Oath of Fealty (52 page)

“I’m sure any of our smiths would be pleased to work with you,” the Councilor said.

“And if we have metal to sell, or need their assistance, I will certainly come here and not somewhere else,” Arcolin said, answering the unspoken intent.

Burek rode into the Merchants’ Guild court. “There you are, sir! I’m sorry to intrude, but I need your authorization—”

“If you’ll excuse me—” Arcolin bowed to the Councilor, who nodded.

“Stammel said you’d need me,” Burek said. “But I do have something for you. A packet all the way from the north.” He pulled out a leather purse and handed it over.

Arcolin untied the cord that held it closed, broke the seal and unfolded it. Inside was Kieri Phelan’s familiar handwriting. Arcolin scanned the first paragraphs, realized the letter was so densely packed with information he could not absorb it hurriedly. He glanced at the Councilors, who were obviously watching for something they could interpret, folded the letter back into its leather case, and nodded to Burek.

“You did right to bring me this. I will deal with it later; the immediate need is to secure our share of the goods seized. We have four pack mules; we will need a couple of carts just for the rest of the day.”

“Right away, sir,” Burek said. He looked at the mules, still harnessed to the wagons. “Which mules are ours?”

“The team hitched to the second wagon,” Arcolin said. He had noticed that this team worked better together than the other and seemed less skittish. They were not matched in color—two were dark, one an odd pale cream color, and the last a flea-bitten gray—but their stride length was the same. The other team, matched seal browns, were not as efficient. To the Councilors, he said, “Those four—all right?” They nodded.

Burek turned to his escort. “Those mules—we’ll be taking them.”

“But not the harness,” the Councilor said. “The animals only.”

“All accouterments attached to their bodies,” Arcolin said. “That includes harness.”

“Sir! You—” began one Councilor.

Arcolin shook his head and the man stopped. “Be glad I don’t consider the wagons accouterments attached to their bodies. The clause was written for just this situation: an animal without its saddle or harness is merely another expense.”

The senior Councilor gave a harsh bark of laughter. “He has us
there—I was thinking it meant halter and lead, but the way it’s written, he’s right.”

“Go ahead,” Arcolin said to the men who had paused, watching this exchange.

“Very good sir.” The men began unhitching the mules.

“I’ll go find us carts,” Burek said.

“The far end of the market,” Arcolin said, pointing. “When I was here before, I saw a row of carters down there.”

“We use our own mules?”

“Yes. Pay the full rate, but explain we want to try out new teams. And if you find a couple of extra pack saddles at a good price, pick those up too.”

In the time it took Burek to return with word that he’d arranged carts and pack saddles, the Guildmaster had called upon two other Guild merchants to form a jury to pass judgment on the guilty merchant. They had agreed with the Guildmaster—Arcolin wondered if they ever disagreed—that the merchant had broken the code in more than one way, and deserved to be stripped of his membership. They brought out a fat book—a list of Guild members—and literally cut his name out, with a small sharp knife. Then they ripped the badge off his robe.

“Your name will be removed from every list in every Guild League city,” the Guildmaster said. “The penalty for falsely claiming Guild membership is public whipping and a brand. Do not think you can pass yourself off as a Guild merchant any longer. You are nothing to us, a mere peddler.”

The man wept; Arcolin felt pity for him, but not much.

The Guildmaster turned away and went back into the Guild Hall; the Councilors told the city guardsmen to take all the men into custody.

Arcolin sent two of the men now holding mules to fetch the carts; Burek went with them. The others took the packsaddles, and, stripping off the harness, saddled them. The senior Councilor looked at Arcolin. “I thought they were soldiers—but they know the ways of teamsters and grooms?”

“Soldiering requires many skills other than sticking someone with a blade,” Arcolin said.

“Our militia commander claims he needs grooms and teamsters as well as troops to move his forces about.”

“I’m sure he does,” Arcolin said, buffing his nails on his shirt. “After all, your militia are tradesmen and craftsmen who serve but two years unless there’s a war, isn’t that right?”

“Yes—but what has that to do with it?” The senior Councilor frowned.

“There’s scarce time in two years to learn to handle a pike in formation, maneuver, and fight. We train recruits for a full year before they see battle, and they are with us, many of them, for the rest of their lives. All these can groom, saddle, and harness horses or mules; they all ride; they all dig ditches and build barricades.”

“But that takes time away from weapons practice, doesn’t it? Wouldn’t they be better if they did that only?”

“No,” Arcolin said. “They need all the skills I mentioned, and more, to do the work you hired us to do. A tailor does not merely sew cloth pieces together, like a housewife patching a shirt.”

“True. So … how long will you stay in the city?”

“I expect to march again tomorrow morning,” Arcolin said. “Unless more of the horses need shoes reset. If you have more questions for me, Burek can take them on, and I can catch up.”

“What can you tell us specifically about these men?” the Councilor asked.

Arcolin shrugged. “The village headman knew about the brigands and lied—tried to tell us they had no problems and knew nothing.” He told the rest of what had happened that day and night, and then why he had captured the headman.

“And you saw him—”

“We saw him run from the village as we marched back through, and captured him. He gave some tale about a stray cow; his excuse the first time was a stray bull.”

“No doubt our city guard will hear about a stray calf,” the Councilor said. “But the others? You said they were the merchant’s hire; would they be complicit in his crimes?”

“They could be,” Arcolin said. “They offered no resistance when we told them to stand aside, but few men, criminal or not, will oppose their single sword to a hundred. One I am fairly sure has a criminal past, the tall black-haired man with the scarred forehead—”

“Ugly brute,” the Councilor said. “But I suppose that scar proves he’s really a soldier, at least.”

“Not if it’s a brand that’s been cut over to obscure the design,” Arcolin said. “I never saw the man myself, but my senior sergeant, when he was on recruit training one year, saw a recruit branded for multiple crimes. My sergeant thinks this is the same fellow. If it is, he will not have changed his ways.”

“How can we tell?”

“Have your guards strip him. If he has well-marked stripes on his back, not just white scars, that’s a strong suggestion, with the scar on his forehead. It was a fox-head brand once.”

“What about the others?”

“The merchant said he hired one, and that one hired the others. I didn’t talk with them on the way here; as long as they didn’t give trouble, that was enough for me. They were under guard the whole way. I’d talk to the merchant.”

“Oh, we will. Now the Guild has withdrawn protection, we will have out of him whatever he knows.”

“Indeed.” Arcolin heard the noise of cart wheels and hooves. Burek came in, leading his horse and the men with the carts and the carter.

The men loaded sacks of grain and hams into the carts, and when the carts were full lashed the last bundles of swords to the packsaddles. “If you do not need me presently, I should get back to the camp,” Arcolin said. I am at your service, should you call.”

“Go on, then,” the Councilor said. “We must examine the merchant and the others; we may send for you later today, and perhaps you would care to dine with the Council this evening?”

Arcolin rode back to camp well pleased with the day’s business. The matter of the mules’ harness had been an afterthought when he was working out contract details in Tsaia; he had not thought of harness, but of saddles and bridles. Still, “all accouterments, tack and the like, attached to the bodies of said animals” certainly did include harness.

His quartermaster examined the supplies with the suspicion of one who had found pebbles in the bottom of a grain sack before. “Mixed grain, sir. This here is wheat, right enough, but this other is spelt, and this is some grain I don’t know. Not bread-quality grain, but should make mush of some kind.”

“Not poisonous, though?”

“No. I think I saw that red grain in the far south, when we was here before, but I never tried it.”

The salt meat and fish went to the cooks. The Duke’s Company had never developed a taste for salt fish, so that, Arcolin decreed, would be used first. “Start it soaking,” he said. “We have a river of water here, and it’s a market day. Fish stew.” There were groans, but only for effect.

To Burek, he said, “We need a good solid arms practice today. Basic drills, then file against file, then pairs of files. We’re about one-third novices, and they tend to sloppy shield-work.”

“Yes, sir.”

“If they call me back to talk to the Council, I’ll need a few for escort, but otherwise, make sure everyone cycles through. Those not drilling can work on camp chores. I’m going to be looking at those swords with our armorer.”

When they’d opened all the bundles, they found a mix of blades, some new-forged and some obviously hard-used. Most were heavy blades with a slight curve, the type Arcolin knew as falchion.

“Good for cutting a way through undergrowth,” the armorer said. “If we’re going into the forest, these might be useful, though I don’t like the lack of a guard.”

“Can you put crosshilts on them?”

“Yes, but not as fast as a city smith with a full-size forge and some boys. If we cut up some of the worst and sell the metal, it’d pay for the new guards, if they’re simple.”

“How long, do you think?”

“Half-glass to a glass for each—another day or two here, for all of them.”

“We can’t stay here that long—we’d need a trustworthy sword-smith and I’m not sure I trust any of them in Cortes Vonja unless we were here to supervise.”

The armorer grinned. “That’s a captain’s problem, that is. What about their militia armorer?”

“They’ll charge enough to get the cost of the swords out of us. I need someone honest and reasonable. Well, let’s look at the rest.”

“This one’s Halveric Company,” the armorer said. “Same design as ours, just about, with that extra little curl to the guard and the H
stamp on the pommel. Haven’t found any of ours yet, and I’d better not. If Halverics were down this year, they’d pay us to get this back. They usually clean up a field better than that.”

“Then it came out of someone’s pay. Let’s see … these are longswords … someone’s officers? Do you know this mark, Captain?”

“Sofi Ganarrion’s … he won’t be happy about this. Well, unless it’s to do with the marriage. Officers’ swords, not the dress ones. Someone sold them to pay for something—gambling debts, like as not.” Arcolin picked one up, tapped it with his fingernail. “Not bad steel at all, but Burek and I both have better. Might do for a spare.”

“We don’t want these, do we?” The armorer’s face was drawn into a scowl of disgust, as he pointed to five jagged-edged curved blades with hooks at the tip.

“Gods, no! Hammer them into a lump and we’ll sell the lump.”

“Might want a Marshal or Captain to say a prayer over them first,” the armorer said.

“That bad?” Arcolin leaned closer; a wave of malice made him stagger; the armorer caught his arm to steady him. “You’re right. I’ll send someone. We should get that taken care of tonight.”

The rest of the weapons were daggers and some simple knives of various lengths, useful more as camp tools than weapons. “Knives to the cook tent,” Arcolin said. “We’ll let them decide which they want. That one”—he pointed—“is stout enough to cut leather; that could go in the tack kit. I’ll see about getting us a Marshal.”

He sent Burek on that errand, and went to his tent to read the letter from Kieri.

A
rcolin sat in the folding chair, the letter on the table—Kieri’s table, around which he and Kieri and Dorrin had sat so many times—and opened the letter.