Taking Their Ball and Going Home

Brochwel was getting up from the dirt when he heard the howl. A distant, high, mournful wail that made him freeze. Danae the Arrow-Dodger, his sparring partner for the day, clutched his spear. The trainees kept on for a moment, thwacking wooden swords until they noticed that all the experienced fighters had stopped.

Another voice took up the howl, louder and nearer, somewhere inside the city. But here in the courtyard with all the training dummies pushed up against the walls, any sound from outside came from the open sky above. Direction could not be distinguished. For Brochwel and Danae, the woods near Cargelhan had come alive with howls like these just before the first skirmish of their lives.

When the second voice fell silent, a third could just be heard in the distance repeating the message.

Sir Haruld, stood at the head of the courtyard, broke the following silence, "Trainees will continue practice. All errands that would take you outside the compound are hereby suspended until we know what's happening. Knights, report to your assigned gates to assist the city guards if needed. Warriors, find out what's happening."

The knights set off for the armor room and the trainees mostly watched. Sir Haruld opened his mouth, probably to tell the youngsters to get to it, when Brochwel interrupted:

"Sir Haruld! Aren't you forgetting something?" Brochwel waved the point of his sword in front of the scabbard's opening.

The embedded stone still active, his arm just stopped when he tried to move it further. Danae and several others stood trying to rack their spears but couldn't make their fingers let go. Everyone's embedded stones were active, but only the translucent ones gave any visual indication. Macsen had said Brochwel's purple chert looked like dense fog illuminated by a distant torch during battle and training. They all stared at Sir Haruld.

"Right. Sorry," Sir Haruld said. "I declare this exercise over."

With Danae's spear racked and Brochwel's sword sheathed, they joined the others pouring out of the compound onto the streets of Tragaron. The knights split evenly toward each gate while almost all of the warriors broke into a jog towards the markets. The trade caravan was probably the largest concentration of Kirrglosian visitors, but so many warriors piling in at once, even without weapons or armor, would only intimidate.

So Brochwel started uphill alone, only to be caught up a moment later.

"Aren't you going the wrong way?"

Danae was built to fall for Sir Haruld's maxim of speed in all things. A bit shorter than Brochwel and narrow all the way up. Even talked fast, these days. His stone was a buff sandstone that occupied most of his forehead and the upper half of his nose.

"No. I think I know where to get information."

Danae strode alongside, periodically stopping to let Brochwel catch up and start leading the way again. They went to one of the cheap inns, where Brochwel went right to the proprietor and asked which room was Aeden Clemo's.

"Aeden gave me a standing invite for an interview when I found the time. I'm afraid freeing up my schedule took so long I've forgotten his room number."

The proprietor thought it over, then told them to try second floor, third door on the left. As Brochwel knocked, Danae commented that he hadn't known Brochwel to be such a good liar.

"But it was true."

Constant mutters and occasional thumps could be heard through the door. Brochwel knocked again and announced himself. The room went quiet, then footsteps hurried over and flung the door open.

"Brochwel!" Behind Aeden a small travelling case lay open on the bed with clothes and other items scattered around it. "You have the worst timing."

"Apologies. I'll answer as many questions as you want, in exchange for one clear answer from you."

"Come in." Aeden grabbed Brochwel's shoulder and yanked him inside the room then body-blocked Danae and slowly closed the door. "Sorry, only time for one interview now."

The door shut firm, Aeden turned to Brochwel with a look equal parts exhaustion and suspicion.

"I think I can guess your question. The answer won't come cheap."

"I knew it wouldn't. If questions aren't enough, I can partly pay by being your reinforcements on that front." Brochwel pointed the the mass of clothes, souvenirs, and writing supplies heaped around the case.

Aeden agreed, grabbing a quill, inkpot, and a sheaf of paper from the pile and setting up at the cramped desk by the window. The room was tiny, but the bed seemed much plusher than the cots Brochwel was used to. Also, one only needed to close the window and doors to have privacy, not to mention a wall between oneself any snoring neighbors (the Flaxen Order had many of those). In its crate, the pigeon opened its eyes a sliver, saw it wasn't needed yet, then went right back to sleep.

"I want to leave soon, so I'll get right to it. I hope you're ready for some probing personal questions."

"Isn't this for a ... scroll of news? Major powershifts, natural disasters, that sort of thing?"

"We only woodblock print on special occasions. The personal element, that's always in demand. Now: are you engaged to be married or courting anyone or is anyone courting you?"

Brochwel dropped the linen shirt he had been folding. "Isn't that a little too ..."

Then he remembered Tecca had said that he was more popular abroad. Cargelhan had been, what? Ten years ago? When he closed his eyes he could still see the two slingers he had pursued onto that rickety bridge in the rain, where eight wolfpeople and the wounded half-giant were trying to flee. The rope supports held their weight, just. With a single slash of sword on rope he could have claimed a dozen enemies, and it was all about the number. Before the skirmish, Sir Ambrose jingled a bag of ducats and promised it to whoever had the most confirmed slain. If Brochwel remembered it so vividly, why had he assumed the twelve on the bridge didn't also recall (maybe not the half-giant, he seemed unconscious)? If they wanted to know more about the fellow who let them go, who sent his comrades hunting in the wrong direction a moment later, and if they told friends or family how they survived, well, that changed everything.

The ramifications promised to undo twenty years and nearly everything the Flaxen Order had ever taught him. Later, he would need time to think through it. These clothes weren't going to fold themselves.

"N-no. Not engaged. Not courting anyone. I've politely declined a few entreaties."

Brochwel folded and arranged while he answered a dozen personal questions. One question was too invasive and Aeden showed mercy. Even with careful packing, it wouldn't all fit. Aeden chose a few items of clothing and instructed Brochwel to dispose of them as he thought best. The pigeon then flew off, carrying the death of Brochwel's privacy in a little cylinder on its leg.

"Your turn, Brochwel. Ask."

"The howl earlier. What was the message?"

Aeden fixed a serious eye on him. "A few days ago, the Flaxen Order violated our borders to attack the empire of Rhosaire. This threatens to drag us into war. We denounce the Order and Tragaron. The mutual defensive treaty is null and void, it's terms violated. All Kirrglos citizens should leave Tragaron territory as soon as they can."

"You got all that from 'awooo'?"

"It was a long howl."

Recognizing their business was done, Brochwel offered his hand and Aeden shook it. But as Brochwel went for the door, he realized this was an opportunity he shouldn't pass up.

"Just one more question, Aeden ..."

"You said you only had one question."

"That's rich coming from you. I know this is a long shot with any bow, but does the name 'Tecca Sobriquet' mean anything to you?"

After a moment, Aeden started cackling. "No, not a name I recognize," the wolfboy wheezed as he got his breath back. "But it's high time the Order invested in a dictionary. A 'sobriquet' is a nickname. Whoever this lady is, she may as well have introduced herself as 'Jane Alias' and you bought it."

Brochwel left the inn the world's premier fool. He considered discarding the pendant, still around his neck. He thought he might even the score if he told Lord Garrett about her attempt to deceive him into defecting (even if she had disposed of the evidence, the Order didn't take such poaching attempts sitting down). But he had said he would wait and forget. It would uphold his honesty, staying quiet. And avoid making his embarrassment public, but that was beside the point.

As he started back to the Order's compound, Brochwel saw Danae blur past him.

"Hey, wait up!"

Danae skidded to a stop then trotted in place as Brochwel ran after him. They settled into an awkward sort of powerwalk: a bit too fast for Brochwel, too slow for Danae, and very confusing to passersby.

"So, what did you find?"

"Nothing!" Danae said, almost breaking into a run. "I ran all over, stopped four Kirrglosians, who refused to tell me what was happening, then got waylaid and was forced to sit for tea with old man Richter."

At least all that energy was getting used up, Brochwel thought. No matter. They had cast a wide net and wasted a few harpoons, but had caught the fish they sought. Lord Garrett needed to hear this.