Episode 10
Jonah waited outside the dining hall, debating internally whether his friend would be better suited discussing the situation out loud or being left to himself. Quinn was inside, seated at one of the tables and lost in his thoughts.
Truth be told, Jonah wasn’t even sure if he would be any help to his friend with what he was facing; by now Jonah would have been cowering beneath a desk and hiding from the dangers to come if it weren’t for the fact that Quinn was counting on him.
He finally gave in and walked into the dining hall. He sat at the table opposite Quinn, and it took a full minute for his friend to notice him.
“What am I supposed to do, Jonah?” Quinn asked.
Jonah shrugged. “Your mother is the mayor. Ask her.”
“She doesn’t want to leave.”
“Have you asked her?”
“Many times.”
“And she is aware of the army bearing down on her.”
“Quite aware,” Quinn said.
“Most of the city has already fled,” Jonah said, grabbing a flagon of ale and two mugs sitting near him on the table. He poured them both a drink and took a sip. “And the ones that haven’t are preparing to now.”
“My mother is under the impression that Comer will send troops to assist us.”
“They won’t.”
“I know.”
“Even if they had the troops, they wouldn’t risk them. You heard the reports and you know how big this force is. Leaving the castle right now would be suicide.”
“I know, Jonah,” Quinn said. He picked up the mug and downed it in one long pull. “Believe me, I know.”
“Then what do you plan on doing?”
Quinn looked at him and sighed. “I have no idea. I can’t leave her.”
Jonah stared at him for a minute and then let out a deep breath. “No, I suppose you can’t. Where is my mother?” Jonah asked, standing up from the long banquet table. “I need to talk to her.”
“Why?”
“Hopefully, to talk some sense into her,” Jonah said.
“In her chambers, I believe,” Quinn said.
Jonah nodded, and then headed down the hallway to the chambers belonging to the mayor. He had been friends with Quinn for several years, ever since he was stationed to stay in the city six years earlier.
At first he had chafed at the idea. The town, Burdesh, only had a population of a few hundred people. The Mayor had almost no power, and a standing army of less than twenty. Jonah was a member of the Order Invictus, and the idea of languishing out in the middle of nowhere was not appealing.
As time passed, however, he came to understand the value of his post. Quinn was a good man, and his mother was a good Mayor. People were happy and friendly and there were rarely problems he had to deal with.
He knocked gently on Isabelle Burdesh’s door and waited for a response. “Who is it?” the madam called from inside the room.
“Jonah, m’lady. Your son wishes to speak with you.”
The door opened and she poked her head out. “Does he now?”
Jonah nodded. “Yes, m’lady. The letter from Rikeland arrived earlier today.”
“They send soldiers?” she asked, her eyes lighting up. Jonah remained silent, and gradually the excitement faded away. “Of course not,” she added after a few moments, letting out a sigh. “Then I suppose there’s nothing more for us to hope for.”
She started to close the door. “Your son,” Jonah said quickly.
“Ah yes. Was the letter the only thing he wished to speak to me about?” she asked. “I don’t wish to talk about the fool plan of leaving my home, so if there is nothing else then I will consider your report of the letter to be sufficient. Thank you Jonah.”
And then the door closed, leaving Jonah alone in the hall once more. He let out a long sigh and began his trek back to Quinn, trying to decide a suitable way to explain the madam’s refusal. He was spared, however; as soon as Quinn saw that Jonah was alone he stood up and headed past Jonah down the hall. He came to his mother’s door and began banging his fist against it. It rocked in its frame, and Jonah knew he would have to realign it later. All of the doors were getting old, as a matter of fact, and it might be worth the time checking the all of the frames to make sure things were properly aligned.
“Open the damned door,” Quinn said when his fist didn’t get a suitable response.
“I’m not leaving,” the madam called from inside her room, “and that is the end of it.”
“We are leaving, no matter what you say, and its past time that you started packing.”
“I agree that you should pack, and make sure to get all of the valuables out of the house, but I have no intention of abandoning my home. No matter how terrible things get, this is where my husband and I have chosen to spend our lives, and we will both die here.”
“So what, since he’s already dead you’re in a hurry to join him?” Quinn asked. Jonah winced and nearly interrupted the young man and ask how he could treat his mother so. He didn’t, though, reminding himself that Quinn was the new master of the house and not to be treated as a child anymore.
Isabelle didn’t respond to her son, and a minute passed with no sound from either of them. Finally, Quinn stepped away from the door and looked toward Jonah. “Do you have a key?” he asked.
Jonah shook his head. “The only key we have your mother wears on a chain around her neck. I could send for a locksmith and have someone here in a matter of hours if you so wish—”
Quinn shifted back to the door and kicked the lock with his right foot, busting it, and gently the door swung open. So much for realigning the door. “I’m not about to have this argument with you,” Quinn said, walking into the room. Jonah, worried, followed the young man into the madam’s chamber. Isabelle was sitting on the end of her bed, looking out the window and not seeming to notice the broken door. “I will carry you out of here myself if I have to.”
Isabelle shot a look at her son. “This is still my home.”
“And you are still my mother. If you aren’t going to pack things up, then Jonah will, and you will leave no later than tomorrow,” Quinn said. “If you refuse, then I’ll have you bound and gagged and carried out of here in a wagon under guard.”
The stared at each other, and Jonah tried his best to remain perfectly still. This was the most heated conversation he’d seen in the house in years, and he was sure that if he remained perfectly still he would be difficult to detect; or at least he thought it was necessary to try, lest their ire be directed at him. Finally, Isabelle looked down at the ground and let out a sigh. “You would treat your mother this way? You would refuse her dying wish?”
“I would not if she were dying. As it is, she is only being stupid.”
“Fine, then. I’ll be ready to leave tomorrow morning and we can head north. Perhaps I still have enough friends in Rikeland that will offer us shelter.”
“Not us. You,” Quinn said. “I will stay behind a few days with the soldiers and cover the retreat of our civilians. But don’t worry, there should be no threat to my life, as the army isn’t marching yet.”
“When do we expect the Aiden armies to cross the border?”
“In a week or so. It is difficult to tell. They are massing right now.”
Isabelle nodded. “Very well. Jonah, if you would be so kind as to gather our wagons and servants and begin packing all of our valuables. I can take care of my own things, but I don’t want to leave much behind.”
Jonah nodded and walked into the hall, but he’d only made it a few steps before he felt a hand grab his shoulder. It was Quinn; the young man came close and spoke softly: “I will leave now to speak to the Silver Cross. If she poses any difficulty whatsoever in packing or leaving then use any force necessary to get her out of the city. Understood?”
“Yes sir,” Jonah said, feeling heartsick. Use force on the madam of the house? The thought terrified him, but he also knew better than to refuse Quinn’s order.
Quinn nodded after a moment and then walked down the hall to the front door, leaving Jonah alone to plan the best way to pack all of the house belongings onto wagons.
The sun dipped low in the sky, reflecting hazy reddish light off the surface of the murky lake. It had rained earlier in the day, and now a comfortable fog lay settled over the valley. Other than the cramps in his muscles and blisters on his feet it had been a great day. Jeremiah Watters leaned against his axe and watched the water lap gently against the shore. Behind him on the dirt path the long caravan of wagons rolled by.
“We should camp here,” he said, hefting the weapon. He laid the shaft against his shoulder and glanced back at the sun. “It’ll be dark soon.”
“Maybe,” Alexander said from beside him. “But a little dark never hurt anyone.”
“It’s hobbled many a horse.”
“Then we’ll go slowly.”
“It isn’t worth going at all,” Jeremiah said, shaking his head. “If we camp here we could set the wagons near the water edge and cast in lines. A dinner of fish and potatoes would do us all some good.”
“And where would we get the potatoes?”
Jeremiah shrugged, surveying his friend. “An enterprising man like yourself would think of something.”
Alexander was a tall man with deep sunken eyes and a hard-set jaw. Dirt and grime covered his clothing and skin. A few days growth of beard had settled on his cheeks from the travel. He didn’t grow a beard well, and preferred to be clean shaven; but on the road out here in wild territory it would be a wasted gesture without a good mirror and blade.
Jeremiah doubted he looked much better. He was tired from all the walking and wished he’d brought a good horse. Hell, he wished he owned a good horse. Even a nag would be better than nothing right now. This was the fourth day walking in his armor, giving him four long days to regret signing on to guard this caravan. The quartermaster was a bastard. The drivers were bastards. The man in charge of the guards was a bastard.
But at least it was work.
He turned on his heel with a sigh. Twenty three wagons, each with four guards; though only one in five was well trained. The rest were too young, too old, or too stupid to be good at their craft.
Not that it would matter. This was quiet country, patrolled weekly by mounted knights. If there were any bandits out here—which he doubted—they would have trouble hiding numbers large enough to assault a caravan of this side.
But, then again, that’s why it didn’t pay well.
