Saga Mac Brón: Chapter 5
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10 minutes
Violence
The Hand of Ketch
That night, despite the long journey, the boy lay awake in bed for some time. Mac Brón, pretending to sleep, watched him out of the corner of his eye. He knew the young prince was angry with him, because he’d not wanted to cross with the Péistghrá, and hadn’t believed Mac Brón that there was no sooner passage east. When at last the two southerners fell fully asleep, Mac Brón arose, assembled his things, and slipped out of the room, and down the hallway.
From Fort, he’d learned of the room where the four trackers were staying. He pounded on the door. The man who opened started when he saw Mac Brón.
“You?” he said, hand on his hilt. “What’s your business here?”
“Business,” said Mac Brón. “I have a proposition to make.”
The other stared suspiciously, but a voice beckoned him inside. Mac Brón brushed past the man at the door.
“Sit down,” said a dark-haired man whose red jerkin, now uncovered, bore a captain’s bars. “Right there.”
The warrior sat, and showed his hands.
“What is it you want?” said the dark-haired man.
“The same as you, I think,” said Mac Brón. “A little bit of comfort in this cold world.”
The other didn’t smile. “You’re making an offer? What?”
“The key to the room where they lie,” he said. “And a clean, quiet job for you, with no casualties.”
The man eyed him sternly. “Are you not their bodyguard? Would you sell out your own charges?”
“That depends,” said Mac Brón. “Why are you pursuing them? Do you intend to kill the woman and the boy?”
The dark-haired man bristled. “We are not assassins, nor mercenaries, like you. The steward seeks the woman and her son in connection with the emperor’s death. We have reason to believe that the Bohlgorim had inside help, and that the mother sought to elevate her son early to the throne.”
Mac Brón nodded. “I thought they were concealing something. But I’m no mercenary. Not entirely. I would not hand them over to you if I thought you would kill them. I am loyal to the emperor, that’s all.”
The dark-haired man smiled without his eyes. “And yet you wish to be paid.”
Mac Brón shrugged. “It is a very cold, uncomfortable world.”
The other regarded him for a moment, then nodded. “Hand me the purse,” he commanded.
One of the four handed him a leather sack. The leader counted out a generous sum, dropped the coins into an empty ration bag from his pack, and tossed it to Mac Brón.
“Now give us the key,” he said. “And then get out.”
“I will,” said Mac Brón, reaching for the key. “On one condition.”
The man glared at him. “What? Out with it!”
“That you take them tonight,” he said. “I intend to stay, and do business in this town. I don’t wish for a spectacle when they’re hauled out. It will harm my reputation, you see. People will learn that I came with them, and think I can’t be trusted.”
“What sort of man are you?” spat the captain. Then, looking around at his men, “It is vile to have to deal with such scum.”
Mac Brón looked at him, unrepentant.
“Very well,” continued the captain. “But my men are tired. We shall rise in the third hour, and take them while the other guests slumber. We’ve commandeered a vessel and drivers, so it should not be a problem to disappear in the night. I suggest you be elsewhere at that time.”
Mac Brón bowed, and excused himself. The Knight of Ketch scowled after him.
By the time the boy opened his eyes, it was already too late. A strong hand in a leather glove engulfed his face. His arms were bound behind him. In the dark, he heard his mother’s panicked breathing. She tried to cry out for him, but her voice was stifled. Strong arms lifted him, and carried him down the stairs, and out the door. The bitter cold bit into his skin. Clouds smothered the moon, and she only dimly lit the streets, which crackled underfoot as he was herded forward. He looked around for Mac Brón, but the man was nowhere to be seen.
“Don’t bother,” said a grim voice. “He betrayed you to us. You must always be sure to pay such men very well.”
The boy’s mind reeled. Mac Brón was uncouth, but Tammet hadn’t thought the barbarian treacherous. He’d been acting on his late father’s counsel. The emperor had once told the boy to trust men who showed some virtue, in order to draw out even more. But his father’s trust had gotten him killed. Now Tammet would meet the same fate.
He could hear his mother behind him, but the men would not let him turn to look at her. She was an empress, but the brutes pushed her through the streets like a common criminal. They were wise to take them at night. Otherwise, someone would surely would have seen what was happening, and helped. Or perhaps not. The boy had spent his life among honor-bound men. Perhaps he didn’t know what people like, out in the world.
They exited town through the east gates, and began marching hard towards the lake. The air was black as ink. The horizon appeared before him as a great, empty hole. At length they reached the edge of the crater, and looked down. A yawning darkness stared back up at him, and the boy fought to keep his composure. All hope seemed lost.
“Are you going to cast us off?” asked his mother.
He could hear her fear, and the effort she made to conceal it. Even now, at the edge of death, she maintained her stately bearing. And this gave the boy courage, for he remembered that to be noble was to be noble always.
“Silence, woman,” said a harsh voice.
Tammet’s blood boiled in his veins. “That is your empress,” he said, through clenched teeth.
“Is it now?” replied the other.
“Silence, all,” said the leader. “And go carefully.”
They walked forward, and were suddenly descending. In the dark, the long stairway was perilous, and even their captors stepped with great caution. The cold from the lake whipped up, assaulting Tammet’s eyes and cheeks, yet he thanked the wind, for it made him vigilant, and cleared his head. After what seemed ages, they reached the bottom. A barge sat on the water, and a single lamp hung within it.
Two men awaited on them on the deck, one short and thick, the other tall. They were covered in furs and long, dark cloaks, so that they gave the impression of grim reapers, fattened on death. The two bowed when the company boarded.
Tammet and his mother were corralled into the center of the deck. The shorter man walked past them to a covered booth, behind which was a sort of table with many levers. The boy had seen such things before, but only on the causeways near great cities. The barge was moved by power of steam, and the shorter man was its pilot. The other took up a long, wicked looking poll. At one end was a pike tip, and something like an ax blade. As the barge moved, he swung it down into the blue-black water to break up the ice. The boy glanced back as far as his guard would allow, and he watched the tall cliffs move away from them. There was no escape.
“Why are you men doing this?” said his mother. “I see that you are Knights of Ketch. Is not your first loyalty to the emperor?”
The three knights holding them said nothing. The fourth, their leader, glanced back at her, but kept his silence.
“Have they no manners in Ketch?” snarled Tammet. “Your empress has addressed you!”
Still there was no response. Tammet bristled, his anger almost hot enough to arrest the oppressive cold. Rushing forward suddenly, dragging his guard with him, he again addressed himself to the leader.
“You there, oath-breaker, whom do you serve, if not the emperor?”
The man took a deep breath before turning. The fell look in his dark eyes told of anger, and of great restraint.
“Who is the more treacherous, boy? The prince who conspires to slay his father, or the knight who goes to fetch him?”
“That is a lie!” shouted Tammet.
“We shall see,” said the other.
“Where are my father’s men?” pressed Tammet. “How is it that the Hand of Ketch was sent, and not the emperor’s own?”
The captain seemed to consider for a moment before answering. Glancing around first at the pike man and the pilot, the leader walked over, and stood before the prince and the empress. He lowered his voice.
“The Royal Blue is under suspicion of treachery,” he said. “Because the emperor’s death ought to have been prevented. We of Ketch serve in their stead, for the time being.”
“When they see me-” began the boy.
“They will not see you,” interrupted the other. “They have been cast to the four winds. The steward does not trust them.”
“Sir,” interjected his mother.
The knight looked at her sternly, and waited.
“I see that you are a man of honor,” she said. “But can you believe that I would have my own husband slain?”
He made no response, and she persisted.
“The Royal Blue is ever about the emperor’s family. They would know that I love him. That our son loves him. Is it not strange to you that they’ve been cast out, and yourselves, the steward’s Hand, exalted?”
He studied her for a long time without speaking. After a quick glance at his men, he shook his head. “This conversation profits nothing. Men under orders serve in honor. It is for your peers to judge you.”
With that he walked away from them. It seemed to the boy that the captain himself was not treacherous, only obedient to the steward. Perhaps he should try to press the matter. If this man was truly honorable, perhaps he could be persuaded. Their lives might depend on it. At the moment, the barge came to a lurching halt. The pikeman cursed.
“What is it?” said the captain.
“Big piece,” explained the pikeman. “Under the surface.”
The captain sighed. “Will it take long to remove?”
The other shrugged, and began furiously stabbing and hacking at the water.
“How long does this usually take,” said the leader to the pilot. “Can my men speed things up?’
“If they wish,” said shorter man. “They can grab those pikes on the deck, and help.”
He nodded at his men. “Go. I will watch the prisoners.”
The three knights stepped forward, and lifted the heavy polls. It took two hands to wield them, and Tammet observed their surprise at the effort. They approached the prow of the barge, and watched the pikeman’s method. The pikeman appeared exhausted by his attempts, and stepped back from gunwhale.
“There, you take a turn,” he growled, pulling in his pike, and reaching up to wipe the brow beneath his heavy hood.
As the pikeman stood resting, the three knights began to slap at the water. After only a few moments, the boat began to creep forward.
“Keep it up,” shouted the pilot.
The three men stabbed more vigorously at the water. Little by little, their blows lost force, as the effort tired their arms.
“I don’t feel any ice there now,” said one of the men.
As he turned to address his captain, the pikeman swung his heavy pole. The pole caught two of the knights across the head, and pitched them into the frigid water. The third man had only a moment to observe his comrades pitch into the black lake before the pikeman drove the long point a foot into his back. Then the pikeman dropped his instrument. Reaching into his heavy furs, he drew forth a black and twisted sword.
Crying out, the captain drew, and charged him. But the boy saw what was happening, and rammed the leader. He stumbled forward, missing his stroke. The black sword crashed down upon his gauntlet, knocking the sword from his hand. When the captain turned, the twisted sword tip was already at his face.
“Kneel,” said Mac Brón.
“Never,” said the other.
Mac Brón took off his cap, revealing himself to the Knight of Ketch. The other stifled his surprise, then scowled at him.
“Kneel,” shouted Mac Brón. “Or I will run you through.”
“Never to you, barbarian. ”
Mac Brón smiled grimly, and swung his sword. He hit the man with the flat of the blade, and the other sank to the deck without a sound. Dazed, he did not cry out from the blow, but looked up at Mac Brón defiantly.
“You’d better kill me, barbarian,” he said, slurring his words.
“You’re unarmed,” said Mac Brón.
The other laughed. “So you have honor now? But you ambushed my knights.”
“Well,” said Mac Brón, with a smile. “They were armed.”
Mac Brón studied the captain, his thoughts concealed behind his grim smile. The boy stood off to the side, gripped by wonder, but also by confusion. This man had kidnapped them, and wished ill toward his mother and him. Every fiber of the prince’s being wanted Mac Brón to kill the Knight of Ketch. Now! And be rid of him! Yet a voice within told against this course, though he could not make the effort of will to speak out.
“Do it!” mocked the captain. “Or live to rue it. You killed my men in cold blood. Good men. Men with honor, not scoundrels like you. If you let me live, I will seek you out, barbarian. And I will kill you.”
Mac Brón stared down at him.
“What is your name?” he said.
“You could not pronounce it, Northman,” spat the other.
Mac Brón smiled again. Then he nodded toward the pilot. “This other. He was ignorant of all this. If you are honorable, you will not take vengeance against him.”
With that, he swung his blade. The captain did not flinch as the flat struck him hard on the temple. The knight slumped to the deck, unconscious. Mac Brón walked over to the pilot, passing Tammet and Rusu, who stared at him agape. The pilot, who had observed all this with growing alarm, took a step back.
“Hurry. We’ll take him to the southern shore, and dump him there. I don’t know how long he’ll be out, and you don’t want him waking here in Uz.”
The pilot nodded, and hurried over to shovel coal into the furnace. Steam soon pumped out of the stock. The barge picked up speed. Mac Brón turned toward the woman and her son.
“I frightened you,” he said. “But I needed surprise.”
The prince stared at him. Relieved as he was, he suddenly felt ill at the way their victory had been gained.
“You…you could not have faced these men in combat? One of them you stabbed in the back. What will they say in Talahm-lár, when the story is told?”
Mac Brón laughed out loud. “Four knights of Ketch? You think well of me! And never fear, boy. He who wins his kingdom tells the stories. That is the way of things. But I see that your father raised you on noble stories. ”
“Do not speak about father” snapped Tammet.
Mac Brón bowed, and turned to Rusu. “As your son says, I am no refined gentleman. We barbarians do what is within our power.”
She smiled uncomfortably. “Thank you again, Mac Brón.”
Rusu glanced at Tammet. “This is the second time you’ve rescued us from disaster. You shall be well-rewarded when…when we regain our kingdom.”
Mac Brón smiled at that. “We shall see. In the meantime, we must get back and rest. Tomorrow will make all that has come before seem easy. I do not wish to sleep in the canyons, and our barge leaves early, for we cross into the Devil’s Eyebrow with the people who slither through it.”
Rusu’s cold-reddened cheeks went pale. Suddenly, the stately woman looked exhausted, and afraid.
“You…you’re coming with us then?” she said. “Into the canyons?”
Her tone was as close to a plea as her nobility permitted. Mac Brón studied her, deciding only then.
“Yes,” he said. “At least for a time.”
TO BE CONTINUED
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