Chapter 14: The Constabulary Brothers

The three travellers encounter two officials of the law in a dark land.

The Constabulary Brothers

The trio crossed the Danby River at the commoner’s ford and reached the outer houses of Ettel on the third vero. It was a relatively insouciant trip, making Berin and his companions pay little heed to the events of the past lunar cycles.

“Do not forget,’ said Berin, ‘that we are on a quest to find my family.”

“Of course we will not forget,” said Glavino.

“Just making certain. This is a wondrous place. It makes one forget one’s…” He paused, thinking of the correct word.

“Responsibilities?” said Grasio.

“A good word, I suppose.”

“A father will never forget his responsibilities.”

Berin glanced away, gazing at the ford, created by the locals, using the jagged stones from the Aig mountainous region. They acted as a barricade to reduce the flow of the river. No travellers were encountered in this area, which surprised Berin. It was a beautiful countryside, though rugged, the landscape dotted with yucca trees.

“Why does this landscape make you feel this way, Berin?” asked Glavino.

“It is different to any other landscape we have encountered. It is certainly different to the desert.”

“And it is late summer,” added Grasio.

“True.”

“It is a different feel here during the winter months.”

“How?” asked Glavino.

“The harsh winds come from the seas, up the river, and make this area unbearable.”

“Does that explain why no human lives here?” asked Berin.

“Perhaps. Do not fear, Berin, but you will not forget your family. In fact, this place reminds me of my family, of my mother. Berin, I see in your eyes your mind is ever on your son, on all of your kin.”

“But my mind wants to wander with my body through the trees. I feel the same as I did when I came to Vergara, the first genuine sense of freedom.”

“What do you mean?”

Berin at first reluctantly told Grasio of his imprisonment on the Orguein islands. Glavino added the specific details. Berin was surprised Glavino remembered everything Berin had told him about his past. Now, Grasio knew.

I was hoping to keep some to myself, he thought.

“So you want to stay here because it weakens the fear of what lies ahead?” concluded Grasio.

“That sounds like a good way to describe it.”

“We should keep moving, then.”

The air roused a deep sense of belief inside of Berin and allowed him to breathe freely for the first time, knowing while his situation was dire, the future was as buoyant as a Kiriath boat.

As they neared Ettel, Grasio warned the others, “The residents of Kraik country are not warm and friendly to all. Little is written in the books of their history, of their past. They are rather secretive of what manifests in this land. Be on your guard. Do not expect a warm reception. Watch for those who ask of our true nature here.”

Ettel was a citadel, proud stonewalls lining the outer edge, with tall, mud brick dwellings towering over the trio as they entered through the main gates. It was nearing the end of market day in Ettel and the passageways were cramped with mostly women buying all kinds of produce, most of which the northerners had never seen. Glavino kept gazing upwards, as though he was seeking for clouds in the sky, causing his larger body to contact with nearly everyone in sight. Berin, after apologetically squeezing through the main sector of the crowd, finally glanced upwards. Interestingly, there were many birds of prey perched on the tops of the mud brick buildings.

“Why are there those birds?” Glavino relayed what Berin wondered to himself.

“I know not. Keep moving.”

The trio bustled their way through the masses, avoiding high-pitched cries to purchase a range of products.

A quiet inn on the far western edge of the citadel became their stay and they bunkered for the night.

“What shall we say is our purpose here, Grasio?”

“Perhaps we tell them we head to Skarbor for work.”

“That will suffice.”

The innkeeper asked many details of them the next morning, but all three, Glavino included, were wary of their mutterings. Nothing could be revealed.

“We are travelling to Skarbor to find work,” said Berin in the lingua franca.

“What sort of work?” copied the innkeeper in the same tongue. His thick accent and static way of speaking suggested the residents of Kraik country seldom used this language as they struggled to twist their tongues around certain consonants.

Grasio was first to respond, “Well, we know how famous Skarbor is of its metallurgy. We are hoping to learn some of the trade.”

This seemed to satisfy the innkeeper’s inquisition, much to the relief of Berin and Glavino. They were unaware of Skarbor’s metal making prowess.

“Yes, at Skarbor they fashion all kinds of densities out of the metal bored from the nearby mountains.”

The ever-resourceful Grasio proved a necessity on this journey. How he acquainted himself with these details, Berin would never know. Nor did he dare ask. Perhaps it was not fear of altering Grasio’s natural buoyancy of life, but more the fact Berin did not desire a lengthy tale. Grasio was gifted in contriving magical stories, but Berin needed a break from his tongue weaving.

The local law enforcer, known as a constabulary, also enquired of the three that night as he was conducting his rounds of the local inns. Each man made certain they repeated, word for word, their answers from that morning. Again, it seemed to satisfy the constabulary. As he left, he turned to the three with a grin on his face.

“Apologies for the questioning, friends. We know very little of the Zapad, the lands to the west. We treat every alien as though they are from there until we verify they are not a threat.”

With that apology he left.

“Lands to the west?’ proffered Glavino.

“Yes, there are further lands beyond Kraik,” said Grasio.

“Ever been there?”

“No one has. Not anyone from our lands, at least.”

“Why not?”

“I know not.”

“I wonder, what is out there?”

Glavino looked towards the ceiling, deep in his own imagination. Berin and Grasio grinned, picking Glavino’s pork off his plate.

“Hey, stop stealing my food!”

“Stop dreaming of wild beasts from the west!”

“Very funny.” But clearly it was not, to Glavino anyway. Berin shrugged his shoulders and finished his meal before retiring to a comfortable bed. He could get used to this, travelling for a few vero before sleeping on a mattress.

The day the three left for Skarbor, the constabulary, Lernikov, returned with a paper, signed with his seal.

“Give this to my elder brother, Harnikov. He is the constabulary of Skarbor as I am of Ettel. He will procure work for you in the metal factories.”

Grasio thanked the man before they embarked on their journey southwards. It was, again, a facile journey, far easier than when they entered Ettel. Grasio, leading the way, kept up the pace as they strode through the area dotted with mid-sized trees. The trio arrived in Skarbor in the eve of the second vero.

“Where shall we rest?” asked Glavino.

“This looks promising,” pointed Grasio. A small hut on the outskirts of the citadel contained wooden poles with a fabric unknown to the northerners.

“What is it?”

“A tent.”

“A what?”

“A tent. You put these poles into the ground and drape the fabric over the top.”

With some money Grasio kept in his haversack, they were able to lease the tent. Erecting it on the side of the road, they slept soundly, listening to the sounds of the city fade out before a constant, distant hum continued throughout the night.

“What is that noise?” asked Berin.

“It must be the metallurgy factory,” said Grasio.

The next vero there was a loud noise on the other side of the fabric; far different from the grinding they heard earlier. It was the shuffling of feet and men yelling. Berin pulled back the fabric to view boots leading up to a stern face glaring at them.

“Who are you?” asked the man.

“I am Berin,’ he yawned. ‘And you are?”

“I am the constabulary, Harnikov. Who are these?”

Berin nudged Glavino, who in turn nudged Grasio until the three were awake. Berin stated their names, including his again, each syllable steady and accurate.

“What do you have here? What is your purpose? Is this your tent? What items do you have with you?” The questions came so quickly Berin struggled to keep up with them. Two men, dressed in the same boots and the same greyish coat stood behind Harnikov. When Harnikov motioned for them, they strode into the makeshift dwelling, upturning their belongings. His deputies searched thoroughly while Harnikov peppered the three with further inquiries.

“Harnikov, look what we have discovered.”

Glavino gasped as one of the deputies held aloft the Sword of Peace.

“I thought that was hidden,” whispered Berin to Glavino, who simply shrugged his shoulders and curled his arms and wrists in towards his chest. He rolled his eyes until the whites were only showing.

What is Glavino doing?

“What is your purpose?” repeated the constabulary, hoisting the hilt of the sword into Berin’s face. His eyes narrowed. The three remained silent, waiting for each other to respond. But no one did. Their minds had not yet rejoined the earthly world from the dreaming world. Berin gulped, the barely-liquefied saliva scratching all the way down his throat.

Harnikov grasped Berin by the rear of his neck and led him out into the dawnlight. The other two followed, leaving the deputies in the tent.

“I will not ask again. What is your purpose here in Skarbor?”

The pause seemed an eternity. Glances from left to right were not helpful. With Berin the most alert, it was up to him to get them out of this sticky situation.

“We are passing through, sir,” managed Berin eventually.

“From where to where?”

“We have walked from Ettel, and we are traversing to the Ouro Fields.”

“From where have you come before Ettel?”

“Not from the Zapad, the lands to the west,” piped Glavino. Berin glanced in his direction. His back was now hunched over, eyes still only showing their whites. What was wrong with the man? Berin returned his eyes to the constabulary.

“Oh, you have not?” grinned the constabulary wryly. The deputies let out cheeky grunts, though there was nothing friendly about them.

Berin interjected before Glavino could respond.

“Sir, we are not from the Zapad lands. We are gentlemen who travelled across the Put Desert. Glavino here and myself are from Vergara, from the lands to the north. Grasio is a folkman from Goiim. We are in exile after the Bacana army invaded our lands.”

That much was true. Berin hoped this would satisfy the constabulary.

“And why are you traversing to the Ouro Fields?”

Grasio added, “We seek refuge south of there. We have contacts there who will allow us to stay and provide us with work.”

One of the constabulary’s subordinates exited out of the tent to where the three were being questioned.

“Ah, sir, we found this letter from your brother in Ettel.”

“What does it say?” said Harnikov as he took the paper from his hand. Berin knew what was written on it and hung his head.

Only the gods know the direction this will take! I fear the path is straight to doom.

“It says, sir,’ said the subordinate as Harnikov silently mouthed the words on the paper, ‘that these three are seeking metallurgy work here in Skarbor.”

Harnikov continued skim reading the remainder of the paper, noting in particular his brother’s seal of approval, the eagle clutching an olive branch as conspicuous as a beacon on a cloudless night. He waited, taking a deep breath. Berin, in the meantime, held his. Finally, the constabulary spoke, calmly but with rage on the cusp of his lips.

“You lied to me.”

“No sir, everything we said to you is true.”

“Then you lied to my brother.”

“That is correct. We were compelled, otherwise he would expel us from your lands.”

“Which I have every right to do.”

“Of course, sir, but you must understand, we need to traverse to the Ouro fields.”

“You will be safe from the Bacana here. They have no quarrel with us. They seek not to invade us.”

“But we must get to the Ouro fields!” shouted Berin.

“No doubt, but you lied to an officer of the law. Here in Kraik we do not accept that.”

“We do not want to go to prison again,” said Glavino, before realising what he actually said and regretted it immediately. His arms and wrists shot straight by his side. His typical finger tapping against his hip doubled its usual rhythm. Soon the whole hand was shaking.

“In prison again?”

“Slow down,’ Berin said as he raised an open hand. ‘We were incarcerated in Manas Hu, for they suspected we were spies for the Bacana.”

Harnikov glared as his thumb scratched the hair near his voice bell.

“How do I know you are not spies? For one, you possess a sword. Second, you are here posing as travellers, refugees dare I say, travelling to the Ouro fields. And yet you told my brother you wanted to work in the metallurgy factory here in Skarbor. Am I to believe you are not Bacana spies?”

“In spite of all the evidence, we are not,” said Berin plainly. The constabulary seemed to stare, eyes narrowed, for a lengthy period. Berin knew not the outcome. He dared not gulp, not that he would have had any saliva to do so.

I wish I never followed Grasio into this deep unknown. I wish for the love of the gods none of this happened.

Yet here he was. He feared the prospect of once again living behind giant stonewalls and locked gates. Someone had to intervene; Berin’s despair was about to explode.

Finally, the constabulary spoke.

“I think rather than send you to the dungeons, there is better, wiser, more befitting punishment for you. In the meantime, we will remove you from here and take you to the Judgess. She will decide the correct action. If I converse with her, she is sure to agree with my particular penalty for the three of you.” Harnikov ended with a snarl, much like a vicious animal ready to leap upon its prey. Berin shuddered at the possibilities of what that penalty might be.

The three were chained together and herded into the centre of the citadel. This was the first time Berin, Glavino and Grasio pored over the sights of Skarbor. It was a castled city, one with parapets and towers and walls that seemed impenetrable if one were to siege the city. At the top of every outer wall were zigzagged edges, like V-shaped spikes that would coerce fear to enter the minds of Skarbor’s enemies.

“It gives the citadel a malicious feel,” whispered Grasio, pointing upwards. Glavino nodded. That feel did not diminish as the party continued through the gate of the inner sanctum of the city.

The three were ushered into a building with magnificent architecture, Berin thought. All along the walls were brilliant cutaways of horses, of figures with swords clashing with vulgar beasts. Grasio stopped for a moment to gaze at the pictures adorning the entire wall.

“Move along, scum!” growled one of the deputies.

“This is their story, their history,” whispered Grasio. He was smacked across the ear.

“Calm down,” said Berin.

“Or what?” said the deputy.

“Do not harm them,” said Harnikov, barely turning around to see why they stopped. The deputy scowled, before urging Grasio onwards. Grasio continued to gaze wide-eyed at the pictures, though he never slowed.

“What architecture!’ he whistled. ‘What artwork! Look, Berin, Glavino, it is the architects who tell the stories. Not like us who write it down in books, or like Melchiorre the travelling verbalist.”

Glavino gasped. Berin, however, kept his head down. He did not care for their story. His mind was focused on the imminent issue. Grasio, on the other hand, wondered who the famous characters were etched into the walled tapestry.

“I think that is for another time,” Glavino whispered to Grasio. Berin overheard and glared at Grasio.

“What is your problem?”

“You. Why did you bring us here?”

“Gentlemen, save the conversation, the blaming for the Judgess.”

The contingent entered the building, tall and imposing inside as much as it was outside. More carvings lined the inner walls, continuing the menacing feel to the entire citadel. Ushered into a room, they soon found themselves before a woman, dressed entirely in white, writing intently with a feathered pen. Harnikov coughed with the intention of gaining her attention, but the woman did not respond. Harnikov repeated the action, which seemed to awaken her out of her steely gaze focused on her writing, though she continued mulling over it. Finally she placed the feather down, readjusting herself in her seat. She looked up and, noticing who was in the room, smiled. They spoke in the local Kraik tongue. The constabulary’s subordinate translated the dialogue to the two northerners and their guide.

“My dear Harnikov, good to see you this fine morning.”

“Judgess Parniva, it is also grateful to see you as well.”

“Only grateful?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yes, yes, of course.”

Scrutinising the three prisoners, glaring at them out of the top of her eyelids, Judgess Parniva readjusted herself and stood.

“What have we here this morning?”

“More foreigners, Judgess.”

“Oh dear, what do they presume this place is, a safe haven from the Zapad dwellers?”

“Actually, Judgess, they are not from Zapad, but it is true they seek refuge.”

Harnikov explained what Berin had told earlier. Parniva listened intently, as though at each detail she judged then rejudged the prisoners, shifting her mind as to the intentions of these three foreigners.

“And I think,’ concluded Harnikov, ‘a fitting punishment is that they work in the metallurgy station. Seeming as that was initially their reason for being in our country, even though it is a lie. I believe it will serve them justly to remember not to lie to authorities.”

“You are a wise man, Harnikov. I think perhaps you should be Judgess,” winked Parniva.

Harnikov blushed, making Berin wonder why. It was not until they were sent to the metallurgy station with Harnikov’s subordinate that he learned they were husband and wife.

“Did the similarities of their names not make sense?” said the subordinate.

“No.”

“Ah, you must have another tradition of telling who is married to whom. In our culture, the woman or man, depending on what they decide, adds to the middle of their name a family phrase. So Harkov wed Parva, who became Harnikov and Parniva. The ‘ni’ is what signifies their marriage. The changing of names means they are new people forever, separate from their families, infused to create a new family.”

“So Harnikov’s brother, Lernikov, is also married?” asked Grasio.

“That is correct.”

“In Vergara,’ said Berin, ‘only the children’s names have similarities to their father.”

“Is that so?”

Berin could not answer, for the stench was overpowering. They had entered the metallurgy factory, as enormous as any palace, though certainly not as well adorned.

“The heat! It is unbearable!” cried Grasio.

“Now I see why this is punishment,” whispered Berin under his breath. Glavino heard him and nodded in agreement.

They were taken up a stone stairway into a room isolated from, yet overlooking, the main floor. There sat a pompous, plump man, who arose from his chair with a sense of self-importance.

“What is this you are bringing to me?” demanded the man of the subordinate. The subordinate translated this to the three in the lingua franca before responding.

“Some foreigners from the northern lands. They know nothing of our language, so it would be wise to use the trade tongue.”

The man obliged.

“What are they here for?”

“Harnikov sent them here to teach them a lesson.”

“Harnikov? Does he think I have time to meddle with affairs of the law?”

“They lied to his brother that they desired to work in metallurgy here in Skarbor. He sent them here to teach them the consequences of their deception.”

“What does his woman have to say about this?”

“She agreed it was a good decision.”

“What a group of fools, those two are. No wonder the Bacana do not wish to invade our part of the world. They think we are a collection of dunderheads, with our sachem, the leaders of our fine nation, being the worst.”

“You will do well to watch your tongue, Rednikov.”

“My apologies,’ said the pompous Rednikov, with a hint of bitter sarcasm even Glavino detected. ‘So, were there any specific instructions on dealing with these three?”

“Only to provide them with the hardest, most menial tasks imaginable that they will think twice about deceiving members of the law.”

“Fine, I will find such tasks. Now,’ walking over and eyeing each member, ‘what an odd trio you are.”

He pointed at Glavino, who curled his back as he gazed at the ground. “This one…”

“Ah, Rednikov, Harnikov mentioned something about this one.”

“What?”

“He may not be, bright enough.”

“So this man is a simpleton?”

Glavino remained still. Rednikov glanced at him for a moment longer, feeling his body as though trying to get a sense of his capabilities.

“Bah, he is useless. He may have muscle, but it is spongy, useless, and there is not a single thread of awareness in his mind.”

“Hey, that is vicious!” spat Berin.

“Shut your mouth!”

Berin obliged, gritting his teeth only to feel his tongue starting to bleed. He winced in silence as he released for a moment to free his tongue before clenching again.

“I’ll find some work for him, perhaps in the kitchen. The other two,’ feeling their biceps as he strode past them, ‘though they are more wiry, their muscle is more solid. I know they will learn how to pull the chains as fast as lightning.”

“If you will sign here, I will be on my way,” said the subordinate as he stepped forward.

Rednikov returned to his table to collect a feathered pen. He signed the paper with a brief wave of the pen while waving the subordinate away, who left without so much as a goodbye. Rednikov, still eyeing the trio, stepped closer until Berin could smell his breath.

He must have had lorin for breakfast. Who does that?

“Do you know what happens here?”

“No,” said Berin as quickly as possible.

“No, master, is the correct response, you northern git,” spat Rednikov.

“No, master,” corrected Berin.

“Better, but without the tone of insubordination. Anyway,’ turning away as though about to speak something of great spiritual depth, ‘here at the metallurgy factory, we take raw metal imported from the Aig and Dag Mountains, melt it down, and refashion it into specific items, from bowls to chalices to amphoral vases to urns for the deceased. We do make some weapons, but only a few. And only trustworthy servants of mine do that. So you will not have to worry about weapons.

“You are my slaves for however long Harnikov wishes to leave you here. I expect at least one lunar cycle �" that is how long the last foreigners he sent to me lasted before they collapsed. But I am sure you three will cope. They were Zapadese, from the lands to the west. They are a weak crew, weaker than my own kindred. You northerners are made of tougher material. You have a better idea of what real work is all about.”

“Grasio is not a…” started Glavino, but Berin managed to pinch him in spite of the chains.

“Blast! Harnikov’s subordinate forgot to release you from your chains. What a dunderhead! Come, I will take you to the anvil room. We will break those chains so you can get to work immediately.’ Calling out of the room, ‘Junipov, take these men to the anvil room and break those chains. Then take this one to the kitchens, whereas these two can learn from Kirekov the eunuch how to work the chains attached to the pulley switch.”

The three were led away into the unknown. Berin silently prayed to the gods. There was no response, only the deafening noise of the metallurgy factory. Berin gulped. There was no hope of reaching his son now.