County Thorion
Wick
٤ Korunasykli: ٢١ Days after the Red Storm at Westsong
The sleeping chambers in most strongholds were purpose-built things. Fortresses, castles, towers—it made little difference. The rooms were small, mostly mean compartments built with an eye toward defense and displays of power. It was easy to overlook the cramped quarters if one were asleep. When a body was awake yet had no specific place to be, however, these rooms seemed at once too tall and too narrow for comfort.
Olshnak found himself in just such a situation. He was acting in the robe and office of Herald for Sir Kaith, meaning his room was slightly larger than most. He was also a slave, and a savage, orcish one, at that. So dangerous was he that he was kept in line by two jailers wearing the county colors.
He snorted at that notion. It was near enough to the truth, he admitted, but that didn’t make it less laughable. Having the two jailers did mean he got a slightly larger room than he otherwise would’ve. After all, one jailer would have to sleep in the chamber with him, while the other took a shift outside.
Have to ensure I won’t escape, don’t they?
He’d already put in a token appearance downstairs, passing a word with the few servants who would talk to him. He’d even shared some horse bread and breakfast ale with Huron before returning to his chambers. The sun had risen well over an hour ago, though his body all but screamed at him to try to sleep for another few bells. He ignored the urge. It wouldn’t be long, and he wanted—needed—to keep his wits about him for what came next.
Seated atop his bed, Olshnak looked over at the room’s other pallet. Tomet was, predictably, shamming sleep there. The guard lay as silent and still as usual, breathing slowly with his eyes closed. Olshnak had to admit it was convincing, but he knew better. Tomet was just biding his time.
Aye, and Jek’s out in the hall, looking a practiced mix of bored and attentive, I’ve no doubt. I just wish one of them would get it over with already.
He fetched a sigh, taking no pains to hide it. He wasn’t running the risk of waking Tomet, after all.
“You should try to get sleep while you can, Olshnak.” Speak of the spark… “When one of us needs you, we’ll wake you. No fear.” Both his guards spoke in a slow, gruff monotone that was just interesting enough not to lull a listener to sleep.
“I’ll wait a touch longer, if it’s all the same, Tomet.” Then, as an afterthought, “…Unless it’s making your beard itch.”
This was met with a heavy, awkward silence from the pallet. After a protracted period, Tomet sat up, turning his head to look at Olshnak. “Sarcasm… Or was that meant to be funny? Should I have laughed, Olshnak?” That voice could make a love song sound ominous.
Olshnak let out a slow breath, shaking his head as he rolled onto his side. “Not worth worrying about, Tomet. Can you let it go?”
“…I suppose I can.”
An interval of time followed. He couldn’t have said how long, for in spite of himself, he’d actually started drifting off. He winced when the door eventually opened. He knew who it would be, of course. Had there been trouble, Jek would have warned them. Like Tomet, he said little, but when violence was on offer, he did nothing to hide the noise.
“Ollllshnak … wake.” Like Tomet, Jek’s voice was a gruff near-monotone. The lone difference was that Jek’s was a touch higher in register.
Olshnak lifted his gaze in time to see Tomet head out of the room to take up Jek’s former position. Once he’d closed the door, the Gnoerk spoke in scratched resignation.
“Aye, I’m awake.”
“Good. We haven’t much time before I’m missed. What can you tell me of Sir Kaith’s mission?”
Olshnak scratched the area between his nostrils, considering. “You were right to lay your power on him. Lord Ricgerd nearly took him off the field forever, as I expect you know.”
There was a modest pause. Jek cocked his head as if considering before responding. “Aye. Yet it was the warden’s word, not yours.”
Olshnak nodded. “It was. “
“Why?”
The gnoerk had a moment to be confused at the question. “Why… What? Why did—”
“Why did the warden act when you did not? Moreover, why did you not?”
“Because if he fell to Ricgerd, you wouldn’t have wanted him.”
“That’s a presumptuous statement.”
“I think the word you’re looking for there is honest. It was an honest statement.”
“Now you seek to correct my words… As if I don’t know my own mind?”
Olshnak stood, sighing rather comically.
“Sit down, Olshnak. I’ve no interest in theatrics.” Again the voice came in that stony, short range of notes. As was so often the case, his jailors’ speech felt detached from the emotional context of their words. Olshnak had grown accustomed to that oddity, but not so much so that his mind didn’t register it. He sat down on the bed once more.
“I’ve watched him. I expected him to survive against the grieving lord of these lands. If I, personally, had to interfere, then it meant he’d done nothing to inspire loyalty from his men. He’d have proven so drunk on his own woes that he couldn’t be counted on to lead a campfire song or catch a sniffle without supervision. You’ve made it clear that that’s a thing you most assuredly don’t want.”
This was met with another extended pause before Jek made his reply.
“That much is true. Fine. The service to commend both Sirs Robis and Reginald to history? I realize protocol dictates you won’t be in attendance, but do we have any reason to believe Sir Kaith will have further troubles with Ricgerd?”
“Huron tells me that Lord Ricgerd and Sir Kaith have accounted the matter settled between them. Ricgerd embraced him as a brother this morning, it seems. Sir Kaith stopped him from slaying the monstrous stable girl with the sadful song.”
“I’m certain there is humor somewhere in there, Olshnak, but I fail to see it from here.” There was that sense of looming dread again.
“It’s enough to say that Kaith stopped the man from overreacting, which is the outcome you were hoping for when you arranged for him to wind up here, I think.”
Another pause, then a nod. “Aye. No argument on that score.” Jek lifted his chin as if looking past Olshnak, to the wall behind him. “Did you know Huron? Prior to joining Sir Kaith’s retinue, had you met him?”
Olshnak shook his head. “He’d seen me in Thorionden, and I him, but nothing more. One slave tends to mark another when they might otherwise keep their heads down. Not particularly potent influence, I grant, but it made for easy conversation, and a way to further prove my tale to the young knight and his men.”
“I see.” After a moment, Jek reverted to a posture and expression which at least approached politeness. “Olshnak, I cannot overstate how vital Wick is for our intentions. Without it, plans to extend our reach will likely fail. I won’t be robbed of the throne over something so preventable as a child’s tantrum. See what can be unearthed to speed the process along, or at least guard against its failure.”
Olshnak nodded. “I’ll do what I can. You’ll know more when I do.”
Jek nodded. “We’ll speak in earnest again tomorrow night, or perhaps the day after, time and guile permitting.”
Olshnak nodded again, bowing his head and closing his eyes. “As you wish.”
“I’m going to lay down until you’ve readied yourself for the day,” Jek said. A moment later and he’d done just that, leaving Olshnak to sit and think.
It was true. Olshnak didn’t want the young knight to die… or to suffer. He wasn’t quite certain why he felt that way, but he did. Kaith might have to die, but he’d do what he could to prevent that.
The question is why? He’s nothing to me. Granted, the way he’d chosen to intervene on the road with his armsmen… But what of that? So he’d reprimanded his lout before the oaf could embarrass him. What did that matter? It had been satisfying to watch, granted… Well, mayhap not satisfying. Satisfying would have been Kaith knocking him into the dirt, stripping him of rank, and sending him south wearing a face painted with bewildered, embarrassed misery. Still, he had to admit, he hadn’t expected any sort of correction to Vilmocz’s all-too-commonplace behavior.
His mind wandered back to Huron’s slender face. That, of course, led him back to Huron’s tale. It’s hardly the same thing. Sir Kaith had known Huron since they were boys. He freed a friend—proved their friendship true. Hells, it was likely a friendship that only existed because it was formed with boyhood’s sweet suddenness. Likely it was never corrected because Kaith hadn’t been expected to attain—to earn station or title. Noble boys don’t play with slaves in any way that’s not cruel, after all.
He’d heard more than a few rumors and one actual report of noble gets using slave boys for archery practice, or to take out their frustrations on when they lost a tournament. Of course, their equally noble parents usually provided some form of punishment for wasting money by destroying or damaging perfectly good slaves, but…
But that’s no help to the slave boys or their families. They don’t get anything for their trouble. Even if they did, reparations won’t un-cripple a boy, or bring back the dead.
Of course, that was just what was done to the boys. What was done to the girls was often far worse, if they survived the encounters. The closest thing to consolation was that these horrors were visited on people of all bloods, birthplaces, and breeds. Cold comfort, but…
But if Kaith freed Huron… Ahnsiblundeek gi.
(Moon Warden’s blood.)
Kaith would, what, somehow wave his banner and end the practice of slavery in Thorion? In the wider world? Of course not. Nobody living or in living memory—nobody in the histories and sagas had the power to do that.
He might free … me. He shook his head. To what end? If anyone learned the truth and I were a free man, they’d either use me or end me. I’m actually safer as things are now. Hells, had he really just… That might be the most cowardly thought you’ve ever had in your fool head, Olshnak.
“I need actual sleep,” he murmured. My mind’s too muddled.
He would do his best to see Sir Kaith succeed. That much he could agree to without further internal debate. The rest… The rest of my musings are for another day.