Death's Sword Book 1: Finding and Seeking

Chapter 6 part 2: Days 9, 10 continued

On the second day after the fight, the ninja left the area of the hunting reserve and returned to the road once more. They merged in with another small caravan lest word of three travellers who were not villagers had reached ahead of them. Kleymin walked a little apart from the other ninja, then dropped back to Da-keimin as they passed by yet another tiny village. Kleymin was troubled. The children at the side of the path stared at the travellers with pebble-dull eyes. Their clothes, on the few that possessed any, were mere collections of scraps and rags. The eyes of the adult villagers, when they could be seen, were brighter, but bright with fear, not joy or hope. Their garments were only marginally better than those of the children. "What are they afraid of?" Kleymin asked of Da-keimin. "Life," was the reply, "They put much work into it and it kills them, by starvation, disease, over-work. If they work less hard, their overlord kills them."

"The last village that we passed, the people there looked well-fed and happy. Did they not have the same overlord?" asked Kleymin, puzzled. 

 "No, the last village was ruled directly by the daiymo, the head of the clan Cheika. This village he gave to his brother as his han, to deal with as he sees fit. The younger brother needs money, so he squeezes his peasants hard," answered Da-keimin. He swung his staff to rap against the base of the watch-tower they were passing. Above, a peasant awoke with a start. The watchman ignored the travellers, pretending that he had been awake all the time. Takata joined in the conversation for once, "All those who control land are greedy. Some are greedy and impatient, like the younger brother. Others are no less greedy but have the patience to wait, like the daiymo, knowing that they will earn more over the years." Incautiously, Kleymin responded to this cynicism, "Are not the ninja greedy also? They set a high price for their aid." Both of the other assassins looked at Kleymin, Da-keimin's expression blank, unreadable, Takata looked askance at this heresy. Da-keimin broke the growing silence with a chuckle, then said, "The ninja set their price high because if they did otherwise, the whole world would require their services and there would be too few ninja to go around." He seemed amused at this concept and continued chuckling. Kleymin swallowed, aware that he had over-reached himself. He walked on, eyes turned to the peasants slaving in the field of kjava on either side of the road. The peasants kept their eyes on their work.

Three human males stepped out of Vartansberg's war-room onto a broad, semi-circular balcony. A huge table dominated the room behind them, easily six clothyards by four, with layers of maps laid upon it. On top of the pile was a map showing the lands to the west, intricate and precise on the eastern edge and gradually showing fewer and fewer details as the western edge was approached. Small tables stood around the edges of the room, with more maps and plans on most. One held the remains of a good meal; trays with gnawed bones, scraps of bread and pieces of fruit. On another stood several goblets, tankards, jugs and bottles. A dart-thrower stood on a platform at each end of the balcony, over-looking the city and beyond the barrier wall, where a valley wound down to the west. 

A tall man with short-cropped grey hair, heavily muscled and scarred from years of fighting, was talking, a silver goblet in his left hand. "I have spent fifty years of my life fighting the tuigrahan. Fifty years stopping them from crossing these mountains. Fifty years preventing another disaster like Gugmetz from destroying anyone else's family. Now, in the last years of my life, I see all I have fought for put at peril because no-one believes any more. I've done my job so well that no-one feels threatened. The levies the daiymos send are fewer and poorer each year, arriving later and departing earlier. Yet out there," a broad finger stabbed emphatically towards the west, "the tuigrahan grow more numerous and bolder with each season." He gazed down at the table beside him, which held an intricate model of the city. His finger dropped onto the outer wall and absently ran along it to one of the seven outer towers, then along one of the six lower dividing walls that spanned the gap between inner and outer walls. 

The other two men on the battlements had the air of those who had heard these grievances many times before; heard them and agreed with them. One wore a warm, scarlet cloak against the chill of the night, over the standard grey-green woollen tunic and black leather breeches of Prussian menfolk. He was slim and good-looking, of middle years and dark hair. It was he who spoke next, "The name of the Graf von Merkheim still holds terror for them," he said, nodding to the west, "Perhaps we should let a band or two through, to see what effect that would have on the daiymos." His companion, a shorter, much broader man with a mane of blonde hair and a short beard, growled in disgust at this suggestion and wiped grease from his mouth with the back of his hand. "We've ploughed this furrow many times before, my friends. A war-band or two will only raid the local Mansurian lands, and their nobles support us well enough. To reach the Hywheni daiymos, we'd need to let an army pass. If we did that, the tuigrahan would realise just how weak we really are and then we'd be in even deeper trouble than we are now." He spoke with the air of repeating arguments grown stale with repetition. He cleared his throat and spat over the walls then bit some meat off the well-gnawed bone he held. The tall man, the Graf von Merkheim himself, fingered the studded leather armlet he wore on his left forearm. He spoke again, "So we continue doing the best we can, expecting to see our life's work torn apart at any time." His voice was filled with disgust at the situation he found himself in.

"Well, I doubt we'll actually be around to see it," said Rolf, the man with the red cloak. The blonde man spat again. "You always did know how to look on the bright side, Rolf," he growled.