Chapter 19

The Latavit docked at Longview's main port just before the sun hit its highest point in the sky. The day was chilly – by Emertland standards – but the sky was clear. Jorgarn, adorned in his mail shirt and blue overlay, walked down the gangway with Pernice, also in mail but with a blood red overlay. Neither man wore his chain head covering. Each wanted the crowd that assembled at the port to see him. Most recognized Jorgarn immediately but even those who didn't took a step backward as the two imposing figures walked forward – hands on the hilt of their swords.

"Jorgarn," one whispered. "The rumor of the coup must be true. He has come to avenge his father."

A harsh look from Jorgarn silenced the whispers. Two men on the right side, hidden in the shadow of a building, recognized the Lord's second son and understood fully that whatever they had been sent to do wasn't worth dying for. They turned to flee only to run into two men with drawn swords. Each man was wearing chain mail from head to waist. One had a green cover over it and the other wore red.

"I think not," one said in passable Longview. "Let's have those hands, gentlemen."

The two would-be assailants quickly presented their hands forward where Seni bound them with rope. A quick search revealed each man carried a short sword but no metal armor or buckler. They would have lasted about a heartbeat in a battle with either Jorgarn or Pernice. On the other side of the street a similar scene developed. This time Ronac and his partner saw two men having a heated conversation about the best way to attack and took the decision out of their hands.

Ronac slipped his sword around the neck of the first man and the second man turned to flee and wound up almost skewering himself on an Emertland Guard's drawn sword. The fact that the man facing him already had blood on his hands was not lost on the potential attacker, who quickly surrendered.

Down the center of the street, the situation was different. The two assailants, expecting help from the flanks, strode purposefully toward Jorgarn and Pernice. They knew the man standing with Jorgarn was supposed to do the hard work – by turning on the Lord's son. So they were surprised when both men charged forward with their swords in their hands.

The knives that the assailants carried would be no match for the long swords but each man knew his fate was sealed either way. Jorgarn would kill them on the dock or hang them once he had disposed of Pietro and assumed the Lordship. A glance at the other told both men they agreed: they stood a better chance in armed combat than swinging from a hangman's rope.

It turned out the odds were about the same.

The man on Pernice's side met his charge and lost his hand with Pernice's first attack. The man's head was gone with the backswing. The second attacker saw the luck of his friend and came to a quick halt. He flung the knife in his hand at Jorgarn, who continued to move swiftly toward him.

The attacker was appalled when the knife struck Jorgarn in the chest but bounced off. It did leave a nasty gash on his unprotected left arm, though. The man's eyes widened as Jorgarn continued his charge and only belatedly did his mind tell him to run.

Jorgarn caught the man by the back of his long hair and pulled him roughly backward to the ground. The man saw the menace on Jorgarn's face as Jorgarn put this sword over the man's heart and thrust it downward, ending his life.

Without so much as a backward glance, Jorgarn turned and let out a loud whistle – the signal for his company of men to form on him and for the ship's crew to start walking the blinkered horses off the ship.

Jorgarn expected absolute chaos from the horses but they walked sedately down the plank as though they hadn't spent 22 hours on a ship rolling all the time. Jorgarn made a mental note to inform King Landor of how well his groomsmen had trained the animals.

Once the horses had been brought forward, the seven strongest men on the crew lowered the carriage down the plank. Four horses were attached to the coach. Only then did Gorin and Fieth escort Lady Eslada, who had thankfully accepted the need for caution with grace, down the walkway. She surveyed the four men with their hands and feet bound and the crowd that formed around the fallen attackers. She noticed both Jorgarn and Pernice had blood covering their tunics. It wasn't until her second pass did Eslada notice the wide cut on Jorgarn's bicep. It was all Gorin could do to keep her from racing the rest of the way to the dock.

Jorgarn stepped forward to open the carriage door for Fieth and Gorin, who decided they would stay behind to protect Eslada during the initial foray then switch places with Melodart and Renoit and be part of the team that went to Domita.

Jorgarn had debated leaving Eslada aboard the ship while he inspected the manor but she insisted she might as well come first as opposed to later.

"If Wenta is dead, Pietro will die soon enough," she reasoned. "There is no need to delay the trip to Domita while you send someone back here for me."

She agreed to wait at Gorin's house, which was only a short trip from the manor but relatively hidden, while Jorgarn and the rest of the group descended upon the manor.

"Lippit, you handle the coach," Jorgarn instructed. "You have the most experience at things like that. If we find trouble, you turn immediately and get Eslada back on board. Do not tarry and do not wait to see how the battle turns out. The first sign of trouble, you four come back here to safety. The captain is making ready to return to sea as we speak. He will leave port immediately if you return. Do you understand?"

Lippit tilted his head.

"May I make a suggestion, Sir Jorgarn?" he asked. He really wasn't sure his input would be welcome from the look on Jorgarn's face.

"Of course," came the reply.

"If we run into trouble, I suggest that we turn the carriage around and take it to safety," he said. "But as soon as Lady Eslada is safe, I turn it over to Fieth and come back to join the battle. I believe I will be useful to you on your trip to Domita."

"Don't undersell your value in other areas, Master Lippit," Jorgarn said with a small smile. "Yes, that is a better plan but please ensure Lady Eslada is safely away before you stop."

Lippit agreed readily and the group set off toward the manor at a trot – their four captives secured to the back of the carriage and forced to run behind it.

After a few minutes travel, Jorgarn called a halt. They had passed the first ambush site without incident and would reach the second in a few minutes.

"Melodart, take your team and secure the area in front of us, if you would," Jorgarn commanded.

"Prisoners?" Melodart asked.

Jorgarn did not hesitate before answering.

"No," he said. "You may save me the cost of a rope if you choose."

He knew from the list Seni had given him that those left unaccounted for would battle to the end. They had placed their entire future on the success of Pietro's plan. There was no going back for them now that it had failed.

Melodart gave a grim nod and headed off to take care of the would-be assailants at the second spot on the map. It was only then that Gorin stuck his head out of the window of the carriage to gain Jorgarn's attention.

"Lady Eslada would like to speak to you," he said. Jorgarn gave a look of disgust but walked back to the carriage.

"Let me see your arm," Eslada insisted. "Now!"

Jorgarn glanced down at his ripped tunic and at the blood that was flowing down his arm and onto the ground. He had been around Eslada long enough to know she would have her way or he would never hear the end of it.

Eslada took a clean piece of cloth and wet it with water from a flask to clean the wound. She gasped when she saw the jagged cut that ran from Jorgarn's bicep to the inside of his elbow.

"Creator!" she said as she reached back inside the carriage and produced another flask. "There is no telling what he used that knife for beforehand. I planned to give this to Wenta but I'm sure he will understand. It's Emerti brandy. It will clean the wound."

She poured a generous portion over Jorgarn's arm. She knew it would hurt terribly but she noticed only a slight twitch from Jorgarn's left eye when the alcohol entered the open wound.

"You can admit this hurts," Eslada chided. "No one will think less of you."

"Says the woman who called me a baby for crying when I had a similar sized cut in my leg a few years ago," Jorgarn replied with a slight smile.

"It was not similar in the least," Eslada said quickly. "This is from a dirty knife. That was from a briar patch. You cried like you severed a limb."

"I was eight years old," Jorgarn pointed out.

"Yes, well, I was new at being around children," Eslada admitted with embarrassment. "I was barely more than a child myself."

"So when Drosset comes to you with an injury, you'll kiss it better," Jorgarn joked.

Eslada's eyes narrowed. Jorgarn had seen that look before many times.

"No," she said. "I'll probably call him a baby and tell him the story about how his uncle Jorgarn once almost lost his arm in battle and acted as though nothing happened."

They shared a laugh and Jorgarn took a deep breath.

"That does hurt quite a lot," he confessed. "Actually, it hurts more now than it did before you cured me. Thanks so much."

"It would hurt far more when you got an infection and lost your whole arm," Eslada said.

"Or when you lost so much blood you passed out and fell off your horse," Gorin chimed in.

"But it won't hurt as much as it will when the Princess sees you've gotten blood all over her scarf," Fieth said. He had stayed out of the conversation until it was clear that no one was angry. "You will be glad you still have that arm to protect yourself from her."

Jorgarn glanced at the pale blue scarf Denae had given him to wear into battle. Apparently it was tradition for a woman to give her champion a memento before he departed. Now it was covered in blood from the man who attacked him and in Jorgarn's own from where he had adjusted his armor with his bloody hand.

"Not to mention this nice vestment," Jorgarn said. "I told Sir Torbert it was silly to give such nice bright targets to enemy archers but apparently it is tradition. You know, Gorin, Emertland is going to have to give some serious thought to allowing some of its traditions to fall by the wayside. Individual projectile weapons weren't really in vogue the last time it fought a war. Nor does it make much sense to me to appoint valued men as my successors and lose them to any engagement. But who am I to argue? It just seems a bit odd that no one seems to realize that things that made sense 400 years ago might not make sense now. It seems especially silly to ensure that I am the first one targeted by giving me a different color from the rest of you. It would be difficult to select whom to target from those in red and those in green. But with only one in blue, well, I know who would see the brunt of my arrows."

Gorin laughed but nodded his head.

"So many of our laws and ceremonies are based on what was done in the past," he said. "It will take time to change the ones that need changed. In truth, it has been so long since we've needed to look at the way we handle our military affairs that it has never been a priority. But I see your point and I agree with you. When we put down the rules regarding the Seconds, it was a different era. The castle was subject to siege and apt to be overrun during a war. It made sense that someone was responsible for the safety of the Monarch and the Heir. Travel was more arduous. We walked everywhere we wanted to go before we learned to train horses.

"The Knight and his Seconds protected the Monarch against assassins, brigands and the plain, ordinary malcontent. During war, the Knights had duties to the Guard and needed to stay behind. Back then, the Knights were the only officers attached to the guard. The Monarch's Knight was the Captain, just like now. But his role was to plan the engagement and oversee the battle. The Heir's Knight was second in command. He led the charge. Everyone else was a soldier. Now you have First Class, Second Class, Third Class, Sergeants, Lieutenants and I'm sure I'm missing others. It makes more sense to delegate your Guard responsibilities to others and secure the safety of your charge yourself. Likewise with the code of dress. In old days, it set you apart as a rallying point for your troops. Now it sets you apart as a target. We will have to bring this up before Tribunal and point out the flaws in the system."

Jorgarn rolled his eyes.

"It has been tried before a number of times," he said. "It takes a unanimous vote to change these things. It is not a simple majority. There is always someone who insists the old ways are the best ways. In this Tribunal, I suspect it will be Sir Torbert. That appears to be the role the Senior Knight takes in these matters. If he is unable to do it himself because of politics, he speaks privately to one of the others and they assume the role. From what I've read, it is a maddening process that has about as much hope for success as Pietro become Emperor of Swar."

"That slight, huh?" Eslada chimed in with a laugh. "Well, you are nothing if not persistent. Keep at them and pretty soon they'll give in just so you'll go away. I believe that is how you came to be allowed to train your own horses, if I'm not mistaken."

"When will you be moving from the castle?" Jorgarn asked with a twinkle of affection in his eye. "There are some stories that simply are best left untold."

"Those are the ones I told first," Eslada said with the same look on her face. "It's only fair. I'm sure Torbert and Landor have regaled you with stories of my young adulthood. I am simply returning the favor."

Jorgarn bowed his head in surrender and the occupants of the carriage broke out in laughter. It died down when Jorgarn held up a hand for silence.

"Be aware," he said to his men. "There is movement in the woods ahead of us. Lippit, turn the coach around now, please."

Lippit complied without a word and the men-at-arms took up their positions. Melodart and his men came out of the woods a moment later.

He had an unreadable look on his face.

"Those men were drunk," he said. "We heard them 50 paces before we saw them. One was asleep. The other two were arguing. You could have sent Merg to dispatch them."

The next stop came a few minutes past the second ill-fated ambush site – the turn to Gorin's farm.

Melodart took Lippit and two less-seasoned woodsmen to sneak through the creek bed and into position behind the manor, which lay only a short distance ahead.

Seni and his squad, minus Ronac, took off to circle around and approach the manor from the east. Ronac took two men to approach from the west.

Jorgarn, Pernice and Renoit took their horses along the main passage toward the manor from the south. The prisoners were tied by the hands to the saddles.

Denae was lost in her thoughts when Rayna, Usala and Bralan entered. Another young woman followed behind them meekly.

Denae had been reliving the last night she had spent with Jorgarn. Sleep had been long in coming for both of them as they took every opportunity to explore the other's body. Jorgarn had managed to bring Denae to release by licking and sucking on her sensitive breast buds. He had not hesitated to put his hands beneath her blood clothes twice more to gently stroke and rub her sensitive spot.

Her last memory of the night was of Jorgarn gently washing her body with a warm rag and announcing an area clean with a series of kisses across her skin. She smiled unconsciously at the thought and recalled bringing him to release with her fingers and mouth when he had awoken at dawn to leave for the ship.

There had been several people waiting on the dock for the guardsmen to depart, including several young women. Some of the women were attached to the young soldiers. Others perhaps hoped to be upon their return. All the departing soldiers carried with them a memento of a young (or in the case of Melodart and Gorin, not so young) woman from their homeland.

Denae had removed a scarf she wore in her long hair and tied it to Jorgarn's arm. Rayna had sewn a small portion of her favorite dress to the back of Pernice's tunic so he could have a part of close to his heart. She had also given him a small broach to wear on his overlay as a visible sign of her affection.

The other soldiers were offered similar objects, some from women they barely knew or did not know at all.