Crusade

by Daniel M Ford

  It was, to Allystaire, briefly reminiscent of the sorcerers he’d faced. He feared, for a moment remembering a day of pain at Bhimanzir’s hands, the crushing power of Gethmasanar’s subtle will. Yet the color wasn’t a sickly yellow or a blood-drip red.

  It was the color of soft summer sunlight. A golden warmth, powerful but inviting.

  “I spent my first two days in this Barony watching my master oversee the construction of a pen to hold the women he intended to sacrifice. I spent the next months watching that pen fill with terrified, powerless women, taken from their homes, bought and sold like cattle. Not even cattle!”

  For perhaps the first time, Allystaire heard Gideon’s voice rise, and felt a chill at the hint of raw power that roared beneath it.

  “Like furs. Like meat, or turnips. Like dead things. That is how the women were treated. Dead things that the sorcerer required, and your father provided them without a second thought. Had most of your knights and lords the links necessary to have hired Bhimanzir, they would have done the same if he promised them the same power. Do not speak to me of what is fair when it comes to such men.”

  The light left Gideon’s eyes and the boy shrank back into himself for a moment. All was silent. Chaddin and Landen both sat straight in their seats, eyes wide. Allystaire heard Norbert mumble, “Cold, m’glad he’s on our side.”

  “The Will of the Mother speaks sense,” Allystaire said, “and probably truth. I can see if the Voice would speak to Averyn. If he were willing, she probably would. But he must be willing. No man comes compelled to our Temple.”

  “My mind is made up,” Chaddin said. He glanced at Gideon for a moment, seemed to be heartened by something he saw or thought, and nodded, confirming something to himself. “Yes. But if he wishes to speak to the priestess, I would allow it. Best go see if she will come.”

  “She is on her way,” Gideon said, after barely any pause. “But she fears that Sir Mathis Averyn will have little to say to her.”

  “She may well be right,” Chaddin said. Then he took in a deep breath. “Guards!”

  The tent flap was tugged open by a thickly gloved hand. A ruddy cheeked face looked in, leather and iron cap slightly askew on his head. “Fetch the prisoner,” Chaddin ordered.

  Gideon, Allystaire, and Norbert shuffled off to the side again. Mathis was once more dragged before Chaddin, grinding his teeth in a grimace.

  “Sir Mathis Averyn,” Chaddin began, standing. “I have decided upon your sentence.”

  Avery spat, trying to sail a blob of spittle at Chaddin. It was well wide of the mark.

  “I don’t recognize your Freezing court, you mad bastard,” he yelled.

  “Gag him,” Chaddin ordered. The two guards who held him looked at one another in confusion. “NOW,” Chaddin thundered. One of the men pulled his glove free then and roughly stuffed it into Mathis’s mouth as he continued to try to spout obscenities. Slowly he was drowned out as the glove was worked into his mouth, with the second guard squeezing his jaw open by the cheeks.

  “The world is changing, Sir Mathis,” Chaddin went on. “We must all learn to change with it. The mass of people have a legal voice now, in me. That you found this so appalling as to engage in intrigue and conspiracy, and would look to commit treason and murder to prevent it, does not speak well of you as a lord of men. Blood will not save you. You are to be hanged at first light tomorrow. I give you the intervening time to write out a will, any final letters, and to speak, if you wish, with the Mother’s or Fortune’s priestess. They may be willing to extend you a kind of mercy. I am not.”

  Mathis raged impotently into his improvised gag, struggled against the ropes that bound him. His face turned beet red; saliva trickled from the corners of his mouth.

  “Take him away. Remove the gag when he is out of my hearing. Do not remove his bonds. Keep him under guard.”

  “Ah, where, m’lord?”

  “There is a cowshed that will do,” Allystaire said. He turned to Norbert, working hard and failing to keep a grin from his face. “I believe my squire here knows where it is.”

  Norbert furrowed his brow for a moment, till realization suddenly dawned. “Aye,” he said slowly, frowning. “I do.”

  “By your leave then, Lord Magistrate?” Allystaire looked to Chaddin, who nodded.

  “Follow me, then,” Norbert said, hefting bowstave and spear and leaving the tent.

  Chaddin and Landen stood, and Allystaire clapped Gideon on the shoulder, nodded at them, and turned to leave.

  Gideon stepped away from Allystaire’s hand as they left the tent, but not before Allystaire had squeezed his shoulder and muttered, “Proud of you. You saw what no one else quite did.”

  The boy shrugged, but Allystaire saw the ghost of a smile traced on his thin mouth. “I merely expressed it. You saw it, too.” He looked up at Allystaire. “If he accepts the repentance, do we take him in, commute his sentence?”

  “I do not know,” Allystaire admitted. “Tell me what you think.”

  “I think that you will say that we haven’t the legal authority to do so, and that attempting to would undercut Landen and Chaddin. And you would be right, to an extent.”

  “And where do you find that extends to, exactly?”

  “The legal authority is not terribly important. We could take him away from them, protect him if he repented and accepted the Mother.”

  “It sets a bad precedent. Criminals will think they can come to us for sanctuary.”

  “Maybe they should be able to,” Gideon suggested suddenly.

  “I will not make Her Temple a haven for thieves, rapists, murderers, and blackguards of every description,” Allystaire declared. “Even if he genuinely repents, should his sentence be commuted?”

  “Of course it should. He spoke of conspiracy. Tried to set it into motion, but chose his fellows poorly and was caught. His actual crime is political; his execution will still be about power, maintaining it, shaping it, holding onto it. It will not be about handing out a just punishment.”

  “Did you not just explain how his crime was about clinging to his power?”

  “And his punishment could be seen as Landen clinging to hers.”

  Allystaire sighed. “You know that someone must wield power.”

  Gideon looked up at him, frowning. “Of course. An absence of it would lead to chaos and strife. We are working towards the best end we can see. I know that. But it still involves compromise that rankles me.”

  “We do what we can—”

  “Until we do what we must,” Gideon finished. “I know. I wish we did not resort to ‘must’ so easily.”

  “None of it is easy.” Allystaire looked towards the road leading to the timber palisade surrounding Thornhurst. Harrys was making his way towards it, though he walked more slowly than he could have. “Would you go escort Mol here? I need to speak to Harrys.”

  “Mol doesn’t need an escort.”

  “For the form of the thing, Gideon. Please?”

  The boy sighed lightly and quickened his pace. Though Allystaire’s stride was much longer, in little time Gideon outpaced him and was off down the road, passing quickly by Harrys.

  Coming up slowly behind Harrys, Allystaire cleared his throat. The old soldier didn’t stop.

  “Harrys,” Allystaire said. “Stop, please. Speak with me.”

  He turned about, shrugged. “Well?”

  “Why did you agree to fight Sir Donals?”

  “Never liked the son of a bitch,” Harrys said, shrugging.

  Allystaire frowned. “It cannot be so simple.”

  “Never is. But he wanted killin’.” Harrys sniffed. “That lad o’yours, he’s a sharp one. I think he had Donals Brinden down t’the particulars. He’d’ve done whate’er he could t’ruin what those two’re after startin’.”

  “And you wanted to stop hi
m, because you want peace. As much as any man here. You risked your life, and everything it has meant, because you saw that this slim chance is better than simply accepting things as they are.”

  “Might be,” Harrys admitted. “What was it ya said, though? What’s my life weighed ‘gainst peace fer the Barony? Nothin’.”

  “Not nothing. But you have made a choice, and a sacrifice. I know that. I would reward it.”

  “Not stayin’ here t’dig and grub in the dirt. I didn’t want t’do that when I was a lad and I don’t Freezin’ want t’do it now.”

  Allystaire said. “I saw you praying at the Pillar of the Arm weeks ago, before the funeral.”

  The man reached up and scratched at the webwork of scars on his grey-fringed head. “Done it a couplea times since. I…” He swallowed hard. “I never gave much thought to gods n’goddesses. I lipped what I need ta at Braech or Fortune’s temple ‘fore campaigns, or t’their priests ‘fore battles. Never had much use for prayer or temples o’my own time.”

  “Yet you came to the Mother’s Altar of your own free will. Why?”

  “Dunno,” Harrys admitted. “Just seemed a thing fer the moment.”

  “Then why did you go back? Why did you come to me about the conspiracy when you knew this would end badly for you?”

  “I…” The man sighed. “I heard a voice. Think me mad if ya like, but I heard a voice, last time I prayed. Told me I’d a choice t’make. Between what I’d been and what I might be, what was easy, what was right. Lot of it I didn’t understand and can’t recall. But I knew when Donals come to me what the voice’d meant.”

  “A woman’s voice?”

  “Aye,” Harrys confirmed.

  “Why did you not tell me that to begin with?” Allystaire’s mouth fell open incredulously.

  “Ya’d think me mad, hearin’ voices.”

  “Harrys,” Allystaire said, “do you believe I am what I say I am?”

  “Paladin? Seen it, haven’t I? Been healed by ya, twice. Don’t have much choice but t’believe.”

  “Then why in the Cold would you find a voice reaching to you in prayer hard for me to believe?”

  “Well, you may have seen n’touched yer Goddess. May have tea with ‘er n’talk every eve for all I know, but this is all new t’me,” he said, chin lifted defiantly.

  “Had you led with that, we could have saved a good deal of trouble,” Allystaire pointed out.

  Harrys sniffed. “Trouble over what?”

  “The Order of the Arm, Harrys. I think you are meant for it.”

  “Knights, eh?” Harrys narrowed his eyes, spat. “I’ve not got the blood for it.”

  “It is not blood I am after.”

  “Didn’t ya call me coward today? More’n once?”

  “I did not know then what I know now,” Allystaire replied. “Even so, have you never yelled such things at a trooper when trying to motivate him?”

  Harrys scowled a moment, then assumed a guarded expression, brows furrowed and lips pursed. “Could be.” A pause. “What would I have t’do t’prove myself?”

  “Train with me, with Norbert. With others as they arrive or volunteer.”

  “So yer takin’ anyone?”

  “No,” Allystaire replied. “If Mathis Averyn throws himself on the mercy of the Mother, I would still not accept him.”

  “Donals were a better man in a fight, anyway,” Harrys said, absently rubbing his left forearm for a moment.

  “Not as good as you, though.”

  “Known damn few knights who were, n’truth. I always thought I was as good a man as any o’them, lowborn or no. Better’n many.”

  “Prove that. Live it.”

  “I’ll have no bowin’ n’scrapin’.”

  “Neither will I,” Allystaire said. “Yet if I give an order, I will expect it to be obeyed.”

  “Wha’ else?”

  “You can never lie to me.”

  Harrys shrugged. “Knowed that already. What d’ya offer for my service?”

  “Very little. Here in Thornhurst, we will do as much as we can for the needs of as many people as we can, you included. Food, clothing, a hearth—these I can promise you, for now. I can give you the chance to prove what you said about the knights you knew. And I can promise you that I will never order you to do anything I would not do myself.”

  “Not much of an offer,” Harrys said. “I could make more wi’ a warband.”

  “And how would you feel about that work? Knowing what you do of war, after a lifetime practicing it.”

  “Piss poor, I’d say.” He looked into the distance, pulled up his old scarf and wrapped it around his neck. “I’ve done things in my soldierin’ days. Things I need scrubbed off, feels like.”

  “Talk to Mol. The priestess.”

  “The barefoot lass?”

  “The same. She will know what to tell you.”

  “Not sure I want t’talk to a lass her age ‘bout some o’what I done. I’m no murderer nor a rapist, ‘fore you think that. None of that.”

  “Harrys, the Mother offers us a chance to begin new, fresh. Mol is the one to speak to when it comes to,” Allystaire struggled for the word, “unburdening yourself.”

  “Thought this was about takin’ ‘em on. Isn’t that what you said? Bear any burden?”

  “Aye.” Allystaire smiled. “For that, you come to me. Tomorrow, dawn. Bring a stone.”

  CHAPTER 16

  Shadow’s Work

  Something nagged at Allystaire for the rest of the day, through some chores, some more light exercise with Gideon and Norbert, through pestering Torvul about when his hammer would be ready only to hear the dwarf’s dismissive “soon.”

  Sunset found Allystaire in the armory, watching Norbert scrub at his mail shirt with a stiff brush, while the shirt itself sat in a basin full of sand. He had his borrowed blade in his lap, was carefully wiping oil from it with absent strokes of a rag.

  “Might I ask a question?” Norbert grunted with the effort of lifting his shirt clear of the basin.

  “That is a question,” Allystaire pointed out. “But yes, you may.”

  “Why d’ya clean the blade even though ya didn’t use it t’day? Same with the mail. How’d it have a chance t’get dirty after we cleaned it yesterday?”

  “In the winter, mail will rust the moment you turn your back. Rusted armor kills the man wearing it,” Allystaire said, wiping a last spot of oil from the blade and sliding it back into its scabbard, then laying it carefully against a rack. “And cleaning a weapon at day’s end is a good way to center your thoughts. Tend to your arms and armor every day, Norbert, unless circumstances truly force you to do otherwise. Your life—and more importantly, the lives of others—will depend upon them. Do not take that lightly.”

  Allystaire watched Norbert for a moment, saw him brushing away the last bits of sand, pulverized rock, and eggshell, watched him lay the mail shirt carefully upon a table that groaned under other pieces of armor.

  “That will do for another day, Norbert. Doubtless Lenoir is waiting to feed you.”

  Even in the darkness that was falling outside and stealing the light from the shed, Allystaire could tell Norbert was blushing and grinning both by the way he hung his head.

  “Go,” Allystaire said, shooing him. “Never keep a lady waiting. Eat yourself to sleep. But be ready in the morning. Harrys will probably try to test you.”

  Norbert took off at a rapid pace. Allystaire slid the bar down, pulled the length of chain tight, and slipped Torvul’s lock through its ends, turned the key, and pocketed it.

  Missing men, he thought to himself, as he walked to the Inn. If they simply ran for it, they are likely dead. Perhaps early victims of the conspiracy? Seems unlikely. It nagged at him, and yet he could find no thread to pull on, nothing to seriously consider.


  He kept turning the idea over in his head until he found himself pushing into the Inn’s welcoming warmth. The hearthfire was huge and bright, and many lamps were hung, among them Torvul’s small and powerful white-beamed lantern.

  Even so, there were few enough folk about. The dwarf and Gideon sat at a table together, their food and drink pushed to the side, bowls of stew half-eaten, a loaf untouched, the boy holding forth in a low but excited voice. For once, Torvul didn’t interrupt, correct, or interject; he simply listened, rapt.

  A few farmfolk shared tables, as did some of Chaddin’s men at one. Harrys sat alone in a corner, and, as he expected, Idgen Marte sat at the hearth, a jug of wine on a small table beside her, one long leg thrown over the arm of the chair as she leaned back.

  She was already pouring him a cup of wine as he, having shed cloak and hat and scarf, came to sit.

  “Good stew tonight,” she offered. “Keegan and his lot brought in an old doe they shot, and a long string of rabbits.”

  “Back to eating meat, then? I thought they had lost their taste for it.”

  “Some have,” she said, handing him his wine. “They want to help feed the village, so they hunt.”

  “Are they holding up in the winter?” He took a long sip from the cup. It had been heated, and heavily spiced. Where the spices had come from, he wasn’t sure, but he was grateful. It hadn’t much flavor otherwise. But it sank down his throat in a slow warming roll and he felt it spread to his stomach, reminding him of his hunger, what he’d done that day to earn it.

  She nodded. “Look a pack of savages, covered in stinking furs, but they’re healthy. I talked to him about comin’ inside the walls. They’ll not do it unless things get worse.”

  Allystaire nodded, had a second sip of wine, let it become a large swallow. His eyes drifted into the fire, squinting, and in his head he couldn’t help tugging at the problem of the missing men again.

  “What?” Idgen Marte leaned forward, dropping both boots to the ground.

  “Cold, you read me faster than anyone I have ever known,” Allystaire said with a small laugh.

  “It’s my job, and you’re not a subtle man, as you always remind me. You’d be a terrible card player. Come on.” She nudged his knee with one finger. “Out with it.”