“See, you shouldn’t have done that.” Cyrus turned back to Hoygraf. “Terian? Would you kindly make Olivere aware of the gravity of his liege’s mistakes?”
“With utmost pleasure,” Terian said, and Cyrus could hear the grin in the dark knight’s words without turning to look at him. A moment later, Olivere screamed, even though Terian hadn’t taken so much as a step toward the man. A smell emanated around them, of pestilence and illness, the rancid stench of boils opening to the air. The scream continued, growing in pitch, and Cyrus watched the hard lines on Hoygraf’s face dissolve, his eyes going from narrow to wide as he watched Terian’s spell take effect on his envoy. Hoygraf’s jaw dropped, and the Baron let out a little exhalation of horror.
“Oh, Baron,” Cyrus said. “You tortured and beat our people, had your soldiers do unspeakable things, but a little spell makes you wilt like a flower on the hottest day of summer?” The stench worsened as Cyrus circled Hoygraf, and watched the Baron turn away. Cyrus looked to Olivere, who was now covered in burst, bleeding pustules and writhing on the ground. “That’s right, I forgot. You don’t have spellcasters in Luukessia. But we came from over the bridge, so you had to know it was a possibility that you were up against something of this sort.”
“Illusions and trickery.” Little flecks of spittle came from Hoygraf’s lips when he made his reply. “Your sort is the worst of demons and devils, the curses of all manner of evil that comes from your side of the bridge. You don’t belong over here, in this blessed land of our ancestors, you filth.”
Cyrus felt his hand drift forward, the tip of his sword pressing into the throat of the Baron. “Filth? You call us filth yet you had no issue with brutalizing our women rangers when you captured them.”
“Women need to know their place, and if they wish to stand in the line of battle next to the men, then they should know the injury of—”
“Dear gods, just shut up,” Cyrus said, pressing Praelior’s tip into the Baron’s neck, causing blood to run down his throat in a thick line. “You disgusting, wicked pile of shite, you’re lucky I don’t give you similar injury to theirs with my sword.”
“You unnatural beasts,” Hoygraf said. “King Milos Tiernan marches this way as we speak—”
“And when he gets here, he’ll find us gone,” Cyrus said. “If he’s lucky, he won’t meet us in battle, because I think—and you might agree with me—my army is going to be too much for him to handle. We have wizards, druids, healers and enchanters, and every last one of them will be turned loose to wreak havoc. All we want is to pass through your lands, and every day you asses make me waste here is another day I’m going to make your lives miserable. Your best bet is to let us go on, so we can stop making your lives miserable and start doing the same to Briyce Unger, who I’m told is no friend of yours.”
“He is not,” Hoygraf spat. “But do not think you will be allowed to simply walk through our territory uncontested—”
Cyrus pulled his sword from Hoygraf’s neck and stabbed it into the Baron’s stomach, burying it in his guts. Hoygraf screamed, grunted, and moaned, falling to his knees. Cyrus took care to keep the sword steady as the Baron fell, not letting the blade move. “Let me make this clear to you. You are impotent against us. Your army, even if it numbers ten thousand, will fall before our magical wickedness like wheat falls to the reaper. Your threats against us possess all the efficacy of a castrated bull trying to mate and none of the grace. And speaking of castrated …” Cyrus let his eyes fall down, drawing a look of panic from the Baron. “Kidding. That’s too easy for you.”
Cyrus looked back to Terian, who had Olivere by the collar. The envoy’s eyes bulged from his head and he was still. “I think he’s dead, Terian. You can drop him now.”
“Oh?” Terian looked down, let Olivere drop to the floor, then turned back to Hoygraf. “Then this is the last of their kind left alive in the castle. How shall we finish him?”
“We don’t.” Cyrus motioned toward the door, and he heard the others begin to move toward it. Cyrus stood and let the blade of his sword slip from the Baron’s abdomen. “I’ve heard a stomach wound is the most painful way a man can die. I took care to make sure I didn’t go too close to the bottom or the top, just right in the middle.” He craned his neck to look down at Hoygraf. “I think I got it about right. It’ll probably take you a few days to die from that, and it’s not going to be much fun while you’re doing it.
“So we’re just going to leave you here,” Cyrus said, backing away from Hoygraf. “I think you’ll have enough time to communicate to your King what I’ve said to you, but just in case, I’ll have Longwell leave a note.” He nodded at Longwell, who blinked and began to look around for parchment. “I’d give you a long sermon about how raping is wrong and how attacking strangers who have done you no harm is unkind, but frankly,” Cyrus said with a sneer, “you’ll be dead, so I think the lesson will be irrelevant to you. Besides, your impregnable castle has been breached and all your soldiers have been killed. We’ll be escorting your women and children to the town down the hill where they can wait for your army before we burn this place to the ground. I think that everyone who could benefit from the lesson will have learned it.” He nodded. “Best of luck, Hoygraf.” He met the Baron’s wide, pained eyes. “Enjoy your slow, agonizing death.”
Cyrus stood and turned to find that all but Terian and Longwell had left the chamber. He looked to Longwell first. “Write something that reflects my threat that if they interfere with our crossing, we’ll burn every holdfast between here and Galbadien. If they leave us be, we’ll be out of their lands in a month or so—and their villages will be all the richer for our passing.”
Longwell nodded. “I’ll try and be diplomatic about it, but I’ll come up with something in that vein.”
“Diplomatic?” Cyrus raised an eyebrow at him. “I’ve left the Baron gutted in his own castle. The moment for diplomacy has passed. Make it a threat, make it obvious, and let the King know that the consequences for failing to follow my directive will be the absolute destruction of his entire Kingdom. I will leave a swath of scorched earth ten miles wide as I exit this land, and if Milos Tiernan wants that on his head, so be it.” Cyrus turned and started for the door, but Terian caught his eye, causing him to stop.
The dark knight watched Cyrus with a very subtle smile. “Every time I think I’ve got the measure of you, Davidon, you surprise me. Alaric would have just executed this Baron and been done with it, if no other suitable justice was to be found. A slow, painful death?” Terian’s smile faded. “I would have thought you … beyond that.”
“Let the gravity of the crime be reflected in the punishment,” Cyrus said. “If there is no justice in this land for him to answer to, let him answer to the natural laws of his own mortality.”
“I see,” Terian said, and his smile vanished. “An excellent point about letting the crime be reflected in the punishment. An excellent point, indeed.”
Chapter 11
“They have a full complement of spices,” Martaina said, coming from the kitchen of castle Green Hill, a large sack slung across her back. “We can take enough food from here to feed us for a few days.” Cyrus sat at the head of the table in the dining room, a plate of food in front of him, the aroma of succulent mutton chop and fresh vegetables wafting up at him as he took a bite of the lamb. He could hear his soldiers eating in the throne room, where trestle tables had been set out. Others were in the courtyard, while still others he had entrusted with the task of sorting out whether anything in the castle was worth taking.
“They have wine as well,” J’anda said, entering the dining room behind her, a goblet in hand. “It’s not quite like the vintages of the Riverlands, but it’s far from atrocious.” The dark elf made his way over to a padded chair and sat down, leaning his head back. “Is there any chance we could stay here for the night? I would love to take advantage of having a bed to sleep in for the first time in weeks.”
“You and everyone else,
I daresay.” Curatio held a goblet in front of him as well, a sparkling silver one that he took a deep, delicate sip from before replacing it on the flawless white tablecloth.
“So are you going to turn loose the army on the castle?” Aisling stared at Cyrus from where she leaned against the doorjamb leading into the hallway to the kitchens. “Let them have a little plunder for their troubles here?”
Cyrus picked up the napkin that sat at his right side and dabbed his face with it in an exaggerated show of politeness that caused Terian to roll his eyes and J’anda to guffaw. “I don’t think so,” he said with a shake of the head. “Letting them run loose through this place, tearing it to pieces? Sounds like a recipe for losing discipline. Not to mention the fights it’d likely start over who gets what loot. No, we’ll take what foods we can carry, the spices, and we’ll go through the weapons to see if there’s anything that would be worth parceling out to the army, since,” he coughed, “there isn’t anyone left alive to fight here. Any other objects …” He shrugged. “I don’t want to feel like we’re looting, but I suppose this isn’t that different from any other expeditions we’ve mounted, save for the fact that here our foes are human.”
“Damned right,” Terian said with a snarl. “If this was a castle of dark elves you wouldn’t think twice about dividing up the spoils from them, so why wouldn’t we add the assets from ransacking this place to the guild bank? There’s likely some jewels or something, isn’t there?” He looked to Longwell, who seemed to be lost in his own thoughts.
“Hm?” The dragoon looked up when the others in the room turned their attention to him. “Oh, yes. A Baron of his station would likely have a number of precious stones, gold and silver, and I daresay that within the armory you could find more than a few swords and axes that would be better than some of the things I’ve seen our warriors toting about. Luukessian steel isn’t mystical since we don’t possess magic, but it’s of good enough quality. And there are certainly a few mystical weapons that have made their way to our shores,” his hand grasped the hilt of his lance, “though not many.”
“Is it considered acceptable to plunder your conquests in Luukessia?” This from J’anda, who held his goblet up to his nose and took a deep inhalation of his wine before sipping again.
“Oh, yes,” Longwell said. “Conquest is much more brutal here than in Arkaria, you might have noticed. Looting and pillaging is perfectly normal when you conquer, much like we saw from the dark elves in Termina. Also, without weapons and armor that can add strength or the ability to use magic, many women are treated like chattel and considered part of the spoils of war.” He looked around the table and saw the looks on the faces of Nyad and Martaina. “Not that I endorse such thinking myself, but you heard the Baron—and he is not alone in his way of thought.”
“Pardon me?” Martaina looked at the dragoon in askance.
“Well, women are forbidden to own property,” Longwell said. “They are considered to be subject to the rules of their husbands, subject to their whims.”
“So, what?” Aisling’s purple eyes flashed in anger. “I’m supposed to kowtow to some man because he thinks he’s stronger than me? That I’m good for cooking meals, relieving his tensions in the night, making plump babies, and nothing else?”
Terian eyed her up and down. “You’re pretty thin; I doubt you could make a very plump baby with those hips.”
Her hand moved fast, fast enough that Cyrus barely saw it. The dagger was out and thrown before Cyrus could shout a warning. Terian dodged it, barely, and it embedded in the stuffed padding in the back of Terian’s chair. He clucked softly at her and smiled. “I’m keeping the dagger.”
“As what? A memento of the only occasion when a woman paid you attention without gold filling her purse in exchange?” She smiled sweetly at him but it was all fake, and Cyrus could see the venom beneath. “I’ve got better ones; ones I save for people I actually mean to kill.”
Far in the distance, Cyrus could hear very low whimpers from Baron Hoygraf, alone in his quarters on the floor above. “I doubt we’ll change the male-dominated hierarchy of Luukessia today, so let’s shelve this discussion.”
“I suppose you’re okay with it if we get to this land his father rules,” Aisling pointed at Longwell, “and he tells us women to sit in the back line of battle, or worse, in the prep tent.”
“I presume your father won’t tell me how to run my army?” Cyrus looked at Longwell, who nodded confirmation. “Besides, if I’m not much mistaken, the attitude in this land is not wildly different than what I’ve heard about life in Saekaj Sovar.” He stared hard at Aisling, and she looked away. “Since it’s considered the norm, I want officers and our veterans to go over the castle, top to bottom, and decide if there are things beyond food we should take with us as spoils. Half of the value will go to the guild bank for the effort expended to take the castle. We’ll burn everything else.”
“Half of the haul will be a small fortune with a holdfast as rich as this one,” Longwell said, approving. “What’s to be done with the other half?”
“I want it given to the two women whom the Baron captured and … well,” Cyrus said, lowering his voice. “We can’t undo what was done, but perhaps if they’ve joined Sanctuary for adventure and thought the better of it, they can take the recompense and it will at least give them some options where they might not have had any before.”
“That will likely be enough to allow them to live a fairly well-off life,” Longwell said. “Unless I miss my guess on the size of the Baron’s treasure hoard.”
“Good.” Cyrus took the last bite of mutton then slid his chair back from the table. “Work through the night if you have to, but I want it all set to travel tomorrow morning. Take the animals out of the stables and give every one of our people that was captured their own horses.” He stopped in thought. “I hadn’t wanted to bother with wagons while we were traveling down the beach to the bridge, but now that we’re in Luukessia, I expect we could take some wagons with us, yes?” He looked at Longwell, who nodded. “Good, that’ll spare us having to send one of our wizards or druids back to Sanctuary with the spoils, and we may yet have a need for some of those items to trade later in our journey.” He looked at the faces around him. “Anything else?”
No one said anything, but there were a few shrugs. Cyrus smiled. “Then I’m going to go steal a few hours sleep in the Baron’s bed.”
J’anda threw a wadded-up napkin at Cyrus.
“What? You’re not the only one that longs for a soft bed, my friend.”
“Hmph,” the enchanter said, teasing. “Perhaps I’ll join you later.”
“Hah,” Cyrus said. “Just don’t wake me, whatever you do.” He left and turned to go down the hallway. “If someone wants to drag the Baron down to his own dungeons, I wouldn’t complain.”
“He probably would, though,” Longwell said. “I think I can hear him complaining now.”
“Complaining, whining, dying—when it’s a raping, murdering, bastard doing it, who cares which it really is?” Martaina asked.
Cyrus felt his feet clank against the stone as he walked down a hallway that led to the Baron’s quarters. The torches burned, giving it a smoky aroma that filled his nose. There was a soft whisper of leather on stone behind him, causing him to hesitate. “If you’ve come to proposition me, even if I were amenable, I’m far too tired for that tonight.”
Aisling walked past him, her shoulder bumping gently against his armor. “You didn’t speak up against their treatment of women in this land.”
“I gutted the Baron who captured our people and raped our women,” he said, staring at her as she turned to stand opposite him, only a few feet from his face. “I gave away half the guild’s spoils so we could try and give the women a fresh start if they decided they wanted to leave behind this adventuring life. I don’t know what else you want me to do.”
“It’s not only about what you do,” she said in a low whisper, “sometimes it’s about what
you say—or don’t say.”
Cyrus let out a deep sigh. “I’m in love with a woman who wields a sword better than any man I’ve ever met save one, a woman who wears heavier armor than I do, who can beat the ass off almost any man she’s ever crossed swords with. Do you really think I have a problem with women being the equal of men in any capacity?”
“Perhaps you’re just a glutton for pain,” she said acidly. “But if you feel that way, why didn’t you condemn it when Longwell told us how it was over here?”
“Because I was too busy listening to Longwell condemn it while he tried to backpedal away from his society’s embracing of male superiority,” Cyrus said, leaning against the wall to his left, resting his glove against it. “I just assumed that we who are here from Sanctuary, where we have a few women officers who help run our guild, would all know that I feel that way.” He paused and glared back at her. “Where is this coming from? Me? Or how things are back in Saekaj?”
“Maybe both,” she said, arms crossed. “You can’t tell me it’s the same for humans, either. How many women are taken into the Society of Arms compared to men?”
“Fewer,” Cyrus said, resting his weight on the wall.
“Half as many, I’ve heard, just in the first trial,” Aisling snapped. “Because the orphan girls who are slight of body are taken to the Wanderers’ Brotherhood and trained as rangers rather than thrown into the Society’s Blood Families.”
Crusader: The Sanctuary Series, Volume Four Page 9