The Hunt: The Captains of Harberden

“Death and destruction have spread across our most northern holdings,” Captain Culd said, his dark eyes fell on his fellow captains. “Raids from Luparrov have increased.”

Rodren scanned the room. He found that the thirty other captains sitting at the massive table did not seem to hold any interest in the news. Even the leader of the Harberden Sentries - High Captain Thurbeld Henden seemed unmoved as he stroked his thick, red, and grey beard.

Despite his demeanor the High Captain gave Culd’s words more thought than the other captains.

No doubt Rodren’s thoughts reflected the thoughts of the others in the room. Business as usual then? Rodren sighed. “Then let’s mobilize the northern sentries like we always do. They’ll never make it through the pass no matter how many there are.”

Culd shot a hard stare at Rodren. Culd always looked just like their father when he gave him that look. “These are not the typical raids we’re used to, dear brother.”

Bartimal Ariscart, a small, pale man with thin, black hair that reached his shoulders spoke before Rodren could retort, “A raid is a raid.”

“Attacking military supply lines is not the same as attacking villages. They’ve started picking fights with our soldiers instead of avoiding them.”

George Torulston rose from his seat. He was a large, imposing man, though his stature was betrayed by his jovial nature. He was older than most that sat that the table. “Culd, if you continue to worry yourself like this, you’ll have grey hairs before me. These starving savages are nothing to be threatened by. They are a gaggle of thieves and thugs.”

Culd slammed a fist on the table. “And their becoming more organized, attacking with purpose. Something is coming and we need to take them seriously.”

There was a chorus of laughter from the others in the room. Rodren couldn’t help but pity his brother. He has a better sense of duty than anyone else at this table, maybe even more than High Captain Thurbeld. Perhaps in better company your words and actions would be better appreciated, Culd.

One of the other captains further down the table called out, “Rodren, talk some sense into your brother.”

The captains ceased their mockery. Rodren’s eyes met his brother’s. “What’s the harm in investigating these attacks?”

Bartimal gave Rodren an incredulous look. “You can’t really believe that these frostbitten fools are an actual threat, can you?”

“No, I’m not saying that. I don’t hold the position my brother does. But if their trying different means of testing our defenses, then why shouldn’t we show them that it’s not just simple guards and soldiers protecting these lands? Why should Harberden's best hide away in our castles?”

There was a silence among the captains. They hesitated to give any favor to Culd’s suspicions and fears, but their egos couldn’t resist the chance to show all in the kingdom who was the mightiest of Harberden’s defenders.

High Captain Thurbeld remained in his seat, but his deep voice drew the attention of the entire room. “Captain Culd, I will allow you to take a small group of sentries to investigate these attacks. Bring your findings back to me. The Sentries will continue to protect the heartland and the other inner regions of the kingdom.”

Culd’s brow furrowed as he bowed his head. “Thank you, sir.” Culd didn’t try to hide the disappointment in his voice.

There was no question in Rodren’s mind that he disappointed his brother more than the high captain did.

For the first time since the start of the meeting High Captain Thurbeld rose. “Captains, you know your duties. You are dismissed.”

The captains rose and bowed their heads. The air was filled with the idle chatter of noblemen as they retrieved their cloaks from a wall of hooks. Each cloak depicted the owner’s family crest alongside the crest of the Harberden Sentries - a silver eagle holding a spear in its talons. Rodren turned for the door. I should catch Culd before he leaves for the border.

“Rodren, you stay,” Thurbeld’s voice boomed over the captains.

Rodren froze. The eyes of the others fell upon him. He flicked his gaze towards his brother. Culd gave him a knowing look and nodded before departing with the others. Rodren turned to face Thurbeld. The old man did not seem angry or even worried. Rodren’s gut told him something else gnawed at the high captain. Is he tired? Not from lack of rest. But perhaps something else?

The room emptied and the pair was left in silence as the heavy oak doors were closed.

Thurbeld motioned to a nearby chair. “Sit. We might as well be comfortable while we talk.” Thurbeld reclined in his chair and kicked his feet up onto the table.

Rodren sat next to the man and did the same. “What do you need from me, High Captain?”

Massaging his temples, Thurbeld took a deep breath and drew a deep breath. He released the breath and shook his head. “Your brother,” he began.

“He means well, sir.”

“I know. He takes his post seriously and I cannot fault him for upholding the ideals of this organization. However, he needs to realize that the days of heroes and noble defenders is over. Haberden has no need of saviors or bloodied martyrs.”

Rodren remained silent.

Thurbeld continued, “we still protect the kingdom. After all, how else could we justify the money spent on the Sentries’ existence if we didn’t? But the last time there was a real threat to the kingdom was long before I was born, and I’ve been around long enough.”

“Sir,” Rodren said, “why are we having this conversation? You don’t seem to have a problem with Culd. What do you need from me?”

A light rainfall began a soothing, rhythmic patter on the windows of the meeting hall. The rain was a good sign that it would be a warm winter. The warmer winters were always muddy, though Rodren preferred the mud staining his clothes over freezing on the few patrols that he makes during the colder seasons.

“You need to convince your brother to relax. The other captains don’t take kindly to his actions.”

“What do you mean?”

Thurbeld motioned to himself and to Rodren. “Look at us. Culd would never sit like this. Everyone else would do it openly if I allowed it, but we have some appearances to keep. The Sentries have become less of a bulwark for Harberden and more of a club for its nobility to socialize whilst upholding the appearance of protecting the people. If the trade guilds and the king were to find out we’re a waste of money, then we’d be disbanded. I happen to like socializing and lazing about whilst they pay for it and so does everyone else.”

Rodren smiled. “It’s a good deal.”

“Which is why our fellows in this organization want your brother dead.”

The smile melted from Rodren’s face as a chill set in his veins. “Dead?” The word was a whisper. “Are you sure? How do you know?”

“I’ve heard them talking amongst themselves in the mead hall. It could be bitter thoughts emboldened by too much drink, but I don’t want to take any chances.”

Rodren shifted his gaze from Thurbeld to the doors then back to the High Captain. “You really think they would kill one of their own?”

“He may be one of their own, but he makes the lot of us look bad. Now I understand having hard feeling about it but Harberden Sentries murdering one another makes us look even worse. Everything we’ve worked for would turn to chaos which our barbarous neighbors could capitalize on; then we would have something to worry about.”

Rodren watched the rain pick up its assault on the windows as more droplets battered the stained glass. “You think those frostbitten maniacs could pose a threat to us?”

The lines on Thurbeld’s face grew longer. He nodded. “There’s enough of them in Lupparov and if they grew desperate or wild enough, they could cripple Harberden. The kingdom’s coffers have grown quite plump these past few decades. A serious attack would leave us open to one of our neighbors annexing us.”

“So Culd is right?”

Thurbeld shot Rodren a hard look. “He’s hypervigilant. A man like that will be right one in a hundred instances and wrong every other time. Now I’m not so arrogant as to believe that our old enemies aren’t threat, but your brother also stands to be just as much of a threat if not more so. Correct that before someone does something stupid.”

Rodren nodded and rose. He retrieved his cloak from its place on the wall and left without a word. The patter of icy rain hounded him through the warm halls of Turena Castle. Would they really kill Culd? Who among the Sentries would be so brash? Under his cloak, Rodren’s fingers curled around the hilt of his dagger. I will destroy any man who dares to cross that line. He passed by the mead hall of the castle; the doors were open. Inside, Rodren could see at least a dozen of the captains had come to carouse over a mug. The thought of grabbing a mug tempted Rodren but he wished for better company.

Cold rain stung Rodren’s face as he stepped out into the castle yard. The sky was a dour grey blanket that smothered the sun. Rodren marched through the mud to the stables. Much like the rest of the castle the stables were well built and maintained to the highest quality. Apart from a few stable hands, Culd, who was busy readying his horse, was the only other person in the building.

One of the stable hands approached Rodren and bowed. “Can I be of service my lord?”

He was young, though almost as tall as Rodren. His first chin hairs had started to show. There could be no doubt years of eating well at Turena Castle and working the stables had given him a strong body.

This one would prove to be a stout warrior. Rodren could only imagine what the boy could do if he learned to use a sword. He’d prove to be a better swordsman than any man here, aside from my brother and myself. “I’m fine, but tell me, what is your name?”

The boy brushed aside his bright, blonde hair. He stood taller as he said, “Erik.”

“Have you thought about being more than a stable hand, Erik?”

Erik grinned. “I have my lord. I hope to one day serve in the Ard Firak.”

Rodren’s eyebrows raised. “The Ard Firak? To hunt demons and the freaks of the world.”

Erik nodded. “That’s right.”

To live the life of such a warrior. A noble profession, no doubt about it. But it’s far too uncomfortable and the chance of dying for too high for my liking. Rodren gave the boy a curious look. “Are you sure that’s the life you want to live? You’d have one far more accommodating protecting your homeland in the Sentries.”

“Without a doubt I would, my lord, but those magic swords they wield are something truly fantastic.”

Rodren shrugged. “There’s more to life than fancy swords and risking your life fighting unspeakable horrors, but if that’s your desire then I wish you the best of luck.” Rodren took a step forward then halted. He turned to Erik. “There is one thing I do need. Take your friends and leave, I need a moment with my brother.”

Erik bowed his head. “Of course, my lord.” Erik motioned to the others and led them out.

Culd finished packing supplies into his saddlebags. “Something must truly be weighing on your mind to clear a few stable hands.” He turned to face Rodren.

A long moment passed as Rodren considered how he was going to tell Culd what he had learned. “Culd, some of our fellow captains don’t take kindly to your work ethic.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t.”

Culd barked a bitter laughed. “Rodren, their disdain for me is quite clear, today’s meeting made that fact quite evident. And thank you for the halfhearted support during the meeting I’m sure the others will come aroun-”

“They want you dead, Culd.” Rodren, already regretting his choice of words clamped his mouth shut. Not exactly tact today, are we?

A tense silence settled between the pair. Culd stared at his brother. It was clear to Rodren that his brother didn’t want to believe what Rodren had said.

“You’re telling the truth, aren’t you?”

Rodren could hear the pain of betrayal in his brother’s question. Feeling his throat tighten, Rodren nodded.

“Those bastards.” Culd leaned against the wall of the stables.

“You need to stop trying so damn hard at being a hero. The other captains want easy lives in the Sentinels and because you outshine everyone the guilds and the king are going to start asking questions.”

Culd shook his head. “No.”

“No? Didn’t you hear what I just said?”

“I did.” Culd looked up at his brother. “We’ll bring this to Thurbeld. Do you have names? Any evidence?”

A deep frown formed across Rodren’s clean shaven face. “It was Thurbeld who told me about it.”

“So, he’s not going to anything to stop this.”

“Why do you think I’m talking to you now? If you don’t toe the line you’re going to die. Thurbeld can’t help you.”

“I’m more inclined to believe he refuses to help.” Culd’s voice was bitter.

“Of course, he’s trying to-”

A loud thud echoed through the stables as Culd smashed the wall with his fist, startling several of the horses. “Failure to do one’s duty and conspiring to kill a captain of the Harberden Sentinels. He could have all of them brought to the headsman’s block. Instead, he chooses to maintain a status quo that eats away at the kingdom.”

“And what will you do, brother?” Rodren said.

“That will depend on what I find along our northern border. I’ll be in Riestein before long.” Culd finished readying his saddle and mounted his horse. “Tell the High Captain I’ll toe the line, until my suspicions are proven correct.”

“What will you do then?” Rodren asked, already suspecting his brother’s answer.

“My duty.”