Arm Of Galemar (Book 2) (6 page)

But though many had seen, none could supply him with
anything other than fear-colored descriptions.  Valuable knowledge, such as the
identity of the men behind the monsters, would not be extracted from fleeing
peasants.

Their only useful information was where they hailed
from.  In his pack he kept a rough map of Tullainia, covered in small red
crosses.  Each cross represented a town from which a refugee had fled after
being attacked.  Armed with knowledge of his foes’ location, the next step
could hardly be clearer.

Colbey barged into the command building and advanced
on the clerk in a semi-hostile manner.  The clerk jerked away nervously,
unaware that Colbey’s threatening bearing was due only to his preoccupation. 
Before the man could demand to know what Colbey wanted, or scream for help, the
Guardian spoke with decisive authority.

“I am Colbey, Second Squad.  Tell Torrance I am here
to speak with him.  Remind him that he owes me a favor.”

*        *        *        *        *

Commander Torrance, leader of the Crimson Kings
Mercenary Band, sank deeper into his overstuffed chair after Colbey left his
office.  He sighed, a trait he indulged in with increasing frequency he had
come to notice.  Colbey was already a superb fighter, a B Class by rights, and
so when Torrance had needed to reward the man for outstanding performance in
the Nolier war, a simple raise in rank would not do for him.  No one in the band
claimed an A Class fighter rank, and it was a designation
not
to be
handed out lightly, even to one as capable as Colbey.

Instead, he had promised the scout a favor, within
reason.  Torrance disliked leaving himself open in such a fashion but the essence
of a good commander was to acknowledge a job well done by his men. 
Particularly a feat as impressive as Colbey’s.

Since the younger Crimson King had decided to call
that favor in, Torrance needed to ante up.  Well, truthfully, what Colbey
wanted
was
relatively minor.  The scout could have demanded any number
of favors that would have forced the commander into a tight corner.  Torrance
flipped through the papers on his desk, searching for the relevant documents,
when a knock on the door drew his attention.

“Yes?”

Wainright entered.  He had clearly been waiting for
Colbey’s conference to conclude before bothering the commander.  “There’s a
client waiting to speak to you.”

“A client?  Who?”

“Baron Garroway.”

Now
here
was a surprise.  The baron was a
longtime contractor with the Kings, though had contracted no men last year. 
Torrance had assumed Wainright meant one of last year’s few clients wanted to
complain about their results.  Garroway could only have come to arrange for a
new contract next year.

“Why is he here now?”

“He said he’d rather discuss it over brandy.”

Torrance snorted.  “Did he?  Very well, have him come
in.”

Wainright left.  Torrance crossed the room to retrieve
a fresh bottle of spiced brandy from his liquor cabinet.  It was imported from Saer,
a city-state in Vyajion, and horribly expensive.  That was one of the perks
afforded by his job.  And Garroway never missed an opportunity to indulge at
Torrance’s expense.

But why come to Kingshome so early?  Garroway was
among the very few nobles able to call directly on his office, the benefit of
being a longtime contractor who treated the mercenaries as well as his own
men.  Most prospective clients had to work their way through Janus’ clerk
network, several never meeting the commander at all.  Either their contracts
were rejected or the situations so standard an agreement could be hammered out
by the subordinates.

Torrance lifted two crystal glasses when the door
opened to admit Baron Garroway.

“Ah-ha, Torrance!  It’s good to see you, my friend!”

“Likewise, baron.  You’ve arrived rather early this
year.  Come, have a seat by my hearth.”

“It is my great pleasure!”

A solid man, the baron’s only remarkable feature was
his hair, which had turned half-gray.  His unremarkable clothing fit him well;
finer quality than most, though people would easily mistake him for a merchant
rather than a member of the gentility.  He accepted the proffered glass, then
sat before the cheery blaze in Torrance’s fireplace.

“You treat your guests well, commander.  I should ride
down more often and run up your supply bills!”

Torrance set the bottle on the small table between the
guest chairs and took the matching seat.  “We are neighbors, Carrick.  It’s
only sensible to be on good terms.”

“As practical as ever, too.  Looks like you have a
decent crop of hopefuls springing up outside.  The pickings should be
interesting this year.”

“I hope that is so.  If luck shines, we might be back
up to scratch in another year or two.”

Garroway nodded.  “You had a rough time of it during
the war, I heard.”

“No worse than others.  Perhaps a little better, in
point of fact.”

“You’ve always been too modest.  But that’s one of the
reasons I like you.”

Torrance nodded, letting Garroway move on.

“I was there, you know.  Did you know that?”

“Exactly where is ‘there’?”

“At the Hollister.  My men and I were pushed south
after the northern catapult was fired.  We were fighting for our lives when a
pair of men stepped forward to take on the entire Nolier army single-handedly.”

“That’s an exaggeration.”

“Not by much!  I saw their entire bout, Torrance.  And
so did countless others.  And not just soldiers,” Garroway confided with a
lowered eyebrow.

“Should that concern me?”

“I’m not certain.  The nobles talk, don’t you know? 
Every word is measured, weighed and wrapped in silk before it’s spoken.  The
vying is nonstop.  Silk covering a pry-bar doesn’t make it hurt any less when
it hits you in the head.  The goal of every noble is to rise in stature while
toppling the others.”

“This is hardly news to me, baron.”

“Of course not.  But I thought you would want to keep
it in the forefront of your mind for awhile.  The lords don’t much care, but
I’ve already heard the lesser nobles using your two boys against each other.”

Torrance frowned.  “How do you mean?”

“Oh, you know how the younger set is.  Especially the
ones who
weren’t
there.”  Garroway’s voice adopted a foppish tone. 
“They say, ‘
I
heard a pair of vagabond swords-for-hire had to save you,
Danniel.’  ‘Maybe those blood profiteers will be willing to give you sword
lessons, Lowell.’  It probably won’t amount to anything in the end.  They’ll
forget about it soon enough when someone at court disgraces their family name
by forgetting their snot-rag.”

“I hope so.  Although I doubt you rode south to pass
on such a simple warning.”

“No, not at all.  I need men next year, of course.”

“I concluded as much.  Are you anticipating an
increase in bandits due to the war?”

Garroway grimaced.  “That might be a problem.  We’re
not so far from the front, after all.  No major roads run through my barony so
the highwayguards can’t be counted on for aid.  And everyone’s nervous about
the problems in Tullainia.  Except none of that’s why I rode in person.”

“I wondered at that.  You could have as easily sent a
representative.”

“Then I wouldn’t enjoy your fine liquor!”  Garroway
raised his glass in a toast before continuing.  “Anyway, this time of year,
there’s not much for me to do except sit around and worry over how I’ll afford
my barony taxes.”

“Is that why you rode so early?  As you noticed, we
haven’t even held our applicant trials yet.”

“I wanted to make sure I was your first client this
year.”

“For what?  You couldn’t afford to hire the entire
band, and I don’t think you’d ever need that many men.  If the Tullainian
aggressors cross the border, no doubt the seneschal will try to conscript us,
and hiring fees be damned.  We would have to call off any contracts we’d
signed.  Even one with an old friend.”

Garroway’s grin wiped away his concerned frown.  “For
the contest, of course!  I only need a few of your boys for bodyguards.”

Torrance blinked, then asked, “Are you sure that’s
still on?  The last rumors I heard said the tournament might be canceled if
Tullainia heated up any further.  The king will have too many other worries to deal
with.”

“It is on.  Yesterday I received a notice from the
palace that went out to all the nobles.  It’s the standard invite with only a
couple new lines at the end.  Reading between them, I can guess what’s going
on.”

“Which would be?”

“Everyone is nervous, you agree?  Especially the
commoners.  Nervous commoners are bad business for the crown, so they’re going
to throw the biggest tournament since the Unification!”

“Distract the peasants from the real troubles.” 
Torrance hid his irritation.  The Kings had an extensive intelligence network
in place across the kingdom, and this was the first he’d heard about it.

“If trouble stays on the other side of Tullainia’s
border, then all well and good.  But people rally around a figurehead, which
means the king needs an Arm,” Garroway stated, idly rotating one wrist.  “With
the Arm leading the Galemaran forces, morale will be higher and insurrection
will be unlikely.”

“A true case of superstition working for and against
you at the same time.”

“You know it.  And I know it.  But don’t try and
explain that to the peasants.  As long as the position of the Arm is renewed,
the people won’t panic if fighting breaks out.”

“That’s nice in theory.  Except I didn’t see the Arm
leading the charge against the Noliers.”

Garroway shrugged and refilled his glass.  “Well, I
don’t know what to say about that, except the obvious.  Raymond isn’t exactly a
burning ball of fire in the intelligence arena.  To his credit, he is smart
enough to delegate intelligent people into positions of responsibility.  He’s
not the best king we’ve ever had, but we could have done far worse.”

“As Nolier has.”

“An excellent case in point.  And it’s been over a
hundred years since our last actual war.  We’ve been effective through our
diplomatic channels ever since.  We’re out of practice in serious war-time
strategy.  I think Raymond might have simply overlooked the potential in the
Arm.  The Arm is only one man after all.”

“The knight-marshal should have known better.  What’s
the point of renewing the Arm every three years otherwise?”

“For the prize and the prestige, of course!”  Garroway
raised his glass in a second toast, all mockery this time.  “That’s all any of
the nobility see in it today.  But the knight-marshal’s eyes have been opened
to the Arm’s potential.  He needs every edge he can get if half the rumors I’ve
heard out of Tullainia are true.”

“I wouldn’t want to be the Arm for the next three
years.”  Torrance shifted his gaze to his guest.  “You are going to compete,
then?”

“Not I, no.  It will be my eldest son.  He’s dreamed
of it for as long as he’s held a sword.  The fault of his damn fool nursery
attendant’s tales, no doubt.”

“I see.”

“He’s finally of eligible age, and nothing is going to
dissuade him.  I’ve never been able to afford many regular fighting men, you
know that, and right at this particular time I’ll need every one of them who
survived on patrol for the next few seasons.”

Torrance nodded.  “For the tournament, we customarily
assign four men.  That’s enough for bodyguard duty.”

Garroway cleared his throat.  “Well, that brings me to
the heart of it, my friend.”

“Something else?”

“Maybe not.  I hope not.”  He paused for a moment. 
“You know Duke Tilus.”

It had been a statement, not a question, but Torrance
replied as such.  “Indeed.  One of the few nobles who live up to the
definition.”

The baron ignored the veiled jibe.  “He’s an old
friend of mine, actually.  We were fostered together at Earl Radburn’s holding
as boys, don’t you know?  Oh, I could tell you stories about what we got up to
at the earl’s place.  Did you know all his maids nicknamed him ‘Earl Rugburn’?”

“I’m sure you could, and no I didn’t know that.” 
Torrance shook his head in feigned solemnity.  “How did your class manage to
convince the rest of us to call you ‘nobles’?”

“Anyway, Tilus is duke in Spirratta these days.  He
takes on a greater number of fosterlings than most, and he took on my eldest as
we’re good friends.”

The remaining picture solidified for Torrance.  “I
see.  The duke’s been having difficulty the last few years.”

“That’s a mild way of putting it.”  Garroway’s grimace
returned tenfold.  “He’s always been death on the underworld and anyone
associated with it ever since we were kids.”

“He’s lived through several attempted assassinations
by the dark guilds, yet held fast to his principles.”