Death's Sword Book 1: Finding and Seeking

Chapter 14 part 1: Day 20, Day 21.

Dawn was always welcome, thought the Graf von Merkheim. He stood in the embrasure and watched the sunrise through the arrow-slit. Light began to pour into the room, limning the Graf with gold, returning his hair to the colour of his youth. Once the red-gold orb was fully above the horizon, he turned and stepped back into the main area of the room. Granite walls were hung about with bold, bright tapestries, in a futile attempt to bring some warmth to the chamber.

More practically, but having little more effect, a large log fire blazed in the open hearth at the opposite end of the room. Rolf stood next to the fire, warming his hands. He wore his favourite red cloak over a leather jerkin and woollen trews. Oax was sprawled in a chair nearby, mug in hand and face screwed up in disgust. The medicine he had been given for his cracked ribs was not to his liking but he drank it all the same. The Graf needed him fully active within a couple of days and Oax trusted the doctor, although the swordsman hated his potions. A Healer could have fixed the ribs in minutes with a simple spell but Oax would have no truck with Healers. The Graf had never managed to get a good reason from Oax as to why he distrusted the Life Mages but trust them he did not.

The swordsman was wearing woollen trews that might once have been green, and a sleevless jerkin of faded blue cloth. Neither garment was particularly clean. Over these, he had added an elderly sheepskin coat, now hanging open. The Graf looked back at the light streaming into the room. "I can remember the days we greeted each dawn with joy, for we had survived another night," he said, sounding almost wistful.

"Well?" growled the injured man from his chair. The Graf stifled a smile, a smile Oax would not have appreciated. The stocky swordsman's pride hurt at least as much as his body. "I want to contact both Zmnt and the wu-jen Westizal," said the Graf, starting abruptly. "We are going to need their help before this year is out and I want to know I can count on getting it. You will take the message, Oax, as you are known to Zmnt, at least. Take whoever you think is necessary, except you can't have Aarund. I need him here with me. Any questions?"

"I wish that messenger of yours had reached the gate more quickly," grumbled Oax, "I don't fancy playing errand-boy out there," he jerked a thumb towards the north, "just because a letter didn't get across the town fast enough."

"Ah, if only you'd managed to last another couple of rounds against him, old friend. That would have delayed Zmnt by enough for the herald to have caught him," said Rolf, lightly. Oax glared at the other man, "You could always have tried a fall with him," he ground out.

"I think I'll stick to my bow, thank you," was the tart rejoinder.

"I take it that means you have no questions, then?" asked the Graf, interrupting before the bickering grew any worse. "No, I suppose not," sighed Oax. Then, suddenly, his expression brightened. "I know one person I want, at least," he said, "Him!" pointing at Rolf. "What, me?" blurted Rolf, in surprise.

"Yeah, I'm going to need a fancy bowman," rumbled Oax with a grin. At that, Rolf burst into laughter. His amusement died when the Graf spoke again, "While you are making the arrangements for your little jaunt, I have to deal with the Inquisition."

"The Inquisition? What do those vipers want?" asked Rolf, mouth twisting as though he'd tasted something foul. "I don't know yet but a Grand Inquisitor arrived last night," answered his lord. Rolf's eyebrows shot up at this and Oax reached out to lay a restraining hand on his friend's arm. Before the bowman could speak, the bearded swordsman said, "Then I think we'd best be out of the way, my lord." He rose from his chair, gave a small bow and pulled Rolf after him. The Graf watched the two leave the room then walked out onto the balcony so he could look over his city once more.

Day 21

Chaiduko remained seated cross-legged on the floor. The last member of the clan to make their obeisance raised his forehead from the floor and sat upright, back rigid and as straight as a ramrod. It was Umoko, Chaiduko's uncle by marriage to his aunt Yamai, adopted into the clan on the eve of the wedding. There was no love lost between the new daiymo and his uncle. Chaiduko smiled a small smile and nodded slightly, half to himself and half to Umoko. Now we'll see, said the look, now we'll see.

Chaiduko drew in a deep breath and prepared to give his first real orders to the Clan Cheika, "I want a full inventory of all foodstocks held in reserve and the state of our armouries. Next, a full listing of all military complements in each han, both actual numbers and what we are limited to by treaty. Full details, with no fudging of figures. I will have the head of anyone who tries to deceive me. I want spies sent out to assess the strengths of the Haiko clan and their allies in all the han that abut our own, and I want the results swiftly. We are living in troubled times. I think we all want to ensure that the cowardly Haiko do not go unpunished for this attack upon us. My brother will be avenged."

"How do you know that it was the Haiko who were behind this attack?" asked Umoko, hostility and suspicion evident in his voice. Chaiduko had expected this question, even to the point of expecting Umoko to be the one to raise it. He glared at the older man. "I am privy to the reports of the clan spies now, uncle. They indicate that the Haiko were involved. Besides, who else would it be?" sneered Chaiduko.

"Other suggestions have been made," replied his uncle, refusing to be cowed into submission.

Chaiduko locked gazes with his opponent for a few seconds, then swept his eyes over the gathering and said, "Let anyone with evidence against my brother's murderers speak now! I will have no muttering behind my back. The Clan Cheika will be united in this matter as in all else." No-one spoke, though one or two shifted uneasily on their heels. Chaiduko took mental notes of those ones. They would be dealt with, when the time came. "You see, uncle?" he continued, "It must have been Clan Haiko and they will pay for this insult to our honour - or would you let this insult go by? Would you counsel me to accept such a slur on our family name? Anyone born into the clan would know in their bones that I have to act. And act I shall," he added, ominously. He clapped his hands, "Dismissed. See that my requests are carried out most diligently."

Two of his samurai slid back the doors to the reception chamber. One by one, the fifty-plus ranking members of Clan Cheika who could reach the meeting in time rose and made their exit. None spoke as they did so. Chaiduko's eyes followed them all out of the room. Only after the last had gone did he rise to his own feet.