Jeff Salyards - Scourge of the Betrayer

Braylar said, “I don’t presume to tell you your business, my lord, but have you sought out Henlester? I expect he would provide some interesting answers to any line of questioning you and your savvy interrogator here might pose.”

Brune nodded to Untovik again. I closed my eyes tight and wished I could do the same with my ears, but this time the cranking of the handle wasn’t accompanied by screaming. I looked-the interrogator was turning the handle back the other way, loosening the straps on the prisoner’s head. When they were finally slack, the baron pulled the hooks clear of the nose and mouth, dropped them on the table, and then wiped his hands on a rag. “As it happens, I sent a battalion to the High Priest’s compound just after Gurdinn gave his report. But it seems Henlester had urgent business elsewhere just now. He disappeared in the night, taking his underpriests with him, leaving behind only a handful of servants and staff. I’ve spoken to a few already, but as you might expect, they have limited knowledge about the comings and goings of their master. Not terribly useful. Still, extracting secrets isn’t half as challenging as detecting who has them in the first place, is it?”

I wasn’t sure who he directed the question to, or if it was rhetorical, but no one responded. Brune wiped a rag across the prisoner’s face, clearing off most of the bloody spit and snot.

The prisoner, finally able to turn his head, tried to talk, though his injured mouth muddied the words, “You never asked me anything, my lord! Ask me! Ask me whatever you want! Please! I’ll tell you anything you want to know, my lord! Please… just please. Ask. Ask, my lord. Whatever you want.”

Baron Brune looked down at him, smiling. “The truth. Not what you think I want to hear. Only the truth. Nothing more, nothing less. Can you do that, lad?”

The prisoner nodded vigorously, tears coming. “I can! I swear I can! Whatever you want!”

The baron patted the prisoner’s wet cheek, and said, almost sadly, “Off to a poor start.” He looked directly at Braylar. “You may go. Though not far, I hope. I do so appreciate your assistance. I could well have need of you again.”

Braylar forced a smile, remarkably without twitches. “And miss another chance for a lively exchange? Never, my lord. Though perhaps next time it will be above ground.”

Hewspear drained his goblet and put it on the platter. “Thank you for the mead, my lord. It was a complex flavor. Several unexpected spices.” The baron didn’t respond, his attention back on his prisoner.

I tipped my goblet up, nearly choking on the final gulp, and then we walked over to the door and filed out. There was only one guard outside, and he pulled the door shut after me and locked it without saying a word or looking at us. We began the long climb up the stairs. The only sound besides our heavy breathing was the occasional pop of a torch. Hewspear and Mulldoos were both struggling with their injuries.

When we got back to the main hall, Hewspear’s breath was ragged and Mulldoos had to lean against the wall. Braylar didn’t wait. He started towards the stairs leading out of the keep and called out, “All downhill from here. Let’s go.”

Braylar paused at the bottom of the stairs long enough for us to join him, than headed across the courtyard. I fell in alongside him, lightheaded and heavy-stomached. It felt good to be in the open air again, but I couldn’t get the image of the prisoner out of my head. Seeing no one close, I said to Braylar, “You’re letting them torture an innocent man.”

He replied, “You give innocence a bad name, Arki. That guard protected a man who claimed to be a conduit to Truth, all the while abusing and murdering whores and cheating his liege lord. Admittedly, it’s possible he was unaware of his master’s true dealings. But we’re all of us pawns, and many in games far beyond our understanding. I have no liking for torturers-even the best of them rarely unearth anything truly useful. I’m not glad for the man’s suffering, but it ultimately serves our purpose, and that’s an end to it.”

I continued to protest, “And Henlester’s steward or servants or whoever else he left behind? Are they just useful pawns too?”

Anger was flaming into fullness behind Braylar’s gaze. “Perhaps the baron will use them more gently. Perhaps not. Either way, it was not my choice to abandon them to the cruel world. Their lives are beyond my reach, and therefore, beyond my caring.”

I started to object, my voice rising, but he pushed me against a stone wall, hissing, “Still your tongue, archivist! That is not beyond my reach.” He slowly released me and led us through the gatehouse and down the hill.

Mulldoos cleared his throat. “You want me to round up the boys, Cap?”

“Round them up?”

Mulldoos looked at Hewspear for some kind of confirmation. “Seems we played this thing out as far as we’re able. Expect we’ll be heading out.”

Braylar led us through another gatehouse. Once we were out of earshot of the guards, he said, “And you, Hewspear? Are you as equally timorous?”

Mulldoos looked ready to object but Hewspear replied, “Our orders were to sow discord in this region, Captain. They gave us quite a bit of latitude in determining the how of it. We’ve planted the idea that one of Brune’s trusted advisors betrayed him, sought his blood. It will be known that many guards are dead, the underpriest as well, and Henlester fled. Our whisperers will spread word in the streets, no matter what the baron does to contain it, or even if he believes it. Once burghers, priests, and fieflords learn of it, chaos might not ensue, but it could. And that’s what we were tasked with. Lieutenant Mulldoos is stubborn and hard, but I say he’s right. We’ve accomplished what the Citadel required of us, and as you noted, it’s been costly already.”

Braylar looked around to be sure no one could overhear us. “Stay, and we comply with our orders, we do our part to keep the Boy King in check, as commanded. And we’re afforded a rare opportunity to truly wreak havoc in this barony. But we follow on Henlester’s heels, flee Alespell, we not only cast doubt on Henlester’s thirst for assassination, but we incriminate ourselves and give credence to any accusations Gurdinn lays against us. Flee, and we undermine all that we’ve accomplished here, and the deaths of our comrades are meaningless. Is that what you two want?”

No one responded right away, but finally Mulldoos shook his head and said to Hewspear, “Was I the only one down there in the dark? Wasn’t just me was it? ’Cause right now, it sure feels like it. Seemed to me it was real clear the baron’s just looking for an excuse to turn us over to old Mapface there.” He looked at Braylar again. “We got no chance to do more than we done here, Cap. None. You think Brune’s going to invite us to his inner sanctum for candied eels and sweet wine, open his coffers, hand out some titles? We’re not winning that horsecunt over, not now, not ever. Stay, and only thing we got to look forward to is a trip back down to the baron’s playroom.”

Braylar said, “You hit upon it, Mulldoos, though I suspect you missed it in the same breath. The baron lives for plays and spectacle. He could have received us anywhere in the keep, but chose to have his audience there for obvious reasons. He wants to provoke us to act rashly, to reveal any secrets we have. Which is exactly what you propose.”

Mulldoos rolled a tongue over his lower lip. “Seemed to me he was delivering a message. And I got it real clear. We stay, we end up on the torture table. Tomorrow, maybe the day after, as soon as he can prove we’re double-dealing. That table’s the only kind of future we got in Alespell. So let’s tell our own we done what we came to and put this place behind us. Better yet, kick up dust on the road west and then send the report once we hit-”