R. Salvatore - The Dame

“How many?” Grees asked, concern in his tone.

“It matters not,” Bannagran assured him. “They’ll have no heart for the fight.”

Proud of his men and glad that he had again ably led them, Bannagran left the western fields of victory, driving for Yeslnik’s position in the center of his extended line. As it seemed that the fighting had ebbed-all warriors he passed on his way told him that the enemy had retreated to the fortified coastal towns-Bannagran eased his pace, so that his charioteers and footmen and their hundred prisoners, taken in those western fields with hardly a fight, as he had predicted, could somewhat pace him.

He wanted them to arrive in view of King Yeslnik soon after he and the unpredictable young nobleman had begun their conversation. In dealing with Yeslnik, Bannagran knew, it was always wise to somehow gain an advantage.

He found the young king basking in luxury in a grand tent, surrounded by so many layers of sentries that Ethelbert’s entire army, had it come at them, would not likely have gotten to Yeslnik. Inside, around a table set with lavish foods, Yeslnik and his field commanders dined and drank.

Bannagran wasn’t surprised.

“Ah, but the great Bear has come,” said Yeslnik.

Bannagran winced at the mocking tone.

“I expected your arrival this morning,” Yeslnik went on. “You were seen not far to the west many hours ago. I told you not to tarry.”

“I happened upon a situation that needed to be addressed, for the good of my king,” Bannagran explained. “I had not the time to ride to you and to correct the breach in your defenses.”

“Breach?” Yeslnik replied, his tone going higher and betraying his sudden anxiety.

Always the brave one, Bannagran thought.

“The success of your maneuver at your southern flank was obviously unanticipated,” Bannagran carefully explained. “Huzzah for the men of Delaval, so obviously eager to please their new king!”

Yeslnik smirked at him, and Bannagran knew that the king understood the criticism behind the compliment. A buffoon in many ways, too prideful for his or his subjects’ good, and possessed of ridiculous vanity and deceit, Yeslnik was nevertheless not a simpleton, particularly not in matters politic. Bannagran silently reminded himself never to forget that.

“The peninsula warriors made a fatal mistake,” Bannagran went on. “They tried to flank your spearheading advance by secretly advancing to the south of the southern end of your line. But they stretched themselves too thin. They are more used to fighting on the sea, methinks, or at the seacoast.”

They heard a commotion outside the tent, and Bannagran knew that his men had arrived with the prisoners-and not a moment too soon, he thought.

“They were desperate against your bold gambit in the south, and so they erred,” the Bear of Honce finished. He led Yeslnik and the other commanders present to the tent flap, coming in view of Bannagran’s forces leading the long line of captives.

“What is the meaning of this?” Yeslnik asked Bannagran, surprising the champion.

“It means that our enemy’s gambit has failed,” he started to answer, but before he could finish, before his group even fully entered the encampment, horns blew from the other direction and a great cheer went up among King Yeslnik’s forces.

Yeslnik led Bannagran and the others from the tent to come in view of the new arrivals, Milwellis and his forces.

“They have razed a line from the neck of the Mantis Arm to here,” King Yeslnik explained to Bannagran. “They have struck fear into the hearts of the fools who would oppose my reign. Never again will the men, what few remain, of the Felidan Bay villages take up weapons in support of Ethelbert. The region is nearly secured.”

He turned to Bannagran. “Do you notice anything absent among Milwellis’s ranks?”

Bannagran looked hard, but found no answers to the curious and curiously leading question.

“Laird Bannagran did not hear of your edict, my liege,” one of Yeslnik’s other commanders remarked. Yeslnik nodded.

Bannagran looked at them with puzzlement.

“The days, the months, nay, the years, of merciful war are ended,” Yeslnik explained.

“Merciful war?” Bannagran echoed with confusion.

“Merciful?” Yeslnik spat. “The reason this uprising of Ethelbert continues is because of false mercy!”

Bannagran let the description of the war as the “uprising of Ethelbert” go without the obvious challenge. This war was more a matter of Laird Delaval’s expansion of his substantive holding than anything else. As soon as the roads had been completed, Laird Delaval, with his large resources, had moved to unify Honce under his banner. Ethelbert, the second strongest laird, with the support of many other lesser lairds and with ties to Behr in the south, had opposed him.

“Only when the cost of their choice is clear to those who would oppose me will they cease in their folly,” Yeslnik explained.

“What would you have me do, my king?” Bannagran asked, a bit tentatively, for he was truly afraid of where this curious conversation might be leading.

“Tell me what is missing from Prince Milwellis’s grand entrance,” Yeslnik replied, and loudly, so that the approaching Milwellis clearly heard.

Bannagran scratched his head, not wanting to answer.

“Prisoners,” Yeslnik said with a hiss. “The day of false mercy is ended. We do not offer quarter.”

Bannagran swallowed hard, his mind whirling through the myriad of troublesome implications of such a ruthless edict. Why would any of those loyal to Ethelbert ever surrender with such a fate before them? He wanted to speak out, to explain to King Yeslnik that his own victory that very day would have been hard to achieve and would have cost him dearly had not the disoriented and fearful warriors of the Mantis Arm surrendered in those western fields-surrendered, despite outnumbering Bannagran’s forces two-to-one, because they knew there was no long-term solution to their dilemma.

“Execute them,” Yeslnik instructed Bannagran, the king’s words snapping at the champion like a jolt of lightning.

“I took them fairly, upon my word,” Bannagran dared to argue.

“My word overcomes your word.”

“Yes, my king,” Bannagran stammered, “but you cannot take from me my honor if you wish me to remain valuable to your cause.” His justification sounded inane to his own ears as he improvised the words, but he had to say something, anything, to dissuade Yeslnik from this course. Bannagran could kill any man or woman in battle without the slightest regret; he was a warrior and had been since his youth. But to kill unarmed, defenseless prisoners on such a scale, many of them simply folk caught up in the folly of lairds?

“Are you refusing me?” Yeslnik asked, the threat clear.

“No, my king, I am asking your deference in this matter.”

Yeslnik stared at him hard.

“Oh, just kill them quickly and be done with it,” said Prince Milwellis. “My liege, allow me,” he added, staring at Bannagran as he spoke, as if this request was surely elevating him against the champion of Pryd, who many believed to be Milwellis’s primary competitor for the favor of King Yeslnik. “As a reward for my efforts in the north.”

Yeslnik looked from Milwellis to Bannagran and gave a little laugh, then motioned for Milwellis to proceed. The fearsome prince of Palmaristown eagerly climbed back upon his horse and motioned for a few of his most deserving and trusted comrades to follow.

“It would seem the situation here is well in hand,” Yeslnik said to Bannagran in dismissive tones. “I expect that you are not needed after all. Take your charioteers and return to the hunt of the Highwayman.”