Blood, B & B A

       

       

       

      BLOOD, BLIGHT AND BALLISTICS

      Ayer Town 3057.7.18

      In an upstairs room of The Dog’s Last Breath, a public house now completely emptied of the public by all the screaming, swearing and roaring of the past couple of hours, Tregar, inadequately wrapped in an under-sized bath robe, was propped up against a bolster in a decent bed, sniffing suspiciously at a pungent pot of a thick black liquid he did not recognize.
                 “What a reek!” he said, “And I have to drink this?”
                       “Yes you do,” Seama insisted, “I’m told it’s very good for these situations. They’ve been using it in Garassa for quite a while now.”
                 Tregar was not impressed. “They’re strange people in Garassa.”
               “That may well be, but given they’ve taken to drinking gin like it’s some sort of profession, maybe they have some idea of what they’re talking about.”
                 Tregar shrugged.  He was not really up to arguing. “Aye well, mebbee,” he said. “Here goes then. Slante!”
                   He tipped the pot and took a quick sup, and spat it out again in the same second.
                 “Great Spurl’s Tits! That’s bloody hot!”
               Seama laughed.  “They say it’s no good unless it’s hot as a furnace. You’re supposed to blow on it and take a sip at a time.”
                 “Thanks for letting on.”
               A more cautious approach yielded better results and after only a few of the recommended sips Tregar eased himself back against the bolster rather pleased with this new discovery.
                 “Ye know,” he admitted, “It’s not so bad. I could get used to that.  What d’ye call it?”
                 “Rahi – they ship it into Garassa from Sulle’ Sullinor. Aldo tells me his merchant picks it up in the Stralli Market every six months or so.  Astoril’s gone mad for it apparently. It’s making good business for Aegarde.”
                 Tregar chinned the air. “It’s a damn pity Aegarde can’t just stick to business then, instead of all this nonsense Athoff’s been getting up to. Have ye spoken to Mador about it yet?”
                 “We’ve had a few words but no not really. He told me you had a disagreement...”
                 “Aye, that’s one way of putting it! More like a fight. Right there in front of the whole Privy Council. It is just possible I went a little too far – I think I called him dim-witted. Somethin’ like that. But he was just as bad, ye’know. You should have seen him, Seama, prancing about the room like a lunatic, ranting on about invasions and tactics and what have ye. I was seriously beginning to think he was losing his marbles. Talk about wrong-headed. He just kept going on and on about his “duty to the nation” and how Jaspar’d have to look out for himself.”
                 “He must have had his reasons.”
               “There was not a scrap of reason involved in it, Seama. Look, you don’t go invading another country when you’re under attack at home. That’s what I told him. Mebbee I should have tried harder, tried to calm things down but, and I don’t know why, it all just came out yelling and swearing.” Tregar took another sip at his Rahi, trying to think back to the origins of the argument, feeling sure he was missing something important. “It was odd ye know. I’d seen him earlier, up in his snug.  He was upset of course, who wouldn’t be, but honestly there wasn’t any shouting or anything like it. He was just thinking things through, weighing up the risks, making plans – the way he usually is. I was sure he’d settled on sending the armies north. What changed his mind I don’t know. It was like it was the argument itself, if that makes any sort of sense. I don’t know, Seama, it’s all madness. Let’s face it, straight as a skooger what he should be doing. He just seemed to take against me saying so. Did he tell ye about Sands?”
                 “He said only they’d disappeared. What’s happened?”
                 Tregar shook his head. “Good question, Seama. If only we knew. There were reports, about three weeks past, from up Norberry way – just about as far from the capital as could be...”
                 “I’m pretty good at geography, Tregar.”
                 “Aye well, but it’s worth bearing in mind it takes a good few days to get messages through. We should be thinkin’ of extending the Fast Post further into the North, though just now most of the riders are still caught up running the road to Aristeth and back. But we could train a few more. They’re not that expensive. Getting the ponies now, that might be a bit diff...”
                 “And the news from the North, however late?”
                       Tregar couldn’t help chuckling. “Always gets t’ye, doesn’t it.”
                 “Always. It’s maddening when people don’t stick to the point.”
               “Right then, let’s see if I can do a little better. The news from the North was confused: raiders, an army, trouble-makers. Vague as that. Villages set to fire; refugees heading anyway they could. The stories came in not long after Mador got to hear about this trouble in Aegarde: these sorcerers and cuthroats or whatever. He’d already sent Anparas and Temor over to Salthall barracks just in case Sirl... er... how shall I put it? Just in case he needed some help. So, them gone, all Mador had left at Ayer were Sands and the King’s Guard. Didn’t have much of an option.
               “More reports were coming in all the time, panicky now, odd stories about outlanders scaring people from their homes...”
                       “Outlanders?”
                 “That was one of the words used, no real explanation. You got the impression the tale was getting worse by the telling. ‘The White Men’, that was another name, though given for some or all wasn’t that clear. Well I guess it ‘minded Mador of this Black Company. What if there was another gang Norberry way up to the same sort of shenanigans? And if they were connected, would that mean the Aergardeans were involved? What if Athoff was attacking on two fronts? Sands was sent to find out – the full army, nearly eleven hundred all told.”
                 “A robust response. And Xandra with them?”
                 “Sands is nominally her House...”
                       “And, of course, Xandra, being Xandra, was tired of kicking her heels here in Ayer when everyone else was out having fun.”
                 “Aye well. Actually she’s been getting worse recently. Mador wouldn’t let her go east back in March – didn’t want the Masachees given a fresh target – she was hopping mad then and she’s been trouble ever since.”
                 “So they went. What happened when they got there?”
                 “They went by Segeston and Gull Lake and through the Skelldane. Not much sign of trouble in the south of the Part but by the time they’d crossed the Oswynne they started to run across some of these emptied villages. No sign of war – the folk had just gone and left their lives behind them. According to Jaspar’s reports the problem seemed worse the further east you went. But it’s a big area we’re talking about. There was no point in having the army traipsing back and forth till they found something, so Jaspar turned round and headed for Greteth. He made a base at the castle and sent out scouting parties instead.”
                 “Very sensible.  Sound man Jaspar.”
                 “Well, you’ll not get everyone at court to agree with that. Some think he’s lacking experience. And they may be right, but he’s intelligent enough and his judgement is usually up to the mark.”
                       “We’re wandering again. What next?”
                 “Nothing. Jaspar’d been sending out dispatches daily but we’ve had nothing at all after that one report from Greteth. We gave it four days and then Mador had some fast riders diverted from Aristeth. None o’ them came back. It’s a bad business, Seama. Course, we don’t actually know anything but King’s messengers don’t go astray by accident. I have a very bad feeling about it. What if Sands has found more trouble than he could handle?” 
                       “A bit fanciful, Tregar. He has a whole army with him. What do you think is up there?”
                 “Ach! You’re right, daft idea. I don’t know. What I do know is Mador should get his head back together and send reinforcements. He needs to find out just what is going on up there and forget all this Gothery nonsense.”
                 “Completely agree with you. We ought to go to Mador and tell him just that. I did ask Aldo to bring you some food but if you can drink up quick I think we ought to be moving right away.”
                 Tregar nodded an “aye” and willingly gave his attention to the rahi. Seama sat in a chair and pondered upon the situation. He didn’t like any of it. Not this trouble in the North, not the ongoing problems with Masachea in the East, and most certainly not Athoff’s warmongering in the West. Each new event made him more convinced there was some hideous plan at work underpinning the whole sorry mess. And if that was the case then he wondered what he should do about it. Like Mador, he was worried he might make a bad decision and head off in the wrong direction entirely. Where was the heart of it all? Who was at the bottom of it? Could he do anything more than fight the fire directly before him? He certainly couldn’t ignore it.
                 “Seama? What are you thinking?”
               “What I’m thinking, Tregar, is that it’s about time we were doing something positive. We need to see Mador and get this all sorted, that’s clear – make sure he has his priorities straight, make sure he sends the troops where they’re needed. But there are enemies everywhere you look and they all need facing. First and foremost we need to counter this attack on the castle.”
                 Tregar looked a little muddled but he took another sup at his drink to give himself time to get it all in order. “Aye. Right enough. All a matter of priorities, as ye say.” He was clearly reviewing the options. “This trouble in the North surely needs sorting. We must get Anparas and Temor deployed, quick as we can. Two whole armies ought to do the trick and then ...” He looked up from his mug in some puzzlement.  “Whit did you say just? About the castle. Which castle?”
                 “Castle Ayer, Tregar. It is under attack, right now, and we - that is you and me - we need to do something before the whole place collapses.”
                 Tregar was no longer in the bed but fighting his way out of the bath robe. The rahi was decorating the wallpaper.
                 “Spurl’s tits, Seama, whit are we doing jawing here if Ayer’s under attack?”
                 “Well, sobering you up, actually.”
                 Tregar gave him a fierce look. “You mean, I’ve been sitting in this stupid place drinking myself into oblivion and all the while...” A revelation hit him. “What sort of attack? You’re talking about a spell of some sort?”
                 Seama nodded.
                 “Aye well. Just let me get these revolting clothes back on and ye can tell me about it as we go.” He paused in his struggles, a rueful look coming over his rugged features, “Mador is expecting me back, I take it?”
                       “Yes, in The Presence, soon as can be.”
                 His face lightened in relief. “Well that’s alright then. Good, good. Presence eh? Right then, if he wants us there quick, let’s go for his Back Passage.”

      Aldo Rodber picked up the tray, wondering briefly whether bread and cheese would do the trick, or perhaps he should do a fried egg to go with it, and maybe some bacon, but then decided he couldn’t be bothered. Tregar always had to take things too far. Fair enough it was nearly three years since the last one but this time was surely the worst. He’d been totally out of control. What it had done for The Dog’s reputation he didn’t like to think. Tregar was just lucky Aldo hadn’t given up on him and called the constables to turf him out. No, after all the support he’d had already, and the credit he’d squandered, Tregar’d just have to make do with what he got. And he was getting no more either until he’d had the decency to apologise and had damn well paid his bills. Thank the gods that Seama person had come along.
                 He pushed open the kitchen door and stepped through into the corridor, still musing, only to be bowled over in an instant by his erstwhile and continuing tormentor, reckless in progress, followed a little more cautiously by his supposed saviour.
                 “Sorry Aldo, didn’t see you there,” Seama threw over his shoulder as they charged off towards the cellars.
                 Aldo shook his head wearily. He stooped to pick up the bread and cheese but then, suddenly realizing what was happening, dropped it once more and ran after them yelling:
                 “You can’t Tregar. You can’t. It’s all locked up!”
                 Tregar was waiting for him at the bottom of the cellar steps and grabbed him by an arm rather than his throat, for which he was thankful if surprised. Tregar was clearly showing restraint.
                 “What d’ye mean?” he growled. “Why’s it locked?”
                 Aldo half regretted following after them. He pointed at the grille gate to their left. Sure enough the bolt from the mortise lock was shot “Be... Been locked up since the last time you used it,” he explained nervously.
                 “Well, bring me the key then.”
                       “Mador said I wasn’t to let you...”
                 “I don’t care whit Mador said. We need to get up to the castle. You need to bring me the bloody key. Right now!”
                       Aldo squirmed out of Tregar’s grip and backed away. “Honest, Tregar, I just can’t. Said he’d take my licence if I let you through again – so I ... er ...”
                 “So you ... er... what?”
                 “I gave the key to Arianna Foxton.”
                 Tregar slapped the heel of his fist against the wall in frustration. Aldo had moved away at the right time. “So the little bloody butler’s got it. Just bloody fine!” Aldo carefully sidled around to put Seama between them. The court wizard eyed him angrily. “Ye’re useless, ye know that, don’t ye,” There was still an edge of menace in his tone, but then, as abruptly as a candle snuffed out, the fire of Tregar’s anger was extinguished and he relented. “Ah whit’s the use!” Knowing he was defeated and there was nothing anyone could do about it, Tregar seemed to relax a little, resigned no doubt to the inevitable slow cart up the hill by way of the main road. “Looks like it’s going to be the long way round, then.”
                 Aldo, relieved to be let off the hook, grimaced sympathetically. “Sorry,” he said, “but it was the King’s orders.”
                 Seama, assessing the gate that was causing the trouble, glanced back at his colleague. “Sounds like you annoyed him, somehow,” he observed.
                 “Aye well, I wiz a little bit drunk I suppose.”
                 “A little bit?” Aldo almost laughed. “We heard you scared the kitchen maids half to death.”
                 “Aye, that’s whit they said, anyway. Hardly my fault they’d startet using the room for stores though.”
                 Aldo shrugged noncommittally but Tregar chose to ignore him. Instead, he looked over Seama’s shoulder.
                 “What d’ye think?”
                 “I think it’s a pity my friend Terrance isn’t with us – he’s good with locks. But perhaps a little brute force might just do the trick. Just the one bolt after all.”
                 Seama unsheathed his sword.
                 Aldo gasped. “Where did that come from – I didn’t see it before.”
                 The wizard smiled. “You weren’t supposed to. A small charm stops you looking at the scabbard. Anyway, let’s see what we can do.”
                 Seama slid the tip of his sword into the gap between the grille door and the iron frame that retained it, pressing up against the bolt as if he thought the bolt was made of tallow and he could slice right through it. And then he sliced right through it.
                 Aldo was utterly amazed and bent in close to see.
                 “Careful!” Seama cautioned. He reached for a broom and used it to pull open the gate. The part that touched the gate charred black in an instant and began to smoulder. “It’ll be hot for a good half hour. Best not touch any part of it.”
                 Aldo nodded vigorously, slightly annoyed Seama had blackened his broom but grateful for the warning “Tell you what,” he said, “If you make sure to tell Mador I tried my best to stop you, I’ll go up and get you some decent lanterns.”
                 As Aldo climbed the steps back up to the kitchen he heard Tregar say with no small degree of wonder in his voice: “How did you do that, Seama? I’ve never seen the like.”
                 Obviously not all wizards were the same and did not have the same abilities. All of them, however, were at the least intimidating and at worst downright impossible. Mador might well get annoyed Aldo had offered the pair any help at all, but frankly anything hastening their departure even by a minute was fine by him.

 

 

Wilf Kelleher Jones
wkj fantasy
A Song of Ages

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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