Chapter 8
The Cat Hunter
Hemet Baldur, Kingdom of Hannibal
In the days before the Mad King had grown quite so mad, many great works were commissioned throughout the kingdom. The roads were improved, vast swaths of the Gebal Forest were cleared to make travel safer between the eastern and western halves of the kingdom, and three great fortresses were constructed to defend the northern marchlands. Lord Morten named these three fortresses after gods from his native land. The fortress farthest west was named after Baldur, who was supposed to be something like Adonis of the Greeks or Tammuz of the Chaldees. Boodes' uncle had told him the story once, but he had not cared to pay that much attention.
It was because of Boodes' uncle that he was Captain-General at such a young age. Many times he would wonder if it was a favor to be elevated to such a post or a punishment. If everything went well, he was all but assured his family's seat in the Senate, but if he were to meet with some calamity, it would all be for nothing. Disowned and cut off from the family, exiled in disgrace, hanged from a gibbet at the crossroads... It was difficult to say which fate wold be worse.
If all these worries and more were not enough to leave him perpetually vexed in spirit, this herald had to come and add to the many burdens that weighed so heavily on his shoulders. As the herald finished reading the proclamation from the Queen, Boodes simply glowered at the man. You were not supposed to kill the messenger, they would say. He certainly would have liked to take a javelin and pin the herald to the wall. He would surely have all the walls in the fortress decorated with the bearers of bad tidings. Why could he never receive any pleasant news?
"Do you know what is on the other side of that river?" he asked the herald.
The herald gave him a quizzical look before replying, "The land of the Catmen, sir."
"And do you know what happens when the Catmen cross the river?"
"I have heard that they will raid the outlying settlements, the farmsteads and the river mills. They kill and eat men and livestock both. They say that some are carried off to serve their chieftains as slaves."
"Have you ever heard of anything so ridiculous?" Boodes asked. "The idea of men serving those beasts?"
"I, I am only repeating the stories I have heard, sir," the herald said.
"Did I say they were untrue?" Boodes asked sharply. "No, such stories are so ridiculous because they are the truth. They feast on manflesh like any other wild beast yet they would also ape civilization to the point of making rude little villages and keeping men as slaves. It should be the flight of fancy of some drunken minstrel, but it is true.
"And now I ask you: what stands in the way of this ridiculous state of affairs? Who defends the honor of our people from the shame of this foolishness?"
"The... the men of the garrison of Hemet Baldur, sir... uh, under your leadership, of course."
"Why then, does Her Majesty the Queen think we are idle enough to go out looking for some lost pup?"
"Begging your pardon, sir," the herald replied, "but the Commander-General of the Armies of Hannibal is hardly a mere lost pup. The Commander-General stands accused of treason. He is suspected of killing men of the Black Guard and freeing the Witch from Beyond the Sea. This is perhaps the greatest crisis the kingdom has seen since the last time the Dragonrider hordes sacked Baalzabul."
"Perhaps you can take Commander Tobias and split him into three parts just like the Old Capital."
"Sir, Her Majesty's orders are to take Commander Tobias alive so that he might face the Queen's justice."
Boodes rolled his eyes. Small-minded men always took everything so literally.
"What do you propose that I do?" he asked.
"I, I could not possibly say, sir," the herald replied.
"Of course not."
Boodes held the bridge of his nose. He could feel a headache coming on. A bottle or two of wine was sure to be the cure, even if it was that wretched Nakum vintage.
While he was thinking about whether or not the current situation warranted one of the better selections from the cellar, he almost forgot about the herald.
"Is there anything else?" Boodes asked.
"Your reply, sir?"
Lord Bannon required every herald to secure a verbal if not a written reply when delivering orders. It made an already tiresome task all the more tiresome.
"You can inform Her Majesty and His Lordship that the order has been received and the men of Hemet Baldur will exert every effort to aid in the search for these fugitives while maintaining our vigilant defense of the riverway. Will that suffice?"
"Yes, sir," the herald said. He then saluted. "Hail Hannibal! Hail the Queen!"
Less enthusiastically, Boodes returned the salute.
"Yes, hail Hannibal, hail the Queen. Now be off with you."
The herald promptly departed, leaving Boodes still thinking about that wine while trying to devise a way to obey the new orders with minimal effort. Instead of this witch nonsense, those idle fools back at the palace would do well to concern themselves more with real dangers like the fangs and claws of those ravening savage beasts on the other side of the River. Perhaps if they were a little closer to the real dangers in this world, they would appreciate them more and the people stuck with the thankless task of defending them from those dangers. At very least, they could send better wine.