C3 Chapter 3: Incident in Brigo

They spent a little more than a week traveling with the grand duke's soldiers. The company of nearly 200 men had set such a pace that Nikko was soon forced to ride a horse just to avoid being left behind. Nor had Danuwil managed to keep up with them for long. Only the prince had managed to keep stride with the soldiers; he was a soldier at heart, after all. As an officer, he would have certainly been entitled to ride a horse, but among the infantry, the only officers worthy of respect were those who marched and ate with them. Riding beside men on foot only behooved officers with many years experience in the field.

They reached the small town of Brigo in the early afternoon of an uncomfortably sticky day, although almost every day there in the south was humid and hot. In Brigo, the three companions would part ways with the soldiers, whose goal was actually the fortress of Gátam, much further to the north. Fydal, who felt at home among the soldiers, seemed to find the thought somewhat depressing. He had become quite friendly with the major in charge. But the soldiers wanted to make the most of the long summer days to press ahead on their own journey.

The three decided to spend the night in Brigo, however. Not only did Nikko and Danuwil need some time to recover from the uncomfortable hours in the saddle, but they also needed to plan their journey onward: the Zûldaján border was only a few hours distant.

“Not likely that we'll find anywhere half-decent to spend the night,” said Fydal, surveying the marketplace. “What a filthy backwater!”

“The Count of Brigo's residence is in the woods, some way outside the town,” said Danuwil. “One or two hours, if I remember right.”

“No, no,” the prince said, dismissively. “I don't want to spend very long here. I'm sure we'll survive one night in whatever guesthouse this town has to offer.”

After several enquiries, they found lodgings for the night in a hostel they were told was the best place in town, but which was certainly not set up to accept visitors of any rank, who would normally have spent the night at the count's residence or in tents they had brought with them. The nameless building was more comfortable on the inside that it looked from out on the street, but could not compare even with Vylrahdo, let alone Lime Court.

Frequented mainly by lowly salesmen, the hostel that evening was so busy that it proved difficult to find rooms even vaguely worthy of the status of their guests. Finally, Nikko, Danuwil and the prince had to settle for a four-bed room in which the last bed remained free.

Now, they were sitting together in the musty parlor with all the other guests, eating dinner. The place did not have a separate dining room, and there was not enough space in their bedroom for a table.

They must have looked strange to the other guests. Fydal wore his magnificent uniform, which he only took off to sleep, and Danuwil was also dressed in his fine clothes. But Nikko stood out even more, dressed now in the garb of a Novice of the Order. It was a simple, brown robe, but everyone understood that he belonged to the Order. The young sorcerer detested the robe and grumbled at having to wear a “dress.” He felt like a girl, but at the same time, he remembered the words of the Master, that he should wear the robe at all times. And he did enjoy the respectful glances it garnered.

“Delicious,” Danuwil pronounced, almost drooling behind a buxom serving girl. His judgment could hardly have applied to the food, which was an insult even to Nikko's undiscerning palate, so what could the pampered nobleman think of it?

“How can you enjoy this glop?” Fydal wondered as he prodded disinterestedly at the stew in front of him.

“I'm not talking about the food,” Danuwil said. “Haven't you noticed that pretty maid? Mouth-watering.”

“That's … a lot of woman, don't you think?” the prince smirked.

“Better a lot than too little,” the nobleman laughed, already tipsy from the cheap wine. “What do you say, young Adept?”

“Novice,” Nikko corrected him nervously. The master's admonitions were still fresh in his mind.

Danuwil ignored him, drinking in the servant girl with his eyes.

“Don't you have a wife waiting for you in Zundaj?” the prince asked.

“Oh yes, yes,” the nobleman said, surprising Nikko. “One in Zundaj, another in Bregánt. But a bit of fun on a long journey can't hurt …”

“Are we moving on tomorrow?” Nikko asked, wanting to change the subject, which he was starting to find embarrassing.

“Yes,” Fydal answered. “I want to get on to Zundaj as quickly as possible.”

“How far is it from here?”

“About two weeks on foot,” said Danuwil, his eyes never leaving the maid. “But we should join a caravan. Zûldaján's roads are more dangerous than those here in the grand duchy.”

“We've been through that already,” the prince snapped dismissively. “I'll hire half a dozen mercenaries on the other side of the border. In Zûldaján, after all, I'm entitled to safe passage. And I'm protected by weapons law.” “Why?”

“Zûldaján is the ancestral homeland of the king,” Fydal explained. “The king is the liege lord of all the rulers in the kingdom, which means that every ruler has safe passage there, and can exercise his right to arms.”

“What does that mean, exactly?”

“It means the right to carry and distribute weapons, and also to lead armed men,” the prince said. “My father had the right to lead up to ten thousand soldiers. I think I'll be able to hire half a dozen safely enough. I'll also buy some horses. Then we'll reach Zundaj in a few days.”

“Just beyond the border is Kûlan,” Danuwil said, keeping his eye on the girl. “You should be able to hire mercenaries there. The guild has an outpost there, at least.”

“Which guild?” asked Nikko.

“The Guild of Mercenaries, of course,” the nobleman said, turning to face Nikko now. “You don't want his Highness hiring just any old bandits for protection, do you, young A … uh, Novice?”

“Then the guild must also be covered by weapons law,” Nikko concluded.

“Exactly,” Danuwil said. “The Guild of Mercenaries possesses a royal license, like the Guild of Bounty Hunters. Everyone else has to use their services if they need a sword.”

“Bounty hunters?” Nikko asked, shocked.

“Yes,” Fydal said. Then he grinned and added, “But let's hope we never cross paths with them.”

Danuwil returned his attention to the voluptuous serving girl. Whether the nobleman was aware of it or not, as he looked at her, his lips made lewd movements and sounds that disgusted the novice.

“I think I'll retire for the night,” Fydal announced, then spoke sharply to Danuwil. “We have to get an early start tomorrow.”

“I'm tired, too,” said Nikko, and followed the prince up to their room. But Danuwil stayed behind in the parlor, his goblet of wine at his lips, his eyes never leaving the maid.

It was late in the night when a loud din penetrated the walls of their bedchamber. Nikko at first ignored the sounds, wanting no more than to sleep, even more so because it had taken him so long to fall asleep in the first place in the stifling heat. And then all that shouting and those cries for help! Cries for help?

“What's going on out there?” Fydal yawned. “Who's making all that noise in the middle of the night?”

Nikko could only agree and closed his eyes again, hoping the din would go away. But then came the sound of yelling, and a bone-chilling woman's scream.

“Better get your wand,” the prince said, as he reached for his own sword. “We should see what's going on.”

The wand? Where was his wand? Nikko wondered, still half asleep. Oh, yes, the Master in Terys had taken it away from him, blast it! He hoped he wouldn't need it now.

“Whore!” bellowed a voice that sounded very like Danuwil's as Nikko and the Prince neared the parlor.

“What … do you … think you're …” the obviously drunken nobleman garbled. “You … not letting … me … uh …”

The whole horrible scene came into view. Danuwil stood swaying in front of the hysterical serving girl. He had his blood-smeared sword at her throat. Blood? The maid seemed uninjured. But what was that? A body on the floor, covered in blood. Their host! Had Danuwil …?

“Lower your weapon this instant!” bellowed the prince at a volume that almost burst Nikko's eardrums.

“What … who?” the nobleman slurred, confused, and turned in the direction of the prince.

A clay jug instantly shattered over the nobleman's head, and he collapsed to the floor. The bawling maid still held the broken handle in one hand, her other hand pressed over her mouth. Fydal immediately ran over to the landlord, but the man was beyond saving.

“What happened here?” the prince shouted. “Speak, woman!”

“He wanted me to …,” the woman sobbed. “But I didn't want to. Then my father came.”

Nikko looked around and realized that they were not alone. It looked as if almost all of the guests were awake and ogling the scene of the crime.

“Guards!” he heard several of them shout. “Where are the guards?”

“Damn it,” Fydal muttered, distraught. “What are we supposed to do now?”

Nikko stood as if paralyzed. He did not understand what had just taken place there, though all the facts were in front of him.

The onlookers were growing increasingly angry. Calls for the guards gave way to calls for the gallows. “String him up” or “off with his head” were the more harmless demands. Then several armed men came crashing into the guesthouse.

“What's going on here?” snapped a man in simple leather armor, who seemed to be the leader of the troop of guards. He held a spear at the ready in both hands.

“He manhandled the maid and murdered the landlord,” said one of the guests, pointing to the nobleman unconscious on the floor. A cacophony of agreement backed him up.

“Bastard nobles,” another swore. “Think they can get away with anything!”

“Watch your tongue!” the guard warned harshly. Then, more evenly, he said, “The count will know how to deal with this. Boys, arrest the … suspect.”

“What do I do now?” the prince asked aloud, without thinking. He still had his longsword drawn.

“Who are you?” the guard asked cautiously.

“Forgive me,” Fydal excused himself, sheathing his sword. “Major Fydal, Prince of Hocatin.”

“Major? Prince?” The man seemed confused. “What … what's your connection to this man? Uh … Major?”

“Highness,” the prince corrected him. “I must regretfully admit that he is among my entourage, although at this dark moment, that fact fills me with shame and revulsion.”

“I'm sorry, your Highness,” the guard excused himself with a bow. “His Illustriousness, the Count of Brigo, will rule on the matter in the next few days. We have to take the suspect with us.”

“Go ahead,” Fydal agreed. “Do your duty.”

“Will you speak on his behalf, your Highness?”

“Yes,” the prince sighed, although he thought it over for a moment. “What choice do I have?”

“Then you will have to stay here,” the guard advised. “You will be called for a hearing in the near future.”

“Thank you, guard,” said the prince, doing his best to keep up his composure. He took a deep breath and exhaled strongly, as if, like that, he might blow away all his troubles.

After the scene downstairs, Nikko and Fydal quickly returned to their room. The accusing stares of the other guests were too much to bear. The prince had taken a bottle of strong liquor with him, and now offered the young sorcerer a drink; Nikko did not turn down the chance to fight the shock of what had happened with a solid gulp from the bottle.

“How could he do that?” Fydal shook his head in incomprehension.

“What will happen now?” Nikko asked, taking another swig from the bottle.

“No idea,” the prince admitted. “I've never had to pass this kind of test before.”

“Do you think the count will sentence Danuwil to death?” Nikko said, unsure how he felt about the idea. The nobleman had certainly committed a heinous crime, as far as Nikko could judge. But still, he was a good friend and a true companion, and he had played a big part in saving the prince in Hymal. And he had saved Nikko's life, too, more than once. How could such a heroic man be a molester of women and a murderer? Had the landlord perhaps attacked him? Had he only been defending himself?

“I doubt it,” Fydal reassured him. “Danuwil is a man of standing. The landlord and his daughter are just commoners, perhaps even serfs. He will probably get away with no more than a black mark against his name.”

Fydal's words calmed Nikko a little, but they confused him, too. In a crime like this, what difference did it make who the perpetrator was? And who the victim?

They sat and passed the bottle back and forth until it was empty, then did their best to get some sleep, the horrible night promising more nightmares ahead.

Next morning, Nikko woke with a splitting headache, the price he had to pay for the nightcap the night before. But Nikko also knew that it was only the liquor that had let him sleep at all. If not for that, his mind would have been too preoccupied with the night's events, turning them over and over, and coming up with the same unanswerable questions.

The first thing to do was organize some breakfast, but he quickly realized that it was not such a simple matter. The landlord was dead, his daughter probably still in shock.

The prince woke as well, his hands pressed to the stabbing pain in his head. “Please tell me it was all just a dream,” he moaned.

“I don't know what you dreamed,” Nikko tried to joke. “But the reality is much worse.”

“Let's just try and find something to eat,” said Fydal.

“Do you think the guesthouse is still functioning?”

“Probably not. Not after what happened. We should find somewhere else to stay in any case. I doubt we'll still be welcome here.” “I hope we're still welcome somewhere in town,” Nikko sighed.

“If we're not, then our money will be.”

In the end, they were able to find beds in a guesthouse further out from the center of town. Fydal had to pay for an entire eight-bed room just to make sure they weren't disturbed, but exactly how eight people were ever supposed to sleep in that cabin was a mystery. Still, they were happy to find any sort of place to stay in that ill-starred town, and at the same time, both of them felt that having their lodgings well away from the scene of the incident could only be an advantage.

In the meantime, word had reached them that the trial would take place the following day. Fydal had even received an invitation, but the invitation also made it clear that the accused could not be visited beforehand. Not that either of them felt any great desire to speak to Danuwil …

“Don't worry, Nikko,” Fydal encouraged the young sorcerer as they made their way to the count's castle. “As a nobleman, Bregánt won't face any serious punishment.”

“Even if he deserves it?” said Nikko, giving voice to the thought in his head. “I mean, he murdered the landlord.”

“And we'll find out the exact circumstances of that today,” the prince said, skirting around the accusation in Nikko's voice.

They were still some distance away when they saw the count's castle, built picturesquely on an island in a small lake in the heart of the forest.

“If only I'd asked to stay with the count at the very start,” the prince murmured to himself with a sigh. “Then I would have been spared all this trouble.”

Nikko was surprised at how much the events were playing on Fydal's mind. Did he feel somehow responsible? But the death of the landlord seemed to matter little to him; he seemed, in fact, more interested in his protecting his own reputation.

“Your Highness,” the officer of the watch greeted the prince at the castle gate. “You are expected. Sergeant, escort the major and his companion to the audience chamber. His Illustriousness will meet them there.”

“Yes, sir,” replied a portly man in a chain mail tunic, who then promptly led Fydal and Nikko across the castle bailey, up a set of stairs and into the main building, where he handed them over to an officer posted in front of large double doors, at each side of which two soldiers stood guard.

“If you would wait one moment, Your Highness,” said the officer. “I will announce your arrival to His Illustriousness.” With that, the soldier disappeared through the double doors, returning a few heartbeats later to accompany the two of them inside.

“What an honor, Your Highness,” said a pompously dressed man of impressive girth, with a repellent smile. “That you would honor my humble home with your presence.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Your Illustriousness,” the prince replied with a well-trained tongue. “I would gladly spend more time in this enchanting locale. Unfortunately, I am just passing through and my time is short.”

“Ah, such a pity, such a pity,” the count grinned. “I would have enjoyed the pleasure of your company on a hunt.”

“Perhaps another time, dear Count.”

“Well, then,” said the count, feigning disappointment. “As you like. Enough of the formalities. You're here because of the murderer, I take it?”

“Murderer?” said Fydal, with artful astonishment. “You must be exaggerating, Count. Danuwil of Bregánt is a man of standing and enjoys my full confidence.”

“He tried to molest the landlord's daughter, then killed her father, the landlord, himself,” the fat count calmly said. “The landlord was a well-respected man, and much loved in Brigo. The immorality of what Bregánt did to the daughter might be forgiven,” he went on with affected generosity. “But the landlord's murder has to be atoned for.”

“I ask you, my dear Count,” said Fydal, his tone now firmer. “Bregánt was drunk, and I am certain that the landlord must have threatened him.”

“Your Highness,” the count purred, “I honestly couldn't care less what becomes of Bregánt. But I've got the commoners on my back.”

“The commoners? What do you care about them?”

“It's like I said,” the count explained. “The landlord was a popular man in town. The commoners are demanding his murderer's head. If I did not accede to their demand, I would just be adding fuel to the fire.”

“Excuse me?” The prince's voice had grown very loud. “You want to execute a nobleman just because he killed a commoner, and under the influence of alcohol, at that?”

“I have no choice,” the count defended himself. “Unless …”

“Unless what?”

“Unless the House of Hocatin speaks for him. If Bregánt stands under the protection of such a worthy house, then I have no choice but to let him go.”

“So I'm supposed to wear Bregánt's misdeeds? Is that it?” Fydal was horrified. “What a disgrace for my house!”

“I'm afraid it's the only possibility,” the count stated. “So, does the House of Hocatin speak for Danuwil of Bregánt?”

Fydal said nothing. He turned to Nikko and looked deep into his blue eyes. Nikko did not know what the prince saw there. He himself had no idea what the prince was supposed to do. The landgrave's son owed Danuwil his life, certainly, but for the prince to burden his own family with Bregánt's crimes was a high price. It was a decision that Nikko did not envy having to make.

“Yes,” said Fydal after a long pause, that one word laden with contempt. “The House of Hocatin speaks for Danuwil of Bregánt and requests his release.”

“Very good,” the fat count replied “However, Your Highness, you are no doubt aware that this cannot be accomplished free of charge.” “Excuse me?” Fydal's temper rose again.

“Bregánt has done me a serious disservice. He killed one of my subjects, one who ran a profitable guesthouse. The lost taxes alone will cost me a fortune, and the dead man's family will need to be provided for. Then there are the costs for his arrest, the trial. You understand?”

“How much?” the prince growled. He was clearly suffering, and wanted to finish the matter quickly.

“In light of the seriousness of the crime and the consequent financial damages, I would consider … shall we say … speaking approximately … ten gold thalers?”

“Ten gold thalers?” Fydal turned white, then barked, “For ten gold thalers, he could have wiped out the whole stinking village!” He paused to compose himself. “I would consider three hundred silver pieces more than enough.”

“Seven hundred.”

“All right, four hundred.”

“Six hundred, and I'll have to cough up for the dead man's loved ones out of my own coffers.”

“Don't be ridiculous! Five hundred silver pieces.”

“Done,” said the count with a satisfied grin. “My administrator will make the necessary financial arrangements with you. Tonight, you will stay as my guest and you are, of course, invited to dinner. But I would advise you to leave with Bregánt very early in the morning. Oh, and to avoid the town.”

Fydal had accepted the invitation to spend the night in the count's castle, although he seemed as eager to dine with the avaricious count as Nikko did. And the count, apparently, had not reckoned with the prince accepting his offer, so Nikko and the prince now found themselves sitting alone in a separate dining room, trying to salvage some enjoyment from the meal in front of them.

“I'm afraid I have to ask you to help me out with a few silver pieces, Nikko,” the prince said, abashed. “I only have just over four hundred and ninety left.”

“I've still got thirteen,” Nikko offered. “You're welcome to them.”

“Thank you,” the prince smiled. “At least we'll be able to pay the ransom. But I don't have the slightest idea how we're supposed to fund the rest of our journey to Zundaj.”

“How much will we still have left?”

“Four silver pieces plus whatever Bregánt might be carrying,” Fydal replied. “If they didn't already take it all.”

“That should see us through if we're careful,” said Nikko, trying to cheer the prince up.

“For a few nights of substandard lodging and the most basic food, it'll do,” Fydal laughed bitterly. “But horses? Mercenaries? Never.”

“Then we should take a close look at our baggage,” the young sorcerer advised. “We'll never be able to carry all of it ourselves.”

“I'm afraid you're right,” Fydal agreed soberly. “Maybe we can sell a few things. Our varlet uniforms, for example. We won't be needing them anymore.” Then he suddenly grew upset again. “What a humiliation! That damned Danuwil!”

The following morning, while Fydal sorted out the finances with the count's administrator, Nikko went through their luggage. With foresight, they had had their cases transported from the second guesthouse to the castle. He could certainly do without his varlet outfits and second pair of boots. Thorodos's book by itself would be an uncomfortably heavy load, but there was no way he would ever leave it behind.

“All done,” Fydal sighed as he stepped into their bedroom. “That's five hundred silver pieces we no longer have to lug with us, at least.” “So will they let Danuwil go now?” Nikko asked, although he really had no desire to see the nobleman.

“Yes. We can collect him soon. Someone will be along to take us to the dungeon. But I see you're already sorting things out. Don't be too ruthless, my friend. If need be, we'll buy a mule to carry the cases.”

“That's good,” said Nikko happily. “Then I can at least keep some spare clothes, especially the boots.”

There was a rapping at the door and the portly sergeant who had escorted them the day before stepped into the room, wearing a friendly smile.

“Are you ready to accept the prisoner, Your Highness?” the soldier asked politely.

They were led deep into the vaulted dungeons beneath the castle, where the air was comfortably cool but rather musty. Now, they stood in a guardroom, waiting patiently for the jailer. The atmosphere of the place was intimidating enough to stop even the prince from complaining about having to wait.

“You're here for Bregánt, aren't you?” barked a cruel-looking mountain of brawn as he stomped loudly into the guardroom.

“That's right,” said the prince, and took the opportunity to introduce himself. “Major Fydal, Prince of Hocatin”

“Go, you dozy fool!” the jailer bawled to someone outside the guardroom. “Bring back our noble guest.” He turned back to the prince. “I'm returning Bregánt's possessions to you. He is forbidden to carry his sword anywhere in the count's territory.”

“The prisoner,” announced the soldier, leading Danuwil, still bound, into the room. The nobleman was dressed in his underwear, no more, and he looked miserable.

“Untie him,” the jailer ordered. Then he tossed Danuwil his clothes, but handed the longsword to the prince. “Now get out of my dungeon, the lot of you!”

In silence, the three of them followed the sergeant, who led them back to their quarters. The prince had hardly so much as looked at the nobleman. Nikko, on the other hand, was confused, and preferred to avoid meeting Danuwil's eye completely.

Now, alone in the bedroom with their packed cases, the silence became intolerable.

“Whatever part you may have played in my rescue, Bregánt,” the prince spat, before the nobleman could open his mouth, “the debt is hereby paid in full, with interest.”

Danuwil swallowed and said nothing, his eyes lowered in mortification. Before anyone could say another word, there was a knock on the door.

“You're to leave now,” said the sergeant. “We have horses ready for you.”