The Bound Folio

by Rob J. Hayes

  Kav was negotiating with the fat cook, by the looks of things. Kav was smirking and making number gestures with his fingers, and the cook waved his meaty fist in a threatening manner.

  After some time, Kav picked up some more meat strips, from the fresh barrel this time, and sauntered back. The Kid wiped sweat from his face. He was soaking, and the rest of the group were faring no better.

  “Here.” Kav handed a strip of meat to each of his little group. The Kid got the smallest piece, but at least he got one.

  “Got some work,” Kav said, chewing on a strip. “Paid an’ all. Not fer you, Horse Shit Boy. Get yaself home. An’ don’t steal nothin’.”

  The Kid thought about arguing — if he didn’t help out, he didn’t get paid — but decided against it. If Kav had made a decision, arguing would earn him naught but more blood.

  #

  Despite Kav’s orders, the Kid didn’t go home right away. Wasn’t really much of a home anyway, more like a collection of old, dirty straw with something resembling four walls and a roof. They’d had a nicer place a few weeks back, until a bunch of adults with knives and such kicked them out and claimed it as their own.

  The Kid went to visit his friend. Took a lot to survive in Korral and, that went doubly true for an animal, usually seen as a food source or a disease-ridden pest. Somehow, the Kid’s friend had survived and, despite an obvious distrust in people, come to trust the Kid. It was, he reflected, probably something to do with him feeding it.

  The Kid had even named the dog. He may not have a name himself, but his friend deserved one, so he had named the beast Browny, on account of its fur.

  The Kid whistled when he approached the scorched ruins of the house where Browny lived. He got no answer. He checked the area, made certain there was no one else about, then sat down and set the fresh meat in front of him and whistled again.

  A shadow detached itself from the wall to his left. It crept towards the Kid, sniffed at him, and nipped at his fingers when held them out. Then it spotted the meat on the floor and snatched it up, wolfing it down.

  The Kid took the old strip of flesh from his pocket, bit it in two, and gave half of that to Browny, as well. After the meat was gone, they played for a bit. Browny enjoyed being chased. He would charge around the ruined house, barking at the kid and dancing away whenever he got close. Sometimes the Kid would catch the dog and they would wrestle on the ground, rolling around and snapping at each other. When they tired, they would just lie there. The Kid laughed and talked to his friend, Browny listened and dozed, sometimes he scratched himself, sometimes the Kid scratched for him.

  When the light started to fade, the Kid knew it was time to go. If he wasn’t back home by the time the others got back they might look for him, or at the very least beat him when he did get back. He said his goodbyes and left, looking back once at Browny, who sat in the ruined house, staring after him with big, brown eyes.

  #

  A few days later, all the kids around the docks were in uproar. A fair number of the adults, too. The Kid couldn’t say he was surprised, it wasn’t everyday somebody with a big name passed through Korral, let alone a crew with five big names.

  Hangman Yril they called him, on account of his preference for hanging folk. He rode into town with Arik Coldhammer, Alrun Halfhorse, the Saint, No Mercy Bob, and others with names the Kid hadn’t yet heard of. They were dragging four men behind them. Word was they were going to be hanged. Word also had it these four were part of a bandit crew led by Eirik Hawkeye and, once the hanging was done, Yril and his crew of bounty hunters would be going after Hawkeye himself.

  The crowd thickened around the square where the Hangman had chosen to carry out his executions. It seemed as if half of Korral had turned out to watch. Luckily, Kav, Benben, and Jan were more than adept at pushing, elbowing, and punching their way through a crowd, so the Kid and Lissa followed them in, determined to get a good view.

  When the Kid got his first look at Hangman Yril, he was surprised and a little disappointed. He had expected a younger man, a man in his prime, a man with hair on his head. Yril was bald, with great, grey eyebrows and bushy, grey hair on his cheeks. His face was hard and angular and wrinkled and, though the man held himself straight as an arrow, he was obviously advanced in years.

  Yril watched the crowd while a hasty gallows was constructed, then dug a hand into one of the pockets of his jerkin and handed a piece of paper to one of his fellows, a man who cut a much more striking figure in his black leather jerkin and a long, brown overcoat. He was tall, lean, and handsome, with a casual grin, short-cropped hair the color of driftwood, and a dusting of stubble.

  “The Saint,” Lissa breathed from beside the Kid. He snatched a glance at her to find she was staring at the handsome man, a blush lighting up her dirty cheeks.

  There wasn’t much for the Saint to say. He read out the names of the four men, listed a few crimes that, in truth, most folk in the wilds were guilty of, then stepped out of the way so the crowd could view the condemned.

  It took longer for the men to die than the Kid expected. They choked, thrashed, kicked, and turned red in the face, then a dirty purple color. Two of them pissed themselves, another shit himself, then it was over. Four corpses swung where, just minutes before, four living men had stood.

  Some of the bounty hunters laughed at something the Saint said, as the crowd began dissipating, and there was a dull roar of noise. The Kid stared at Hangman Yril. The old bounty hunter was watching the corpses sway from the gallows. He seemed peaceful.

  “Go talk ta him, Nameless,” Jan said.

  The Kid gave his head a vigorous shaking as a reply.

  “Go talk ta him or I’ll beat the shit out o’ ya,” Kav said, a nasty grin on his face.

  With a loud sigh, the Kid set off towards the gallows. He stopped at the foot of the flimsy-looking wooden construction and waited, peering up at the back of the old bounty hunter still watching the bodies sway in the sea breeze.

  “Yril,” said the Saint. “Ya got a new friend.”

  The Hangman turned and looked down on the Kid. His eyes were bright blue underneath his thick eyebrows.

  “Got somethin’ to say, boy?” the Hangman said, his accent clean of the drawl of the wilds.

  The Kid tried to think of something, anything to say, but came up blank. What was there to say to the most feared and respected bounty hunter in all the wilds?

  “Why hanging?” The words spilled from the Kid’s mouth before he thought better of it. He lowered his eyes.

  Hangman Yril laughed. He had a deep voice and a deep laugh, but it seemed full of humor instead of menace. The old bounty hunter lowered himself into a sitting position on the gallows stage.

  “You probably think it’s for some deeply profound reason, eh? Or maybe because I like the way the bodies twist in the wind? Or maybe I think it’s the only real way to punish a man for his crimes?”

  “Um…”

  “Truth is it’s none of those. Back in the Five Kingdoms hanging is just how we deal with criminals. When I came to the wilds that’s how I continued to deal with them. Pretty soon people started callin’ me the Hangman. These days that’s a name that strikes fear into those that commit crimes, so I figure it’s worth keeping.

  “You look a bit young to be a criminal, but don’t you worry, step out of line and I can find a rope long enough even for you.”

  The Kid’s eyes went wide and his knees went soft. The Hangman laughed again, reached down with a hand, and tousled the Kid’s hair.

  “Off with you,” the Hangman said, smiling. “And take this.” He tossed the Kid a silver bit. The Kid caught the coin, said a hasty and terrified thank you, and retreated to the others as fast as his legs could go.

  Kav wasn’t happy, and when Kav wasn’t happy the others weren’t happy, and when no one was happy things tended to go badly for the Kid.

  First, there was the punching and the mocking, but those were
regular enough that he’d learned to deal with them, but then Kav took the silver bit the Hangman had given him. For folk like the Kid, a single silver bit was no small amount. It was, in fact, the most money he had ever possessed, and Kav just took it with only a bloody nose as his way of ‘thanks.’ The Kid was annoyed, but he knew there was nothing he could do but bear it, so bear it he did.

  #

  Although the others were still angry it hadn’t ended in a beating for the Kid at the hands of the wilds' most feared bounty hunter, after a few days things seemed to have settled down. Benben and Jan had been out for most of the morning and, when they returned, Kav decided it was time they visited the Burn to beg some free food.

  The leader of the little group didn’t do his usual, didn’t order the Kid to beg for them. This time he led them up to one of the fires himself. It was the fat cook, the one who liked Lissa so much. The Kid hated the man but he’d never say anything.

  “Here fer ya meat?” asked the cook, his eyes on Lissa.

  “It cooked yet?” asked Kav.

  “Cooked enough ta eat,” the cook responded with a shrug.

  Kav tore a strip directly off the spit and juggled it between his hands for a few moments.

  “Fuck. Still hot. Here, Nameless. Get that down ya. Bet ya’v never had meat so fresh.”

  The Kid caught the offered meat and tore into it. It was hot, greasy, and stringy but tasted good and filled the gnawing hole in his stomach. He was so engrossed by the taste it took him a moment to realize they others were laughing at him. Even the cook was giggling.

  The Kid slowed his chewing. “What’s funny?”

  Kav was near creased over, he was laughing so hard. “Ask him…” he said, pointing at the cook. “Ask him what type of meat it is.”

  The Kid swallowed, a lump of half-chewed meat slid down his throat. “What type of meat is it?” He was not sure he wanted to know the answer.

  “Dog.”

  A whole new round of laughter broke out. Kav was bent over slapping his leg, Lissa leaning on him to keep herself upright. Benben pointed at the Kid and roared into his face, as Jan rolled on the ground like a pig in mud.

  It took a few moments for the Kid to figure it out.

  He threw the last bit of meat on the ground, turned, and fled. The sound of harsh laughter rang in his ears.

  The Kid sprinted to the ruined house, sprinted to Browny’s home. He was out of breath, drenched in sweat, and on the verge of tears but he forced out a whistle anyway.

  Nothing.

  The Kid whistled again, then he called out for Browny. He searched the ruins and found the bloodstain on a large rock, a tuft of brown fur next to it. He threw up.

  When he looked up, he found it was dark. The Kid had sat there, shaking and crying, amidst the ruins of Browny’s house for he wasn’t sure how long. Night had long since set in, but the moon was low and full and kept the town lit. He knew he couldn’t go back home. Not now, not ever. He also knew Kav needed to pay. Kav and Benben and Jan… even Lissa. They all needed to pay. But hanging was too good for the likes of them. It was too quick, too clean. He needed something much worse.

  #

  The Kid didn’t go home that day, nor the next. It wasn’t that he was scared; he was biding his time, watching and waiting. He had a plan, the only way he could see to deal with all of Kav’s little group. He couldn’t do anything to them himself, they were all too big and too strong and too many, always together. But the guards, those who policed Korral, they could do it for him.

  The Kid knew that there were two crimes that would bring the guard down heavy; steal from one of them, or murder one of them. He intended to frame Kav for both.

  First, the Kid had to find a target. It had to be a guard with money, preferably a lot of money. The Kid got lucky when he found a guard outside a tavern going through the pockets of some passed out drunk. The drunk looked to be blooded, someone important no doubt, someone rich. The guard found a small purse on the fool, pocketed it, and continued on his way. The Kid followed, staying out of sight, keeping to the shadows. He got his chance just after sundown.

  It so happened, the Kid recognized the guard. His name was Berry. He had never been nice to the Kid, never been nasty to him either, but some folk were just unlucky, and Berry was about to be one. With such a fortune in his pockets, the Kid knew Berry would want to spend some, and he also knew just where he’d go.

  The Kid waited until Berry hit an alley, and then called out his name. Berry turned, his hand on his sword hilt, a suspicious look on his face. He relaxed when he saw who it was. No one had any cause to be scared of the Kid.

  “You’re one of Kav’s little shits. What d’ya want?”

  The Kid approached, his hand slick with sweat around the jagged shard of metal he was passing for a knife. “Kav told me ta find ya.”

  “What does the little fuck want this time?”

  Just a couple of feet away and the Kid launched himself at Berry. The man was a good stretch taller than the Kid, but his makeshift knife found Berry’s neck all the same.

  Berry tried to scream, that much was clear even to the Kid, but all that came out was a loud gurgle and a squirt of blood. They went down, the Kid on top stabbing again and again and again. By the time he finished, Berry was long dead, and the Kid was wearing the guard’s blood on his hands, clothes, face… he was wearing it everywhere.

  The Kid retched.

  He went to work in a trance. Everything seemed muted and dull, but the Kid didn’t have time to think it over. He took the purse from Berry and took the ring the guard always wore. He left the body in the alley, someone would no doubt find it soon enough.

  He found another homeless child, one smaller and weaker. He beat up the child and took the rags from her back, then the Kid made his way to the docks. There, he found a secluded spot and jumped in, washing the dried blood from his skin. When he was done he changed into his new, bloodless rags.

  It was time to go home.

  The Kid found himself a nice spot, hidden from view, where he could wait and watch. Hours passed before Kav and his group left their home, probably headed for the Burn to eat. The Kid hadn’t eaten since… since they’d made him eat Browny. He was light headed and starving, but he wouldn’t eat yet, not until his friend was avenged.

  He snuck into his old home and planted the evidence, the bloody knife, a gold bit, and Berry’s ring, then he scurried away and found Captain Andru.

  “You’re that little nameless kid, the one that works for Kav.”

  The Kid shook his head. “Not no more. Kav went too far. Killed one o’ yours.”

  Captain Andru’s face went dark and cold. “What did you say, boy?”

  “Said he stabbed one o’ ya in a alley. Took a gold bit. Even showed us the knife.”

  “Show me.”

  The Kid led the captain to Kav’s home and to the planted evidence. Captain Andru bought it hook, line, and sinker. Justice in Korral was swift, brutal, and blind.

  The guards caught up to Kav just outside the Burn, but they didn’t stop with him. They took Lissa, Benben, and Jan, as well. All four took an unhealthy beating before being hauled away, and the Kid watched it all.

  In some places Kav and his group might have been executed, but not in Korral. Captain Andru had a much better punishment in mind. Kav, Lissa, Benben, and Jan were branded, slapped in iron collars, and shipped off to the free city of Chade to be sold as slaves. A lifetime of servitude and punishment.

  The Kid thought a part of him should feel sad as he watched them shipped off; for Lissa at least, he had always felt something. But, truth was, he felt nothing. Nothing but cold satisfaction.

  #

  Five years later, the Kid was well known in Korral. Folk knew him, and many feared him. He had a reputation for being tough, brutal, and ruthless, and that reputation had gotten him an interview to join a real crew.

  Two people sat opposite him. The man w
as a black-skinned southerner and a big one at that. The woman was short with shit-coloured hair and a permanent sneer.

  “Sounds like ya know a thing or two. We been lookin’ fer a young’un like you since our last one… got himself killed.” Every time the southerner spoke the Kid saw metal teeth. “Ya reckon ya got the stones ta crew with us?”

  “I done stuff. Know what I’m doin’. I’ve killed,” the Kid said, making sure he shot a grin at the little woman.

  She snorted. “Boy looks green as grass.”

  “Ya got a name?” the southerner asked.

  The Kid shook his head. “Never had too much need o’ one.”

  “Aye. Well ya gonna need one now. Reckon we’ll call ya Green. Good?”

  Green grinned. “Good.”

  The Battle of Underbridge

  “Tris. Tristan. You awake?”

  Tristan Southerland lay on his sleeping pallet with his eyes open. He was watching the hulking form of his master, Sir Breen Colf, trying to judge whether the fat knight was asleep or faking it. If he was awake and caught Tristan sneaking out in the middle of the night, the man wouldn't hesitate to dole out a beating. On the other hand, the threat of a beating wouldn't stop Kernard from entering the tent if Tristan failed to reply, and that would still earn him a beating.

  Sir Breen rolled onto his back, scratched at his belly with one meaty hand, then let out a bone-rattling snore that was uncomfortably loud in the tight confines of the tent. In a silent, fluid motion Tristan rolled from his pallet onto his feet and ducked under the tent flap into the cool night air.

  A night full of promise awaited him. It was unusual for there to be a chill in the air so far south in the Five Kingdoms, but not unheard of. The sky was free of clouds and stars shone out into the night. The moon hung low in the sky, lazily watching over the world in its eternal vigil.

  Kernard Wulfden stood beside Tristan, waiting for his friend to acknowledge him. Tristan waited, he knew how much Kernard hated being ignored.