Chapter 25

By the time the familiar peaks of Jeevel came into sight Dent was fit company for neither man nor beast. He had spent most of the intervening days pacing either the main deck or the pilot bridge until Vel finally forbade him access; he was making the watch-standers nervous. The rest of the crew merely avoided him as he prowled the ship.

His demeanor changed as they passed through the breakwater into Harv'el harbor. He disappeared for a while and suddenly reappeared on the main deck. Even the sailors that had known him the longest were taken aback by his appearance.

Gone was the half-plate armor he normally wore during his battles at sea. A full cuirass consisting of back and breast plate, fauld hung down to protect the abdomen and spaudler with besagew covered the shoulder and armpit. Under the arms and between the two main plates smaller plate were riveted to the boiled leather cuir-bouilli created a miniature brigendine covering these soft areas.

In place of the copper half-helmet was a full sized basinet with an attached aventail hanging down over the neck wrapping around to cover the throat. Heavy leather gauntlets over the hands stretched up the forearm lapping over a light bracer connected to a couter at the elbow. Cuisses covered his thighs while greave's protected his lower legs. Thick leather boots, sword, throwing knives and the ever-present dirk completed the ensemble.

For someone who was not used to seeing a Guild Warrior in full battle dress -- most everyone on the ship except a few of the ex-Malshallian marines -- the effect was scary. Scary that is until you looked into his eyes; then it was nothing short of terrifying! Standing at the rail still as a statue, Dent stared at the quickly approaching city, face expressionless, eyes as cold and blue as glacial ice.

"I take it you're expecting trouble." Intent as he had been Dent hadn't heard Vel move up next to him.

"Yes," Dent said curtly. "If there hasn't been trouble already, there will be."

"Planning on fighting all of Jeevel by yourself?"

"If I have to," was his only reply.

Vel chuckled. "Well if you have to fight I doubt it'll be alone."

Dent's stern gaze broke slightly and was replaced with a puzzled one as he turned to look at the captain. Vel just motioned with his head and Dent looked back over his shoulder. Behind them all the ex-Malshallian marines were forming up in ranks, each one fully decked out in his own battle gear. In front was the old sergeant, now his force commander. Dent looked at him questioningly but the old soldier merely nodded, a slight smile on his lips. Dent couldn't help himself and he grinned as he nodded in response.

"Shouldn't you be on the pilot bridge?" he asked, turning back to Vel.

"Telling me how to run my own ship, Warrior?" Vel said gruffly. Then he chuckled again as he continued, "The mate can bring us in; he's done it many times. Besides I wouldn't miss this for all the gold in Jeevel. I've been waiting years for that shit-head Garishnie to take that one step too far. There's not a chance in the world I'm not going to be there to see what happens."

Dent finally noticed that Vel was also prepared for battle. Like most of the sailors he never wore body armor into battle but he was fully armed with a sword and as many knives as could be held in various folds of his clothing.

"This is my fight," Dent started. "You don't have..."

"You can't stop me so it's best if you don't even waste your breath."

Dent could only nod. "Thanks."

As they approached the dock they saw a large group of men waiting for them. Dent stiffened as he recognized Jon from the Guild and a good number of Guild Warriors standing behind them.

Within minutes the Grip lightly touched the dock and lines were thrown over the side to waiting linesmen where they were quickly made fast. Dent moved to where the brow was already being pushed over the side to be secured by more men waiting below. The marine force commander called his men to attention and they formed up in a column ready to disembark behind Dent. As soon as the brow was secured Dent jumped up on it and strode down until he stood directly in front of the waiting Guildsman.

"Jon?" he said questioningly.

"That's Steward, Guild-member," Jon said lightly. He was standing in a relaxed position and while he was wearing his finest dress uniform, he wasn't dressed for battle. The same couldn't be said for the other Guild Warriors behind him. Each one of them was dressed in full armor as was Dent and they weren't parade uniforms either. The equipment, while well maintained, was obviously very well-used.

"To what do I owe this honor, Steward?" Dent asked.

"You have been called for an official Adjudication, Guild-member," Jon replied with just a hint of a smile. "During your absence it would appear someone took liberties with certain portions of your property. This came to our attention and a Code grievance was filed to protect said property, pending your approval of course." Dent relaxed somewhat.

"This property wouldn't happen to be my two, ah, servants, would it?"

"It would as a matter of fact," Jon replied mildly. "Before you get too worried, let me assure you they are fine and being held in a safe place. But here, I'll tell you about it as we walk along. We're going to have the hearing immediately and all the respective parties were called together as soon as we saw your ship making port."

"This I'd like to hear," Vel broke in.

"Hmm," Jon said cocking his head at the huge Captain. "Vel isn't it? Normally I'd say this is Guild business but there was a portion of this that I understand may indeed be of interest to you. Fine. Come along if you wish and I'll tell you both as we go."

"Sir!" Dent's force commander spoke up. "Should we go with you?"

Before Dent could answer, Jon spoke up. "That won't be necessary, Warrior. Our brothers," he said motioning to the warriors standing behind him, "aren't here to arrest you. They're here as your escort to the hearing.

"Thank you, Force Commander," Dent said, nodding, "but this is Guild business. Take the men back aboard the ship and stand ready. Who knows what is really going on?"

"Yes, Sir! All right, you heard him. Back aboard and set watch, hostile territory!"

Giving his force commander a salute Dent turned back to Vel and Jon and, with the other Guild Warriors falling in behind them, they started walking towards the palace.

By the time they reached the Putram's palace Jon had filled in both Dent and Vel on what had occurred during their absence. It would have been worth a man's life to guess which of the two was more livid. Dent was quietly furious and his hand shook slightly as it unconsciously drifted time and again to the hilt of his sword. Vel's fury was much more evident. Since hearing of the abduction and Marie's broken arm, his face was as red as his hair and his hands were clenched into fists, the muscles in his forearms bulging with the tension he was putting them through.

"That rat-bastard is mine," Vel hissed.

"Oh, I suppose that can be accommodated," Jon said with an offhand wave. "Since the offending party is or was a member of our Guild it certainly is covered under the Code. But," Jon said glancing over at Dent, "I think you'll probably have to wait your turn."

"You can have what I leave," Dent said coldly.

"We'll see who gets there first," Vel muttered. Jon only smiled coolly while not looking at either of them.

As they approached the front gate Dent noticed the guards standing watch were not Guild members. While most of the palace guards were contracted Warriors, there were a few regulars from the small Jeevelian army.

"I am a Steward of the Benevolent Guild of Combat Consultants," Jon said loudly as they approached. "I am here to officially adjudicate a grievance and contract dispute. Direct me to the Putram of Jeevel immediately!"

"Ah, Sir," one of the guards said nervously. "We have been ordered not to allow anyone other than you into the pal..."

Suddenly Dent heard the sound of swords leaving their scabbards as every warrior in Dent's escort drew his weapon and took a step forward.

"You can either take the Steward to the Putram, step aside or die where you stand," one of the warriors growled.

"Ah, right, yes of course... Right this way, Steward," the guard practically groveled as he beckoned them to follow.

They were ushered into an audience hall already filled with people. The Putram of Jeevel sat on his throne fidgeting, crossing and re-crossing his legs, with an angry frown on his face. A pale Garishnie, with Escaro beside him, stood to one side of the dais while the ambassador from Malshall stood on the other. Glancing around the room Dent saw Don teNeigho, First Councilor Brisil with Marie standing slightly behind him, a cast on one arm; a number of Council members; palace guards -- both Guild members and non-members -- and finally in a corner with Guild members surrounding them stood Nesho and Sosho.

Dent immediately took a step toward them but Jon put an arm out to restrain him. Sosho saw him at the same time, shouted his name and tried to run to him but was also restrained by her guards.

"Patience, my young friend," Jon said not looking at him. "Patience. It will all work out, but we must observe the forms." Dent grumbled but held his place.

"What do you want?" the Putram said crossly and without deference.

Jon dropped his arm and took a step forward.

"I am Chief Steward for the Jeevel Hall of the Benevolent Guild of Combat Consultants" Jon began. "I am here to adjudicate first, a grievance between one Dent, Guild member, and one Garishnie deBabear of Jeevel. Second, I am here to adjudicate a matter of breach of contract between my Guild and the government of Jeevel."

There was a collective gasp heard in the hall. Being found to be in breach of contract could result in the removal of all Guild members from the employ of Jeevel leaving their military emasculated and vulnerable.

"I know of no breach of contract," the Putram said still frowning.

"We shall see," said Jon. "First I intend to resolve the grievance between Dent and deBabear."

"You certainly don't need us for that," the Putram snapped.

"I think we do since it involves the taking of the Guild member's property: two slaves that I see are present, without the Guild member's permission."

"I know which slaves you're talking about and they were confiscated due to non-payment of import tax. We have the right to control the importation of goods into our own country. This is an internal matter over which you have no jurisdiction!"

"I have jurisdiction over anything that affects any member of my Guild," Jon replied frostily. "Are you saying that Garishnie deBabear was acting as your agent in the theft of the two slaves?"

"I said nothing of the kind!" the Putram retorted. "I am saying that it was my understanding that the port tax was not paid on these two slaves and therefore we have the right to confiscate them."

"Then you must have been misinformed by someone. I have in my possession a receipt for the tax paid for these two slaves."

"A forgery! It is false!"

"Garishnie deBabear," Jon called loudly. "Do you testify that the receipt in my possession is a forgery? That the tax has not been paid?"

"Ah... well... I..." Garishnie wrung his hands not knowing what to do. If he said yes, it was a forgery, and he was found to be lying -- a forgone conclusion -- he would be directly accountable to the deadly-looking warrior standing next to the Chief Steward, the one who was looking at him like a wolf sizing up a errant piglet; or he could admit the tax was paid and pass the responsibility up to the Putram where it really belonged. In that case he would still be accountable to the warrior and even if that were settled he would still have to deal with the Putram, probably fatally.

"I, uh, didn't think the tax was paid," he stammered. "But I suppose there could have been a mistake... Maybe... I don't know."

"Yes, and it would have been a very large error, wouldn't you say?"

"Ah, well, I guess..."

"Do I need to call Captain Vel as a witness and bring forth the receipt?"

"Ah, no..."

"Then we can put quit to this nonsense about tax being owed on them?"

"Well, yes, I suppose so."

"You suppose so? What is it? Was the tax paid or is it still owed?"

"Fine!" Garishnie snapped. "The tax was paid! Are you satisfied?"

"Why no," Jon said mildly. "In fact now that we have ascertained the tax was paid we can only conclude the taking of the slaves was in fact a theft of a Guild member's property."

"Nonsense! I never took anything!" Garishnie said angrily.

"Are you saying that this man isn't under contract to you?" Jon asked, pointing to Escaro.

"So what if he is?"

"And you didn't order him to take the slaves?"

"Well..."

"Shall I call witnesses to the theft? I'm sure they can identify just who took them."

Unable to stand it any longer Dent stepped forward and shouted, "Garishnie, by the Code I demand you meet me..."

Suddenly there was a commotion next to Garishnie and Escaro burst from the crowd with his sword in hand.

"Fuck this!" he screamed. "You're mine, you little shit!" as he raised his sword and charged Dent.

Taken back momentarily, Dent froze as the huge warrior ran towards him. Instantly his trained reflexes took over and his sword was out and deflecting Escaro's slashing blow. Again and again Escaro hammered at him, the power of fury behind each blow. Although his opponent was bigger and stronger, Dent was quicker and escaped each stroke although at times by only fractions of an inch. Finally he was able to retrieve his dirk and now stood facing the big man with both his weapons ready.

"Garishnie," Dent heard Jon call although he was paying very little attention to his surroundings. "Is this man your champion?" Anyone challenged under the code had the option of sending into the duel a surrogate, if he could find one willing, that is.

"Yes. Yes, he is!" Garishnie squeaked.

The two combatants circled each other warily. The initial adrenalin rush was over and now it was a battle between brute strength against speed, experience and training. Escaro made a few feints trying to draw Dent out which he easily deflected. Dent wondered just how experienced Escaro was. Had he ever fought against someone from Salas? He had never sparred with Dent and never mentioned anything about opposing anyone from Salas, not that they had ever talked much.

Deciding to take the chance, Dent feinted with his sword slightly dropping the point of the dirk. Although Dent was faster than Escaro, that didn't mean Escaro was slow. He was a combat veteran and the fact that he had survived any number of contracts meant he was still a very formidable warrior. Taking the dropping dirk as an opening, Escaro quickly sidestepped the feint and slashed down at the seemingly unprotected shoulder.

The point of Dent's dirk came up suddenly and the blade of Escaro's sword slid down hitting the cross hilt. Using every bit of strength he could muster, Dent twisted the dirk trapping Escaro's blade in the tines. Quick as a striking snake, Dent smashed down on the trapped blade with the reinforced finger guard of his sword. Unlike in practice, this time the blade received the full brunt of the blow and broke.

The shock tore the debladed handle out of the big man's hand as he grunted in surprise. The move turned Dent's body sideways and while there he drove the pommel of his sword up and into the soft armpit of his opponent. Dent's was no rounded practice sword; his had a two inch spike that looked like a four-sided pyramid on the pommel and it drove through the boiled-leather armor protecting this soft region like a hot knife through butter.

Escaro screamed and pulled back. Clamping his left hand over the wound he dropped to his knees as blood from a severed artery bubbled out between his fingers. Stepping forward Dent placed the point of his sword under Escaro's chin and lifted it up until the big man was looking him in the eye. Escaro felt numb but even as his eyesight dimmed with blood loss and pain he saw Dent's slight smile and tried to shake his head. Dent drove his sword forward severing the trachea, esophagus and finally the spinal cord. Bereft of any firm support, Escaro's head flopped to one side as Dent placed his knee in Escaro's chest and pulled the sword out. Escaro's body remained kneeling and upright for a moment as the head rolled around on its two attachments of skin and muscle, finally toppling backward to the floor trapping the legs under it in what would have been a very uncomfortable position. Escaro didn't complain about the discomfort.