by John Migacz
CHAPTER 9
Saladar emerged from his tent well past dawn. Stretching and yawning, he surveyed the mercenary encampment. It was alive with the bustle of three thousand men attending to their morning routines of mending armor, sharpening weapons, eating, gambling and grumbling.
Never in his wildest dreams had Saladar thought he would command such a host. He had been Baron Yorburg’s Captain of the Guard for three years, but now he was General Leader of the Army, a position he felt far more in keeping with his abilities.
Yorburg Castle’s Captain of the Guard had been a small, laughable position, although it had taken no small number of bribes and lies for him to obtain even that. Once established, however, he had easily intimidated the frail old Baron.
Arnell, the great-grandfather of the present Baron, had done the last king some long-forgotten service and in return had been awarded the barony. Saladar thought it couldn’t have been much of a service since the Barony of Yorburg was a small rundown estate. Now though, as General of this great host, he was no longer embarrassed to be connected with Yorburg Castle.
Saladar strode through the camp, nodding to friends as he made his way to the mess tent. He stopped here and there to promote good will for himself with the chiefs of the various mercenary bands. He gave a few orders to the men and smiled to see them jump to comply. This was where he belonged.
All would be well – if it weren’t for the Baron. He felt a slight shiver when he thought of the man now. What had changed the Baron overnight from a frail, old man to one that emanated power and strength?
For three years, Saladar’s word had been law around Castle Yorburg. He had become the Baron’s trusted advisor by filling his ears with constant lies about thwarted assassination plots, rebellions and spies.
“Sally,” called a mercenary captain as Saladar passed by, “the Baron wants to see you.” The captain scratched an itch under his tunic. “I hope it’s about our pay.”
Saladar thanked him and continued toward the mess tent. Saladar had been the real power in Yorburg Castle until three months ago when the unthinkable had happened.
Saladar had walked into the Baron’s study to denounce the new serving girl. If her position was threatened, perhaps she would stop spurning his advances. He found the Baron standing behind his desk, gazing at a map of the known lands of Ravar. “Your Lordship – ” began Saladar.
“Quiet, fool!” snarled Baron Yorburg.
Saladar, taken aback by the outburst, began again. “Sir, – ”
With eyes as cold as a tomb, the Baron stared, his whole body shaking with barely controlled rage. “Don’t bother me again until I call you,” the Baron had said. “And never enter my study without knocking!” Those eyes had sent a shiver of fear down Saladar’s spine.
He shook his head to dispel the memory. Since then, nothing had been the same. The Baron ignored any advice Saladar offered and set him to gathering this army of mercenaries. Saladar never understood why the Baron needed an army, or where he obtained the gold to maintain it. His attempt to talk the Baron out of attacking Duke Lothogorn’s castle hadn’t been well-received. The thought of the Baron’s eyes changed Saladar’s direction. He didn’t want his lordship angry with him for being late.
The Baron’s huge tent, or “Castle Ugly” as Saladar and the troops referred to it, was a huge purple and gold-piped monstrosity, appointed with Kyndian rugs and gold leaf furniture fit for a king. A single fifteen-foot pole held up the center and a dozen six-foot poles held up the sides.
“Going to see about our pay?” yelled one of the mercenaries.
“Yeah, you’ll need your pay so you can lose it at dice.” Saladar’s laugh caught in his throat as a flicker of a plan filtered into his head. He slowed, then stopped.
Payday.
The amount of gold needed to pay these hooligans for a month would make a tidy sum – enough, he’d wager, to start over as a Baron himself. He would have to make note of the location of the Baron’s strongbox…
Baron Yorburg sat motionless, his back to the tent opening as Saladar entered. “Saladar, when does the next shipment of naphtha arrive?” he asked without turning his head.
In the Baron’s presence, Saladar’s stomach clutched in fear. “Four days, Sir.” He wondered how the Baron knew it was him.
“It’s a good thing we are ahead of schedule,” said the Baron.
Saladar grunted and tried to steer the conversation to the plan rolling about in his head. “Begging your pardon, Sir. Today be payday for the troops and we don’t want them restless, now do we?” he said, trying to fall back into old familiar ways.
The Baron turned and stared. Those cold eyes bored into him. Saladar tried a smile. The Baron broke his gaze and gestured to a large chest on a side table. “Yes, yes, pay the men, by all means.”
Saladar walked to the strongbox and lifted the lid. His eyes nearly jumped out of his head. Glittering gold! The entire chest was filled with it! Enough to live forever as a king! He scooped up a handful of coins, mesmerized by their shine.
Moving with the swiftness of an arrow, the Baron rose and slammed the lid of the chest down onto Saladar’s arm, holding it there with one hand.
“Oow, Sir, I –” Saladar tried futilely to pry the lid open with his free hand. The Baron leaned toward Saladar and stared. Saladar glimpsed a flash of unnatural light deep within the Baron’s eyes.
“I know even your smallest thought before it crosses your tiny brain,” said the Baron, leaning closer. The odor of death and decay wafted over Saladar. “If you ever betray me, it will go hard for you.” He applied more pressure to the lid. “Very hard for you.” Releasing the lid suddenly, the Baron returned to his desk and leaned over a map. “Pay the men, Saladar.” Without looking up he added, “I’m glad we had this little talk.”
Shock rooted Saladar’s feet. He rubbed his arm and stared at the Baron. Saladar felt as if he was in the presence of a corpse and couldn’t shake the feeling. Quickly counting out the correct amount of gold, he placed it in a pouch. “Thank you, Sir.” Saladar fled from the tent.
Even the sunshine of the beautiful spring day couldn’t melt the icy lump in Saladar’s belly. The Baron terrified him. And that flash of light! The light in the Baron’s eyes had been an inhuman bright red. Saladar shuddered and hurried to the paymaster’s tent.