Crossroads and Other Tales of Valdemar

The shouts had brought the other travelers out. The teamsters dropped from their wagons and the passengers in the carriage hurried over. The young man’s outrage was contagious, and in moments the shouts of, “Butcher!” and “Violator!” were ringing.

Arden and his troops stood calmly and firmly, though the younger of the two trembled. Balyat sat solidly on his horse and refused to move. Namhar waved his arms and got control. The others acquiesced to his voice and presence, and the trouble downgraded to hard breaths and angry looks.

“I had a cousin in Kiri,” Chal said.

Balyat spoke, his voice deep and sonorous. “My thoughts are with you,” he said. “We fight only armed men. Shakis slaughtered the peasants. He left none if he could help it. He thought to show the kind of man he was.”

“And you let him?” Chal said, glancing between the two mercenaries.

Arden said, “The Toughs are hired to bear the brunt against the peasants. Against larger forces, we are skirmishers and outriders. If you know of our name, we fight as we are ordered, but the pillage and rapine are not the work of my soldiers. I would not hire on to such, nor is it worthy of my troops.”

Namhar nodded, recognizing the words as being the strongest condemnation the mercenary would utter.

“How can you fight for such animals? Is money so precious?” The man asking was a well-dressed merchant turned statesman. An honorable man, but not one to grasp the mercenary viewpoint.

Arden said nothing. He looked around evenly, finding only one pair of eyes showing understanding. Namhar nodded imperceptibly, but in empathy. He alone knew the conflict Arden faced, and why he could not unbind his contract. He wondered now, though, if Miklamar or Shakis were trying to ruin the Toughs’ reputation, to tie them here for lesser wages. Probably not. That would be subtle, and subtlety wasn’t something he’d seen much evidence of.

“It is the employment we have, until released, perhaps at month’s end.”

“Release now! There are worthier employers around.” The merchant tugged at a purse to emphasize the point.

“That is not possible,” Arden replied with a shake of his head. “We have troubled you enough. Good travel to you. I must resume my patrol. I will report this encounter with my other notes, after I return and care for my horse.”

“Bastard!” Chal growled.

“Quiet, Chal,” Namhar snapped. “High Rider, we thank you for the courtesy.”

Arden nodded as he swung up into the saddle. It would be as easy to report the incident at once, but there was no threat here, and he had no orders to do so. He wasn’t about to offer a grace before eating without pay or orders.

“If you do find your contract at an end soon, I can offer the pay of my lord for good skirmishers.”

“I will remember that, Namhar,” Arden replied. “Offers of support are always welcome.”

Shakis appeared outraged when the message was relayed hours later.

“You spoke to what amounts to an enemy patrol, and not only didn’t stop them; you report it to me after a leisurely dinner!”

“They were merely a lord’s retinue. Surely you wouldn’t wish me to attack possible allies?”

“Allies? There are no allies! Lord Miklamar will be the undisputed ruler, as is his right!”

“Then you need to deal with such things, not have me be your envoy, yes?” Arden asked with a cruel smile.

It took a moment for the petty underling to grasp the verbal spar. “Watch your tongue, mercenary,” Shakis rasped.

Shaking his head, he continued, “There has been more rebellion along the border. Lessons must be taught. I expect this entire village put to sword.” He pointed at a map, and to the south. “Manjeuk. Only another day’s march.”

A lesson of slaughtered peasants. Yes, Arden thought. That would surely teach other peasants not to try to live their lives. If he were planning, he would kill the village militia, then wait with baleful eye for the rest to flee. It was harsh, but it was war. It wasn’t as dangerous, tactically foolish or obscenely cruel as wanton butchery.

He reflected that Shakis was acting professionally by his own vulgar standards. He wasn’t sparing the town for looting, burning, and rapine.

Though not every occupant would be dead after the attack. Those left would be subject to the most vile humiliations this twisted troll could devise, he was sure.

“Wouldn’t it be more efficient to simply kill the armed men and drive off the rest? Why waste good steel on starving, rag-clothed peasants?”

It was a reasonable question. So he thought.

“Rider Arden,” Shakis said, caressing a jeweled dagger before him, with a blade that would turn on canvas, never mind leather or iron, “the plans are made here. You and your mercenaries,” that with a sniff, “are merely one small part of many in an engagement planned many hundreds of leauges away. All we ask, all we are paying for, is your men to swing their swords where we tell them to, and to not think too much.”

That decided Arden. He knew what course to take.