Zornhut: Chapter 11
Author's notes: Zornhut, or Guard of Wrath, is one of the main guard positions in medieval sword techniques. Also, I've opted for the game's default name for the tactician, Mark. There is also no House Carmarthen mentioned in the game; Carmarthen is the name of a castle in Wales. I thought it would be fitting to have Mark's House named after it, since there is a Caerleon in Wales as well, and in my story Mark is from Etruria, like Priscilla.
"Where's the water?" Mark said, slightly exasperated. "I want my tea."
Canas chuckled nervously and rubbed the back of his head. He said, "I asked Wallace to get it--"
"Wait, did you say Wallace? You sent Wallace to get the water?"
"Well, yes. I certainly don't see why..." Canas' voice trailed off and there was a moment of silence when the easily flustered shaman recalled their huge comrade's penchant for getting lost. "Oh. Oh dear," Canas said, somewhat worried. "That wasn't a good thing to do, was it?"
"No, I rather imagine it wasn't."
"I'll go look for him," Guy volunteered. "Come on, Rath."
The nomad trooper nodded and both of the plainsmen headed off in the direction of the river. Canas offered to go with them, but Mark told him no.
"I think you're better off doing something else."
"Like what?" Canas asked, puzzled. Mark pointed in one direction; Canas turned to look and gasped.
Not too far away, Vaida's wyvern was happily gnawing on what seemed to be a very large and thick book, with Vaida herself seated comfortably on the wyvern's back, an amused look on her face. "Isn't that book yours?" Mark asked.
"Oh my! That particular tome is quite rare! Excuse me, please," Canas said hurriedly before he rushed to rescue his book from the wyvern.
Raven resisted the urge to chuckle. Only then did Mark noticed his presence, for the tactician turned to look at the mercenary for a moment before he spoke. "I know what you're thinking," Mark said. "Vaida's wyvern is happily snacking on poor Canas' books, yet the tactician is doing absolutely nothing about it, and you're wondering why."
The corners of Raven's mouth turned very slightly upwards in the tiniest of smiles. "I suppose so, yes."
"Simple," Mark said, shrugging. "Partly it is because if I were to sort out every single wrangle between everyone in here, I would never get anything done. But that is not the main reason why I never interfere with your quarrels."
"And the main reason?"
"Self-preservation." Mark paused to listen to the loud satisfied roar of Vaida's wyvern, which was followed by Vaida's own laughter. Canas must have lost yet another book. "Why, pray tell, would I want to get between two well-trained soldiers--in this case, an experienced soldier on a hungry wyvern, and a book-loving magic-user who can use dangerous spells--especially when I can barely use a butter knife without nicking myself?"
"Good point."
"Yes, I would say so myself. So what can I do for you, Raven?"
"Actually, I would like to have a word with you. In private."
Mark nodded. "All right. Let's talk inside, then." He stepped into his tent, Raven following him. The tactician went to a corner of the tent and rummaged through a pile of supplies, while Raven walked towards some crates that served as desk and stools. "Well, since we've no hot water, I can't make you some tea... Wine?"
"Yes, thank you." Raven sat down on one of the smaller crates and he could not help but glance at the assorted documents that lay on the makeshift desk. There were a few maps and blank parchments, but what caught Raven's attention were some unopened letters, dumped carelessly in one corner.
Riders bearing the livery of Ostia and occasionally, Pherae and Caelin, came at uncertain intervals, bearing messages and missives for their lordlings. A rider had reached their camp this morning, but he was clad in plain travelling gear and was not accompanied with an armed escort. His arrival had caused some concern when he ran into Kent on patrol, but after he had demonstrated that he was unarmed and was merely a messenger, he had been allowed into the camp. The rider had talked briefly with the company's leaders and tactician and handed them a bundle of letters before he left as quickly as he came, leaving the rest of the troops in wonder.
The letters that the messenger had carried now lay on the desk, unopened but for two. Raven recognised the royal seals of assorted noble Houses on most of them, while the two that had been unsealed and were now folded halfway, had a seal from a House he had never seen. He stared for a moment at the unfamiliar crest before he turned and looked elsewhere, for he did not want to make an impression he was trying to read what was written in the letters.
Mark must have noticed his curiosity. "House Carmarthen. We're one of those small cadet branches no one seems to remember," the tactician explained with a grin. "Letters from home. One from my brother, telling me that he is greatly pleased with my progress, and one from my mother, telling me I should just forget this foolishness and go home." He looked amused.
"Your brother? Not your father?"
"Father's old. My brother Steffen runs the lands now." Mark looked at the other missives and sighed. "As for the rest, I do not even have to open them to know that they are offers to obtain my service after this campaign is over."
"And will you accept one of them?"
Mark shook his head. "I mean no offense, Raven, but after all this is over, I am going home and I do not want to see anything even remotely resembling soldiering or tactics for a year. All I want to do is to catch up on my sleep." He then pushed some of the documents on the desk to one side, in order to make room for the two cups of wine he brought. Raven took one and drank from it; the wine had a nice, rich flavour. "So what can I do for you?" asked Mark.
Raven took a deep breath before he began. He had decided some time ago that it would be best to forget skirting around the issue, and make his inquiry straight away. "I wondered," he said, "if you are familiar with the details of the Cornwell affair."
Mark tapped his chin absently as he asked, a slight frown on his face, "Cornwell affair? That was about two years ago, correct?"
Raven nodded. "I served House Cornwell before I went to Caelin," he said in explanation. It was not even a lie; the heir was to dutifully serve his own House and to act in its best interests, after all. "I wish to know what happened to the marquess and marquise in the end."
"I see." Mark started tapping the table, instead of his chin, looking thoughtful. "Let me refresh my memory. The marquess was convicted for leeching funds in order to pay off certain debts, yes? And the League of Lycia stripped Cornwell of its peerage and confiscated all of its estates."
Raven nodded again. That much was public knowledge now, but he still had to resist the urge to clench his fists.
"What makes you think I would know whatever happened to the lord and lady?" The question sounded sincere; the tactician was merely puzzled, nothing more. At least that was what Raven thought he sounded like.
The mercenary shrugged. "Ostia is not the only one with spies."
Mark chuckled. "True," he admitted, "Carmarthen has some of its own, and so does every other House, but none has a network as good as Ostia's. The Tacticians' Guild fares slightly better on that count, however. We do not have spies everywhere, but we can manage."
"I'm not surprised. Getting information so it's easier for you tacticians to seek employment opportunities?"
"And staying out of certain conflicts that are unlikely to benefit any of the parties involved. But I digress." Mark took another sip from his cup of wine. "I know very little of the Cornwell incident, but here is what I've gathered from the guild's own sources. After their peerage was stripped and their properties were seized, the lord and his lady went north to a small manor. That particular holding belonged to Lady Cornwell's family, so it was spared from seizure. They took a few servants along with them, while the rest of the household staff had to seek employment elsewhere."
That tallied with what Raven knew. His parents had left Cornwell with only his old armsmaster, two servants and a groom. "The rest of the family? What of them?" he asked.
"What, you mean the son? I believe he was sent away before the League began their investigation. One of Lord Cornwell's acquaintances must have taken him in, I suppose. I do not know what became of him, at any rate." There was a pause before Mark added, "They had a daughter as well, but she was given up for adoption when she was very young. I was a child then, so I do not recall the details."
"And?"
"What I have next are mostly assumptions. Not much is confirmed."
"I'd be interested in hearing them anyway."
"As you wish." Mark shrugged. "The marquess and marquise seemed to have settled down with their new life in the country, but only a week passed before they were found dead."
"Murdered," Raven said without thinking.
"I don't think so," Mark replied, while the mercenary stared at him in surprise. Fortunately, the tactician seemed not to have noticed the other's reaction to his statement, for he was staring off into space, a thoughtful expression on his face. "As far as we could determine, no other party entered the holding since the lord and lady's arrival."
Raven did clench his fists this time. "So you are saying that the Ostians had no hand in the deed? But the rumours..."
"Rumours, Raven. The problem with rumours is that even though they are usually based on the truth, they tend to get the details wrong. There was a detachment of knights from Ostia sent to the manor, like in the rumours--but that detachment was sent to see how the former nobles fared, and the knights arrived after the lord and lady's deaths were discovered." Mark cleared his throat and finished the last of his wine. "Think, Raven. What purpose would it serve Ostia to have them killed? They have already paid for their crimes."
"An example."
"Of what? Cornwell had--and still has, I daresay--many friends in the League; it must have been more than hard for Lord Uther just to take away the lord and lady's rank and title, much less order for their execution. Uther is not a man who would sink to such foul deeds."
"I see," was all Raven said after a long moment of silence. "So what exactly did happen to Lord and Lady Cornwell?"
Mark gave him an apologetic look. "I am sorry, Raven, but I honestly do not know who killed them, if that is what you want to know. What I can tell you is that their deaths were not caused by an outsider's hand, that is for certain. The cause lies in that household."
Raven stared at Mark, who returned his gaze without flinching; there were no signs to show that the tactician had been anything but honest and sincere in their conversation. Raven was not sure what to make of this all; he felt some relief at finding some of the answers he wanted, but those answers merely pointed to new questions, and this did not sit well with him.
"Thank you for your time then. And the wine," Raven said as he rose to leave. He was unsure if he could maintain his calm facade much longer.
"You're welcome," Mark said in return, and Raven left the tent, heading for his post. He could not help replaying one particular moment in their conversation in his head as he walked, oblivious to his surroundings.
Not caused by an outsider's hand.
