by Elliot Burns
This room was unlike any study Jack had ever seen. One patch of the north wall was covered in vines, with memory crystals tucked within their grasp. A giant oak bookcase covered the west wall, with hundreds of thick tomes lining the shelves. Over by the south wall was a rectangular desk made from stained walnut. There was an old chess set on it with incredibly intricate pieces. The white pawns were carved as peasants. The black ones were hunchback creatures, their bodies rocky and lined with spikes.
The pounding of boots rang off the stone floors beyond the room. Jack leant against the desk and watched the door. What was taking them so long? Despite himself, the watchman’s attitude had pricked him like a thorn. The footsteps became louder until they reached the door. It opened, and Mav stepped in. From his puffy face, it seemed that the arrival of the visitor had broken his drunken sleep.
“I got a look at the guy,” said Mav. “It’s Bruce Frier, Veik’s best friend. He’s a nasty piece of work.”
“Isn’t he Henry’s henchman? I wonder why he’s here?”
“It won’t just be a social call.”
“Keep your weapon ready. Hidden, but ready,” said Jack.
Mav twisted his arm to show Jack the blade resting against his wrist and concealed by his shirt sleeve.
“Veik thinks that because I’m new here,” said Jack, “he can send his henchman to intimidate me. Problem is, he’s right. I know I’m outmatched.”
“You don’t have to let him in. He’s breaking custom by arriving unannounced. He’s most likely doing it to throw you off.”
“I read once about an actor. He’d been doing stage shows for forty years, but at the end of his career he still threw up before every show because of nerves. After he’d finished being sick, he’d puff out his chest and go and face the audience like he was fearless.”
“Are you going to be sick?” said Mav.
“No, I’m going to act. If I put on a good enough show, Bruce Frier will go back to his lord and report that Jack Halberd has bigger balls than an elephant in heat.”
“Just be careful. Bruce isn’t an idiot.”
Boots paced along the stone floor outside the room, getting closer with each step. Whatever happened in the upcoming meeting, he would show nothing but strength. The door opened, and the angular face and red locks of Elena appeared. “Your visitor is here, Lord Halberd,” she said in an especially polite voice.
Bruce walked in, followed by two armed and armored men bearing Lord’s Veik’s sigil on their chests. It was a silhouette of a man with an axe in one hand and a book in the other.
Bruce had a singular look about him. His hair was a mess of short curls. His sunken eye sockets and the dirty pallor of his skin spoke of long nights and little sleep. His eyes looked like they had seen horrors but never recovered from them. Whatever he had witnessed had cast a darkness in him. He wore a baladrana cloak that still had rivulets of rain running down it. His boots, gloves and hose were made from stained black leather, while his shirt was a deep crimson. A leather bandoleer slung across his chest held two daggers and various tiny vials of potions and tinctures. His tapered body made him look three meals short of a full belly, and he would likely struggle to swing a sword. Despite that, the two soldiers with him seemed to flinch at his every movement.
Not long ago, Jack had completed a unit on body language in a psychology class. The subject had fascinated him. He’d spent the next month staying up until ungodly hours with the neon glow of a laptop on his face, devouring every article he could find on the subject. It was so rich a topic that he’d barely scratched the surface. He knew the physical gestures gave off more signals than words ever could. A simple hand movement could completely change the meaning of a sentence. He was going to need to convey strength to Bruce in the way he spoke and acted. He straightened up, keeping his back, shoulders and neck in good posture.
“Your buddies can take refreshment in the kitchens while we talk,” he said, nodding at the soldiers with Bruce.
Bruce wrinkled his nose. “They’re fine here.”
“No, they look like you never let them rest. Elena, please can you take Bruce’s men to the kitchen and get them a Coke or something?”
“A Coke?”
He tried to think of the medival-ish version of a can of Coke. America’s favorite soda was really just a mix of syrup and water wasn’t it? What would that be called here? Screw it. “Just grab ‘em a beer,” he said.
“This way, gentlemen,” said Elena. Every inflexion in her voice was the epitome of politeness.
The soldiers, faced with such grace and uncomfortable in the social setting, had no choice but to follow. Their swords rattled as they left the room, and soon their footsteps were echoes fading away.
A smile curled on Bruce’s lips. Jack didn’t like the arrogant manner Bruce had. This was his castle, after all. Bruce was his enemy’s henchman, but he was acting like he owned the place. He decided to take him down a peg or two.
He looked at Bruce. Focusing on his face, he pictured a change in Bruce’s mood. He imagined his confidence falling a bit. He imagined his feeling tense and unsure of himself. Then, he said, “Modus.”
His Truespeech power seemed to amplify the word. It came out as a sound, but also as a dim beam of light. He watched the light trail from his mouth like smoke, until it drifted over to Bruce and seeped into his mouth and nostrils. Immediately, Bruce’s shoulders sagged. He clenched his fists, and his expression changed.
Truespeech skill increased by 33%!
[67% until level 2]
It worked! It had failed earlier when he’d tried to use it on the tachers, but if Elena was anything to go by, then tachers had strong mental defenses. Bruce, it seemed, wasn’t as well prepared. Still, even though Bruce’s demeanor had changed a little, he recovered himself. He puffed out his chest and tried to relax. Only now, Jack could tell that Bruce was acting confident, rather than actually being confident.
“I don’t like it when strangers knock on my door in the dead of night,” said Jack. “What can I do for ya?”
“I thought I would introduce myself,” said Bruce.
Bruce offered his hand. Jack accepted, and they shook. Bruce began to squeeze his hand ever so subtly. Jack would never pretend to have much physical strength. He made sure to keep eye contact with Bruce and not betray any discomfort.
“It’s a pleasure, Lord Halberd,” said Bruce. “A damn fine pleasure to meet such a mighty lord as yourself. I’m Bruce Frier, of Lord Henry Veik’s lands. Your kind-hearted neighbor from the north.”
“It’s good to meet new buddies, and I was wondering if Lord Veik would send me a present to welcome me to the neighborhood. Maybe a nice bunch of flowers or something. Or…maybe Veik likes sending horses as gifts. Tell me, how are Veik’s stables? Missing any horses?”
“As full as ever,” said Bruce.
Elena returned from her errand and stood in the doorway. “Can we get you a drink, Master Frier? We have wine in the cellar, and I am sure there is some mead.”
“Just a water please, my good wench. I like to keep a clear head.”
Wench. That was a wrong choice of word to say to Elena. She gave Bruce such a glare of hatred that even Jack felt the heat of it. He imagined her grabbing Bruce by his tender parts and explaining the pros and cons to referring to her as wench. If she did something like that, though, it wouldn’t go down well. Jack wondered if he had better usher her out of the room. Luckily, Elena flashed Bruce a perfect smile, which showed that she’d recovered control over herself.
“A jug of water is on its way, you ignorant bastard,” she said.
So, maybe she hadn’t recovered perfect control, but it had been better than the alternatives. Jack waited for a reaction from Bruce, but none came. Maybe he was so used to people either being scared of him or sucking up to him, that when someone finally did dare insult him, his brain just filtered out the words. Or perhaps, Jack’s use of Modus had taken the edge off Bruce’s attitude.
&n
bsp; He decided to test out the theory. Unfortunately, he’d never been great with insults, because he hardly ever insulted anyone. He searched his brain for something until finally, for some bizarre reason, his mind settled on an insult from an old movie about bitchy high school girls.
“Hey Bruce, you look like a baby prostitute,” he said. He waited for a reaction, but Bruce didn’t show any sign of anger. Was this just the way he was programmed?
“That’s a classic Lord Halberd burn,” said Mav. Then he looked at Jack. “Burn is the right word isn’t it, Kid? The one you taught me?”
Jack nodded. He’d already explained to Mav what a burn was and how a person might accomplish one, and since then the thief had been on the lookout for any possibility opportunity to burn Jack or Elena. The problem was that as a teacher, Jack wasn’t great. His own burns were rubbish. ‘Baby prostitute?’ What kind of insult was that?
Right now, Mav wasn’t joking around. He sat over in the corner on a hardback leather chair. His boots were planted on the floor, his legs apart with his elbows resting on his knees. He appeared disinterested, yet Jack knew he was listening intently. He couldn’t help feeling that the thief sat there as a judge, scoring his lordly performance.
Bruce snapped his focus back on Jack. “Sorry, did you say something?” he asked.
“I said it’s good that you travelled all this way to pay us a visit,” said Jack.
“You really should return it some time, Lord Halberd. You would love your stay with us. Have you seen Lord Veik’s army?”
“I haven’t had the honor.”
“Perhaps we will show you, before long.”
Elena walked into the room with a ceramic jug of water and four metal tankards. Just as she reached Bruce she tripped, and the jug of water spilled all over the crotch of Bruce’s trousers.
“You should have just asked, Bruce,” said Jack. “I would have let you use the bathroom.”
Bruce wiped his trousers. “Forget it.”
“Can I get you another drink?” asked Elena, unable to hide her grin.
“I’m fine,” answered Bruce.
He walked around the room as if he was a prospective buyer, inspecting every painting on the wall and running his finger along the rims of chairs and seeing how much dust came up. He examined various ornaments on a shelf in the corner of the room, holding them close to his eye in the manner of an antiques dealer.
“If Lord Veik needs new glasses,” said Jack, “He’s welcome to my castoffs. I think we have a bunch of ‘em in the storeroom. I won’t have my dear friend Veik drinking straight from the tap.”
Bruce laughed. It was a mocking sound. “Lord Veik only drinks from gold cups. He’s very choosy in that respect.”
“I thought Lord Veik might come here himself for our first introduction? I don’t bite.”
“The lord is busy. Busy, busy, busy. He has expansion plans to oversee, and an army to swell. You must know how it is. Sometimes having so many soldiers is a pain.”
“Maybe one day we’ll have a real introduction,” said Jack.
“He would be honored. In the meantime, he has a request for you.”
“Yeah?”
Bruce placed a silver goblet back on the shelf and faced Jack. His lips no longer showed any trace of his mocking laugh. He had a talent for keeping his countenance perfectly neutral, but there was sweat on his forehead where it met his short curls.
“Lord Veik is fair man, Halberd. Your peasants won’t be touched…if you surrender to him now, before any blood is shed.”
Bruce continued his slow tour of the room, this time approaching the desk where the chess set was. His manner began to grate on Jack, but he supposed that was exactly what Bruce wanted.
“Maybe you should sit down, Bruce, buddy. It’s hard to discuss things sensibly when a man has his back to you.”
“Lord Veik would insist on your support.”
“Is that a threat?”
In the corner, Mav leant forward. He twisted his wrist ever so slightly, though was careful not to show his blade. “Would a humble man like myself come to the grand Castle Halberd and make threats? This is an olive branch. Say you’ll surrender to him, and take the branch.”
“I’ll have to think on that,” said Jack.
“Ah chess,” said Bruce, eyeing the set on the table. He picked up a pawn and examined it.
Jack was glad of a few seconds of respite from the exchange. He wasn’t used to talking in this way, and it was starting to drain him. So far, it was hard to tell who’d got the better of the exchange.
“I used to play when I was a boy,” said Bruce. “Before I discovered that swords and strength got the girls where ceramic toys didn’t. But it’s been a while. Shall we play, Lord Halberd? Do you know how?”
“Of course, I do.”
“Well let me refresh my own mind, then. See, the black pieces can be mine. Or Lord Veik’s, rather. And the whites can be yours. But we need to set the pieces up properly, don’t we? Let’s see.”
With one swipe of his hand, he brushed the white pieces from the board, leaving just the white king facing the black army.
“This seems to be an accurate reflection of the state of things, does it not? There’s you there. And not too far away, there’s Lord Veik. And there’s me, his mages, his infantry, and oh, what’s this piece here? It could be the raiders Veik has under his protection too. How do you think this game would play out, Lord Halberd?”
Was he saying that the raiders in the flek fields were there on Veik’s orders? Or were these some other raiders that Jack hadn’t seen yet? He had to admit, Bruce had done a fine job of listing every advantage Veik held over him. Put like that, he couldn’t exactly argue. At the same time, how did he know it was true?
The meeting had taken a much sourer turn than he expected. He resented being threatened in his own castle, and much more so by a man who covered his threats with pleasantries. “I don’t like people coming to my castle to make threats, so maybe it’s best you leave, before we throw you out. Unless you came to look for a chess partner, in which case I’ll happily beat your ass. I can even teach you how to set the board properly,” he said.
“Lord Veik doesn’t play games. He has a request. It’s simple, Halberd. Lord Halberd, I should say. You have certain resources Lord Veik would like access to. He requests that you grant them.”
“Like what?”
“Your kingdom stone, of course.”
“Why the hell would I do that? More importantly, what do you plan to do if I don’t?” asked Jack.
“White goes first in chess. Black second. We would have to see your move, and then consider our own.”
Jack glanced at Mav, who wouldn’t take his eyes off Bruce Frier. He scratched his wrist as if he was itching to draw his dagger.
“Let’s dispense with this courtship language and speak plainly,” said Bruce. “I bet you’re wondering what would happen if you tried to kill me now, aren’t you? I can see it in your eyes.”
“We have enough honor not to attack a guest under our roof,” spat Mav.
Jack shot him a look that he hoped conveyed ‘I’ll do the talking.’
“Don’t worry; it’s a thought many have. Let me show you,” said Bruce.
He unbuttoned the sleeve of his shirt and rolled it up his arm. At the top of his forearm, he had a tattoo on his skin. It was a word, though Jack didn’t know what language it was from. Realizing it was on show, Bruce moved his shirt to cover it.
Bruce drew a dagger from his bandoleer. Mav leapt to his feet. Metal glinted from his wrist when it hit the glow of the lamp.
“Steady,” said Bruce. “You and your lord aren’t in danger.”
He lifted his dagger and plunged it into his own arm. Jack winced, closing his eyes for a second. When he opened them, Bruce’s arm was intact. In fact, the edge of his blade had snapped off.
“I hope our position has been made clear, Lord Halberd. The board is stacked. What moves are made, are
down to you.”
After that, Jack showed Bruce the door. He, Mav and Elena stood at the drawbridge and watched as Bruce’s carriage and his soldiers wound their way down the dirt path out of Jack’s lands. It wasn’t long until they disappeared into the night. Despite their absence, their earlier presence seemed to leave a shadow over the castle. An icy breeze blew through the mouth of the drawbridge, and Jack crossed his arms.
“I need a drink,” said Jack.
“Shall I get you some water?” asked Elena.
“I need something with some bite to it.”
The meeting had affected him more than he’d like to admit. He was used to hostility; in school, most of the bullies had focused their attention on him. He knew how to handle aggression when it was made clear, but he’d never faced hostility hidden behind a mask of politeness. He’d tried to hold his own, but the word play of lords was still beyond him.