Frays In The Weave 35 Build-Up: 3

Riots, in the capital of the northern empire. He sat in a comfortable chair facing his old employer and friend, but his mind lived the riots.

It came so unexpected. Or maybe because they were so tired, but it had seemed so calm after his display of strength on the great square. A mistake. His mistake.

One morning they received angry glares instead of greetings. By noon there were looks, measuring if they were really as few as they seemed. Then years of barely constrained unrest ruptured. By early evening the streets exploded with people, his people. They were like a horde of dragonlings mindlessly attacking from everywhere. Some armed with knives, kitchen utensils mostly, more with pieces of broken furniture and most with nothing at all.

They held them at bay with wooden clubs at first, but his command wasn't one of General Markand's professional regiments. He had his fifty and a few hundred half trained boys scared witless when their fellow citizens fell upon them. Most had never been inside the city walls before ordered to patrol street they didn't know. When cornered a few turned the b.u.t.ts of their spears away from the crowd. Cheap steel, not even the quality of the pikes they were to receive later in their training. It cut through clothes effortlessly anyway.

The crowd had smelled death. For a moment it looked like they would break, and Trindai ordered sabres drawn. His second mistake. He counted on fear but got wrath. There were thousands of them and they attacked like one single hurt animal.

Boys in uniform, those who couldn't flee to safety, went down first. He never saw what happened to them, never wanted to. He held on to a wide street, his men showing a small forest of loaded crossbows to those facing them. The charge came anyway.

Trindai ordered a volley loosed, then a reloading retreat and yet another volley. A hundred quarrels scythed through the people he had sworn to protect with his life.

"...anything you want before you report back to Minister de Saiden?"

Mairild's question cut through his memories. He stared at her. I lost Hamardel and Sokerek there. We hacked our way to the barracks. Mairild, we killed hundreds of our own! We butchered them! He realized he hadn't said that aloud.

She stared back and he read the raw pain in that look. He didn't have to, she already knew.

"Eri and Parnesen, I, I ordered Colonel de Berdaler not to bring any charges against them." Neither for being murderers nor for deserting my command. They made the decent choice.

"I'll make sure that order is carried out," she answered. She must have known that as well. He trusted her to make full use of her network of spies. It was then he noticed a flicker of hatred in her eyes. Hatred and fury.

He rose and glared at her. She would tell him. She owed him that much.

"Yes, there is one more thing," she confirmed.

They had reached the lopsided talking part of their meeting now. Meant it was about to be over soon. Then he would report to de Saiden and then to another cask of brandy. This time he planned to stay drunk until they carried him back to service.

"You might want to take a bath before you see Minister de Saiden."

He continued glaring at her. What news could she possibly have worth a bath?

"We've located a few visitors. For once I've joined camp with Magehunting."

Trindai straightened. A bath, maybe a bath.

"We've convinced them to talk, those still alive. Turns out they're all papal clergy."

And he'd stay sober until de Saiden could call him to a second meeting.

"The church paid the raiders, not only to leave most of their s.h.i.+ps alone but to intensify their raids along our coast."

He would even consider getting that new uniform he rightfully belonged in since he released his old command.

"Most of the money came from Chach. More of that money were used to plant the priests we captured here in Verd. They used magic to create firebrands. The papacy paid, planned and executed the riots here."

You used mindwalkers in my home! You had me murder my own! He had a duty and a target now. He'd gained several years during the winter and as many again since he returned. Now he lost them one by one as he and Mairild shared the rage. Wordlessly they planned ahead, and wordlessly he left for the imperial tailor. Then he would get new boots as well. s.h.i.+ny and hard. Very hard.