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Wild card 19
🕑 Added 2024-12-31 19:07:40 +0000 UTCLooks like the last post of 2024 is going to be Sparhawk and company, rather than Peter Gardner. Not really what I'd planned or hoped for, but this is what wanted to be written. I apologize for this, and hope to have more of A Bad Name for you all within a week. In the interim, I hope desperately that 2025 is a better year than any of the eight that preceded it, despite what common sense tells me otherwise.
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Count Gerrich was a slender, tall man with long, dark hair, a face of noble elegance tendered in hard angles, and a neatly trimmed, thin mustache and beard. In the torchlight of the early evening, he seemed less like a man and more like a personification of judgmental resentment. Sparhawk was still tender, although he sat astride Faran as though impervious. The Pandion order had a reputation to maintain, after all.
"I have little knowledge of how the fight began... Sir... Knight," said the count in a tone that was almost doubtful. "I do, however, note that among the slain were several men sworn to my service."
"So you acknowledge responsibility for your men's parts in the ambush against a contingent of church knights?" Kalten asked pointedly.
"I question, Sir Knight," the Count ground out between clenched teeth, "the veracity of the tale related to me."
The audacity of the statement was great enough to leave most of the knights present agape. The insult implied was a deadly one, and Bevier was in the process of tugging free his gauntlet when Sparhawk raised his hand to forstall it. "What way do you think you've been deceived, neighbor?" Sparhawk questioned in a low, dangerous tone.
"I've been warned of a group of thugs and bandits of exceptional audacity, roaming the Lamorkand countryside, disguised as and claiming falsely to be Church Knights," Gerrich declared flatly. "That they would be an odd and motley group of most unlikely comprisal. Then, here in Kadach, as I'm present to garner support to crush the villain Baron Alstrom, what should happen but a slaughter on the city streets including not only common folk but several of my men. I would be hard pressed to ignore such an incongruous oddity that coincides so neatly with what I've been warned."
Sparhawk exchanged a look with Kalten, who volunteered, "And the man who gave that warning would have been a mercenary sort with pure white hair, I suppose? Likely accompanied by a brutish oaf who smells like a pigsty?" At the Count's faltering expression, Kalten gave a nod and a gesture towards the ground where Adus's fist still lay, gripping its axe. "And on that topic, do you maybe recognize that hand?"
Sephrenia gave a quiet groan of disgust at Kalten's blase indifference to the aforementioned body part in the street. The Count, after a moment, grimaced. "I take it then that you dispute his trustworthiness," Count Gerrich said at length.
"His name is Martel, and he is a renegade who has been stripped of his knighthood and expelled from the Pandion order," Sparhawk explained plainly, "for despicable acts and delving into forbidden knowledge. He has murdered my brother knights and only his talent for running away keeps him breathing. He's also the spiteful sort and makes a habit of causing me personally, and the Pandion knights in general, any hindrance he can. Which here and now includes interference and delay of a mission involving all four of the Orders of Church Knights, not just the Pandions."
"The fact remains of my slaughtered men," the Count pointed out weakly. Sparhawk got the distinct feeling that Gerrich was mostly convinced at this point but was objecting mostly out of a desire to not admit to anyone, especially himself, that he'd been fooled.
"That is an exceedingly good question," Tynian said darkly. "The Church has been sorely deceived about the piety of her faithful in Lamorkand if the honeyed words of a deceiver known for only a handful of weeks are enough to sway them into attacking Church Knights."
"How would you know my familiarity with the man?" demanded the Count petulantly.
"Because only a matter of a month and a half ago," Sparhawk interjected, "I encountered him in Dabour attempting to incite an uprising among Eshandists to spread civil war and chaos in the region." Sparhawk sniffed, and added, "And it seems his tactics are becoming repetitive in his old age; I suspect he's the one who has been advising you on how to retaliate against Baron Alstrom. I wouldn't be the least surprised to learn he has been guiding Alstrom's actions against you - or failing to influence him directly, perhaps his men, playing the two of you against one another to attempt to incite another war here."
The look of misgiving on Count Gerrich's face was telling. "... Even if he has given me some advice," the Count admitted after a few moments, "I cannot stand aside and leave unaddressed the insults and injuries that the Baron has rendered unto me."
"If I might offer a suggestion?" Tynian asked.
"A suggestion?" the Count said, confused.
"Arrange a duel between the two of you." Tynian's voice was reasonable, relaxed. "Your blade against his, for his personal offenses against you and yours to him. There is clearly a good deal of bad blood between you, but that anger does not need to spill over into the rest of Lamorkand to offer injury to those who haven't wronged you. Settle it under the watchful eyes of God and the adjudication of all four Orders of the Church Knights. Surely there can be no better justice than this."
The Count thought about this briefly. Reluctantly, he grimaced. "You make a compelling argument, Sir Knight."
"He's good at that," Ulath commented.
Sephrenia looked disgusted; Kalten murmured to her, "It WOULD be the easiest and least bloody way to satisfy Lamork notions of honor on all sides, Little Mother. The alternative here is probably a massive siege, a gathering of allies, and years of turmoil."
"Barbarians," she said with a grimace of discontent. She didn't disagree, however, and Sparhawk considered this to be as graceful an acquiescence as Kalten was likely to get.
"... Fine," the Count announced at last. "I will make this gesture under a flag of truce, Sir Knight, and you will accompany us in tour to stand witness of the fight to ensure that honor is adhered to on Alstrom's part."
"On [i]all[/i] sides," Tynian emphasized.
"You impugn my-" the Count began, but Tynian cut him off.
"What you will do is not necessarily what Alstrom will believe of you," Tynian pointed out. "This ensures that ALL sides recognize that the terms are held in true and good faith."
Count Gerrich sniffed, his lips tightening briefly as though to protest again, but he mastered himself, took a breath, and nodded. "And even he cannot claim otherwise," he agreed. "Sir Knights, the Baron's keep is most of a day's march from here, and we would best arrive during day where no claim of being unable to see the flag of truce can be credibly alleged. I prithee join me at my table tonight in my villa here in Kadach."
"We accept," Sparhawk said with a nod, glancing at the others. Nobody seemed inclined to disagree, although Sephrenia looked unhappy at the notion, and judging by the glances aimed at her by more than a few of Gerrich's men, she wasn't alone in this. Still, Sephrenia did not concern him so much as one other in the group.
The city serfs began the business of cleaning up the bodies and parts thereof, aside from the Count's men who Gerrich ordered to be collected and brought with. Sparhawk's entourage followed along dutifully. He maneuvered Faran close to the horse bearing Talen and Flute. "Talen," Sparhawk began, "while we're under Count Gerrich's roof, you must keep your hands to yourself, are we clear? This whole situation is touchy enough without any questions of how something found its way into your pockets."
"You say that like you think I'll get caught," Talen responded with a weak smile, before that smile slipped from his face. "I'm not going to take anything, Sparhawk," he added softly. "I [i]do[/i] know when to stay out of trouble."
"Debatable," muttered Kurik from Talen's other side.
"It's a basic lesson you learn from living on the streets, f-Kurik," Talen said glibly, correcting himself. "Never draw attention to yourself when you don't have a good exit and a head start."
Compared to the sorts of villas normally seen in Chyrellos or even Cimmura, Count Gerrich's could be considered almost crude, although it bore very thick stone walls, elevated stone foundation, and reinforced windows and roof. The Count's serfs were attentive and seemed well fed enough by Lamork standards, but Sparhawk staunchly refused their assistance with his armor, a refusal Kurik wholeheartedly supported. Between Kurik, Berit, and an indignantly recruited Talen, the five knights were in their robes and plain surcoats in a respectable amount of time.
Gerrich quietly led the way through the mostly abandoned ground floor, furnishings for summer still draped in dusty canvas from over the winter. A surprisingly plain staircase led up to a second floor where the villa's winter accomodations were, which consisted mostly of the Count's study, which doubled as his sleeping chambers, a wide upper room for receiving guests and taking meals, and a side kitchen that wasn't much more than a larder and a wide hearthed fireplace. Stone arches supported the roof from the second floor, giving no wooden beams to burn. The chill of the stone was offset by roaring fires in the two fireplaces of the receiving room, with several thick rugs of woolen yarn draped across four wide, low backed wooden benches that surrounded a thick, plain, and sturdy wooden table.
There was no dedicated chair in the receiving room for the Count, Sparhawk noted; Gerrich took a seat on one of the benches and gestured around himself. "Be seated, if you will. The accommodations are hardly luxurious but assuredly more comfortable than a saddle in wet weather. Ihma is a simple cook, but I've never experienced hunger, chill, or indigestion from a single meal she's prepared."
"Thank you, Count," Bevier said sincerely. "There are few greater comforts to men who bear arms than simple respite and a full belly."
"Worthy sentiments," the Count agreed.
The meal was, as the Count had warned, simple fare - a hearty potato stew thickened with rendered chicken fat in a large bread bowl. It went down easy with a mug of thin beer and rested warm and filling in Sparhawk's belly. "Ihma normally makes this with bacon fat," the Count said thoughtfully.
"We are grateful she gave us consideration," Sephrenia responded, alongside Flute's sleepy nod.
"She rather thought you might be." Gerrich pursed his lips as he nursed the last of his beer, staring into the fire. "Thayla loved Ihma's stews. One of her favorite meals." His eyes were narrow and his jaw set.
"Thayla was your daughter?" Kalten asked gently. The Count nodded, once, lips tight and thin. Kalten continued, "I'm sor-"
"Are you a father?" demanded the Count, his head snapping to the side to bore a fierce glare into Kalten.
Kalten shook his head.
There was barely a quaver in Count Gerrich's voice, but it was there. "Then do not bother. Your words are kind but empty, and until you have a child of your own you cannot begin to understand - you can't -" his mouth snapped shut, and he turned his head back to face the flames.
The silence in the air hung awkwardly for a few moments, before Kurik stood up, meeting Sparhawk's glance. Then, he walked over to the Count and bowed. "I'm a father, Milord," Kurik said plainly. "I haven't lost any of my boys, but the thought of it's enough to chill my bones and makes me heartsick. I haven't suffered that loss. I'm sorry you have."
The Count nodded, and returned to staring into the fire. "Alstrom will answer for Thayla, and for my sister, and for my sister's husband, and for my two nephews. He will answer for the injuries he has heaped on my house and my family."
"If Martel is behind all this, he'll probably try to interfere with the duel," Sparhawk mused grimly.
"If he does, I demand he be hanged," Gerrich growled. "I want the satisfaction of watching him kick and dance in empty air. I want to watch his tongue bloat out of his mouth as he shits himself dying."
Sparhawk tried to ignore the brief, almost grieving expression on Sephrenia's face as she looked away. "We may not get that luxury, Lord Gerrich, but Martel has a long list of deeds to answer for. I assure you God has a way of seeing to it that justice is both fitting and delivered in its fitting time."
"And if he does not?" the Count asked bitterly.
Bevier stirred restlessly at the borderline blasphemous statement, but Sparhawk gave him a subtle head shake before responding, "Then I'll do it myself; you have my word. He can't run from me forever, and when he's made that last fatal mistake, when he has nowhere left to run? I will be there." Sparhawk met Gerrich's eyes. "And I will remind him of you when I run him through."
"I don't care if he remembers me, Sir Knight," Gerrich said softly, saying the title with much more respect than earlier, "but I would be vindicated if you made him remember Thayla's name in my stead."
"He'll remember it," pronounced Tynian shortly, with an accompanying rumble of assent from Kalten, Bevier, and Ulath. "The Alcione Order swears it."
"And the Genidian," Ulath added.
"And the Cyrinics," Bevier said, barely after Ulath and seeming slightly annoyed that Ulath had gotten it out first.
"All four Orders swearing to avenge my daughter?" mused Count Gerrich. "Perhaps God has not turned his gaze away from Lamorkand after all."
