told after such a long time.”
Adrienne did not know what
to say to that, so she said nothing. Jeral had spoken often at the
beginning of the meal, but after repeated kicks from Adrienne, he
had finally stopped speaking out of turn.
“ But that moment, when
Kyrog came to the aid of Red Ridge, was the turning point for that
particular camp,” Lord Neecham reminisced. “It was not nearly so
well-funded then. My great-grandfather, and his father before him,
had always given Kyrog a stipend, but not a fraction of what my
grandfather and father ended up giving. What I give. Kyrog was a
small camp, though well disciplined even before the attack on Red
Ridge, and it relied greatly on trade and payments for services to
stay functioning.”
“ Payments for services?”
Adrienne asked.
Neecham smiled. “When
brigands are plentiful and funding is not, it is not unheard of for
camps that ‘saved’ a village to demand payment of some sort
afterwards.”
“ That happened at Kyrog?”
Adrienne was horrified at the very idea. She could not imagine
asking anyone at Pelarion to pay her after what had just
happened.
“ Yes. Before Red Ridge
began funding the camp, there was no other way to support the
soldiers. Having a camp that was more mercenary than army was
better than having no camp at all, but for a while there was
resentment and even fear between civilians and soldiers. It has
faded now, as memories do, but it was real for a time.”
“ I have never heard any of
this,” Adrienne said. “And all camps did this?” She wondered why
Karse had never told her. Surely someone as interested in history
as he would have known.
“ I can’t know for sure that
every camp had the same practices, but to the best of my knowledge
Kyrog was—if anything—less mercenary than the others.”
“ But it is still kept a
secret,” Adrienne argued, unsettled that the camp she proudly
called hers had such an unsavory history.
“ Not a secret, but not
something that is advertised. People need to trust soldiers, not
fear them. Or worse, consider them on the same level as bandits who
demand ‘protection money’ and attack the villages themselves if
they are not paid.” Neecham took another sip of palm wine. “As
well-funded camps like Kyrog and Roua,” he tipped his head to
Jeral, “grew, the smaller, more mercenary camps disbanded. The
soldiers that remain in Samaro are loyal to the country…or as loyal
as the lords who fund them…and nothing will be gained by stirring
up old memories.”
“ Why do we have separate
armies?” Jeral asked. Evidently Adrienne’s warning kicks had a
limited effectiveness. “Why not just one?”
“ Just one like Almet does?”
Lord Neecham seemed amused. “It is one of the things that I asked
my father about.”
“ And?”
“ And I never got a
satisfactory answer. Almet stayed strong despite the war not coming
to an end. It had strong rulers, and did not splinter.”
“ And Samaro did?” Jeral
asked.
Lord Neecham smiled and
gave a lazy shrug. “King Burin is my sovereign leader,” he said
easily. “Who am I to naysay his rule?”
Adrienne hardly heard the
rest of their conversation. Something they had said had sparked a
memory. She couldn’t place why their conversation would bring up
such a memory, but she remembered suddenly the Old Samaroan text
she had seen in Captain Garrett’s office months ago. In her upset,
she had not wondered why Garrett, who could not read Old Samaroan,
would have the original text out if he had a
translation.
And if he needed to check
something, why wouldn’t he come to her with it? It would hardly be
the first time she had served as a translator when dealing with old
documents.
And why would Captain
Garrett, so stolid and dependable, have in his possession a piece
of writing about necromancers?
“ Adrienne, are you ready
for dessert?”
She snapped back to
reality, wondered briefly how long she had been caught up in her
own world, and nodded.
Adrienne did not know what
to say to that, so she said nothing. Jeral had spoken often at the
beginning of the meal, but after repeated kicks from Adrienne, he
had finally stopped speaking out of turn.
“ But that moment, when
Kyrog came to the aid of Red Ridge, was the turning point for that
particular camp,” Lord Neecham reminisced. “It was not nearly so
well-funded then. My great-grandfather, and his father before him,
had always given Kyrog a stipend, but not a fraction of what my
grandfather and father ended up giving. What I give. Kyrog was a
small camp, though well disciplined even before the attack on Red
Ridge, and it relied greatly on trade and payments for services to
stay functioning.”
“ Payments for services?”
Adrienne asked.
Neecham smiled. “When
brigands are plentiful and funding is not, it is not unheard of for
camps that ‘saved’ a village to demand payment of some sort
afterwards.”
“ That happened at Kyrog?”
Adrienne was horrified at the very idea. She could not imagine
asking anyone at Pelarion to pay her after what had just
happened.
“ Yes. Before Red Ridge
began funding the camp, there was no other way to support the
soldiers. Having a camp that was more mercenary than army was
better than having no camp at all, but for a while there was
resentment and even fear between civilians and soldiers. It has
faded now, as memories do, but it was real for a time.”
“ I have never heard any of
this,” Adrienne said. “And all camps did this?” She wondered why
Karse had never told her. Surely someone as interested in history
as he would have known.
“ I can’t know for sure that
every camp had the same practices, but to the best of my knowledge
Kyrog was—if anything—less mercenary than the others.”
“ But it is still kept a
secret,” Adrienne argued, unsettled that the camp she proudly
called hers had such an unsavory history.
“ Not a secret, but not
something that is advertised. People need to trust soldiers, not
fear them. Or worse, consider them on the same level as bandits who
demand ‘protection money’ and attack the villages themselves if
they are not paid.” Neecham took another sip of palm wine. “As
well-funded camps like Kyrog and Roua,” he tipped his head to
Jeral, “grew, the smaller, more mercenary camps disbanded. The
soldiers that remain in Samaro are loyal to the country…or as loyal
as the lords who fund them…and nothing will be gained by stirring
up old memories.”
“ Why do we have separate
armies?” Jeral asked. Evidently Adrienne’s warning kicks had a
limited effectiveness. “Why not just one?”
“ Just one like Almet does?”
Lord Neecham seemed amused. “It is one of the things that I asked
my father about.”
“ And?”
“ And I never got a
satisfactory answer. Almet stayed strong despite the war not coming
to an end. It had strong rulers, and did not splinter.”
“ And Samaro did?” Jeral
asked.
Lord Neecham smiled and
gave a lazy shrug. “King Burin is my sovereign leader,” he said
easily. “Who am I to naysay his rule?”
Adrienne hardly heard the
rest of their conversation. Something they had said had sparked a
memory. She couldn’t place why their conversation would bring up
such a memory, but she remembered suddenly the Old Samaroan text
she had seen in Captain Garrett’s office months ago. In her upset,
she had not wondered why Garrett, who could not read Old Samaroan,
would have the original text out if he had a
translation.
And if he needed to check
something, why wouldn’t he come to her with it? It would hardly be
the first time she had served as a translator when dealing with old
documents.
And why would Captain
Garrett, so stolid and dependable, have in his possession a piece
of writing about necromancers?
“ Adrienne, are you ready
for dessert?”
She snapped back to
reality, wondered briefly how long she had been caught up in her
own world, and nodded.
Similar Books
