fate's pawn 3

 

Chapter 3

 

Once out of the massive gate, saluted by the city militia, some of whom were sword-brothers, they were out on the broad planes on which the string of lakes sat. Farms and villages were plentiful within a dozen miles of the city walls, and straggled northwards towards Kallos, the next nearest city.

“We’ll use the road to Agorakome, where I hope to meet up with the Seer’s party,” said Harkon. “It’s about eighty miles, and there are way-posts on the road in which to stay. We’ll be most likely to have trouble a couple of hours out after the farmland peters out because of the swamp, which comes and goes. Stay alert.”

“Is anything from the swamp likely to try to attack a large, armed party?” asked Lelyn.

“Probably not, but there’s no accounting for Marsh-creepers, they are not what you might call sane in the normal definition,” said Harkon. “I heard that disgraceful remark, neophyte Protasion, and I do hope you’d like explaining to a Glyph-Lord that you think his daughter and her friend only worth using as wolf-meat to distract the Marsh-creepers, and for that cowardly and dishonourable comment, you are fined three silvers from your pay for this mission and I do not expect you to reduce your tithing for losing it. I’m sorry to mention your parentage, Lelyn, but Evalla has, I believe, been spreading the most disgraceful nonsense about you being a spoilt baby who goes running to her well-connected parents about everything, which I know full well you do not. Less so than many a neophyte complains to those in authority about bullying. It is contrary to the honour of the service of Alethos to bully others; any Alethosi is humble and ready to serve with his or her sword any honourable cause. And bullying is a form of lying, because you are engaging to force unfair conditions on another, to make them look bad, which is enacting a lie. Be assured, I will be ready to enforce the three blows of anger on any bully.”

Protasion had gone red.

“I beg your pardon, my lord, and I beg the pardon of the girls as well,” he said. “I had not thought of it as enacting a lie. I did not really mean it; I spoke only in jest. I am not influenced by the parentage of either, but I did not intend to bully.”

“A handsome apology and I know you meant it, since I was gifted by our god with the ability to sense truth when I became Glyph-Lord,” said Harkon. “I will rescind all but one silver of the fine. Small does not always mean weak, Protasion.”

“Nossir,” said Protasion. He was a tall, handsome youth, with smooth black hair and fine features.

“Might I comment, Protasion, that one reason I left the Toróg trader to whom I belonged was because I was on the menu; and being considered food to be thrown is something which is very real for me,” said Kaz.

“Alethos’s bollocks! I forgot the filthy habits of the Toróg; I am sorry,” said the young man.

“Very well; I accept,” said Kaz. She could see the shock in his eyes.

“I also accept your apology,” said Lelyn. “A man big enough to apologise and to realise when his behaviour is less than ideal is a bigger man than one who attempts to excuse himself.”

It might be said that Harkon was relieved that his troops fell into line in better amity than previously, his words food for thought to them.

“What did the Glyph-Lord mean, ‘gifted?’” asked Kaz, of Lelyn.

“When initiated, and on achieving Glyph-level status, Alethos gives a gift and a geas or geasa to help his higher-ranking worshipers serve him better,” said Lelyn. “Sensing truth, and sensing ambushes are two of the gifts. Geasa can be remaining silent one day a week, tithing more, only permitted to use a sword, not the other bladed weapons like spear or bow and arrow which are not usually forbidden.”

“So, it is to understand Alethos better? That seems good,” said Kaz.

 

 

 

Harkon called a halt at an inn at the edge of the last village’s fields, where rolling meadows and light woodland was to be seen to the left, and the waving fronds of rush and sedge to the right. Some sedges could be seen in hollows on the left-hand side, too.

They ate heartily in the inn on pork and pigeons cooked on skewers over a charcoal fire, served with flatbreads, and a salad of legumes and onion chopped in yoghurt. Washed down with the local red wine, they all felt well-fortified to go on. Harkon purchased each of his men a small reed basket filled with dried seeds, nuts, and dates, as trail rations.

“I advise stowing your trail rations for now, and making sure your canteens of water are full before we go on. We should be at the next inn for nightfall, but if anything happens, we may be glad of something to stave off hunger overnight if we have to camp,” he said.

“Next tavern is one run by the Selenites,” said Protasion, with a spit.

“And you will behave in there, and say nothing untoward; the mission is more important than your personal politics,” said Harkon.

“My lord, don’t you hate the way they encroach?”

“I do; but I am also well-aware of my own limitations,” said Harkon. “The time will come. That I believe. But the time is not now. Perhaps we shall learn more from the Seer; but we have to survive to meet her.”

“I fled the empire,” volunteered Kuros. “I was born a slave there. My parents helped me to escape because I had a fine singing voice, and I was to become a temple eunuch to preserve my voice. It’s supposed to be an honour.” He did not say, but those who knew anything of the empire could guess, that a rather pretty youth with fine, delicate features would probably also become a bed-toy of whoever owned him.

“I don’t like the way they come into my parents’ shop, the Selenite soldiers, and expect gifts,” said Evgon. He was a cheerful-faced youth, carrying a little puppy-fat, with guileless eyes and curly brown hair.

“My parents loath them, and so do I,” said Lelyn.

All the lay members looked expectantly at Kaz.

“I belong to a cursed sub-race because of the curse of Daze,” said Kaz, quietly. “I hate Toróg for their attitude towards us, but I also hate Selen and Daze and all their works.”

“We appear to have a cell of people ready to work against them, then,” said Harkon. “I know Stakis supports the empire, so having him shoot his mouth off did not displease me.”

“My lord, what about the initiates?” asked Protasion.

“Zalmox and Alcitha have expressed their opinions to me before; I trust them,” said Harkon.

“Svargia hates the Selenites,” said Kaz.

“I’m not surprised, they’ve tried to impose their own rule on the herders,” said Harkon. “The people of the Great Plain choose their leaders on merit, and at times by trial of combat; not heredity.” He looked around. “We have a long way to go; let us move out. And let us even more be careful in Selenite places.”

There was a feeling as if something very profound had just happened. And perhaps it had. Kaz was not sure. But there was now a feeling of camaraderie there had not been before.

 

Another hour’s march brought the sound of combat ahead, with clashing weapons and cries. Harkon drew his sword, raised it above his head, and dropped it to point forward, going into the smooth, loping run the Alethosi learned, to eat up the ground as efficiently as possible, his followers obeying the silent signal to draw weapons and charge.

Over a slight rise, and down into a dip, which was flooded, they came upon a mercantile vehicle and a pair of traders, with one outrider on a horse. This worthy was slashing wildly at some half a dozen of the ugliest beings Kaz had ever seen. Three others were trying to pull down the traders, who were fighting back as well as they might. They were roughly humanoid, with broad, splayed, webbed feet, with claws on, a few rags of filthy clothing bound around them, some sported odd pieces of armour. They clutched rudimentary spears, some with stone heads, some with bronze; and their arms had feathers growing out of them as far as the elbow, as if they could not make up their mind whether they were arms or wings. The three-clawed ‘hand’ with which they held their spears reminded Kaz of a bat’s hand on the joint of the wing. And their heads.... feathers ran up their long necks from where the wing joints were, a soft down, in browns and greens like many ducks, with a leathery, toothed beak, which pecked between stabs of the spears. Although they were only half a head taller than Kaz, she thought them frightening opponents. She took a deep breath, and fell back on training. Thrust, parry, recover, crosscut, parry, recover. It was always harder fighting those with long weapon like a spear.

The Alethosi encircled the mercantile party protectively, thrusting between the Marsh-Creepers and their prey. Harkon began quacking derisively, which enraged their foe, to the point they were attacking in a frenzied way without any cohesion. Kuros cried out, and went down, to Kaz’s left, and she took a step to engage his foe. She quacked to get its attention. Seemingly, they hated being called ducks as much as Harkon resented the use of the term in relation to his brother’s death. The creature who had downed Kuros chattered its beak angrily and thrust its vicious spear at her. Kaz knocked the spear upwards, and moved in close, under it, her size in her favour in this manoeuvre. She thrust her small, spiked shield into the creature’s belly, recovered her sword, and thrust in under the ribs. The Marsh-Creeper made a gurgling noise, and its loathsome toothed beak gurgled on blood, and it fell away from her blade.

Harkon had already killed two, and the initiates had dealt with one each, and the mercantile guard had managed to deal with one of his assailants, now they had other opposition. The other lay members were holding their own, and Kaz dropped to her knees to check Kuros. He had received a spear in the ribs, but he was still breathing, albeit painfully. Kaz performed the emergency healing spell she knew on him, and saw a little colour return.

“Get under the wagon,” said Kaz.

“Thanks,” said Kuros.

Kaz saw that Harkon was with Lelyn, so she went to help Protasion, using the same trick as before to get inside the Marsh-Creeper’s guard. Whilst it was distracted, Protasion swung his sword to sever its neck.

“Nice trick, shortstuff,” he said. “I owe you.”

“We’re siblings in Alethos,” said Kaz. “And in our hatred of Selen.”

He nodded, and ruffled her hair.

It said more than words.

“Where’s Kuros?” he asked.

“I told him to get under the wagon; he was wounded,” said Kaz. “I think they’re all dealt with now. We Alethosi able to rest on the march, do I dare use power on another healing spell?”

“The Glyph-Lord will decide whether those of us who know them should use them on Kuros, or send him back to the city with the trader,” said Protasion.

Harkon was mopping up, beheading their late assailants and setting their heads on their own spears along the road, as a grim warning against attacking travellers. Kuros emerged, and Alcitha checked him out.

“You were lucky,” she said, healing him a little more.

Most of them knew the basic healing spell, and if Kuros was not feeling totally well, he was certainly soon well enough to go on. Some cuts had been healed as well, and Harkon was assuring the merchant that all was well as the sound of marching feet heralded the arrival of a troop of Selenite guards. They drew their foreign, curved swords, and advanced.

Harkon leaned on the wagon with one hand, nonchalantly.

“You’re a little late for the fun,” he said.

“Who are you, and what’s going on?” asked the commander of the patrol, a young man who looked as if he hardly shaved.

“Show me your papers, boy, so I know you’re a genuine patrol and not bandits in disguise, and I might tell you,” said Harkon.

The youth wavered; took in the fact that Harkon was clad in iron armour, not bronze, and was therefore the favoured of a god to be able to wear the better armour without losing the ability to cast spells; and capitulated.

Harkon looked over the papers, and nodded.

“This seems to be in order; you may pass along the road,” he said. “I am sure the good merchants will be pleased for an escort.”

“Or you could escort them,” said the young guardsman.

“I cannot turn aside from my mission,” said Harkon. “Your mission, however, is to protect hapless travellers. Something you would have been too late to do, had not we Alethosi stopped to do your job for you. If you are serious about such things, perhaps you need another guardhouse nearer the trouble spots.”

“My uncle will hear about your insolence!” said the youth, shrilly.

Harkon laughed.

“Insolence, boy, is when a whelp like you tells me how to do my job, not the other way around,” he said. “Now, you’ll excuse me, I have important duties to fulfil.”

“I demand that you tell me where you are going and what you intend!” cried the youth.

“No,” said Harkon.

“You will tell me, or I will arrest you!”

“Boy, if you tried, you’d die, because I am on my god’s business, and I don’t take orders from puppies. Now get the hell out of my way.”

The youth drew his sword.

“I suggest you lot stay out of this,” said Zalmox, to the Seleni guard.

 

 

Had Harkon intended to harm his young opponent, the bout would have been over very quickly. Harkon demonstrated three killing blows in severing the helmet straps and only the straps of the young man’s helmet, severing the straps of his belly armour, and laying the finest line on the forehead of his opponent. Then he proceeded to use the flat of his iron blade to beat him black and blue across thighs and buttocks. Eventually the young man collapsed sobbing for breath and for pain.

“Do not sod about with an Alethosi Glyph-Lord until you can handle a sword with more finesse than the scythe it resembles,” rumbled Harkon. “Get on your way, and if you dare try to have me arrested for your fault, your uncle assuredly will hear about it. If, as I surmise, he is Governor Ralthur Kron, I know him, and he works out with me, and he’ll take my word over yours any day.”

He went smoothly into a lope, and the other Alethosi fell in behind him.

The Selenites were trying to conceal their laughter.

“We’ll have trouble from him,” said Zalmox.

“Yes, but he’s the sort of man I am happy to have as an enemy,” said Harkon. “As Selenites go, his uncle is a reasonable man, who sends in reports and pretends to run the city.”