Chapter 27: Law and Order

In the dimly lit office of the Westfall Arena, Commander Thorpe was deciding to laugh or curse at the request in front of him. Beyond that stood two men: one of whom he respected, the other, he did not.

Penaton Thorpe had known Watch Captain Danel Bralli for over 20 years. The two were not friends. Famously, they had almost come to blows many times, but each knew where the other stood and, more importantly, they could work together. They had different ways of doing things and different allegiances but, deep down, both men wanted the best for the people of Westfall.

By contrast, the other—a thin and spindly middle-aged man—looked to the Commander like he would feint at the first sign of battle, despite having been knighted for ‘services to the realm’. Ser Reginald was the kind of knight who loved the title and acted with the absolute authority of his Lord. However, the Commander theorised that any one of his white blades could fold him in half and stuff him into an envelope with far less difficulty than the man had stuffed himself into his pompous court attire. The Lord’s adviser and chamberlain, Ser Harrold Reginald, resembled everything that Penaton Thorpe scraped off his boot in the evenings.

The Westfall Arena was old; centuries of stone had been piled upon one another to create the structure, and it stood through fire, flood, earthquake, and siege alike. The Blades of Mondarin, who built it before the Gods had fallen silent, were a mercenary company, and would hire out their services to any commercial or civic cause required, for a price. But they were no mere mercenaries. These were men of conviction and honour. Once a contract was accepted, it was honoured to the bitter end and that made the Blades reliable and respected. But it also ensured that the chapter Commanders, like Penaton Thorpe, were very careful about what kind of jobs they accepted. Globally, the Blades of Mondarin had a good reputation and they wanted to keep it that way.

It was times like these that the Commander enjoyed being exactly that, in command. It meant he could speak his mind, unlike his unfortunate counterpart in the City Watch.

“This is the stupidest decision that I have ever heard. Tell me, Bralli; tell me that you don’t agree with this!”

The Watch Captain didn’t speak; he didn’t need to. Thorpe knew that the experienced officer would never agree to paper checks on a caravan day. Just like he knew that Captain Bralli would never defy Arnias.

“Captain Bralli follows orders, Commander. Just like you will follow orders. We need your men to assist with maintaining order during tomorrow’s operations.”

Penaton looked to his counterpart. For a man who stood almost seven feet tall, he looked remarkably cowed, even beside the five-foot-nine-inch newt of a man beside him. The Captain was clean-shaven, squared away and completely loyal to the city. Rules and regulations were followed to the letter, orders were obeyed without question. He was a man who believed in the chain of command beyond all else. It made him a pain to deal with at the best of times. Add that to the fact that he was the only man Penaton knew who matched his own strength, and he had learned to be careful not to antagonise the Captain too much. The Commander, himself, was almost as tall as Bralli, and thus when the Blades of Mondarin did support the City Watch, the two hulking leaders cutting through a crowd made an impressive display of force and power.

Commander Thorpe stroked his short beard as he stared down ‘Ser’ Reginald. The sheer smug self-importance of the weasel of a man annoyed him beyond words.

Should have been smothered at birth to avoid polluting the breeding stock.

But, then again, Penaton realised the man’s personality and appearance was probably the reason all offers of matrimony Harrold had made to the women of the court had been politely declined. Maybe the breeding pool was self-cleaning.

“There are three other factions providing law enforcement in Westfall at the moment, a preposterous amount if you ask me. And no doubt it’s why this moronic decision has been given air.” The Commander was enjoying himself. He knew Bralli well enough to know that, if given the chance to be let off his short leash, the Watch Captain would have been saying this himself. “So why hasn’t the Iron Shield been tasked with this? Or the Lord’s guard? Mondarin knows he has enough of the bastards. Isn’t it sufficient? It’s surprising how hard it is to hold onto a reign when your fist is squeezing so tight.”

Ser Reginald bristled with barely contained anger. “Your tone is almost seditious, Commander. Choose your words carefully or your allegiances might be called into question.”

Thorpe knew he shouldn’t have laughed. He shouldn’t have stood. He definitely shouldn’t have lifted his heavy, mahogany desk to the side with a single hand so that there was no barrier between them.

The chamberlain took a step back, rightfully intimidated by the giant of a man. “Bralli…” he whimpered for help.

The Captain eyed the Commander with uncertainty. “Thorpe…” he warned cautiously.

“I don’t work for you,” the Commander hissed at ‘Ser’ Reginald, with a smouldering menace. “I don’t work for Arnias. The Blades of Mondarin occasionally decide to accept contracts from the City Watch to fill gaps in security. But we decide when and if. Not Arnias. And to clear up any misconceptions; I hold zero allegiance to the man. None. He’s a whinging baby trapped in a man’s body, playing ‘King’ with other people’s lives.”

“COMMANDER!” interjected Bralli. “You forget yourself. Stand down.”

Thorpe shrugged, moved the desk back with as little effort as it had taken to push it aside, and shot the Watch Captain a small grin. He sat lightly in his chair and looked from one man to the next.

“Why aren’t the Iron Shield or Arnias’ attack dogs picking up the slack?” His refusal to refer to the Lord’s guard as knights was deliberate. The men who joined that guard were well trained, well equipped and deadly, but they were the worst men in the city, each of them capable and willing to commit atrocities at Arnias’ every whim.

It was Bralli who answered, as Ser Reginald was still calming down from an elevated heart rate.

“The Iron Shield are providing a support role only. The Watch are handling the sieve and detainment of any criminals caught in the checks, and Lord Arnias is keeping his personal knights close as there have been threats to his life and his security is paramount. We need your blades to help keep peace. Stand at queue points as deterrence against dissent. And yes, help arrest and detain the fugitives if asked by us or the Iron Shield liaison.”

The Commander narrowed his eyes. “Iron Shield liaison? Since when has the Iron Shield had one of their knights within the City Watch?”

“Since Lord Arnias and Knight General De Mascione decided it was necessary!” snapped Ser Reginald. “Lord Arnias has come to realise that the Iron Shield need to be more informed about city policy. Now are you going to help, or should I advise my Lord that the Blades of Mondarin should have their mercenary charter revoked in Westfall?”

An empty threat. The Commander was about to call Ser Reginald out when Bralli turned on the administrator incredulously, his mouth open to vent a decade’s worth of frustrations onto the man. But Penaton raised a finger in silence to the Captain, who reconsidered and pursed his lips instead, fuming. Bralli might not be his favourite person, but the Commander didn’t want the Captain to lose his position over a wayward comment. The Watch Captain was a good man, despite their disagreements. If he lost his job, Penaton would have to deal with whichever sycophant replaced him. Better that he was the voice of reason in this madness.

That was the difference between them. The Watch Captain was loyal to Arnias and trying to do the best for Westfall whilst serving his Lord. Captain Bralli was an honourable man, whose idea of duty clashed with his morals and ethics. By contrast, the Commander was free to run his garrison as he saw fit, provided he didn’t stray from the Blades of Mondarin mandate. Thorpe smiled and thanked his lucky stars that he wasn’t stuck within the Westfall chain of command.

Reginald hadn’t noticed any of the silent communication between the two men. He was fuming, blinkered and completely focused on making Thorpe bow to his authority. But the Commander was calm and simply reclined in his chair, sitting back to smirk at the impotent chamberlain.

“Do it,” he said simply in response to Reginald’s threat. “Go tell ‘Lord’ Arnias that you recommend that the caravans to and from Sterya are left defenceless and that you believe that allowing bandits to sack our supplies and exports to the capital is the correct way to ‘teach me a lesson’. Tell him that the appropriate way to force my allegiance is to threaten to ruin his city’s economy by leaving it open to bandits. Maybe he’ll find a way to tax the brigands on the highway. Gods know he already taxes the people into the dirt. How will he cope if the bandits steal all the people’s money before he can?”

The chamberlain stood, eyes wide and mouth agape, furious, speechless, but politically unarmed. He finally began to stutter a weak response, but the Commander just raised a hand.

“Get out.”

The worm was gone in an instant, a tiny insect fleeing from the room where both giants were eying him with varying levels of disdain and the Commander with obvious disgust. After the door closed, and Bralli had shaken his head, the Commander rose again and went to a small table.

“I owe you a drink. I have a very rare bottle of Aquinan Rum, I think you need a belt.”

Bralli sank into one of the chairs that was barely able to hold his large, muscular frame. “I know I’ve wanted to break your nose in the past Penaton, and tonight is no different, but I agree with you on this. It’s madness.”

“What is going on? There’s more to this than just a sweep for bandits.” The Commander poured out two fingers of rum into each glass.

“Officially, it’s just paper checks, but the new ‘liaison’ is after someone. A group, by the sounds of things. But it’s being done quietly because the Knight liaison in question was the one who caused a scene in the court last week and Lord Arnias’ mood has soured against the Iron Shield. The addition of a liaison position is bad enough but, if not for Knight Gregory’s actions, I fear I would have been saluting his uncle tomorrow.”

Thorpe nodded. He’d been at court that day. Lord Arnias had been furious and ejected Sir Gregory from the room with the Lord’s spittle flying after him. And the fact that Sir Gregory was also the nephew of the Iron Shield General had political implications that would be felt for some time. He wasn’t surprised the knight had been demoted. And despite how humiliating the liaison position would be for Gregory, if one of Thorpe’s men had acted that way, a demotion would have been the least of the man’s problems. But to choose Gregory specifically as the liaison to the City Watch? Lord Arnias would never have done that after such an insult. That sounded like General De Mascione moving pieces to salvage some power out his nephew’s political debacle.

Bralli continued. “If there’s a dangerous wild mage in the city, letting them leave and sending the Iron Shield to chase them outside the city is the best course of action. But if they accost them here, spells will fly and innocent people will get killed. It’s why I’ve fought so hard to keep the Watch in charge of city security, the Iron Shield don’t care if people die.”

“Neither do many of your guards,” sniped the Commander as he handed Bralli a glass. “You need better hiring standards.”

Bralli sighed, the penetrating remark producing despair rather than anger. “I need better applicants. Most of my men are just bandits who are sick of running around the forest. They haven’t changed their behaviour, they just changed where and how they do it.”

He took a sip from the glass handed to him. “That’s damn good rum. Penaton, I really need your help tomorrow. For all that this is a ‘City Watch’ operation, I have almost no control over the outcome. Sir Gregory is calling all the shots and any time anyone speaks against his ideas he accuses them of being wild mage sympathisers.”

Thorpe chuckled mirthlessly. “Well he’s certainly learned a trick or two from his uncle.” To which the Watch Captain agreed.

“The Iron Shield are murderers. I don’t know how they are elsewhere, but the Athnian Highlands chapter… they don’t bring people in alive. They kill them. Every. Time. Your Blades have professionalism and standards and you’re the only ones who do. I’m not asking for Lord Arnias, I’m asking for the people. I need your Blades to act as a buffer between the people and the Iron Shield.”

Thorpe shot back a glass of expensive rum and shook his head in frustration.

“You’re a pain in my arse, Danel.”

“It’s only because you know I’m right.”

Penaton nodded and poured another drink. “Fine, but my men will have orders to ensure arrests only. No citizen is to be summarily executed by those Iron Shield zealots because they ‘look like a wild mage.’ You want us to stand between the Iron Shield and the people. Sure we will. But if Mascione’s thugs try anything permanent, we will put them down.”

Bralli drained his glass, placed it on the desk and stood, extending his hand. “My watch will be given the same orders, for the little good it will do me.”

The two hulking men shook and Penaton watched him leave. Danel frustrated him. He was a good man. But like all good men who swore an oath to a position, Danel Bralli had been blindsided when the man in that position changed. Arnias was not his father and the Watch Captain was suffering his once-noble role crumbling into dishonour. Rather than leave and work elsewhere, Bralli was fighting an uphill battle trying to marry the oath he swore to the morals he held. It was a pity, the Commander mused, that Bralli would make an excellent second-in-command. And Gods knew he needed one of those at the moment.

Thorpe was about to sit when a runner slipped past the exiting Captain and into the room, closing the door behind him.

“Excuse me, Commander, but your presence is requested at the Steel Flagon immediately.”

“And just who feels that they can summon me to an inn at this time in the evening?” Thorpe responded, rolling his eyes.

“The message was from a dwarf who identified himself as Platinum Blade Gleeson of Clan Firespit,” the young man responded, watching the Commander uncork the expensive bottle to pour himself another drink.

The bottle paused. The glass was still empty. The enormous man stood rigid and still for half a second before he wordlessly crossed the room. The bottle of Aquinan rum was pressed into the messenger’s hand and with that, he was gone.

He didn’t care that he’d just given the young man a life’s wages in fine alcohol.

If Gleeson called himself a Platinum Blade, if the Dwarf had used his rank…

It was worth it.