Narosan 6: The Serene Soldier

The drizzle beat a relentless tattoo on the cobbles. The few people walking under the scant protection of the eaves along the streets hastened to shelters and warm fires. The night was about to fall when a figure wearing a long cape ambled across the street towards a large squat house. He stopped at the imposing oaken door standing under a small porch to undo his cloak and shake the rain off before knocking the door ring on the wood panel.
Although he wore no distinctive signs of his rank, he could have been mistaken for anything else but a soldier with the hair on his pate cropped short to accommodate a helmet. His apparel was made of sturdy leather from boots to gloves and surcoat. Apart of a big hunting knife he apparently carried no weapons. His stocky, almost short body bore little excess fat. Only the craggy weathered face might have betrayed his real age to a keen observer.
Royal Guard Sergeant Norbert de Chalon represented a bit of a puzzle to other soldiers of the elite corps. In spite of his rank dearly earned on battlefields and interminable missions, he had always steadfastly refused to wear any ostentatious mark of his real status. If his men and women could recognize him, that would suffice, he had time and again replied to superiors and subalterns’ pressing questions on his lack of decorum. In any case he was due for retirement within the year at long last after a life of service to the Crown. He counted himself spared by fate to be still alive and in reasonably good health. He could not care less about titles and decorations.
His house was his and he would be able to enjoy its comfort on a more permanent basis soon.
The door was opened by a middle-aged woman.
-“Good evening, Master!”
-“A good evening to you, too, Serena!”
He had given up a long time ago to have her call him by his name or a simple “Sir”.
He had bought this house with his hard-earned ages when it was put on sale after the untimely death of its owner as his widow and daughter suddenly found themselves in great need of money. Instead of throwing out the former owners after purchasing their abode as most people would have done, he had decided to hire them as permanent house servants. It made common sense if not good charity. As he was away for the greater part of the year, he could not wish for better housekeeping.. The widow and her daughter lived upstairs while he had had ground floor rearranged for his own “quarters” next to the big dining room adjacent to the kitchen. When the Dwarves had revolutionized the sewer system in the Capital, his rank for once had come in play as he was granted separate amenities including privies and a large bathtub. The servants were given the key to a small vault hidden inside one the kitchen walls for everyday errands and whatever payments had to be done while he spent time on the field. In this way he had all the advantages of a married life without the daily hassle of a wife. Snide remarks about the two women residing in his home had been quickly quelled by a few chosen words from his own soldiers who knew when and where he could and would go when in need of those pleasures that any healthy man was entitled to.
He handed his cape to the woman who enquired:
-“Will Master have any food and drink or take a bath?”
-“The bath can wait. I’m not hungry. I shall fetch some wine myself. Just bring me some bread and cheese.”
He went to the kitchen to draw a jug of wine from the barrel he had ordered some time ago from the vineyards of Villefranche. When he came back to the living room a plate of slice bread and cheese was already lying on the table with a hot towel and a pewter goblet. He sat with a contented sigh and wiped his tired hands with satisfaction. Nothing could replace that small luxury after a day of riding.
He was about to bring his goblet to his lips when a knock was heard at the door.
Halting Serena with a raised hand as she was moving to the entrance, he stood up and walked to the door and opened it himself. Who could it be at this time of the day?
Two hooded figures were standing outside in the rain. The silhouette of them seemed familiar.
-“Good evening, good gentlemen. What service may I be to you?” he enquired as his Royal Guard’s manners took over.
The familiar-looking man raised his hood above his face. IT was Gerhart de Beaucastel, the King of Beaulieu.
-“Sire?” Norbert asked in surprise.
The King smiled
-“Good evening, Sergeant. May we come in?”
-“Of course, Sire! Serena, take these gentlemen’s cloaks and bring us a couple of goblets. Have you eaten yet?”
-“We had something a while ago. But a little food with wine would be welcome indeed!”
Norbert invited his illustrious guest and his companion to his table. As they were sitting, he could not resist breaking protocol.
-“Sire, forgive my curiosity, but the last news, official as they might be, said that you were keeping to your chamber as it would take you a long time to recover after that damn assassination attempt!”
Gerhart took his time before answering.
-“This is what we want our citizens to believe.”
Norbert glanced in Serena’s direction.
-“Do not worry. Alfred de Vigny here will have a word with your servants We expect nothing to come out of here as you will have understood by now!”
The Sergeant belatedly realized that it meant he would have to say good-bye to his retirement for probably a long while.
He patiently waited for the rest of the story about to come.
Gerhart sensed the Royal Guard’s reluctance.
-“You’ve probably heard about Alfred here. He is the Crown Internal Affairs Chief, a grand title for Royal master spy, or more aptly said, Anti-Spy! He will be better suited to explain the situation!”
Norbert had heard of the powerful officer, but never the occasion to meet him I person. He nodded in acknowledgment.
Alfred did not waste time on niceties.
-“Sergeant, the King has decided that in spite of our ability to serve swift retribution, we would let the perpetrators cook into their own juices for a while until they eventually grow complacent harbouring the belief that after all no punishment would come. When they feel at their most confident and start planning their next nefarious plot we will strike hard and make an example of their demise. The Royal Guards, the Golden Dragon Squad and other corps have received their orders to vacate the lands of Marche and Montfaucon and will wait for new directives until we deem the timing right!”
The Sergeant commented:
-“I can understand that. But before going any further, may I ask a couple of questions for my own peace of mind?”
-“You’re welcome!” Gerhart replied before Alfred could lose his temper at the officer’s apparent impertinence. His knew his Royal Guards better than his invaluable aide, and this was a time when his Royal prerogatives came in useful.
-“My thanks, Sire! First, what was the extent of the assassination attempt?”
Gerhart readily answered:
-“Quite bad, and we still can deem ourselves lucky. But for Alfred’s quick thinking, we might have been all dead by now! We lost quite a few valuable courtiers. Arnaud de Betancourt, our Judge, was on leave in Montjoie, or it would have been a disaster! Servants and staff were indiscriminately murdered. We lost the whole Royal Guard garrison on duty last night. Had it not been for those two exceptional young members of the Golden Dragon Squad, the assassins would have broken into the Royal Chamber and massacred us all. The Queen and I were saved by Robert de Glacis, the Royal Physician. How? I don’t have a clue. The heirs are safe. But what galls me more is that those bastards killed their own. I can already imagine what kind of stories are circulating in the North!”
Norbert did not reply immediately. He knew it was only part of the story. And one tiny detail was surely a straight lie. But he had already been told more than other people knew. Quite a few days after the partly bungled attempt citizens witnessed many funerals and a lot of cleaning. The official version was that the King and His family had to keep to their own quarters and would not be able to make Royal appearances for some time to come. Royal Guards had been posted at all strategic locations of the Capital when he had himself been recalled from service in the South.
-“You are not planning to completely ignore Marche and Montfaucon for some time, are you? Am I right to believe that is where the assassins came from? And pardon me my insolence, but if you are the King and man I believe you are, some prepartions on the terrain are required?”
Gerhart and his aide looked at each other. Norbert realized his case had been carefully studied. He mentally kicked himself for being so clever.
Alf replied:
-“You are correct on all counts, Sergeant. We have been looking for a capable individual unknown to the Barons in the North. Most of your service was done in the South. Although people here can conceive you are a soldier, your attitude does not make it obvious you are in fact a Royal Guard veteran officer. I understand you have come very near your well-deserved retirement, but I’m afraid the Crown has no alternative but to request you to postpone it until we are finished with the state emergency at hand. It goes without saying that the Crown will be generous and reward you for your services!”
Norbert’s eyes went cold. For once, Gerhart’s most trusted aide belatedly understood he had made a rare gaffe when the Sergeant stared at him straight in his eyes and talked in a dangerously calm tone:
-“Crown Internal Affairs Chief Alfred de Vigny, know that I do not need a bribe to comprehend where my loyalty and duty lie. In all the years I have served the Crown, His Majesty Gerhart de Beaucastel, King of Beaulieu here present is the first sovereign that we all presently living Royal Guards respect without question. I have fought on the Wall under His Majesty’s direct orders and I resent your last comment.!”
Gerhart contentedly smiled at his subject’s reaction.
-“My personal thanks, Sergeant. Alfred here has chosen the right man in spite of his lack of tact. I’m as responsible as he is, and I offer you my sincere apologies. We are going through trying times and we tend to lose our perspectives!”
The veteran relaxed.
-“No need for apologies, Your Majesty. I feel deeply honoured to be considered for one of your missions. May I ask Your majesty to brief me immediately on my coming task?”
-“Thank you again, Sergeant. We want you to depart a soon as it is practical for you. We shall spread the story that you have been prematurely discharged from the Crown service. You are supposed to have become very disgruntled with the lack of consideration you were entitled to after so many years of faithful service. You have collected whatsoever money you had and set forth to try your chance at trade in the North. A cart, horses and wares for bargaining have been made ready for your use. Your house will still be your property to prove your own business backing. We shall make sure no one uses your absence to lay a claim on it. As soon as you arrive to your destination, work yourself into the good offices of Jehan Desmene, a merchant we banned away from Villefrranche some time ago. The man has been kind enough to openly declare himself as the enemy of the Crown to curry favours from Barons Philippe de la Marche and Beaumont de Montfaucon. We cannot fully substantiate our suspicions that those two are behind the assassination attempt as they went as far as killing some of their own retainers as we already explained. We had already got wind of tales being spread to convince citizens that a coup d’etat is being fomented by our very own courtiers trying to put the discredit on Barons in the North.”
Norbert nodded before asking:
-“You have your own agents in Marche, have you not? When am I supposed to contact them once inside the place?”
Gerhart turned to Alfred who replied as on cue:
-“We already have sent messages to Sylvana, our main agent inside the Castle of Philippe de la Marche where she poses as a house servant of dubious morals. Actually very few people, even in Beaucastel, know she is of noble birth. She is fiercely loyal to the Crown and nothing will hamper her when it comes to serve it! We have other agents, but as a general rule we do not encourage them to socialize with one another. Even so, be assured they will come out at your call if needed. All have been ordered you take precedence as the Crown Envoy. Your first duty will be to ascertain whether the five tax collectors are still alive. We very much doubt it, but in case we are luckily wrong, help them out even at cost of lives. If they are dead, secure their bodies. We shall have a lot of explaining to do to no less than five nations.
—–
No one wants to face the wrath of a dragon. And certainly not two of them at the same time.
Amrel and Umatar had timed their arrival in Beaucastel to almost coincide. Geraldine had reached the Capital first in the company of Matthieu, the adopted son of her dead lover, Geoffroy d’Arcourt and Mareeva, her brother Ekan’s adopted daughter. To the youngsters’ discomfiture she had ordered them at once to meet their tutors for much needed lessons.
Sh-Who-Speaks-To-Dragons had come with an official delegation from the Steppes to enquire about the health of the Beaulieu sovereigns. Although their escape from the assassination attempt had been formally announced, they still played along the rumour that they were confined to their apartments for a slow recovery.
A curt nod from Umatar had sent the Heirs’ Guards and their charges out of the Royal Chamber. The two Tribesmen were only too happy to take the infants for some healthy play outside away from the vaunted Queen of the Steppes.
Gerhart and Marghrete were now confronting the two enraged women whose reptilian eyes seemed to burn across the room.
But they did not cower in abject terror.
The Dragons belatedly discovered they had taught those two humans well.
Gerhart stated between gritted teeth:
-“No, I am not charging out for an instant retribution if that is what you mean to ask me!”
-“But they deserve nothing else!” Amrel almost roared back.
-“And earn the reputation of a bloodthirsty king blinded by anger, however justified he might be! No, Amrel! And by citing your Dragon’s name, I call on your understanding for patience and craftiness! Revenge is a dish to be savoured cold. I will make an everlasting example of those murderers, but in my own fashion and in my own time for allto witness and approve! Let them in the North make the mistake to assume I’m weak and despondent. Their punishment will feel swifter for it!”
Geraldine held back her ire. The human being had a fair point. She would not concede yet.
-!Well, when you are ready, could you be as kind as to notify us?”
-“Amrel, this is a matter for the people and denizens of our lands. All races will be represented at the time of reckoning. Therefore make sure no one sees any of you, and do not interfere!This is not Montjoie when you protected Hildegard against that raving brute!”
Umatar inwardly smiled, feeling her anger ebb away. Her sister was discovering that Gerhart was more intelligent than he would let people know.
-“Sister, desist! Gerhart is right. This man is about to become a true hero. Whether he lives to relate the tale is a moot point!” she sent her thought to Amrel.
-“And if he fails, will you help me sort out the pieces of whatever we will be left with?” the Blue Dragon retorted in mindspeech as she brusquely left the Chamber.
—–
Philippe de la Marche was, for the least, in a foul mood.
Life has certainly been miserable since the morning he had been discovered in the company of his drinking companions their pants down sitting in their own mess. For once, the three of them had found no way out of a good scrub in a tub full of hot water and suds. It had cost the Baron a fortune and a nasty cold to boot, notwithstanding an already tarnished reputation gone to shreds.
Sylvana had a hard time to keep a straight face while she was serving them. That sorry misadventure had not convinced them to mend their ways apparently. She had hoped their hand would have left her alone, but the conspicuous absence of their disgusted spouses meant more time spent in their company and whatever it entailed.
She was reflecting that after all those days of wining she might as well as try and goad them into some action away from the Marche Castle, when a messenger approached Philippe. The irate noble snatched the missive from his retainer’s hand, and summarily dismissing him without a word of thanks or recognition, opened it to read the contents. It took him a while as his education had only included enough to read succinct military or political messages. His wife, who composed lays and music in her spare time never missed an occasion to nag him on his ignorance.
A grin of contentment appeared on his face for the first time since that fateful morning when his image had taken a final turn for the worst.
He handed the missive to Beaumont de Montfaucon merchant banished from Villefranche.
So that renegade is included in state affairs, Sylvana pondered. We shall see how far we can make use of him as well. Cognizant as she was of the message which only included misinformation planted by Alf’s agents, she waited for her prey’s comments.
Philippe was warming up to the news.
-“Well, it seems that the second part of our plan worked to perfection! Gerhart and his whore are still alive, but only barely. We shall have our hands free for a long time to be!”
-“Especially in the light he has lost a good half of his followers and that no one is left to blab since they were stupid enough to kill our whole delegation. Thinking of it, we could make use of that little detail if he ever survives!” added Beaumont. “We should have no difficulty to make our good subjects believe it was nothing but some kind of Palace revolution caused by his silly reforms that spilled into a case of mass slaughter!”
Jehan Desmene chose the moment to contribute his own comments.
-“I wonder why we haven’t seen these celebrated Royal Guards yet? They don’t seem so full of themselves once away from Beaucastel and Villefranche, now do they?”
-“It just shows that all those stories about a place called the Wall and whatever grand fights they had for the so-called protection of our nations were completely blown out of proportion!” Beaumont approved.
-“I bet you Gerhart and his Guards will be too worried for a long time to be to venture away from their bases!” Philippe said. “It is about time we thought about our own businesses, do you think not? Since the Dunlago Marble is no longer an option, it might be a good idea to search for other merchants that King in the South has been victimizing like Jehan here! Let’s show everyone we can build our own network without having to go along with that silly system of common measures, currency, and what else!”
—–
For once, Norbert de Chalon was actually enjoying traveling through the lands north of Beaucastel for the first time in spite of his long service for the Crown. Leisurely moving along on a cart certainly proved more pleasurable than riding a warhorse in patrol gear. He had crossed the Quatrain River between Nevers and Entrecasteaux where bridges stood in number to allow trade between the rich farmlands along both banks. This was still country loyal to Beaucastel. But he would soon reach the Marche Baronage north of Entrecasteaux. The warmer climate there helped vineyards thrive and yield heady wines Dunlago traders regularly came to purchase in large quatities. Further north Montfaucon also harvested rich crops from its orchards and was renown for its dry fruit that the same traders would also buy or barter for spices.
Products from Marche and Montfaucon would also find their way to the neighbouring lands of Tarse, Montauban and Nevers where large herds of cattle, horses and sheep contributed to large amounts of cured meats and high quality leather in particular. In fact, the whole nation of Beaulieu was a rich land replete with food and natural resources. Famines or food shortages were unheard of. All this wealth should have ensured a peaceful life had it not been for the greed nurtured by the laziness of some nobles who had failed to realize that it was the fruit of hard labour and efficient management. This attitude had further encouraged petty theft and even crime, not only among people who preferred to dwell in cities, but also between various landlords. The Royal Guards had been hard put to somewhat control the situation down to a manageable level until Gerhart had initiated reforms under Amrel’s guidance. The single theft or desecration of the smallest plot of land could degenerate into unending feuds. Therefore until all lands and rulers had accepted and enforced common laws decreed in Beaucastel, there was always a real danger of bitter conflicts, not only between Baronages and other provinces, but also between individuals which wreck the peace already bought dearly in Montjoie and Montreduc.

Half a moon later, he finally reached the border between Entrecasteaux and Marche. He had never heard of such a tangible division on Royal Guard duty, but what faced him ahead as the road curved around another low hill left him in no doubt. The way had been effectively blocked by some kind of garrison with men-at-arms standing across his path. The landscape in that particular area was a succession of hills with vineyards planted opposite forested sloped as far as the eye could see. Only a few roads snaked their way among them making the whole land effectively easy to control or block at need. He suspected that all the routes were similarly interfered with when he found more unfortunate travelers waiting in single line, apparently waiting for their turn to be allowed through.
Judging from what he could hear things were not going smoothly. He patiently bid his time, his soldier’s eyes and ears memorizing every detail.
His turn finally came. The two men-at-arms barring the way with their crossed lances did not impress him much. They looked little better than rabble armed for the occasion. He reined his horses in.
What might have been considered as a ranked soldier appeared from behind the lancers followed by some kind of clerk carrying quill and parchment.
The official almost barked at him:
-“State your name and business!”
Norbert exhaled a slow breath. Losing his temper here would not do. From the smell assailing his nostrils he quickly deducted that this excuse for an officer standing in front of him was not averse to enjoying his wine on duty and probably was using the drink to wash his teeth as well. Had he not been wiser he would have advised the cur to use wine to clean the whole body as well.
He equably answered:
-“Norbert de Chalon. I’m a trader.”
The man looked at him and his equipage.
-“One trader, one cart full of what I don’t know, two horses. This will be one Marche silver or two Beaulieu silvers for passage toll!”
Norbert almost exploded:
-“Since when has toll been imposed for passage between two states of the Kingdom?”
The officer shouted back:
-“Why do I have to explain everyone the same and the same all over again? Do you think we can provide protection and service to men like you for free?”
The Royal Guard very much doubted he would benefit from any service worthy of its name from such soldiery, but he continued playing his part. He could always use the occasion to gather useful information.
He grumbled:
-“Service I understand, but protection? Protection from what?”
The officer looked at him complacently, his hands in his belt.
-“Apparently you haven’t heard about the troubles south! What with a King letting delegations from our lands get assassinated in all impunity?”
The man was obviously repeating rehearsed speech. He could not believe that the idiot would have been able to proffer such a lecture at a pinch. The Baron of Marche was killing two birds with the same stone through that propaganda: controlling his borders and making money out of it. And a significant amount of it considering the discrepancy between the two currencies.
-“I see, officer. But I do not comprehend why I should pay two Beaulieu silvers for one Marche silver, which evidently I do not possess since since they are accepted as tender south of your borders!”
The officer went on reciting a well-learnt lesson:
-“And what about the loss incurred for exchange duties?”
This was a straight-face lie as all currencies were replaced with the Beaulieu mint weight for weight as long as the quality was the same. The argument reminded him of the appearance of fake Beaulieu silvers mentioned on Alf’s written information that he had all leisure to read along the road. Counterfeiting money with a cast forged from a genuine coin should be pretty easy in Philippe de la Marche’s minting workshops, but the quality would have to be reduced significantly to make it a profitable business. Tolls were a simple enough method to collect bullion of the best quality for melting and re-minting.
Norbert played the offended trader:
-“But that is tantamount to theft! I have never heard of two to one rate in my whole life!”
The officer mocked him through a nasty grin missing a couple of teeth:
-“Well, you haven’t much of a choice, have you? Either you turn around and try another toll to pay your way through, or you cough your money here right now! If you really want me to do my duty, I will have all of your goods unloaded and checked for taxes! I’m sure you will understand the exchange rate is a bargain!”
Norbert had a long look at the soldier and the clerk. He cared little about the rigmarole, but Gerhart had instructed him to play the part until the masks would fall regardless of humiliation and justified anger.
He deliberately pulled the string of his belt purse open, slowly drew out two silver coins and dropped them inside the open hand proffered by the clerk. He had to repeat and spell his name before the civil servant could write it properly on his parchment. He very much doubted the Baron would read it before tallying the ill-earned money. Phillippe de la Marche knew very well that his wines would still provide for much profit to traders regardless of this sudden toll. But, by the same token he was violating a Royal law prohibiting such unfair practice taking back the land into feuding times when outright civil war was rife in the whole Realm.
Norbert was let through without any further hassle. However, he reflected that might prove piddle compared to what he might face in the fortified city of Marche where the currency delegation were held prisoners.

For the last two days the Royal Guard had traveled at an easy pace through Marche’s hilly country. Not longer after he had left the passage toll behind, he had sensed a growing uneasiness seeping into his bones.
The land showed all the marks of natural wealth: unending vineyards covered sun-baked slopes, alternating with rich forests, which surely must be replete with game and food notwithstanding the many kinds of trees providing for great timber. On the other hand, roads and thoroughfares could have been better cared for. The services provided by the toll money apparently did not include improving traffic through the land in spite of great trade possibilities. He could understand, if not admit, the lack of decent routes that would necessitate a sizeable amount of silver and labour . But what struck as inappropriate was the general attitude demonstrated by the local landowners and farmers. Everywhere he went he met with hostile glares. People did not answer his queries or greetings. He had made a point to ask for permission to camp along the roads near rivers, but every time peasants and their families had almost fled from him in mute anger.
He was ruminating on these matters when his sharp soldier’s reflexes took over. He was followed.
He halted his cart around the next bend where it would stand concealed by the wooded slope until the very moment whoever tailed him had to appear on this side of the hill. He unlit and untied the horses before drawing them into the shade.
He could not afford to carry any weapons apart of the knife necessary for daily chores, but he was certainly not unprepared. He unfastened a long wooden pole from the side of the cart and hid crouched behind the trees along the road. Whoever was after him did not ride a horse, or he would have heard from a long distance away. The prowler, or prowlers, would have to come on foot, and probably running at that after losing sight of their prey the moment the road had turned at the next bend.
He did not have to wait long.
Two bedraggled youngsters materialized around the bend. They stopped in their tracks as they discovered the unhorsed cart apparently abandoned in the middle of the road.
-“Where has the old man gone?” the first one painfully said panting, a hand holding his side.
Still a youth, his lanky body had overgrown his tattered clothes. His companion, a head shorter if not any older, did not look much better. Neither of them seemed to have enjoyed a proper meal for a very long time. What was left of their garments and persons had not been scrubbed for ages. Norbert suspected that apart of the occasional rain or rare dip in a river the two youths were utterly ignorant of such elevated concerns as hygiene or health.
-“I can’t see the horses, either. Is that merchant stupid enough to leave his belongings unguarded?” asked the shorter one.
-“Well, I don’t care where the old fool went, there must be food inside that cart and I’m starving!”
Without any more ado the two hurried to Norbert’s chariot, not noticing the two horses pitched nearby.
The Sergeant had kept still all the time, blending with the copse of trees he was hiding in.
The prowlers were no real bandits as he had feared first. The kids did not look older than fifteen years of age. Why had they become vagrants when they should have been helping in the fields and farms?
He would have to ask those questions later. If he did not quickly interfere, the would-be thieves would make a mess of his cargo.
The two lads had just turned their backs to him.
He took the opportunity to step out of the trees.
-“Care I help you?” a rough voice queried from behind the youths.
The two jumped in alarm and whirled around to face the man they had made the mistake to ignore.
A grizzled merchant leaning on a long pole was facing them.
Then they made their second mistake.
-“Old man, get away from us, will you?” shouted the tall youth. “We don’t want to hurt you! We just want some of that food you must be carrying!”
-“Why don’t you ask me politely, then?” Norbert retorted in a low voice.
-“Listen, we don’t want to hurt you. Just keep clear!” the increasingly nervous youth shouted back.
The two youths never had the intention to cause him any harm, it seemed. They were only desperately hungry.
But Norbert’s soldier ethics impelled him to teach them a lesson.
-“I’m afraid you will have to earn that food. Either you ask me politely, or you fight for it!” he egged his young adversary of the moment on.
The lad fell for it and tried to rush the Royal Guard.
He was no match to the soldier’s skills and long fighting experience.
The pole twirled in his hands in a blur and hit the boy’ knees with a loud whack. The would-be attacker screamed in pain as he fell down holding his legs. A single turn of the wrist brought the innocuous weapon across his pate where it landed with a crack. The boy collapsed into an unconscious heap.
His shorter companion who had rushed to his help did not last long either as he received the same quick treatment.
The two only came back to their senses when a pail of water splashed over them.
-“Now, are we ready to show some good sense?”
The two boys were too groggy to speak. They just nodded I agreement.
-“Good. Next if you answer some questions I’ll give you food and I’ll consider the incident closed! Do you hear me well?”
The youngsters nodded again.
Norbert waited a while for the vagrants to fully recover. He felt real pity for them but certainly would not show it. After all, he could turn this little incident to his advantage.
Judging the boys were fit to answer him he began:
-“You probably have figured out I’m not of this land, but I don’t understand why young lads like you are not busy working on your farms! First of all, what are your names?”
-“Fromont”, replied the lanky boy.
-“Tiercin”, answered the short one.
-“That’s all? Fromoont and Tiercin? Don’t you have any family name?”
-“We are not allowed to carry one.”
He found that strange as everyone south of Marche River, nobleman or farmer had a surname.
-“Why is that?”
-“Only Baron de la Marche and his court may have a title or surname.”
Norbert doubted very much this was a traditional or local rule as that should have been known by Alfred de Vigny and his agents.
-“And why are you not working on the farms?”
-“We’ve been kicked out after our parents were put in jail!”
-“Why were they thrown into prison?”
-“Because they couldn’t pay the Baron’s taxes!
Since when did farmers have to pay taxes to Barons? The common law was clear enough about that. While nobles owned lands, they usually hired and paid farmers, not exacting dues on them.
Had the lords of the land fallen so low as to reinstating serfdom, which would have the rest of the Realm up in arms?
He had heard enough for the moment.
He left his pole against the cart and rummaged inside his luggage.
He came up with a loaf of bread. He broke it in two and handed each half to each of the youngsters who first backed away in shock from the proffered food.
-“I’m not going to hit you any more, so eat! And eat slowly or you’ll get sick! And drink as well!”, he added, handing them a skin of wine.
They did not need any more encouragement. Only the stern eyes fixed on them prevented the lads to wolf down the lot.
Norbert took pity of them again. But his practical mind had seen all the time the opportunity to be taken.
-“If I understand well you have nowhere to go, then?”
The two assented in unison.
-“No relatives?”
He obtained the same reaction.
-“Well, ambushing merchants on the road, especially considering how good you are at it, will lead you nowhere but to jail or even worse. So here’s the plan: you work for me. I’ll feed and clothe you. Once I start business up in Marche City I’ll pay you wages. But you will have to earn your living. Until we reach the Baron’s Capital, you will have to look after the cart and horses, lay and lift camp and what else. When I set shop in town you will run my errands. But first of all, as soon as we reach the next river, you dive into it and won’t come out of it until I’m satisfied you are clean. I’ll show you how to make clothing out of linen and leather I carry with me. Ah, and one more thing: you will begin drills from tomorrow morning!”
-“Drills? But you are a merchant!” exclaimed Fromont.
Tiercin elbowed him in his side.
-“Fromont, shut up. After that beating, do you still this is a merchant we are talking to?”
Norbert chuckled.
-“At least, for all your clumsiness, you are not stupid. I’m a merchant now, but I wasn’t sop long ago. Believe me, if you go along with me, I expect you to fend for yourselves like men when I’m not around to coddle you! Now, is it a deal?”
They half nodded in agreement.
“Stand up and make yourselves clear!” Norbert barked at them
The two lads jumped onto their feet and cried in unison:
-“Yes, sir!”
-“That’s better! And now, get some wood for tonight’s fire! There’s little point traveling any further for today!”
The two boys hesitated.
-“On the double!” barked the former Royal Guard.
His new charges reacted faster this time and ran into the woods.
Back in the army, Norbert pondered. Oh well, this was one thing he was good at, marshalling people. He wondered about his merchant’s skills, though.

—–

It had been a long day again. Alfred de Vigny was perusing the last reports from various parts of the land.
Sylvana had confirmed that Norbert was about to reach The Marche Baronage Capital. Montjoie and Montreduc were slowly resuming normal life erasing the last scars left by the Hammer of Fate fanatics. He and Gerhart would have to consult the Estrees brothers about the possibility of lifting martial law earlier than planned. Valmoray would take longer unfortunately. The Golden Dragon Squad and the Grey Legion were discreetly posting themselves within easy distance of Marche and Montfaucon. More false coins had appeared, all seemingly originating from the same mint. Arnaud de Betancourt would soon have to help them write and promulgate an edict making the possession or use of such falsified currency a crime, otherwise all those refunds would quickly deplete the Treasury.
A knock on the door broke into his ruminations.
It could not be Hildegard, his secretary, bodyguard and lover. She never bothered with niceties and just barged in whenever she needed to meet him.
He suddenly felt a premonition of imminent trouble.
-“Come in!” he almost shouted in exasperation.
King Gerhart entered closely followed by Geraldine de Blanchefleur.
He conducted talks with the Sovereign of Beaulieu on an almost daily basis, but the visit of the most feared woman in the Realm was definitely out of the ordinary. He could see on the very serious face of the King that he was not about to retire to his quarters early that evening.
Gerhart raised a hand when he made to stand up. His two visitors dragged a chair to seat themselves in front of his desk. Their informal approach did not fool him a bit, And his desk was no protection at all, either.
-“Sorry to keep you late,” Gerhart began, “but a major concern has araisen, if I may use such a corny expression.”
The chief-spy patiently waited for the rest to come. It was not Gerhart’s habit to beat around the bush. And why the heck was Geraldine attending this meeting?
-“A ship from the South has been intercepted off Villefranche a couple of days ago.” The King continued. “Actually “intercepted” might be the wrong word as they flew a white flag of truce!”
Alf could not contain himself.
-“Why the hell wasn’t I informed!” he erupted, jumping on his feet.
Gerhart raised both hands as if to ward off his chief-spy’s righteous ire.
-“Please, let me explain, will you? After that, you can scream at me as much as you like!”
Alf sat back reluctantly.
-“The ship was found by two of our patrol boats, that is one from Beaulieu and one from Dunlago as they patrol the seas in pairs as a rule. They managed through gestures and signs to communicate with the men aboard that strange vessel. And when I say “strange”, it is an understatement. Both captains were sensible enough not to bring that alien ship into full view of our citizens and accompanied it to a hidden cove south of Villefranche near the Fire Mountains. The message relating their encounter and consequent actions just reached me by sealed Royal Mail. They did very well by keeping the whole affair in complete secrecy, otherwise you can imagine the reaction of some of our hot-headed citizens!”
It took Alf some time to digest the news. His mind was furiously working.
-“Alright. I agree they did the proper thing when they went through Royal channels only. Now, you said they communicated through gestures and signs, meaning their language is too different from ours to engage into formal parley.”
He added, suddenly suspicious:
-“And does that explain why Geraldine de Blanchefleur is here with us?”
He turned to face the Blue Dragon.
-“And am I right to suppose you also have the hidden talent to understand all languages?” he proffered with badly concealed asperity.
Amrel responded in a dangerously quiet tone:
-“I actually do, but I will not act as an interpreter. We already have one!”
The Blue Dragon secretly enjoyed the sight of a nonplussed Alf struggling with words.
-“What, what,…!” he started.
But for all his diminutive height, the Beaulieu Minister of Internal Affairs had a stouter heart than most.
He quickly regained a guarded calm.
-“Alright, alright!” he started, thinking that nothing was actually right. “Let me start over again. I have always suspected that Geraldine here is not what she seems to be. And unless I expressly ask for it, nobody is going to tell me. And I do not want to know it, either! Especially considering she is not the only one! Now, who is the individual capable of ensuring we precisely come to know our sudden visitors’ intentions, and this in the best possible confidentiality?”
The last was an evident jibe at the powers-that-be who repeatedly proved themselves out of his reach.
Amrel settled back into her chair.
-“This is a long story. Gerhart did not know anything until today. I’m happy to repeat the whole of it, but promise me you will not interrupt me until I’m finished!”
Alf contented himself with a slight nod.
-“Fine, but hold yourself tight. You know my assistant at our hospital, Robert de Glacis?”
Alf had a rough time not to jump again at the new revelation.
Amrel’s tight smile expressed recognition to placate him.
-“Yes, Robert de Glacis is not what he seems at all. She-Who-Talks-To-Dragons first met him in the Steppes. He had come to her of his own volition to become her apprentice as he had heard of her as a great healer as he rode across the land. She found out later when an invasion from the South was thwarted on the West Coast that he originally came from beyond the Fire Mountains, from Andragon Realm to be more precise, why and how he intruded into Alymndes. The Andragon King and his minions had taken his whole family hostage in exchange for an impossible mission to collect information north of the fire Mountains range. Bear in mind that this occurred long before the Battle of the Wall when our defenses along the uninhabited Western Shores were inexistent. As he voyaged alone on a small sailboat, none witnessed his arrival. He had brought enough to barter his way across the Steppes. His healing skills earned him the respect and hospitality of the tribesmen who believed his story of an errant shaman from the east learning his trade in their lands. Robert, that is not his real name, has a gift for languages and mastered our common tongue quickly enough to dissipate any suspicions that casual meetings might entertain. He and She-Who-Speaks-To-Dragons happened to be there when the invasion from the South and the ensuing battle occurred. The leader of the raiding army was known to him. She-Who-Speaks-To-Dragons discovered his true identity when Robert tried to get news of his family back in Andragon from the dying Commander who barely had the time to reveal that his whole family had been executed shortly after his departure.”
She paused waiting for Alf to register the information.