Jeff Salyards - Scourge of the Betrayer

Braylar added, though only loud enough for the guards and baron to hear, “At least, that’s what High Priest Henlester believes we’re doing here tonight. Instead, I’d like to offer a proposition, if you would be so kind as to hear me out, my lord.”

The leader of the guards with a grayshot beard placed his sword point on Braylar’s chest. “Unbuckle those sidearms, slow as the sun, or we take them off your corpses.”

Three other guards stepped alongside him while the fifth ordered the players out of the room. The company master objected, albeit briefly, but the guard’s sword convinced him to be pliant.

Baron Brune stepped forward, his hand nowhere near his own sword, his voice still absolutely level. “I do so enjoy propositions. Almost as much as theatre. Who would’ve expected that I’d find both here tonight. But I imagine that my captain will honor his pledge to mow you down. That’s why I pay him so handsomely, after all. So, in the name of entertaining propositions delivered in unusual places, I beg you, please disarm yourselves. Or I’ll be left to wonder what two unusual dead men had meant to discuss that they’d go to such lengths to obtain my audience.”

I expected Braylar to do as bid, but as always, that was my repeated mistake. “Your captain of guards is a man of little nonsense and great violence, which I utterly respect. But if we had wanted to do you harm, we could’ve done so already.”

The captain let his sword drift underneath Braylar’s chin. “Had you tried I’d need to clean your blood off my new boots.”

Braylar replied, with exceptional calm, given the circumstances, “And do you suppose the room behind us fits only two? I imagine you’d know had you checked thoroughly. Which you clearly didn’t. You do know that most assassinations are done by the mob than lone individuals, yes? We could’ve fit a mob and a half in the bowels of this place, all waiting on the other side of that door. If we’d wished your lord harm, we would’ve visited it upon him already.” He turned back to the baron. “Regardless, I, Captain Braylar Killcoin, disarm for no man, save my Tower commander or emperor, and then, with great misgiving. I’m afraid I decline.”

The baron said, “Ahh, emperor, is it? We so rarely see Syldoon in this barony. Or this kingdom for that matter. Truly interesting. Captain Gurdinn, rehome your sword if you’d be so kind. This encounter grows more entertaining by the moment.”

Beyond a brief hesitation, Gurdinn didn’t betray any disobedience, but he seemed to dislike this order a great deal. The other guards followed his lead, though they seem confused and perhaps a little disheartened at not having the opportunity to cut would-be assassins to pieces.

The baron sat down on one of the stools vacated by a player and pointed to two others. His guards flanked him as the Syldoon sat opposite. “So, you allege that a trusted member of my council, a holy man no less, has promised what I’m hoping was considerable coin to snuff out my life at the Three Lions. An amazing tale. I would hear more details of this. I’m also interested in how two Syldoon find themselves in my province, soliciting such unsavory offers. Please. Continue.”

Braylar sat. “You can be sure, lord baron, that the Syldoon Empire receives many an unsavory offer, and so has little need to solicit any. My man,” he gestured towards Hewspear, “was approached a week ago. Someone wished to know if the Syldoon were interested in pursuing a venture of extreme… unsavoriness.”

The baron raised a finger. “I must interrupt. How, do you suspect, this… representative, knew that you were Syldoon, and how did you come to believe he represented a priest, let alone High Priest Henlester?”

Braylar looked at Hewspear who picked the story up. “There are actually a small number of us in Alespell just now. Most staying at the Grieving Dog. We haven’t announced our presence with trumpets or jugglers, my lord, but a Syldoon with a loose tongue and whore on his lap might have spilled the secret with his seed, if you take my meaning.”

The baron smiled and Hewspear continued, “Whores have looser tongues than drunken soldiers, and rumors have legs, as they say. I expect that the priests had just as good a chance of discovering us here as any, my lord. As to how I knew this was a servant of the priests, I surely didn’t. He could’ve been representing the glassblowers guild for all I knew. After hearing him out, I agreed to meet with him the next day with my answer. He set up the meet through a courier. But I had him followed. This man wasn’t a complete novice to subterfuge-he checked several times to see if he’d grown a tail, and led my man on a merry chase-but lead he did, and eventually to the temple on a hill on the west side of the city.”

It was impossible to tell if the baron was sitting in full belief, but he nodded again. “The Plum Temple. Hmmm. Yes. I’d like to hear the particulars of this offer, if you would.”

Hewspear said, “I was in the ale garden, at the rear of the Grieving Dog. I’m not sure if you’ve had cause to visit there, my lord, but the garden is something to behold. Several large trees that I suspect aren’t native to this land, no doubt brought here at great cost simply to provide shade.

“A man approached, asked if he could speak to me a moment in private. Curious, I agreed. He then asked if I was a Syldonian soldier. I was taken aback somewhat, but wanted to see where this led, so admitted that I was. He moved into the meat of his proposal without more preamble, apparently worried we would be joined by more ears. He claimed to represent someone who bore you no love at all, and wondered if the sentiment was shared. I replied without commitment one way or the other, hoping to hear him out in his entirety. He continued, saying that love of the kingdom was no love at all if it was words and no action. I pressed him to unpack that statement, which he did, saying this barony could no longer abide by its baron, who was threatening the nature of things. That’s what he said. ‘Threatening the nature of things.’

“I asked then what he intended to do about it, and that’s when he stated that it was too dangerous to move with local men, as allegiances were suspect, but that outsiders such as ourselves, particularly those who bore you no love at all, might be bought to carry out a dark deed that would benefit the barony and kingdom greatly. To play this out in full, I told him I cared less about baronies than my light purse, and he promised the benefit there would be equally good.”

For a man listening to a dialogue about his impending death, the baron seemed remarkably undistressed, either disbelieving the tale, or disbelieving it could be carried out. “I’m hoping this man offered a great deal as enticement for such a venture fraught with grave risk.”

Hewspear replied, “He said if you were removed, the man who seceded you would bring order to the region. He mentioned that you were as a plague to the king, and that a good many men with much to gain would be exceptionally grateful. I, of course, wanted a number fixed to this gratitude. He replied that he was prepared to offer ten thousand in silver.”

“It’s good to be valued so highly,” the baron said. “And so, why report this to me in these strange circumstances then? Why not carry the action out? As you noted so keenly, I’m often rash and sacrifice personal safety in order to mingle with the lowborn. There are probably several locations I could’ve made a tempting target, and you exposed this as one of them.”

Gurdinn’s face grew purple at this, though he said nothing as the baron continued, “So why not assassinate me? Why would the mighty Syldoon Empire care what befalls a minor baron so far from their borders?”