Honor Bound Trilogy Box Set

by Jon Kiln

  Nisero tilted his head. “Do you mean Stoleck the elder or the younger?”

  “Hmm.” Berengar bit at his upper lip. “I suppose I must mean the elder.”

  “I heard tale of him. He fell in battle before my time in the Guard.”

  “The fellow with the dark hair on the flank of the column approaching the crest of the hill. He reminds me so much of Stoleck. I called him by that name the other day.”

  Nisero glanced over his shoulder. “Are you jesting with me, sir?”

  Berengar narrowed his eyes. “I would have to get the joke before I could jest, Lieutenant. Do you not think he looks like the man?”

  “I imagine he probably has a striking resemblance,” Nisero allowed, “as that is Stoleck the younger. If you called him Stoleck, you did so because that is his name. We recruited him, Captain.”

  “I thought I was remembering his name wrong and had insulted him.” Berengar shook his head. “Is that Stoleck the elder’s son?”

  “His grandson. His father’s name was Darekoreck. He was regular army, but retired some years ago. He now oversees the animals for one of the nobles on an estate in the north of the kingdom.”

  Berengar took a long blink. “I served with the grandfather, the father is retired, and now I serve with the grandson. I think that is the very definition of being too old to still be fighting.”

  “My grandmother was a teacher of young children,” Nisero said. “She complained of much the same thing. Every time she taught the child or grandchild of one of her former pupils she felt reminded of her age. She joked that she was determined to teach at least one great grandchild.”

  “Did she make it?”

  Nisero shrugged. “I’m not sure. She was very old and still teaching when she died, but I don’t know.”

  “I’m not sure I’m going to make it either.”

  Berengar moved toward the horses Belsh held and Nisero followed. They rode swiftly up the side of the column to take the lead and ordered the company to make camp shortly after dark.

  Some of the men grumbled about sleeping in fields when there were beds offered in the previous town. Nisero squelched the talk swiftly.

  “Many soldiers are sleeping in fields far more hostile than this tonight,” he admonished. “You would do well to remember that and stay sober of mind as we proceed deeper into this mission. The softness of your bed is of little concern for those depending on the work of the Elite Guard. Be worthy of your calling, men.”

  ***

  They broke camp early as the men rushed through breakfast and support handled clean up and packing. Berengar mounted up at the front of the party and led out along the road. They paused to water at a stream that crossed the trail, but then continued onward.

  As the trail reached a rising ridge, debris marked both sides of the rocky path. Broken barrels and discarded cloths were piled atop animal bones of various sizes. Most of the bones were marked by the heat of cooking and the scratches of teeth. Many were broken with the marrow sucked out.

  Berengar leaned over. “Belsh, send word back for the men to be ready for trouble. We are going to make our way through town to abandoned barns on the other side. These people have always been hostile and it appears there may be more trouble than usual. I want everyone ready and watchful.”

  Belsh brought his horse around. “Yes, sir, Captain.”

  “And hurry back up to my side before we clear the ridge.”

  Belsh rode back, speaking out the points of the message quickly.

  “More banditry, you think?” Nisero asked.

  “Quite a bit more from the looks of it,” Berengar observed. “If these markers are any indication, the people themselves have taken to waylaying strangers that draw too close.”

  Nisero looked about the ground as they rode side by side. “You think this is the people of the border town turning to banditry themselves?”

  “They were essentially lawless when we passed through here years ago. Their situation would not have improved since.”

  “Being hungry and becoming bandits are leaps apart,” Nisero said.

  “Not a far leap. They were under the thumbs of the bandits for a while. It would appear that they got tired of serving without the rewards.”

  “Seems odd to leave the evidence of it scattered about to serve as warning to new victims.”

  “That is true,” Berengar agreed. “Maybe they are particularly poor bandits.”

  “We can hope.”

  Belsh rode back up beside the Captain on the other side of Nisero. “All have been told, sir. A warrior named Stoleck asks if we should have a group hold back in a rear position with support as before.”

  “No,” Berengar said, “I want our group together as we pass through this.”

  “I’ll go back to tell him.”

  “Hold on that. I want to see what we are facing before I send another message.”

  As they approached the top of the ridge, Belsh asked, “What are we approaching, Captain?”

  “Darkenhauls.”

  They reached the rise and looked down over the trail weaving down the stony slope. In the gray bowl of the valley, the village sat. There were more buildings than before, though not in much better condition. Beyond that, tents stretched out to the north and south.

  A double layer of tall fence had been built all the way around the expanse. The first fence was constructed from posts and marked the perimeter of the greater tent city. The inner wall was several body lengths tall, made of wood and thatch. There was a gate at the end of the trail. They were only able to see over the wall at the main village due to the height of the ridge.

  Beyond the village, steps had been cut deep into the valley walls around the southwest and northwest quadrants. Dark dirt was packed into the broad flats of the steps. Crops grew extending out into the foggy west that marked the foot of the Blue Mountains, beyond where Captain Berengar could see.

  “Should we try to go around the city wall if they are hostile?” Belsh asked worriedly.

  Berengar gazed down at the village of Darkenhauls which was still drab, but far from the barren border town it had been before.

  “Wait up here,” Berengar instructed. “Go tell Stoleck to come take the forward position while Lieutenant Nisero and I go down to announce our arrival.”

  As Belsh rode back, Berengar and Nisero followed the path down the slope toward the village. Men stepped out of tents near the outer fence posts and watched the Elite Guard commanders approaching.

  “They look too thin to be bandits.”

  “Perhaps,” Berengar said. “I see weapons, and bandits can be hungry, too.”

  “Someone is growing food back in those hills to the west.”

  Women stepped out and a few children ran to the fences to watch the soldiers advancing on the gate.

  Berengar smiled at the children who watched him, wide-eyed. “Now I have my doubts. They may not be bandits, after all.”

  The guard that popped up into view over the thatch wall next to the gate held a crude spear. He was in plain, tattered clothes that spoke to no rank or military standing. The man gave a wave instead of any sort of salute or command to stop.

  Berengar glanced at Nisero who raised his hand and waved back.

  As they pulled the horses to a stop below the gate and the tattered guard, citizens from the tent camp outside the walls gathered up on both sides of the Captain and Lieutenant. Berengar felt a sense of danger with all the bodies near.

  He looked over his shoulder and saw Stoleck on the ridge with Belsh and a few other ranking Guardsmen. For a chilling moment, Berengar felt he was looking back in time on the grandfather instead of the current Guardsman Stoleck. As he recalled, they had come through Darkenhauls together one last time, but on the return trip they were carrying the body of Stoleck the elder.

  Berengar addressed the guard on the gate. “I am Captain Berengar of the Elite Guard. We wish to pass through.”

  The citizens on both sides muttered
to one another. Berengar recognized several accents, but none that he normally associated with the west of the kingdom.

  Two more guards in plain clothing popped up beside the first. One held a battered sword and the other a dagger no larger than a kitchen knife. Berengar thought about coming through this village with Nisero when a boy named Holst had threatened them twice with such a knife before they had to take his life. The boy was under duress from the threat of bandits to his family. Nothing Berengar did was able to save him that day.

  Berengar looked at Nisero and back up the slope to Belsh before returning his attention to the strange guards on the wall.

  The first guard said, “Greetings, Captain Berengar. We remember your great battle that liberated us from the crushing fist of Solag. We are eternally in your debt, sir.”

  “May we pass through your village then?”

  “No,” the guard said flatly.

  Berengar stared a moment longer. The wall could probably be opened up by one soft swipe of his sword. The structure wobbled under the weight of the three guards from whatever platform or ladder that stood against the other side. Berengar was sure he could overpower them, but he was not looking for a fight. He felt he had enough trouble ahead without having to invade and capture the villages of his own kingdom along the way. There was enough of that in the east and the south already.

  A fourth man rose up among the other three. He was fatter in the middle and wearing a bright cloak. Though his clothes were finer in make, they were no less threadbare. Berengar guessed this was some version of leadership or nobility for Darkenhauls. Sadly, Berengar thought, it truly was a step up for this particular border village.

  The bigger man boomed, “Greetings from Darkenhauls, Captain. We salute you and send our loyal greetings to the King.”

  “Thank you for your greeting,” Berengar replied. “May we pass through?”

  “No,” the fat man said.

  Berengar and Nisero exchanged a look.

  Berengar clenched his fists but tried to remain calm. “Why not?”

  “We mean no disrespect to you or the crown, Captain.”

  “You are doing a fine job of showing disrespect by accident then.”

  The big man bowed. “My sincerest apologies. I must insist that your party take the path around the outer camp to the north. It will lead you around to our western side and you can be on your way. It will probably be quicker than the process of passing through.”

  “Why?” Nisero asked.

  “We have to be careful due to a wide range of diseases and vermin that are coming in with those displaced by the war,” the man explained.

  Berengar inspected the dirty faces around him. He thought about Sault and his people reclaiming Patron’s Hill, lifting out of the circumstances these people found themselves in. He then thought of the disease and lice they must carry if even Darkenhauls did not want to let them in.

  “We carry no such diseases, I assure you,” the Captain said.

  “Of course, but we would still have to check all your men before you entered. We are already hard pressed to feed all of those coming here from the ravages of war to the east and now the south too. We apologize, but we simply have no hospitality to share with you at this time, Captain.”

  “We have our own stores. We will be no burden during our passage.”

  “Still, I must insist that you go around for the sake of order.”

  Berengar nodded reluctantly. “As you wish. We would like to request the use of your abandoned barns to the west for quarter for the night before we enter the canyon.”

  The fat fellow frowned and crossed his arms over his bulging belly. “We have no abandoned barns to the west. We are in the process of building more to take in the food we are growing to feed our expanded population. Even with this season’s bounty, we are struggling to keep all our visitors from throughout the kingdom fed. Don’t suppose you have brought stores enough from the King to help us in feeding his people sent here from his long wars?”

  “No, we did not.”

  “Pity,” the man said. “I must admit that I am at a loss as to why the Elite Guard is pressing westward out of the kingdom when we truly need to solve problems here before we are all homeless and starved. Are there more bandits to the west that need slaying, Captain?”

  “There are always bandits.”

  “Indeed. If you will camp beyond the barns closer to the mists of the canyon mouth, that would be best. I will send word to our guards there that you have been given clear passage.”

  “Any trouble with bandits from the west?”

  “Not since you cast Solag over the cliff above Faithcore Castle,” the man answered. “But like you said, there are always bandits.”

  Berengar prepared to leave, turning his horse aside. “We apologize for the disruption and thank you for taking on the burden of caring for so many citizens from across our distressed kingdom. This is a much more orderly place than last I visited many years ago.”

  “We had to be. Like you and your man going alone after a bandit army to rescue your daughter, we rise to meet some challenges simply because we must. I am from Spire originally. I came this far west early in the war because I have no interest in war and everything I truly care about was already lost. I found need here and I did my part to try to meet it. Everyone here is fed every day and that is a lot.”

  Berengar nodded once in acknowledgement but did not reply.

  After a beat, the fat man finally said, “Good luck on your mission. I hope like your legendary mission before, it is worth all you are putting into it.”

  Berengar waved the campaign down the slope. “I hope so as well.”

  Berengar and Nisero rode out, guiding the party around the trail along the fence. They looked on the tired, dirty faces gathered around fires and eating from bowls in circles. As they rounded the camp at the northern end and headed west again, Berengar saw a woman using the edge of a short sword gripped in two hands to shave the lathered face of a man sitting on a stool. He wondered if that wasn’t a better use for the weapon than planting it in the ribs of some enemy soldier.

  Men and woman hauling wagons of food between the barns stopped to watch the Elite Guard and their expanded party pass in a long line of horses and wagons. Berengar looked back and forth between the structures trying to recall which barn was the one he and Nisero had stayed in for the night when they passed through trying to save Arianne. With all the rebuilding, he couldn’t tell. It was just as well as it wasn’t the most pleasant of memories.

  As they rode past the barns and looked for a place to camp closer to the mouth of the canyon, Nisero asked, “Have you thought about how we are getting these wagons and the non-warriors down the steep and treacherous path at the other end of this canyon?”

  “Thought about it, yes,” Berengar said.

  “And do you have an answer?”

  Berengar pointed out across a stony section of ground spotted with wild grass. “Tell the men and support to prepare camp out here. Again, we will be leaving early tomorrow morning so make preparations quickly.”

  Nisero smiled at Berengar avoiding the question, but he brought his horse around to carry the order back.

  Chapter 5: Only Somewhat Believe in Ghosts

  They rode out the next morning into the heavy fogs that bled out of the mouth of the canyon in waves. Berengar stared up at the faces of the Blue Mountains that were so large that judging their size and distance against the cloudy sky was impossible. The peaks sliced into the blanket of cloud cover above and vanished within. From those sheets of cloud, a thick blur of falling snow marked the high distance on the slope. Even with the chill of the thin mist around them, it was still warm near the ground, but the sight of that snow and the memory of past journeys through this region left Berengar feeling cold inside.

  He sent Belsh back to give the order to shore up spaces between members of the caravan. He also sent an order for specific members of the Guard to take up watching the rear
of the campaign as they entered the canyon ahead.

  Figures on horses moved from shadow to substance across the mouth of the canyon as the Captain and Lieutenant passed through the mists in their approach. Berengar and Nisero moved their hands to the hilts of their swords in unison.

  Berengar heard weapons jostle as warriors along the line of riders behind him took hold as well, but waited their Captain’s order rather than draw them. The combination of alert reaction and restraint gave the Captain comfort. He noted that he was far better prepared and equipped for this journey than his last adventure into Faithcore Canyon.

  If the men ahead were bandits, they were not making an effort to hide or to mount either defense or attack. They were in ordinary dress, but so were all the other makeshift guards of Darkenhauls, and the fat mayor transplanted from Spire in the east had indicated there were guards on the canyon mouth. He had sent word ahead of Berengar’s passage and these men seemed none too surprised or disturbed by a company of the King’s men approaching.

  Still, Berengar’s eyes scanned along the tops of the rock faces for any sign of trouble that this ragtag company might be distracting on behalf.

  The men parted into two groups on each side of the canyon mouth. They cast lazy salutes out of time with one another as Berengar and Nisero passed between them. Both soldiers saluted back anyway.

  One of the men pulled down his hood, revealing greasy hair bound in loose braids. The skin of the scalp between the knotted bits of hair was white and crusty with dry flakes that might indicate one of the diseases the men within the inner wall of Darkenhauls seemed concerned about. Depending on what manner of illnesses passed about the outer camps, Berengar was not sure that a thatch wall was going to do much to keep such things out of the dirty inner village for long.

  The man with the greasy, scaly scalp nodded at Berengar with a tilt of his head. “Captain, if you happen upon any bandits headed this way, would you be so kind as to put them down for us? It would mean so much more to them coming from you.”