by Martin Owton
“Damnation, Nicoras!” Lord Hercival slammed his fist onto the table. “Can I not do what I please in my own land?”
“With respect my Lord, it is your father's land. This is why I suggest we take them in some out of the way corner where there will be no-one to hinder us and no witnesses.”
Lord Hercival stood rigid for a moment, but then unclenched his fists and turned back to the map. “Yes, of course. Thank you, Nicoras, practical as ever.”
CHAPTER 17
Maldwyn spoke. “Davo said you killed ten Sarazan guardsmen when they attacked your lodgings.” He and Aron were leaning on the rail of the boat watching the sun sink behind the low range of hills that formed the edge of the river valley. “I can see why you don’t want to return.”
“I see no sense in putting my hand into the wasps’ nest more times than necessary,” Aron said, scanning the bank. The boat had moored for the night some five paces out into the stream; enough trees grew right down to the towpath to provide plenty of cover for anyone trying to approach unseen, though the river seemed deep around them. Aron felt uncomfortable at this, but it was beyond his control; the river had enough snags and mudbanks to make the most foolhardy skipper take pause before attempting to navigate it in the dark.
“Davo exaggerates the tale, it was only four guardsmen,” Aron added.
“That is still an amazing feat,” said Maldwyn his eyes shining with admiration.
“I had them at a disadvantage. They were coming into ground they didn't know, and they didn't know what they were facing.”
“You’re too modest. If I’d done that, I’d have some minstrel make a song about it. It would make a fine ballad; you killed the weaponmaster of Nandor, despatched four Sarazan guardsmen and singlehandedly lifted me from a heavily defended castle with less fuss than a herdsman rounding up a flock of sheep, yet you’re no older than me.” Maldwyn stopped and looked at Aron, his face suddenly serious. “This is the stuff of legend, Aron. How is it that you’re here? Who are you? I mean no intrusion and I owe you a great debt, but I'd like to know whose hands I'm in.”
Aron recognised the offer of friendship implicit in Maldwyn's question. Davo had been incurious to a fault about Aron and, in all honesty, Aron was dubious about the merits of the little man's friendship. Maldwyn was a completely different case. For a start he was honest and almost painfully transparent. Full of impossible notions of honour but, once his friendship was given, Aron guessed, intensely loyal. Aron would need good friends if they ever managed to return to Nandor.
“It's no intrusion, and you are right. If we are to win through to Nandor we have to trust each other. It has been a while since I have had companions and I've dropped out of the habit of talking about myself.”
Aron looked up and saw Maldwyn's blue eyes fixed on him. No lies for this man, he thought.
“I was born the son of the guard sergeant at the castle of Darien. My mother was a serving girl in a tavern in Darien; the fever took her when I was very young; I have no memory of her. I spent my childhood years in the castle of Darien mothered by the cooks and housemaids and spoiled by the guardsmen. The Earl took me in to be a companion to his son Cordra who was of an age with me. He thought Cordra would learn better if he had a companion at his lessons. We become fast friends; I was given a room in the castle and had all the lessons Cordra had. So, in due course, I was taught by the weaponmaster of Darien as if I was a nobleman's son. Cordra was an average pupil, but my tutor soon found that I had a talent. After that he devoted all the time he was allowed to teaching me.”
Aron paused there and looked east to where the first stars shone out in the deep purple sky; east towards far distant, lost Darien.
“I heard of the fall of Darien,” said Maldwyn as if unsure whether he was trespassing on painful ground.
“Aye, and what did you hear?” Aron laughed, his voice hard and bitter. “Did you hear of the three months of siege? Did you hear how the Saxish mercenaries the Earl had hired turned their coats and opened the fortress to Caldon? Did you hear of how the Earl and his men were hanged from the walls of their own castle?” He turned away from Maldwyn then and spat into the water.
“How did you escape their fate?” Maldwyn asked cautiously.
“I was already in the Holy City with Cordra. When the Earl got word of the advance of Caldon's forces he sent us with the ladies of the household to his wife's family.”
“Didn’t your honour burn at this? How could you bear to be sent away like a maid?” Maldwyn burst out. “I would have insisted on staying.”
“Then you would be dead too, and for no purpose. Would two extra blades have made a difference? I think not. The only thing that would have made a difference would have been the discovery of the Saxish treachery. No, Maldwyn, only a fool puts all his eggs in the one basket, and that is as true of Earls as farmers. Had we stayed, the House of Darien would now be extinct. As it is, Cordra is Earl of Darien. One day he will reclaim his inheritance, and I will stand beside him.” Aron's fists clenched with determination.
“And Nandor shall stand beside you.” Maldwyn reached out and grasped Aron's hand. “I swear it upon the honour of my house.”
“Thank you. I shall remember when the time comes.” Aron was genuinely moved by Maldwyn's impulsive offer, though he wondered if Maldwyn would still feel that way when the time came.
“How did this bring you to Nandor? It is a long way from the Holy City.”
“That is a tale that does not reflect well on me,” Aron sighed. “I was shown great kindness in the Holy City. Many people opened their hearts to us of Darien when the news of the Earl's fall broke. Cordra's mother is sister to the Duke of Kyria who stands close to the High King. He took us into his household and arranged for me to be admitted to the Academy.”
“The Academy!” gasped Maldwyn, “I should have realised.”
“Cordra thought it would be an honour for Darien, and that an Academy trained weaponmaster would be a useful companion for an Earl-in-exile.” said Aron remembering the joy the news had brought him. As he recalled he had grinned incessantly for a week.
“Is it as wonderful as I've heard?”
“That depends on what you've heard. If you expect splendid buildings then you would indeed be disappointed. Nor are there great numbers of blademasters; hardly more than half a dozen fulltime. Most of the instruction is by blademasters who are in the Holy City with the nobles who employ them. There are, I suppose, around thirty students at various stages of study from freshmen up to newly graduated masters looking for their first post. Most of the pupils are from households which already have a blademaster or are near the Holy City; otherwise they wouldn’t have got a recommendation in the first place. I'm the first student from Darien.”
“I dreamed of going, but never got a recommendation. Nandor could not afford an Academy-trained blademaster. That’s something I shall put right. I'll speak to father when we get back, with your help of course. But how did that bring you to Nandor? I would never have left such a situation.”
“As I said, the tale doesn't reflect well on me. I was happy at the Academy, and I did well enough at the disciplines, but something one of the masters said led me astray.”
“How could that be?” said Maldwyn, puzzlement in his voice.
Aron paused, wondering how Maldwyn would react; would he understand the doubt that had crept through Aron’s mind at the instructor’s words?
“It was one of the blademasters. He spoke to the advanced students seeking, I think, to caution us against overconfidence. He said that it was all very well being the finest bladesman in the exercise yard, but it was completely different when the man before you was a real enemy. He said he’d seen the most excellent swordsmen freeze when the moment came to kill and then be killed themselves because of their hesitation. He was looking straight at me when he said it.”
“You felt he insulted your honour? Questioned your bravery?”
�
�No. He made me doubt whether I would kill when the time came. I needed to know whether I could do it. I would be no use to Darien as the finest swordsman in the exercise yard who couldn't bring himself to kill.”
“What did you do? Challenge the instructor?” asked Maldwyn.
“Certainly not. He was one of the finest swordsmen I've ever seen. I wouldn't have lasted a minute against him. You may have heard that in the Holy City tavern fights are a public entertainment and much money changes hands in wagers.”
“What kind of fights? Brawls?”
“No, swordfights. Like the arena, but less formal. The oddsmakers pay the magistrates to keep the Watch from interfering.” From the shocked expression on Maldwyn’s face Aron knew he had not heard of this. “I became attached to a group of Darien exiles who were sworn to hunt down the servants of Caldon. Usually this took the form of goading them into a tavern fight and then I killed them.”
In the silence that followed Aron remembered the first fight: the cries of the crowd, the burning lustful eyes of his target as he savoured the easy kill he thought awaited him, and the way those eyes had faded to a blank distant stare as his life flooded out of him through the gash in his throat. Those eyes had haunted his sleep for a long time.
“So what went wrong?” askd Maldwyn
“I suppose I was too successful and became too well known. The Caldons recognised me and wouldn’t be drawn into fights, and I wouldn’t kill them if they didn’t draw a blade. It was getting too close to murder. Then they sent an assassin after me.”
“How did you survive the assassin?”
“Luck. Pure blind luck. He shot at me in the street with a crossbow, but the fellow I was with looked quite like me, and he shot the wrong man. It seemed a good idea to leave the city for a while after that.”
“How many did you kill?”
Aron paused for a moment. “Nine, I think; ten if you include the assassin.” Maldwyn stared wide-eyed at him as he thought about what Aron had told him. Aron guessed that Maldwyn had never killed a man and that the same doubt that Aron had faced nagged at him. Somewhere upstream there was a splash followed by a second. Aron’s right hand jumped to the knife in his left sleeve, then he relaxed. “Just a fish,” he said.
Maldwyn stared at the knife for a long moment before speaking. “You made no mention of a sweetheart.”
“No. I haven’t met one yet,” said Aron. Or have I? “The life I’ve been leading the last few years has kept me away from the kind of girl that would win my heart.”He looked down at the water with a frown as he remembered how Caldon’s men had tried to trap him with a pretty tavernmaid and so nearly succeeded.
“So where did you go from the Holy City?” said Maldwyn after an embarassed pause. “And how on earth did you finish up in Nandor?”
“I wandered without plan or direction hiring out as a bodyguard or teaching the blade to the clumsy sons of gentlemen. In Oxport, I taught the blade for a season and I happened across a Saxishman who had been at Darien. I dealt with him, but succeeded in bring another half dozen of them down on me, one a wizard of some power. My friends in Oxport advised me to lose myself for a while and I hired as a caravan guard for a wool merchant trading in Nandor. So that is how I came to be in the tavern by the market where Marek and Davo were drinking. I'd been in the town less than an hour before I killed Marek.”
“So it was the blindest chance that made you my rescuer. Surely this shows the gods are on our side. If father had sent out across the realm to find the finest and boldest man, he could have done no better. And he found you in a tavern in Nandor market.” Maldwyn's laugh echoed across the river.
“Not so.” Aron smiled. “Marek found me, though I daresay he regretted it.”
They talked as the sky grew dark and the mist rose from the river the cloak to banks in deep shadow. Maldwyn was as keen as his sisters had been to know about life in the Holy City though his interests were more focused on the Academy of Weaponmasters and the various tournaments at which the nobles jousted. Aron did his best to satisfy Maldwyn's curiosity and tried to make him understand that much greater victories were won by smooth-tongued men in the drawing rooms of palaces than ever were won by feats of arms upon the field. Eventually the talk slowed as full night descended to the point that the two young men could no longer see each other.
CHAPTER 18
“Now I know where they are,” the old river captain said. He was sitting beside Ezrin as the sorcerer hunched over his crystal describing what he saw through Maldwyn's eyes. “I know that hill with the ruined walls and the trees grown up through them. You sure they're beeches?'
“They're beeches,” said the sorcerer without looking up. “There's a bend in the river coming up. The fortifications are on a hill that sticks out and the river bends around it.”
“That's certain then. I know right where they are. No doubt at all.”
Ezrin sat up and covered his crystal with a dark cloth. “Excellent. I think we deserve some lunch, and then we'll go and see Lord Hercival.”
***
“Are you quite sure of this?” Lord Hercival leaned across the table towards the two men who stood before him.
“I've been thirty years on the river, my Lord and the Master described the ruins at Castle Bend exactly.” The old riverman spoke with calm authority.
“Good. Then we must consider how best to net these fish.” Lord Hercival turned to Nicoras. “Twenty men should suffice. Have the garrison at Erkimar send a patrol up to meet them.”
“Very good, my Lord. Do you have a plan as to precisely how they’ll take them?” Nicoras replied. Lord Hercival paused. No you haven’t, my Lord thought Nicoras.
“It’s no easy matter to seize a ship, my Lord,” the old riverman said. “Is it something your lads would've practised?”
“No. These are infantrymen of the garrison. They would be proficient in spear and blade against an enemy or an unruly crowd.”
As Nicoras spoke, Lord Hercival scowled silently.
“There's none that'd be watermen and used to boats, my Lord?” said the riverman.
“None,” said Nicoras for Lord Hercival. “How would you go about seizing a boat on the river? In thirty years you must have seen it done.”
“It'd best be done with two boats and a rope stretched between 'em. You come up on either side of 'em. The rope holds 'em fast an' you go in from both sides at once.” The riverman gestured with his hands to show how it should be done.
“Could the Erkimar garrison do such a thing, Nicoras?” asked Lord Hercival.
“I doubt it, my Lord. They've no-one with any notion of boat handling. You could drown half the garrison.”
“Then there has to be another way. Why can we not seize them when they're moored-up for the night?” asked Lord Hercival.
“Same problem, my Lord. They'll moor out in the stream so you'd need boatmen to get to them. It'd be too easy for bandits to seize a boat otherwise.”
“How then do we achieve this simple, yet seemingly so difficult, task?” asked Lord Hercival. There was silence around the room.
“I believe I may be able to offer a solution, my Lord.” They all turned to stare at Ezrin. “Is there perchance some small village with a landing stage or an inn beside the river, good and isolated where they might be seized without hindrance?”
“Plenty of places answer that description, but why should they come ashore before Oxport?” said the old riverman.
“If you select the place, my Lord then, by my arts, I shall force them to land.”
Lord Hercival stared hard at Ezrin. “You can ensure they must land?” he said sceptically.
“I have no doubt of it, my Lord,” said the sorcerer firmly.
“There is an inn beside a ferry crossing some way down the river,” said the riverman. “There would be time for your men to march up from Erkimar before the boat reached it. If the wizard here can make them land then where else would they go? Th
ere is nothing there but the inn. But how will you do it? The river is broad and slow-flowing with no obstacles.”
“Broad and slow, eh? All the better for what I have in mind.” Ezrin smiled mysteriously. “They will land.”
“Very well,” said Lord Herival dismissing Ezrin and the riverman with a wave of his hand. “Nicoras draft a message to the commander at Erkimar. A troop of infantry to the inn at the ferry. They are to lie hidden and seize the Nandorans when they land. You know what Maldwyn looks like, but get a description of the other two from that weasel Tancred, and don't forget to warn them about the Darien bladesman. Send three birds; I want to be sure this message arrives. Have the commander take charge of this himself. We know what these people are capable of, Nicoras, and I want them alive.”
***
Captain Elthorn, commander of the Erkimar garrison, frowned as he read the message the pigeon keeper had brought him. “I don’t believe it. Three birds for this,” he said irritably to Lieutenant Gerom, his second in command.
“What is it sir? Is it war?” asked Gerom.
“No. Nothing so momentous. Lord Hercival commands me personally to take a troop to the Ferryboat Inn upriver and arrest three fugitives who will be landed there from a riverboat.”
“They must be very important for three birds to be sent though sir.”
“I hardly think so. Listen to this.” He read from the despatch. “Lord Maldwyn of Nandor, who is about twenty years, tall, thin and awkward with long dark hair that sticks out like a stork's nest. A grave threat to the realm no doubt. The other two are an older man and a youth of similar age to Maldwyn. The older man is short, slim and sharp-featured; he is a thief and pickpocket, but cowardly and unlikely to be violent. The youth is from Darien. He is tall, slim, dark and apparently very handy with his blades. His Lordship warns us of him most particularly.”