Paul Thompson - A Hero's justice

Kiya and Miya, having gotten the baggage caravan started, left it to join Tol at the head of the central column. A farmer’s wife rushed up to Miya, shoved an enormous ham into her arms, and hurried away, all without a word. While the Dom-shu sisters were amused by the joyous reception, Tol found it unsettling.

Miya, staggering along with the ham, said, “They’re happy, Husband! They know what you’re going to do!”

Egrin remained dour. “If we fail, the results could be grave for those known to have given us aid.”

As it developed, there were other, more immediate considerations. Gifts of beer and wine began to arrive, and the Army of the East grew merry indeed. Lord Argonnel cantered over from the right wing, where similar conditions prevailed.

“My lord, this must stop!” he said. “Discipline is failing. If the emperor attacked now, our men would flounder under an ocean of foodstuffs!”

“But the people love us!” Miya replied. “And it’s for them you’re doing this, Husband!”

Argonnel was right, but Miya had a point as well. How could they extricate themselves from the flood of well-meant gifts without alienating the good people of Ergoth?

It was Kiya who showed the way. Two children approached her, each bearing pots of berry jam. Even the tough warrior woman couldn’t bear to wound them by refusing, but her hands were already full. Exasperated, she held out a bag of grapes.

“I can’t take anything unless you take something in return!” she declared.

Laughing, Tol made Kiya’s frustrated bargain a general order. No one in the army was to accept another gift without giving something back. He also ordered the pace of the hordes quickened. This would make it harder for the peasants to reach the warriors.

By the third day-halfway along in the journey to Daltigoth-the bounty of food and drink had greatly subsided. Near the border of the Great Horde Hundred, in which the capital lay, it ceased altogether. The farmers were no less glad to see the Army of the East, but the influence of Ackal V’s spies was greater. The first scouts were seen, watching Tol’s hordes advance through the lush orchards and verdant pastures east of Daltigoth. Riders from Zanpolo’s Iron Falcons tried to flush out them out but failed to catch them. The spies were mounted on fleet, carefully chosen horses, and they knew the countryside well. Tol took Zanpolo’s failure in stride.

“If you can capture a scout, fine, but if not…” Tol shrugged. “We want everyone in Daltigoth to know we’re coming. The time is fast approaching when all must choose-as you did, Zanpolo-whether to be with us or against us.”

The first clash came soon after.

At the intersection of the Ackal Path and the Mordirin Way was a customs house. Here, imperial officials levied tolls on caravans passing east or west, and north or south. Comprising a stout stone building and a wooden tower enclosed in a stockade faced with sloping walls of earth, the customs house seemed an unlikely spot for a showdown. But as Riders from Mittigorn’s Black Viper Horde approached, a shower of arrows greeted them.

Mittigorn sent word back to Tol, then dismounted sixty men and proceeded to attack. After storming the grassy scarp, the Vipers fell upon the occupants of the stockade. Much to their surprise, they discovered their opponents were not imperial warriors, but ordinary footmen armed with bows. Twenty-two bowmen and the customs officer constituted the entire garrison.

Tol arrived with his warlords and the Dom-shu sisters. The captured bowmen were sitting quietly on the ground, hands clasped atop their heads. Not so the customs officer. He was stretched out facedown, wrists lashed together behind his back, held at sword point. Both face and fists bore the bloody evidence of his resistance.

Ignoring the fuming customs officer for now, Tol addressed the leader of the bowmen, a man with a city haircut and light sandals on his feet. “You, stand up. What’s your name?”

“Fengale, my lord.” He spoke like a city man-pronouncing “my lord” as “ma ludd.”

“Why are you here, Fengale?”

The sergeant shrugged. “One of the emperor’s chamberlains hired us to defend this post. We arrived here only last night.”

Kiya wondered why Ackal V would deploy hired soldiers when he had plenty of warriors at his command, but this was no mystery to Tol. The emperor had withdrawn all his hordes, concentrating his warriors closer to the city. What Tol couldn’t fathom was why Ackal V had bothered to defend the customs house at all.

He turned his attention to the customs officer. Two warriors dragged the fellow forward. He fought and cursed the whole way.

“Traitor! Rebel! Your head will feed the crows for this!”

Tol waved a hand. “Yes, yes. Who are you?”

The officer couldn’t break the grips of the burly Riders holding him, so he settled for stating loudly, “My name is Hathak. Captain Hathak, of the Imperial Customs Service!”

“Well, Captain Hathak, what’s so special about your house?”

The petty official made a great show of not understanding, and Tol added, “We aren’t fools, Captain. There has to be a reason the emperor wastes even a small number of troops defending a solitary customs house.” To Mittigorn he said, “Have the house searched thoroughly.”

Mittigorn’s men carried out the order enthusiastically. Partitions were torn apart, floorboards pried up, and soon enough a shout of triumph rang out.

Two chests of gold coins (ironically stamped with the profile of Ackal V’s revered father, Pakin III) were found secreted under the floor of the house. In the rafters the men found sheaves of spears, bundles of shields, and sabers. All the metal implements had been dipped in wax to keep away rust, and all bore the stamp of the imperial arsenal in Daltigoth. Some were of recent make, others were older weapons.

Tol studied the cache carefully, all the while wondering why the weapons had been secreted here. A commotion outside interrupted him, and Miya appeared in the customs house door.

“You’d better come!” she said gravely.

Outside, they found Kiya standing over Hathak, once more facedown on the ground. The Dom-shu woman had her sword out and was glaring at several Riders standing nearby.

“They started beating him to make him talk,” she reported. “I put an end to it!”

Tol looked to Mittigorn and the warlord, still mounted, shrugged. “One way or another we have to find out what he knows, my lord,” he said.

Tol looked from the bloody, bound prisoner to Kiya’s proud, angry face. Distasteful though it was, he asked Mittigorn, “What did you learn?”

“Not much. We were interrupted,” Mittigorn said dryly.

Hathak had revealed that the gold was from tolls collected over the past half-year. The arms had been delivered to the customs house and hidden before the hired bowmen arrived from the city.

Tol gnawed his lower lip. He needed every bit of information he could lay hands on.

“Take Hathak inside,” he said to the waiting warriors. As they hoisted the fallen man up, Tol said to Mittigorn, “Find out what he knows.”

Miya gasped. Kiya grabbed his arm and demanded, “You’re going to let them torture that man?”

He broke her hold and seized her wrist. “Do you think this is a game?” he asked harshly. “We’re not fighting nomads any more. The emperor would not place money and weapons at a lonely outpost for no reason. I have to know why he did it!”

Like most foresters, Kiya would gladly fight and kill any opponent who challenged her, but the idea of beating information out of a helpless captive made her furious.

“If you do this, you’re no better than him!”

Kiya jerked her arm free. She swung onto her horse and galloped off, not back to the column, but westward, away from the poised army. Tossing an anguished glance at Tol, Miya followed her sister.