The next morning the Companions said farewell to Dinamir for the final stretch to Theridaun. Around ten o'clock they reached Lister, a small town on a bend in the river. A broad quay indicated where the townspeople moored their fishing boats at night and a watchtower looked out over the area. The local fish auction was doing well, thought Ghyll - the stench of rotting fish that hung over everything was of a breathtaking ripeness.
'Good Gods,' he sighed. 'Do they throw all of the offal back into the river?'
'Why not?' Olle said with indifference. 'What else would they do with it?' He shrugged. 'There is a tavern. I don't care about the rest.'
When they had fed and refreshed themselves and the horses, they continued their journey. The road took them north and for the first time, Ghyll left the familiar sight of the Yanthe River behind. He set them a good speed. Theridaun was about twenty-five miles inland and he wanted to reach it before sunset.
This part of the road was broad and well kept, so they broke into a trot. Ghyll enjoyed the speed and the surroundings. The countryside on the border with Leudra was hilly and covered with vineyards.
They produced some good wines here, he knew, both the dry white theridauner and the fruity red, the one they called Kongsarte, or 'the King's Mettle'. Uncle Jadron used to have a collection of both wines laid up in his cellar. The memory dragged Ghyll back to all those nights in the study, his uncle, Olle and he, while Jadron told of his experiences as a soldier and courtier. Ghyll's pleasant mood wavered and the vineyards lost some of their luster.
At sundown, they reached the outskirts of Theridaun. In the distance they saw the Count's castle rising over all, the walls and towers painted bronze by the setting sun, untouchable as a symbol of royal power.
Ghyll reined in his horse. 'I'm sorry, people,' he said. 'I want to change clothes. I refuse to appear as a beggar at Count Mynos' court.'
'Get your things out. I'll help you,' Olle said calmly.
'Good idea,' Bo said with a critical eye to his own robe. 'Then I'll replace this old thing for something better.'
'Something even better?' Olle looked at him with raised eyebrows. 'You're already the belle of the ball.'
Bo colored. 'Wait until you come to the court,' he retorted. 'That will show you what a well-dressed man is wearing. You... you peasants!'
The others looked at each other and roared with laughter.
Theridaun was the first open town Ghyll had seen. The local council had ordered the walls torn down; with more than half of the buildings outside their protection, they had outlived their usefulness.
Though dusk had fallen, the streets were still busy and the horses could only proceed at a walk. Ghyll did his best not to appear a country oaf and gape at the rich houses and the many statues everywhere. He kept his eyes on the road, but in his heart, he was impressed by the wealth the city rubbed under everyone's noses.
'Wine and grain make for impressive riches,' Olle said with the air of a farmer who distrusts all merchants. 'But they're still robbers.'
'Indeed they are. How many nobles would they have in their pockets?' Bo added, with a disdainful look around. 'The Bank of Rhidauna won't lend to just anybody, titled or not. Many of these sharks do, at high interest rates and with great estates as collateral. When the noble can't cough up any more, the merchant impounds all his lands.'
This shocked Ghyll. 'But... the lands are royal fiefs. Without the king's permission they cannot change hands.'
'On paper, they can't,' the young mage said. 'But who cares for that, nowadays? The regent is far away, and for a handful of crowns officials look the other way oh so willingly.'
'Corruption! The counts and dukes are supposed to prevent such things.'
Bo shrugged. 'That's just what my mother meant. Without a king, the kingdom goes to pieces.'
At last they came to the other side of town, where Burg Theridaun watched over the area from the top of a bald hill
They rested their horses and stared upward.
'Dear Gods,' Damion said. 'We're not there yet.' He inspected the narrow way leading up to the castle and nodded his approval. 'You don't want to send an attacking army this way. See those catapults behind the battlements? They're ready to kick you in the teeth when you try.'
When they came to the castle gate, their unexpected visit caused a slight panic. Servants milled around, issuing conflicting orders, till an old major-domo appeared. On his orders several grooms rushed out to take over their mounts, while he himself met them on the steps.
'Welcome, noble lady and lords,' he said. 'Forgive the confusion; the count doesn't receive many visitors these days.' As he went before them, he looked at Ghyll. 'My master is not well, baron. I must ask you not to tire him.'
Ghyll nodded, surprised. Mynos, the living legend, not well? Before he could ask anything, the major-domo showed them into the main hall. Ghyll looked around in silence. Impressive. That's how a hero is supposed to live. Banners hung from the walls, stained relics of past battles. Huge carpets covered the cold floor tiles. Along the walls waited glittering suits of armor, most of them in the style of two centuries ago. Rows of tall candles competed with the torches on the walls to give the most light. Their flames colored Ghyll's own armor, so that the simple leather seemed studded with gold.
Amidst all splendor stood a raised seat. There sat that much-celebrated hero, the Knight Mynos Ballady, Civic Count of Theridaun, Defender of the late King Halfraud IV – an old, old man. His shoulders had lost their pride and the unruly strands of hair escaping from under his velvet cap were gray His gaunt face was cast in gloom, his mouth a bitter line. He looked like a warrior from whom all spirit had drained like water from a cracked jar, so that only the damaged vessel remained. Ghyll felt embarrassed. Was this the same man of whose exploits the veterans at Tinnurad had used to sing? Olle and he knew whole sections of the ballads by heart. The man on the high seat was nothing like their hero.
Ballady welcomed them with hesitant words, as if it were an almost forgotten ritual. All the while, his eyes stared dull and listless at a point behind them.
Does he see me? thought Ghyll uncomfortably. Or what is he looking at? Memories? They must hurt him. How awful to become so old. Hastily he handed the Count his uncle's letter.
It took the old man a while to break the seal with his trembling hands. Slowly he read, his lips shaping the words his finger found. To Ghyll's amazement, color came to Mynos's hollow cheeks. His eyes watered and he dropped the letter on his lap. 'The ring. Where's the ring?'
Surprised at the old man's sudden agitation, Ghyll took the gold seal from his purse and showed it on the palm of his hand. The count moved as if to kiss the hand that held the ring, but at the last moment, he controlled himself.
'You must wear it,' he said. 'It shouldn't be locked away.'
With his eyes closed, the old man leaned back in his chair. Ghyll saw how the few courtiers around the dais exchanged shocked whispers. The major-domo watched, looking worried, but he didn't say anything.
After a moment, Count Mynos opened his eyes. 'What is power?' he asked, his eyes focused on Ghyll.
'The hand of the First declares what is might -
Protecting the weak is a Gods-given right.'
Ghyll could dream these sentences; he'd had to repeat them so often.
'Yes...,' the old man said. 'Yes.' A single tear disappeared among the wrinkles in his face.
'You must go now, baron,' the steward muttered.
But the count gripped the arms of his seat with both hands and rose. 'Leave me alone with my guests, Sam.'
The major-domo hesitated. Then he turned to the hall and raised his staff. 'The audience is over.'
The courtiers bowed out, unwilling to go with their curiosity unsatisfied.
'Your people too, Sam,' the count said.
With a pleading look at Ghyll, the major-domo gathered the servants, and they were alone.
'Come with me.' Ballady limped toward a door behind the dais. Ghyll offered his arm, but the count waved it away.
'I'm not yet done for,' he said. 'Long it seemed I was, but what you bear gave me new strength.'
They followed him to a semi-circular tower room, lit by an arrow slit in the wall and empty but for an old chest and a large sword on the wall.
Ghyll looked at the weapon. Why is it here? It was old, probably one of the first steel swords – a simple one-handed weapon, with a bone grip and a bronze pommel at the end, remarkable only because of its unusual length. There were so many finer ones on display in the hall. Ghyll's right hand itched and without thought, he reached for the sword.
'Go ahead,' said the count. 'Take it.'
Ghyll felt a tingle through his arm. Then his fingers gripped the hilt. With a cry, he leapt backward. The sword moved as if it were a living being. With a swish, Ghyll cut a large figure eight through the air. The sword sang, a buzzing at the back of the ears that filled his whole head, while little tongues of fire leapt along the blade. Uncle Jadron's seal was warm and vital on his finger. Together, ring and weapon gave him the feeling that he could defeat dragons. A magic weapon? he thought. But what is it?
'It's called Childegard,' the Count said. 'Long years I've kept it safe for someone. It appears that someone is you. Now it's yours.'
'What?' Ghyll said, confused. 'I can't, this weapon is far too valuable for me.'
'It's your sword,' Ballady repeated, his hollow face grim. 'It has accepted you and that's it. You will find its sheath in the chest. Use them together, and then the sword can rest. Now you must excuse me. Samdrel, my major-domo, will care for your comfort. The day after tomorrow we celebrate the Nadrillia. I would be honored if you'd join us in the commemoration of the Battle of Nadril.' Without waiting for an answer, the old count gave a rigid half-bow and left them alone.
The next morning, with the sun hidden behind a thin cloud, the Companions rode into town to see the sights.
As before, it was very busy. All kinds of carts, loaded high with goods, crawled through the streets. Sober-clad merchants avoided a flock of bleating sheep without interrupting their discussion. Children and dogs ran past without looking and a matron with a rush basket cleaved her way through the crowd like a cog ship through the waves.
On their high horses, resplendent in their fine clothes, Ghyll and his friends ambled through the crowds and enjoyed all the bustle of a rich town. At an intersection, they stopped for a double row of ragged men, unshod, bound together with chains and guarded by armed men in unfamiliar uniforms. Two by two, they trudged along in dull despair, while their guards prodded them with long sticks. In the middle of the crossing, one of the men stumbled and fell on his knees on the uneven cobblestones. His eyes were shut, his lips cracked and dry from lack of water. One of the soldiers beat him with his stick, to the fury of the bystanders. The situation was threatening to turn ugly, when Olle rode up to them and grabbed the soldier by the collar. His muscles tensed and moments later, the man dangled a foot above the pavement.
'One wrong move, and I give you a hiding with your own stick,' Olle said, to the audible satisfaction of the spectators.
'No, lord!' The guard hung by his neck like a chicken in Olle's hands. 'You can't do that; we're men of the law!'
'Let him go,' Ghyll said.
His foster brother gave the man a firm shake and dropped him.
'You're men of the law?' Ghyll showed his disbelief. 'Whose law do you serve?'
'The town's, my lord,' the man complained, now sitting on the cobblestones. 'We're with the Provost's constabulary.'
A bystander gave a bitter laugh. 'Constabulary? It's bandits they are!'
'You are constables, you said? Then what is this?' Ghyll pointed to the chained men, waiting apathetically. The tripped man had climbed back to his feet, but which of the prisoners he was, Ghyll couldn't tell. The wretches all looked equally miserable.
'They're criminals, my lord,' the constable said, fawning. 'We take them out of town, to where they repair the holes in the road.'
'What crimes did they commit that they have to be chained?'
The constable folded his hands. 'Most are debtors, my lord, them that could not pay their dues. Also a thief and a man who mocked a temple.'
Ghyll studied the prisoners and his blood boiled at the sight. One and all, they looked weak and malnourished, with untreated wounds, open sores and signs of dehydration. This was a clear violation of Rhidaunan law as Uncle Jadron had explained it. Prisoners had the right to food, water and a healer's care.
He wheeled around to the constable and his nostrils quivered with rage. This is not the Rhidaunan way! 'Who is responsible for this outrage?'
'It's by command of the provost himself, my lord,' the constable said, looking scared. 'All forced laborers must be chained lest they run away.'
'Without water? Have the men been fed? No? That's against the law. Where can I find the provost?'
The man gestured toward the east, relieved that he could pass on the blame. 'At the end of this street, on the corner, is the town's jailhouse. You'll find him there, my lord. Can we go now? Otherwise we'll get behind schedule.'
Ghyll clenched his fist. 'No! You will return those men to their cells. You will arrange for them to be fed and watered, and you will have a healer attend to their wounds. Meanwhile, I'll speak with the Provost. Be very sure to do what I say, constable, or I'll drag you straight to the count.'
The man paled even further. His eyes darted back and forth as if seeking help. He couldn't expect any from the bystanders. It was clear the town's constables weren't popular and the spectators' initial curiosity had turned grim.
'And what's going on here?' An authoritative voice split the crowd, revealing a sergeant of the Guard and six soldiers. The sergeant took in the situation. Then he saluted Ghyll. 'Is there a problem, my lord?'
Ghyll told him and the sergeant regarded the provost's men with visible disgust. 'Abuse, huh? I'm getting quite fed up with you constables. You heard my lord baron. Back to your jailhouse and make sure the men get to eat. You know what? I think I'll come with you. After all, the order in the town is my responsibility.'
The constable gave the sergeant a dirty look and turned to Ghyll with a great show of servility. 'Yes, your lordship, it'll be as you say.' He turned to the prisoners. 'Back to the kennel, you gallows bait. Come on, and be quick about it.'
'Not like that, constable, or by the Gods I'll make sure the next chain lays around your neck,' Ghyll roared, red with anger.
The constable quailed and led his prisoners away, accompanied by the grim-looking guards.
Ghyll's face was stern when he looked at the bystanders. 'Good people, it's done. Go about your business. Be assured that I'll speak of this with Count Ballady.' To his surprise, most of them bowed before they went their ways.
Bo looked at him. 'You really cared about those wretches,' he said, with surprise in his voice.
'As you should,' Ghyll snapped. 'They're people, not beasts, Bo.'
He turned around and, still fuming, rode to the jailhouse, with the others hurrying after him.
The man he sought was a bloated official in a plum-collared tunic. He was still at his morning meal, a rich display with enough dishes for even the count's table, and he looked up vexed when the five came in. When he saw they were nobles, he hastily wiped his greasy mouth on the tablecloth and bowed.
'You're the provost?' Ghyll said, his voice hard.
'Yes, my lord. How can I help you?'
'I'm Baron Halwyrd, Count Mynos' guest. Since when are debtors in Theridaun chained like animals, and forced to hard labor without food or drink?'
The provost's fat cheeks quivered. 'What? W... we have to, my lord. The times are difficult. More and more people are getting into debt and ending up in the workhouse. To feed that scum costs the town a lot of money. Money we don't have. That's why they get one meal a day, bean soup and bread.'
'A man can't work hard all day on a bowl of thin soup and stale bread,' Ghyll said, with a gesture to the Provost's well-stocked table. 'It's not a problem that you set these men to work, but you have to feed them well enough. A person in the hands of the town's authority can't die from hunger or thirst. That's against the law, Master Provost. I suggest you have most of their chains removed. You will clothe and shoe them and you will provide these people with two square meals a day. In addition, there must be enough clean drinking water available and a healer has to examine them today. Most men have wounds and sores. This is a disgrace to the town!'
'But the money, the money.'
'If you really can't afford it, you should refer the matter to Count Mynos.'
'The count is an old man,' the provost said cautiously. 'He's not concerned with the needs of the town, you see.'
'You'll find the count will listen to your problems. Anyway,' Ghyll gave the official a hard look. 'These abuses must stop immediately.'
The provost sighed and bowed. 'Yes, Baron, I will do what you suggest. I just don't know what the mayor will say.'
'If he's got any problems with it, he can go and explain it to the count himself,' Ghyll said.
The Provost looked miserable. 'I don't think the mayor would like that.'
'Quite possible. Well, in three days' time Count Mynos gives a banquet for the end of the Nadrillia. I assume I'll see you there and you can tell me what you've arranged.'
The face of the provost brightened. 'The count gives a banquet? It's been a long time. Maybe it really would be wise to discuss our problems with him.'
At that, the Companions left him alone with his now spoiled meal.
Once outside, Ghyll turned to Bo. 'Sorry I snapped at you,' he said curtly. 'Things like this are a disgrace, but I shouldn't take it out on you.'
The young mage stared at him. 'It's all right.' Then he grinned. 'That bloated pen-pusher listened and you didn't even bribe him.'
'It's the way he says it,' Olle said, smiling as he looked at his foster brother. 'He's always had it. When he uses that voice, you just obey.'
Ghyll shrugged. 'The man knew he was wrong. The rules for the treatment of prisoners are very clear. By neglecting those wretches, the provost made himself punishable and he knew it.' With a nod to the few inquisitive burghers who had followed him here, he turned his horse and rode away.
'Maybe the count is just too old and too tired to care,' Olle said, riding up beside him. 'Then subordinates will do things that aren't right, through frustration or stupidity.'
'Yes,' Ghyll said, still wrestling with his anger. 'That's as it may be, but it is the crown's duty to replace failing administrators. Damn it, brother, Theridaun's a civic countship, not a hereditary demesne. Count Mynos is an appointed official of the crown. At his age he should've had a viscount-successor assigned to him years ago.'
With a pull on the reins, he turned his horse. 'I'm going back to the castle. Perhaps someone can answer some questions.'
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