The Swordmaster, page 19
Brawl’s ears pricked up. ‘Count me in.’
The comrades were still looking somewhat sceptical, but the mood was better than it had been in ages. He had taken an enormous step back towards them again.
But Blinn wasn’t going to let him off the hook. ‘Linnek – just explain one more thing to me. Why did someone set a hired assassin on you, a humble inn-keeper’s son? Did you piss into the wrong person’s beer or what?’
What does it matter? I’ll let them in on my secret now…
Unexpectedly, Impy came to his rescue, the little fellow spluttering: ‘Now I have it! You’re smitten! You more or less told us already. Course, lads, he’s fallen head over heels in love with his killer. I’d say she’d knock you dead with her looks, isn’t that so?’ he laughed.
The prince, annoyed by Impy’s impressive cognitive associations, while at the same time delighted not to have to reply to Blinn’s question, countered: ‘She is very attractive – at least, if you manage to see her a second time.’
‘Hah! I knew it.’ Impy looked at the others, delighted with himself.
Blinn was like a dog with a bone, firing off the next question. ‘This secret document. Where did you find it – this parchment? Show it to us.’
‘I don’t have it anymore. That is to say, I have it in my head.’
‘What? Where’s the parchment itself?’
Karek retorted irritably: ‘I gave it to her.’
Brawl perked up again, his right fist pounding rhythmically into his left palm. ‘Sure, you gave it to her alright – but where is the parchment?’ Then he leered so dirtily that someone really should have smashed his gob in.
Instead of which, Blinn slapped his own thigh. ‘You’re such a moron, Brawl,’ his laughter tempering the insult so much that Brawl generously spared him any immediate physical sanctions.
Among the cadets it was almost like the old days. Karek took a deep breath. He had no other choice now but to keep going: ‘The spot on the map is south from here along the coast, in the northeast of Soradar.’
‘What are they going to say if we simply march into their territory?’
‘Firstly, they won’t necessarily have to see us, and secondly, we won’t march in there as soldiers, but we’ll pretend to be merchants or something.’
Eduk pondered aloud: ‘I like it – as merchants or something. Well, if Forand really agrees to this – which I highly doubt – then it will make for a welcome change.’
‘As I said – I’ll talk to Forand.’
‘As if he’ll ever agree to go with us on a madcap treasure hunt – never heard such codswallop.’
Blin’s scepticism would be perfectly fitting under normal circumstances.
Karek rubbed his nose.
But these are far from normal circumstances. And there certainly are very good reasons for departing from this fortress.
castle cragwater
A girl, seven years old, hung ten yards in the air. Although her childish fingers could hardly grip the fat rungs, she held on with only one hand, brushed the strands of black hair from her face with the other, looked down and smiled.
She knew that if she let go, it would mean certain death, for the dried clay ground would give, being only marginally softer than the huge flagstone that covered the family vault. She began to kick her legs as if she were running on air.
Her mother noticed little of this even though she was very close by, sitting on a bench. Engrossed by a folio, all of her attention was drawn to the letters, the words and the sentences within it, a world far away from the climbing adventures of her little daughter above her.
A horizontal ladder high in the sky connected the branches of two trees. Hand over hand, the little one manoeuvred across like one of the monkeys in the adjoining forest.
‘Mama, mama! Look what I can do!’
With lightning speed, the girl swung her legs between two rungs, catapulting the rest of her body upwards with such velocity that suddenly she was standing upright, straddling the ladder with a foot on each side rail.
Her mother glanced up. ‘Lovely, my little squirrel.’
Implacability and a hint of parental routine were audible in her tone, her eyes already returning to the pages on her lap.
The child, clearly spurred on by the squirrel comparison, was now balancing on one of the side rails of the ladder. No, it wasn’t balancing, it was more as if she were flitting along, one foot after the other, as if she were whooshing across a drawbridge.
But then she fell.
A delighted chuckle betrayed the intention behind this action, for already she was hanging from a lower branch of one of the trees. Again she fell. Down to the next branch. And so it continued. Cascading like a waterfall down to the valley as she approached the ground beneath. Now she was two yards above the dry earth, at which point she leaped.
Like a cat, she landed on all fours. Exactly! That’s what she was – a cat. Squirrels were dead boring in comparison – she, on the other hand, felt like a predator, wild and dangerous. A cat, then. Logical. She wondered if she should snarl, for her black eyes narrowed as she attempted to peer like a cat, but then she changed her mind and asked: ‘Mama, tell me – are you not fearful for me?’
Her mother looked up, was silent for a moment, then replied: ‘My daughter, I am fearful for you. Very fearful, even. Fearful that hatred will consume you once you have reached adulthood. And fearful that our people will fall much farther than ten yards from a ladder.’
She opened her eyes. She was lying in her temporary sleeping quarters in a hollow on the way to Castle Cragwater. What a bonkers dream. She hated dreams. They were only for dreamers. She stood up and prepared to set off. She should reach her destination before noon.
From a distance she could see the outline of five towers resembling an upstretched hand. There it lay – Castle Cragwater. Now, she was being led there by fate…hang on there a minute – what was she thinking? Fate was for victims…it was her own stupidity that was leading her along in broad daylight with the clear intention of using the front entrance. How boring. She pondered for a moment, then decided to remain true to herself. If she was going to be the stooge here, then at least she wasn’t going to put on a courtly disguise, like that of a certain Calinka Cornika – she owed that much to her sense of pride.
Suddenly, and against her better instincts, she started thinking about the bonkers dream that she’d had the previous night. Where they real memories of her childhood?
She immediately suppressed those thoughts again and concentrated on the task in hand.
She rode on her horse through the town of Cragwater at the foot of the castle. The houses, the streets, the people were better-looking than the residents of Star in the south. Two beggars were sitting, silent and toothless, on the footpath, stretching out their empty bowls towards her. She peered at them both as she rode past. The state of their beggars said more about the villages and towns than the palaver of the inhabitants. The two down-and-outs with their plump cheeks seemed to be managing relatively well. In Star, on the other hand, skeletal figures wasted away in their stinking surroundings, hardly able to lift their bowls.
One of the beggars snarled a curse after her. Apparently, he resented being gawped at and then being left empty-handed.
She arrived at the broad, cobbled street that led gently up towards the royal castle.
An impressive drawbridge, so broad that the entire weekly Cragwater market could easily take place there, spanned a moat so deep that she could hardly see its bottom. At least twenty heavily armed sentries stood at the gate to the outer bailey – in full armour, of course.
Already, one of the men, a green feather on his helmet, addressed her while the others gawked in her direction. ‘Halt! What is your desire?’
Presumably, the feather indicated successful elocution lessons and, consequently, permission to speak. Sensitive to the situation, she figured it was time for her to display one of her own special skills. She was going to have to behave diplomatically, otherwise she wouldn’t even get to have a meeting with the stable lad but would end up being tossed into the moat. ‘You have my word. I come simply to kill the king and to poison the fat prince.’
Furious, the sentry grabbed her horse’s reins.
‘Oh yes, he prefers to eat hay with some shredded oats mixed in. But don’t forget to give him water first.’
She dismounted. In an instant she was surrounded by five of the sentries, two of whom had their hands on the hilts of their swords. The man with the reins in his hands simply stood there, speechless and rooted to the spot.
One of his comrades peered at her face beneath the hood and started to speak - even though his helmet wasn’t decorated with a green tuft: ‘This odd bird is a woman.’
The other men chortled.
She pursed her lips. If she was an odd bird, then a crow. Don’t even think blackbird, let alone say it.
‘Tee-hee. You’ve been outsmarted by a crazy wench.’
The object of his fellows’ derision let go of the reins and growled. ‘Well? What ya want? Any more cheek and you’ll be chucked into the moat.’
She chided herself for her first attempt. This was what happened when she took on jobs that she didn’t want – but complaining wasn’t going to get her anywhere. Alright then, time for a second go – this time, honest and direct.
‘I want to see the king. I have to speak to him.’
‘Oh, really? Why didn’t you say so from the get-go? Wait here, we’ll fetch him immediately.’
The other men chortled.
It seemed that featherhead was trying to restore his reputation among his colleagues through the use of humour.
‘I can slip in tonight instead and visit him unannounced if you like.’
Once again, the tufted teaser was speechless.
The other men chortled.
‘We should arrest her and have her tortured.’
Oh, yes. She remembered that Karek had mentioned something about a kitchen maid. What was her name again?
With considerable self-control and even more goodwill, she laced her voice with a soupçon of forgiveness. ‘Send for a kitchen maid by the name of Sara. The matter is of great urgency.’
Being a woman in Toladar was rarely advantageous – doubtless, they would have made mincemeat of a man by now. But this time, her femininity prevented a bad end – for the men.
‘Sara, I know her. Fine looking thing.’ He turned to one of the other guards. ‘Didn’t she squeeze your nuts the other day when you were trying to feel her up?’
The man’s face reddened, a third fellow chuckling and expanding on the subject. ‘Sure – he wanted to stick his thing in. Didn’t happen though. Still, he spent a week, head over heels in love, in the sick bay.’
The other men chortled.
The thing has to go into the thing. Logical.
‘Good – tell Sara to come to the main gate if she’s nothing better to be doing.’
He looked her in the eyes: ‘And you, piss off for now or wait back there. Don’t even think about stepping any closer.’
The guards drew back, leaving her and her nag before the gate to the outer bailey.
It took quite a while before the sentries made way and let out a maid.
‘If this is a stupid joke, then I’m going to make a complaint,’ scolded the young woman as she stepped outside. So, this had to be Sara, stopping and looking steadfastly at her. A blond strand of hair had slipped out of her bonnet and was hanging down to her shoulder. Her green eyes were sparkling mistrustfully.
A very fine thing as the guard had previously judged.
Neither of the women spoke. The sentries stood there, bored.
It got too much for featherhead. ‘And? D’you know her?’
‘We have a friend with a healthy appetite in common,’ she said. Her tone of voice must have struck a chord with Sara, for the maid pointed towards the town and said: ‘Let us walk for a little.’
The pair moved away from the sentries.
Once they were out of hearing, Sara asked: ‘Well?’
She liked this type of simple, open question.
‘Our common friend goes by the name of Karek. The son and heir to the old lad perched on the throne here – so far.’
Sara stopped abruptly. ‘What is it that you want, ma’am?’ She asked, her eyebrows raised in surprise.
‘To deliver a message. An important message for the king – otherwise, believe you me, I wouldn’t be wasting my time here begging those morons for admittance to your little castle.’
‘Why do you speak so disrespectfully, ma’am?’
‘I have no respect for those who disrespect me.’
Sara paused, looked at the other woman critically, then nodded. ‘Very well, then. Say what you have to say, ma’am – I shall pass on the message to the king.’
‘The matter is too important. I must speak with Tedore personally.’
‘These are anxious times, all signs are pointing towards war and the enemy is known for its artfulness. For good reason, it is almost impossible to get an audience with the king.’
‘Which is precisely why I am here. Karek told me that you are no common kitchen maid and that you have a special relationship with the king. He was hoping that with your help I can reach King Tedore.’
Sara looked down at her apron and considered. ‘Give me more.’
‘There is a traitor in your midst.’
Sara’s eyes widened, but she still didn’t seem convinced. ‘Why doesn’t Karek send a courier or simply come himself, ma’am?’
‘This is getting on my nerves now. If your king is hiding away from all the world and won’t even let an insignificant female in to see him, then it seems that what the Warries have been saying is true.’
‘Even if I am going to regret it, I will speak to him, ma’am. Come again tomorrow at this time – we’ll see if Tedore will receive you.’
‘Tomorrow at this time I will be who knows where – but definitely not here. Ask him here and now.’
Sara puffed up her cheeks before blowing out the air. ‘Get lost.’ The maid was about to turn on her heels. ‘You are as crazy as you are impertinent.’
‘Maybe so, but I don’t have a spy sitting on my lap, fawning all over me and reporting to the noseless duke of the south as soon as I scratch my arse.’
The blond woman’s eyes widened again and were as green as a meadow. But then her features changed. She smiled, and now the sun was shining on the meadow.
‘Do you know something, ma’am? It would take the prince to send someone as nutty as yourself to the court. No-one else would even think of such a thing.’
The maid moved her head – it was neither a nod nor a shake. ‘Very well, I shall try for an audience with Tedore. Whether I will be successful or not is an open question. Wait here on the bridge. I might be a while.’
‘Not a bother. I’m a dab hand at waiting on draughty bridges with tottering jades. I’ve been doing nothing else for half the day already.’
Sara loomed before her. ‘Now, you listen to me, lass.’
They seemed to be getting closer, for there was none of this ma’am nonsense anymore. She liked that – she hated all that ‘yes, ma’am, no ma’am, three bags full, ma’am palaver.
‘That’s enough now. You have already achieved a hell of a lot, for if I go in now and speak on your behalf, I am only doing it for Karek. Because I believe that Karek wants me to. I’m not doing it for you with your shameless and impertinent manner. You are no better than a simple scullery maid or common soldier.’
She answered calmly. ‘Honest words! And you are absolutely correct. I am no better than anyone. Only different.’
‘Hm.’
Sara turned away and made her way back to the castle.
She watched her as she walked. The fine thing certainly had plenty of character.
It took an eternity. She was wondering if she should make her way home to the Blood Forest or go to the library in Tanderheim and look for old books in the ancient language when eight of the king’s guards clanked their way through the gate with Sara in tow.
‘Follow me!’ commanded the maid.
It seemed that apart from Sara being direct and honest, she was also astute and maintained good relationships with others, for she had indeed made an audience with the king possible.
It took a few moments for the procession to arrive in a large hall in the main building. It hadn’t been that different when Calinka Cornika and Tandrik had made their way to visit Duke Schohtar.
A voice bellowed: ‘HALT! No weapons in the throne room! Do you have any on your person?’
The sentries on duty seemed like a very humourless bunch, which wasn’t only down to the two swords they each had dangling from their belts.
‘Sure do. How about you guys?’ she asked.
Sara groaned. ‘Don’t make it any more complicated than it already is.’
Three soldiers made a move to frisk her. She bent down and pulled a knife out of each boot, unbuckled her stiletto that was hanging on her belt and slid the two bodkins out of her sleeves. The men looked on, astonished.
Sara fluttered her eyelashes: ‘Is that all? You don’t happen to have a two-hander hidden anywhere?’
‘Nah. I always leave that at home when I’m visiting friends.’
A sentry stepped forward. ‘Halt. First, we will frisk her to make sure she isn’t carrying any more weapons.
This constant repetition of ‘halt’ was really beginning to bug her.
She snarled at the man: ‘I’m not going to let you feel me up.’
Sara reacted as quick as a flash, smiling at the sentry. ‘Leave it, Tunnek. She’s had a long day. I will frisk her.’ Sara turned to her and murmured: ‘No nonsense now, do you hear me?’
‘Do you know all the guards by name?’
She forced herself to allow Sara to pat her down.
‘Only the important ones.’
Tunnek seemed to grow a few inches and looked genuinely pleased. A shining light. So easy, really. This Sara was more than merely a fine thing – she was cunning, too. Even Calinka Cornika could learn a thing or two from her. Once the maid had finished her frisking without finding anything, the sentries let them pass. The threat of her special wristband on her right arm had remained undetected.
