by Aldus Baker
Glancing up from the captive Reest calls to a nearby lancer, “Shrim!” and jerks his head toward the captive while drawing his own belt knife. Shrim draws his saber and quickly places the sharp tip of the weapon against the captive’s throat. Using his knife, Reest cuts the rope tied around the enemy’s wrists. He moves behind the captive and pulls the man’s arms back around the tree trunk, retying them with a set of leather laces. The captive starts gasping short shallow breaths, probably in an effort to recover from Reest’s kick. He holds his head back against the tree trunk. The captive’s eyes dart about but settle back onto Shrim’s sword. Once Reest finishes, he nods to Shrim. Shrim removes the sword tip from the prisoner’s neck and puts his saber back in its scabbard.
Reest moves around in front of the prisoner and crouches down, putting him somewhat eye to eye with the bound man. Without looking away from the prisoner Reest says, “Shrim, I’m thirsty. Would you get my water skin?”
Shrim retrieves the water skin from Reest’s horse and Reest takes a long drink. Then he offers some to the prisoner. The captive stares at him without responding. Reest shrugs and hands the water skin back to Shrim.
“I’m Reest. What’s your name?”
Again, the man does not respond.
“I’ve been a lancer with House Yen for a few years now. I know a lot of people. But, oddly, I don’t know you.”
Jalan sees the man’s mouth twitch as if he might have started to smile or speak.
“Harna, does this fellow look familiar to you?” says Reest to his fellow Fist Leader.
Harna rubs the stubble on his chin as he looks at the unknown lancer. “No. I don’t recall ever seeing him before.”
“Don’t ask,” says Serks before Reest can query him. “I don’t know him.”
“That’s unfortunate,” says Reest. He stands up from his crouch. “Very unfortunate. As I’m sure you know, wearing the colors of a house means you are in service to that house. But, we don’t seem to know you. It’s very difficult to imagine that you are truly a Yen lancer. That leaves us only a few possibilities.” Reest begins to count using the fingers on his left hand. “One, you are not a Yen lancer but you are wearing Yen colors. The punishment for impersonating a lancer is severe, but you’d probably live. However, you are wearing a captain’s braids and the punishment for impersonating an officer is death.” Reest raises a second finger and says, “Two, you really are a Yen lancer and somehow we have never met you, in which case you are welcome among us. Except, you were fighting against us and that would mean you are a traitor. Again, the punishment is death.” Reest pauses for a moment and then drops his left hand to his sword scabbard and reaches across his body to grasp the hilt with his right. “Which leaves only one option,” says Reest as he draws his saber in a measured and deliberate manner. “We have to kill you.”
The prisoner remains silent during the entire time Reest is speaking. Now that the sharp edge of the saber is completely free of Reest’s scabbard the man protests with a mixture of anger and alarm, “But, I’m a captive. The Covenants prohibit the execution of prisoners!”
Reest sighs as he examines the bared blade he holds. “That is true. But you are not a captive. You are a traitor or a spy and The Covenants do not protect one who abandons his honor.”
Jalan is still trying to stand back and watch Reest. The Covenants do allow for execution but generally those are not done on the battlefield. The prisoner is normally presented to a tribunal for judgment. Rough handling of a man that tried to kill you is expected and a reasonable precaution when securing a prisoner. Summary execution is rash and likely to lead to greater problems by showing disrespect for the accepted way of doing things and The Covenants, a military protocol used by all the houses in the kingdom. Jalan is hoping that trusting Reest is the right thing to do. Everyone in the company is watching. Those further back are straining to see and hear what passes between Reest and the bound man. Publicly interfering with Reest might cause division among the lancers. Some will inevitably argue that Reest should be allowed to execute a traitor. Jalan concentrates on his breathing, keeping a relaxed stance and holding a calm determined look on his face. He does not want the rising anxiety he feels to be noticeable to his men or the prisoner.
Reest takes a two handed grip on his saber and moves into a stance that will allow him to swing the weapon in a smooth arc which will most likely pass through the captive’s neck. Reest stops with his blade partially raised and says, “Oh yes, I forgot, number three. There is that one way we can avoid execution. But, really, I just don’t see how that could be possible.” Then he raises his blade to strike.
“Wait! What way?” says the prisoner as he pushes himself harder against the tree trunk in a vain attempt to put distance between himself and Reest.
Making a slow practice swing, Reest allows the blade to gentry touch the bound man’s neck. It leaves a thin red line behind. “The only way we would not execute you is if you were our spy. That would explain why you were with the enemy. You would be wearing our colors in an effort to convince the enemy you are a deserter and can be trusted. It’s a bold move. You could have been killed out of hand.” Reest draws his saber back and sets to swing in earnest.
“Wait!” shouts the man a second time. “I’m a spy. I’m your spy”.
Still coiled to strike, Reest’s eyebrows raise in a suggestion of socked surprise. “Truly? Our spy?”
“Yes! Yes, your spy. I am a spy for House Yen.”
Reest lowers his sword and steps back. “Why did you not declare yourself sooner?”
“Um, well, when I was captured I did not see my contact among you. I could not be sure it was safe to tell you who I am.”
“Who is your contact?”
“I, uh, I cannot tell you that.” Seeing the expression on Reest’s face, the man says, “But, ask me something else. I... I can tell you other things.”
“Very well. Who are the men in the encampment a short ride from here? Why do they wear both our colors and Nakra’s colors, and no colors at all? What are in those wagons inside the compound? How many men are there in total? What are their plans? Answer those questions and others and I am sure I can convince our captain that you are the man you claim to be.”
At this point Jalan feels like a top spun too fast. He was on the very edge of shouting an order for Reest to stop when the prisoner spoke first. He still believes Reest is pretending but the Fist Leader is so convincing that Jalan is not certain. And even though the captive is speaking, it seems clear he is holding back. If the man does not speak the truth, Reest may raise the sword again and Jalan will have no choice but to stop him in front of the entire company of mounted archers. Lancers will question Jalan’s decision and the captive will know he is safe and tell them nothing useful. If the man would only tell the truth it would all be over.
The captive sits bound to the tree with Reest standing over him holding a saber. All Jalan can think as he looks at the prisoner is that the captive must tell the truth. He must. And in a mere twinkling he feels something slip between himself and the prisoner. The bound man jerks and then shakes his head almost as if he has been slapped.
“They are mercenaries,” drawls the bound man. He looks a bit woozy.
The lancers looking on begin to murmur amongst themselves. Jalan cannot tell if it is the captive’s answer or his sudden change in behavior that sparks the men’s comments.
“What?” says Reest, who for the first time sounds genuinely surprised by what the prisoner says.
The bound man starts speaking slow and soft but finishes loud and angry, “I said we’re mercenaries. Now tell me what in the Four Corners of Damnation you’ve done to me!”
Jalan watches Reest’s face darken as the lancer points his saber at the captive’s nose and growls angrily, “What have we done to you? We’ve fought you when you attacked us. We bested you and now we’re questioning you.” He drops the sword point away from the other man’s face and leans down. “We bloodied a
nd bound you. A captive would expect no less. You have admitted to the false display of our colors, and now you tell us you are sell-sword honorless dog who has taken up arms against House Yen. No house would let you live after a transgression like that and you have the nerve to ask what we have done to you?” Reest straightens and spits on the ground at the captive’s feet. “I’ll tell you what I’m going to do to you. I’m going to ask the captain for permission to separate your head from your shoulders.” Reest looks toward Jalan and says, “Captain?”
All the lancers have fallen silent. Jalan feels their eyes upon him. Battlefield justice is often hard and swift. The prisoner has told them very little and now that he believes they will likely kill him, he will not tell them more. If only they were back at Yen Estate or one of the outposts, there would be time to question the man further or even call for a tribunal. There would be time to think and the final decision would come from someone more experienced. Here, with everyone watching and the threat of a superior enemy force arriving at any time, Jalan feels he has no choice. If he delays it will call into question his ability to lead and only give more time for the prisoner’s companions to return with enough men to wipe out the company.
The prisoner’s eyes move back and forth between Reest and Jalan. Jalan sighs under the weight of the moment and starts to announce his decision. The bound man interrupts him with a shout, “I demand a trial!”
Δ
A man with gray hair and wearing a gray jacket enters the Business Room and waits quietly for Lady Darla to acknowledge him.
Darla marks her place in a ledger she is examining and greets the man, “Trader Grom, how are you today?” Darla does her best to sound pleasant. Jacey seems to be a little suspicious of the man, but Grom has been a miracle worker when it comes to finding supplies and equipment.
“I am fine, my lady. And I trust that all is well with you,” says Grom.
“As well as may be,” says Darla. “Please, be seated.”
“Thank you, my lady,” says the trader as he lowers himself onto a chair in front of Darla’s worktable.
“Master Chander tells me that your assistance with supplies has been invaluable. He claims you have even done the impossible and persuaded Master Enmar to let you use part of his precious Training Hall as a warehouse.”
“Master Enmar and I have an understanding built on mutual benefit that Master Chander was unable to establish. I do not mean to sound immodest, but I may possess some skills as a trader that other men lack. I am certain they exceed me in their areas of expertise.”
“However you accomplish it, House Yen is grateful for your assistance. Now tell me why you requested to see me,” says Lady Darla.
Trader Grom takes a moment to look around the room before returning his gaze to Lady Darla. “The time has come for me to present a special letter of introduction.”
Grom reaches into an interior pocket of his gray jacket and extracts a sealed envelope. He passes the envelope to Lady Darla.
“This is the king’s seal,” says Darla.
“You are correct, lady. Please, read the letter and after I will answer any questions you wish to pose.”
Darla breaks the seal and removes the letter from the envelope. The letter is brief and Darla quickly reads it. She reads it a second time and then to be absolutely certain she reads it a third time as well. The message is clear, surprising and yet oddly reasonable. Lady Darla looks up from the letter and asks, “Have you read this?”
“No, my lady,” says Grom.
“The king says that you are the answer to House Yen’s request for men and supplies,” says Darla.
Trader Grom smiles and says, “That I am. I apologize for not being exactly what you expected, lady.”
“There is no difficulty there,” laughs Darla. “I have grown accustomed to answers I do not expect. The king further states that you can provide knowledge and council on a variety of subjects.”
“I have a number of merchants that work for me throughout the kingdom and beyond. It is not uncommon for them to pass along information on matters that affect trade.”
“You’re a spy,” says Darla.
“I am your spy,” says Grom.
“Mine?”
“The king ordered me to offer my services to House Yen. King Tamaron said that your father was a great general and had proven himself a good Steward of the Land. But, the king seemed certain your father would not have woven a strong net for catching information. He was a man of specific interests whose accomplishments were enough to forestall his enemies. His presence alone gave them pause. Without him, it will take more for you, Lady Yen, to cast as long a shadow.”
Darla understood precisely what Trader Grom was saying. She had been undervalued due to her youth and inexperience by many who dealt with her. She had even undervalued herself. Without Lady Shara stepping in to encourage and support her, Darla was certain she would have accepted the lessor life she once believed was her lot. She could never be her father. But, she could be someone of whom father would be proud.
“Why did you wait until now to present the king’s letter?” says Darla.
“It pains me to admit this. I had to wait until I knew House Yen was worth saving.”
Darla had no answer for that. It hurt that anyone, especially the king, would deny help to House Yen.
“What about Jalan? How could the king not aid his own son?”
Grom sits back in his chair, clearly thrown deep into his own thoughts. “So that is it,” he says.
“You didn’t know?” says Darla as a sense of alarm sets her nerves on edge.
“Please, my lady, calm yourself. It is true. I did not know. I cannot say why the king did not tell me. There was no reason for me to know before I was sent here. Perhaps there was no time to tell me before I left. Tamaron is a very prudent ruler. I am certain he knew I would discover this eventually. Now that I think on it, I see why he could not have done otherwise.”
Darla feels confused, “Why not? Why would he not tell you?”
“It is part of the pattern, my lady. Why did the king not send lancers? Why did he not begin moving the levers of war in order to prepare for hostilities with Ankena?”
“Levers of war?” says Darla.
“I’m sorry. It is an expression for all the things a country does when making ready for war. They might increase taxes and raise additional troops. Emissaries are sent to the houses and contact is made with the potential enemy to look for a political solution. Those can be difficult tasks, much as prying large boulders up and getting them to roll where you wish is a difficult task. It requires the right lever and strength just to start each bolder moving.”
“You’re saying the king is not doing those things?”
“Not on a noticeable scale, my lady,” says Grom. “And, there may be several reasons for that. First, there is no indication of hostilities except around the border between House Yen and Ankena’s Principality of Polnue. Second, although a border skirmish can eventually lead to all-out war, there is no indication that Polnue has been planning for war. It would be unwise for the king to overreact to your situation. He would not wish to draw excess attention to it and cause Ankena to believe Ojmara is preparing for war. He sent me to assist you. But, he did not tell me that the prince is here. That allowed me to believe this is a serious situation, but that it is not vital to save House Yen. It did not cause anyone observing me to think my actions were out of the ordinary. My actions fit in with the king dealing with your situation as indirectly and quietly as possible.”
“So Tamaron gave you the option of not helping us?” says Darla.
“No, my lady. The king only gave the appearance that I could choose not to help you. He had to know I would discover the presence of the prince and realize that the heir and his safe hiding place are in danger. It leaves me with no choice.” Trader Grom spreads his hands wide as if to indicate how obvious the intricacies of his position have become.
“But you said y
ou decided to help House Yen before you learned about Jalan,” says Darla.
“Sadly, I did not discover the prince was here as quickly as our liege may have assumed I would. I do feel badly about that. Happily, I have already determined to help you on your own merits regardless of Jalan’s presence. This speaks well of you and House Yen, my lady.”
Lady Darla is only certain about two things. Trader Grom’s explanation of the king’s machinations is giving her a headache. And, Trader Grom has already been useful to House Yen even before declaring his commitment to help.
“I take your judgment of House Yen as a compliment. Now, please, tell me how you will help more than you already have?” says Darla.
“Have you rejected Lord Shrift’s proposal yet?”
“How did you know about that?” Darla hears her indignation in the question, but she is too upset to care.
“My lady, I am sorry to upset you. I only ask because Lord Shrift’s offer is a part of the attacks on House Yen.”
“Again, I must ask how you could know that? I only began to suspect such was true recently and no one outside my family has seen the document. I demand you explain yourself!”
“My lady, please forgive me for upsetting you. I have not invaded your privacy, at least not specifically. The nature of my true work for our sovereign, and now for House Yen, is to gather information. As I mentioned, others watch my actions and learn things from what I choose to do, and I also watch the patterns of what others do. Your sister’s visits are special occasions. It does not take long for rumors of why Lady Shrift and her Lord husband are here to circulate throughout the estate. Add the likely reason for their visit to other information gathered pertaining to Lord Merk Shrift’s activities and a dark pattern begins to emerge.”