What Occured on the 24th of Hesius on the Wall of Thentis
originally posted May 14, 2006
If only for posterity, it should be written what I saw on the evening of the twenty fourth day of Hesius in the year 10,156 from the founding of Ar. The three men spoken of earlier in this journal, picked up in the Vosk River town of Lara, theives of ill-gotten loot, were knelt atop the western wall of Thentis. There, bound wrists to ankles, they were kicked to their stomachs atop the impaling spears as judgment was read. I stood in a crowd of thousands, a few slaves of my chain huddled close. It was not possible to get a closer look or, if desired, to retreat.
"Guilty," the Magistrate read from the scroll as the Administrator of the city and the First Initiate stood solemn.
A cadre of Guardsman, too, armed with spear and sword were in attendance atop the wall as the populace watched.
"Down with Treve!" was the call.
"Raise the spears!" was another.
And men at the bottom of the wall working heavy cranks did just that. With every turn, the points of the impaling spears were raised, hort by hort. The vengeance of Thentis was not light. These men did not give up the location of their Captain. They did not betray the whereabouts of others in their company. They, proxy for the rest, would bear the penalty. That penalty was death. The crime occured several hands ago on the Salerian Plains. The Merchant Jerome of Thentis was making his way to En'Kara Fair. In short, his wagons were fired upon. Booty, which included several weights of precious black wine beans and, too, more than a dozen slaves was taken. The numbers vary, but no less than three of Jerome's guardsmen were taken down, murdered in the field. As the impaling spears rose, the points pressing to the bellies of the helpless rogues laid over them, a guardsman atop the wall pressed his heel to the back of one. It would be the last thing he did. A monstrous brown tarn swooped up with a crack of wings on the cold, mountain air and dug his talons into the fellows chest. The guardsman was carried out over the crowd and dropped from a sickening height amongst us. The crowd waved with it. Women screamed as the tarnsmen streaked overhead through the city proper. Instantly, the tarnsmen of Thentis were upon him. Six in all. The wind buffeted us against one another. It kicked up dust. The citizens rallied a cheer. Their men were upon him.
"Turn the cranks!" yelled the Magistrate.
It was echoed by both the Administrator and, too, by the First Initiate. Citizens turned their attention to the men at the cranks and shouted forth their encouragement as well. The men at the bottom of the wall put their muscle into it. One could see the rogues at the top of the wall, laid over the raising spears, starting to squirm. They could not avoid the wicked death that awaited them. They were helpless. Until a bolt from the crown streaked forth and struck a man at the cranks. It happened so quickly that no one noticed until he slumped forth dead and slipped bonelessly to the dirt.
"Who did that?"
"Who dares?"
"Who!?"
"Turn the cranks!"
"Do not stop!"
The other two men at the cranks, however, were white with fear. They would not continue to turn the cranks. The reprieve might have been brief for the criminals atop the wall. It would take only three strokes of a guardsman's sword to hack the three of them to death. That would wait, however. At speed, only two arm's lengths above the crowd, hurtling toward the wall, the rogue on the monstrous brown tarn flew. He faced behind him, crossbow leveled on his closest pursuer's heart. He did not miss. Screams rang out again, cries of indignation as the rider fell dead in the saddle and his mount took a northern arc, up and over the wall. The five remaining Thentian tarnsmen continued the chase, weapons leveled as the rogue jerked hard on his one-strap and climbed the wall almost at a direct vertical. My stomach dropped. He fell from the saddle. It was incredible, but the action was planned. He landed, sword drawn on the wall in a roll and fell two of the guardsmen hovering over his helpless fellows with the first two strokes of steel. He would then have been helpless for the arrows and bolts of his five pursuers had an equal number of opposing tarnsmen, those in league with the rogue, not appeared abruptly to engage them. It drew a gasp from the crowd and took everyone on the wall by complete surprise. The rogue stood imperiously in the en garde position. The tarnsmen took their battle high into the skies above the city. Indeed, high above the clouds. Attention was then riveted on the lone rogue. He in the en garde position, ready to face no less than six men. He did so, meeting the steel of every man that advanced on him as they took to him from two sides. Advancing through the crowd, however, were three men intent on the wall. Clark of Thentis, Samos of Port Kar and his fellow, the red-haired Merchant of Port Kar wearing a red tunic moved among the people.
"You needn't do this Tarl," Samos advised the red-haired Merchant.
The red-haired Merchant replied, "Once, men of Thentis came to my aid."
It was about that time that three of the rogue tarnsmen brought down their mounts on the wall. Only one of the Thentian tarnsmen returned. Cut free, the lone rogue ordered his men to the returning tarns just as the red-haired Merchant ascended the wall. He prowled with purpose toward the lone rogue who was, now, truly alone. His men, at his order, took flight just as the first crossing of blades took place. It was a quick affair, each parrying the other's blows until the red-haired fellow had the advantage. A deep slash across the lone rogue's thigh had him stumbling back. He parried the blows smartly, but was left without an offensive attack. The red-haired fellow demanded he yield. He would not. He faced his death stoicly, parrying the attacks. He would not be able to continue doing so for long. It was with a blood-curdling scream that the monstrous brown tarn returned, snapping his beak forth as the wings cracked, rushing forth air toward the red-haired Merchant. Taking full advantage of the diversion, the lone rogue grasped the pommel of the saddle and hung limp, scarcely able to mount before the bird shot up into the air with a single crack of his wings. Arrows and bolts shot forth in a useless arc beneath the brown feathered belly. The red-haired Merchant ran at full charge trying to prevent the escape. Neither worked. The lone rogue was off, bled and injured badly, but on the wing. I think
I shall never forget it.
If only for posterity, it should be written what I saw on the evening of the twenty fourth day of Hesius in the year 10,156 from the founding of Ar. The three men spoken of earlier in this journal, picked up in the Vosk River town of Lara, theives of ill-gotten loot, were knelt atop the western wall of Thentis. There, bound wrists to ankles, they were kicked to their stomachs atop the impaling spears as judgment was read. I stood in a crowd of thousands, a few slaves of my chain huddled close. It was not possible to get a closer look or, if desired, to retreat.
"Guilty," the Magistrate read from the scroll as the Administrator of the city and the First Initiate stood solemn.
A cadre of Guardsman, too, armed with spear and sword were in attendance atop the wall as the populace watched.
"Down with Treve!" was the call.
"Raise the spears!" was another.
And men at the bottom of the wall working heavy cranks did just that. With every turn, the points of the impaling spears were raised, hort by hort. The vengeance of Thentis was not light. These men did not give up the location of their Captain. They did not betray the whereabouts of others in their company. They, proxy for the rest, would bear the penalty. That penalty was death. The crime occured several hands ago on the Salerian Plains. The Merchant Jerome of Thentis was making his way to En'Kara Fair. In short, his wagons were fired upon. Booty, which included several weights of precious black wine beans and, too, more than a dozen slaves was taken. The numbers vary, but no less than three of Jerome's guardsmen were taken down, murdered in the field. As the impaling spears rose, the points pressing to the bellies of the helpless rogues laid over them, a guardsman atop the wall pressed his heel to the back of one. It would be the last thing he did. A monstrous brown tarn swooped up with a crack of wings on the cold, mountain air and dug his talons into the fellows chest. The guardsman was carried out over the crowd and dropped from a sickening height amongst us. The crowd waved with it. Women screamed as the tarnsmen streaked overhead through the city proper. Instantly, the tarnsmen of Thentis were upon him. Six in all. The wind buffeted us against one another. It kicked up dust. The citizens rallied a cheer. Their men were upon him.
"Turn the cranks!" yelled the Magistrate.
It was echoed by both the Administrator and, too, by the First Initiate. Citizens turned their attention to the men at the cranks and shouted forth their encouragement as well. The men at the bottom of the wall put their muscle into it. One could see the rogues at the top of the wall, laid over the raising spears, starting to squirm. They could not avoid the wicked death that awaited them. They were helpless. Until a bolt from the crown streaked forth and struck a man at the cranks. It happened so quickly that no one noticed until he slumped forth dead and slipped bonelessly to the dirt.
"Who did that?"
"Who dares?"
"Who!?"
"Turn the cranks!"
"Do not stop!"
The other two men at the cranks, however, were white with fear. They would not continue to turn the cranks. The reprieve might have been brief for the criminals atop the wall. It would take only three strokes of a guardsman's sword to hack the three of them to death. That would wait, however. At speed, only two arm's lengths above the crowd, hurtling toward the wall, the rogue on the monstrous brown tarn flew. He faced behind him, crossbow leveled on his closest pursuer's heart. He did not miss. Screams rang out again, cries of indignation as the rider fell dead in the saddle and his mount took a northern arc, up and over the wall. The five remaining Thentian tarnsmen continued the chase, weapons leveled as the rogue jerked hard on his one-strap and climbed the wall almost at a direct vertical. My stomach dropped. He fell from the saddle. It was incredible, but the action was planned. He landed, sword drawn on the wall in a roll and fell two of the guardsmen hovering over his helpless fellows with the first two strokes of steel. He would then have been helpless for the arrows and bolts of his five pursuers had an equal number of opposing tarnsmen, those in league with the rogue, not appeared abruptly to engage them. It drew a gasp from the crowd and took everyone on the wall by complete surprise. The rogue stood imperiously in the en garde position. The tarnsmen took their battle high into the skies above the city. Indeed, high above the clouds. Attention was then riveted on the lone rogue. He in the en garde position, ready to face no less than six men. He did so, meeting the steel of every man that advanced on him as they took to him from two sides. Advancing through the crowd, however, were three men intent on the wall. Clark of Thentis, Samos of Port Kar and his fellow, the red-haired Merchant of Port Kar wearing a red tunic moved among the people.
"You needn't do this Tarl," Samos advised the red-haired Merchant.
The red-haired Merchant replied, "Once, men of Thentis came to my aid."
It was about that time that three of the rogue tarnsmen brought down their mounts on the wall. Only one of the Thentian tarnsmen returned. Cut free, the lone rogue ordered his men to the returning tarns just as the red-haired Merchant ascended the wall. He prowled with purpose toward the lone rogue who was, now, truly alone. His men, at his order, took flight just as the first crossing of blades took place. It was a quick affair, each parrying the other's blows until the red-haired fellow had the advantage. A deep slash across the lone rogue's thigh had him stumbling back. He parried the blows smartly, but was left without an offensive attack. The red-haired fellow demanded he yield. He would not. He faced his death stoicly, parrying the attacks. He would not be able to continue doing so for long. It was with a blood-curdling scream that the monstrous brown tarn returned, snapping his beak forth as the wings cracked, rushing forth air toward the red-haired Merchant. Taking full advantage of the diversion, the lone rogue grasped the pommel of the saddle and hung limp, scarcely able to mount before the bird shot up into the air with a single crack of his wings. Arrows and bolts shot forth in a useless arc beneath the brown feathered belly. The red-haired Merchant ran at full charge trying to prevent the escape. Neither worked. The lone rogue was off, bled and injured badly, but on the wing. I think
I shall never forget it.
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