Arlen remembered sitting in a marquee, supplied by his town, and clinking glasses with the wily Baron. His words at the time would forever remain simple vindication of Aden's decision.
Blackthorne had taken a long swallow, leaned back in his chair, shrugged and had said, 'It's what I would have done.'
And he'd still reduced the travel levies across his lands that had squeezed Aden's merchants so hard. As a mark of gratitude, he'd said.
Riding away from Blackthorne that day, Arlen had wondered how long the gratitude would last. Almost six years later, he was still expecting the letter of withdrawal. He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised. Blackthorne's honour was unquestionable.
It had left Arlen in peaceful charge of a burgeoning town, attracting trade from Calaius and Korina to his docks. More and more farmers were attracted to his fertile lands on the town's northern borders, knowing the price for their produce would not be driven down by traders passing on the burden of Blackthorne's safe passage levy.
But now something smelled bad in his town. It had blown in on the foul breeze of magic and had taken root to the south along the River Arl. First it had been Dordovans. A few mages and their escorts. Nothing out of the ordinary. But ten days ago, they'd been joined – joined – by forty of the Black Wing filth and since then, the Dordovan military and mage numbers had swelled until over three hundred and fifty camped downstream.
His innkeepers and whores hadn't complained. Neither had his
fresh food market stalls. There'd even been some profit for his fine cloth and silk men but the pilfering had been rather more unwelcome, however well it had been contained.
But there was only so much you could forgive in the name of trade and that line had been breached this morning.
Word had reached him of aggressive buying of supplies and attempted secondment of ocean-going vessels. It had been the Black Wings putting on the pressure and they weren't prepared to take no for an answer.
He didn't mind the movement of supplies. That was easily balanced. But ships? There was a carefully maintained balance between supply and demand for vessels capable of travelling the tricky distance to Calaius. It was a balance his shipping owners were anxious to keep to maintain their lavish lifestyles.
But at this juncture it wasn't the owners he was concerned about. The trade in salted meats, wine, armour and weapons was lucrative but reliant on regular transport, and the return of coffee, cloth and jewellery among others was equally critical. Arlen could ill afford to lose transport space for these valuable commodities for an unspecified length of time.
He had already sent guardsmen to break up a dispute over, a ship already chartered by a consortium of traders. Apparently, Black Wings had offered double the rates for troop passage to Ornouth of all places. When the shipping agent had refused, choosing to remain loyal to his regular paying customers, he had been threatened and one of his clerks beaten for attempting to intervene.
That had been yesterday.
This dawn had seen Arlen forced to drag his very tall frame from his bed at an unseemly hour, with the sun barely cresting the horizon. A deputation waited in the drawing room of the castle. They were a merchant, a farmer and a shipper. He pulled on a white silk shirt, plain deep-blue wool-weave trousers and a black three-quarter-length coat. His silver rings decorated three long bony fingers on each hand and the heavy gold chain, passed on to each successive Earl, was placed reverently around his neck.
He drained his tea, dragged on white stockings and simple black, double-buckled ankle boots and loped from his bedroom, his long, easy strides eating up corridor and stair as he marched to what could
prove to be a difficult meeting. At the entrance to the room, a servant brushed the back of his coat to remove dust and the odd stray hair fallen from his fast balding head before opening the door.
'Gentlemen, good morning,' he said as he strode in. A murmured greeting met him from the three men, two seated and one standing near the fireplace. All were dressed well, though the farmer, a sour middle-aged man named Alpar, was garbed in working clothes having already no doubt been at work for two or three hours. Those seated began to rise until Arlen held up a hand.
'Please, let's not stand on ceremony here, I doubt we have the time.' He sat in his gold upholstered armchair across from the deputation and waited for a servant to pour him a cup of tea and withdraw before gesturing for his old silks merchant friend, Hancross, to speak.
'The situation on the docks is getting worse, Jasto. These Black Wings are nothing more than thugs intent on getting their way and wrecking our businesses into the bargain. Stealing from the outlying farms is getting worse by the day and now they have stooped even lower. Erik?' Hancross gestured at the son of Aden's most successful shipping agent, a man being groomed to take over the family business.
Erik Paulson nodded, fighting to keep his emotions in check. His eyes shone with tears. 'I think this is really why we felt we had to appeal to you directly, my Lord. While it was intimidation aimed at us, it was different. Now it's our families, it's unacceptable and we need action.' He paused, breathing deeply. For a moment, his chin wobbled. He gathered himself and spoke. 'Yesterday evening, my wife and daughter were returning from the market to our house. Three of those bastards knocked my wife to the floor. One held a dagger to my daughter's throat while the other two pawed at my wife's body, threatened her with rape and my daughter with murder.
T can't believe I can hear myself saying these words,' he swallowed hard. 'Not here. Not about my family.' He shook his head and a tear escaped to roll down his cheek. 'You should see them. They are both in shock in my house, too terrified to venture outside the front door. And this is Arlen. What the hell is going on?' He looked at Arlen then, his expression pleading. 'This is a peaceful
town, my Lord, but unless you act, we fear people taking the law into their own hands.'
'In fact we promise it,' said Alpar, his throaty voice grating on Arlen's ears. 'Paulson has suffered the worst but we are all losing here. Each morning, my flock is short by a little more, despite the guards I post. Hancross won't tell you but there's been a fire at one of his shops and we all know who started it.'
Arlen nodded and raised both his hands to ask for quiet. He felt a growing anger in his gut. He had worked so hard to rebuild after the austerity of the Wesmen wars. He had brought peace and prosperity to Arlen, not just the town but across the Earldom. And he deserved respect. The Black Wings would have to be taught how to show that respect.
'Gentlemen, this is my town and I abhor violence of any kind being committed within its borders or in the lands I also control. I therefore implore you not to raise arms as I will come down equally hard on either side in this dispute should violence ensue.
'However, your coming here together tells me all I need to know about your sincerity and your trust in my stewardship, and for that I thank you. Now, I will, as soon as I am able this morning, visit the Lakehome Inn, where I understand their leader to be in residence. He will be ordered out, never to return. Any monies that he has paid for goods he has not received will be returned minus costs for damages, stolen goods and sundry expenses.'
'Jasto-'
'No, Hancross, don't say it,' said Arlen. For the third time, he raised a hand. 'The reputation of this town is built on honesty, particularly in dealings for trade. Money exchanged in good faith will be returned. And petty thieves clutter jails to no purpose. However, Erik, if your wife wishes to identity her assailants, they will not leave Arlen before paying for their crimes.'
Arlen looked hard at Paulson and could see the man's fury burning in his hooded eyes. He wrung his hands and his tanned skin had an unhealthy grey tone. He didn't sit on the chair, more perched like some predatory beast. It was clear his chosen justice would be vengeful and violent.