Lungu’s wife was dead and his duties kept him from finding another mate. He was in his fifties, but he didn’t consider it too late to make another heir. He would just have to be more careful this time.
He made a mental note to find a sturdy woman from one of the villages to be his next mate.
Lungu met the wagon in the main courtyard and waved the driver to the loading area where cargo usually arrived. He followed behind.
He realized it looked odd, him following the wagon. Maybe this death was affecting him more than he thought. When he climbed up on the wagon and lifted the coffin lid without thinking, he knew that was the case. His son had no face but a ruin of bone and pulverized flesh.
He dropped the coffin lid and slumped down beside it. He buried his face in his hands and wept bitter tears.
The driver rushed up to him. “Great Protector,” the man said with his hat over his heart. “Please know how sorry I am for your great loss. I will leave you now, but I stand ready to serve.”
The driver turned to leave quickly in order to preserve the Great Man’s dignity. It was obvious that the driver felt it necessary and respectful to say those words. Lungu felt otherwise.
“Driver,” Lungu said, rising to his feet.
The driver turned around crisply and came to attention. “Yes, Protector! How may I serve you?”
Lungu’s eyes turned black. An instant later, the driver’s head spun around nearly twice ,and he fell dead with a broken neck.
A kitchen woman screamed from one of the arches. Lungu snapped her neck as well. With all living memory of his weakness gone, he felt much better about this day. He felt some glimmer of hope.
He stood in the cold between the bodies until one of his secretaries caught up with him.
“Clean up this mess,” Lungu said, nodding to the corpses laid out on the cobblestones. “And burn my son’s body. Scatter the ashes in the lake.”
The Next Day, Somewhere Near the Caves
Astrid left the teepee and found herself in a snowy field. She recognized the mountain range to the West. She was in the region of the bandit caves. The land was wilder here than it was in the lowlands. Only hearty pines lived this high. Their scent made her feel all was right with the world.
Vinnie came out of the teepee and draped some wooly skins over her shoulders. She smiled at him in thanks.
“Hey!” Astrid exclaimed. “These are my old clothes!”
“Yes,” Vinnie said. “Popova took them to her stitchers who turned them into a winter coat.”
Astrid took in a deep breath of chilly air through her nose. “I’m hungry,” she declared.
“Venison stew,” Vinnie said, pointing to a fire over which a huge pot of steaming food was suspended.
“I’m in,” Astrid said as the two walked over. “Why am I not in Argan?”
“You needed to sleep. I was afraid to move you. I just got back from Argan, though. Sally sent some of her people to us as reinforcements.”
“Is that necessary? Also, doesn’t Sally need the strength?”
“Her position is very strong. Her rival bandit clan joined forces with her. They’re all getting along just fine with the village. The remnants of Jank’s company tried to intimidate them. It didn’t go well for the mercenaries.”
Astrid smiled. “So, we’re starting a rebellion in the Southern District as well.”
“That’s what it’s looking like,” Vinnie replied.
“What do you think his response will be?”
“Certainly nothing good,” Vinnie said.
One of the cave bandits handed her a bowl of stew. She stood next to him and ate heartily after giving him a big, “Thank you!”
“The meat is from these woods,” the bandit said. “The cabbage and beets are from Argan. The potatoes are from Blue Creek. We didn’t steal a single thing in that pot.”
“It’s a new day,” Astrid said. “But there will be harder days to come.”
“I am ready,” the man said. “I don’t know anyone around here who isn’t.”
“Are you ready for village life?” Astrid asked with a devious smile.
“Let’s not be crazy, Astrid,” the man said, then walked away to get more food.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
The Village of Argan
A few weeks after the Battle of the Caves, a new building went up in the village. They called it “The Common House.” With the influx of bandits coming through from patrols and duty rotations, they needed somewhere for group meals, meetings, and a place to generally get organized.
The building was about a hundred feet long and thirty feet wide. It was big enough to hold the whole village and then some. When it wasn’t being used for meals, stitchers and other crafters set up shop. The building then produced: clothes, boots, camo suits, cordage, and sometimes, even goat cheese.
Vinnie and Astrid sat at one of the long tables that spanned the building. The place was also big enough for three fireplaces. They parked themselves near one of them.
Winter was on them with a vengeance. The building also doubled as a place for a team of stitchers to make and maintain winter clothing. Unlike the troops from the Keeps, Astrid’s bandit forces were willing and capable of operating in the harshest weather. They had to be. They lived in the woods.
So far, there was no violence, unless you counted a few skirmishes. It had been a couple of weeks since the Battle of the Caves. Commissioner Krann had full control of his keep and its troops. He didn’t seem too eager to do anything more than give a token treatment to Lungu’s orders.
The fact that the Protector hadn’t sent in his regular army both relieved and bothered her. On the one hand, she wasn’t sure they would survive the fight, on the other, she wondered what alternative he had in mind. That was likely worse.
But several things worked in Astrid’s favor. Commissioner Krann’s formal grievances could not be ignored. The Commissioners were like the high judges in Astrid’s homeland. They interpreted and enforced the laws.
Lungu had the authority to overrule the Commissioners, but if he did, he risked undermining the basis of his own authority. The Commissioners also couldn’t ignore the village Elders because their authority also carried the weight of law.
Thanks to the log books, diaries, and ledgers Astrid and her group captured, there was undeniable proof that Clarence and Jank used their men, and some Assessors, to steal from the villages, and therefore, from the protectorate itself.
Lungu found himself in the middle of a full-blown corruption scandal. It was a scandal that got his own son killed.
“Believe me,” Vinnie said, after laying out everything for Astrid for the umpteenth time. “His lieutenants are paying very close attention. But so are the other Protectorates.”
“So, what are the next steps?” Astrid wanted to know. “I’ve never been involved with anything like this before.”
“Well,” Vinnie replied with that famous twinkle in his eyes. “You are in luck. I happen to be very practiced in the political arts.”
Astrid snorted. “You mean, like you are practiced in talking to bears?”
Vinnie stammered, hemmed, and hawed. Finally, he explained, “I come from the home of Machiavelli.”
“Macky-a-whoie?” Astrid shook her head.
“An ancient-ancient prince from a time well before the fall. It doesn’t matter. I’ve seen this kind of thing before. We must be very careful. We might soon face a regular army. Many of them will be magic users just like Clarence.”
“We need to know more about them,” Astrid said.
“And we need to take full advantage of the fact that Krann is on our side,” Vinnie replied.
“That is where we must be careful,” Astrid said. “Krann is not on our side. He is on the side of the system. That’s very different.”
“So, the question becomes,” Vinnie said, “how do we stay aligned with the system.”
“We have to present our evidence to Krann. Make him work fo
r us,” Astrid said.
Gormer suddenly showed up balancing three bowls of goat stew on a wooden tray. “Got food,” he said, placing bowls in front of everyone. “Shit! Spoons.”
He ran off, then came back with utensils.
“What’s up?” he asked, shoveling food in his mouth. After a minute or so of Vinnie and Astrid staring at him, he asked, “What? Do I have food on my face?”
“You’re a different man,” Vinnie said.
“Maybe,” Gormer said. “I still feel a bit of that other guy in me, though.”
“We might need some of that,” Vinnie replied.
“We will definitely need some of that,” Astrid said.
“Good,” Gormer said. “Because I feel like going on another raid.”
Astrid laughed through a mouth full of food.
“You ‘feel like’ going on a raid, or you think we should?” Vinnie asked.
“What’s the difference?” Gormer asked.
“You have some beet greens in your teeth,” Astrid said.
“Don’t care,” Gormer said.
Moxy and Tarkon came over and sat down beside each other. Moxy picked a piece of goat out of his bowl.
“I also like meat,” Tarkon growled.
“I need more food than you,” Moxy said. “You’re getting fat, anyway.”
Astrid nearly fell backwards off her chair when Tarkon smiled, leaned over, and gave Moxy a kiss on the cheek.
“How long was I asleep after the battle?” Astrid asked.
Tarkon turned his face to his bowl. The light brown skin of his cheeks took on a distinctly red hue. Gormer just grinned with a mouth full of stew. He transferred a hunk of meat from his bowl to Tarkon’s.
“Who the hell are you people anymore?” Astrid said.
“Let’s talk about the raid,” Tarkon said.
“OK,” Astrid said. “Let’s.”
“Some of Jank’s old contracts are still being filled. Because they are so patently illegal, I say we confiscate them in the name of the law. We take a commission and deliver the rest to Keep 52, along with the evidence we’ve been gathering against the late messers Jank and Clarence.”
“The wagons are heavily protected now,” Astrid said. “I mean, I’m not objecting.”
“How much of that pepper spray do you have?”
Vinnie’s eyes lit up again. “I have a hundred gallons of my best batch yet.”
“A hundred…”
“I sent some of it to the other villages to use against an attack.”
“Oh, you just like making that stuff,” Moxy said.
“You got me,” Vinnie confessed.
“So, we hit the guards with the sauce,” Astrid said.
“Then we tie up the guards and give them the antidote,” Gormer said.
“Then we pay off said guards,” Vinnie added.
“Hey!” Gormer said. “Let’s not get fucking crazy here!”
“Why not?” Vinnie said. “The guards have families. So, do the Assessors. We have good information that neither are happy at all.”
“It is true,” Astrid said. “When we went…” She paused at mentioning the sad event, “to retrieve Alisa, I overheard guards talking about how Clarence and Jank were out of control.”
“Do you think they still feel that way?” Gormer asked.
“Let’s find out,” Vinnie said. “On your raid.”
“My raid?” Gormer asked. “That sounds like… responsibility.”
“Yup,” Astrid said. “Yours. You’re point on this. Tell me when you’re ready to make it happen.”
She got up with her empty bowl and washed it out at the washing station.
Gormer’s Raid
The original five, plus another five bandits who were handpicked by Gormer, set out on the mission. Woody and George wanted to come, but Gormer convinced them to stay behind, as they had too much administrative work to do.
“And Astrid doesn’t?” Woody objected in a loud voice. “How come you and the rest of the Core gets to have all the damn fun?”
“Because she’s the damn boss, and she said you stay here,” Gormer said.
“She is the damn boss,” Woody said. He dug his grubby, calloused fingers into his mane of knotted red hair to scratch his head. “How the hell did that happen?”
“Right about the time she started standing up to Lungu’s bullshit,” Gormer said.
“Or when she convinced Argan to work with our tribes,” George said as he joined the two.
“And then when she broke my ass out of jail,” Gormer said.
“OK, OK,” Woody said. “But I don’t like staying behind.”
“You’re looking at this the wrong way, Woody,” Gormer said.
“How so?”
“She told you that you are in charge of looking after things while she is gone,” Gormer answered.
“Huh,” Woody said. “She did, at that.”
“And you didn’t even question it. You just said ‘OK,’ until you grew a wild hair up your ass and wanted to shirk that responsibility.”
“Hey!” Woody said. “I don’t—”
“You’re angry because you know I’m right. But hey, if you’re scared of the extra duty, I can tell her—”
“Fuck you!” Woody said, fists balled up at his sides. He stomped away muttering how good a job he was prepared to do while Astrid was gone.
George stood there shaking his head. “You are a completely new brand of asshole now.”
“New and improved, I guess,” Gormer replied. “Did your youngsters pack our kits like we talked about?”
“Yup,” George said. “You all have packs and saddlebags with four days of supplies and fresh horses to carry everything.”
Gormer smiled and thanked George. With guidance from Astrid and Vinnie, the woods people were organizing their tribes around the tasks of maintaining and supporting a protection force. They were slowly becoming an army.
Tarkon had even started the process of training a few of the older bandits in formal use of weapons and tactics. Those trained began to pass the information on to others.
But the core skill sets of bandits were always stealth, evasion, surprise, and subterfuge. That’s why Gormer loved working with them. All of those things were in his wheelhouse.
The raiding party of ten decided to meet by the stables. The young bandit trainees had all the horses ready, including Vinnie’s massive draft horse. Vinnie was the only one who brought his own backpack.
Astrid moved to check her pack, but Gormer shot her a quick glance, then slid his eyes over to their helpers.
“It looks like everything is in order here,” Astrid said. “Good job.”
“You’re not going to check the bags?” the oldest girl asked. She couldn’t have been older than fourteen.
“Why?” Astrid said. “Did you forget something.”
“No!” the girl said in awkward tones. “We put everything in there just like Mr. Gormer told us.”
“No doubt,” Astrid said. “Be good while we’re gone. Stay out of trouble, and you know what to do if the soldiers show up.”
“Run and hide,” the girl said.
“And count the youngest. Keep them calm,” Gormer said. “Big kids watch the little kids.”
“Who you callin’ a ‘kid?’” a twelve-year-old boy said, stepping forward. He gave Gormer his hardest look.
“My mistake, big man,” Gormer said. The mystic struck a bodybuilder pose and all the children gasped in surprise, then burst out laughing.
“What illusion did you just create?” Astrid asked. She had her suspicions.
The boy went to answer, but Gormer whirled on him and stabbed his index finger in the air near the boy’s face. “Don’t you dare…” Gormer said.
They headed out into the crisp late-November air with Tarkon in the lead and Vinnie at the rear.
CHAPTER THIRTY
The Righteous Dregs
It was two-days ride to the ambush point. They arri
ved mid-morning and stashed the horses about a mile away near a pond where they could get water and relax if they needed to. Tarkon broke the thin sheet of ice around the edge of the pond so the horses wouldn’t have any trouble drinking.
“This shouldn’t freeze over before we get back,” Tarkon said. Being a horseman, he made sure everyone secured their warm blankets carefully. He didn’t want the horses getting too cold.
Only Vinnie’s horse refused a blanket. “He’s never been this stubborn before,” Vinnie said. He tried talking sweet to the animal and to bribe him with a lump of sugar. Nothing worked.
“Sometimes these draft horses run warm. He probably knows what he needs better than us.” Tarkon ran his hand along the the flanks and belly.
Tarkon wedged his hand into the space between the front leg and the body. Vinnie’s horse almost bit him when he did.
“He’s got plenty of heat in him,” Tarkon declared. “He’ll be fine for a few hours. Don’t feed them, though. That’ll make the blood go to their stomachs.”
“How did you learn so much about horses?” Astrid asked.
“All this time,” Tarkon said. “And you never asked me where I was from.”
Astrid cocked her head. “Would you have told me?”
“Not until now,” Tarkon said.
“Well, let’s have it,” she replied.
“I’m from a place still called Mongolia. Horses are a way of life on the steppes,” Tarkon replied.
They took their time walking the rest of the way to the ambush point. The caravan wasn’t due for several hours. Moxy fell in beside Tarkon, and they walked close together.
“You are very far from home,” Vinnie said.
“No,” was all Tarkon said, and his weathered face shined a smile down on Moxy.
“But why do you call yourself ‘Tarkon the Fallen’,” Gormer prodded.
Astrid shot Gormer a ‘be careful’ look. Tarkon took a deep breath. The bandits, sensing something emotional and private, spread out with obvious discomfort.
“The Order of the Forge is a monastic order,” Tarkon said.
“You were a monk?” Gormer said with a chuckle. Tarkon ignored it.
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