Dishonour by Dee Carteri (best memoirs of all time .txt) 📖

/> The far off sound of hoofs beating the gravel road brought them out of their conversation.

Maruc said, "Get your knife, Jaku, and then shut up."


Gaia’s Day, September 3, 1268 A.R.


About a half hour later, a little after midnight, the rider came into view. He was a typical knight, tall, muscled, riding a great black warhorse worth a half-dozen peasants’ lives. The horse was being ridden a bit too hard by the knight, was heavily armed with an Honor Blade, a spear, a bow and full plate mail. Maruc assessed him. Bloody froth was flying from its gaping jaws: its gums must have been torn by the bit. That meant that the knight must have had to turn or stop sharply, meaning he probably took a steeper trail out of town, probably up the west side of the quarry. However, not only was that trail longer, it was more dangerous, its only usual travelers being quarrymen and wagon drivers. The only reason for a knight to take it would be to avoid going past and waking the peasants living in the huts near the main road, who would certainly be curious about what a knight is doing out and about on a road under curfew. Maruc nodded to Jaku, who nodded back. They had their man.

Maruc stepped out into the light and shouted, "Hail!"

The knight slowed down, obviously hesitant. He was on a mission of utmost importance, but the rangers that guarded the roads were on direct order from Lord Randolph himself, and to refuse to acknowledge them would count as minor treason. They could pursue or even shoot him outright without any fear of repercussion. He came to a halt ten yards away and crossed his arms over his chest in salute. Maruc and Jaku did the same.

The two mock rangers walked towards him casually, although Maruc made a point of unslinging his longbow. Maruc of course had no skill with the bow, and was probably not even strong enough to draw an arrow, but the threat of a possibly hostile longbowman was enough to give any fighting man pause. Even now the knight was probably contemplating what would happen if he ran.

Maruc said, "Identify yourself!"

The knight raised his visor breathlessly struggled out, "Baron…Franir…..of Jokun.

Jaku stepped up. "You are aware that this road is under curfew from two hours after dusk to two hours before dawn?"

"I have a document of license," rushed the baron, who had caught his breath but was obviously nervous. "From the Marquis."

A moment of silence. Then Jaku said, "Well, let’s see it."

"Of course, my apologies," he said and dismounted. Maruc was silently laughing, for the knight was so stressed he had not even requested their names, nor any proof that they were indeed rangers, and had not simply stolen the clothes and weapons of some.

He withdrew a piece of new white paper and unrolled it, moving to hand it to Jaku. Jaku took the paper in one hand, and with the other drew a thin strong dagger and pounded it solidly through Franir’s armor and into the baron’s stomach. Jaku wrenched it out as the nobleman drew his sword. Franir swung at Jaku, but his movement was made clumsy by pain, and Jaku ducked it easily. Jaku came up fast and drove his knife deep into the knight’s unprotected throat.

Then Jaku felt that feeling, the wonderful moment when he looked into a victim’s dying eyes, and those eyes became Jaku’s world, and he saw how the victim feared him now, how the dying man respected him more than Gaia himself, how he was now absolute in power to his victim. Jaku reveled in the eyes for a second before the spark of life died out and the limp mannequin of armor fell to the ground.

Maruc ran over and both searched him, finally finding a small box of letters sealed with Nesel’s crest. They both took half, agreeing to trade noon that day.

Now came the difficult part of the murder, as if the corpse would soon be found be the numerous search parties Nesel would be certain to send out no matter haw well they hid it. They would realize that the wounds must have been inflicted by a thin dagger, once that must have been made of high-quality steel to be hard enough to penetrate armor. Only rangers use that type of weapon, but it would not be difficult to find the location of all rangers tonight, none of which would be anywhere near the road Franir disappeared on. The only mill in the Marquisdom capable of duplicating that grade of steel would be the Great Mill on the Angelos, which only has four clients, one of whom they would learn is entirely an intermediary for an illegal weapons dealer named Kylinia, who in exchange for a lighter sentence would give the courts the names and buying records of his clients, including Jaku and Maruc’s purchase of the ranger-like daggers. This was obviously a thing to be avoided.

Maruc was struck with a sudden flash of inspiration. He picked up a heavy rock from the side of the road, and dropped it on the cadaver several times, paying special attention to smashing apart the dead man’s throat and stomach. Jaku watched this with bewilderment, but he had committed enough crime with Maruc to trust his judgment with this sort of thing. When he was finished, Maruc called out, "Help me get him back on his horse, Jaku."

After considerable effort, the fully armored knight, his abdomen and throat crushed so that the wounds were no longer recognizable as knife cuts, sat limply in the saddle of his bored and relaxing horse, who reluctantly followed as Maruc led him to the edge of the road. "Get back, Jaku."

The two men retreated up the other side of the road. Maruc turned around and threw his dagger into the horse’s flank. The black warhorse neighed and bolted blindly into the wooded incline. The knife, which barely penetrated the beast’s thick skin, was shaken loose and clattered to the ground, leaving only a pinprick wound. The horse lost its footing and slid helplessly down the slope, carrying its dead rider off the quarry cliff. The neighing died sharply with a metallic clang.

Jaku considered the action as Maruc went to pick up his knife. In the morning, a quarry worker would find the dead horse and rider, who must have lost their way in the dark and stumbled over the cliff. All wounds could easily be accounted for by the fall. The only evidence of murder would be the absence of the letters, so that if Nesel wanted to launch a formal investigation he would have to publicly admit that he had sent messages during the debate without seeking the courts’ permission, an act strictly forbidden during a time of royal debate. He would have to fume silently while his messages are analyzed by Lakent’s supporters.

"You may be the most intelligent man I’ve ever met," said Jaku admiringly to Maruc, who was now digging a hole with his hands to bury the bloodied gravel. After an hour of readjusting the road, they began to walk cheerfully back to Whiterift with the feeling of a job well done.


"Damn!" exclaimed Nesel as he sorted through Franir’s belongings. "They taken the letters, all of them," he said to Maceol and Iaen, "The bastards murdered him!" No-one in the shack, a small lodge used by the quarrymen, could argue with him on that point. They had already thoroughly searched the quarrymen and their things, saying that the baron had been carrying an indefinite amount of silver, and that they were simply making sure none had been taken. None had even touched the body, for they were all good and honest men with little thought for meddling in the affairs of greater people.

In the shack were Nesel, Maceol, Iaen, Randolph, Kay and Nesel’s scribe, grimly brooding over the smashed cadaver that was once a loyal and honorable man. The scribe said, "Shall I write a letter, lord?"

Nesel, taken aback, asked, "What?"

"A letter, lord. Offering condolence to the good baron’s family."

"Of course!" ordered Nesel and turned back to searching the dead knight’s pockets. After the clerk had left, he asked earnestly, "So what’s our next move?" He glanced hopefully at the four men.

Marquis Randolph stated, "If we choose to seek a thief, they will find a way to prove nothing was stolen. If we admit to the messages, then we admit that we broke the code of debate and will likely be forced into armed conflict."

"If we do nothing, then they’ll show the messages to everyone in Whiterift within the week," argued Iaen.

Maceol stepped forward and said, "Every time anyone dies on the roads, the rangers launch an official investigation into the accident."

"So?" asked Nesel.

"So," responded Maceol, "We search through Franir’s family history for some great deed done for Octania by any of his forefathers. We claim that we owe his house a debt, and ask if we can take personal control over the investigation from the rangers. They are facing hard times, what with all Lakent’s supporters violating road curfews, and will go as far as thank us for taking this investigation of his hands."

Nesel glanced at Iaen, who nodded. Randolph said, "Sounds good."

The young baron slapped his palms down on the table and turned to Maceol. "Alright. Who do we send?"

"Maceol, I’m on leave," complained Rodul as he watched a few passers-by from the window of his house.

Maceol looked sternly at him. "It will only take a couple of days. Your leave can wait, but this cannot."

Rodul leaned forward, "Why do you even want me for this? I’ve never led an investigation in my life."

"Because you’re the most loyal man I have," said Maceol. "This cannot reach anyone with a loose tongue or hungry purse." He sat back and sighed. "Look, what’s it going to take to win you over? Nesel might even be prepared to give up some land if you get to the bottom of this."

Rodul laughed. "You, of all people, should know I’m not fit for lordship."

"Neither are half the lords in Octania, but I don’t hear them complaining."

Rodul chuckled, then said, "I’m not going to do it."

"How about double pay for the next three months? Double leave next year?"

Rodul simply stared at him.

Maceol, a somewhat less-than-shrewd negotiator, continued desperately. "I could have your name put down in the Book of Deeds!"

Rodul asked, "Really? You can do that?"

"Of course! Your great-grandchildren will make pilgrimages to this city just to better remember your glorious act, and every knight will say prayers that you live to perform more wondrous deeds!" pressed Maceol.

"Really?" asked Rodul, a small smile bending the corners of his mouth.

"Yes! What do you say?" declared Maceol.

"No."

"Oh come on!" moaned Maceol in defeat. He glanced up and, half joking, begging, "How about a personal favor? To me?"

"Sure."

Maceol stared at him incredulously. "What?"

Rodul, struggling to keep a straight face, said, "I do really owe you some help. I’ll take care of your problem for you," then broke down into fits of laughter.

Sir Maceol collapsed in frustration. He meekly said, "Nesel will brief you at noon tomorrow at his manor." He glared meaningfully at Rodul. "Be there."

As he walked towards the door Rodul asked, "I’ll still take the double pay and leave."