Dark Jenny

chapter

At noon I again stopped the wagon at the top of a hill. Kay had fallen asleep, and the sudden halt didn’t wake him. I checked his pulse; it was weak but steady.

The view below and ahead would’ve made a great tapestry. In the background stood Nodlon Castle, perched starkly on its cliff against the sea and sky. Sun sparkled along the top of the walls, where men in armor patrolled the parapets. Flags fluttered in the breeze, and white gulls flew in place against the wind.

The land just outside the walls was empty. I’d seen it crowded with vendors and merchants just days before, but they were long gone now, leaving only bare spots in the grass where they’d previously camped.

Beyond this open space, closer to us, men and horses in armor formed a defensive crescent around the castle. They’d established a line with spears, shields, and barricades, but their strength wasn’t deep. If the line broke, there were no reinforcements to fill it.

Next came another crescent of open land, except for two things. One was a fifteen-foot pole protruding from a pile of wood. It was the stake where the queen would be burned if found guilty of her crimes. The other was a large tent set up just beside the road.

The tent’s walls rippled in the wind, and several Knights of the Double Tarn stood guard outside it. It flew a large white flag of truce. The rival commanders would meet there to negotiate prior to engaging in battle; each would give the other the chance to surrender. That was where I needed to be.

Between me and that destination was the vast camp of Medraft’s enormous mercenary army.

Unlike the orderly billets of government-sponsored troops, the mercenaries’ tents were a hodgepodge of sizes, styles, and personalizations. Men sat around campfires polishing armor, sharpening weapons, and drinking to excess. Pages and water boys ran among them, and screams occasionally punctuated the steady clatter. I estimated five thousand men; the knights in Nodlon, even counting the trainees, might manage a sixth of that. Currently Medraft’s men hadn’t even established a real perimeter to face their opponents; they were content to rest after their march and let their sheer presence do the work.

My horses tossed their heads nervously. I wanted to do the same, but I’d look silly.

The road went down the hill through the mercenaries, past the white tent, and into the castle. In places the stones were shattered so badly that it became merely a muddy path littered with rock shards. Like the landscape it passed through, the mercenaries had deliberately destroyed the road to prevent its use.

Kay stirred beside me. He yawned, winced at the pain it sent through his neck, and looked around in confusion. It only took a moment for him to orient himself, though. “We made it,” he said. “Did you have any more trouble?”

“No. But this could make up for it.”

He grimly surveyed the scene. “It’s like the last twenty years never happened,” he said at last. The horror, regret, and dismay in his voice was heartbreaking. “We’re back to the way we were.”

“It’s not too late. If we can get down there before the sword-clanging starts, we can stop this.”

“What is going on? Do you know who killed Sam Patrice?”

“Yes,” I said with certainty. “I’ll tell you when we’re all in the same place at the same time.”

“All who?”

“Everyone involved.”

He sat back and closed his eyes. “Sounds like one of those damn mummer shows.” In a faux upper-crust twitter he said, “‘I suppose you wonder why I’ve asked you all here.’ I hate those things.”

“You’ll like this one,” I assured him.

First, though, I had to get through the army. No one had paid any attention to us so far; they assumed that if we were here, we were supposed to be. Certainly I looked only marginally more presentable than most of the mercenaries, and the bloody bandage around Kay’s neck helped him blend in as well. But the drive to the white-flagged parley tent was a long one, and the chances we’d make it without being challenged were pretty slim. It seemed smarter to make the first move myself.

I started the wagon down the road slowly, watching the soldiers who passed nearby until I saw the kind of man I wanted. I called out, “Hey! Pissant!”

A young man with a vague suggestion of a beard on his chin turned, saw us, and pointed questioningly at himself. “Yes, you!” I snarled. “Get your ass over here when I call you.”

He threaded through the crowd until he reached us. He was bare-chested, his hair and body wet from recent washing. This must be his first campaign if he still worried about hygiene. He also wore no weapon, a sure sign of a novice. When I was a mercenary, I never went anywhere unarmed. I said, “Get up here and drive this thing.” I stepped over the back of the seat into the wagon bed.

He looked at me blankly. “Do I know you?”

I used the voice that, in my day, made new recruits wet their pants. I caught Kay’s admiring glance out of the corner of my eye. “Your ass will get to know my boot really well if you keep giving me lip. Now get up here and drive!”

The bare-chested young man quickly climbed up and took the reins.

“What’s your name?” I demanded.

“Ollie. I’m with-”

“I didn’t ask for your goddamned life story, did I? Or would you rather I keep calling you “pissant,” because that’s fine with me.” He stared at me, and I added, “Are you a moron? Let’s go! This coffin’s supposed to be at the parley tent three hours ago!”

He yelled at the horses, and they started forward so abruptly I nearly tumbled out of the wagon. Kay covered his mouth so Ollie wouldn’t see him laugh.

We got halfway through the camp before someone finally stopped us. A tall, wide-shouldered man with a missing eye and a permanent scowl stepped right in our path with no apparent doubt the horses would stop for him. They did.

“What the hell is this?” he asked, and pointed at the coffin.

“It’s a coffin, what do you think?” Ollie said before I could answer. I realized with a start that he was imitating my own tough-guy voice. Now I struggled not to laugh.

The tall man did not. He narrowed his good eye and said, “Do you know who I am?”

Ollie’s braggadocio broke like a paper-thin dam. “Yes, Captain Ivy, I’m sorry, sir.”

Ivy chewed his lip thoughtfully, looked at Kay and me and the coffin, then said, “Somebody better tell me the story about this or we’ll add three more corpses to the fire.”

“Sure,” I said. “General Medraft sent for this coffin personally. It’s something he wants to show King Marcus.”

Ivy walked slowly around the wagon. Others began to stop what they were doing and watch. If we drew too much attention, we’d never get away. Ivy reached the back of the wagon and patted the coffin lid. “Open it.”

“I don’t think you want to do that,” I said. I tried to project superiority, but didn’t do a very good job of it. Ivy was way too sure of himself.

“I think I do,” Ivy said, and smiled the way a wolf does when it finds an unattended fawn.

I looked around suspiciously, then motioned Ivy in close. He put his hand on his dagger as he leaned over the tailgate. I said quietly, “ I don’t even know who’s in here. I met the general in Astolat before the rest of the army got there, and he told me go get this and bring it straight here. He said if anyone asked questions about it, I was supposed to make sure they never asked any more.”

I put in enough truth about Medraft’s activities in the last few days that I hoped my story sounded legitimate. Ivy’s expression didn’t change, but after a moment he nodded. “All right. But wait a minute.”

He looked around at the small crowd of watchers. “Jameson, you and… yeah, you and Barker. Get on this wagon and go with this guy. Do what he says.” Ivy turned back to me. “Give the general my regards.”

“I will,” I said. The irony threatened to choke me.

Jameson and Barker hopped into the back with me. Both were lean, long-muscled types with numerous white and pink scars on their bare arms. Jameson wore a necklace of mismatched baubles taken after battles. If he lived long enough, he’d realize that it was far scarier not to have the need to display trophies. Barker had a blank, dim expression and his hair fell in his eyes. His fingers tapped constantly; either he had more energy than he needed, or he took something to keep him alert. His bangs kept me from seeing if his pupils were affected.

The camp smells assailing me-sweat, mud, urine, burning meat, and metal-brought back memories I’d hoped to repress until my old age. And the worst part was, not all of them were unpleasant. When I saw two men laughing over their tankards as they sat beside a fire, I remembered the hours I’d spent doing the same thing, telling bullshit stories and calling bullshit on other people’s. After all, we’d faced death together, and even though it was just a job, it bonded us with shared experience. In the thick of battle the paid soldier took as many risks as the noble knights, and often more since we got bonuses based on results.

There was a difference, though, and it was crucial: we fought to fight, the knights fought to win. If they defeated us, the war ended. If we defeated them, we’d just hire out for the next war somewhere else. How well they did depended on how desperately they wanted the victory, and that usually came down to leadership. How well we did depended simply on how much we needed our pay.

There were the freaks on both sides, of course: men (and occasionally women) who enjoyed any excuse for killing. They were easy to spot, tough to stop, and ultimately did everyone a favor by attracting attention while the rest of us did our jobs. Their kills were usually less than you’d think, because after a while no one would engage them. They spent the latter part of the battle striding among corpses looking for someone to fight.

Following the battles were the celebrations. We always had plenty to drink, and plenty of willing (or not) girls. There were boys for the ones who went that way as well. And unlike regular soldiers, we celebrated whether we won or lost.

Without meaning to, I’d grown wistful and nostalgic over this period of my life. Which is why the universe had to balance things out by ensuring that I glanced to the side at just the right moment. “Stop,” I told Ollie.

He did so without question. I hopped out of the wagon.

“You need us?” Jameson asked.

“No,” I said.

Three crude tents circled a small fire, and weapons lay scattered about. The only person visible was a naked boy of about ten, who lay on his side. His wrists and ankles were tied to a stake. He looked up at me blankly, already numb from the horror he’d endured.

Willing. Or not. Yeah.

I drew my sword and cut the ropes. The boy slowly sat, his head down. “Get out of here,” I said. “Run toward the castle.”

He rubbed his wrists and shook his head.

I grabbed him by the hair and yanked him upright. “Did you hear me? Get going!”

“No,” he said hoarsely. “My mom’s in there.” He pointed to one of the tents.

“LaCrosse,” Kay said warningly, over the blood thundering in my head. I ignored it and tossed the tent flap aside.

There was a woman in the tent, at the moment its only occupant. She was naked as well and tied to the tent’s central pole. I cut her loose.

She sat up and turned hateful, rage-filled eyes on me. “Where’s my son?” she hissed.

“Outside. He wouldn’t leave without you.” I tossed her a blanket. “Go get him and run toward the castle. They’ll take you in.”

“They’re the ones who did this,” she snarled as she pulled the blanket around her shoulders. “King Marcus gave them permission.”

Aha. Now the destruction made sense. “Is that what they told you?”

She nodded.

I pulled her to her feet, more roughly than I probably should have. “The Knights of the Double Tarn are out there ready to defend the castle against these bastards. Think about that. Then take your son and run to them. Unless you like the way you’re being treated?”

I thought for a moment she might spit on me, but instead she rushed out. Through the open flap I saw her grab the boy by the wrist and drag him behind her. She dropped the blanket for the sake of speed and ran toward what I sincerely hoped was rescue.

As I stepped from the tent, its owner returned to camp. He saw me, then his captives fleeing in the distance. He was shorter and broader than me, like Agravaine but without the madness in his eyes. He was plenty pissed, though.

“Who the fuck are you?” he demanded. “That bitch was mine!”

Without a word I drove my sword into his belly. I ripped it upward as I removed it. I returned the sword to its scabbard as I walked away and climbed onto the wagon seat without watching him fall.

“What the hell was that all about?” Barker demanded.

“Yeah, that was somebody’s prize,” Jameson added. “We get to keep whatever we-”

I looked at them. Whatever they saw in my face silenced them. “Go,” I told Ollie. My nostalgia curdled in my belly.

“And make it fast,” Kay said. He nodded toward several men riding down the hill toward us, led by Ivy. I suppose he’d checked me out.

I grabbed the reins from Ollie and kicked him from the wagon. Kay drew his sword and put the tip at Jameson’s throat. Barker froze as well, too confused to make any move. I snapped the reins and shouted at the horses. We sprang forward and headed downhill at a full gallop. Ollie shouted curses after us.

Now it was a simple race. Either we got through the mercenary camp and into the open, or we didn’t. After all the secrets and ambiguities, it was nice to have things be so simple for a change.

I threw back my head and laughed.