Chapter Eleven:
Bloody Scribes
Baron Peregrinous was ready to kill someone. The sun was sinking steadily into the West; a blood-red disc behind the haze of smoke still hanging in the sky. Bandits wearing the blue and red of Duke Bardorbis’ regiments scurried to and fro, loading wagons with equipment and supplies for the journey north. Most of the tents had been struck, and all that remained behind were a few of the more permanent structures - the palisade walls, a few of the practice pells, and the cage.
Edward had managed to clear a small portion of the cage, tossing bones and other refuse aside to make room for William’s makeshift sickbed. He had folded up his cloak as a pillow, and covered his old ‘friend’ with a ragged blanket which a sneering guard had provided for them to share, along with several lewd suggestions as to how two prancing little nobles could best share sleeping arrangements. Peregrinous marked the guard as the first to die, once things quieted down a bit.
Bellême had regained consciousness late in the morning, just as the chirurgeon had predicted. William was in a considerable amount of pain, but his wits were sharp enough, once the initial confusion and pain had passed. After suppressing an initial urge to just cut the man's throat and be done with it, Edward gritted his teeth – he still had a role to play, and he'd be damned if that little shit Armand got the last laugh.
“Bad business, Bill. Drink up, and chew some of this to help with the pain,” Edward said, passing William a water skin and some strips of willow bark. “You're lucky to be alive – hell, we both are.”
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William managed to lever himself up to a sitting position and guzzled the water thirstily. “Ed? What in the seven hells is going on?” he asked, looking around the camp incredulously. “...the fuck? Are those men –“
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“Duke Bardorbis' own, I believe, yes. Can't mistake those flashy surcoats for anything else, can you?” Edward thumped a fist against one of the cage bars, lightly. “Whoresons jumped my caravan on the road not far from your township. They killed my guards, the few that didn't just run off. Took the blades and mechanisms, and threw me in this cage. Must have been en route to sacking your place; they brought you here not much later last night.”
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Bellême chewed pensively at one of the willow bark strips. “I can't... just, why? It doesn't make any damn sense, Ed. Is the man mad? He must know that the Richforts won't stand for it. Unless...”
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Yes, yes, you idiot, don't make me have to drag you to the obvious, thought Peregrinous angrily, as he continued to look at William with what he hoped was an appropriately anxious expression. Unless Bardorbis...
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“Unless Bardorbis doesn't know about the peace treaty! By Ao, I bet that's it, Ed!”
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“Of course!” exclaimed Edward, clapping a hand to his forehead in the best traditions of over-actors everywhere. “The man's kingdom collapsed months ago, he's more or less isolated! He probably thinks Kairos and An Loch are at each others throats, and he's trying to impress An Loch with a show of strength – prove that he's got what it takes to stand up to the Richforts. Devious little shit...”
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A guard rapped on the cage with the hilt of his sword. “Shut it, you lot. Richforts'll pay the same price whether yer teeth are in your mouths or in your laps.” He spat on the ground and turned back to a game of dice. William noticed that the men were wagering rings, tools and other oddments – likely looted from the bodies of his crew. He cast the blanket aside angrily and rose shakily to his feet.
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“Sons of bitches,” he whispered to Edward. “Damn these wounds, I'll give better than I got and then some.” He looked around – the camp had emptied out considerably since he had awoken. The last of the carts was rumbling out through the gates now, and all that remained was a sleepy looking lad standing by the gates, and the three guards dicing in front of the cage. William cast his gaze down to the refuse lying around the cage, looking for anything that he might be able to use as a weapon.
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Peregrinous stepped in front of William, putting his back to the guards. He drew back the cuff of his sleeve, showing the hilt of the dagger that Armand had left him. “Bit better than a pile of shit and sticks, I'd say. Do you think you're up to this?”
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William spat out the lump of chewed up bark, and stretched tentatively. The wounds hurt like a bastard, but not unbearably. He nodded at Edward. “Ready as I'll ever be. I'll follow your lead.”
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Edward gave a quick smile; a genuine one, this time. “Just like our old Legion days, eh Bill? Get back on the ground there, pull the blanket up and get ready to retch your everliving guts out.”
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William gave a fierce grin in return, and gingerly laid back down on the ground. Edward gave a soft count to 100, and nudged Bellême with his boot. Bill responded with the most godawful, ratcheting, wet gagging and puking sounds Edward had heard in years. One of the guards ran up to the cage door and peered in worriedly.
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“'Ere, what's with your friend? Speak up, you little wretch!”
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“I don't fucking know!” Peregrinous wailed, “He passed out and he's puking up... oh gods, is that blood?!”
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The guard cursed and undid the catch on the gate, while his fellow guards stood up and fanned out around the cage, presumably trying to see the blood. “Fuck, fuck, shit! We can't collect a ransom on a dead man! Get out of the way, you, and stay where I can sees ya!” He shoved Peregrinous roughly to the side, and bent down to pull the blanket away from William.
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William's legs pistoned out, both heels striking the guard soundly in his chest. Several ribs cracked with loud snaps, and the guard stumbled back, trying to draw in air to scream for help but unable to. Edward stepped up behind him and slashed open the guard's throat from ear to ear, sending a spray of blood across the cage. William rolled to his feet with a grimace, and drew the guard's short sword from the sheath at his waist. Edward let the man drop to the ground like a side of leaking beef. In grim silence, broken only by strangled gurgling from the downed guard, the pair of men turned to face the remaining guards, weapons at the ready.
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The unlucky duo were still in shock; jaws agape and weapons still sheathed. This job was supposed to be a doddle; just watch over some prissy little architect and engineer, then get paid once the lads got back to collect them. Scribes don't fight, and they sure as fuck don't carve a man's windpipe clear through to his spine, right?
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Too late, one of the guards sprang toward the gate, hoping to secure it before either of the men inside could escape. Bellême closed the distance with two quick steps, and snapped the sword down from shoulder-height. With a howl, the man staggered backward, clutching at a mangled ruin where the less-than keen edge of the blade had bludgeoned and torn the flesh and bones of his arm. William hoped the point of the blade was better maintained, and stabbed up under the man's ribcage. The blade slid in nearly up to the hilt, and a crimson freshet poured from the guard's mouth as his life fled from his eyes.
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The final guard dropped his blade from nerveless fingers, and squealed loudly for help as he turned to flee. Peregrinous sprang after him, a thin smile on his face. He'd failed on his promise to make this one die first, but he'd make up for the delay, never fear. His first strike took the man low in the back, in one of his kidneys. The man fell, his cries for help turning into warbling shrieks of pain. Edward then sliced across the backs of the cur's legs, hamstringing him. But before he could really start to get to work, a warning cry from William brought him out of the red mist of rage and back into the present.
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“'Ware, Ed, get behind something!” screamed William, making for a nearby pell. “The little shit by the gate has a bow!”
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Sure enough, a white-fletched arrow buried itself in the ground not a pace away from Edward's left foot. With a strangled whimper, he scurried back to the dubious shelter provided by the cage, and started rooting in his inside pockets. “Bill, you have to distract him!”
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“Distract him? What with? I left my helmet on a stick back at home!”
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Peregrinous rolled his eyes in exasperation. “I don't fucking care, just get me two seconds to aim and I can end the little bastard!”
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“Right... well, lets hope his aim is still as lousy as it was that last shot! Good luck!”
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William broke cover, charging along on a diagonal away from the archer, screaming nearly as loudly as the poor bastard that Edward had gutted. Edward saw the archer turn, drawing an arrow back to his cheek and getting a bead on William. The Baron raised his own contraption up, bracing it against one of the cross beams of the cage. As the archer released his shot, Peregrinous pulled back on the release mechanism. A loud crack echoed across the yard, and the archer's head rocked backwards as a small metal dart buried itself in his eye. The man crumpled to the ground without a sound, and Edward allowed himself a moment of smug satisfaction – the new design handled the recoil much more efficiently.
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Bellême was just picking himself up from the ground; the archer's last arrow was still quivering in the wood of the palisade above him. Ed walked over to gave his old friend a hand up, and clapped him on the shoulder. William tipped him a wink, and turned to survey their handiwork. “Aye, you had it right enough, Ed. Just like the old days.”
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The two scribes walked out through the gates together, leaving the dead and dying behind them.
