HONEST work they called it. Fair work for a fair wage, some others mentioned.
Back-breaking fucking toil, was what Josten Cade thought. He’d fought in more battles than he could count. Traded blows with tyrants and kings. Walked miles through endless desert, and back again. Been a pirate on the Ebon Sea. But none of that had prepared him for the misery of ploughing a field.
It wasn’t just his back that ached – it was his shoulders, his hips, his bloody knees. The hard calluses on his palms had torn, his skin not even having the decency to blister before it started bleeding. And yet no one else working the fields gave a word of complaint, so Josten was damned sure he wasn’t going to. Not that their silence surprised him. They were ordinary folk, just glad to have survived the war.
He certainly didn’t share their enthusiasm for that.
Peace had broken out overnight. Stellan, Ozric and Banedon had reached an accord. Marriages had been arranged and now Stellan was High King of all Suderfeld. No wonder every labourer in the land was rejoicing. No longer did they have to risk being recruited under the banners. No longer did they have to leave their families behind and risk death on the battlefield. They could go back to their farms and start ploughing again. Good for them.
Shit for Josten Cade.
What was a fighting man supposed to do in times of peace? The answer to that one was staring him right in the face as he slammed the hoe into the ground. Lift and strike, lift and strike, all bloody day. Josten thought he was a lean article after days walking the desert and a few weeks at sea, but now he was like a racing snake, all sinew and muscle.
If there was something noble to this life he had no idea what it was, but what choice did he have? Sit on the streets and beg? Go back to life as a criminal?
No. He’d had his fill of that. Best make do with what he had.
He’d come here to start again and had given his name as ‘Larren’ in case anyone he didn’t like came looking for Josten Cade. Not that there’d be much starting again. Josten had seen what was coming from the north. Had seen the witch who ruled there. War might be over in the Suderfeld but he was sure it wouldn’t last long before the death cults came down from the Ramadi looking for blood.
When the day was done he slept in a barn with the rest of the labourers who ploughed Duke Coffick’s lands. There were a couple of snorers, but on the whole it was quiet and safe and he had a roof over his head. Two meals a day stopped him starving to death and he had to admit, he’d had it worse. In the morning he woke to a sunny sky and the knowledge that he wouldn’t have to kill anyone. What more could a man ask?
He was washing the sleep from his face in a cold bucket, when Farnal came to talk.
‘Larren. Fancy a day away from the field?’ asked the foreman.
Josten couldn’t quite believe his ears, but he nodded back at the grey old man. ‘I reckon I could stand it.’
‘Good. I need supplies,’ said Farnal. ‘Wagon’ll be leaving soon. Be on it.’
Josten dressed as fast as he could. Farnal was already waiting for him on the wagon when he emerged from the barn. As soon as he sat beside the foreman the horses set off and they left the long open fields behind them.
‘Why me?’ Josten asked as they trundled along the road. ‘Why not any of the other lads?’
Farnal whipped the reins to urge the horses on. ‘Guess you seem to be a man that can think. That can reason. Not like the others.’
Josten supposed he was right enough about that. The other labourers could barely string two sentences together.
‘So what? You’re taking me to a library?’
Farnal smirked at that. ‘No. But I’m getting old and there’s lots needs doing on the land. Now the war’s over we can go back to the way things were. I need someone to take some of the slack.’
‘You want me to act foreman?’
‘Aye, I suppose that’s exactly what I’m saying. I’m guessing you’ve led men before?’
Josten wasn’t sure how to answer that one. He’d not wanted to give too much of himself away and risk yet more enquiries.
‘Maybe,’ he said, realising that was as good as saying yes.
‘Well, you ain’t no farmboy that’s for sure, but I’d reckon a fighting man. It’s all right. You don’t have to say and I don’t care. Whatever reason you’ve got to be here is your own. But I need a capable man. If you’re up for it, I’d like it to be you.’
Josten wanted to tell the old man the truth but he was all out of trust. He’d been betrayed enough times to know when to keep his mouth shut. That said, Farnal wasn’t the double-crossing kind. He seemed genuine in his offer, and right now options were slim.
‘All right. I’ll do it,’ he replied.
‘Glad we’ve got that settled then.’
The rest of the journey went by in silence. Farnal wasn’t one for conversation and that was exactly how Josten liked it. Less they said to one another, less chance he had of revealing something that would land him in the shit.
They pulled up at a little hamlet. Part of it had been burned down in the war, blackened wood not yet cleared away. As for the rest, it was carrying on as though war had never happened. A blacksmith hammered, someone was selling river fish to a less than enthusiastic crowd and an inn stood alone at one end of the main thoroughfare.
‘Get yourself an ale, if you fancy one.’ Farnal must have seen his gaze lingering on the inn.
‘I’m all right,’ Josten replied.
‘Have it on me.’ The foreman flipped him a coin, which Josten caught deftly. ‘We should celebrate your promotion. I just have some business to do and I’ll join you in a bit.’
Josten couldn’t refuse that offer.
They climbed down and Josten took a seat on the porch that surrounded the inn. A serving girl took his order for two ales and he sat there taking in the air. It seemed an odd turn of events. This had been the first time he’d had to sit down and think where his life had taken him in recent days, and here he was; foreman on a farm. Josten Cade, man of the land.
Three riders appeared as the girl placed his beers down. They looked like they’d been on the road for days – two of them wore rough, bushy beards, the third was older, greyer, and much shorter. He had a shifty look to him Josten had seen a thousand times. Trouble.
They tied up their horses and moved onto the wooden porch, one of them shouting at the girl for ales. The grey one took a long look at Josten before moving closer.
‘Afternoon,’ he said.
This was all he needed.
‘Good day,’ Josten replied.
The man took a seat at Josten’s table, his companions taking up two more tables not far away. Josten suddenly felt naked without a weapon. He didn’t even have a knife.
‘Name’s Bayliss,’ said the man, friendly enough, but Josten could see his hand next to a sword at his side.
‘Larren,’ Josten replied.
‘What brings you out here, Larren?’
He was tempted to tell Bayliss it was none of his fucking business, but the odds were stacked against him so it was probably best to keep things civil.
‘Just on a supply run,’ Josten replied. ‘I’m foreman over on Duke Coffick’s land.’
‘Farmer. That’s good. With the war over, this country needs men with good strong backs now there’s no longer a need for good strong blades.’
‘You’re right there,’ Josten said, picking up his ale jug and taking a drink. He could see the other two men were looking nonchalant but it was a ruse. They were all ready for a fight.
‘How long you been a farmer, Larren?’ This Bayliss was one nosy bastard.
‘Pretty much all my life,’ Josten replied.
Bayliss looked him up and down in an appraising manner. ‘Tough life.’
‘Has its ups and downs,’ Josten replied. He took another draught from his ale and was almost halfway to finishing it.
‘How’s the pay?’
‘Stops me starving to death.’
‘I only ask,’ said Bayliss, ‘because you look strong and capable. We’re looking for men just like you to join us. Men who can swing a sword, think on their feet.’
Josten shook his head. ‘Not me. I can swing a scythe, but that’s about it.’
‘Shame,’ Bayliss replied. ‘It pays a fortune.’
Josten took another drink, finishing the jug. ‘It is a shame. Anyway, I must be off.’
‘But you haven’t finished your other ale,’ Bayliss said, as Josten stood up.
‘That’s okay. Why don’t you—’ He stopped as the serving girl brought Bayliss his own drink.
‘Not going to make me drink alone are you?’ Bayliss said.
Josten could see the man’s companions waiting patiently at the other tables, but clearly Bayliss didn’t value their company. Slowly Josten sat back down.
‘You see, I’m a tracker,’ Bayliss continued. ‘Used to be a bounty hunter, mercenary, sword-for-hire. But now the war’s over Duke Lensmar decided it best to make me sheriff.’
‘Good for you,’ Josten said, picking up the second ale and taking a sip with less enthusiasm than he had the first.
‘It is good for me. But bad for the local bandits, eh?’ Bayliss laughed. Josten gave him a smile in return, then drank as much of the second ale as he could stomach. It had been a while since he’d had a drink and it was hard to keep down.
‘So what do you say?’ Bayliss asked.
‘What do I say to what?’
‘Fancy joining me? Leaving the life of a farmhand behind you? See a bit of the country?’
Josten took another drink, feeling it stick in his throat before he shook his head. ‘No, I’ve got fields to turn. Crops to harvest. But thanks for the offer.’
He stood up once more, not caring he’d left half the ale in the jug.
‘Sit down, Josten,’ Bayliss said.
His two cohorts had stood up now, hands on their swords. The game was up and Josten knew it. Whichever of his past misdemeanours they’d pegged him for he had no idea, but it was bound to be something bad. His choices weren’t plentiful or particularly appealing. Surrender and hang or fight and be cut down. Though there was a third option.
He flipped the table and made a run for it. One of those big beardy bastards was quicker than he looked, drawing his sword and blocking the way down from the porch. Josten vaulted the wooden balcony, landing on the soft earth, but no sooner had he got his footing than one of Bayliss’ henchmen landed right on top of him.
They struggled in the dirt, Josten managing to land an elbow to that bearded face, but the other one was on him before he could do any more damage. They had him by the arms, rolling in the mud, until Bayliss appeared, sword in hand. It was doubtful he’d be afraid to use it.
Josten let the men take him by the arms, hearing the clink of manacles before they secured his wrists behind him.
‘I knew you wouldn’t make it easy,’ Bayliss said. ‘When we took the brand to those pirates back in Ferraby your name came up, clear as a bell. It’s taken me weeks of looking but no sign of Josten Cade anywhere. I’d all but given up hope, but it looks like the gods are against you.’
And not for the first time.
As Bayliss and his men dragged Josten off he caught sight of old Farnal coming out of a hut, arms laden with supplies. The man stared in disbelief as Josten was manhandled away and lashed to the waiting horses.
Josten didn’t have the heart to say anything. How would he explain this anyway? How could he tell anyone how bad luck followed him around like a shit stink wherever he went?
So much for new beginnings.