Broken Stone 02 - Warlock's Sun Rising

by Damien Black

  At a nod from Horskram the journeymen on duty opened the south gate, allowing them to enter Lower Thulia for the first time. Adelko supposed they were out of danger for the nonce, but that would quickly change if they met any trouble on the road. Their trusty swords looked as though they would struggle to draw a blade, never mind wield one.

  ‘Are you sure this is a good idea, Master Horskram?’ he asked as they nudged their steeds through the gatehouse and on to the track leading back to the main road. Johann had not bothered to see them off, but that was hardly surprising given the prior’s surly arrogance.

  ‘We have little choice,’ replied Horskram, more wearily than anything else. ‘The curse has been slowed, enough to get our trusty swords to Rima alive – if we don’t dawdle! But lose too much time and they will surely die.’

  ‘And you think our brethren in Rima will fare any better?’ The thought of losing all his comrades appalled him.

  ‘You know not the power of the monastery that the High Circle presides over,’ explained Horskram. ‘The kind of elan that our senior chapter can summon should be enough to lift the curse altogether – on top of that I can join my prayers to theirs and we can use the Redeemer’s blood.’

  ‘Why didn’t you do that here?’

  ‘Because that would have meant telling Johann I have it in my possession. I don’t trust him – I never have. The man is ambitious and self-seeking. He applied for a pew on the High Circle once, but was voted down. Also he has always resented my status as a hierophant. He wouldn’t have let me join my elan to his precious chapter, even had I offered to do so. His vanity would not stand for it.’

  ‘So he’d risk the lives of our friends… At least you have good reason when you do it, Master Horskram.’ Overstepping the mark, Adelko expected a rebuke. Instead the adept favoured him with a sardonic smile.

  ‘Yes, Adelko, I do not risk the lives of others without good cause – thank you for noticing. Anyway, now you know what kind of man Johann is.’

  Adelko pondered that. How many men like Johann held senior positions within the Order? The High Circle comprised the six Archmasters and Grand Master, one for each of the Seven Acolytes or the Seven Seraphim, depending on how you interpreted it. But beyond that he knew little of the powerful men who would soon enter his life.

  Enter his life if he preserved it as far as Rima that was.

  An hour later they joined the main road. Over to the west a grim-looking keep loomed, its single turret glaring at them over a rude-looking bailey that crowned a sparse motte. It looked unremarkable save for the white standard that flew atop its battlements. To his surprise Adelko saw the sign of the Wheel, daubed on it in blood-red.

  ‘Bethler holding,’ replied his mentor when he quizzed him about it. ‘Most of their lands are scattered across the Southern Kingdoms and the Blessed Realm, but they have one or two castles this far north as well.’

  Adelko shifted uncomfortably in his habit. The sun was barely up but he felt hot. He didn’t feel so far north.

  ‘Why would they bother with holdings here?’ he queried. ‘I thought the Bethlers were tasked with defending the Pilgrim Kingdoms?’

  ‘They are,’ replied Horskram. ‘But it doesn’t hurt them to have property. Helps to fund the Order. In fact the Most Holy Order of the Sacred Bethel is the wealthiest organisation in the Free Kingdoms. The Bethlers also function as moneylenders throughout western Urovia and beyond.’

  That shocked Adelko. ‘But I thought usury was a sin! Surely they of all people…’

  Horskram favoured him with another grim smile. ‘It is indeed a sin,’ he said. ‘That is why they do not charge interest on loans as such. They call it an “administrative fee” instead.’

  The novice had little to say to that. Truly the ways of mortalkind were strange.

  Up ahead the crooked wooden buildings of a town built around the road were becoming visible.

  ‘Tamsweg,’ supplied Horskram. ‘Not much to say about it really. About a thousand souls, mostly artisans and traders. They enjoy the Bethlers’ patronage and protection.’

  ‘How does the Herzog of Lower Thulia feel about that?’

  ‘None too pleased, but even a lord of men dares not cross the Bethlers. And to be fair, their presence here has reduced the internecine skirmishes that used to plague the area. The barons of Upper and Lower Thulia have seldom found cause not to quarrel.’

  Horskram’s dry humour did nothing to alleviate the distress Adelko felt at the thought of more peasants being butchered. He wondered how the folk of Dulsinor were faring up north. The two baronies would have been at war for close on a month now.

  They passed Tamsweg as it was coming to life and soon left it behind. The roads in Lower Thulia were somewhat better kept, but even so the going was slow, and Adelko found little to cheer him in the miserable hovels and crooked hamlets they passed. The peasantry down here looked scarcely better fed than the others he had seen recently.

  ‘Remember what I told you about each lord being a king in his own right,’ Horskram reminded him when he voiced his thoughts. ‘Some treat their bondsmen little better than slaves, others like Freidheim or the late Stonefist view them as servants who should be well kept. If you think this is bad, wait until we get to Pangonia! The serfs there are the most wretched of the lot, save perhaps the Wolding peasantry and those of the Kingdom of Thalamy.’

  ‘But I thought Pangonia was the richest of the Free Kingdoms!’

  ‘It is – rich for those who own it.’

  A sudden thought occurred to Adelko. ‘Then why do we call ourselves the Free Kingdoms?’ Strange that the question had never occurred to him before. It was all to easy to take a name for granted when one had grown up with it.

  Horskram laughed sardonically. ‘Because we abolished slavery centuries ago – in keeping with the Redeemer’s teachings. Abolished it in theory, that is.’

  Horskram said nothing more, and Adelko had no appetite to press him further. At least it wasn’t raining, though the southern heat would take some getting used to.

  The setting sun was painting the wheat fields a lemon yellow when they saw a roadside inn.

  ‘We’ll stop here for the night,’ said Horskram. ‘I know the innkeeper.’

  Despite Horskram’s reassurance, Adelko felt uneasy. His sixth sense had started up again. He glanced behind him but saw little to ease him. The damsels rode at the rear: between them their five bodyguards slouched in the saddle as they ambled along like lost sheep.

  ‘I sense something…’ faltered the novice. ‘Can you feel it?’

  Horskram nodded, frowning. ‘Yes, I can. But we need to get our sick patients indoors. Those suffering the curse of Draugbreath should not be left exposed to the night – it will only worsen their illness.’

  The inn consisted of a main building three storeys high with a few outhouses including the stables around it. These buildings formed a rough courtyard around the main entrance. The ostler greeted them with a shocked expression as they entered. No wonder: their comrades’ stricken faces were nearly white as snow: it must have looked for all the world as though five spectres had ridden up seeking lodgings.

  ‘Don’t be troubled by my friends’ unfortunate appearance, Varek,’ said Horskram, tossing the lad a silver piece. ‘Charges of mine, I’ll take full responsibility.’

  ‘Sorry, Master Horskram,’ stammered the stableboy, pocketing the coin. His right arm and leg were each shorter than the left, giving him a lopsided gait. ‘Almost didn’t recognise you, sirrah – haven’t seen you around here in a long while.’

  ‘I see you’ve grown in the interim,’ said the adept kindly. ‘It’s good to know Ecbert has been feeding you properly.’

  ‘Why so he has,’ said the cripple with an inane grin. The smile suddenly dropped. ‘We’ve ‘ad some rough types here though of late – includin’ tonight. War’s broken out up north and there’s a lot of freeswords on the move.’

  ‘Indeed?’ was all Horskram said to that
. Dismounting he handed the reins to Varek. The boy limped off with his horse as Adelko eased himself gratefully from the saddle.

  Adhelina and Hettie approached Horskram after dismounting themselves. The damsels had pulled up their hoods, but that only made them look more suspicious given the clement weather. Meanwhile the others stared off into space, as though not knowing what to do.

  ‘I think you can all get off your horses now,’ Horskram said pointedly. Adelko groaned inwardly as he watched the brave fighters slough off their steeds like rancid butter from a churn.

  ‘Is this a good idea?’ hissed Adhelina. ‘You heard what yon stableboy said – if there’s freeswords in there, chances are they might recognise me!’

  ‘Well you’d better keep your hoods on then,’ said Horskram. Turning on his heel he stalked towards the door of the inn. Adelko exchanged a brief glance with Adhelina and shrugged his shoulders amiably. She shook her head but followed the monks inside, pulling her hood down further.

  The taproom was the reeking mess Adelko had come to expect at an inn. The front windows were open, allowing the dying light to penetrate. The layout was different from the inn he’d seen in Northalde: two rows of trestle tables ran along either side of a long narrow room. In one corner at the far end was the counter; adjoining this was the entrance to a side room where he could just make out stacks of barrels. In the other corner a flight of stairs went up. At the centre of the room was a firepit, which evidently had not seen much use lately. A handful of travelling labourers had taken up seats by the windows, but most of the noise was coming from the freeswords clustered by the table nearest the counter.

  Adelko felt the men peering at them as they approached the back of the room. A couple of lanterns hanging on hooks gave just enough light to see by. Horskram ignored the mercenaries and rapped his knuckles on the counter. A portly man about a head shorter than the adept appeared from the barrel room.

  ‘Why Master Horskram!’ the innkeeper exclaimed. ‘Haven’t seen you in a long while – it’s always good to have an Argolian under our roof.’

  ‘Why’s that?’ called out a rough voice. ‘Evil spirits got into yer ale? Better not ‘ave, seein’ as we be drinkin’ it.’

  The freeswords laughed unpleasantly at their comrade’s joke. Ecbert glanced nervously at the mercenaries before continuing: ‘Well, you’ll be wanting a stoop I shouldn’t wonder… Been busy off travelling, I expect! Suppose you’ve just come from Heilag. And how is Prior Johann?’

  Adelko felt his sixth sense go up a notch. The conversation was forced, the innkeeper clearly frightened. The freeswords had ceased all banter and were now staring at them. The novice felt his gut tighten as he registered them sizing up his companions. One of them was scrutinising the damsels. This was not going to end well.

  Horskram kept his cool, making small talk with Ecbert while the innkeeper snapped his fingers at a tavern wench serving the labourers. She gave the adept a brief nod of greeting as she went into the storeroom to fill some flagons. Adelko supposed she must be the innkeeper’s daughter. He could sense she was anxious too.

  ‘How many ales will ye be wanting?’ queried Ecbert, looking dubiously at their companions.

  ‘Just the two,’ replied Horskram. ‘For myself and my novice here.’

  ‘Ah right ye are,’ said the innkeeper, trying to sound cheerful. ‘We’ve got a good drop of Maglun’s Pride just arrived this morning…’ He motioned irritably at his daughter to hurry up.

  ‘Maglun’s ride, if you get a wench drunk enough on it,’ quipped another freesword. More nasty laughter. A couple of the freeswords leered at the innkeeper’s daughter as she put two full tankards on the counter.

  ‘Rolf, you’ve got an ear for bard’s song,’ said another freesword. ‘Tell me about that lay again, the one about the first king of Vorstlund.’ It was the mercenary who had been looking at Adhelina and Hettie. His voice was somewhat more refined. His corn yellow hair was neatly kept, his beard and moustache finely trimmed. Evidently the leader.

  ‘That would be the Lay of Aslun’s Gift, sirrah,’ replied the mercenary called Rolf.

  ‘Ah yes, that’s the one,’ replied the leader. ‘Tell me again, what’s it about?’

  Risking another furtive glance at the freeswords, Adelko saw one or two exchange knowing winks. There were seven of them altogether, dressed in shabby brigandines. All wore stout swords.

  ‘It’s the story of how King Aslun brought all the other eight lords to heel,’ said Rolf. ‘One by one, he made ‘em an offer they couldn’t refuse.’

  ‘And remind me, Rolf, who was the last baron to hold out?’

  ‘Ah that would’ve been Oberon, Last King of Dulsenar,’ said the freesword. ‘The Wise, they called him… See, he could’ve held out for years, seein’ as he had Graukolos for his seat. But he saw the folly in it, fightin’ a war that was already lost. So he surrendered the keep, an’ King Aslun let him keep his demesnes… so long as he recognised his rule.’

  The novice felt Adhelina stiffen next to him. Horskram stopped sipping at his tankard and slowly put it down on the counter.

  ‘And that was when Aslun founded the House of Cuthraed, if I remember rightly?’ the leader went on.

  ‘Aye, sirrah, that it was,’ said Rolf. ‘An’ the Cuthraeds ruled the kingdom for many a long year after that. As for the House of Tal, wot ruled in Dulsenar, they held on there for another couple hundred years, I’ve heard it told.’

  ‘Ah yes, that’s it,’ said the leader amiably. ‘But they didn’t last forever now did they?’

  ‘Oh no,’ replied Rolf. ‘Poor old Dhaelen, wot the troubadours call the Unfortunate, he angered King Aethel the Oak Hearted, wot stripped him of his title. Then he was killed by Ranveldt Longyear, who replaced him as Eorl and founded the House of Markward.’

  ‘Ah yes, Markward, of course… Now they’re due for their reckoning by the sounds of it. Isn’t it funny how history repeats itself, Rolf?’

  ‘Aye,’ smirked Rolf. ‘That it is, sirrah, that it is. Way I’ve heard it, the Markwards are all dead… All save the Stonefist’s daughter.’

  ‘Indeed,’ replied the leader, leaning back against the wall and loosening his sword in its scabbard. ‘But I’ve heard she was rescued by a ragtag band of outlanders and fled south. Wonder where in the Known World she could be, eh?’

  ‘No idea, sirrah,’ grinned Rolf, slowly starting to rise with the other freeswords.

  ‘Alright now,’ said the leader, addressing Horskram. ‘There’s more than half a dozen of us and none of your swords looks overly well. Yon damsels are ours. Don’t put up a fight and we’ll make this quick and painless for the rest of you.’

  There was a flurry of movement towards the exit as the labourers abruptly decided to call an end to their evening’s drinking.

  Horskram squared off against the freeswords, unsheathing his quarterstaff. ‘Striking down a man of the cloth is counted among the most grievous of sins,’ he said, sounding almost cordial. ‘I’d think twice about trying to kill us, lest you favour burning in Gehenna for eternity.’

  The blond leader smiled affably. ‘With respect, master monk, I suspect we’re already hellbound… I far prefer to concentrate on the pleasures of this life, and a tidy sum I’ll have in return for your heads. I’ve heard the Lanraks are a most generous house, to those that serve their interests.’

  Without moving from the spot Horskram incanted a verse from the Psalm of Fortitude. Adelko could feel him channelling his conviction, putting all his psychic strength into the words. The mercenaries exchanged baffled looks; they were ignorant of Decorlangue.

  But the words must have stirred their stricken companions, for suddenly they fumbled for their weapons, shifting awkwardly into something resembling a fighting stance. The blond leader yelled a command: as one the freeswords kicked over the tables and drew swords. Cursing inwardly, Adelko drew his quarterstaff, trying to ignore his legs, which suddenly felt like jelly.

  The damsels backed
away with the innkeeper and his daughter as the freeswords launched themselves over the tables. They were matched perfectly in numbers, but a glance at his ashen-faced comrades was enough to tell Adelko the outcome: they would be cut down like corn stalks imminently.

  He had just parried the first couple of strokes and was backing away and saying his final prayers when he heard whinnying and shouting from the courtyard outside. The fleeing labourers had left the door open: the sounds coming from it grew louder. A few moments later two tall figures burst into the common room. They were dressed in mail hauberks and helms and carried drawn greatswords. They looked like knights but were dressed in simple white tabards.

  ‘Cease fighting, in the name of the Lord Almighty!’

  The command came from a third man who had entered just behind the knights. He was an old man, something over fifty and dressed in a white kirtle. He lacked the stature of the other two but his stentorian voice carried a weighty authority. His head was shorn save for a crown of grey hair, and his beard was cut square across his chin.

  The mercenaries put up their swords. Their leader glanced sidelong at the three newcomers. He seemed confused as he said: ‘What’s the meaning of this? Can’t fighting men go about their business?’

  ‘Not when that business entails spilling blood in a public house,’ answered the greybeard sternly. ‘This road passes through lands owned by the Holy Order of the Bethel of our Saviour – as such we enforce the law here. You are in violation of that law. Now sheathe your swords, all of you.’

  The blond freesword sneered. ‘Since when? The Bethlers enforce the law in the Blessed Realm, not the Free Kingdoms. These lands are ruled by the Alt-Ürls.’

  ‘The Bethlers own more land in the Free Kingdoms than any of its barons – including the Herzog of Lower Thulia,’ replied the Bethler unsmiling. ‘Now sheathe your swords – I won’t ask again.’ He spared a stern blue-eyed glance for Horskram. ‘That goes for your bodyguards too, Argolian, if such they be.’

  Horskram paused a moment, then seemed to make up his mind. In a low but clear voice he gave the order. The Bethlers stared at them in bafflement as they struggled to return weapons to scabbards.