The play that night was called ‘The Great Jikai of Tacgide the Meek’. The actors were undoubtedly excellent, but I was not in the mood for it, even though I usually enjoy the dramatic arts. Somehow I had become Quensella’s captain of the guard — and for the sweet sake of Mother Diocaster, do not ask me how. It just happened.
Being in the service of Quensella could have been so pleasant. But I was vexed. Of course I could not immediately resign from her service, but one day I would have to do it, and I reckoned that day would not be long in coming. For the time being I had to allow events to unfold naturally.
At least I had learned that the council was divided on Prince Ortyg’s proposals. Those among them who were eager for the noise of battle wanted to gather the armies, set out immediately to the south and invade Tolindrin. Amongst themselves they did not mince their words about their future intentions — while we guards stood with immobile faces against the wall. After they had conquered the country, with Prince Ortyg’s traitorous help, they wanted to get rid of him and divide the booty among themselves.
Other noble members of the council were of a different opinion. They could see the horrors that war may bring on the nation. This had often happened in the past. Tolindrin was a powerful enemy.
Although this information circulated around the palace, it did not leak out to the ears of the people on the street. Everything I learned I passed on to the Vallian ambassador. It was easy to imagine that in this situation far more than the destiny of two lands in Balintol was at stake. Vallia had a great interest in the outcome, and the stupid decisions taken here could result in all of Paz being in danger.
The play ended, and everyone hurried outside under the strict observance of the orders of social rank. We guards managed to make space for our masters.
No one tried to attack Lady Quensella. It was fairly obvious to me that her life was in danger. No cadade would try, without good reason, to push his mistress into a deadly pool. Probably there had been a lot of gold involved, and there could also have been threats, but it was most important to understand the motives behind the deed, which were currently unknown to me. Who wanted Quensella out of the way?
She had spoken out forcefully against the alliance with Ortyg. The lady Chermina would make her own decision, no matter what the council finally decided. If they rejected Ortyg’s offer, Chermina would be vulnerable if the war was unsuccessful. This could be the reason. Chermina was widely detested, while Quensella was loved by all, and that was not unusual for sisters, one of them having the power and the other not.
So far I had met neither King Yando nor Chermina. Maybe, if there was time, I would explore some more of this puzzle.
About a sennight had passed since I collapsed during my interview with the lady who was now, amazingly, my mistress. The very next day I had looked over a couple of new recruits. We had both decided that her personal bodyguard had to be reinforced.
Elten Naghan Vindo had to draw on experiences that lay just outside his normal diplomatic duties to get me half a dozen Pachaks. They had just become tazll and were looking for work, so we were extremely lucky to get them. They gave their nikobi — the Pachak code of honor that was the reason we unconditionally trusted them and knew they would fight for us until death. I was very happy with them and wanted more first class paktuns of comparable abilities.
The interviews were held in an anteroom, and Kov Lumino had cleverly sent Hikdar Renko to keep an eye on everything. I had nothing against this obvious interference with my authority. Lumino just felt responsible for the great-granddaughter of his dead friend.
I sat at a simple wooden table. Drino, a hunchbacked Xaffer, sat to one side with a pen in his hand and a battered register before him. On the table was a strong lenken chest reinforced with iron bands. It was open, and the glitter of gold within was truly tempting.
“Next!”
A vulture-headed Rapa with mangy feathers blustered in wearing cheap clothes and three swords in his belt. It was obvious at first sight that he was not suitable, but I treated him kindly and sent him away with a gold piece that would soothe his wounded pride.
“Next!”
A limber youngster stood before the table; he had one of those open, rosy faces of the sort that arouses in every older woman the desire to give him a kiss. Aye, for a young girl it would be the same. He wore a red tunic and matching trousers, a sword and a dagger, and his mop of brown hair was covered by a wide-brimmed floppy hat with a red feather. He stood stock-still and looked at me. His brown eyes widened and his jaw dropped. I had to act quickly.
“Name?” I barked. “Come on, boy, your name?”
“Erwin, Maj—”
I interrupted him roughly. “So, Erwin! And where are you from, Erwin with the unbridled tongue?”
Drino, the Xaffer, gave a low, amused snort. No doubt he thought I was making fun of the boy’s obvious discomfort. But I wanted at all costs to prevent the young Erwin from saying something stupid, and quickly, by Krun! Renko, whom I had befriended, would rush like an arrow to Lumino with such an important piece of news.
Erwin stuttered, and his wonderful, boyish face flushed.
“Vallia, I suppose. Well, Erwin, am I right? And you will call me Jiktar! Never forget that!”
“Not from Vallia, Maj— Jiktar. From Valka.”
Well now, that was odd. My Valkans call me their Strom. The younger generations had likely lost this cheerful disrespect for their ruler. They had not fought by my side during the hard times of Valka and the Fetching of Drak na Valka. For the young people, the ruler — even a ruler who has abdicated — will be the Majister. Even the high-spirited bunch of men and women, all splendid fighters that make up my Stromnate of Valka, went along with it.
Erwin said that his hometown was Valkanium, and my thoughts went immediately to Esser Rarioch and the view of the bay. I took him on, and Drino wrote down his name neatly. But he looked up. “Erwin what?” Then he added, conscious of the freedom of his position and his race, whooping with laughter, “Erwin the Waggler!”
The poor boy! Whether he liked it or not, that was his nickname from now on.
Later I ordered Erwin to my private quarters and gave him strict commands. “It is Jiktar, or Jik!” Then I made sure that no one could overhear us, and we talked about Valkanium. He proved to be a reliable, likeable lad. Still, as nice as it was to converse with him, I knew that he was the weak link in the chain when it came to my disguise, which was essential for my spying activities.
Like many young boys who yearn for the exciting life of an adventurer, he had taken leave of his parents and had set out to be a mercenary. He was confident that he would soon ascend to chavpaktun, then to be mortpaktun and finally to wear the gold zhanpaktun with a long, dangling pakai. His father was an armorer, and I remembered his grandfather too, who had worked for Naghan the Gnat. Yes, as already mentioned, it is nice to chat over a glass of wine or three. Still, my duties could not be forgotten.
In addition to Erwin the Waggler and six first-class Pachaks I was fortunate to take four experienced Hytaks into service. Hytaks are very reliable in their own way, with a code of honor very different from that generally accepted among the fanatical Pachaks. I could well imagine myself able to transform these men into a force of bodyguards that would prevent even a hair on Quensella’s head from being bent. At least I hoped so, by Krun.
When I had met her at the border, her own flying boat had just refused to work, and she eventually told me that it was at that exact time that an attempt was made on her life. She took just her two maids with her and booked passage with Captain Llanili which had cost her only the employment of her undisputed perseverance and a purse of one hundred gold pieces.
“You took a risk with me, my lady.”
She laughed; a deep, contented, joyous sound, not a high pitched girlish giggle. “Oh, I realized immediately that you weren’t the assassin type.”
I kept my old black-fanged winespout closed.
She wanted me to wear pretty gilt armor over a purple uniform. I stubbornly refused. Purple is a nice color, and pastel colors are worn by both women and men nowadays. No, it was the lack of protection provided by such armor that I objected to. After some heated discussions, we agreed on simple leather armor reinforced with bronze plates. The helmet, also in bronze, was not too fancy or unwieldy. Like Tolindrin, Caneldrin appeared to have difficulties in producing high-quality iron and steel.
This is exactly why I insisted that the men of the guard use their own weapons, no matter what it was. This she vetoed. She wanted the boys to stand at attention in front of the doors and stairways holding damn great halberds and pikes that towered into the air. Now, it is an undoubted fact that a splendidly uniformed soldier armed with the halberd offers an impressive sight. If the crescent axe blade is decorated with beautiful patterns and colorful tassels dangle from it, the effect is even greater. Since their value in a roguish sneak attack by black-masked stikitches was rather questionable, I resisted her commands to me. In the end we came to a compromise. The jurukkers would use their own weapons, but also carry halberds. That everyone would drop their long weapon after the first enemy contact was tacitly ignored; long weapons do have their benefits, and in the right circumstances they are indispensable. With regard to the name jurukker for a watchman, well yes, I know, guards are generally called jurukkers within an army. Nevertheless, the division that I put together developed into a truly effective juruk.
The oldest of the Pachaks, Molar Na-Fre, with the gold at his neck, and the oldest of the Hytaks, Nalan ti Perming, also wearing gold, were promoted to hikdars.
Nalan ti Perming carried his comrades’ Balintol longsword. He described it as a clanscreetz for obvious reasons. The short form for this was clantzer. This clantzer, a longsword, must not, of course, be confused with the Vallian clanxer, a kind of cutlass. Such a mistake may well lead to one’s head being separated from one’s shoulders. Oh yes, by the Blade of Kurin!
Quensella lived in her own quarters within the cluster of buildings that made up the palace. We guarded the entrances and exits. The central parts of the cluster of buildings were reserved for the pompous affairs of state, and the nobles lived in the surrounding wings and annexes. The regent Chermina was quartered somewhere at the rear of the palace near the river. She held herself apart from the others, and kept King Yando on a tight rein.
I found all the routine extremely boring and annoying, but there was no getting around it. I had direct access to critical meetings of the council and to the far more important confrontations between the two sisters, which had so far not occurred.
Erwin proved to be a great consolation, for he told me enthusiastically about Valka, Valkanium and the bay. He had swum there all his life. “There is in the world no better spot!” he said.
I did not contradict him — I agreed with him — although there are, of course, many other places of unsurpassed beauty on Kregen. Erwin was very popular within the guard.
I took on a few more men: an apim, a few Brokelsh and, after some hesitation, a Khibil. The Khibil, fox faced and cunning, of course demanded a bonus, which he held to be justified simply because he was a Khibil. I considered that alone to be insufficient and quickly rejected him, so he agreed to serve for the same pay as the others. His name was Perempto the Shorn because he wore his reddish hair cut very short, and if it had been any shorter he would have looked like a Gon.
Erwin confided in me one day that his nickname was Erwin the Rose. “That is why it didn’t bother me to be called the Waggler.” On his face was a most excellent depiction of rosiness. With all the connotations that the word had acquired in my life, I was glad that his name had been changed.
While all the responsibility rests on the captains of the guard, they also receive benefits from its position. It provides them favors. So I was not in the least surprised when after the inspection of all positions on a beautiful day I felt a feather light touch on the shoulder. I turned around. The woman was young, had a pleasant appearance and was neatly dressed. She wore a half-veil, and her eyes.
“Lord. Here.”
She gave me the envelope she held in her outstretched hand, then turned like a top and disappeared behind a lotus column.
Veil or not, I would have recognized her if she had been known to me. But she was not. I knew everyone from Quensella’s household. Whether maids, nannies, servants, cooks, kitchen staff, bedchamber squires, wine masters or stablemen, they were all familiar to me, including the slaves. No one had been hired without my knowledge. These things must — or should — be known if a cadade is worth his pay, I might add.
I opened the envelope later in the seclusion of my quarters and read that I was expected at two bells past the hour of dim in The Pleasant Rest tavern, where Naghan ti Indrin would introduce himself. The message ended with the news that I would learn something to my advantage. I burned the neat handwritten message.
Shortly thereafter, Hikdar Molar Na-Fre came by and told me that a local group meeting of the Brotherhood of Paktuns would take place that evening. The Brotherhood of Paktuns, which had defined the various ranks such as gold, silver and bronze in solemn, withdrawn discussions, meets whenever there is an opportunity. They discuss levels of pay, working conditions, pensions, betrayal and many other things of relevance for everyone who follows the mercenary craft — whether male or female.
“Tonight there is a special item on the agenda, Jik. A new rank has long been spoken about. Now is the time to decide something, so that it is finally created.”
“Right. But you can’t all go. Our duties have priority.”
“Of course.”
“You and Nalan will go. I will command the guard tonight alone.”
Although he resisted, as was proper, he did not want to miss the important meeting under any circumstances, so he agreed. I thought it an unlikely coincidence that someone wanted me to be away from Quensella’s chambers at the same time.
My interest in snooping on the political goings-on aside, I took my duties as Quensella’s bodyguard very seriously. Of all the characteristics and obligations a cadade should possess, the most important is knowledge of human nature. Imagine if I took a man into the team who was secretly working for those who wanted Quensella out of the way? I have to admit that this nightmarish notion troubled me.
Without proper monitoring a damned stikitche could sneak away from his assigned post and perform the evil deed. In the Pachaks I harbored no doubt at all. I had a strong feeling that I could trust the Hytaks. This was also true for the young Erwin. So I made sure that one of them was paired up with each of the rest of the guard. This was an elementary precaution taken by every good cadade. Then I went off post.
The news of the upcoming Shank attack immediately to the south had not yet reached Prebaya, that was certain. There were still Chuliks around, although I was not able to get any for Quensella’s juruk. The young, haughty lady who had rushed past me in the pond room was the Kovneva P’Pinxi, as I learned later, and she woke up one morning to discover that her Chulik guard had abandoned her; it required only a message that their island was in danger from the Shanks.
If I have not mentioned that I had searched out the secret passages inside the palace, including those in the direct vicinity of Quensella’s apartments, it is because I am convinced that you who follow my stories know something of my methods. I kept the spider-webbed passages between the walls of the public and private chambers always in mind.
The night was uneventful. Not because of my vigilance or the attention of the guards — it was just that nothing happened.
The next morning the two zhanpaktuns reported on the result of the meeting. The final decision had been passed on to the Brotherhood of Paktuns. There were still some uncertainties as to what the new honorary rank should look like. A gem should proclaim the glory; gold was no longer sufficient to symbolize the honor, we all agreed — but what gem should it be?
Sometime later in the day another messenger tapped me on the arm and handed me a sealed envelope. The message expressed concern that I had not appeared at the rendezvous, and once again emphasized that it would be to my benefit.
So I went that evening to The Pleasant Rest.
Because I never for a moment forgot that I was on Kregen I took with me my weapons and wore Quensella’s coat of mail. I left the helmet behind.
The tavern turned out to be not what one would expect from its name. It was not quite a respectable inn; on a stage, performances were held that would have raised the hair of a plundering pirate. I ignored the antics that occurred in the glow of the lamps, and found an alcove in the back. I was expected. Someone slid onto the opposite bench and said, “Lahal. I am Naghan ti Indrin.”
A little Fristle fifi conjured up glasses onto the table and put a jug of red wine within easy reach. When she had gone, Indrin leaned forward conspiratorially. He was an Advang; a dark cloak hid his porcine features and stocky frame. He kept his black, wide-brimmed hat on his head. “You’re the lady Quensella’s cadade,” he said. He had a breathless voice, with a whiny tone. “You’re lucky. A fortune awaits you.”
From this point on, I listened without saying a word; I was already quite clear what this was all about. I decided not to reach out to take his thick neck and squeeze until his piggy eyes oozed out of his skull. I nodded, listening intently, and he babbled away way too much.
I felt a quiet sadness when I realized that Nath, the poor devil, had been bribed in the same way. His life had ended between the jaws of voryachins.
“Well, Drajak the Daxer? This is an excellent opportunity for you to earn a fortune. You’ll never again have to suffer hardship.”
I took a sip of wine, thinking.
“There is the honor of a Paktun that must be considered.”
He brushed that aside.
“Your honor relates to your group and your comrades. Your honor concerns you and your future. Think of the gold! My Lord is very, very generous. Besides, you have no choice.”
“Oh?” I took another swallow. “I’ll have to think about it first.”
He shook his pig-like head. “No. That will not be necessary.”
Well, had I been naive I would have thought that it would have gone differently. They would have to kill me. That was clear. If I did not agree, they would have to cover their tracks.
The red wine was not very good. The stuffy air of the tavern depressed me. The performance reached its climax. In one of the alcoves opposite, six stocky men, all well-armed, sat at their table and drank and laughed and teased the barmaid. The ruffians were certainly with Naghan ti Indrin. At his signal, they would pounce on me.
I looked him straight in the eye. “It seems a reasonable offer. When should I arrange Quensella’s fatal accident?”