“A merchant of the Guild,” the merchant said, coming forward. “How many are you? Enough to lend us escort on the way to Cortes Vonja?”
“No,” Arcolin said. “That is not our contract. However, we fought off a brigand attack last night, and you should have fewer problems on the way north than before.” He looked the merchant, his guards, and his wagons over carefully. What was a Guild merchant doing out here, so far from major transport routes? “Where are you from?”
The merchant frowned. “That is Guild business,” he said, “and none of yours.”
“I must insist,” Arcolin said, with a gesture to his cohort. “You have four men; I have a hundred.”
“Sibili,” the merchant said. “I come from Sibili with silks and tiles, oilberries and wine.”
“So you came through Andressat?” Arcolin said.
“No. It is too hard to get the wagons up that damned cliff at Cortes Andres, and that’s the only crossing. We followed the war road to the east and curved back around.”
“War road” must mean the way armies had taken through the forest Alured had once guarded, and then north … Arcolin tried to remember just where it went. Was this story plausible at all?
“Where did you hire your guards?” Arcolin asked.
This time a guard answered. “Me in Sorellin, two years back; I’m Arnen. Them others, I hired. One of our regulars got sick in Sibili, so Pedar—” He flicked a thumb. “—he’s from Sibili. Meddes comes from some vill in the Immervale, and Kory from Valdaire, he says.” Arcolin looked at each man; he would not have hired any of them.
“And what’s the cargo?”
“What Master Rieran says, I suppose,” the guard said. “Haven’t seen it m’self, but to keep count of the bales and barrels and make sure no seals is broke.”
“As you can’t bear witness to it, we will have to check,” Arcolin said. He looked at the merchant. “Master Rieran, is it? I’m Captain Arcolin. We have no intent to plunder, but we must account for your cargo—we were told the brigands we seek were being supplied from outside.”
“You think I—how dare you!” Rieran puffed up like a rooster; Arcolin ignored that. The man was pale-faced and sweating, not red … he was feigning indignation.
Arcolin looked back at the guards. “Step aside, gentlemen. Sergeant—?”
They moved aside without demur; Stammel and a tensquad herded them out of the village, to sit in the shade of a tree under guard. They gave up their swords without protest, and in return Arcolin saw them provided with water, bread, and cheese.
“Likely they are not involved,” he said to Burek. “Though the guard leader seems none too bright, and might have hired foolishly. Now for the merchant—”
The wagons did indeed contain bales of silk, boxes of painted tiles, and barrels of oilberries, goods worth aplenty in more northern markets—but while riding around the first wagon Arcolin smelled something the merchant had not declared. He flicked his fingers to Devlin and again when the second wagon yielded another smell that did not belong. He said nothing aloud, but had the wagons unloaded there in the street, his troops keeping back curious villagers, who might well want to snatch a few oilberries.
Devlin found the latch to the false bottom in one wagon; Vik found it in the second. One held sacks of unground southern grains, sides of dried salt meat, dried salt fish … though packed round with herbs, the smell could not be hidden. The other held weapons … more of the curved swords, short-stocked crossbows ideal for use in wooded areas, hardened leather armor, some strengthened with metal plates or mail.
“Well,” he said, looking at the merchant, now fishbelly white and trembling. “This looks like smuggling, not trading. Who are these for?”
“I don’t know,” the merchant said. “I—I didn’t know about that. I swear it; I’m an honorable member of the Guild. One of the guards must have—”
“I wonder what the courts in Cortes Vonja will say,” Arcolin said. “They do not look kindly on those in league with their enemies.”
“Enemies!” The merchant nearly squeaked. “There is no war—there are no enemies—you—it can’t be treason—” That last in a wail. Arcolin looked down from his horse until the merchant collapsed in a heap, shaking. Then he dismounted, drew his sword, and walked over to the wretch.
“You know I could kill you here, and tell them in Cortes Vonja I executed a traitor and they would give me gold.”
“Please … I have a family …”
“Then, for your family’s sake, tell the truth. Who hired you to bring these things here in secret?”
“I—I can’t. He’ll kill me; he’ll kill us all.”
“That may be,” Arcolin said. “But I will surely kill you if you do not. You follow Simyits, do you not?”
“Y-yes.”
“Then chance comes as it comes. Your chance now is life, if you tell me who hired you, or certain death, if you do not. What does Simyits say about chance?”
“It was by following chance that I ended here,” the merchant said, raising a tear-stained face.
“You could always change your allegiance and choose a better god,” Arcolin said. “There are many.”
“Don’t let them hear,” the man said. He looked at the villagers. “Make them go away.”
“Why? Is one of them a spy who will tell your master?”
“It could be. Please … I will tell you, but not here.”
“Get him up,” Arcolin said. Two of the soldiers pulled the merchant to his feet and half dragged him away, closer to the cohort. “Now,” he said to the merchant.
“The Duke,” the merchant said. “The new Duke of Immer.”
“Alured, you mean,” Arcolin said. “Once pirate, then brigand, now Duke?”
“Who’s your assistant? Your choice or his?”
“My nephew Harn. I wanted my son, but he—the Duke—has my son hostage. Harn isn’t … he isn’t very smart, sir. Captain.”
“When were you due at the Guild Merchants’ Hall?”
“A hand of days, sir.”
“Where did you offload the supplies to the brigands?”
“Next village north, sir. Well, just south of it. There’s a sort of old barn there, and a thicket grown up around it. We camp there overnight; they come and take their supplies. They’re honest, at least; I’ve never lost a thing to them, though I take my hard coin into the village and have dinner with the headman and leave them to it.”
“How often do you come through with supplies?”
“Me? Three times a year: Sibili to Cortes Vonja, Cortes Vonja to Sorellin, then down the Immerhoft Vale to the coast, Aliuna or Immerdzan, then west to Sibili. But there’s others, I was told. I don’t know who they are.” He looked back at the wagons and villagers then lowered his voice even more. “Look here, Captain—I’ll give you every coin I have, I swear, if you’ll only let me go …”
“After the village has seen what you carry and what we would be letting go by—do you think that secret would last?”
“Last long enough for me to get home and take my family away, aye.”
Arcolin shook his head. “It would never work. And I don’t break contracts. No, you must go to Cortes Vonja for judgment. If you tell them you were coerced, they may show mercy.” He doubted that, and was sure the merchant did too, but it was the only good outcome.
“You will ruin me,” the merchant said, gasping. “The Guild will strike me from their rolls; even if the courts are kind, I will be ruined—marked forever—”
“I am not ruining you,” Arcolin said. “You are the one who chose to deal dishonestly. Now quit sniveling and get back to your wagons.” He followed, signaling Burek to his side. “We need to get these wagons and their cargo to Cortes Vonja. The brigands know it is their supply train; we can expect them to attack, even though their numbers are reduced. If indeed this is a widespread plot, as it seems, they may be able to call on neighboring bands. My first thought was to split the cohort and send you back with twenty or thirty … but it’s a solid three days with these wagons, if you push the pace, and there are too many places where wagons are easily ambushed.”