CHAPTER 6 #2
“Of course, a professional army creates the problem of veterans. Highly skilled at warfare, great at surviving, and not always fit to reenter civilian life after all the blood and horrors they witness. A professional soldier with twenty years of experience is a living weapon that can be used against the state when hired by a rogue noble as a mercenary or incited to violence. The state must then find a way to anchor these veterans. They need an incentive to not become a destructive force.”
I poured another cup of tea. He hadn’t stabbed me yet. I took it as an encouraging sign.
“When a veteran reaches the eighteenth year of their twenty-year service, they are offered the Last Tour. It is a terrible tour of duty, in a place where the risks are high. If the veteran survives it, they are awarded a parcel of fertile land no less than one gere.”
About eight acres. Typically, near a forest with monsters or a border with a hostile nation, where the veterans could act as a buffer.
Praemia militia, invented by Ancient Rome of our world for its legionnaires, never bested, often imitated, and eventually transformed by our modern government into the GI Bill.
Instead of rewarding our veterans with a parcel of land, we sent them to college and hoped they would learn to cope.
“In addition to one gere of land, these veteran soldiers are also given the Green Purse, enough money to hire farmhands, obtain seed, purchase two oxen or a single horse, and work the farm for one year. They can become farmers, or sublet the land, or they can cash out. It’s a tempting proposition for a soldier with a family. The promise of a peaceful life.”
He refilled his cup. His face looked like it was carved from stone.
“So, a soldier takes that Last Tour. He survives against all odds and receives all that was promised. He returns to the city with his limbs and mind intact and discovers that the wife he left behind was murdered and his son has gone missing.”
Nothing. Not a hint of emotion. I was on very thin ice, and I could hear it cracking.
“He searches for his son and finds out that he was taken and sold by a slave-monger who lives in an impenetrable fortress. He keeps looking for a way in but can’t find any, so every day he comes to the rooftop terrace of the local teahouse.
He drinks the same tea he learned to enjoy during his first campaign, he watches, and he waits for fate to knock on his door. ”
“And you would be fate?” he asked.
His voice matched him, confident, powerful, controlled. His eyes turned cold. Yep, he would kill me. I wasn’t getting off this terrace.
“No. I’m just a woman who made a deal with dangerous people. I get my payment in one week, and I need a bodyguard.”
If I got him on my side, no fighter in the kingdom, aside from the members of the Great Families, could touch me.
Don’t babble. Babbling makes you appear nervous. Stay calm. Like an icicle. Think icy thoughts.
“Normally I would offer money.”
I couldn’t afford him. Even if I threw all the money I had at him, it wouldn’t be enough.
“But you don’t want money. You want Derog Olgren.”
He stared at me. “What kind of deal did you make? What is your profession?”
Lying of any sort would get me murdered. I could feel it emanating from him.
“I sell information. I know things. Surprising things, secret things, things I shouldn’t be aware of. Things people think are private and hidden.”
He tilted his head to the side. “Impress me.”
“You were in Gassargand, trying to take the city. You and three others scaled the First Wall and were running across an old aqueduct when the ground gave way. You fell into an underground chamber. It was old, older than the city. The only light came from the hole your bodies made as you tumbled down. There were tunnels leading from the chamber into the darkness.”
I was all out of tea, and my mouth was as dry as the Gassargand desert.
“A creature came out of the tunnels. It walked upright like a man, and it wore armor and carried a battle hammer, but it was covered with gray fur, eight feet tall, and its head was the head of a monster. It smashed Mertio’s skull with a single blow, and you saw his head crack like a broken egg.
The three of you fought it until the mortar bombardment resumed, and the sounds of explosions drove it back into the darkness. ”
“We used to tell that story at every campfire for years afterward,” he said.
“I’m not finished. Of the four of you, Mertio was the youngest. He was barely into his second year, but he was good with a spear and brave.
He reminded you of your younger brother, and you used to look out for him.
You ended that day on the Second Wall, and when everyone went down for the night, exhausted and nursing their wounds, you snuck back to the aqueduct to get Mertio’s crest off his body so his family would have something to bury.
You tied a rope around an old stone pillar and dropped into that hole without a torch, carrying only your sword.
Mertio’s body was gone, so you walked the tunnels in darkness until you found the creature and its siblings eating Mertio’s corpse, and you killed the three of them in a room with a statue of a bronze god with a bloated stomach. ”
He stared at me. As far as I knew, he’d never told anyone about that last bit.
“Is it magic?”
“Not exactly.”
“Then what is it?”
“One day, if we become friends, I might explain.”
And I had no idea how I would do that. Hi, in my world, you are a character in a book wouldn’t exactly fly. He would think I was mentally ill.
The intensity in his eyes made his gaze difficult to hold. “Do you know where my son is?”
I frowned. “No. I have a guess.”
“Tell me.” His voice was almost a growl.
“There is a boy in the Knight Order of the Redeemer with the gift of farseeing. He is the right age, and he has blue-black hair like your wife and your light eyes. He was rescued by a group of knights from slave traders in the wilderness. But the boy lost his memory. They call him Syllind, the Redeemer’s chosen. He answers to Lin.”
It was the oldest literary device in existence—surprise amnesia. The books never confirmed Lin’s parentage, but it would have to be a cosmic coincidence for him not to be Reynald’s son. The gift of farseeing was very rare.
I had many favorite characters. Solentine was one, Galiene, Pelegrin .
. . But I always felt for Reynald the most. He’d spent his life serving the country.
In return, his wife was murdered, and his son was stolen by slavers.
Despite all of it, Reynald tried to do the right thing till the very end.
He fought with all his strength and skill for it, and no matter how hard it tried, Kair Toren couldn’t crush his will, so it killed him instead. It was a horrible death.
The blademaster stood up and leaned on the stone rail, his palms planted on it, his gaze fixed on the house.
“Redeemer’s chosen,” Reynald said. His voice was suffused with menace. I almost scooted back in my chair.
Rellas had many knightages, groups of knights affiliated for various reasons. If a knightage pledged itself to one of the Aspects and met certain requirements, like number of members and paying all the proper religious dues, it became a knight order.
There were three prominent knight orders in the kingdom. All of them pledged themselves to the Aspect of the Warrior, but in different forms. The Defenders worshiped the protective Warrior, concerned with guarding and securing their domain, while the Conquerors favored a more aggressive approach.
Of the three orders, the Order of the Redeemer was the newest and the smallest. They were big on renouncing your old, wretched existence and seeking redemption through a life of service, specifically martial service.
The best comparison would be the Foreign Legion, but wrapped in religion, with a big chip on their shoulder, and actual magic powers.
“Getting into the Redeemer Tower will be very difficult,” I warned. “They guard their squires, especially the ones with magic, with extreme prejudice. It will take someone with a great deal of influence to get you in.”
The Redeemers overreacted to any perceived slight, and trying to take away one of their squires wouldn’t go over well. Even Reynald, with all his skill, would not make it out of the Tower alive.
“As of now, I don’t see any opportunity to reach your son. Instead, I can give you Derog Olgren. I can’t guarantee a reunion, but I can help you with your revenge.”
He turned to me. “What’s your name?”
“Maggie.”
He didn’t look impressed. I felt the need to add something more. The pressure of his stare was overwhelming.
“Maggie what?”
Maggie Haley would mean nothing to him. Despite everything I had told him, he was ready to get up and leave. I could see it in his eyes. I was about to lose my only chance at keeping myself safe. I had to say something to make him stay. Something, anything . . .
“Maggie the Undying.”
Reynald gave me a look. He was clearly skeptical. “Really now? Undying in what way exactly?”
Showing how desperate I was would only make him leave faster. I shrugged. “Stick with me and you’ll find out.”
“Fine, Maggie the Undying. Get me into that house, and I will protect you.”
I’d got him. Oh wow. “It’s a deal.”
Reynald looked back at Derog’s fortress. “There are at least eight guards in the house at all times. One door leading from the street to the courtyard, one door leading from the courtyard inside. Both are reinforced and guarded.”
“Three,” I said.
His eyebrows crept up.
“There is a basement-level escape passage with a hidden door that comes out near the dock. Derog uses it to ship the slaves by river when his usual route is compromised. The passage branches off into two hallways. One corridor leads to the basement, where the kids are held. It’s protected by a door that’s barred from the passageway side.
The other corridor leads up the stairs to the kitchen and serves as Derog’s escape route.
The slaves never enter that part of the house, and he doesn’t want to be hindered by dealing with additional doors in an emergency, so it’s a straight shot. ”
Reynald studied the opposite shore.
“The door is reinforced,” I told him. “You would need a battering ram, so breaking it isn’t an option.”
“Do you have a plan?” His voice told me that he clearly didn’t think I had a plan, and if I did have one, it was probably stupid.
“Yes. You’re going to sell me to Derog, and I’ll take it from there.”
A hint of steel flashed in his eyes. “And you were doing so well up until this point. The answer is no. Out of the question. First, you’re too old. Derog deals in children and adolescents. Second, you will be raped, beaten, and worse.”
“Trust me. He’ll buy me, and I’ll stay safe. I have an asset that Derog is looking for.”
He was looking at me like I had lost my whole bag of marbles. “What asset is that?”
I gave him a big, bright smile.