Chapter 3 - Collisions

After handing off the cart-master’s pay and being cursed by the man for the delay, Sefton had shown Cadryn to his quarters down the hall. As the newest member of the Guards, he was assigned a room within the tollhouse itself, a small chamber beside the main dining room. Leaving his meager travelling gear to unpack later, he reported, as ordered, to the guard post.

The building itself was two stories in height, much like the toll house building opposite it. The first floor had an exposed doorway facing the tollhouse, and the room within was a simple space for travelers to get in out of inclement weather or the sun and interact with the guards. The heavily walled 2nd story room above it offered firing vantages south and east, covering the entire courtyard below, it also had a covered walkway along the inner wall of the toll house complex to both the north, and south, gate houses. There was a narrow rampart walkway along the top of the wall from the southern gate house back to the second floor of the toll house itself. This walkways allowed for travel between the toll house and Guard post without going down into the courtyard. His passage along the rampart disturbed a number of roosting crows that announced their displeasure before flapping skyward into the thinning mist.

Entering the upper Guard post, Cadryn scanned the room to find only one person on duty. The woman reclined in a chair, peering lazily out the canted-open shutters. She did not seem to register his presence until the door clack shut, after which she turned her head his way slowly, causing the short braid of red hair she had been using for a pillow against the wall to fall free.

“Ah, there you are!” she announced cheerily as she tipped the chair upright and stood, back cracking in a series of small pops. Cadryn, who had been called lanky in the past until his muscles filled in, was surprised to find her height equaled his own, though her frame was slighter, if much curvier. As she straightened out her clothing, he noticed the symbol of the Assemblage of Discordance, an impossible loop, emblazoned on her tunic.

“You’re with the temple?” he asked.

“Aye, such as it is this far out,” she chuckled, and sauntering over, offered a hand. “Name’s Deafening Silence, but everyone here calls me Sil.”

“Lieutenant Cadryn Bence, Cadryn is fine.” He said, taking her hand, and was shocked at the strength of her grip; it surpassed Wazo’s.

“Strong hands,” she said, blushing “Mark of a bad healer.”

“How so?” Cadryn asked, releasing her hand.

“Gifted healers get people up and moving fast, bad ones have to move them around themselves, or so the healing instructors told.”

“That’s backwards,” Cadryn said, pacing a quick circuit of the room, he found she maintained eye contact until he passed behind her, “a good healer is a busy healer, and that makes for strong arms and arts alike, I’d think.”

Sil laughed behind him, the sound like sunlight on surf-chilled skin. Looking at her, Cadryn counted his blessings that someone this pleasant to be around would be one of his companions here. “I like the way you think.” Sil said, and pointed to the table beside her chair, where half a loaf of hard bread, some sliced sausage, and a wedge of cheese sat on a plate. “I was just having lunch if you’d care to join me.”

“I’d love to,” Cadryn replied, his stomach growling as he moved into the aroma of the bread. “Fresh?” he asked.

“Aye, Bahsa, our Quarter-mistress, puts bread in for the Day Shift before she turns in at dawn, keeps warm with the coals till now.”

“Kind of her,” he said, accepting a piece Sil handed to him, the combination of crunchy rind, chewy center, and a bite of garlic, was the best food his mouth had experienced in a month.

“I know,” Sil said, ripping off some of her own. “She’s a talent.”

Cadryn’s reply fell off as a sound through the southern shutters tugged at his senses. Warbling, rhythmic, distorted by the trees and distance, it took him a few moments to identify the sound of a cart crossing the bridge. Something was different than his road trip however, the sound grew louder and more frantic. They both walked to the window as other sounds filtered into his awareness: a raised voice, the crack of a whip, the baying of horses. The two guards looked out in time to see the source: a massive carriage, loaded high with trunks and crates, came cresting the rise leading into the South Gate. The man atop howled admonishments at the six sweaty horses, his whip cracking.

“Should we stop him?” Cadryn asked.

“Nah,” Sil answered, “he’s an Imperial Guildsman, just add it to the tally.” She pointed to the board next to the window.

As Cadryn went to chalk the column under the ‘Imperial Caravaner’s Guild’, a new sound reached him from the other shutters: a second carriage.

From the Northern gate appeared a new driver, commanding his own multi-horsed carriage, at a reasonable speed, the courtyard was longer north to south, and the view from one gate to the other obscured by the guard post and other internal buildings. Moving to the open eastern shutters, Cadryn had an excellent vantage of what followed. Too late, the men noticed each other, and each steered to avoid a full collision.

The racing Imperial Guildsman steered sharply to the right, his wheels clacking as they skidded along the tiles with the momentum of his turn into the straightaway. The newcomer, moving slower and hemmed in by the warehouse and guard post, was unable to shift his trajectory as severely. A great screeching erupted into the air as both carriages' back wheels collided, caught, and then bounced violently free of one another. Jerking wildly, both vehicles lost cargo onto the tiled ground. The slickness left from the oppressive fog causing each to slide away from the other as they came to a halt, brakes thrown. Both men leapt from their benches and were at each other, screaming competing streams of expletives with little meaning beyond blind anger.

“Well shit,” Sil said calmly, taking a bite of bread, “let’s see if we can break this up before Sefton gets involved.”

“Right,” Cadryn answered, remembering the man’s earlier comments about keeping order in the region.

By the time the pair emerged from the ground level doors, the two drivers were circling one another like two drunks at fete who couldn’t agree on which one stepped on the other’s foot. Each was dressed in expensive silks and wore a dueling saber on straining belts. From this similarity, and the sealed cargo crates on the ground, Cadryn concluded they were both merchants. Looking past them, he could see the blinds to Sefton’s office were canted open.

The taller of the two drivers, whose face was nearly a match to the shade of his crimson guildsman’s silks, whirled on them. “About time! Where were you useless people? Sleeping? While I, an honest Imperial citizen, got run over by this provincial cur!” he yelled.

“Nah Dagmara, they were fuckin’. Pretty couple like this.” Said the shorter, and greasier, of the two merchants. He kissed at Sil, and she rolled her eyes and leaned against the doorway.

“Not everyone’s a philandering whoreson like you, Flick,” Dagmara replied, ignoring his old rivals' attempt to divert the conversation to their mutual favorite guard at the Neeft. He moved over to one of his scuffed crates, patted it gently, nothing of his was all that breakable this trip, not that anyone else needed to know that. “But you raise, a point, what were you two doing—“

“Besides each other,” Flick added from where he had crouched to examine one of his lost packages.

“Enough!” Cadryn roared, his hand snapping to his longsword at his hip. “Both of you, shut up, we were watching you,” he growled to Dagmara, “drive like an idiot and almost get killed for it.”

Dagmara and Flick exchanged a look of agreement. Adjusting themselves, each turned on Cadryn, scowling with the kind of disgust only a long term servant of the public can truly muster.

“He’s new,” Sil said with a tiredness that belied years of experience with these sorts of situations. She knew well how these two, for their differences in station, enjoyed finding someone to tear down. This would be a good chance to see how much spine Cadryn Bence could show.

“You’re not,” Dagmara muttered at Silence. Turning to Flick, he puffed out his amble gut, “now how do you want to deal with this? Blade, or Arbitrate?” Dagmara asked, a cruel glint to his eyes.

Flick snorted, but wiped the sheen of sweat from his wide face, “As if it matters, you’re all Imperials here, I’m just Flick the Fancy, independent trader who got in the way of Dagmara the Great.”

“Well at least you know your place,” Dagmara sneered, ignoring the sarcasm of a lesser. “So, do you fancy your odds at taking me with that rusty nail?” he added, jabbing a finger at Flick’s blade.

If it was possible, Flick began to sweat more, “Like I said, it’s all the same.”

“Due respect,” Sil offered from the sidelines, waving a hand absently, “it really isn’t. If you take Arbitration, Tax Collector Atwood will come down here, see the mess, and accept whatever our Guildsman here has to say, as a matter of course.”

Dagmara nodded amiably, agreeing with this assessment of the situation.

“But if you offer due challenge, under the law,” she said, looking to Flick, “you can name your honor’s champion.”

“And who’s going to fight in my stead lovely, you?” Flick said. “What’s honor worth these days? A champion don’t come cheap to an outsider like me.”

Silence shrugged at Flick, then her gaze shifted to Cadryn.

“Enough,” Cadryn said in answer, “Honor is worth enough . . . I would fight in your name.”

“You would?” both merchants said in disbelief.

“Why?” Dagmara asked, his confusion a mask for the sliver of fear the hale young man’s threat sent through his heart. “Flick’s not one of us, his claim that I’m to blame is worthless.” Dagmara looked at both the Imperials, then added, “If, we all agree.”

“No, we do not agree,” Cadryn said, squaring off with Dagmara, “His claim that you are to blame is the truth, and that’s enough for me.”

“I choose the Blade,” Flick announced, “And accept . . . this fine young man’s offer!”

Silence chuckled at the absurdity of what she was witnessing, but did not intervene.

Dagmara blinked as he began to size up his chances. His face quickly soured, then he spat onto the fog dampened stones. “Damn your truth, boy!” his lips curled into a sneer, “fine I’ll concede.” He produced a few Imperial Thrones from his coin purse, and threw them at Flick’s feet. “Take your money and go.”

Stooping after them like a chicken for scattered grains, Flick collected the coins. While collecting the last two he examined the wheels of his carriage. Finding them in order, he climbed back aboard and nodded at Cadryn. “Much obliged . . .”

“Lieutenant Bence, Cadryn.” Cadryn replied, keeping his eyes on Dagmara.

“I’ll remember it,” Flick said, cracking the reins, his carriage jerked into motion.

“As will I,” Dagmara growled, a vein throbbing in his neck. He could not believe that this kid, this wet behind the ears sod would betray a fellow Imperial over someone as worthless as Flick the Fancy. Loading up his knocked loose cargo, Dagmara departed. Cadryn caught a soft clatter, and saw the shutters to Sefton’s office closed again. So the man had been watching the encounter after all.

“Well, you’re not what I expected,” Silence said into the stillness of the now empty courtyard.

“What did you expect?” Cadryn said, shaking out his stiff arms, the tension of potential violence fading from his body.

“A reject, or reprobate. Imagine my surprise to find an honorable man instead . . . didn’t think the Academy made those anymore.”

Cadryn chuckled, but the comment did bring up something that was bothering him. “Speaking of men, where are the rest of the Day Shift? Standard guard protocols call for a half-squad minimum. Shouldn’t there be at least six of us?”

Sil’s barked laugh filled the courtyard, “That’s where your mind went? Oh well . . . yes, the others. They’ve been sent out on work details by Sefton. As you will come to find we are laughably understaffed for the scale of the Neeft.”

Deafening Silence began to walk back to the stairs up to the Guard post, she took them slowly, giving Cadryn time to catch up to her. “It’s fortunate you’ve arrived.” She called back.

“Is it?” Cadryn said, as he followed her up the stairs. “I was beginning to think destiny was playing a cruel joke on me.”

“And now you’re thinking the joke wasn’t a cruel one?” she said, holding open the door from him.

Nodding at that, Cadryn passed her, entering the guard post ready for the next bit of excitement.