candle into a wall socket. A draft plays with the flame, throwing shadows about the miserable room.
“Then what do you have in mind?” I ask.
Talbot kneels in the straw beside me then; his face is grim and tense in the shadows. Candle flame flickers in his eyes. He leans toward me, and I struggle to keep from recoiling. What is going on here?
“I can help you escape,” he whispers harshly.
I fight to keep the astonishment off my face.
“Really?” I manage to utter. “What’s in it for you?”
Talbot glances toward the door, then back toward me.
“I want to live in the Golden Land,” he says.
I pause to consider this amazing statement; I am too stunned to answer in any case. If Talbot had started walking straight up the wall, I could not have been more surprised. I play for time, assuming a lightly mocking tone.
“Why the change of heart, Lieutenant?” I say. “Didn’t you tell me earlier today that you prefer your present life?”
Talbot spits on the dirt floor with violent contempt.
“I hate my life!” he says. “And I hate this cursed place. I must go to Sopronia, with or without you.”
“What nonsense is that?” I say. “Return to Sopronia alone and you’ll be killed for certain.”
“So be it, then,” the bandit lieutenant says.
I begin to feel new respect for this formidable person, and I drop my mocking tone.
“Why should I risk myself?” I say, reclining back into the straw. “The ransom will soon be paid, and I’ll be released.”
“You have seen what Afflis is like,” Talbot says. “Yes, he might release you unharmed, then again he might not. Are you willing to take that risk?”
I ponder in silence for a long moment. I know that Talbot speaks the truth; my life is in grave peril here. At any time, Afflis could make a decision to snuff me out like that candle flame, ransom or no ransom.
But does any of this mean that Talbot is worthy of trust?
In his favor: he spared Clyde and me when we hid among the bushes, he protected me from Afflis’ wrath earlier today. Against him: he’s a career outlaw, he participated in my kidnapping.
Yet what choice did he have but to escape from our dungeon by any means available – had not Clyde bluntly threatened him with hanging?
Finally, I make my choice.
“Very well, Lieuten
ant,” I say. “See me safe home and I will petition the King to grant full pardon for all your past crimes.”
“I’ll trust your word on that,” Talbot says.
“A pardon for all past crimes, mind you,” I say. “Return to thievery and you shall be punished twice over.”
“That’s good enough.” Talbot gets to his feet. “Let’s go.”
“Under one condition,” I say. “It must be clear that you are at my service, not the other way around.”
Talbot balks.
“You are hardly in a position to make demands.”
“Decide now, Lieutenant,” I say. “Accept King Bertram as your lawful Sovereign, and me in his stead, or continue as you are. Do you agree to my condition or not?”
After a pause, Talbot gives a single, sharp nod. The gesture seems to carry more weight than the most flowery oath from many another man.
“Good.” I stand up.
Talbot withdraws a knife from his belt and slices the cord on my wrists. Exquisite pain shoots through my numb hands.
He opens the door and calls out: “Guard! Come in here.”
A dull-witted looking fellow enters.
“Aye, Lieutenant?” he says.
Talbot closes the door again.
“I am transferring the prisoner to the new campsite,” he says.
The guard shifts uneasily.
“I don’t know about that, sir.”
“Afflis has already left for the new camp,” Talbot says. “I am in charge when he’s gone. You know that.”
“Aye, sir, but I have my orders direct from the Cap’n.”
“Here are your new orders,” Talbot says.
He crashes a fist against the guard’s chin. The man goes down hard and remains still.
“I feared this might happen,” Talbot mutters.
Together we bind and gag the fallen guard. Then Talbot ties my hands loosely behind my back so as to make me seem yet a prisoner.
“If the need arises, you can twist your hands free,” he says.
We move outside, trying to avoid the campfire. But the dice players look up as we pass.
“What’s goin’ on, Lieutenant?” one asks.
“I’m taking the hostage to the new camp,” Talbot replies.
“Does Afflis know about this?”
“Of course he knows,” Talbot says. “He’s ordered it.”
The lout strokes his chin. His ugly face looks doubtful in the fire light.
“And he’s ordered this for all of you,” Talbot says.
He withdraws a purse from his tunic and tosses it to the dice players. Coins spill on the ground. The men scrambled after them, and a fight breaks out. We walk quickly away.