The Trees And The Night (Book 3) (25 page)

A murmur ran through the crowd as many in the Anvil nodded and agreed with the commander’s assessment. Fenrel narrowed his eyes and the edge of his lip turned up in a wry smile.

“Perhaps the one I pray to has again seen to intervene in my favor through this young commander,” said Fenrel. “For his judgment seems far advanced for his few years. It shall be as he says. We attack at sun up.”

Fenrel spun and strode confidently into his pavilion. The remainder of the Anvil set up camp and prepared the bodies for burial.

Utecht and a few compatriots hesitated near Fenrel’s pavilion. They were not there to ogle the bodies for they had seen death many times. They were veterans in the Anvil. Between them they had marched on countless campaigns for the rulers of the mountain city. Instead, they inspected Aul and the others. Several attendants sliced lengths of canvas from a roll and wrapped the bodies. Others threaded heavy cords through large needles and began to sew the canvass closed.

“He bears only the heavy wounds of the pike,” commented Utecht. “I see no arrow punctures.”

The men with Utecht moved closer and inspected the body as Aul was laid upon a length of canvass.

“Some of those who retrieved the bodies saw no arrows amongst the dead,” added a man to Utecht’s left.

An attendant punched a threaded needle through the canvass near Aul’s feet and quickly drew it out the other side.

“Those in the cavalry claim only they were fired upon,” continued another.

The attendant quickly worked his way up to Aul’s chest. Utecht frowned.

“Perhaps our prince adds a new trick to his arsenal,” grumbled the old sergeant. “In these past few days all have witnessed how he soured on the lad. Yet inexplicably, the loss of Aul finds him heartbroken.  This prince deceives at every turn to achieve his goals.”

The last flap of canvass was laid across Aul’s face and sewn shut. The attendant knotted the thread and moved to the next body.

“The folly of this campaign grows with every step,” said Utecht. “Good men die to feed dreams of revenge and conquest born from a man unworthy of his position. We must stay alert and look for any chance to expose this man for who he is.”

The others nodded and strode toward the camp, filtering in amongst their brethren and prompting questions around each campfire that evening.

CHAPTER 16:  JERGSON’S WAY

The streets of Rindor could confuse even a lifelong resident. A twist to the left followed by a pair of right turns and the follower found himself in a narrow alley bound with empty clotheslines and strewn with debris. The high walls of the piled buildings of the river city crowded the moonlight from the place. The leader turned to him.

“Jergson’s Way,” stated the leader. “We have met here unmolested for the past several years. I am sorry I kept the location from you until now, but those in our brotherhood swore me to secrecy.”

The follower nodded and surveyed the scene. Jergson’s Way was difficult to locate and what is more important for this meeting’s purposes, it was uninhabited. Most of the surrounding buildings acted as workhouses, filled with seamstresses and woodworkers during the day and abandoned in the evening. The goods they produced were of such a cheap quality that the watchmen left the area to itself in the late hours.

“One of us owns the property and no questions are asked about our gatherings.”

The leader moved forward stepping over broken crates and refuse. The pair picked their way through the alley and approached a heavy wooden door bound in rusty iron. The leader halted and knocked upon the door in a series of three then two sharp, loud raps. He glanced over his shoulder.

“A code,” smiled the leader. “Only those aware of the sequence are allowed entry.”

The follower allowed his expression to grow properly awed by such intellect and foresight. He nodded his approval and the leader winked in return. Momentarily a heavy bolt was thrown on the interior of the doorway. The mass creaked open and the leader slipped into the low light. The follower’s vision swept the alleyway behind him then he too slipped inside the building.

Quickly the door was fastened behind him and the leader drew him further into the room. A large, worn table occupied the center of the space. A dozen mismatched wooden chairs holding equally mismatched occupants surrounded it. The leader took a seat at the table and motioned the follower to join him. All in the room remained silent as he complied.

The follower quickly scanned the occupants of the table. Several were familiar to him and he could guess some of the others through reputation. Across from him sat Cayril, the manager of the Verlan estates to the east. Cayril nodded as their eyes met and the follower allowed a slight smile and returned the nod. He and Cayril did business at least half a dozen times a year and spent many a night in deep conversation at one of Rindor’s taverns.

Next to Cayril sat Olean. The follower never met the man but the flowing white hair and wicked scar on his nose could belong to no other. The follower conducted quite a few transactions with the estates Olean managed for the Pateen family. Lord And Lady Pateen rarely visited their possessions far to the south and compelled Master Olean to remain upon the property much of the time. Olean stared at him through unflinching eyes.

Others at the table held similar pedigrees. Many of the estate managers from the most powerful houses in Rindor sat about this table. Many knew him or knew of him, but most kept quiet and unexpressive.

“I believe all are here,” said a voice behind the follower. “ Master Clitch has finally arrived with our ....  guest for the evening.”

The follower spun to see the shadowy figure fasten the door. The figure moved forward into the candlelight and extended a hand toward him.

“We rarely do business together, but I assume I have no need to introduce myself or any of the men seated before you.”

The follower showed no surprise as he rose and took the hand of Prophar, the Lord Chamberlain of Rindor. The pair shook hands. Prophar turned and moved toward an empty chair at the head of the table.

“The men stationed around this table represent the heart and soul of commerce in and around Rindor,” announced Prophar as he seated himself. “Literally the lifeblood of Rindor flows from the toil and labor we provide the kingdom. Master Clitch runs the estate of the Jinlo family to the west. Mutton, wool and timber flow throughout both Rindor and Zodra from the estates he manages.

 “Master Olean is known to many of you. In the far South, the Pateen family relies on him to keep their wheat and cornfields properly tended so the granaries of Rindor remain stocked. The bellies of the nation are full of the food he manages.

“To the east, Master Cayril has built an empire of trading with the Eru. His herd of horses is unrivaled outside of the grasslands of the horsemen. The Verlan family’s stock is the envy of the kingdoms due to the hard work of Cayril.”

Many in the room grunted their approval and Cayril nodded at the compliment. Prophar allowed his words to take hold as he eyed the follower intently.

“And now we add our new guest to our ranks,” continued Prophar sweeping a hand toward the follower. “All here know him or have transacted business with the estates he represents. A man of superior business acumen with a reputation for unparalleled fairness in all things.”

The follower smiled at the compliment and nodded to Prophar. The Lord Chamberlain returned the smile and it turned wry.

“However, he has also been known as one with the unique ability to discern an advantageous business situation and pounce upon it before others are even aware the opportunity exists. All here have missed opportunities due to his quick decision making.”

A slight murmur built throughout the room as the follower acknowledged this compliment with a smile as well. The murmur grew as those about the table recalled such incidents. The follower scanned the crowd and saw both admiration and bitterness in their eyes. He raised an eyebrow in challenge to all. Prophar spun on the follower.

“Wealth,” stated Prophar. “The kingdom grows and the landed gentry accumulate great wealth. The population grows and the demand for the goods we provide grows with it.

“As managers of the great wealth of this kingdom we guide it on a path of prosperity while those kingdoms around us flounder. The great empire of Zodra cries out to feed the bellies of her children, but in Rindor there is plenty.

“WE act as the architects of the good fortune of Rindor. WE see to our people’s future and wellbeing. WE are the true leaders of this land, not some puffed up king, his butterfly of a wife and a court of vacuous nobles.”

The follower pursed his lips and furrowed his brow. Prophar edged toward treason. Others in the room growled in assent to the Lord Chamberlain’s opinions. Prophar continued unabated. He directed most of his speech directly at the follower.

“Change is on the horizon,” announced the chamberlain, “and although all here are excellent businessmen, none play the great game of politics as I do.”

“Change of what nature?” interrupted the follower, perturbed by Prophar’s assumed command of all in the room.

The chamberlain narrowed his eyes.

“Regime change,” he said flatly. “The house of Kingfisher rules while Rindor stands at a crossroads. Corad understands very little of the greater world. He accepts Zodra’s command to join a hopeless battle without giving a single thought to what the other side offers. Businessmen, such as we, look at a situation from every angle and determine the most advantageous position.”

The follower weighed the comment. It was an accurate assessment. Corad and Lucyn chose a path set before them and most assuredly had not considered the option of joining Amird.

“As I said,” continued Prophar, “our new guest is a well respected man on many levels. You have taken a sizable estate and singlehandedly amassed a fortune worthy of a king through keen business sense and an uncanny ability to see to the heart of developments.

“That is why you were invited here tonight. I call upon you to use that insight and determine the path upon which you will shape your future as well as that of Rindor.”

“I have already assessed much in this room tonight,” replied the follower, “and much of what I see and hear smacks of treason.”

Protests erupted throughout the room.

“Self preservation,” snorted Cayril.

“Duty to save the kingdom,” growled Clitch.

“We are taking our rightful place,” snarled Olean.

All save Prophar protested and challenged the follower’s comment. The Lord Chamberlain gazed steadily at the follower as the disturbance died down.

“Call it what you will,” said Prophar finally, “but use the same discerning eye upon the situation Rindor faces. Her troops abandon her to fight in a foreign sovereign’s war. Much her manpower will be lost as it battles a foe too numerous to overcome. The future results are easily divined. The kingdom of Rindor will lose her men, then lose this city as we all fall to the stone men and their masters.”

“What alternative do we have? The Ulrog will come one day or another. We either fight now or later,” laughed the follower. “You act as if you propose we join the Ulrog.”

The room went silent and many of the most influential men in Rindor dropped their heads and stared at the worn wooden table before them. Again, only Prophar remained fixed on the follower.

“You cannot be serious,” protested the follower as the smile fell from his face.

“I am,” stated Prophar quickly. “Rindor’s army is gone. However, our island has always been its own best defense. Those I am in contact with expressed concern over our nation’s ability to keep an armed contingent at bay. A prolonged siege would result. Those inside these walls could expect years of starvation and squalor. Those manning the riverbanks could expect death in the waters of the Ituan. No one is served in these times.”

The follower saw the logic in Prophar’s statement.

“Why then do you call me here tonight?” asked the follower testily. “These results seem inevitable.”

“No, they are not inevitable,” returned Prophar. “The city’s defenses will function quite adequately if manned by even a very small contingent of her trained personnel. The only men left within the kingdom to attend to these duties are the ranch hands and artisans employed by the great houses or the palace. Virtually every man capable of manning these defenses is employed by one of the men at this table.

“You yourself have been quite prolific in your employ of both former members of the Spear and retired Guardsmen. Some would say you have built a mini army of your own on the properties of your master.”

“We are several days ride from the capital and our safety lies in our ability to protect ourselves,” replied the follower. “As you said, I built the fortune of my master and my intention is to protect those assets. True, my men come from military backgrounds. I have found they tend to be extremely loyal to those who employ them.”

“And so they must be removed from the equation,” said Prophar flatly.

The follower’s body went rigid and the men at the table glared at him. Now was the moment of truth. They laid their plan before him. Not all of it, but enough for him to know they stepped beyond the unhappiness and jealousies of bright men pressed into servitude, and into full-blown treason and betrayal. However, one thing was certain. Prophar correctly assessed the follower as a man who analyzed a situation and found the most advantageous position for his own interests.