Jalia At Bay (Book 4) (5 page)

6.
              
Betrayal

There was a small circular hill a few miles from Sweetwater. The sides of the hill had been steepened centuries before, though if you had been living there a thousand years ago, you would have seen the stone walls of terraced gardens.

At the top of the steep circular earthen slope is a fortified wooden enclosure. Oak tree trunks less about a foot in diameter and fifteen feet tall were lined one against the other and fastened together with crossbeams and heavy iron bolts. On the inside of that wooden barrier, a walkway was constructed at shoulder height from its top, so guards could patrol along its length while protected by the wall should they come under attack.

A solitary elevated road led to the entrance. That road had been constructed over a thousand years ago using methods long since lost and had vertical stone sides that looked glossy black in sunlight. Anybody walking that road would be clearly visible for at least half a mile before they reached the gates. They would only have one direction to run if chased, straight back the way they had come.

Hasen Glore, a middle aged man from the village of Sweetwater, walked that road as the sun began to set. He was a frightened man. Hasen was married with a wife and two children of six and ten years of age. He had watched Jalia dispatch Adon Taldon nearly two hours before and his guts had twisted. He feared for his wife and for his children’s safety. He feared most that they would not live to see a sunset beyond the one that bathed him. That was why he was walking the road into the stronghold of the Taldon’s. In the vain hope that he might use the information he had to spare his family from certain death.

“What do you want?” a coarse voice demanded from the walkway above the gates.

Inside the fort was a cluster of buildings, surrounded by enclosed fields in which sheep and cattle grazed. Most of the buildings inside the compound were squat, square and thatched, typical of cottages across Jalon. However, at their center was a great circular building dating back from a time long gone.

Its bright white stone wall, ten feet high, curved in a perfect circle. Around its wall ran a path of black granite slabs. Though cracked and broken with age the granite still had an air of grandeur about it, whoever laid it down had been someone of great wealth and taste.

A circular roof rose to a point in the building’s center over fifty feet above the white stone wall. Once upon a time, the roof had been covered with massive slabs of glass, imported all the way from the fabled city of Ranwin. Many of those slabs were now missing, replaced with crude thatch, but those that remained inspired awe.

The state of the inside of the building would do much to dispel that awe from anyone entering. The mosaics that once covered the floor were mostly missing. When the underfloor heating system had been neglected, parts of it collapsed and took the floor with it. Generations of the Taldon’s had filled those holes with rubble covering the surface with puddled clay.

Mallon Taldon, the leader of the clan sat on a raised platform near the fire in the center of the room. The fire was a recent addition and one of the exquisite panels in the roof had been smashed to allow smoke from the fire a place of egress.

Mallon needed the fire; he suffered from rheumatic pains and found that heat eased them. The pubescent slave girl servicing one of his other needs gave him a modicum of pleasure. He might even regret killing this one when she became pregnant, as she had proved skilled with her mouth.

If any of the Taldon’s of the past haunted this building they would surely be weeping in the rafters. The Taldon’s had been a noble lineage stretching back before the Magician Kings took power thousands of years before.

The Taldon’s had made accommodation with those magical families and even had the rare honor of one of their daughters marrying into them. Magic is always inherited and one parent will do the job, the eight magical families usually chose only to marry among themselves.

The Taldon family had survived the Magician Kings fall. They rallied the people as the world they knew fell apart in a matter of months. The great machines that enabled travel across the world in days failed. The management of the weather that ensured the crops never failed, ended.

Their people had been frightened, as the Fairie Lords demanded the handing over and death of all humans capable of magic. The Taldon family had not let their people down in that crisis, killing their own kith and kin to set an example before the people and the Fairie.

However, it takes only one bad apple with an appetite for power to destroy a great dynasty. The Taldon’s fell from nobility to become bullies, demanding tribute of the people they once protected as their own. The people clustered in villages about the Taldon’s Manor became the Taldon’s source of income. Eventually, they became their prey.

Mallon chewed on a chicken leg as the young female slave wiped her face with the back of her hand. She was thin from lack of food and licked her lips at the sight of the meat on the leg Mallon held. Mallon chuckled. He held the leg out so the girl could see how much meat remained on it before he threw it into the fire.

He might have whipped the girl then, just for the pleasure of hearing her screams, but was interrupted in his thoughts as two of his nephews entered the room. They were pushing a peasant in front of them and when they got close they forced the man to his knees in front of their Lord.

“This one claims he has important news about Adon,” Trik said. Trik was the tallest and meanest of the two.

Mallon licked his lips as he considered. Adon was his eldest son and heir, but chose to live in Sweetwater most of the time. Mallon never understood the attraction of Sweetwater for his children. To him, one village of peasants was much the same as any other.

His traitorous second born son, Halfor had gone to Sweetwater to bed a peasant. When Mallon found out that Halfor had actually married the woman and got her pregnant with child, he ordered Adon to kill him to set an example to the clan on what would happen to those who chose to defy him.

Adon and his friend Twist had chosen to spend a lot of time in Sweetwater. It was near a road where they could practice their chosen trade of highway robbery. Mallon approved of their activities as they brought him excellent gifts. Mallon and Adon got on best when they were far apart, but it was clear to all that Mallon loved his son and heir with all his heart.

“Well out with it, if you want to keep your tongue that is. What has Adon done now?” he demanded of the frightened peasant.

Hasen tried to bargain. He was well aware this would be his only chance.

“I knew you would want to know as soon as it happened, my Lord. There was nothing any of us could do to help him, you have to understand. If you will just grant my family clemency, I will help you find and kill them, Lord. I swear it.”

Mallon stood up. Despite his advancing age, he was still a formidable man and he pulled his sword from under the rugs and thrust its point against Hasen’s heart.

“I will not ask again!” he roared.

“Your son, Adon is dead. He and his friend, Twist, were killed by two strangers in the Lord’s House,” Hasen told him, the words spilling like grain from a torn sack.

For a few seconds Mallon said nothing as he digested the news.

“And you thought by telling me this, I would spare your life and that of your family?” he asked, in what was almost a gentle voice.

“If you would be so merciful, my Lord,” Hasen replied in a whisper. Mallon’s sword tip cut into his chest and it was all he could do not to cry out in pain.

“I would not,” Mallon said decisively as he plunged the sword deep into Hansen’s flesh. Hasen screamed as he died.

So did the frightened girl behind Mallon. She had never seen death so close before, not even when Mallon killed her mother. She had not looked that time.

Mallon pulled the sword from Hasen’s body and casually swung it around in a circle, cutting the girl’s head from her shoulders in one smooth action. Her screaming was preventing him from thinking.

“Gather the clan. We are going to war,” he told his nephews a few seconds later.

“But it will be night by the time we get to Sweetwater,” Trik pointed out. “Would it not be best if we were to wait until morning?”

“They have killed my son,” Mallon screamed. “Do you want to feel my blade as well?”

“No, my lord, forgive me,” Trik said quickly, bowing his head and backing away towards the door.

“Do not keep me waiting, boy,” Mallon shouted after him. “I expect to march on Sweetwater within the hour.”

7.
              
The Raid

Mallon rode at the front of an army of thirty. Everyone adult member of the Taldon family marched behind Mallon, men and women alike. The few Taldon children, those below the age of fourteen, were ordered to guard the battlements until their parents returned. The slaves were locked away in their pens, so the children were expected to have little trouble with their task.

As the sun had set, the family brought torches soaked in lamp oil, which the women held aloft to light the way. Each woman carried a knife or axe in their other hand, ready to kill at Mallon’s orders.

Mallon and his two nephews rode their horses into battle, the rest of the family walked. This meant that his army could only travel at walking pace. Mallon rode his horse among the ranks of his family, urging them on. It was the only thing he could find to do to curb his frustration at their slow progress.

It took two hours to reach the outskirts of Sweetwater. The path from Taldon Fort joined the trail that Jalia and Daniel had walked earlier in the day, at a point just before it reached the lip of the valley.

Mallon looked down into the dark valley below. Normally there would have been cheery scraps of light seeping between the shutters of cottage windows, but that night the cottages were dark and deserted. The only signs of the valley’s occupation were a couple of lanterns either side of the doors of the Lord’s House, far in the distance.

“Shall we storm down and torch the cottages, my Lord? Trik asked at Mallon’s right hand. “The village shall feel the full force of the Taldon Clan’s wrath.”

“Not yet, Trik,” Mallon said quietly, and turned in his saddle to address the massed ranks behind him.

“I want to recover the body of my son before we do anything else. Then we will find the person who killed my son and kill him slowly and painfully. Only after that will we destroy Sweetwater and kill every last one of its inhabitants. No one will break ranks; no one will loot anything before I give the word. Is that clear?”

His family gave a roar of approval and waved their weapons high in salute. Mallon started his horse down the slope towards the Lord’s House to recover the body of his son.

Mallon saw no one as he rode down the road. Perhaps they had abandoned their houses and run for their lives. This did not worry him. He knew they would not get far and killing the villagers would be better sport if his family had to hunt them in the forest.

When they neared the Lord’s House, they saw that its two great doors were standing wide. Mallon saw the dim flickering of a lantern from deep in the hall. He wondered if the villagers had placed his son’s body to rest in state for his visit. It would not save their lives, but Mallon appreciated the gesture.

He got down from his horse and his nephews followed. They tied their horses to the same hitching post that Jalia and Daniel’s horses had been tied to earlier in the day. Mallon drew his sword and his nephews did likewise. They walked to the doors with their whole family a few scant paces behind.

The hall was too large to be properly lit by a single lantern. The villagers must have closed the shutters high on the walls because no light from the stars shone through them. As Mallon approached the door, the sweet sickly smell of death, drying blood and voided bowels wafted towards him. It was mixed with a strong smell of tallow wax and lantern oil. As he reached the threshold, Trik placed a warning hand upon his shoulder.

“It may be a trap, my Lord. Let me go first.”

Mallon grabbed Trik’s hand and twisted it painfully back as he lifted it from his shoulder.

“I am not a fool, nephew, and do not forget it,” Mallon spat out in anger. “But I am also not a coward. My son Adon lies in there and I am going in to see him. If you are too scared to follow, you may wait outside.”

“I meant no disrespect,” Trik said contritely, but Mallon had stopped listening and crossed over the threshold into the hall.

It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the gloom. There could only be a single candle in the lamp that burned at the far end of the room. Someone, a boy or a woman sat on a table with the lantern by their side. In front of the lantern, two men sat unmoving on a long bench. Their hands and legs were tied with ropes. Both men had their heads slumped forward against their chins, the smaller one wore his hat at a jaunty angle.

The person with the lantern jumped off the table and picked up the lantern.

“I thought you would never get here,” Jalia told them cheerfully. She held the lantern up to her head so they could admire her smiling face. When she lowered the lantern again, its light shone close enough to the two tied men for Mallon to recognize one as his son and other his friend Twist.

Mallon’s heart leapt at the sight. Adon must still be alive or why would they bother to bind him? The fact that his son was alive would not stop him killing everyone in the village of Sweetwater, but it would be good to have Adon at his side when he did it.

“Release my son at once, wench!” Mallon shouted. He heard whispers coming from his family outside as word spread among them that Adon was alive.

Jalia pulled her sword and pressed it close against Adon’s chest.

“Would you have me kill him? I could do that before you could take two steps.” Jalia spoke as if the whole affair was some kind of joke.

Mallon was insulted at her tone and his anger rose. Why wasn’t she frightened of him? No peasant had the right to treat him with such contempt. He wanted to stride to her and cut her head from her shoulders, but Trik was right. They couldn’t see into the hall properly and the whole thing might be some kind of trap.

“It wouldn’t do you any good anyway, would it sleepy head?” Jalia gave Adon’s body a kick, but while his head rocked lightly from side to side, he uttered no sound.

“Do you want to know why?” Jalia taunted. Mallon took a half step forward before he restrained himself. He had his whole family behind him and no force in this village could stop them. He only had to bide his time and he could kill this girl and all her friends.

“Why then, bitch?” he managed to ask, though it nearly choked him.

“Because I’ve already killed him once, haven’t I, poor little Adon?”

Jalia sheathed her sword behind her back in one fluid motion and then held the lantern so it was against the side of Adon’s head. She lifted Adon’s head by its hair and tilted it so the gaping neck wound stood out red and angry in the pale light. It looked as though Adon had acquired a second mouth below his chin.

Mallon felt the blood leave his face and for a second he felt that he might faint. Then his anger surged higher and his fists clenched so tight he felt blood begin to trickle down his palms from where his rough nails had cut through his skin.

“He didn’t put up much of a fight,” Jalia continued conversationally. “I hear he inherited that lack of skill from his father.” Jalia paused for a second. “Oh, that would be you, wouldn’t it?”

Mallon roared like a wounded animal. For a second, Jalia was taken back to the roar Adon gave just before her knife slit his throat. The son must have inherited it from the father, but the father’s roar was much more impressive. Jalia slipped the lantern onto the table and wondered just how much more goading it would take to get the man to rush towards her.

“I will tear your womb from you with a rusty hook,” Mallon snarled. He knew that he should withdraw from the hall and have his family surround the building, but this galling woman would laugh if he was to retreat. He would not have the girl who had killed his son laugh at his retreating back. He could not stand the thought of it.

“You must have tricked him to kill him. No slip of a girl could best Adon in a fair fight,” Mallon sneered. He would prove to this girl that he could best her with words before he took her life with cold steel.

Jalia laughed as if Mallon had said something very funny. Again, the red haze threatened to overwhelm Mallon and Trik placed a warning hand again on his shoulder.

“It is a tra…”

Before Trik could finish the words, Jalia’s knife had embedded itself deep into his bowels. The moment Jalia had seen Trik place his hand upon Mallon, she knew she had to kill him. She had coated the knife with soot from a candle so it was virtually invisible in the dark. It was the work of a moment to throw it at the man. In decent light, he would have moved out of the way, but all he saw was Jalia appear to curtsey. Now it was far too late.

Trik grasped at Mallon as the life ebbed out of him. “Forgive me, my Lord,” he whispered and staggered across the hall towards Jalia. He got halfway before he fell to the floor, dead.

“I killed your son just like that, except that I had to aim for his neck because he was too fat to risk a gut throw. He might have only wobbled and then where would I have been?”

Berserk rage overcame Mallon and he screamed “Attack!” as he raced across the room towards the mocking girl. His remaining nephew took up the cry and ran forward, as did his family standing behind him, every single one of them trying to get into the hall to assist the leader of the clan kill the woman.

Jalia grinned at the thought of a job well done. She spun on her heals and jumped back over the table she had been sitting on. Her foot caught the end of it and she ended up sprawled in an undignified mess by the far wall. A door opened at the back of the hall and many hands dragged her out.

As Jalia struggled to get to her feet, men barricaded the door she had just come through.

“Has anybody lit a torch?” Jalia asked and a blazing torch was thrust into her hands by one of the villagers.

“Thanks. I wonder if Daniel has had long enough?” she said to no one in particular. The door began to bounce as the angry mob in the hall used something akin to a battering ram to try to get through it.

“That’s as long as I can give him,” she said, and tossed the torch in a high arc towards an open window high on the wall. A sheet blocked the torch’s way for a second, but the sheet had only been tacked lightly over the inside of the window. The sheet was covered in lantern oil. It burst into flames as both sheet and torch fell into the body of the hall.

A whooshing sound ripped through the building as all the oil doused kindling in the hall caught fire.

“Sounds like a job well done,” Jalia said cheerfully as screaming began inside the hall.