by Elliot Burns
Jack straightened up. “I’m Jack...Lord Jack Halberd. Warden of Holuum.”
Warden of Holuum? Where had that come from? Something about Bordan Vine made want Jack want to inflate his own value. Clearly, it hadn’t worked, since on hearing Jack’s name, the general’s demeanor changed. His face became serious. His kindly smile turned into a glare.
“I apologize, Lord Halberd, but I fear our meeting will be a short one. Whatever it is you want, I cannot help you.”
“We’ve only just got here,” said Jack.
“A Halberd lord once took some of our soldiers to battle on the promise that he would give the Troop mountains of flek. The bugger lost the battle, and our mercenaries died. We got nothing for our troubles. I’m afraid that my rather biased view is that Halberds can’t be trusted to pay an inn tab, let alone for the Troop’s services.”
“Hear me out a second,” said Jack. “Something one lord shouldn’t bring a load of crap another lord’s way.”
“No? That’s how politics works, my lad.”
Elena had warned him that certain conditions of one game carried over into another, and it seemed that this was another of them. Uncle Alfie seemed that have left a lot of debt behind in Royaume. He guessed that in some ways, that made him like Jack’s mum. Maybe it was a family gene, the ability to accumulate massive amounts of debt.
“Can we discuss this, general?” asked Elena.
“I’m not a stubborn man, but I am a principled one. I vowed never to deal with Halberds. Burn me once, shame on me. Burn me again, I’ll have your head.”
“Seems like a stubborn fucking stance to me,” said Mav.
Bordan stood up. “I’m afraid our meeting is over.” He glanced at the doorway. “Johnson? Escort our guests to the gates.”
If Jack left the Golden Troop empty handed, he’d have no way of getting a commander. He needed to earn Bordan’s trust somehow, and he had only a few minutes to do it.
At least Bordan wasn’t expecting him to pay for a previous Lord Halberd’s debt, unlike some bastards he knew. That marked him as a reasonable man if nothing else. What would make him open up?
“I hope the journey here wasn’t too long,” said Bordan. “I would hate for that time to be wasted.”
He seemed to change his tone from one minute to the next, with anger one minute, extreme politeness straight after. It was hard to deal with a man like that, but Jack would have to try.
“Well,” said Mav, “You’re the reason that we’d call it wasted.”
“Like I said, I am not a stubborn man. I’m a principled one.”
Boots clomped toward the doorframe, and Johnson stood to attention. “Escort our guests to the gates,” said Bordan.
“Sir.”
Damn, he only had seconds now. Come on, there had to be something he could say.
He looked around, desperately searching for something that could help. He began to see that all wasn’t as it appeared, both with Bordan ’s office and the man himself. To start with the obvious, the general’s gem-hilted sword was hung up on display, rather than sheathed at his side. Although he could have grabbed it if necessary, the dust on the handle suggested that hadn’t happened in a while.
What else was there? Okay. So, the sword hadn’t been touched in weeks, maybe months. Bordan was bulky compared to most men, but his metal armor wasn’t as tight fitting as it could have been. Jack knew how hard it was to adjust armor. This meant that the general was starting to lose muscle mass, possibly through a lack of training.
“This way, Lord Halberd,” said Johnson.
Jack nodded. “Okay, we’re coming.”
What else was there to see? The ink stains on Bordan ’s hands. A collection of spent quills in a waste box. Bundles of paper on his desk, hidden under books, the writing on them barely visible. Something was beginning to fall into place in his head.
This time, he saw that General Vine was a man who hadn’t trained in weeks, and hadn’t picked up his sword in even longer. A man who spent hours practicing his signature. Someone who had used so many quills that his waste box was overflowing with spent ones.
“Lord Halberd,” said Johnson, firmer but still with the right amount of deference.
Mav and Elena waited for him in the doorway. General Vine had his thick arms crossed.
“You’re a writer,” said Jack.
The squint in Bordan ’s eyes suggested he was trying to crush Jack using only his mind.
“I’m a commander, lad,” he said.
“You seem to have gotten through a lot of quills,” said Jack.
“A commander needs to write orders.”
“How do you start your orders?” said Mav. “By writing the unabridged history of Royaume?”
Jack leaned forward. He knew he was on the right track now. “You don’t just write orders, do you?” he said.
Bordan arched his eyebrows. He nodded at Johnson. “Close the door, soldier.”
When the soldier left, Bordan settled back into his chair behind the desk. This time he made no attempt to keep a more general-like posture and instead seemed to slump.
“I’m right, aren’t I?” said Jack.
Bordan sighed. “I grew weary of battle a long time ago. My eyes have seen too fucking much of it. If you shut your gobs and listen carefully, you’ll hear my bones creak with age.”
“We all creak, old fella,” said Mav. “Jack needs to oil me in the mornings.”
Jack took the seat in front of the general’s desk. “You want to leave your post, don’t you?” he said.
“You know,” said Bordan, “As a child, I was a skinny brat. My father used to say that a dog soaked in a rain shower would weight more than me.”
“Whatever your mother fed you did the trick,” said Mav.
“Oh, I filled out once I joined Lord Oldrock’s force. Being a soldier paid well, and I was good at it. When I became an officer, I really hit my stride. Military planning, I’m sure you will agree, is not so much different from chess once you know the value of the pieces.”
“I’ve heard something like that before,” said Jack.
“When you’re high enough in the ladder of command, everyone below you looks like a pawn,” said Bordan. “It’s nothing cold-hearted. It is just that a man cannot command those who he fears to put in harm’s way. Having said that, I would never have issued a command to my men that I would have been unwilling to follow myself.”
“And now you want to retire,” said Jack, “Don’t you? You want to do something else. That’s why you’ve been reading so many books.”
“I’m going to do what I dreamed of when I was a child but forgot when my father sent me away to train.”
Bordan picked up a few loose map sheets from his desk, curled them up and put them on the floor. He grabbed a bundle of parchment and held it up for Jack to see. The white surface was filled with Bordan’s handwriting. It was neat, and so tightly written that not an inch of parchment was left.
“In a few decades, anything I did on the battlefield will be forgotten.” He held the parchment higher, “This, however, will last much longer. If I don’t miss the mark altogether, it will be used by scholars and tachers for centuries to come.”
“You want to be a historian,” said Jack.
“That is my hope.”
“And what are you writing, may I ask?” asked Elena.
“A military history of the western reach,” answered Bordan.
Elena looked on the verge of saying something. She was struggling so hard to hold it in that Jack could see the effort on her face.
“If you have something to say, pretty miss, then say it. Words won’t harm me.”
Elena blurted it out. “It is just that in tacher halls, there are already dozens of such accounts.”
Bordan threw his parchment down on the desk. “Oh, I know. Originality is hard to find, and all I have access to around here are military books and records.”
That gave Jack an idea. Hopefully, one
that would grant him some leverage and save him a job at the same time. “I have a proposition for you,” he said.
“Propositions from a Halberd don’t mean much to me,” said Bordan.
Damn. The general wasn’t even willing to hear him out. There had to be something he could do…then he had it. He focused on the general. He began to see Bordan acting in a different way; he pictured Bordan smiling, then nodding and agreeing to his words. He imagined the general opening himself up a little. With that mental image in mind, he said “Modus.”
The general’s countenance changed. His cynical look evaporated, and it was replaced by a smile. He uncrossed his arms and leaned forward.
“Maybe I have been a little hasty. Tell me, what do you propose, young lord?”
Truespeech levelled up to level 2!
Trueword learned: Verso
[Verso is a more specific form of Modus. When used in the right circumstances, you can make a person perform a specific action.]
Jack turned to see Elena smiling at him. He couldn’t help but return a smile of his own. Then, he looked back at the general.
“How about this?” he said. “If you want to write something, how about an official history of castle halberd? I can give you unprecedented access to the castle and everything within it. You’ll be the first person to ever write such an account.”
Bordan grinned. “That does sound appealing,” he said. “And it would certainly be original.”
“Then we have a deal?” asked Jack.
The general’s countenance reverted back to kindly uncle rather than war commander. Jack was glad he’d been able to work something out. As deals went, he really hadn’t had to give much away.
“I will need to see you every so often,” said Bordan. “Unless you expect the history to be a complete fabrication.”
“That is entirely fair. It needs to be the truth. But if I can’t make it here for a while…”
“Then I will come to you.”
“Or I’ll jot down some notes and have them delivered. Either way, you’ll have your source material. As long as we get access to your officers and troops, you can write my diary.”
Bordan made no attempt to hide the smile on his face. Jack realized that he had been wrong in his earlier assessment of the general. Sure, he had projected a friendly image, but maybe Jack needed to be a little more cynical in the impressions he took from people. He’d remember that from now on.
“I must offer a correction,” Bordan said. “Just so that we are as clear as the water in Lake Suneight; I am allowing you access to the Golden Troop. You will not be getting anything for free.”
“How about a discount?” asked Mav.
“The men in the yard are mercenaries, not employees, and they need flek for their services. I will let you visit the Golden Troop and choose officers when you need them, but you will pay standard rates.”
“So,” said Jack. “This brings me on to a more touchy subject.”
Bordan stared out of the window, lost in a haze of thoughts. “Oh, sorry, young lord. I was imagining how I would phrase my prologue to the book.”
Jack checked to make sure the door was shut. It wouldn’t do for rumors to spread about his lack of wealth. “I’m kinda short on flek,” he said.
“I told you, we will not offer a discount.”
“Sure, but I need a commander. I was hoping there was a young officer who could do the job. Someone hungry for a command post, who’ll take one that doesn’t offer much flek to begin with.”
“Need we remind you of the prestige of serving at Castle Halberd?” said Elena.
Bordan nodded. “Perhaps it was an honor once, but even crab fisherman in the eastern isles know that Castle Halberd is a ruin. It will be a while before we can truly call it a prestigious post.”
“There must be someone,” said Jack.
“You can take a chance on one of the veteran privates,” said Bordan.
“No,” Mav interjected. “There’s a reason some men don’t get promoted. Anyone who spends so long as a private has a fighter’s body, but lacks an officer’s brain.”
“Then once again, I am afraid this might be a wasted trip.”
“Come on. There must be someone,” said Jack.
Bordan stared out of the window. Men across the yard, far enough away that they looked like dots, skirmished with wooden swords. Jack couldn’t tell if the general was pondering his problem or if he was planning his book again. Outside the room, the group of tinkers huddled around the bomb suddenly moved away from each other, and then sprinted in different directions across the yard. Just as the last of them got away, the bomb they had been trying to diffuse exploded, sending a shower of mud everywhere.
Finally, Bordan turned around. “I won’t listen to any complaints about this later,” he said. “but you could always try the Blade Maiden.”
Chapter Twenty
Johnson led them toward the Blade Maiden. The training yard was filled with the clacking of wooden blades, and the smash of spears colliding with shields. Officers barked orders at their men. Some recruits watched Jack and his party pass by, only to receiving rebukes from their superiors. Up above, rain clouds brooded and threatened heavy rain. The air was heavy with the smell of spent explosives, though the trainee tinkers and their bombs were confined to the far reaches of the yard. To the west, cordoned by lengths of rope, was a herb garden. It was most likely used for either medicinal reasons. Near the herb garden, a man was writing something on a wooden billboard, but Jack couldn’t see what it said with the man stood in the way.
“Johnson,” said Jack. “What do you know of the Blade Maiden?”
The soldier seemed reluctant to share his thoughts with them. “She’s…”
“Come on. I won’t tell anyone.”
Johnson didn’t say anything. Jack imagined the soldier spilling his truths, and then said, “Verso.”
Truespeech increased by 10%!
“Well, she fights rough. And she’s got a sharp tongue. And I’ll tell you this; the medical practitioners spend more time fixing up her recruits than anyone else’s.”
“Forget her,” said Mav. “The last thing you need is a fucking hothead in charge of your army. If it really comes down to it, I’ll do it. I don’t like it, but I’ll step up.”
“It pains me to say so,” said Elena, “But I agree with your earlier assessment of your command abilities. I think you might have just a pinch too much of selfishness.”
“Suit yourself.”
“Hope you don’t think I’m being rude,” said Johnson, “but perhaps you want to meet me later, Lord. There are some things I have heard that will interest you.”
“I’ll see if I have time.”
As Johnson escorted them to a secluded area of the yard, Jack couldn’t help a stirring feeling in his stomach. His instincts told him that something was wrong, but he didn’t know what. They reached an area close to the eastern wall of the complex. The Golden Troop walls were twenty-feet high and covered in poison ivy. They were capped with turrets every hundred meters, and archers sat on guard. Here, Johnson stopped, and Jack caught his first sight of the woman they called the Blade Maiden.
She had short, red, hair that stopped a few inches above her shoulders. It was ragged, and it must have been years since it had seen a brush. Her skin was pale, and she wore a fresh bruise on her left eye. Her face was dirty, and her knuckles were raw. She looked every inch a soldier, in her skin-tight leathers with a square patch of mail on the front. It was an outfit that screamed practicality. A sword swung from a sheath on her belt. Despite her rough and ready appearance, Jack was in love straight away.
“Put your tongue back in,” said Mav. “Or she’ll probably cut it out.”
Twenty recruits stood in front of her in a formation four rows deep. They were all young, but they were still taller and bigger than the Blade Maiden. Despite their physical advantage, none of them would meet her gaze.
“There she is,” said
Johnson. “The Blade Maiden. But don’t call her that.”
“What’s her real name?” asked Jack.
“Sarna Lornthane.”
“Lornthane,” said Elena. “Is her father-”
“Yes. Teremund Lornthane,” replied Johnson.
Sarna Lornthane faced her recruits with a scowl. “Which one of you beard-splitting little bitches wants to dance?” she said. “I hope you’ve been practicing. I want you to get to know the weight of your blade so well that you can see it in your sleep. No more dreaming of mummy when the lights go out; she’s gone. I’m your mummy now.”