Day 63, 6:15 PM
“It is only when a mosquito lands on your balls that you realize there is a way to solve problems without using violence.”
— Confusius, (affordable Confucius-knockoff guest speaker)
Maybe I shouldn’t have said that? All the guys I could see shuddered. Every last one of them.
I sit in the bushes, a hundred yards beyond Glenmir’s northern gate, pulling on an end of a rope. I’m ready for the likeliest outcome of Manny’s call for surrender. The southern gate is well outside earshot, but according to our plan, she should have delivered the ultimatum some ten minutes ago.
Based on our intel, baron Muire is married and has a six-year-old boy and a four-year-old girl. He hasn’t hired mercenaries to safeguard him and enforce order in his village, which means he’s at least somewhat better loved than baron Jaggel.
The gate opens, and a horse trots out of the village, followed by two others. A thirty-year-old, hazel-haired man rides the lead horse. He’s wearing a fancy-looking purple tunic, whose color doesn’t really suit him, and matching pants, with a thick golden chain hanging off his neck. He turns around, looking back nervously while the small boy sitting in front of him sheds silent tears. The blonde boy has a fresh, burning palm-print on his cheek, and I can more or less guess how he got it.
The second horse, tied to the lead one, has wrapped packages slung across its back, while the third one carries a blonde woman, who’s hugging a fearful little girl. I expected some footmen behind them, but the Muire family is fleeing alone.
During the split second I took to process the sight, the beasts pick up speed and canter. Luckily, they spot the rope from some fifty feet away. The horses slow down, and when their riders urge them, they shake their heads and rear.
Seeing the woman and children I’m glad the horses saw the rope in time. I loop my end around a tree several times and walk out of my ambush.
“Please, I wish to cause as little harm as possible. Preferably none.” My voice is clear and confident. I would prefer to avoid violence with the little ones present, but I won’t shun it just because the enemy has children. Given the status he has risen to, plenty of men with children never received his mercy.
My shout startles the baron. He yanks the reins too hard, his horse panics, and throws him off, along with the boy. I flinch, but luckily, the child lands atop his father, whose head hits the cobblestones hard.
The boy is momentarily confused, stuck between whooping and crying, then chooses the latter, more conservative option. The father is prone, while the mother struggles to control her jittery horse.
The boy’s bawling. He should be fine, and the baron is out cold. I jump to the baroness’s aid, fearing she or her daughter might suffer a fate similar to her husband’s.
I grab the reign, and lacking real-life experience, I mimic Clint Westwood.
“Woah, boy, woah.”
The jittery horse calms down immediately and nuzzles my shoulder.
It really works like in the movies? You just, ‘Woah,’ and they just woah?
“Are you all right, madam?” Unlike the impossibly docile horse, his rider stares at me like I’m the devil.
“She’s Sally.” The girl smiles, almost as relaxed as the horse.
“Sally, got it.” I give her a serious nod accompanied by a cowboy wink, and she giggles.
“Madam,” I look the baroness in the eye again, “this will be as painless or as painful as you make it. I would prefer the former.”
She nods, her mouth ajar.
“I will check on your husband. You, Sally,” I shake my finger at the horse, “stay there and don’t cause them any trouble.”
Sally neighs, and I blink.
Did you really understand my command, or was that just a freaky coincidence?
The former would be cool on so many levels, but I have no idea if that’s the case, and BSD isn’t flashing useful notifications.
I approach the prone baron and pat his wailing son on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, kid. Everything will be all right.”
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
He sniffles and nods, and I check his father.
Concussion, slightly fractured skull, but the damage is minimal, some scrapes and bruises, but he will be more or less fine when he wakes up.
I move the kid and turn the baron on the side so he doesn’t drown in the unlikely case he vomits.
What am I doing? How do I know all this? The thoughts about the baron’s state came as natural as identifying colors of a flower, and I repositioned him with hardly a thought, including the bent knee so he’s less likely to roll over.
This should be Initial Emergency Treatment. I would’ve been happier if BSD was flashing with information, rather than sending orders directly into my hands.
I’m yet again considering how the BSD is changing me, and whether it’s building me up for some malicious purpose. While my brain is busy, my body rounds up the horses and helps the baroness and her daughter dismount.
The maximum effect with minimum conscious thought improves my mood. Maybe skills are like actions you perform innately, without thinking. You don’t consciously consider every step, you just have a destination in mind, and your body does the rest.
I find comfort in that line of thinking and pay more attention to the world around me. The baroness is clutching her children like I’m about to pounce on them and eat them. Our gazes meet and she darts hers down to the ground.
“Hey, kids!” I shout and the children’s attention is on me. “Your dad is sleeping so soundly you can scream into his ear and he won’t wake up. You can try it if you want.”
The baroness looks up and stares at me, pale as a rag. The girl tries to wriggle out of her hold, but the woman’s knuckles turn white from the suddenly increased grip.
I leave the horses to graze on the roadside grass and approach them.
“My name is Aang. What’s yours?” I squat in front of the girl.
“Ema. Short for Emilia Muire. But I think it should be Emu.” Her face is perfectly straight, and she holds my gaze as she introduces herself.
“Nice to meet you, Emu.” I hold my hand out for her to shake, and her mother almost faints. Emu smiles as she grabs my hand and we shake. With our proper introduction concluded, I focus on her brother.
“And what’s your name?”
“Luke, just Luke.” He’s squeezing the hem of his tunic. A bad sign.
“Alright, nice to meet you Just Luke,” I hold my hand out for him, but he first looks at his mortified mother. He furrows his brows and bites his lips. He obviously wants to be a good boy, but he can’t interpret his mother’s intent.
Finally, he takes my hand, but his hold is flimsy, unlike his little sister’s death-grip.
“Is Father badly injured?” He glances down towards his unconscious father. The man is breathing steadily, and looks like he’s sleeping peacefully, if you ignore the fist-sized knob at the back of his head, which is almost as big as the cartoon lumps when someone asks for sugar.
“He suffered a nasty fall.” I spot Manny and our troops approaching the gate, but I keep talking to reassure Just Luke. “You’re a boy, you had some nasty falls, right?”
He nods.
“This is like falling down a flight of stairs. It’s nothing too bad, he just has to sleep it off.”
He nods again, and I pat him on the shoulder. “Good boy, take care of your mother and sister until your father wakes up. Then we are going to have a chat with him, and see what happens next.”
“General,” Jude salutes with a twitchy smile, “the Noble Lady is safe, not a hair short!”
The sergeant is leading a press of men so tight they are almost tripping each other. They form a defensive ring around Manny, whose face is perfectly straight, but I can see the amusement in her eyes, and I bet she’s just waiting for a chance to burst into laughter.
The men part, and Manny leaves their formation. “Thank you for protecting me.”
They salute, banging their chests so hard their fists must hurt.
“Good day, I am duchess Manuella Eagleeye. I have written a letter to your husband, but received no response. Considering a runner can deliver a message in a day, my guess is the response you have for me is not favorable?”
The baroness’s face is standard, mortified pale. She opens her mouth, but can’t seem to find her voice.
“I will neither mistreat nor demean you in any way. However, I will have to detain all of you and keep you under close watch. I hope you will behave.”
The woman nods. I don’t think she said a word. Is she mute? Shouldn’t she have consoled her children or said something at least? Like, ‘spare my children,’ or whatever?
Ron leads a dozen soldiers to escort the baron’s family back to his mansion, while Jude and the rest check the choice spoils baron Muire kindly handpicked for us.
“They shook in fear from the moment you left,” Manny whispers as soon as we have a semblance of privacy. “Jude kept glancing up every few seconds to ensure nothing was falling towards me.”
I half-smile. “I may have been overzealous.”
“You may have been overzealous?” She folds her arms, staring at me with an amused smile. “You said you would tear them in half should anything happen to me. When normal men say that, it is an empty threat. But, you do know that most of them have seen a man you tore in half and tied to a tree? And those who did not witness the sight have heard about it, and likely imagined something even grimmer than what we saw.”
“Just a tad overzealous.” I show with my fingers just how teensy-weensy I had gone overboard.
She shakes her head, but lets her lips quiver just a tad, showing her amusement.
“Good job catching the baron. You seem to have a way with children.”
Wait ‘till you see how I handle horses.
“I had three of them, and I had a lot of practice with them and their friends. It’s really nice having them run around, as long as you are deaf, or don’t mind several years of near constant screaming.”
Her lips stretch into a weird smile, and she gives me that nod people without children have reserved for tormented parents, who must seem like brain-dead masochists to them.
Well, if we win this war, she’s bound to change her opinion when it’s her kids running around screaming and bickering about whose plastic super pup can fly faster.