Chris Northern - The Last King's Amulet

“We are going to be waiting for a while. What would you normally do?”

“Wait.” He said it as though waiting were an activity.

Well, I would normally read a book and I had been reading Tetrin's Study of the Barbarian Peoples, which seemed pertinent, so I dug the book out of my saddlebag, turned to the chapter regarding the Alendi and started reading. There was not much to distinguish them from the Ensibi; about the same in numbers and culture. Their lands edged the foothills to the Urnalin Mountains. Behind them a hundred smaller tribes controlled the valleys and highlands, generally a few villages and one stronghold to their name. The passes through the mountains were controlled by somewhat stronger tribes who controlled trade from the north. To the east were the Orduli and to the west the Prashuli. Much of a muchness. The Alendi produced charcoal and smelted iron. That was bad. Meant they had a good supply of weapons and armor, probably. And spare money if they sold their goods to other tribes. And trade relations and maybe treaties with some of the hundreds of small tribes at their back. But they were small tribes, a few villages. Say fifty to a village and ten villages each just for convenience. Populations of five hundred giving ten professional fighting men each tribe. Ten times hundreds wasn't many. Okay. No sweat. Memory told me that the other side of the pass was wasteland, hundreds of miles of it but set in its center a place called Battling Plain which was hotly contested by the surrounding nomadic, semi-nomadic and settled tribes simply because it was a large and well watered fertile plain where the bulk of what rivers flowed out of the mountains to the south and west joined together and ran on to the sea. The area fell outside the scope of the work I was reading but it sounded from what I recalled that there was nothing there to fret about even if our enemies had allies there. There were wild tales of strange magics and so on but then, aren't there always? Having the only source of magic known to us made us slightly paranoid on the subject. Spirit magic, we knew about and didn't worry over. It was small scale stuff, the spirits of the dead molded by priests to perform single simple tasks when called. Other potential rivals made us uneasy. I put that aside and read on. The Alendi had a single mighty fortress called the Eyrie, large enough to hold the entire tribe and to which they had apparently withdrawn several times in defense against greater tribes that no longer existed. In part that was our doing. No one had had any inclination to take control of these areas, but battles fought in order to plunder material wealth and slaves had been numerous in this area for the last two centuries, chipping away at their numbers. To the east, I knew, there were more numerous tribes that might extend for a thousand miles for all I knew. These other tribes also played a part in keeping down the numbers of the Gerrian tribes by their own raiding activities. There was an extensive section on the Eyrie that I read through even though I wasn't that interested; this was, after all, a punitive expedition and not a war of conquest. March there, meet the enemy, hit them hard, grab some booty and go.

My reading was interrupted by hoofbeats coming steadily closer. I closed the book with one finger marking my place and looked around. My men didn't seem to have moved an inch. From the direction of the city came three horses and three riders. Not what I was expecting. Two of them were women. Definitely not what I was expecting. As they came closer I recognized them as Orelia and Jocasta. The man with them was their brother Urik, all of the family Habrach, a family with a lineage not quite as ancient and august as mine. I had been betrothed to Orelia until her family decided I was a lost cause about five years ago. I put the book away and moved toward them, trailed by my own horse. I didn't see the point in mounting and I didn't want to hurry. I had guessed what was coming and wanted as long as possible to think about what to say in return. If I saw out some military time and returned, I guessed that the betrothal offer was on again. Well, did I want that? Damned if I knew but the best time to say forget it was sooner rather than later. The fact is, I like being single. Women consist of willing slaves or widows, neither of which expect any kind of commitment. Of course I could just put her off. After I had served a year we could discuss it. That, I decided, was the way to go.

I hadn't been paying much attention to the expressions on their faces as I thought through my own situation but all of a sudden they were close and no one looked happy. They looked worried, and that just didn't fit with what I'd been thinking. Worried for me? No. No, that didn't fit and would be insulting besides. Orelia wouldn't ride out here to insult me by showing contempt for my military prowess, non-existent though it might be.

As soon as they were close, Orelia pulled rein and slipped easily to the ground. She was definitely worried, not to mention cute and a very good horsewoman.

“Orelia, what is it?”

“Sumto, will you help me?”

“Of course.” Ouch. Suckered.

She took a step closer, almost close enough to touch. Her brother stiffened in his saddle and her sister came down off her own horse all in a rush. Overprotective, I thought, but honor can be a prickly thing amongst city nobles. I watched her expression change moment by moment, nervous, wary, worried.

“Orelia. Just tell me.”

“My betrothed is a prisoner of the barbarians,” she blurted.

I blinked, something had flashed in my eye but I paid no attention to that. I was busy. I didn't know whether to sigh at the inevitability of it or swear aloud at the injustice. I'd already said I'd do it, whatever it was. Now I just needed to know if I was breaking him free or paying a ransom. I prayed briefly for the latter before I asked.

“His name and status is known to them, and they have asked for something,” her expression went deep into fearful and her voice dropped to a whisper. There was a hint of shame in there as well.

“They asked for something? Not money?”

She shook her head. “Not money,” her sister said. “The head of the Ensibi King.”

That's when I started swearing.

I was still swearing in my head an hour later when Meran got back from the city. I could tell it was him at once; two riders, each leading a string of horses. Meran and the drover, ten horses for us and one for the drover to ride back on. I mounted as soon as I saw them. The wait was nearly over but I was no longer that pleased about it. I had already thought it through and there was no way I could get out of trying to get her betrothed out of there. The ransom was un-payable. To kill and extract the head of an ally was not an option. If Orthand got a hint of it I would have made a powerful enemy. Getting caught doing it just didn't bear thinking about. Orthand was a wealthy man and not one to be trifled with. Worst case scenario, death. Best, exile. Lots of unpleasant options in between. Even if I was lucky enough to get away with the enmity of a powerful man there are a hundred ways he could make life unpleasant for me, and would as a matter of principle even if he didn't take the matter too seriously. Of course, that was assuming the chieftain's protectors didn't get carried away or mistakenly believe they could get away with killing me. None of that looked good.

The army was out of sight and the baggage train was well on the move by the time Meran pulled up and my men took their mounts. I decided Meran had purchased good animals as I cast a jaded eye over them and judged their worth. Four extra sets of saddle and tack and I didn't suppose I could grudge him that. Let him have a horse to ride. Who knew? I might need him to ride messages. Relieved of his string of four horses, Meran took control of the other six and paused. I raised an eyebrow and he tapped his free hand to the saddlebags behind him. I gestured that he should keep the bags and he bowed in the saddle and headed for the baggage train. There was money in the saddlebags and I trusted him with it better than I trusted myself. I drank and gambled. I had actually decided to give both a rest for a year, but why leave myself open to temptation?