Chapter 12
It was bittersweet to be reunited with the men he had been training the night of the ‘incident,’ and quite strange to think that less than a year ago these boys had been parasitizing a village and perhaps planning greater crimes. But here they were going off to infiltrate one of the strongest military forces in the world; life often turns in directions one never expects, but that is what keeps it from ever getting dull. His life was certainly exciting enough for anyone; Taragon’s snort implied that that was an understatement. Sometimes it was exasperating having a mount that could think for himself. Tristan wondered how the other unicorns would take their undercover duty, but most seemed intrigued by the idea. One had insisted that she appear as a swaybacked mule until her rider pointed out that she would be thought an unsuitable mount for a soldier and sent to pull cartloads of stone at the nearest quarry. She had quickly changed her appearance to something far more suitable.
They stopped at the inn at Waymeet one night; it had not changed much at all. The innkeeper did not recognize Tristan; there had been a hundred other men about the place the last time he was there. He was more than happy to serve six upstanding gentlemen like themselves, even if they did wear Order uniforms. He was sure to be very happy when they settled their bill come morning. Their uniforms reminded him of that brouhaha last fall when all those men had gathered hoping to join the Order; he regaled them with stories of how well the local lads had done and the grand things they must be doing in the world. But he himself was happy to remain the ever-exalted innkeeper of Waymeet, especially since his ale was the best in the whole world (at least according to some Lord or Knight); they could not ignore such a hint and kindly sampled his mediocre brew. He beamed with delight at their comments of, “it has been long since I tasted such a flavor,” and “I cannot find words to describe it.” The man’s pride was satisfied without anyone having to have told a lie. It was a delicate moment.
In the morning, they set off again and after some days arrived in Panmycea without incident. The boys gawked about them at the city and the immensity of the Citadel; many having never seen anything grander than the humble castle of Astoria. One of the gate guards saluted more enthusiastically than necessary. Tristan smiled and returned the salute, recognizing Brenner, one of the men from his original unit; it was good to see a familiar face. Although he had been here once, the Citadel was anything but a familiar and welcome sight. The whole thing reeked of power and greed; he missed the more comfortable amiability felt in Astoria. That was one thing he hoped to change. They rode up to the Citadel where Tristan presented his orders and a servant was sent to find whoever was expecting them. Half an hour passed before a man in a Colonel’s uniform approached.
It was Karly. “Good day gentlemen,” said he, “I hope your journey was uneventful.” They nodded, as the beer tasting had been the most exciting incident on the journey. “Good,” he continued, “please follow me.” They dismounted and handed their reins to the assembled grooms and followed the Colonel deep into the castle. “Your men will be billeted here,” said Karly pointing to a door along one wall. “Tomorrow,” he continued, “you will be drilled in what you know and then appointed a post suiting your talents. I suggest you get some rest, for tomorrow will be a busy day.” They bowed goodnight to the two officers.
Karly and Tristan continued to the colonel’s chambers where they could speak privately. “You have had some adventures since last we met,” began Karly.
“Yes sir,” said Tristan.
“You are fully confident in your abilities and are ready to reenlist?” asked Karly.
“Yes sir, I would not have come back if I was not sure I was ready,” said Tristan.
“Good,” said Karly, “you have done a superb job in Astoria, the High Council is pleased. We were very sorry to hear of your encounter with Brisbane, but you have suffered no lasting effects?”
“Only emotional strain sir, and that has passed,” said Tristan.
“If your men are as skilled as we suspect they are, most of them will be assigned to lead a training unit after the next recruiting session,” said Karly.
“That would suit them well sir,” said Tristan with a proud smile, “they have been restless to do something ‘productive’ of late.” They both laughed at such youthful enthusiasm and ignorance; eventually they would learn to appreciate a warm bed and hot meal after a dearth of both while on campaign.
“We have a special mission for you,” said Karly. Tristan listened intently. Karly continued, “I and several other high-ranking officers fear there is an evil influence lurking behind the fair façade of the Order. Men like Brisbane are becoming all too common, and regrettably the results are often deadly. Rage and anger are allowed to show where once they were under strict control. Patrols in the field are taking far too much advantage of the locals. Some glory seeking is expected in an organization such as this, but it has become the rule rather than the exception. A patrol will ride into a village and expect to be given whatever they want, including time alone with some of the young women. Our military precision is breaking down and our reputation has become black where once it was only tarnished. Part of it is our intense recruiting efforts, we just do not have the number and quality of officers needed to control such a mass of raw recruits. But there is more than a simple lack of discipline to blame. I have seen the men you have trained and there is something fundamentally different about them. They care about others and do not expect the world to be handed to them on a platter. If half our men were like that this organization could change the world, but as it is, we may soon find ourselves the targets of every peasant and king we have scorned. Unless things change drastically, the Order will soon implode and who knows what will emerge from the wreckage? Your job is to ferret out where this lackadaisical and impetuous attitude comes from and stop it.” Tristan stared at him as if he had asked him to climb a tall tree and catch the sun in a butterfly net.
“I know it seems an impossible task,” continued Karly, “we cannot even nail down this ‘feeling’ or whatever it is some of us have. We are sending you out hunting an enemy and we are not even sure it exists. It is a feeling of evil and disdain that hums in the background of everything the Order does. Some among the High Council are concerned enough to talk to others of like mind in private, but no one dares bring it before the Master of the Council, he seems oblivious to the problem. All I can tell you is that these are disturbing times within the Order and without. Your mission must remain secret, you may report to me or to Captain Frey. Your official position will be as my Secretary, which means you may go wherever you like and do whatever you want as long as others believe it is on my orders. I am entrusting you with much Captain, but you have proven yourself capable and you are the only man I can fully trust.”
Tristan left Karly’s chambers that night very confused; he had no idea where he was supposed to even begin. It was heartening that the Order was beginning to realize how far it had strayed from its own inexact standards of order and discipline and was trying to do something about it, even if only in secret. It was strange how his mission from the Lady and Karly correlated so well. But then, evil was stirring everywhere and no sensible person would want it to continue unabated within their sphere of influence. Tristan retired to his quarters and slept little that night as his mind constantly darted after unseen enemies just beyond sight.
The next morning he was summoned to Captain Frey for a briefing. Frey was an older man but there was wisdom and humor written in his lined face. “Greetings Captain,” said Frey, “you have been briefed by Colonel Karly?”
“Yes sir,” said Tristan, “though this seems all very vague and ill defined.”
“That is the crux of the issue,” said Frey, “we are sending you out to catch the monsters under the bed and we are not even sure there are any. It could simply be a bunch of old campaigners starting to jump at shadows and
mice, but too many of us have felt…well, wrong about recent events within the Order. The colonel speaks highly of you and thinks you are the only one we can trust with this delicate mission. The rest of us have too much influence and power within the Order, people would notice if we started acting unusual, but you already have a reputation for being a bit odd though very effective. You may be able to pull this off where we cannot. If we need to supply you with men, equipment, or information please do not hesitate to ask and the minute you learn something report it directly to us. Do not send a pigeon and hope the message gets to us unseen by the wrong people. Understood?”
“Yes sir,” said Tristan, “do you have any suggestions as to where or how to begin this venture?”
“Actually, I can help you with that at least, but after that you are on your own,” said Frey, “there is a patrol that rides a circuit in the Southern Kingdoms. They have a terrible reputation and something needs to be done about them. You may find further leads from them, but be careful, I fear they have a spirit similar to that of Brisbane.”
“Do I have the authority to deal with a patrol?” asked Tristan.
“As Karly’s secretary you do, but use that power with discretion because you will be held to account for everything you do in his name,” said Frey.
“I understand sir,” said Tristan.
“Good,” said Frey, “now remember to keep this matter secret or all of our heads are forfeit.”
Tristan stayed just long enough in Panmycea to say farewell to his men; all had been assigned to lead training units in the Northern Wilds. They were well trained and ready to go, but it was still hard to part from them. He would soon ride out to locate this renegade patrol and bring them to heel. He did not much wish to face six Brisbane-like men alone so he took two other men with him. He tapped Brenner and Derkly to accompany him; both had been part of his original training unit and were currently assigned as guards of the Citadel. Karly approved the choice and made sure they had the supplies they would need along with a written order that Tristan had the authority to deal with the patrol as he saw fit. They set out at once for the Southern Kingdoms.
The Southern Kingdoms were some of the largest and most prosperous in the known world. The climate was mild and friendly to a variety of crops and the seas were full of fish. Well over half the world’s population lived in the six Southern Kingdoms; trade, education, and the arts flourished in that part of the world. It was the center of human culture and initiative. It had been long since Tristan rode through those pleasant lands and even with his strange mission, he looked forward to seeing them again. His men were happy to be riding again with their old leader, especially as they were getting a little tired of nothing but guard duty. The first few days of their trip were pure joy as they talked of the old days and enjoyed the fine weather of early autumn. As they traveled south, the weather grew wetter and the attitudes of the people they met towards the Order soured. This was not going to be a picnic after all. According to Tristan’s map of the patrol circuit, they should get to one of the patrol’s main stopping places in about a week’s ride from their current position. They could be anywhere along the patrol route and instead of chasing them down, Tristan meant to wait for them to come to one of their better-known haunts. He also opted to keep his identity and authority a secret until he had observed these men in person. That night, they switched out of their uniforms and put on plain clothes for the remainder of the journey, which at least made them more acceptable company to the people they encountered.
They finally arrived at The Thistle, a very nice inn on the crossroads of the main roads running north to south and east to west. For such a comfortable inn at the junction of two well-traveled roads it seemed very empty. The innkeeper explained, “not to dissuade you gentlemen from staying but every couple weeks my poor Thistle becomes the gathering place for a legion of those nefarious men of the Order.” Tristan knew the poor woman meant well but he doubted an entire legion of men rode on this single patrol. He was glad that they remained safely anonymous, at least for now.
“How long until they come again?” asked Tristan.
“They should be here within the week,” said the woman dispiritedly.
They took rooms and waited. The plan was to let the patrol come in unhindered, watch their behavior that evening, and then confront them on it very early the next morning. The poor woman said they stayed a day or two before moving on, they never paid their bill, and drove away most of her customers with their behavior. She did not let her serving girls work when the patrol was due. Six days later the patrol arrived.
Tristan and his men stationed themselves in an out of the way corner that allowed them a view of the whole room. Most of the locals excused themselves for the evening leaving Tristan’s group, the patrol, and one table of seedy looking men alone in the common room. The innkeeper and two boys worked feverishly to meet the demands of the patrol alone. Tristan did not even try to get a refill of ale; the seedy men seemed content with their drinks or they did not dare to order more. Eventually the patrol seemed satisfied with their meal and after a comfortable amount of time for digestion began to glance around the room in hopes of entertainment. Besides the innkeeper, there were no women present and the innkeeper was too old and careworn to be of much interest to any of them. They had to content themselves with less interesting forms of amusement. The table of seedy looking fellows had wandered away as soon as it became apparent the patrol was finishing their meal, which left only Tristan and his two companions to offer relief from the boredom and toil of patrol duty.
“Good day to you gentlemen,” said one lanky man as he waddled over looking for trouble. He continued, “I see you have taken a fancy to our inn and as such I think you owe us a song at the least.”
“Perhaps a little dance too!” added a short, smirking fellow.
“Shall we have a contest to see who the best dancer is?” asked another fellow. Cheers erupted all around.
“Dancing and singing it shall be then,” announced the lanky man, “and you had best do a good job else we may have to do things you will regret.” Bets were placed as to which of the three would do the best (and worst) job. Their captain would act as judge. A large, heavy table was rolled out into the middle of the room and one by one each of the three men was made to stand up and sing and dance to the best of his ability. Tristan had good reflexes but a very poor voice. Brenner could sing very well but could not dance to save his life (which may very well be the case in this contest). Derkly excelled at neither singing nor dancing. The patrol was not impressed with anyone’s performance and refrained from having another round in favor of several hours of singing on Brenner’s part. Brenner was hoarse by the end of the evening, but it was a small price to pay for their lives.
During the whole event, the innkeeper kept the wine flowing and each member of the patrol was so drunk by the end of the evening that they had to be carried to bed by Tristan and his men. While it had been a humiliating evening all the way around, no one had been hurt, but if this was a quiet night for them, Tristan cringed at what a wild night looked like. He wondered at the innkeeper’s ability to persevere under such abuse but the inn had been in her family for years and she would not let it go if she could help it. Tristan quietly paid for the patrol’s supper out of the money provided by the colonel; he only wished he could give her more for previous meals and damages, but that was all he had. She thanked him profusely for his kindness. It may have been the first ray of sunshine to pierce her grey world in a long time.
Tristan and his men retired to their room and took what sleep they could before daybreak. Then each man donned his uniform, put on his sword (they had not dared wear them downstairs last evening lest the scoundrels consider dueling a proper form of entertainment), and prepared themselves to roust the drunken patrol from their beds. Having put each man to bed the previous night, Tristan and his men knew
exactly which men were sleeping where. Very loudly, Tristan banged on the door of the room containing the captain.
“Go way,” moaned a groggy voice. He must have a terrible hang over; Tristan had asked the innkeeper to make sure the wine was extra strong last night and the Captain had drunk as much as anyone.
“Open up,” bellowed Tristan.
“Go way before I hurt you,” growled the miserable man.
“Open in the name of the Order,” yelled Tristan. He heard whimpering on the other side of the door; apparently he was not currently fond of loud noises. Using a spare key, he unlocked the door and charged inside. The poor man huddled in a heap on the end of the bed in his underclothes, shielding his ears with a pillow. Brenner ran over and opened the window, allowing the new risen sun to shine in. “On your feet man,” growled Tristan, “I was sent to inspect this unit by Colonel Karly. You and your men are a disgrace to the Order.”
Things were slowly starting to click in the captain’s head and he jumped up off the bed in a fury, “what authority do you have over me?” Tristan quietly proffered his orders and the man’s face fell with dismay, but an evil light twinkled in his eyes. Tristan could almost read his mind as he planned to do away with this would-be inspector.
“You are hereby relieved of duty and as of now I am taking over command of this disgraceful outfit,” said Tristan, “you will be detained in an appropriate facility until I can contact headquarters and they decide what to do with you.” The man looked bleakly at Tristan as Brenner and Derkly led him quietly away. The innkeeper knew of an appropriate spot to house the derelict captain until further notice. The men were completely unaware of what had befallen their leader, and Tristan was very unkind to rouse them from their beds so early after such a long night. He made them pack their things and assemble outside immediately. They were not happy at the change in leadership, but there was little they could do about it short of mutiny and none were stupid enough to try that.
Tristan was a strict taskmaster and did not allow any drinking, gambling, carousing, or other amusements for the erring patrol. They were expected to do their assigned camp chores, stand watch, and ride patrol with absolutely no complaining or distractions. It took them a couple days before they realized they gained nothing with their constant whining except more chores. Tristan led them on their assigned patrol route and hoped by the time they circled back to the inn they would be a much more manageable bunch. After a week of constant but fair oversight, Tristan began to see changes. They no longer expected someone else to do everything for them. They were much more polite interacting with others, and they began to behave more like men and less like brutes.
Once someone expected something of them and they could not get away with doing otherwise, they began to live up to those expectations; there was hope for them after all. Once they reached the inn again, they were to leave Derkly in charge of the patrol, and Tristan and Brenner were to take the captain back to Panmycea for questioning. After a two-week imprisonment alone inside an old fortress, the captain was more than willing to come out, even if it meant going with the two usurpers. Tristan did not look forward to traveling with Captain Yates but he had little choice. He was the only lead Tristan had to furthering his investigation into the chaos that was assaulting the Order. Was it just poor oversight and bad leadership or was there something more sinister behind it?
On the journey home, Yates was at first unwilling to talk to anyone, but after two weeks with no one to talk to he became gradually more desperate for human company. “How could you allow such behavior in your men?” asked Tristan one night as they sat beside the fire.
“I thought we were allowed to do as we pleased,” said the man.
“Where did you get that idea?” asked Tristan.
“Some of the higher-ups did not think it a bad thing,” said Yates, “they said it encouraged morale in the men.”
“It certainly encouraged something,” said Tristan, “which officers approved such behavior?”
“Nobody approved it,” said Yates, “they just sort of overlooked it.” That was something at least. Some of this was due at least in part to the lack of supervision and leadership over the far-flung members of the Order. At least that could be fixed if the Order was willing to punish men who sorely abused the rights of others. Yates seemed resigned to his fate and cooperated fully, but shed no more light on his connections or lack thereof to some sinister plot within the Order. Tristan returned to Panmycea with the despondent Yates and gave a full report of his adventures in the south. The colonel approved of the change in leadership of the patrol and said he would see to reprimanding Yates. As for promoting more responsibility and less wanton behavior in the field units, Karly could only shrug and say they were working on it. Since he had found no further leads to follow and proved to be adept at making recalcitrant units see the light, Tristan found himself dispatched all over the countryside disciplining or replacing unit leaders. After several months of such legwork, word seemed to be getting around that such behavior would no longer be tolerated and the behavior of the field units as a whole became much more tolerable. There were still a few units that dared Karly’s wrath but as a whole, things were greatly improved.