by Greg Curtis
“You have a message for me?”
“Hello Mother.” He was surprised and even a little disappointed for a moment or two that she didn't recognise him. But then he remembered – she hadn't seen him in almost twenty years. And to be fair, it was dark.
“Hendrick?!” Finally she showed a flicker of emotion – surprise. She quickly regained her composure though, and then gestured at the nearby soldiers to leave them. She did not want this conversation overheard. “But how –?”
“I broke in. I found a way under the barrier. It took a while. You and Myka are well?”
“Yes. No thanks to you!” Her expression hardened. “Why did you attack the city?” She kept her voice low, not wanting the guards to hear her. Not because she wanted to protect him of course. It was only about the family name. To have a son who was afflicted was a source of great shame. But to have one who had attacked the city and tried to overthrow the King was worse.
“I didn't. I only arrived in the city this morning. Brought here by a warrant for my execution issued by the Chief Magistrate. I had no inkling of any of this.”
Nor had he had any idea how this conversation would go. But somehow this wasn't the conversation he had imagined. Then again he realised, what he had secretly dreamed of was something only a bard would have imagined. A part of him had secretly yearned for a tearful reunion with his mother. Talk of love and maybe regret. That had never been going to happen. It simply wasn't who his mother was. Still, he was disappointed.
Hendrick told himself that it was only natural for him to harbour such foolish desires given his upbringing. It was just that it was unrealistic. The priests in the Abbey had been kind to him, and they had cared for him properly as they had for all the children. But he like all the others had always harboured the same hope that the priests could never make real. A dream of family. And even though he had both a mother and a father he was every bit as much an orphan as them.
But as his mother had told him long ago, dreams were for commoners. Royalty had no time for them.
“Your father would not command that!”
“He did.” Hendrick's answer was to reach into his jacket pocket and pull out the warrant and hand it to her. It was too dark for her to read of course. But she could surely make out the royal seal at the top of it, and would read the details when she returned to her chambers.
“The mercenaries the Chief Magistrate sent are gone now and won't trouble me again. But they burnt down my home before they left and I'd rather no others came after them. So I came here hoping to find out why he'd sent them and stop him sending more.”
“Of course when I arrived here I found this disaster where there used to be a city and I suppose I found my answer. My father's declared war on the afflicted.”
“The King has done no such thing!” She raised her voice slightly. Enough to draw the attention of the soldiers, though none approached. She shook her head slightly the moment one looked like approaching.
“Who else gives the Chief Magistrate orders?” Hendrick shrugged to emphasise his point. “And if he hasn't issued a decree to have all the afflicted hunted down and killed then we return to the simple truth. That he merely wanted me dead. Unless you're going to claim that the Chief Magistrate is issuing orders without the King's knowledge?” Which would amount to treason. You did not accuse important people of treason. Not even if you were a prince.
His mother didn't answer. She couldn't since any answer she gave would either be an accusation of treachery of the Magistrate or a statement that his father had tried to kill him. There didn't seem to be another choice. Eventually, she informed him that she would find out what had happened.
“It doesn't matter,” Hendrick told her. “I came. I saw the barrier you had erected to protect yourselves and realised that you were trapped. I saw that the afflicted were trying hard to break the barrier down to get to you. They really hate you by the way. And so I hunted for a way in and out of the inner city. A way by which you can escape. Here, I’ve written out some directions.” He handed her another piece of parchment on which he'd scrawled a map of the escape route. His mother accepted it wordlessly, but didn't look at it. Instead she looked at him quizzically.
“We raised the barrier? We did no such thing! We couldn't. It's created by magic and we have none. No, it is the afflicted who raised it as a way of trapping us here. They've imprisoned us in our own city!”
“What?” He was surprised by her claim. “That's not what they're saying on the other side.” But he guessed that that was normal in a battle. People on different sides had different stories.
“And what do they say? That pixies did it?!”
“That they were brought here in a heartbeat and by means they didn't understand. Then they were immediately set upon by the soldiers, and they've simply been defending themselves ever since. That you raised this barrier and they're going to break it down so they can make those who did this to them pay.”
“And I say that they arrived in the blink of an eye and attacked us without warning. First a whole group of them came, and after that one at a time, each doing the most terrible damage. This is our home and we are the ones defending ourselves. It was a little while after that that they raised this barrier and imprisoned us here. You will find that my version is correct. They are the ones with magic after all!” She snapped at him a little, as if angry that he could suggest such a thing. Then she quieted and stared intently at Hendrick. “So, what do you say?”
“That I was not here and so I don't know what happened. All I do know is that someone is trying to kill me and I’d like them to stop. I don't even care why they're trying to kill me. I have not harmed or threatened anyone. I just brew ale. I'd like to keep doing that.”
“Whoever it is, I will have it stopped. You have my word.” His mother nodded to Hendrick.
“Thank you. Now if you want to leave I suggest you follow that map. It will lead you to the second terrace. Wear some working people's clothes and you can simply walk out of the city. No one will stop you. The afflicted having won their battle, are simply sending people away as they claim the city for themselves.”
“They're claiming the city?” His mother's voice rose a little in surprise. “Why?”
“I don't know.” Hendrick shrugged. “I'm not exactly on their list of confidantes. They don't know I'm afflicted. And the exodus is not being forced. People are mostly leaving because there's nothing left for them in the city. But make no mistake, the afflicted are very angry. If they realise who you are they will kill you.”
“You haven't told them you're afflicted?”
“If people in the city knew I was they'd treat me differently. The afflicted would expect me to help them with their battle which of course I won’t do. And the rest wouldn't talk to me if they knew. But I thought I might need their help to find people and places. Some would even attack me and I've had enough of being attacked. It's easier to be no one. Safer too.”
“You should come with me and tell your brother what you've told me. So we can make plans.”
“And reveal to the inner city that one of the afflicted has entered their home? Or remind them that you have a son who is afflicted?” He gave her a painful smile. “I don't think that would be wise Mother. I came to find out about the warrant, as well as to help you find a way out of here. That done I'm leaving. The rest is up to you.”
And with a polite nod Hendrick turned on his heels and walked away, his duty done. More than that he now knew why he'd been attacked if not who had signed the warrant. Hopefully his mother would make sure it didn't happen again. There was nothing left for him to do.
It was time, to go home and start rebuilding his home.
Chapter Nine
Life in the city was complicated. Especially for anyone who had a horse. Because it meant Herrick not only had to care for the animal, but he also had to defend her. He had to watch her while she grazed lest someone steal her, and he did not want to have to walk all the way back
to Burbage. In the rag and bone yard he had found some stables he had been able to lock and the horse had made do with oats – which she seemed to like. But he knew she needed grass, fresh air and sunshine as well, which was why he'd brought her a little distance away from the yard to a nearby estate where there was grazing. Besides, he found it almost painful to feed the horse oats. Oats, along with barley, malt, some molasses and of course the hops were the basis of his gruit, and so feeding them to her reminded him that he needed to go home and get back to work. The brewery would not run itself.
It wasn't much of an estate, though it probably had been before the battle. The main house had recently become a pile of melted stone and blackened timbers out of which a tree was now growing. He would have guessed it had been three stories tall originally, mainly because of the height of the remaining chimneys, a few of which still stood tall over the remains. Now all that was left was the colonnade – a massive series of stone columns supporting a huge gabled roof, a structure as large as many houses, that was meant to guide visitors from the long front path across the extensive gardens to the great house. Now it merely guided any visitors from a ruined city to a ruined mansion. There was something particularly tragic in that.
There was another reason he'd brought the horse to this particular estate. It was one of the ones that had underground access to the sewers. And though it had only been the previous night – actually the early hours of the morning – since he had delivered the map to his mother, already he was seeing people leaving. Obviously word had got out.
Actually he was only assuming that they were from the inner city. But it seemed likely since in the hour that he'd been sitting on the grass watching his horse graze he'd seen at least two dozen people leave the ruins while none had entered it. And it was supposed to be abandoned. Besides, the shoes were an obvious clue. These people might have the wit to wear rough clothes to hide their status, but they always forgot their shoes. Good quality boots and polished leather footwear instead of foot wraps. It was a foolish mistake – at least to him.
But that was their problem. His was leaving the city. He'd planned on leaving today, but had slept in after his late night. Which was why he was now letting his horse have an hour or two grazing here instead of immediately riding away. He wanted to get a full day's ride in on his first day so that when he did leave, he would be far enough away by the end of the day that no one would catch him. He would leave in the morning.
For the moment though he was comfortable. Sitting on the soft grass, leaning back against a stone wall, a wide brimmed hat pulled down low on his head to shade his eyes against the sun. Occasionally he took a sip or two from his skein, wishing it was filled with ale rather than water. It was a good way to while away an hour or two. It also gave him a chance to think about what he should do next.
Would it be safe to return to Burbage? It might be, he thought. After all the King wasn't going to be worrying about signing any more execution warrants for a while. He had a lot of other things on his mind. And somehow Hendrick doubted he would want his mother angry at him. She could be very persuasive and would make a very dangerous enemy. As for the Chief Magistrate – if this was his doing – then he would no doubt be busy trying to explain his actions to the King. Very busy. The King did not tolerate disloyalty.
But, there was a bigger problem. One that would trouble him wherever he went. The afflicted had attacked Styrion Might. They'd never attacked anywhere before. And whatever the reason for the attack, the moment they had done so the afflicted had gone from being a minor problem to an actual threat. Not just those who had attacked the city; all of them. And now they were claiming the city? He still couldn't believe that they'd done that. That was just madness. But it made the afflicted officially enemies of the realm. And when word of it got out, things would become very hard indeed for his kind.
There were fifty cities in the realm and an unknown number of towns and villages. Some said a thousand, some said more. But once word of this attack spread, every one of the afflicted in every single village or town would be viewed with suspicion. Not just the usual minor worry that they could be dangerous. No, now they would fear that the afflicted might be planning on starting a war. And as all of them were marked by their magic. Few of them could hide their nature and those that tried would be labelled as witches and warlocks.
Hendrick couldn't hide either. He could change his name and run he supposed. He could stop being Hendrick Mountforth. He could escape any trackers that might be put on his tail. But he couldn't stop being one of the afflicted. And he couldn't wear gloves and long sleeves for the rest of his life. As soon as anyone saw his markings they would know him for what he was. And it was going to be a long time before things returned to normal.
Still, as he watched a score of people unexpectedly emerge from the ruined mansion and head for the street, at least he could take comfort in knowing that he had done something worthwhile. People were escaping the inner city thanks to him. Sooner or later he knew, someone would realise what was happening, and when that happened he didn't know what they would do. But if what he had done helped them then he was happy.
Hendrick watched the group of escapees as they made their way to the street and then turned and headed toward the city gates and freedom, feeling at least a little satisfaction in what he'd done. Others though were less willing to let him bask in his feeling of accomplishment.
“So this is how you search for your family is it dolt?”
Hendrick looked up to see that the dark-haired woman had returned. He groaned. She was a sour brew. “Oh by all that's sacred woman, can't you go and find someone else to bother!”
“No!” She seemed particularly unhappy with him.
Then again he thought, maybe she was just unhappy with everyone. She had a face that spoke of someone who’d just eaten a particularly sour lemon. It was a pity. A smile might have done wonders for her appearance.
“Now why are you here?”
“Isn't it obvious? I'm guarding my horse as she grazes. If I don't some cut purse will pinch her.”
“Or you're here spying.”
“Spying?” That was something he hadn't considered. “What or who in all the hells would I be spying on woman? A ruined estate? You? Why? No one needs to spy on you to know who you are or what you've done. Or what you're doing. Tens of thousands – no hundreds of thousands – of people are leaving the city every day, and they all know that you've levelled Styrion Might and evicted its people. That you've declared war on the realm.”
“Spying on the barrier,” she clarified.
“On the barrier?” Hendrick turned his head to stare at the barrier in the distance, wondering what she was suggesting. “It's pretty but why would I want to spy on the barrier?”
“Because the King's on the other side.”
“So?” He still didn't understand.
“So you want to see what happens when the barrier falls. What we'll do with him after he attacked us. What our demands will be.”
“Demands?” Hendrick's eyes nearly fell out of his head in surprise. “What you'll do to King Oster? You'll do nothing unless you're a complete dullard! Were you born this dim witted? Or did you have to work at it?”
Hendrick knew he shouldn't have said it. Especially when he saw her face blanch in anger. But he simply couldn't help himself. Maybe he'd spent too long being abused by Val. So instead he hurried on.
“First, as far as I can see the barrier doesn't seem to be coming down any time soon. Second, since the people on the other side aren't afflicted they couldn't possibly have raised it. No magic. Remember?! That means that one of the afflicted must have done so. And third, it doesn't matter what you demand. You can't win. You've already ruined the lives of every afflicted man, woman and child in all of Styrion. Thanks to you every one of them has just become a potential threat and an enemy of the realm! And most of them have spells that won't help them at all. They're as defenceless as new born babes!”
�
��We were attacked!” She raised her voice in anger.
“You keep saying that and it still doesn't make any more sense than flying pixies.” Hendrick was rapidly becoming tired of the conversation. “But even if it's true it doesn't matter. You've destroyed a city. The Capitol. You’ve imprisoned the King and killed thousands of people. You started a war you can only lose. That everyone will lose.”
“We didn't start it!”
“So what, woman?!” He raised his voice. “Look around you! This is nothing but a disaster! A million people have been hurt by your actions. And they're going to tell millions more! It doesn't matter whether you started it or not. What matters is that you end it! You should be trying to make peace. Before this gets any worse.”