Chapter 14: 14

Gaharri stared at Barrin for long moments as yet more mercenaries streamed to the courtyard, all of them bearing weaponry. All of them pointed at Barrin, who now found himself encircled. Still Gaharri said nothing but his eyes spoke far more. His gaze fell upon the branding upon Barrin’s arm, rose to the white hair that billowed in the breeze, and then back down, to the black sword at Barrin’s waist. His tongue flickered outward, touching his lips at the sight of that blade.

“I know who you are, and why you are here, but I cannot help you.” Those eyes stabbed to the side, glancing at something, or someone, behind Barrin. “If you expect apologies, or to learn who contracted us to transport you, you will find yourself sorely disappointed. Leave, in peace. We fulfilled our part of the contract. What happened after is not our business.”

“Whoever he is, we should kill him.” A voice from behind and to the side, but Barrin did not give the voice the courtesy of a glance. He looked only to Gaharri. “He is but one man!”

“One man that would kill or injure several of us before we kill him, Tanaddus.” Gaharri did look at the man. A different one that had caused the nervous glance before. “And who would hire a mercenary company so soundly wounded in full view of everybody? No. We will, if we must, but we will allow him leave. If he will take it.”

Barrin had remained outside the gates, where all that passed by could see the events taking place. He had already humbled two of the guards, and Gaharri had spoke true. Barrin counted four of the mercenaries he could kill before any of their weapons came to bear upon him. The interesting thing occurred with Gaharri. That look, once again, to the side, as though asking a question. Or seeking permission.

Without any warning, Barrin spun on his heel, glaring at the one at his shoulder. The one that Gaharri looked to. The captain of the Company deferring, in silence, to one of his underlings. Not something that could build respect from the others. To prove Barrin’s thoughts, he noted that man did not look at him, the danger in their midst, but at Gaharri. Narrowed eyes threatening without words.

Barrin had seen enough. The gap between the man and the others. The way the man appeared to thrust out his chest while also stooping with malevolence, hooked beak of a nose curled in disgust at the man that should command him. Before the man could even react, Barrin had his hand about his throat, lifting him bodily to the tips of his toes.

“Are there any others disloyal to your commander?” The man’s eyes bulged, fingers scrabbling at Barrin’s hand, feet kicking as Barrin looked about him. “Dissuade them of that delusion.”

Little happened, at first. Then weapons turned upon comrades in silence, while others fell to the dust-ridden ground as some turned to run, stopped in their tracks by the promise of a swift death. Barrin had no care for loyalty, himself. He served who paid him and, once he had fought their war for them, he would leave. Loyalty lasted until the last drop of spilled blood. Loyalty lasted until peace. These people were not him. To them, loyalty, duty and honour meant something and they did not take kindly to those who spat upon those traits.

It was a calculated, but dangerous tactic. Had the disloyal mercenaries outnumbered the loyal ones, Barrin would have had to fight to his death. Something he did not shy from, but in death he could not find and save Kahri. As the loyal warriors of the company disarmed the traitors, Barrin released his hold upon the throat of their erstwhile leader.

“You may have just killed my daughter!” Gaharri strode the distance between them and launched a vicious kick to the chin of the man upon the ground. “Tanaddus! Go to the barracks. Find any stragglers. If but one escapes ...”

His voice fell to a croak, not wishing to speak the words he feared. Barrin had suspected something of the like upon seeing the man. Honour. This man had it, but honour meant little in the face of impending doom for a loved one. Barrin could empathise with that of late. Gaharri organised his warriors, taking those who had stood against him into custody. A leader, leading as he should.

“You will speak with me now.” Barrin moved before him, bearing his fill height down upon Gaharri. “For we have much to speak of.”

Wine. Barrin had not tasted it in some time. He preferred the stinging rebuke of a concoction favoured in Yaavik, made from a fermented root that turned to crippling alcohol within a short space of time. Hot upon the tongue and throat, and a powerful way to fog the mind. Still, after the time spent in the desert, he welcomed the sweet taste. All about the room, the walls held examples of weaponry of all kinds. Swords, spears, bows, shields. Barrin liked it, though he would not show that he did.

To the side, Maeal sat upon the floor. She did not drink, or speak. Instead, she supported her wrists upon her knees and prayed in silence, her eyes closed, but Barrin could tell she listened intently. Gaharri sat across from where Barrin stood, nursing a goblet to his chest, features drawn and weary. He threw back the last remnants of the wine, swallowing hard, before refilling from a pottery jug to the side.

“If my daughter ...” His voice broke again, but he rallied, knuckles whitening against the body of the goblet. “If my daughter dies because of this, I will hunt you to the ends of the world. I swear it by all the gods.”

“And you would die for it.” Barrin had heard better threats. Threats he could take with far greater seriousness than this one. “So, they have your daughter and forced you to take this contract? Yes? You should have allowed her to die and keep your honour. Now, if she returns, she will know her father is weak.”

“Do you have a child?” Gaharri jumped to his feet, spittle flying from his twisted mouth before his shoulders slumped once more. He fell back upon his chair, rubbing his forehead. “No. No. Of course you don’t. But, you are correct, I am weak. Becoming a father makes you weak, but also gives a strength far more powerful than you could imagine. In here!”

A fist hammered against his chest and Barrin saw tears pricking at the corners of Gaharri’s eyes and he tried to hide the sneer. Not all fathers. Barrin’s father was not weak. Were it Barrin captured, Father would have expected Barrin to escape or die in the attempt, regardless of age. That was strength. Standing by a principle no matter the incentive to break it. This man should have fought against those who presumed to control him.

Yet, Barrin could see the importance this man’s daughter held. In that, Barrin could find a use. A weakness that Barrin could exploit, though in a more humane fashion, he supposed. He almost laughed at the irony of what he proposed to himself, staring into the goblet and swishing the last dregs of the wine against the inside. He placed the goblet down, with care.

“I will return your daughter to you.” Barrin leaned upon the desk with both hands, using his size once again upon the man. “And you will owe me a great debt.”

“You ... but ...” Gaharri returned to his feet, gaze switching between Barrin and Maeal. “They will kill her if any should approach. I ... I am uncertain. I can explain the incident here, but ...”

“Have a care, old soldier.” From the floor, Maeal’s voice drifted upward, her eyes still closed. “For though this man will succeed in his task, your daughter will return unharmed, but the debt you will owe will come at a great and terrible cost.”

“Ignore the woman. She fancies herself a seer.” He scowled her way but, though she still did not look, she sensed his gaze, lips curling in a smile. “What say you? Tell me where she is held and I shall return with her and your enemies will have fallen into the arms of Death herself.”

Gaharri licked his lips. Why he bothered to show even a modicum of indecision Barrin did not know. He had taken on a contract to transport slaves across the desert, against his ideals, it appeared, all because they threatened his daughter. He would acquiesce to Barrin’s demands, Barrin had no doubt about that. Gaharri turned away, rubbing a finger along his lips before turning back.

“I can assign guards to you, loyal guards.” With an absent mind, Gaharri drank his wine again, refilling the goblet once more. “They can get you inside. Yes. Yes. You’ll need ...”

“Just tell me where they have her.” Barrin placed his big hand atop the goblet held by Gaharri, pressing it down. “I have need of nothing else and, when she is returned, you will tell me everything you know of who captured me and why. Where is your daughter?”

“To the South, we have an outpost. We call it the kennels because we house our war dogs there.” As though as an afterthought, Gaharri moved to the side, opening a cupboard filled with scrolls and leaves of paper. “I have a map.”

War dogs. They could prove problematic, but not insurmountable. As the name implied, they were dogs bred for war. Vicious, powerful beasts larger than most any other dog. Nothing short of a wolf could stand against them and they learned friend from foe at early ages. Barrin could alert those dogs by his mere presence before he even caught sight of the outpost walls. And he saw that was not the only problem.

The Company of the Golden Moons had chosen a good place for the outpost. Beside a small stream that fed down from the South, heading North to the sea. Sat upon a rising outcropping extending out above a small, but significant canyon, all the better to discourage any intruders, the wall almost indistinguishable from the edge, if he read the map correctly. Barrin had witnessed more difficult places to assault, but not many. The lack of ways in and out could prove both bane and boon, under the right circumstances.

Gaharri stared at Barrin as he perused the map again and again, committing every detail to his memory while understanding that accuracy was not guaranteed. He had enough information for the moment and the day had started to draw long. Out in the courtyard, he had seen stables and even with a horse beneath him, he would arrive at the outpost long past dark. Rolling the map up, he pressed it into the hands of Gaharri before leaning down and lifting Maeal by the elbow.

“I take it you expect me to help?” She stared at the hand holding her arm until he released her. “Do not worry, captain, for you will see yourself reunited with your daughter before noon on the morrow. It is after that you should feel afeared, for yourself.”

“Enough of your ramblings, woman.” Barrin paused, as he dragged Maeal toward the door, and turned back. “I need you to allow us use of two horses.”

“Of course.” Gaharri nodded, leading the way through the door.

As the mercenaries prepared their horses, distrustful glances turning toward Barrin and Maeal, Barrin took the time to assess the place. He had other things on his mind, before, but now he took the time to see more about this company. The fortress looked like any other, but it was the warriors that Barrin took note of more than anything.

Well-trained, well-disciplined, taking into account the traitors removed from their ranks, Barrin could see a range of differing experiences. From the young, beardless boys that ran scullion for their older peers, to the grizzled men and women that held the tale of many battles in their lined features and cold stares. Some of these could have given Barrin a hard time, but he had no need of people as well-trained as he. What he could see neither disappointed or gave undue confidence. They appeared adequate.

Later. He had accomplished another task, that of finding Gaharri, and now he had another task before him. One task at a time, one after the other, all leading one way. Back to Kahri. Step-by-step he would return to his lover. It was all he could do, all he could think about because, if he allowed himself to look too far ahead, he could spy something he did not wish to see.

This far. No further. That was how far ahead he allowed himself to look.