Chapter 17

“I promise to look out for him,” Julie said, ending our conference call with my wives back in Juniper Hills. She closed her PDA and looked at me. “Von, you can understand they are unhappy with you marching towards a battle. They really don’t care about this mission, especially if it is needlessly going to put us in danger.”

“I explained why it makes sense to look out for Count Vee’s neck. In the end, we want good relations with Conquest Point and its neighbors,” I answered, pounding the side table in our bedroom.

“This is about the Princess, so don’t try and kid me,” Julie said, with a smirk. “You like her. You don’t like her brother. The Count is just the added weight to tip your decision.”

I caught myself before embracing the white lie on my lips. “You’re right, of course,” I conceded.

“That wasn’t so hard was it?” Julie crowed, looking at Zetia for reassurance. “I supported you on that call for similar reasons.”

I wiggled my finger at both of them. “No, no. You were trying to set me up with her. That’s different.”

“It’s no different. Our gender differences make us process the facts differently; yet, we came to the same conclusion,” Julie defended.

Zetia smirked, I knew behind her eyes she was keeping score of our growing disagreement. However, I realized I was over-talking an issue again, trying to get my own way, when it wasn’t necessary to win this verbal argument.

“Fine,” I concluded.

“See that wasn’t so hard,” Julie repeated, giving me a parting dig. “Can you imagine what he would have been like on that call if we hadn’t fed him breakfast?”

Zetia giggled and nodded in agreement, as she stood up and straightened out her hair by raking her fingers through it. “The Wolves are ready to go. All the mules are loaded and the arrows from Captain Minetos were distributed to the men.” She finished her statement with a tug on her leather armor.

“They sure know how to maneuver me,” I thought.

Julie looked outside and visually confirmed Zetia’s information. “It’s just light enough outside to see some town folk going about their business,” Julie commented, absently tugging at her chainmail. “I suspect the Black Prince will be eager to march his little army out to war, so why don’t we wait for the Count’s carriage outside?”

“Okay,” I agreed.

We finished fastening on our weapons and left the inn. Outside our men were milling around the square, waiting for orders, not far from the mules. Scout was thumbing through his thinly-bound map book, leaning against the inn’s wall and killing time under a lit lamp. He had his page open to his crude world map, which made me wonder what he was daydreaming about. I didn’t get a chance to ask him. My eyes caught sight of the Count’s escort and I heard the clatter of horse hooves. Mixed in with the lancer’s black stallions were another dozen warhorses of various colors; the Black Prince’s noble friends and a few mercenary officers bulked up the numbers of the entourage. Julie and Zetia slipped to each side of me as the carriage came to a jarring halt.

The Count’s footman hopped from their places at the back of the white coach and sprang to open the carriage door. The Black Prince jumped out first, with Count Vee trailing behind him in a more dignified exit. Even so, the youthful and athletic prince carried a more refined stage presence. His dark eyes quickly surveyed his surroundings with practiced ease. The Black Prince’s royal purse had its advantages, providing fine clothes and a long history of training to carry off his naturally aloof posturing. All around us a number of nobles and mercenary officers dismounted. No doubt they were ready to meet any whim or command of the Black Prince. All of the dismounting men wore fine chainmail shirts and well forged helms.

“Ah, Solon, you’re ready. My aides had a bet going you’d still be in bed,” the Black Prince offered. “However, I followed the Count’s advice and didn’t join in with the bet. With such fine warrior women at your side, I wonder why you are up so early.”

I stiffened, but Julie laughed beside me. “Who said he ever slept?” she responded.

Scout snorted behind me and Zetia put her hand on my arm protectively.

“This is Lady Julie Solon,” Count Vee said, interrupting the unpleasant words on my lips. “She is the perfect match for Lord Solon, well-spoken, intelligent and confident.”

Julie nodded her head in deference to the Count’s words, but she lacked any deference to the Black Prince, which didn’t bother me. However, I sensed it bothered the Black Prince though, and it unsettled his grand entrance.

“Yes, well, as a courtesy to the Count we stopped to collect you and your men. He insisted your men would add some seasoning to the local militia,” the Black Prince explained to his noble friends.

“Whoever heard of mercenaries riding mules,” a mercenary muttered, with every intention that we all hear him. “The merchant warriors will probably lead the way for any routing militiamen.”

Zetia gasped at the insult, and stepped forward towards the barrel-chested man. “No one insults my mules!”

In good humor, I grabbed her and trapped her arm from drawing her sword, which made the mercenaries laugh.

Count Vee interjected, “One of Lord Solon’s other wives runs a mule farm, and corporal Zetia is her representative. She takes her trade very seriously.”

His comment made a couple of nobles join in the laughter at the struggling woman, which elevated my blood pressure.

“I think this man called our men cowards,” Julie said loudly, looking at me questioningly, as if I would let it go now.

“Men make silly claims and boasts, trying to swing their egos like hammers. If he had intended a real insult he wouldn’t have mumbled it like a serf,” I chided. “We don’t have to ruin a valuable member of the prince’s court.”

“He isn’t a noble or a friend,” the Black Prince barked out, finding it humorous to see what I would say. “But he’s a named man with seasons of campaign experience. He is a stout warrior, a proven swordsman, whom some would say carried a valuable opinion.”

It seemed to me the Black Prince was a bully at heart, looking for conflict. Unfortunately, he didn’t know what he had stepped in. His words seemed to please Julie, who crossed her arms and shrugged her shoulders at me, like “it was bound to happen.”

The cocky look from the insulting mercenary completed my decision, stripping my good nature.

“A practice test of arms?” I offered the man. “Skill and might makes right? I am sure that’s how you settle claims.”

He laughed and looked at the Black Prince. “Works for me, when his champion loses does that prove we should leave them behind?”

The Black Prince thought a moment. “No, I assured the Count they can come. But, I’ll wager 10 gold crowns a merchant guard is no match for you. Solon, can you pay my man that amount when he causes ‘first blood’ or is that too steep for your blood?”

“That is a lot of money to earn for just cutting your man. I accept the challenge; and, since I instructed the Wolves with their advanced training, I will earn that money myself,” I declared to Count Vee’s horror.

The Black Prince clapped his hands in glee. “Oh, this is rich. He outweighs you twice over and has a longer reach.”

“Can we make side bets, Lord Solon?” Scout asked. He had slipped behind me unnoticed.

“Of course,” Julie answered. “If this mercenary officer is so well known, make sure you get reasonable odds.”

After a flurry of people had placed bets with each other, I found myself in a large circle of armed men. With the arrival of some of the provincial warriors the area in front of the inn turned lively.

The festive mood of the people in the city square grew. I heard betting among the crowd concerning the smart mouthed warrior and myself.

The large mercenary lieutenant joined me inside the fighting circle wearing his kite shield, placing an open-faced metal helmet on his head. In fact, his eyes, fat nose and full cheeks were unprotected, while the rest of his head was secure from easy cuts from my blade. The mercenary’s chainmail shirt looked well-made and new, but it ended at his hips, while mine went almost to my knees. Also, he wore padded leather pants with fitted pieces of metal that protected his knees and thighs. Like every other warrior I’d fought on Haven, he had a better reach because of his additional height. Yet, I’d trained hard to deal with the disadvantages of their heavier body mass and height advantage. My off-world, heavy-gravity-born muscles provided a hidden strength, and my genetically enhanced genes bestowed a surprising quickness that my enemies learned of at their peril.

He drew, cursed and scoffed at me, while waving his shield around. “A little bastard like you should be quaking in your shoes. I’ve earned a widespread reputation for eradicating rebels. This two-edged blade has cut rivers of blood. If you’re lucky I won’t cut off anything important.”

His friends laughed at his comment, while the smart mouthed warrior adjusted his shield on his arm and cut his sword through the air.

“I’m no pitchfork wielding farmer,” I mocked, drawing both my sword and nanoblade. “Indeed, you’ll find it is my men that are the terror of the battlefield and your blood will attest to it.”

My companions shouted. “Lord Wolf. Lord Wolf”

The mercenaries hissed and booed, whereas the Black Prince laughed at the scene with his courtiers. This was no tournament of honor; it was a fight, so I didn’t trust Mr. Smart Mouth to honor any restrictions. He wanted to hurt me, so I decided not to restrict my strength.

“You’re a fool not to use a shield when facing a fighting man,” he heckled. “This is going to be easy. Are you ready?”

“This nanoblade will cut your shield like butter,” I thought, and then announced, “Ready.”

Mr. Smart Mouth came right at me. I held my ground. He tried to bash me with his shield, so I effortlessly stepped back at an angle from him. Not fazed, he stepped towards me, swinging his sword down. I stepped aside and felt the near miss cut the air near my sword hand. “Dodging works extremely well on open ground,” I thought.

“Fight like a man, not a woman,” he shouted.

I extended my sword a comfortable distance from my body and aimed its tip at his throat, with my elbows and knees bent. “Fine. Let’s cross swords. I hope you have a spare.”

He used his shield wisely, protecting the majority of his body. I feinted with an attack, but he let me dart around and test him.

“We want blood,” someone chanted.

Others picked up the chanting too. “Blood, Blood.”

“Blood,” Mr. Smart Mouth shouted.

I moved in close, within his guard, and I lunged at him. Naturally, he reacted and interposed his sword between us. However, his sword broke below its tip, but since he had moved enough, my thrust went between his body and his arm. Keeping the initiative, I closed with him and stabbed my nanoblade into his shield. The short blade cut through his shield, ripping into his arm. He howled and I briskly retreated out of his reach.

Mr. Smart Mouth dropped his sword and flung his shield off his damaged arm. If eyes could kill his hatred would have fried me to cinders. The Captain of the mercenary company rushed in and wrapped the bleeding arm up. The Wolves cheered wildly.

“How is that possible?” the Black Prince asked rushing to my side. “What wizardry enchants your weapons?”

Julie scampered over to my right side. “Milord’s family heirlooms are made from the strongest metals.” My wife held her head high with pride. In her chainmail armor she carried the look of a serious warrior while carrying off a deferential grace.

Zetia hurried over to my other arm, equally the hardened veteran. “That was a speedy fight. How is your man?” she asked the Black Prince, distracting him.

“His forearm is broken, Milord Prince,” the Captain answered, shouting over his shoulder as he led the wounded mercenary away. A number of the Black Prince’s mercenaries drifted away, clearly shocked at how events worked out. The angry ones stayed.

“My husband isn’t a rough sort of man, but he is rather protective of his family. I know it might surprise you, but his Wolves have a special place in his heart, they are a part of his family too. That man shouldn’t have tried Von’s patience,” Julie announced in a loud manner to the men still surrounding us. “Occasionally, a man gets hurt when his mouth runs too far. I’m sure you’ve all hurt someone for far less.”

“I have had my share of run-ins, Milady,” Scout boasted, which made Scratch laugh. A few Wolves joined in, one gently punching a mate standing next to them, as if to say, “remember when we...” A few Lancers nodded in agreement too.

“You made your point,” the Black Prince announced, pulling out a small pouch with coins in it. He tossed it to me, but Julie reached out and caught it.

“I have expenses to cover,” she explained, tucking the gold into a hidden pocket.

The Black Prince turned away, his body stiff, if not rigid looking, and then he walked over to the carriage. “Saddle up!”

All of the escorts ran for their horses. Count Vee whispered something into the Black Prince’s ear, which stopped him from climbing into the Count’s carriage. We saw the Black Prince sigh, and then raise his eyes to me. “Lord Solon, please follow us to the rallying point with the provincial regiments. I would ... appreciate you joining Count Vee’s escort for my expedition.”

The Black Prince darted inside the carriage to get away from his embarrassment. Count Vee smiled at us behind the prince’s back, and then joined him inside.

“You made them look like fools,” Scratch said in a low voice that only those within a couple of steps could hear.

“Believe me, the Black Prince won’t forget it. He holds grudges like a determined snapping turtle crushes its prey,” Scout added.

“We’re not here to make friends with him,” Julie reminded us. “Besides, we all know he is trying to usurp his sister’s authority.”

“That may be, yet we are going to march with him to find the Raiders. Many unpleasant things happen on a chaotic battlefield,” Scout added. “Those mercenaries won’t be friendly to us either.”

“We have our own hidden tricks,” Julie responded, while patting her holstered laser pistol. “If they cross us, they will find that Moon Mother’s magic has a long reach.”

Scout didn’t look convinced, so he shrugged and walked towards our mules.

“He is right,” Scratch injected. “At the very least, we will have to assume the Black Prince will use circumstances to hurt us.”

“Noted,” I acknowledged, looking at the carriage and lancer escort trotting away from us. “Mount the men up.”

Scratch promptly saluted, hitting his fist to his chest. He shouted out to the Wolves and barked orders to organize them.

“He is a good sergeant,” Zetia commented. “A fine man.”

“I agree, he is,” Julie seconded. “Now, please go get our mules. I need to pop back into the inn for a moment to see the pie maker.” Julie jingled the prince’s coin purse, and then, with a sparkle in her eye, she burst back through the inn’s front door.

Zetia smiled at me with a smug look, turned on her heels and walked to the line of mules in front of the stables. They were up to something, but I couldn’t imagine using gold pieces to buy pies. “A hundred pies would cost less than a gold piece,” I thought, while lazily following Zetia. I unclipped my PDA and looked at the updated satellite surveillance of the Raiders locations. It wasn’t encouraging to see that their two forces had consolidated. The men at their landing site had left a token force to defend their ships, and the rest had joined the force that had assaulted the rampart in front of Heraldsburg. The combined force raised the threat to Heraldsburg, their raiding force had replaced the slavers’ original losses and added some more.

We found all three of Princess Wyrd’s regiments aligned in formation by the earthen rampart that was hurriedly built to protect the sprawling city. The low rampart wasn’t much to look at since it was a thrown together fortification that provided little protection to the defenders; nevertheless, a dozen crossbowmen stood on it, walking their guard posts in pairs. The regimental warriors were lined up by companies, in rows that were five deep, which flowed in a crescent shape around a low stage, like a crowd ready to watch an outdoor play. The big difference was that these people were all dressed up in their finest armor, not their finest set of clothes. Each regiment had a banner with a white flower on a black field, which was the princess’s heraldic symbol. It didn’t surprise me that all of her warriors had similar armor and weapons. The second and third regiments wore the same bronze armor as Captain Minetos’s men had in the first regiment. Each man carried a long spear with a serrated blade. His bronze breast plate, bronze shield, open-faced helmet, dagger and greaves, marked him as a light infantryman. In general, each warrior was better armored than the bulk of the Raider’s army, but that portion that consisted of the Raider’s best troops was much better armored and armed. The Black Prince’s mercenaries were mostly sword armed, and I believed they were the natural counter to the Raider’s elite household troops. In fact, the mercenaries had larger shields made of better materials, along with a high proportion of warriors wearing chainmail. In addition, the mercenary company had an integrated unit of archers. However, I happened to know the Raiders’ household troops outnumbered the mercenary force.

I noticed the mercenary company with the Count’s lancers and carriage was located behind the stage, in a position of honor. The presence of a second carriage of ornate design surprised me. “It can only be one person,” I thought. As we rode up, I saw behind the Count’s mounted lancers were a half-a-dozen men-at-arms and another dozen royal archers escorting Princess Wyrd to the stage. The Black Prince and the Count were waiting for her on the stage, along with a number of courtiers. She wore a huntsman’s outfit, a green leather shirt and a green cloak with tan colored leather pants and riding boots.

Julie kicked her mule and trotted up to me. “The princess isn’t letting her brother stand alone in the spotlight.”

“She has more backbone than I thought,” I agreed, signaling to Scratch to dismount the Wolves out of the way from the drama.

We watched the prince and princess argue from a distance for a few minutes. When the discussion concluded the Black Prince looked very unhappy. I noticed Count Vee had slipped away from the nobles and hid in his carriage, not wanting to hear the siblings fight. It was a diplomatic retreat in the finest tradition of political maneuvering. He could later deny hearing what was said, so neither party could single him out for confirmation of their dialogue. He also didn’t provide an appearance of favoritism by standing next to one Royal over the other, lest the other royal take offense with him. “When it comes to politics the Count just displayed his experience,” I thought.