The Merchant and the Menace (28 page)

The city lay silent as the troops passed between
Wynard’s cavalry unit. A cavalryman sprang from his horse and threw the arm of
a staggering soldier over his shoulder.

‘You there! Get back in your ranks......’ Macin’s
voice trailed off.  

Wynard leapt from his horse and grabbed the other
arm of a soldier being supported by a comrade. Macin said nothing. Brelg
stopped the unit within tens yards of the gate. He sat swaying from exhaustion
on his horse. Macin surveyed the group. Brelg looked older. His matted hair was
streaked in gray. A grizzled, wiry beard covered his face. New scars marred his
features. The heavy breastplate he wore showed signs of abuse. Dotted with
dents, it also sported two large gashes near the right shoulder. Cefiz moved up
to stand beside his commander. The defiant young man glared at the king and his
General Staff. A wound caked in dried blood ran across his brow. Macin searched
the group and found his son standing toward the back. Manfir held the tether of
a draft horse in one hand. The other arm hung uselessly in a sling. Brelg stood
in his stirrups and gazed up to the crowded archway. He saluted sharply.

‘Sergeant Brelg and the 75th Lancers reporting as
ordered your highness,’ stated Brelg, using the official name of his unit.

Macin stood on the archway with his arms folded,
chewing his lower lip. The crowd remained hushed during the long pause.
Finally, Brelg found the sergeant of the guard standing amongst the throng at
the gate.

‘Sergeant Deling, I request permission to enter the
city,’ said Brelg.

Deling stepped out and stared up to the king.
Again, Macin stood gazing distractedly at the scene below him. Ellow edged
forward toward the king, but several strong hands from the General Staff locked
onto his arms and drew him backward. Deling spun back toward his soldiers and
barked orders.

‘Asmir! Get to the infirmary and inform them we
receive casualties. Lomin! To the Hold quickly and clear barracks three and
four of its occupants! I want bunks and billets prepared for these men immediately,’
said Deling as he spun back toward Brelg. ‘75th Lancers! Welcome home!’

The crowd roared in approval. Cavalrymen jumped
from their steeds and relieved their weary comrades of their burdens. The
throng pushed through the gate and lifted Brelg’s troops onto their shoulders
and carried them into the city. Brelg rigidly stood in his saddle, staring at
Macin above. The crowd gathered up his soldiers and pushed past him back into
the city. The king’s eyes drifted toward Brelg and their gazes locked. Macin
blinked, shook his head and spun on his heals toward the steps down to the
streets below.

‘I will see Sergeant Brelg within the hour in my
chambers!’ shouted Macin over his shoulder and he swept down the stairway.

Manfir refused to be carried away by the revelers
as they swept out of the city. The troops in his cart were some of the more
gravely injured soldiers in Brelg’s unit and he was bound and determined to see
they received proper care. As the rickety cart creaked through the city
streets, women and children approached to lay bouquets of flowers in the
injured men’s hands and offer words of praise and encouragement. Often they
turned to Manfir saying,’The Creator bless you, young man.’

The prince left the city the handsome young heir to
the throne, and returned a hardened, weathered, unrecognized veteran of the
border wars. Manfir finished helping the last of his injured mates into the
infirmary and turned into the rapidly clearing streets. He stood trying to
decide his next course of action. Should he return to the palace and report to
his father, or return to the Hold with his comrades? He staggered down the near
empty streets with no particular destination in mind. Now and again a man or
woman passed him and smiled warmly, recognizing his tattered and bloody
uniform. However, none greeted him as a prince of the realm. Weariness crept
over him and he stopped and chuckled. A stranger and unknown in the capital
city of the great nation he would one day rule. That was true irony.

A strange satisfaction came over him. A sense of
freedom grabbed hold. Never before had he been able to walk these streets
alone. Crowds had formed whenever he visited the market. His movements between
the palace and the Hold always caused a stir in the streets. Young women rose
to their feet when he passed and brushed their dresses flat with their hands.
The people had greeted him warmly and he always returned the greeting with the
same, but he liked this recent transformation. A soldier in the Guard. A
warrior. A friend and comrade in arms.

Suddenly, he sensed he was not alone. Was someone
there, listening to these reflections within him? His head shot up and scanned
the streets ahead and behind. They were empty. Manfir laughed again and headed
toward the Hold. After three steps, he noted movement in an alleyway to his
left. An old man stood in the shadows leaning heavily upon a wooden staff. The
colorful garb of tinkers covered the peculiar vagabond. A wizened, rough face
with a weeks worth of snow-white stubble smiled at him from across the street.
Manfir returned the smile and bowed his head. The tinker bowed in return and
beckoned Manfir toward him. The young man felt oddly at ease as he accepted the
invitation.

Brelg was given no time to wash the dust of the
trail from his body or his throat. He arrived at the Hold and immediately set
to making his troops comfortable and provided for. Officers were eager to greet
him, and several members of the General Staff arrived to gather intelligence on
the enemy. With minimal time left to fulfill the order of the king, he stepped
from the Hold and grabbed a fresh mount from the stables. Within minutes he
arrived at the palace and presented himself to Macin’s aides.

Brelg was required to wait several minutes before
he was brought before Macin. The sergeant rose as a page called him forward.
The boy opened the doors of the king’s chamber and announced Brelg’s presence
to the assembly. Macin sat on his throne at the opposite end of the hall. Brelg
marched forward down a carpeted runway flanked by members of the General Staff
and the leading nobles in King Macin’s court. He halted three yards from the
throne and addressed the king.

‘Your highness, I present myself as ordered.’

‘Very well, sergeant. I called you here to discuss
what it is I’m to do with you,’ said Macin shifting awkwardly in his seat. ‘Serious
accusations of misconduct were leveled against you. Are you prepared to face
them?’

‘Yes, Sire.’ answered Brelg.

Macin glanced about the room, looking for support,
then slowly stood and wrung his hands. Ellow kept himself invisible, hiding
behind several larger generals.

‘There are those who say you needlessly waste the
supplies and manpower of this great land. The lifeblood of our people,’ stated
Macin.

‘Yes,’ stated Brelg as a murmur spread through the
audience. ‘The lifeblood of this great nation is being wasted.’

‘You admit your treachery?’ shouted Macin.

‘Punish the traitor, your highness!’ bellowed Ellow
as he pushed through the generals. ‘He’s a coward and a traitor!’

A weary Brelg turned and smiled at Ellow.

‘Sir, we haven’t met, yet you feel familiar enough
with me to hurl insult and slander in front of my country and king. I don’t
know you by sight, but information I possess allows me to make an educated
guess. I’ll wager you’re General Ellow. Correct?’

‘That’s correct, Brelg,’ snarled Ellow. ‘And one
bit of information I’m certain you possess is my rank in the Guard and my
position as a trusted advisor to his Majesty King Macin III. You’ll mind your
tongue and address me with due respect.’

‘Trusted advisor or not, if you’re the same General
Ellow whose mercenaries sell stores and weapons to Keltar soldiers, I’ll gut
you here and now,’ said Brelg squaring off in front of the general.

Ellow immediately backed behind the generals, but
they stepped aside to expose him.

‘The lifeblood of this great nation has been
wasted,’ began Brelg. ‘I’m a king’s man, and will defend my homeland with my
life, but I don’t need to like the way in which we do it. A greater and greater
tax is put upon the people to pay for their defense against Ulrog Hackle and
Keltaran soldier alike. The burden on farmer, herdsman and tradesman is so
great they barely feed their families. The people become slaves to the army,
and the army becomes slaves to the battle with our enemy. The Ulrog enslave us
simply by fighting us.’

‘You admit defeat before we lose?’ shouted Macin as
a murmur filled the room.

‘Absolutely not,’ shouted Brelg. ‘The fault doesn’t
lie with the farmer or the soldier but with others. I’ll tell you the life of a
soldier in the field. I’m allotted eight wagonloads of supplies, only to see
three arrive at the rendezvous. New armor arrives that has obviously been
scavenged from graves and old battlefields. My men are cut down by blades I
swear were forged in Zodrian furnaces. I enter border towns to find draftsmen
of questionable character spending freely at local taverns and boasting of
their good fortune. Those cases where I prove materials went to the enemy
result in immediate execution, but proof comes seldom and always too late.’

‘You try to shift the blame,’ snapped Macin. ‘I’m
informed on the best authority that you, Brelg, divert these wagons and hoard
these supplies. You try to undermine this nation and its king, and poison the
minds of those that love him .... it.’

‘Sire,’ said Brelg calmly. ‘This information is
false. Where it came from I can only surmise, but with all due respect, I don’t
possess so devious a mind as to perpetrate such a plan. To return to you
bedraggled and filthy in order to cover a privileged lifestyle is possible.
However, if you tour the infirmary of the Hold, you’ll see troops with much
greater problems than ragged clothing. Nine members of my unit alone have lost
a limb in battle. Three are so malnourished they may not recover. A full two
thirds of my force would be deemed battle insufficient in any other unit. To
question the role that these men played in the defense of their country is an
affront to their courage and honor!’

‘Here! Here!’ shouted many in attendance.

Macin’s eyes scanned the chamber.

‘Enough! Everyone save Brelg out!’ he shouted.

The chamber quickly cleared. Macin dropped heavily
into his throne. He clasped his hands and buried his face within them. Without
looking up he mumbled.

‘Brelg, what am I to do with you?’

‘I’m yours to command, sire,’ said Brelg.

‘Ha! Were it that easy,’ laughed Macin looking up.
‘I force a situation in which I cannot win.’

‘No situation is winless, sire. No outcome is
predestined.’

The king’s face fell into his hands once more then he
pulled his fingers through his hair. He mumbled to himself and cursed. Brelg
stood rigidly at attention. The king shot out of his chair.

‘I refuse to let you marry my daughter!’ shouted
Macin.

‘As my king commands,’ returned Brelg bowing low.

‘You’re beneath her. She was meant for a man of
position and alliance. I’ll not allow her to marry a foot soldier!’ screamed
Macin.

‘Yes, your highness,’ answered Brelg.

‘What do you mean “Yes, your highness”?’ snarled
Macin. ‘Don’t pretend that you’re not ... involved with my daughter. Don’t
pretend that you’re not keeping a clandestine relationship going against my
will!’

‘I pretend nothing, your highness. I’ll not marry
your daughter. You’re my king, but you’re first and foremost a father. If my
heart were enraptured by the daughter of the baker and he forbade me her hand,
I would honor his wishes. The blacksmith, the night watchman or a general in
the Guards, the man’s station in life matters not over his position as father.
A father will always act in the best interests of his child and we must respect
and honor that. We are nothing as a nation if we lose our honor, sire.’

Macin stared into Brelg’s eyes. His face grew
troubled. The king turned and looked through an open window at his kingdom.

‘I see in your eyes that you truly believe what you
say,’ Macin’s voice wavered. ‘I ..... I betrayed you.’

Macin turned and fell forward onto his knees
covering his face in shame.

 ‘I ... I wanted you dead at the hands of the
enemy,’ confessed Macin. ‘I hoped the Ulrog would remove you from my daughter’s
world. I sacrificed the lives of men to make mine easier.

‘You talk of honor and respect. I own none of the
former and deserve none of the latter. My actions trouble me and my thoughts
betray me.’

Tears streamed down Macin’s cheeks as he knelt
before Brelg sobbing.

‘When I ascended the throne I held a vision, Brelg.
I dreamed of leading this nation into an era of peace and prosperity. My vision
goes cloudy. I can’t even foster that peace within my own household let alone
within this realm. I harden my heart to the people, my soldiers and my family
in order to do what is best for Zodra. I try to bend the will of those I love
in my direction and instead drive all I care for away from me.’