Betrayed In Deepest Consequence
The Blind Pig’s common room resembled the streets of Gorgonholm after a full-scale riot. The floor was strewn with overturned furniture, shattered crockery, and lots and lots of blood. The kindly innkeeper and his family crouched in an alcove beneath the stairs to the loft. Two dead bodies lay face down on the floor. Five of Bart’s mercenaries, three of them nursing bloody wounds, sat on the floor against the back wall.
Sir Bartholomew Staynes stood unarmed and bare-headed in the center of the room. Next to him stood Torgul, his left arm dripping blood, his right hand holding a gore-bespattered scramasax. Roscoe, sword in hand, stood on Bart’s opposite side, where he could also keep an eye on the men against the wall.
The old Adventurer glanced over as Thurmond and the Gascars charged into the room.
“Well now, there you are. About time you arrived. We could’ve used you a moment ago, and that’s a fact.”
“What went on here, Roscoe?”
He nodded toward Bart.
“Seems our friend here blames us for himself bein’ an incompetent oaf. Seems he wants to kill me and Sarah and you for him not bein’ able to lead his own men in a proper fashion. Maybe there’s other reasons, but it’s all a lot of childish blather, whatever it may be.”
“He attacked you?”
“That he did. We was sittin’ here, enjoyin’ a mug of ale after that roast beef dinner, havin’ ourselves a fine time, when these here miscreants crept up and looked to stick us in the back with knives. They was thinkin’ we’d be in our cups and unable to defend ourselves, but we showed ‘em different.”
Hearing this, Thurmond could barely keep himself from striking Bart dead.
“Drax attacked me in the bath! That’s where I’ve been—fighting him off. The Gascars say they’ve been planning this all along.”
“So they have, laddie, so they have. But Wat over there tipped us off, so they didn’t take us unaware. Sir Bartholomew here ain’t as smart as he thinks.”
Thurmond grimaced.
“I wish somebody’d told me. Drax took me by surprise. Why didn’t you warn me, Wat?”
“No time—it all happened pretty fast.”
Roscoe concurred.
“He’s right, boyo. Wat slipped me word just before they made their move on us, then him and Wat and Cob went off to warn you. So old Drax turned out to be ever’ bit as bad as you said he was. Did you finish him?”
“He drank Sarah’s healing potions, so he wasn’t a cripple anymore—but he is now. I left him with a broken back. He can’t move his legs. Hey!—where’s Sarah?”
Roscoe pointed to one of the dead mercenaries with the tip of his sword.
“One of them fellas threw somethin’, a tankard, I think it was. She got hit in the head, but she’ll be all right. She’s up in the loft, puttin’ a bandage ‘round her brow.”
Thurmond rose, intending to ascend to the loft, but at that moment, Sarah climbed down the ladder and joined her companions. A linen bandage tied around her head was stained with a spot of blood. Thurmond took her hand.
“Roscoe tells me you’re all right.”
“I’ll live—just a bump on the head.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m fine. Now go keep an eye on my brother so I can tend to Torgul. He’s the one that got hurt.”
The dwarf had sustained a bad cut on his left arm, which continued to drip blood. While Sarah bound Torgul’s wound, Thurmond drew his sword and laid the razor-sharp edge against Bart’s neck.
“Drax said you gave me to him, sir knight. What do you have to say about that?”
When Bart failed to reply, Thurmond almost chuckled.
“That’s what I thought. There’s not a lot you can say, is there, sir knight?”
Roscoe addressed Bart, his voice utterly cold.
“Sir Bartholomew, I accuse you of bein’ a foul oath-breaker and a betrayer, a false knight and a blackguard. In fact, I suspect you was never a true knight at all, just a mountebank paradin’ around in a white belt and gold chain posin’ as one.”
“I can forgive your men. They’re just hired killers who took your money and followed your orders, but you are bound by a code that you have most grievously violated. So I will ask you one question—how would you like to die? By the blade or by the rope? That’s the only choice you have.”
Bart’s mouth fell open. He stared into Roscoe’s eyes without comprehension, as if those fatal words had been spoken in a foreign tongue. When he said nothing, the old Adventurer asked again.
“I’ll ask you only one more time, sir knight—how would you like to die? Speak up now or your head comes off right here.”
It was Sarah who finally resolved the issue.
“Nay, Roscoe, nay. Slay him not. Loathsome as he is, Bart is still my brother—well, my half-brother anyway—so we are bound in blood. Ask whatever you want of me in exchange, but spare his life, please.”
Thurmond’s retort was angry.
“You want us to spare this treacherous slug, even after he tried to kill Roscoe and Torgul? After he sent Drax to kill me?”
Sarah was suffused with conflicting emotions.
“Nay—well, aye—but nay, not really. Oh, Thurmond, I’m all mixed up. I just know that he’s my brother even if he’s vile in every respect. I beg you, do not slay him.”
Roscoe gave Sarah a long, sorrowful look.
“Remember, lassie, your brother here was out to kill you, too, so he was. He wasn’t about to show you no mercy. And if we let him go, you can bet your last silver penny that he’ll be back lookin’ for revenge when you least expect it. He ain’t gonna be grateful to you, not one bit. He’ll blame you for the shame he’s feelin’ right at this very moment.”
Roscoe had the right of it. Bart would have liked nothing better than to throttle Sarah on the spot. Never had he hated anyone so much, not the upstart stable boy or the old Adventurer, not even his father.
Sarah remained unmoved.
“I understand what you’re saying, Roscoe, and I don’t doubt you’re right. But such reasons really do not matter. Please spare my brother’s life.”
The dwarf finally settled the question.
“God’s bloody bladder, Roscoe, let ’im go. The world’s full of double-dealin’ knights. What difference can one more make? He ain’t no worse than any of his kind.”
So Bart was allowed to live, at least for the time being.
A group of armed citizens arrived under the command of a constable. The perfidious mercenaries, Bart included, were taken to a stone barn, where they would be held until judgment could be passed by the local baron. Their guilt being evident, they faced whipping, mutilation, perhaps hanging.
Men were sent to bring Drax from the bathhouse, but the maimed scout was not to be found. Drag marks in the dirt suggested that he had pulled himself from the tub and into a nearby farm field. There they lost him, but the search would continue after daylight the next day.
The old Adventurer and the constable held a brief, private discussion. It was agreed that Bart and his men would forfeit all possessions of value—all money, armor, weapons, horses, saddles and bridles, tools, cooking gear, bedrolls and cloaks. All extra hats, boots, and clothing. The prisoners were left, in the end, with nothing but the thin clothes on their backs.
This booty was divided equally between Roscoe and the constable, though the former immediately awarded his share, along with an additional sum of gold, to the traumatized innkeeper. It was important to keep him in good spirits, as he would serve as the primary witness in the upcoming legal proceedings.
The constable had at first insisted that the Adventurers be detained to stand before the baron, but another handful of gold soon convinced him that their presence was unnecessary. They could leave in the morning.
Later, as Thurmond and Sarah lay wrapped in each other’s arms beneath a counterpane, she related her version of the night’s events.
“I got knocked flat right at the start, so I didn’t see much. Roscoe signaled me to get ready, that there was going to be trouble. I was going to throw a sleep spell, but then something struck my head. I was so stunned, I missed most of it.”
“They thought they were going to take us by surprise, but Roscoe knew what was coming. So it was us who surprised them. Torgul fought like a demon. He killed two of Bart’s men right off, and that took the spirit out of the rest of them. When Roscoe waded into them with his big sword, they started throwing down their weapons and begging for mercy.”
Thurmond could feel her trembling, still upset by the bloody onslaught. He spoke quietly.
“What about Bart? What was his part in all this?”
“He just stood to one side—didn’t even draw his sword. When he saw how things were going, he unbuckled his swordbelt and let it drop to the ground.”
Thurmond growled softly.
“Coward.”
Sarah shrugged.
“He’s not much of a fighter, so it would have been suicide to cross blades with Roscoe. Surrendering was his best option.”
Thurmond found her rationale distressing.
“But he’s a knight! Has he no sense of honor?”
“None at all. Not one bit. I grew up with him, so I’ve known what he was like since he was a little boy. He’s selfish, spiteful, envious, petty, greedy—anything but honorable.”
“And I’ll tell you something else—all that talk about the nobility being bound by a code of honor? It’s all just crap. When I was a girl, I saw lots of nobles. I witnessed how they treat people. Most of them are just as bad as Bart, some of them are worse.”
Thurmond stroked her hair.
“You used to want to be one of ‘em.”
“Let’s just say I’ve seen the error of my ways. Anyway, Bart’s childish and vain, but he isn’t the person who really offends me.”
“Who is it then?”
“It’s those two men, the ones I saved from certain death, the one with the broken leg and the other with the head wound. They were right in there with the rest of them, looking to kill us. How could they do such a thing?”
“They’re mercenaries, loyal only to whoever gives ‘em gold. You can’t expect anything else from men like them.”
“Well, at least Adventurers aren’t like that. They stick by one another.”
“Some of them do, Sarah. I’m not sure they’re all as loyal as Roscoe and Torgul.”
Sarah snuggled against him.
“At least we have each other. The only reason we’re still alive is that we can trust one another.”
“You’re right! Roscoe’s always asking me what I learned from this or that. What you just said—that we have to be true to each other—that’s the most important lesson of ‘em all. But you have to learn that lesson in your own way. Nobody can just tell it to you.”
Thurmond had a random thought.
“Hey, I just remembered, did you ever look in your basket? Was Drax telling the truth about stealing the healing potions?”
“Aye, he did indeed. He took them all but left the box they were packed in, so I didn’t notice they were gone. He even put rocks inside so it would weigh the same.”
“But didn’t you say that one of the potions was really a deadly poison? Why didn’t it kill him?”
“That’s what Malachai told me, but maybe he was lying. I have no idea.”
She poked him playfully in the ribs, hoping to lighten the mood. The mention of Drax reminded her of something.
“There’s something I just have to ask you about. Wat told me that just before you and Drax fought it out, you called him a shaggy-eared scum. What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I dunno, it’s just what came out. He called me something first, and it was the only thing I could think of to say.”
“What did he call you?”
“An egg, he called me an egg.”
“An egg? Why an egg? Is that an insult?”
“I guess. I was so angry right then, anything would have pissed me off. So egg was quite sufficient. Didn’t you ever notice Drax’s ears?”
“God forefend, nay. I always found him filthy and repulsive. Why would I look at his ears? What was wrong with them?”
“They had black hairs growing out of them. Lots of old people get hairy ears, but his were especially so.”
“Ugh, I don’t ever want to see hair growing out of your ears—got that?”
“I’ll do my best.”