Ilbei Spadebreaker and the Harpy's Wild (52 page)

I
lbei’s testimony did not amount to anything.

Traveling to Hast took them two and a half days after the encounter with the Skewer, and by the time they arrived, Cavendis had already been pardoned. A full pardon, waiting for him and broadly allowing for anything he might have done. He’d been pardoned before he’d been charged. Ilbei discovered it almost the first moment he and his company entered the garrison.

General Hanswicket was actually waiting for him on the front steps of the squat stone command building when Ilbei brought his prisoner in. Ilbei had delayed only long enough to see that Meggins, stabilized by Jasper’s magic but in desperate need of a real healer for his terrible wound, was delivered into the proper hands. Then he dragged Cavendis by his bindings straight to the general. And despite his haste and urgency, it was already too late.

“This here is the worst snake what ever slid under a rock,” he told the general as he approached. “He’s a murderin, slavin, thievin, officer-impersonatin cheat what fouls the pool of his own noble blood fer every lyin breath he takes. He’s done got—”

“Sergeant,” the general said, cutting Ilbei off with a raised, gauntleted hand. “We’ve been made aware of Lord Cavendis’ … excesses, and Lady South Mark has come to see to his discipline personally.” As he said it, an angular form stepped out from the shadowy interior of the command building, a tall, slender woman, regally dressed, her coiffeur on high and her icy gaze peering down at Ilbei from altitudes loftier than any that could be measured by a count of stairs.

“But General,” Ilbei said. “All other laws buried and ignored, he was impersonatin an officer in
Her Majesty’s
army, and I’m half-sure he was doin some kind of counterfeitin of
Her Majesty’s
currencies too, though I can’t make out how exactly all that worked. Surely, all that can’t be ignored, even if the rest don’t matter to nobody what’s got the noble blood. Her Majesty has got to be informed. This here villainy didn’t take place in South Mark.”

“Sergeant!” This was pronounced with the strike of a thunderclap. “You will know your station or know the lash.”

“But General,” Ilbei pressed. “It’s the law. The Queen must be notified of crimes perpetrated in her name.”

“She’s been notified, Sergeant. And she’ll see to it by and by.”

“By and by, sar?”

“By her authority, Sergeant, and if you utter another word, I’ll tie you to the whipping post myself.”

Ilbei glared up at him, his eyes stark lines, as straight and narrow as his lips. His teeth ground together, and for the second time in recent days, he found himself trying not to choke on something vile. But the general’s countenance was a mask of discipline, and Ilbei saw something in the way his eyebrows moved that suggested Ilbei ought to let it go.

He turned his gaze on the great lady, the Marchioness of South Mark herself, and she matched his scrutiny and the slatted contempt in his eyes with hauteur that he could never manage, even if he should somehow live a thousand years. But she spoke in a level, measured voice. “Release my son, Sergeant. Do it now.” Her gaze flicked briefly to Lord Cavendis like the tips of a forked tongue, and Ilbei thought she was not pleased with him.

Cavendis smirked when Ilbei took out his knife to cut the ropes. “Maybe next time, eh, Spadebreaker? If you live that long. I’m coming for you, you know.” He said it low enough that it confirmed Ilbei’s suspicions about Cavendis having incurred his mother’s wrath.

“Go on with it, Your Lordship, if’n ya think you’re man enough,” Ilbei whispered back. “Soon as yer mum there is done paddlin yer behind.” He cut the ropes and gave Cavendis a shove toward the general on the steps. “There he is, sar. A feller what butchers and slaves harpies, steals Her Majesty’s gold right out under the royal nose, and does it wearin that same uniform you and I both got on and swore to honor. Yes, sar, I’m turnin the prisoner over as commanded, sar. Will that be all, sar.”

The general’s face narrowed, a storm rustling in the wrinkles above his dark brows. Ilbei knew he’d pushed the line far beyond what an intelligent man would have, but it was all he could do not to finish Cavendis right there, much less hold back the fire burning in his guts.

The general looked to the marchioness, who whisked at the air with a long, nearly skeletal hand, waving Ilbei away. She turned away from the gesture herself, as if having Ilbei in her sight was an irritation—although there was part of him that wondered if some of that might be for her son. Either way, with that, he knew he was clear of it for now.

He turned and went away, rejoining the rest of his companions, shaking his head and staring at the dirt.

“What is it?” Mags asked upon seeing dejection so apparent.

“They’re not gonna do nothin to him. He’s off of it already, as if all he’d done was loosed a fart in church. That marchioness is gonna frown at him until the general’s gone, and after, like as much, nothin. Nothin at all.”

“What?” Kaige looked as if Ilbei had just told him that the Queen had rabies and sprouted antlers from her behind. “But, Sarge, he ….” He couldn’t conjure the words to encompass it all.

“Aye, lad,” Ilbei agreed. “He did.”

“Well, that doesn’t make any sense,” Mags said. “Can’t we do something? Can’t we petition the Queen?”

“She already knows. General says she’ll be seein to it on her own time. With all that gold up there, I expect it will be soon enough.”

“But what about Cavendis? That’s preposterous!”

“It’s the way of things,” Ilbei grumbled. “Them high folks will do as they please, and that’s just how it works. Ya can go on and poke about, try to dredge up some kind of somethin, but I don’t know what it is ya expect you’re gonna find or who you’re gonna find it from. The world’s been workin the same way all along. High folks tend to high business, and low folks try not to draw no notice to theirselves. Leastways, the smart ones do. The squirrel don’t fight the dragon if’n he’s got more’n a nut fer brains.”

“But it’s not right,” Mags said again. She turned to Jasper, Hams and Kaige standing near her. “It’s not. We have to do something!” The big man and the old cook nodded that they agreed, but the wizard simply shrugged.

“Actually, Sergeant Spadebreaker is correct on that point,” Jasper said. “It is a long-standing truth that the nobility, by right, by birth, by simple wealth, do as they please. It’s perfectly legal. Anyone who’s ever read a book of history can tell you that. Why, I once read that Korgon the—”

“Jasper, please.” Ilbei’s interruption was enough to cut Jasper off, despite how uncharacteristically weary the tone of it was. He looked them each in the eyes, gratefully. “You’re good people,” he said. “Get some rest. Right now, that’s the right thing to do. We’ll see about doin somethin else when our minds are fresh.”

“Well, I know what we should do,” Mags said. “If we can’t do anything about Cavendis, there is something else. Something more important, anyway.”

“What’s that?”

“We should go back and see to those harpies.”

“We should what?” That came from everyone but Ilbei, who was too tired for surprise, and perhaps not surprised at all.

“We should go back and help them.”

“How?”

“We should get them out. Before Her Majesty sends her own people in. You know what will happen to them.”

“Her Majesty won’t keep slaves. That’s against the law,” Kaige said.

“It’s not illegal in South Mark,” Jasper put in. “At least, not exactly.” He started to explain the complicated details of the Unification charters, but realized by the eleventh word that no one was looking at him and the conversation had already moved on.

“She won’t keep them as slaves,” Mags was saying as Jasper’s words died upon his lips. “But will the troops she sends spare them? Will an army of men sent to take possession of the mines for the crown be any different than the men who are already there?”

Ilbei started to answer that, but stopped. He’d known a lot of soldiers in his time. And a lot of huntsmen. Animal trainers. Miners. Men of all types. Not all of them saw life or heard their consciences the same. He’d never met anyone besides Mags who thought of a harpy as anything other than an animal. Until two or three days ago, he’d been no different.

“No,” he said. “I expect they won’t. A whole lot of harpies is all they’ll see. Worse than orcs, when it comes to it.”

“Technically,” Jasper said, “they aren’t. Orcs are fundamentally more aggressive than harpies, and while both species have been known to kill and eat humans, orcs have ritualized the practice, although not all bother with ritual, and certainly depending on which clan. I read that the northern clans are ….” He let his voice trail off again, realizing that everyone had walked away—all but Mags, who remained, waiting for him to finish what he was going to say, or at least until he realized they’d all gone but for her.

She smiled and put a gentle hand on his arm. “Sergeant says he’s going to clean up and head into town. He promised to buy us all a drink.”

“But I don’t want a drink. I want to know what he’s going to do about the harpies. What if he decides to go back and makes us all go with him? What if he makes me go with him? I can’t possibly relax until I know what he intends to do.”

She smiled, a patient thing. “Jasper, what do you think he’s going to do?”

Jasper thought about that for a moment. “Oh dear,” he said.

Mags nodded, her smile widening. She gave his arm a squeeze and tugged it gently in the direction the others had gone. “Maybe now you’ll want that drink.”

The End

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