by Brian Fuller
Frantically, Gen felt for the door, and at last his fingers grasped the handle, but the sound of footsteps on the floorboards pulled him up short. Rushing headlong into a dark room to face men with swords would certainly gain him nothing and would likely cost him his life.
Moving carefully, Gen put his ear to the door, listening for any signs of what might be happening. Whoever was in the store either wasn’t moving or had left. Jeorge stopped yelling. Regina’s younger sister wailed loudly, and Regina’s mother was crying and begging the unknown attackers not to hurt them. Gen’s rage strove with his fear, but a realization of his powerlessness weakened his resolve. While the woodsmen and their axes might put up a crude defense, only three people in Tell had proper training to fight: Sikes the Warden, the huntmaster, and possibly Hubert. Gen cursed. All he knew how to do was talk, sing, and play the lute, none of which would help him against armed men. Footsteps on the stairs turned his attention back to his listening. The crying continued, but there were other voices.
“Shut up, woman. Just get to the Church. If you don’t stop that racket, I will hurt her! Tarrant! Did you check back there?”
At least they’re not just killing everyone, Gen thought, feeling a little comfort. A creak on the boards behind the door made him realize that “back there” was probably where he was standing. He tried to step back, but found that he couldn’t move or breathe. While he couldn’t see anything, Gen could feel her—feel the will and the power—just behind him. Disdain and disapproval emanated from the blackness, flooding Gen with feelings of guilt.
Now you understand your weakness. If you would have but listened to me through these years, you could have saved this town, though it is worth nothing. I told you this attack was coming and you could have saved them all! They would have worshiped you and given you whatever you wanted, including the girl! Now people will die. But not you. You will learn. Remember the pain, boy. Remember you could have prevented it. You could have used this night to rise from obscurity.
Gen wanted to turn, wanted to face his accuser. How could he possibly have prevented this? How could he be accused of not listening when every memory of the encounters meant to teach him faded into nothingness? He struggled to turn, to move his feet and hide. Boards creaked nearer and nearer the door. A hand worked the lock, and still Gen could not move.
The door burst open, slamming Gen backward. With no power over his limbs he was unable to brace himself for the impact against the shelving. The back of his skull hit something hard, his vision sparking and blurring. Helplessly he slumped to the floor as items from the toppling shelf, and then the shelf itself, fell on top of him. Dimly he was aware of someone leaning over him. He struggled to get up, but his head swooned, and everything faded away.
Chapter 6 - Shadan Khairn
Gen’s eyes fluttered open. The sun had just cleared the horizon into a blue and pink sky gashed with fast-moving, ragged clouds. The breeze had enough bite in it to rouse him and he rolled onto an elbow. Rafael leaned against the Church wall nearby, head bandaged and face pale. Despite his obvious discomfort, he managed a smile for his apprentice.
“How do you feel, Gen?”
Gen probed his head. A large lump protruded from the back of his skull, painful to the touch, and his head throbbed. Slowly he became aware of the crying and anxious muttering around him. With Rafael’s help, he stood.
Someone had laid him at the steps of the Church along with several others of the wounded. Regina rested nearby, head in her mother’s lap. The rest of the town milled about the square under careful watch. Soldiers—too many for Gen to count—surrounded the throng but made no move against them. From time to time, people from more distant homes arrived under guard to join their neighbors.
“Who are they?” Gen asked.
“Aughmerian soldiers, boy,” Rafael whispered. “They wear no device, but they’re Aughmerian or I’m a mule’s arse.” Rafael’s tone was angry and resigned. “We’ve been standing out in the cold and wind for half a watch now while they drag people in. They’re waiting for someone—their commander, I presume. They’ve already carted off some of the people they slaughtered. The Warden and the huntmaster were both killed. A couple of Aughmerians were in the cart, too, so someone put up a fight.”
Gen rubbed his eyes. “Aughmerians? How would they get here?”
“Hard to say,” Rafael answered. “This makes no sense at all.”
“Where’s Magistrate Showles?” Gen asked.
“No one’s seen the Magistrate, but the rest of his family is around.”
Gen rubbed his arms and breathed deeply to clear his head. A steady breeze blew across the square, carrying with it the scents of the night’s rain and wood smoke. Gen wrapped his cloak about him and snaked around the wounded to where Regina lay, trying to avoid the attention of nearby soldiers. As he approached, she turned toward him. Her face, which had recovered its healthy hue, revealed her relief at the sight of him. Dark circles ringed her eyes.
“So, what were you doing in our storeroom in the middle of the night, young bard? I see you were injured.” Gen crouched down and took her hand.
“I suppose you think that I was ensuring your safety, but, to be honest, I was really checking to see how much wheat you had.”
“This is hardly the time for jokes, Gen! How do you feel? Did you fight that soldier? I almost died when I saw him drag you out of the storeroom. You appeared dead.”
“I’m afraid there wasn’t much fighting to it. I had an unfortunate run-in with one of your shelves and it felled me. I now have a wound nearly identical to yours.”
Regina’s eyes went wide and she smiled weakly, reaching out to touch his face affectionately. A commotion lifted Gen’s eyes back to the crowd. Hubert, a mix of scared and infuriated, pushed his way through the throng to where Gen and Regina were talking.
“Out of the way, Gen!” Hubert grumbled. “She’s my betrothed. I’ll care for her.”
“Unless you think playing dice and hard drinking will lift her spirits or cure her wounds,” Gen said, “I suggest you’d best leave the caring to those more suited and able to give it.”
Hubert twisted up his face as if conjuring up a retort, but after a moment he abandoned the attempt, choosing instead to shove Gen roughly to the ground. Gen, already weak, fell onto his back and stayed there, head spinning. Nearby soldiers laughed. Rafael spat in Hubert’s direction.
“Foolish lad!” he said acidly, taking Gen’s arm and helping him sit up. “Can’t you see what’s going on here? This isn’t the time for brats or brawling!”
Gen didn’t know if Rafael was addressing him or Hubert.
A scream ended the altercation and hushed the crowd. Rafael helped Gen to his feet, and they both cast their eyes about. The door to the Showles’s house had opened, and Bernard, dressed in his bedclothes and covered in dried feces, emerged, flanked by two burly guards.
Behind them came a man Gen knew had to be their leader. He wore a burnished silver breastplate engraved with a golden hammer. Golden greaves, worth more than Gen could fathom, shone on his legs, and under his arm he carried a polished silver helmet with a short red plume. On a studded belt hung a scabbard richly appointed with red and blue gems. He was handsome with a sharp commanding face framed by shoulder length black hair streaked with gray. A stern mouth was accented with a close-cropped goatee, and blue eyes regarded the crowd unconcernedly.
“Mikkik take me!” Rafael whispered, “That’s Torbrand Khairn himself!”
“Are you sure?” Gen asked. “The Shadan of Aughmere? Here?”
“It is him, Gen. Be wary. He is by reputation capricious.”
“Silence!” Shadan Khairn’s voice thundered into the square with unusual power, choking out the murmuring. Even children stopped crying. Bernard grasped the porch railing and trembled in his bedclothes. Gen doubted it was from the cold.
“People of Tell,” Khairn began in a deep, pleasant voice as if addressing the crowd at a fair. “I claim
this town for Aughmere, in the name of, well, myself!” The Shadan laughed, and in that laugh Gen detected the stain of madness. “Those of you with more than rocks in your heads, of which I suspect there are few, will realize that it is a bit late in the season to start an invasion. That is true. Those of you with the intelligence of an ox, of which I suspect there are none, will have figured out that during this nice little invasion we have burned nothing and killed very few. Those who are truly brilliant, of which I know there are none, will have reasoned that this little army of mine intends to winter here.
“Now, those same people will realize something else. With the stores of food you have available, there simply isn’t enough to go around to feed all of you and my brave company of soldiers, especially after that silly celebration yesterday. We’ll address that problem later. First we must resolve a pressing matter regarding respect.
“Your Magistrate here, in a cowardly attempt to save his own life, climbed out his window and ran to hide in his outhouse. Never mind the gross and blatant stupidity of that particular decision on his part, but you have no doubt noticed that your Magistrate is covered in his own filth and the filth of his wife and offspring. Someone, you see, dug out this man’s outhouse in a crude prank, resulting in his rather putrid condition and forcing me to smell him while I negotiated with him the simple terms of the surrender of this town.
“I would like to know, who has done this thing? Who had the audacity to play such a prank upon his superior and cause me such discomfort? I know this a gross violation of Tolnor’s silly traditions of propriety and rank, and in my country an underling would get death for a stunt like this. And this is now my country. Step forward and identify yourself, or I’ll start the killing now. Oh my, there I’ve gone and said it.”
Murmuring and crying kindled anew in the crowd, and in the brief moment of chaos, Rafael came to stand at Gen’s side.
“Say nothing or it’s your death.”
Gen’s limbs froze with fear. Gant had helped him. Gen searched the faces in the gathering, finally finding his friend staring firmly at the ground. Yeurile stood nearby, face ashen and shirt stained with blood. Her father was not near her, and Gen wondered if the woodsmen put up much of a defense.
“Silence!” Khairn’s voice cut through the noise with ease, cowing the crowd and restoring order. “Please, to the matter at hand. Who has done this? Come now or I begin killing women and children.”
Gen’s sense of honor wrestled with his will to survive. He looked at Khairn and the sword at his belt. He looked at Rafael and Regina, both grim-faced. He looked to the townsfolk, mothers and fathers clinging to children and friends consoling one another. Then he looked within himself and somewhere found the courage to do what he must.
“I did it!” Gen shouted, raising his hand. Khairn’s gaze shot across the square, and it took a sheer act of will to look the King in the eyes. Nothing in those eyes spoke of friendliness or compassion, only dark will and madness.
“There’s a good lad. Come forward.”
Gen glanced at Regina, who watched him from the ground, eyes tearful. “Goodbye, Regina.” Gen said softly, walking through the path created as the throng split before him.
Some reached out to touch him as he passed. If I am to die, I will try to have some dignity, he thought, raising his head and straightening his shoulders as he marched forward. Khairn watched him approach without expression. Bernard stared intensely at Gen, almost snarling. As Gen neared, Khairn signaled for him to ascend to the Showles’s porch and stand by him.
Gen, head swimming, bent all his will toward not stumbling or appearing as weak as he felt. Khairn’s hand lingered near the hilt of his blade. Oddly, the Shadan smiled and put his arm around Gen’s shoulder, pulling him close.
“Courageous indeed. A man of fortitude. It will be a shame to kill you. Tell me and the assembled why you did such a horrible thing. I simply must know, and the crowd is in need of some levity. I warn you now, don’t lie to me because I can discern it.”
Gen considered telling a story that would leave Regina out of it, but his thoughts felt so jumbled and he was so fearful of Khairn’s wrath that he told the tale in full, managing to leave Gant out of it without lying. Khairn listened patiently, showing nothing until the end when he laughed.
“How quaint. You disgrace the Magistrate for the love of the woman, though I have a hard time believing Hubert is as much a boor as you make him out to be. But tell me, what is your name?”
“Gen.”
“Tell me, Gen, what is your profession? You speak very well for a commoner from a filthy town.”
“I am a bard and will be a journeyman come spring.”
At this, Khairn’s eyes lit up and his mood quickly changed to feverish magnanimity. He began talking so fast Gen had a hard time keeping up.
“Excellent! I must admit that I was going to kill you, but being a bard covers many sins and I thus forgive you for the moments of stink I had to endure. You shall live, as shall your master. I couldn’t bear the thought of passing the winter in this rat hole without entertainment. To keep you on your best behavior, the woman shall live, too. Captain, have them come forward please.”
“Hey! Hey!” Hubert struggled forward from the depths of the crowd to shout at the Shadan. Gen winced at his stupidity. “She’s my betrothed! We were supposed to be married come spring! She’s mine!”
Annoyed at the outburst, Khairn stared at Hubert until the young man’s knees knocked together.
“Well, Gen, I see now what you meant,” Khairn’s eyes pinned Hubert to his spot. “Young man, in my country when there is a dispute over whose property a woman is, we resolve it appropriately through a challenge, not through childish whining. In the future, I may give you the chance to challenge Gen for her, but I’ve no time for that now. A quick lesson will do. Captain Omar, could you teach this idiot a little respect?”
Captain Omar was the very definition of stocky. A muscular head, complete with hair no longer than the stubble on his cheeks, sat upon a practically nonexistent neck. Though thick of shoulder and thigh, Gen noticed that the man moved with exceptional agility. The Captain was more than happy to oblige the Khairn’s demands. With a satisfied smirk, he delivered a sound fist to Hubert’s stomach and a hammering knee to his face.
“You’ll watch your tongue, whelp, or next time it’ll be worse!” the Captain barked while Hubert rolled around in the dirt, covering his face as blood from his nose spurted onto the ground. With the help of the townsfolk, the Captain located Rafael and Regina and signaled for them to come forward. Regina leaned heavily on Rafael, knees unsteady. Gen admired her courage, for despite all the injury and terror, her face was firm.
“She’s a rare one for a dirt-water town and looks like she comes from noble stock,” Khairn said quietly to Gen, voice lusty. “I can see how her being betrothed to that dolt would offend your bardish sensibilities, though I will have her wear a veil from now on so she won’t prove such a distraction.”
Rafael shot Gen a glance that said be careful, and Regina touched his hand as she came to stand behind him. Khairn turned to face them, whispering so that no one else could hear.
“You three get to live. Count yourselves fortunate, but not free. If any one of you disobeys, I will not punish the disobedient but one of the others. Learn it well. Now get into the house and get it clean while I deal with some unpleasant realities.”
Gen gazed at the terrified townspeople for a moment as he helped Regina inside and set her down to rest by one of the windows. A dread silence hung in the air, and some who saw what was to come began to pray and say impassioned farewells. Pureman Millershim moved among the crowd, comforting those that needed it most. Regina cried softly behind him as she regarded the scene. Her mother carried her little sister, and her father worked his hat in his hands.
A knot of fear and sadness swelled in Gen’s stomach. To take his mind off it, he closed the door and set to the task that Khairn had given. The soldiers
had wrecked the Showles’s house during their attack. Chairs, broken and overturned, littered the floor. Bed dressings lay flung about the rooms, and the shards of many little trinkets, vases, and pots the Showleses had hoarded crunched underfoot.
Gen straightened the bedrooms while Rafael cleaned the kitchen and the ample front room. As they worked, shouts and cries rose and fell outside, and—after trying to ignore them—Gen walked back to the front room and the window that overlooked the square.
Regina was there already, face anxious and tear-streaked. Khairn still stood on the porch, hand on hips, watching as his men divided the town in two. On one side most of the youth between ten and seventeen huddled together. On the other side was everyone else.
“What are they doing, Rafael?” Gen asked, half-guessing at the grim answer.
“They will keep the youth to serve them during the winter months. The rest. . .” Rafael’s voice trailed off.
“They can’t kill them!” Regina shrieked, bolting for the door. Gen restrained her. Khairn’s head turned slightly at the scream.
“You can’t do anything, lass,” Rafael soothed as Regina clung to Gen and wept. Tears ran down Gen’s face as Rafael continued to talk. “You must be strong for those who are left! It will be a long winter. You and Gen are among the oldest here and will be counted on for strength. We shall all meet again in Erelinda someday.”
Outside, Bernard bellowed, “There will be word of this!”
“I certainly hope so!” Khairn smirked. “And I thank you for reminding me. Gen, come out here please. And Omar, fetch the letters.”
Gen swallowed hard and wiped his eyes before walking back out onto the porch. Once again, Khairn put his arm around him.
“It is my intention, good people, to engage in your stupid custom of warning each other that you are about to attack. Really, Gen, you must tell me how anyone got that notion into his head. If an enemy is worth killing, then a knife in the back is just as warranted as a knife in the chest, wouldn’t you say? Well?”