The crowd erupted in cheers when Richard Ban’hoen pulled the lever to release the platform under the twelve men, sending them to their deaths; some immediately, others kicking and twitching for over a minute before the struggling slowed, and then ceased.
~Æ~
Late that evening, Argus and Gastious sat with the King in his council chambers.
“Do you need anything, Argus? Would you like a drink?” asked the King.
“No, thank you, Your Highness,” answered Argus, observing that, as usual, the King had a glass of wine in front of him, and had neglected to offer one to Gastious.
“Congratulations on today’s proceedings, Your Highness,” offered Gastious.
“Yes, indeed,” said the King, slapping himself on the stomach in a self-satisfied gesture. “The reports are coming in. Most of the country is behind me on this, and very distrustful of the clans.”
The King laughed and took a long draught of wine.
“I still would rather have killed them myself,” Gastious said.
“No,” answered Arconus. “Though I may have preferred to see their blood on your sword, it is the perception that matters. It is all about propaganda, Gastious. Most will believe in the plot by the general. Some will not. All will be suspicious of me and that is also good. Uncertainty paralyses action as surely as fear.”
“Indeed, sire,” Argus agreed. “The clans will be the ones to suspect you first, and you can expect retaliation at some point, but it will be very difficult for them to organise effectively without the men who were hung today. These problems being resolved for now, we still have a few other concerns to address.”
“I know,” answered Arconus. “Santaque is still out there. He is heading northeast. I am sending Gastious to deal with him.”
“I see,” answered Argus, and sensed an opportunity. “And the Talons of Freedom?”
“The King told you I am dealing with it,” growled Gastious. “That is all you need to know.”
“Calm down, Gastious,” chided Arconus.
“Yes, Gastious, you have been dealing with them for months now, haven’t you?” Argus prodded. “Forgive my intrusiveness, sire, it’s just that I have some information that could be useful to you.”
“Yes, Argus. Please.”
“I may know the location of one of the Talons. I have recently spoken to Wiersch, your magistrate in Snake’s Mouth. He tells me of a young man who seems to have been cavorting with them.”
“Well, Gastious, you are heading to the region in any case, why don’t you investigate?”
Gastious bristled at being involved in anything initiated by Argus. “Who is it?’ he grunted.
“The boy’s name is Rhoie,” answered Argus. “He is no one of importance himself, but he might lead you to the Talons of Freedom. He lives with a tavern keeper called Liam Foster.”
“Gastious?” Arconus prompted.
“Yes, sire. I will pay Foster a visit after our other business is finished.”
“Gastious, I should warn you. Foster was a soldier.”
“Why should I care?”
“He was Sha’grath.”
Gastious grunted, “It won’t matter.”
“No, Gastious, of course not,” said Argus. “Just remember he is very fond of the boy. To avoid any further nuisances, I believe it would be wise to dispatch him.”
Gastious looked to Arconus for direction.
“You have your orders, Gastious,” replied the King.
III
It is sometimes necessary to force a man into a position of discomfort,
or even desperation, in order to provoke action.
– Attributed to Lyra, the Vetra Ta’raa of the Æhlman Sisterhood, whom most scholars believe instigated the historic conflict at Liam’s tavern
Lyra and Liam sat chatting together at a table in Liam’s tavern before Lyra was due to perform. Rhoie was on stage, trying his luck as a jester. Most of the crowd knew him, and were courteous to the young performer, but thus far Rhoie was having little success.
“He is a good storyteller,” offered Lyra.
“Yes, he is,” answered Liam, “but I’m afraid he just isn’t that funny.”
Lyra came through town every four or five months. She was by far the town’s, and Liam’s, favourite performer. Liam sat with her, absently rubbing his scalp with his little finger.
“You’re going to rub the red out, Liam,” Lyra teased.
“Yes,” Liam laughed. “You’re right, I must be careful. The dying flame of my youth.” He tapped the red streak of hair above his left eye, the last vestige of its original colour. “It’s only a matter of time before it flickers out, but I have no desire to speed up the process.”
Lyra and Liam always sat together before and after her performances, as was customary. But in the last few visits they were becoming closer, talking about more personal aspects of their lives, and not just business; planning for the next performance or discussing the last one. Lyra made Liam feel as if he were the only man in her life during these conversations, but Liam never felt as if his impression could be trusted. He suspected she had the same effect on many men in Jeandania. Liam often rehearsed in his mind, how he might invite her to his home, but he knew he never would.
“You say Rhoie is staying with you, Liam?” Lyra asked.
“Yes, sometimes. He stays in the barn,” Liam answered.
“That’s cruel, Liam,” Lyra laughed. “Surely you could put him in a room far enough away from Brandi in that big house of yours to make you feel secure.”
“Ha,” Liam smiled. “Grant you, I do prefer him as far away from my daughter as possible, but that is not why he sleeps in the barn.”
“Why is it then?” Lyra asked.
“To be honest, I still don’t know, but sleeping in the barn is of his choosing, not mine,” Liam answered. He took a sip of ale, and continued, “It goes back to the day Rhoie came to Snake’s Mouth. I remember watching from the window as Brandi was coming home from her lessons. She walked like her mother, still does, with a certain joy in her step.”
“May Atai look after her well,” Lyra said quietly, invoking the Goddess of Death.
“Thank you,” Liam said, and suddenly felt a pang of guilt that he was sitting with another woman, even though it had been nearly eighteen years since his wife’s death.
“So Brandi was coming home from her lessons ...” Lyra said, gently touching his hand, prodding him to continue.
“Yes, well, as she walked down the path, I noticed this boy following her. He would hide behind a bush or a tree, Brandi would take a few more steps, and he would scamper out of sight behind a big rock. At first I was afraid for her, but it quickly became apparent that she was aware of her little spy, and seemed to be slowing her pace to be sure he kept up.”
“Ah,” said Lyra, “one of a thousand games played between boys and girls, not sure what to do with the feelings they have for each other.”
“Indeed,” answered Liam, “but I couldn’t bring myself to like it. I barged through the back door and bellowed at the young boy. I think I said something about using his head for my next game of bowls.”
“Oh, Liam!” Lyra said, and slapped him lightly on the arm.
“I know, Lyra, I know. I was younger then, and not as restrained and level-headed as I am now.”
Lyra laughed, and Liam continued, “I just about scared the life out of him. He ran away and scrambled over the horse fence. He fell over the other side and broke his wrist. I felt terrible, so I took him in, tended to his wrist, and even managed to get a smile out of him when I explained Brandi’s affection for injured men.”
“So you gave up that early?”
“Certainly not. I’ve been trying to come between those two since they met,” Liam asserted, then his tone softened. “But I suppose it is too late now. They were meant for each other.”
“They have a good chance together, I think,” Lyra agreed.
“I hope so,” Liam
said.
The crowd finally started laughing at one of Rhoie’s jokes.
“Maybe he even has a chance at a career as a jester,” said Lyra. “But tell me, what was it about the barn?”
“Right,” continued Liam. “Rhoie had dinner with us that evening, and I tried to find out more about him. He was an orphan, as so many are in this country, but I didn’t inquire much further about his parents. Finally I told him he could stay with us, at least for the night. He refused, and I could not manage to persuade him otherwise. Finally I insisted. I said, ‘Look young man. It is cold. You have no place to stay, and this is a dangerous country. You will stay in the house where you will be safe, and that will be the end of it.’ Then a terrible fear crossed his face. It was strange and sad. Before the tears could come, he ran from the table and out the door. I went after him. I looked for over an hour and was just about to give up when I checked the barn for the third time. He was tucked away in a corner behind a pile of hay, under a horse blanket. He had covered himself up to his neck, still trying to hide, I suppose, while he slept. I went back to the house and fetched him a proper blanket and pillow, and made him as comfortable as I could. He didn’t even begin to wake up as I moved him. The barn became his intermittent home. I put a bed in there, and eventually built a room for him.”
“You are a good man, Liam Foster,” said Lyra.
“Thank you, Lyra,” said Liam, a bit surprised at the remark. “That is a high compliment.” Then he turned away from her and sighed, “But I worry I have not done enough. He is not my son, but I feel responsible for him. I have stayed up many nights wondering what I could have done differently.”
“He is a fine young man, Liam,” Lyra interjected. “You needn’t worry about him.”
“Yes, but he can’t hold a job for more than two weeks at a time, and I think that he is running with the wrong people.”
“Like whom?”
“Oh, he and Brandi are both becoming more and more interested in politics. Just yesterday I walked into Brandi’s room, and I saw a copy of Lazaro’s Flame peeking out from under her bed, likely tossed there the moment I knocked.”
“That underground newspaper?” Lyra asked, then cast a naughty expression. “Ooh, scandalous!”
Liam chuckled. “There is no harm reading that sort of thing, so long as the authorities don’t find out. I just worry it may lead to more.” Liam leaned in and spoke quietly, “I think Rhoie may be cavorting with the Talons of Freedom.”
The amusement drained from Lyra’s face. “The ones with the tattoos?” she asked.
“Yes, I’m afraid so.”
“That could be serious,” Lyra said. “And you worry he may end up following the same path you did?”
“Yes,” Liam said heavily. “The path that cost me my wife.”
Lyra silently turned her attention back to Rhoie, but it was clear she was not listening to the performance. Liam took a deep breath through his nose. He could smell the wood and tar beneath the odour of ale and celebration. He looked up at the thick wooden beams along the ceiling, and remembered his father climbing on them, with a hammer in his hand and nails in his teeth, finishing the construction of the roof.
Liam hoped that Brandi and Rhoie could one day sit together, as he and Lyra did now, striving only to entertain their guests and to appreciate their good fortune. He hoped Lazaro’s Flame, and the Talons of Freedom were the passing passions of youth, and that both of them would soon come to their senses.
Suddenly, a tomato emerged from the boisterous crowd.
“Poor Rhoie,” chuckled Liam. He knew that once the first projectile made its way to the stage, a barrage was sure to follow.
“Excuse me, Lyra,” Liam apologised. “I hope we can continue our conversation later this evening.”
“I hope so too, Liam,” Lyra answered in a manner that made Liam feel certain she meant what she said.
Liam reluctantly rose from his seat and made his way across the large room to the small, raised stage and held his hands in the air. His guests stopped throwing food as Liam ascended the steps.
“Please, please,” he said through his own stifled laughter. “The poor boy has had enough, and look how you’ve all upset Willem.”
The crowd laughed and banged on their tables as Willem’s short, wiry frame stomped towards the stage. Willem had been working for Liam, and Liam’s father before him, for over forty years, and had never missed a day of work. He waved a bony finger in the direction of the crowd.
“Next time I’m not gonna clean it. Next time I’m throwin’ it right back at ya,” Willem growled. It was a promise Willem had made hundreds of times, and had yet to keep. The crowd just laughed and banged even louder as Willem grumbled and walked off to fetch his broom and mop.
“Please, please. Let the good man do his work,” Liam said, taking Rhoie gently by the shoulder and escorting him to the table.
He gestured to Lyra, who smiled, nodded, and prepared to take to the stage. For her, the crowd would throw money, not vegetables.
Liam motioned to the bartender for a couple of ales and handed Rhoie a towel.
“Thanks, Liam,” said Rhoie, scanning the tavern.
“Sure,” replied Liam, waiting for the inevitable question.
“Where’s Brandi?”
“She’s working the brook-side tonight,” Liam answered, referring to the far end of the tavern where a stream flowed just outside the windows. “I’m sure she’ll make her way over here before long.”
Rhoie nodded and started wiping his shirt clean.
Liam looked down at the thin, messy figure of the young man. “I don’t know how to tell you this, Rhoie, but I’m not sure you’re going to be able to make a living as a jester.”
“Oh, no?” Rhoie asked, and then pulled an apple out of his pocket and placed it on the table. “If my hands are quick enough, I can at least put food on the table.”
Liam laughed. “Well, we’ll see what Brandi thinks. Here she comes now.”
Rhoie looked up eagerly to find Brandi walking towards them. Liam joked about being unhappy with their relationship, but he truly enjoyed seeing them together. It was impossible for him to deny their compatibility; they seemed to balance each other. Rhoie was handsome and gangly. Brandi was pretty and stout. Rhoie was a little taller than average, Brandi a little shorter. Rhoie was a dreamer, and Brandi was a worker.
Although Liam worried about his future, he knew that Rhoie was a decent young man who dearly loved his daughter.
Brandi scowled as she approached them. “Why must they be so cruel? Oh, look at you. You’re a mess.” Brandi took the towel from Rhoie’s hand and tenderly wiped the remaining tomato pulp from his neck.
Rhoie visibly relaxed at Brandi’s touch, lost in a moment of tenderness. Then Rhoie quickly reached for her wrist. He delicately pulled down her hand and adjusted his collar. Liam knew he did not mistake the look of worry that briefly darkened Brandi’s face.
“Oh, that’s ticklish,” Rhoie said. “Thanks, Brandi, I’ll get it.” Rhoie took the towel from her and continued cleaning his neck.
“Oh, Lyra’s about to sing, Daddy,” Brandi teased. “Are you going to have a drink with her later? I don’t know why you never ask her out.”
“She’s too old for me, dear,” Liam answered.
Brandi looked towards the beautiful young singer and laughed. “I’ll talk to you two jesters later.” She rolled her eyes at Rhoie, and kissed her father on the cheek before heading back to her customers.
“You work her too hard, Liam,” Rhoie commented.
“What would you know about work, Rhoie?” Liam countered. “Besides, Brandi enjoys it, and there is no better way to learn a business than from the ground up. She’ll be running this place one day.”
“I know, Liam, I know,” Rhoie said, and lifted his chin to better see as noisy group banged through the front door. “What is that raucous?”
Liam heard it too. He looked towards the door.
&nb
sp; “King’s soldiers,” Liam said, recognising the red uniform of one of the men as he shoved through the crowd. Then a scrawny figure dressed in black came through the front door. “And Wiersch. What could this be about?”
Then he looked at Rhoie, who appeared nervous.
Without saying a word, Rhoie started briskly towards the bar, and the back exit. Suddenly soldiers came from that door as well, trapping them all in the tavern.
Liam grabbed Rhoie’s arm before the first soldiers reached them. “What is going on, Rhoie? Did you do something?”
“No, Liam,” Rhoie answered, his voice steady. “I promise you, I haven’t done a damn thing, but that doesn’t always matter with this King.”
Before Liam could wonder what he meant, Wiersch pushed his way in front of Liam. He was a head shorter and impeccably dressed in a tailored black uniform with the King’s crest embroidered on his breast. He wore a perfectly-patterned assortment of leather straps and belts, each of which held an expensive-looking weapon. His hair was oiled and combed straight back in a long, iron-curled ponytail.
“Mr Foster, I am sorry to make such a fuss in your tavern, but the King insisted.”
“Not at all, sir,” Liam answered. “It is always an honour to host the King’s magistrate of Snake’s Mouth. May I offer you and your men some refreshment?”
“That is not why we are here, Foster,” Wiersch answered haughtily.
Then Liam heard heavy footsteps on the front steps. The door opened. Gasps and a few muffled screams filled the tavern.
“Gastious,” Liam whispered.
All of Jeandania knew of Gastious, the King’s Prime. This was the first time Liam had seen him, but the half-Bok’s legend left no doubt as to his identity. The crowd parted as the enormous, muscular figure walked towards Liam and Rhoie.
Liam was scared now. He had dealt with Wiersch many times, dutifully paying him bribes and conceding to his ridiculous demands, but he had never dealt with Gastious. Gastious was no diplomat. He was a tool of the King used to cause fear and to kill.
Rhoie stood beside him, breathing heavily. Brandi watched from across the tavern, and Lyra observed silently from the stage. Liam stepped forward. He bowed to Gastious. “It is an honour, sir, to welcome you to my tavern. How may I be of service to my King?”
With Footfalls of Shadow Page 3