All's Fair In Love and Politics

By Brian Wakeling

Inter-monarchial relationships can be tricky things. There are all sorts of things to consider concerning alliances, succession, trade, and so on. Not to mention security - with all the travelling between two countries that will be going on, it makes it easier for someone to, for example, kidnap someone.

When Queen Elspeth is abducted on a state visit to Galorndan, Cullan and his companions are ordered to once again travel several hundred miles to find someone - this time to rescue, not to kill. Although, someone probably will need killing while they're in the area.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Sep 30, 2011
• ISBN: 9781326233785

Book preview

All's Fair In Love and Politics

All’s Fair in Love and Politics

Book III of the

Have Sword & Sorcery: Will Travel™

series

A NaNoWriMo Novel

by Brian Wakeling

About the Author

Brian Wakeling was born in the Midlands, bred in the Home Counties, raised in Yorkshire, and went to university in Edinburgh, where he studied fencing and drinking at QMUC – from where he was finally kicked out for the second time in May 2000. He returned to Yorkshire nine months later where he tried to get a life but couldn't afford one. In summer 2005, following his ambition to get a job in a theatre, he moved down to London – and almost completely failed in this ambition. He has been writing in one form or another for most of his life. He was diagnosed with Asperger’s Syndrome in March 2009.

Other Books

Have Sword & Sorcery: Will Travel™

Please Kill the Neighbours

Finish the Job So We Don’t Have To

All’s Fair in Love and Politics

Things Never Go Smooth

Cult Following

Customs & Duty

The Dragon, Shrouded

The Dragon, Rising

The Dragon

Copyright

Copyright © Brian Wakeling 2008

I, Brian Wakeling, hereby assert and give notice of my right under sections 77 and 78 of the UK Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work. Any unauthorised copying, lending, distributing or hiring is prohibited, whether by electronic or by any other means.

All characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

The GURPS rules and system used as part of the creation of this work are © Steve Jackson Games. GURPS is a Registered Trademark of Steve Jackson Games.

Cover art by and © Ann-Cathrine Loo 2009

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

First Edition 2009

Second Edition 2010

Third Edition 2015

Fourth Edition 2016

ISBN 978-1-326-23378-5

This forms part of The Published Works as defined in the SOAUL

(http://www.sabremeister.me.uk/soaul.html)

Have Sword & Sorcery: Will Travel is a Trademark of Brian Wakeling

http://www.sabremeister.me.uk/Hsaswt.html

http://www.catroll-art.co.uk/

Map

Dedication

For Nicola

All’s Fair in Love and Politics

Cullan put one set of lockpicks down on the desk, and, with a final double-check, pocketed the other.

Hey, the eagle-eyed clerk interrupted, lockpicks.

Cullan looked at him, and gestured at the set on the desk. You’ve got them.

And the others.

What others?

The ones you just put back.

"You mean my lockpicks?"

Yours?

Yes, mine.

They’re not yours, hand them over.

They are mine! Look at your sheet. I signed for one set of lockpicks six months ago, and one set you’ve got!

The clerk checked. Alright – one set. But are you sure you handed over the right set?

Gordon Bloody Bennett, yes! Cullan pulled out his lockpicks again and showed them to the clerk. Here, see? No official Galorndan markings whatsoever! He turned them over in front of his face, then withdrew them and put them away before the clerk could make a grab for them. Those are my official lockpicks you’ve got there.

Right. Your official lockpicks. I see. Then what about your unofficial ones?

"They’re mine."

You are aware that they’re extra-legal equipment? If you’re found to be carrying them without official warrant, you could be arrested.

So what? I just won’t be found is all.

Hmmpphh! went the clerk, but checked in the official lockpicks.

That everything? Cullan asked.

Yes, the clerk snapped. Now get out of here!

With pleasure!

Cullan stalked out. It was his last day of service with the Galorndan crown, and not a moment too soon in his opinion. Okay, yes, Alys and Kenyon had had plenty of work of the type they were used to put their way by General Kael (ie. training grunts and killing people), and even Morgan was pleased with her service, being trained as an official mage of the Galorndan army, but Cullan, as a thief and a rogue, had been handed less regular, more difficult, employment – often without the aid of Alys, Kenyon and Morgan, which was problematical, to say the least.

He was heading out past the barracks when Styfsen caught up with him. Cullan! Cullan, wait!

He stopped and turned. Styfsen was one of King Dashell’s chief advisors – he’d been left in charge of the country while the King and the army were off conquering Morat seven-ish months ago – and was often the intermediary between the Court and what King Dashell liked to refer to as His special implements.

What can I do for you, my lord? Cullan asked. Better be good, I’m officially and permanently off the clock now.

The King would like to see you.

Then he can make an appointment. I’ve got a prior engagement, and I’m running late.

"He has made an appointment, Cullan, Styfsen replied, he sent me to tell you about it. And to make sure you attend."

Cullan shrugged and sighed. Fine! he headed back into the palace, Styfsen at his side.

Look on the bright side, Cullan, Styfsen reminded him, now you’re a free agent, you can charge an arm and a leg for your services.

Yeah, and if I try, that’s what I’ll lose.

The throne room was clear of all but a few guards and Adromvab, the head Court wizard. Dashell was nowhere to be seen.

Cullan, good, Adromvab welcomed him. His Majesty will be a few moments.

Cullan turned to Styfsen and asked, what was the rush?

You’ll find out in a few moments, Styfsen replied.

Cullan shrugged again and waited. It was indeed only a few moments later that a harried-looking King Dashell strode in from a side door. Ah, Cullan. Good. Good. He sat down on his throne. Have you been told anything?

Only that I apparently have an appointment with Your Majesty.

Right. Right. Dashell shook his head. Adromvab, fill him in.

Yes, Your Majesty. The wizard turned to Cullan. As you may be aware, since the recent war with Morat, His Majesty has been most eager to improve relations with our neighbours to the southeast, Turnobae, and hence has invited Her Majesty Queen Elspeth to visit with a view to forming a long-lasting alliance.

Cullan nodded. It was common knowledge that King Dashell had fallen for Queen Elspeth when they first saw each other through a crystal ball in the throne room of the Tower of Morss during the peace negotiations arbitrated by Mordlin, and had been trying to get her to visit so he could get his end away and marry her. Quite apart from the increased riches the double-kingdom would generate for both monarchs.

The Court diviners have managed to observe a new prophecy, just this afternoon. It appears that on Queen Elspeth’s way here, she will be ambushed and attacked, and kidnapped.

What?

We do not know who by, or where, this ambush will take place, but we do know that a few extra men of varied and unique skill will be able to prevent it.

‘Varied and unique skill’? Cullan asked.

Yes.

Well, good luck finding them then, he said, executed a quick bow to the throne, turned and began heading for the door.

Cullan! Dashell’s voice stopped him. It is you and your comrades We have in mind.

Cullan turned back to the throne. He seethed in thought for a second, approaching the throne to cover the silence. But Your Majesty, how do we know the prophecy also has me and my comrades in mind?

Adromvab answered. We do not. But when that piece of information was related to His Majesty, -

Dashell interrupted, I immediately thought of you. It seems to me that there can be no-one else. You are, after all, a thief who can fight well, who habitually works with two excellent warriors and a powerful mage.

And who habitually does not do this sort of thing, Cullan replied. We get into difficult places, do a dirty job, and get out. We don’t escort royalty. Besides, she’s due to get here the day after tomorrow, who’d be daft enough to ambush her within three days travel of Dentrassi?

We don’t know. Dashell replied. That is what I have been praying to find out. Cullan raised an eyebrow. It was known that Elspeth was considerably more pious than Dashell, and here was further evidence that His Majesty would do anything to appear more alike to Her Majesty than he was, in order to get into her rather fine-quality and tightly-fastened loincloth.

No luck, I take it?

Deities do not often answer prayers immediately – no matter what their urgency.

You are aware, Your Majesty, that I am officially no longer in your employ, nor are my companions?

Name your price.

Cullan blinked. Dashell was a fairly generous employer as rulers went, but he was known not to be extravagant. He must be desperate. Okay, then. Three days, all five of us –

Five? There are four of you, Styfsen objected.

Morgan’s colleague from her days with Mordlin is visiting, to celebrate the end of our contract. He’ll want to come too. Dashell nodded – not irritably. So, Cullan continued, three days, five of us, that’s fifteen days’-worth of wages, let’s say ... three thousand dollars, and you provide the horses.

Three thousand dollars? Styfsen was shocked at Cullan’s audacity and angry at his greed.

Not possible, Dashell said. That’s a month’s wages a day for each of you. Eleven twenty-five dollars.

One thousand, one hundred and twenty-five dollars. Good enough, Cullan said. It was much better than the standard pay for a three-day job for five on behalf of the Galorndan Court. But don’t forget, escorting royalty is not like a fetch-job, like what we normally do.

For the first time that meeting, Dashell’s voice was hard, not harried or worried. Eleven twenty-five, and We will provide the horses.

Done, Sire. We will leave first thing in the morning. We won’t get anywhere tonight in this weather, and besides, I have a prior engagement. Cullan bowed again, and made to leave.

You will be paid upon Queen Elspeth’s safe arrival at my palace, Dashell told him, Styfsen will bring the horses to your house by first light. Be ready, or the men he brings with him will burn the house.

Of course, Your Majesty, Cullan smiled, and left.

2

The rain beat down against the cobbled streets as Cullan hurried along them. It was, technically, night-time, but it was at the right time of year for it still to be light at eight o'clock in the evening. It was also the right time of year for the rain to be that fine stuff that soaks through anything in five minutes. He reached a door in a street that was in an area of town halfway between being run-down and decrepit, and being affluent and in good repair. He fumbled in his belt pouch for a key, found one, opened the door, and shook the rain off himself. The sirrush, a huge lizard-like monster with a horn on its’ head, woke up and started purring as it recognised one of its’ Masters.

Hello, Kevin, Cullan greeted it with a pat on the snout. Have the others started without me? The sirrush didn’t answer, and he didn’t expect it to either, so he just hung up his cloak and beat the worst of the wet off his legs before heading up the stairs. The middle floor was where all the day-to-day activities took place, but Cullan hurried up the next flight to the second floor, so he could change into dry clothes. That done, he hurried back down, and went into the dining room. The others were all there – Alys, her auburn hair cascading over her shoulders, huge Kenyon, slim and dark Morgan, for once not looking withdrawn (which it would be hard to do, with her arms wrapped around the neck of) Rassillon, an Elf who stood a head taller than her. Even the housekeeper, Mrs Terney, was having a drink.

Cullan! There you are! We wondered where you had been? Alys came over to him, bringing a fresh cup of wine with her. They pecked each other on the cheek as Cullan took the cup.

Styfsen caught up with me. Turned out I had an appointment with His Majesty.

That stopped the party. They all turned to look at him, Morgan’s arms slipping from Rassillon’s neck to his waist. Are you going to be leaving again, Mr Cullan? asked Mrs Terney.

For a few days, Mrs T, he replied. We need to talk about this, I'm afraid.

I’ll be downstairs, finishing off the roast, then, she said, and left, closing the door after her.

Cullan, what is it? Alys asked.

Yeah, Cullan, our contracts expired today, he can’t send us off anywhere again. What’s he trying to pull?

Seventy-five dollars a day, each, plus use of army horses for three days. All five of us.

Five?

Cullan looked at Morgan and Rassillon. I’m guessing you two don’t want to be separated? They shook their heads.

What is the job? the Elf asked. Cullan told them, and immediately the two warriors began grumbling. Alys was concerned that they would be walking into an ambush themselves, while Kenyon was saying that the few extra weapons they could bring to a royal escort would not make any difference.

Look, I know it’s tactically unsound, Cullan told them, but it’s got a prophecy behind it, and you know how powerful they are. Morgan nodded. Besides, I was specifically told, ‘a few extra men of varied and unique skill’ would be able to tip the balance.

So what about me and Morgan, then? asked Alys.

Ha ha, Cullan deadpanned. Look, it’s a fairly simple escort mission, only three days long, for lots of money. We ride out at first light down the Turnobae road, wait for the royal convoy to find us the next day, then escort them in. And if we don’t, Styfsen burns our house down.

He what?

Dashell’s orders. I got a bit greedy asking for a fee – I thought he was more desperate than he was to make sure his girlfriend got here safely. So Styfsen brings the horses here at first light, and if we’re not ready, his men burn the house down.

The shit.

When you get down to it, he’s no better than Gort was, Kenyon opined.

Nah, Gort would have forced us to do it on-contract, for his piddling standard fees.

And it is his daughter we are escorting? asked Rassillon. Let us hope she takes after her mother, rather than her father.

She does, by all accounts, Alys told them. According to the scuttlebutt, she’s a very religious woman – Cajon, of course – and prefers to get things done herself rather than hiring lackeys. Unfortunately, the way she prefers to get things done is to pray for them to happen before she goes out and does things.

That’s daft.

"Yeah – what