Arm Of Galemar (Book 2) (69 page)

“A new war is the last option any of us desire.”

“In any case, I was having a discussion with Marik
Railson,” she said with an introductory gesture at the mercenary.  “He came to
Thoenar for our tournament, but will be leaving shortly.”

“Is that so?  How magnificent,” replied the Nolier
diplomat, passing his gaze over Marik’s less than clean-cut clothing.  “A
patriot participating in this tournament of warriors.  I am sorry to hear you
could not prevail unto the end.”

“Well, you know,” Marik said when the Nolier bowed in
seeming sincerity.  “There are many great fighters competing.  It’s hard to
stand out among so many capable warriors.  I’ve seen dozens who are far better
than me.” 
What is she doing?,
he wondered frantically.  He recognized
that she wanted him to follow her lead so he implied as much without actually
saying he had ever been a contender.  Yet why she wanted anything of him at all
mystified him.

“Yes.  It is a shame that I have been occupied and
unable to find the opportunity to observe the contests.  I understand many have
stepped forward to serve their homeland.”

“More than I can ever remember,” he mumbled, glancing
sideways to Celerity.

“Indeed,” she resumed.  “This year the number of
talented warriors exceeds the past several tournaments.  Each and all wishing
to prove that he is willing to defend Galemar in the event of further turmoil.”

The Nolier dipped his head.  “Patriotism ever calls
forth a new generation of soldiers.  No matter your homeland, the young will
always stand proudly for it, especially after an exchange such as ours.”

“In point of fact, I was thanking Marik for his
service in the war when you walked in.  It is only a shame that with the
impressive experience he garnered in the fighting, he won’t be standing on the
field during the final bouts for the position of our Arm.”

“Ah, you fought in the war then?  I am certain you
comported yourself with valor befitting a loyal soldier.”  The Nolier bowed
deeper in respect.  His sincerity was frightening.

“Valor and bravery both.  Perhaps you heard of his
duel against Duke Ronley and his retinue of knights.”

Marik caught the slight twitch in the corner of
Orburn’s eye.  The diplomat hardly hesitated before answering, “Indeed I did! 
So, you are the warrior who fought so skillfully!  Tales of that battle are
told all across Nolier.”

I bet they are,
Marik thought, suddenly understanding in a flash where Celerity wanted him to
take this.  “I didn’t know that.  After
that
fight, I thought a trifle
like winning the Arm of Galemar would be easy enough.  What a mistake!  I can’t
compare to most here.  I still need a lot of training if I ever want to win the
Arm!”  As a soldier who had fought battles against this diplomat’s kingdom,
Marik thought he could be expected to act with a measure of disrespect.  “If
these men had been on the field with us, the war would have been over in half a
season.  But they’re ready to take up arms now if there is need, even if it’s
not the actual Arm they’re wielding.”

“I am certain that is so,” Orburn replied.  “I hate to
leave so quickly, but the council is expecting our arrival.”  He reached out to
shake Marik’s hand in a firm grip.  “It was Marik Railson, was it not?  Yes? 
Well, until next time,” he bowed one last time and departed.

Marik waited until the pair passed through a distant
door before glowering at the graying mage.  Torrance’s words about him building
a reputation echoed in his head.  “I am not a political tool!”

Celerity returned the angry gaze levelly.  “Fighting
with words or swords makes little difference if you maneuver the enemy to your
advantage.”

“I am a swordsman,” Marik declared, thumping a palm to
his chest.  “My place is a battlefield, not a political play yard!”

She smiled a tight grin.  “Soldiers are the tools of
political heads.  Whether we send you into battle, station you in a guard post
or display you at court, it serves the same ends.  The furthering of Galemar’s
goals.  You might wish to reconcile yourself to that truth.”

Anger threatened to make him lash out at her the way
he usually did at Tollaf.  Instead, “I got what I came for.  I’ll be going.”

He made to depart.  Her voice delayed him.  “I will
contact Tollaf to remain in touch with you once you’ve returned home.”

This made him whirl back to face her.  “What?  You
don’t need me for anything!”

The hardness he remembered in her reappeared.  “Until
such time as we discover who this stranger is, you remain our only link.  When
we learn all we need to, then, and only then, will you no longer be needed.”

“What can I do?” he nearly shouted, drawing the
attention of others in the hall.  “Tru can do a better job than I ever could! 
He has my hair, damn, my blood, too!”

“You are still alive,” she told him coldly.  “As long
as you are, that will ever be the strongest link to your father.  I will speak
with Tollaf regarding this.”

He harbored no doubts she would, which dampened his
enthusiasm to return home.  What new decrees would the old man have waiting for
him?  No doubt he would work to convince Torrance to keep Marik in the town all
through the next fighting season if Celerity had yet to discover her answers.

But with Ilona mere miles down the road, perhaps that
might not be as terrible as all that…

A month later, riding along the Southern Road toward
Kingshome, Marik winced at that particular thought.  Dietrik noticed the
movement and asked, “Buggered out, mate?  We should reach the next town within
a mark, if memory serves.  They will have beds awaiting us.”

“I’m fine,” Marik asserted, the comment punctuated by
a background peal of thunder.  It rolled softly for several seconds before its
voice deepened in an angry swell.  The thunder softened only to fold back on
itself several times.

After nearly twenty heartbeats it finally stopped. 
“There is a good sized storm heading our way.  One that means business,” Landon
observed, twisting in the saddle to study the looming clouds.

“It’s still a distance off,” Kerwin said.  “If we
hurry we might be able to reach shelter before the rain starts pelting.”

They nudged their mounts to a trot.  Marik silently
asked Ercsilon what shelter the refugees could possibly find.

The storm broke before they closed the distance to
Arthington, a farming town of respectable size bracketing the Southern Road. 
Raindrops that fell in a faint mist switched over to a full scale assault
against the surface dwellers as they hastily searched for an inn.  Arthington
claimed five such establishments, each located by the road to provide for
travelers.  Landon trotted his mount through the nearest stableyard gate.

Calls from the stable boy coaxed them to bring their
mounts to the wide doors since the youth felt no desire to step into the wet
for no better reason than it was his duty.  The mercenaries tendered their
horses.  Marik, in a move grown so familiar he barely spared a thought for it,
punched his mount in the side of its head when it tried to remove the stable
boy’s outstretched fingers.

They carried their packs through the rain to the inn’s
entrance.  Several locals pushed their way past them in departure, delaying
their escape from the tumultuous downpour which elicited a round of quiet
curses.  The proprietor met them inside the door.  Accommodations were quickly
reached.  Within minutes their packs dried upstairs while they sat around a
table in the common room waiting for their fare.

“But where does that leave us?” Marik directed at
Kerwin, continuing the conversation interrupted by the raging torrent.  “You’re
retiring again, and this time you’re taking Landon with you!  That leaves
Dietrik and me alone in the Fourth Unit with Edwin’s complaints, Talbot’s
bumbling and Sloan’s dead personality.”

“Sloan won’t be bothering you much,” Kerwin pointed
out.  “He’ll be living in Fraser’s old quarters over in the officer’s
building.”

“So that only leaves us with Talbot and Edwin. 
Floroes is off in his own head most of the time, Korial hasn’t said ten words
to me since I joined, and the other three who survived last year have always
been loners.”

“You want to come work for me?  I need to recruit
peacekeepers for the place.”

“No,” Marik scowled.  “I don’t.”

“This is the way of life,” Dietrik offered, leaning
back in his chair.  “Acquaintances come and they go.  Two of our friends are
moving on.  A whole slew of new fish will be landing in the Ninth’s barracks
after the trials this year.  Odds are a few will be friendly faces, mate.”

“And we are hardly leaving Galemar, Marik,” Landon
added with a soft smile.  “We’ll be a brief march down the road.”

“It still won’t feel right,” Marik persisted.  “Almost
everyone from when I joined will be gone.”

“That is how a mercenary’s life usually runs.”

“At least you’ll have seniority,” Kerwin chirped. 
“Sloan’s the sergeant.  Edwin and Talbot and Floroes and Bancroft still claim
the age on you, but you can lord it over the new boys!”

Kerwin laughed; Marik grimaced.  “That’s not my
style.  And they’ll be skittering like roaches around me anyway.  The last
thing I need is to sneer at them and send them stampeding out the door.”

“Always you obsess over your mage talent.”  Dietrik
pursed his lips.  “I tell you, mate, that nobody else in the entire band
worries about that as much as you.”

Marik’s grimace deepened.  “It will be different this
time, you watch.  You all know me, knew me before…
it
, happened to me. 
But nobody coming into the band today does.  At they probably won’t want to be
around me long enough to learn better.”

“You always take the dark view.  I would hardly call
you a social pariah.  Your new lady love seems to care little one way or the
other.  Doesn’t that prove others still find you agreeable enough?  Why do you
persist in worrying about what other people think of you?”

She only opened up to me
because
of what I am.
  But it was not worth
telling Dietrik that.  It would only prolong a discussion that had already
greatly depressed him.  Instead he told them, “I guess you’re right.  Besides I
already have plenty to keep me busy until next spring once we get back to
Kingshome.”

“The old man going to lock you up in his Tower day and
night?” Kerwin asked with a leering grin.  “Keep you reading books until your
eyeballs wilt?”

“Who cares?” Marik replied with a shrug.  “He can make
whatever plans he wants to.  It won’t change anything between us.  I meant my
training regime will be taking most of the day as it is.”

Kerwin and Landon raised questioning eyebrows while
Dietrik sighed, “Again?  Every winter you have more goals that you must achieve
than the last!  What will it be this time?”

“I’ve been thinking about what you said,” Marik
answered.  At his friend’s blank expression, he elaborated.  “I want to start
carrying two swords.  I don’t know if I want to replace the one I have with a
smaller blade or not, but I want two sizes.”

“That sounds like an intelligent idea,” Landon
nodded.  “I know your sword’s length hampered you several times when we fought
in Thoenar.”

“Well,” Marik hedged.  “I would have done better if
I’d had practical experience with it beforehand.  I haven’t yet decided if I
want this blade to be the smaller or the larger one.”

“Back off a spec, mate!  I recall, very clearly, you
saying no one in his right mind would ever wield any of those larger blades we
picked through in the armory!”

“I said only an idiot would pick one for his primary
weapon.  I don’t intend to do that, only have it nearby so I can switch back
and forth.  With my strength working, the weight isn’t a factor!”

Dietrik threw up his hands while the other pair
watched in amusement.  “But you can’t hold the working in place for long!  You
said so yourself that carrying a massive blade around all day will drain your
strength before the battle ever starts!”

“Which is why I’m going to be strength training this
winter.  I need to build up my muscle so the extra weight won’t bother me when
the working isn’t in place.”

“You intend to look like a plow ox?  Like Beld?”

“No!  Don’t be stupid!  I only want to build up my
muscle mass, that’s all.”  
Hmm…not as broad across as I usually like.
 
“And maybe work on endurance at the same time.”

Dietrik gazed at him suspiciously, obviously
suspecting deeper motives behind Marik’s reversal of opinion on a matter that
he’d held strong beliefs on.  Before either side could launch a follow-up
strike in this conversational battle, a stranger stepped beside Landon,
instantly capturing their attentions.

“Evening, men,” he greeted with a faint rolling
drawl.  The accent’s flavor instantly affected Marik, recalling helpless
feelings and impotent anger.  He would bet every coin remaining in his purse
that this uniformed stranger hailed from Galemar’s southwestern corner,
probably not far from Tattersfield.  “I’m not one to interrupt a gathering of
friends, but I believe I overheard you mention the town of Kingshome.”