The Skull and the Crow Chapter 8: The King's Army

In a brief metallic sound, Ashlen was arrested again. Four men from the King's Army dragged him to a plank prison, and he looked at Orion and the others in terror.

"He's not a criminal," said Orion dryly.

"He is sought after in several nations, sir knight," the general bared his teeth. "You saw the papers."

Turning, General Thomas Yerik presented papers requesting Ashlen Ironsmith's incarceration for the murder of seventeen people in Valkaria. The King's Army was not a city militia, but it was not uncommon for them to intercept fugitives.

"Wipe your ass with your papers!" Trebane roared. "If you think we're criminals, then send in all the damn soldiers you have, and I'll eat them for dinner."

"I know very well that you are not criminals," Thomas Yerik maintained an incisive smile. "You are honored guests."

Trebane was ready to beat the general right then and there, but the man showed no fear, forcing the centaur into grudging respect. Ingram and Orion kept their eyes peeled, observing the fear and doubt around them, but also the many swords present.

"You should be worried about Black Skull," Orion warned. "He's in the region, and he has a small army."

"We have a very large army," the general laughed. "And we haven't seen Black Skull, nor Master Armory, or the king of the red dragons."

Thomas Yerik laughed again and looked around, but Orion continued to stare at him, unyielding.

"Ashlen Ironsmith will have a fair judgment," Orion declared.

"If you ask for a trial, sir knight, it will happen," the general replied.

"I'm not asking for anything," Orion countered. "Nor am I ordering it. I'm stating that he's going to have a trial, and that's a fact."

Thomas Yerik hesitated for a moment and swallowed hard. "Of course, sir knight."

"And my name is Orion, General," he added, turning his back to chat with Ingram and Trebane.

The general attempted to interject, but the centaur dismissed him with a careless gesture, prompting Thomas Yerik's face to redden as he rushed away, barking orders.

"Are all of Trebuck's officers like that?" Ingram asked.

"This one is much worse," Trebane replied. "He's not just weak. On the contrary, he's strong. But there's something bad about him."

Orion nodded.

They had left the survivors of Fort Arantar with the Army, where they thought everyone would find safety and work. However, Orion began to wonder about the wisdom of this decision. In reality, the camp was more a gathering of disorganized battalions than the military dream it once was, when it was thought those soldiers would defend the Kingdom against the Storm. The men ate out of turn, played dice, and fought. They isolated themselves in small communities of natives from each kingdom, distrusting others. The escorts—prostitutes—who existed in every army of significant size did not work discreetly; they nearly commanded the camp, seducing man after man for their pay and provoking fights out of jealousy. A clandestine trade in wine and hallucinogens thrived, and there were rich sergeants profiting from their men's vices. Conspiracies to desert, along with anger toward the general, swirled among the troops.

"Let's sort this all out," Orion stated.

"And the worst," thought Ingram, "is that he's serious."

❖

"Why are you stuck here?" asked the woman.

Ashlen glanced at her through the bars of the tiny window in the wooden door. "Because your general has decided that I'm a criminal."

"He's not my general," she replied. The limited view Ashlen had revealed a huge blue eye, full of long eyelashes. The voice was fragrant. "And I'm not asking that. I want to know why you're stuck here instead of going out on your own with that fake foot of yours."

Ashlen stood up to get a closer look. She stepped back, and he saw a young woman of perhaps twenty, with light brown hair, sassy freckles, and a blue dress that seemed straight out of some court ball. She also wore light makeup, which made her lips and cheeks pop.

"Are you the Juggler?" he asked.

"What?"

"Forget it."

Ashlen peered through the wide gaps between the planks in the wall, but no one was paying attention to them. The prison was crowded and appeared hastily built, as if a sudden explosion in the prison population had recently occurred. So many people were in the cells that some seemed to be having impromptu parties, despite the heavy resentment in every conversation.

"And then? Why are you here?" she pressed.

Ashlen shrugged. "Because I think I'll get my friends in trouble if I leave. How do you know I can escape whenever I want?"

"Are they your friends?" she asked, ignoring his question.

"I don't know. A few days adventuring with a group makes everyone friends, when you've been an adventurer for a long time. You still didn't answer what I asked."

"No, I didn't answer. But you haven't been adventurous for long. You've been an adventurer for a while."

"How do you know that?"

"Aren't you Ashlen Ironsmith?"

He nodded, dumbstruck.

"Everyone knows your family in Valkaria, obviously. You were considered a good catch for me when I lived there."

"Are you from Valkaria?" Ashlen was surprised to find himself not dizzy with questions; he was getting used to strange people and sudden changes again.

"Zara Lysande, from the Lysande family. You've heard of it."

"Yes, I've heard of it," he replied.

"It wasn't a question," she said.

"Are you sure you're not the Juggler?"

"Which Juggler?"

He dismissed the subject with a wave of his hand. "I think I'll stay here for a while," Ashlen said, shaking slightly.

"But you're innocent," she insisted.

He agreed.

"Again, it wasn't a question. Do you want me to do something for you?"

"What could a noble girl from Valkaria lost in a decaying camp do for me?"

"If you don't know what a beautiful young woman can do to convince a bunch of desperate men, then you really don't know anything, Ashlen Ironsmith."

She was indeed beautiful.

"Are you saying...?"

"I'll talk to your friends, okay? Everything will be fine in your trial."

"Will I have a trial?"

"If I know knights of the Light, and I do, your friend will make it happen."

It was true. The girl said the right things, which didn't stop her from seeming crazy. "Why are you helping me?" he asked.

"You could have been my husband if I had stayed in Valkaria and if you hadn't fled the slaughter of your family, and if you hadn't been a filthy, useless drunk before that." At least she didn't know about the guild, or didn't mention it out loud.

"Don't you think it's the least a wife can do for her husband?" Zara asked, sticking out her tongue.

"I don't even know you. I'm not your husband."

"And the minimum that a wife could do for her husband. I'm not your wife, but I'm not one to do the least either."

The world was full of crazy people, but at least they were crazy people who were helping him, Ashlen reasoned.

"It's true. Talk to Orion."

Suddenly, Zara grew serious. "Be careful with the general. The soldiers are foolish, but he's really dangerous."

"And aren't there thousands of armed men?"

"Of course not, if you're a woman."

Suddenly, she blew him a kiss and left.

"Good Luck!" Ashlen said.

"I don't need luck."

And she really didn't need it.

❖

Sir Orion Drake grimaced at the large bowl of cold meat, cheese, and bread. Ingram ate diligently in a corner, his eyes darting. Trebane occupied an immense space, devouring everything like an animal, drying amphorae of wine. The centaur had asked the soldiers to bring him raw meat, and Orion didn't know how much of that was just to frighten them.

Orion didn't want to eat because he was tired, bogged down by obligations that churned his stomach, and mainly because the food had been delivered by servant-looking recruits who had called him "lord" and made mistaken bows. He was not a lord, and he believed himself a knight through the benevolence of others.