Trading Close To Light

by C. M. Simpson

  Still, she shrugged away his concerns.

  “I guess the monsters changed their minds about having an open-door policy.”

  Gustav stepped away from the other guards. The emissary had spent most of the journey keeping watch at the rear, with Izmay and Zeb. Now he came to stand beside Roeglin and Marsh.

  “You think they’ll let us in after nightfall?”

  Roeglin gave him a startled look.

  “Any reason why they wouldn’t?”

  “Unfriendly things come out in the dark?”

  Marsh took his point.

  “You’re saying we need to hurry.”

  “Yup.”

  “Okay.”

  She looked back at the others.

  “We’re gonna try to make the gates before they decide they want to keep them closed for the night. You coming?”

  Not waiting for their reply, Marsh stepped into the open space before the walls and headed straight for the gate. If she was lucky, there’d be guards on the walls who could see them—and if she was very lucky, they’d give the group half a chance to introduce themselves. As she approached, something nagged at the back of her mind, something about their welcome not being assured—and there being a very good reason for it.

  She mulled over the thought as she led the others along the glow-less trail. When they reached the gates, she stopped, but the gates remained closed. Marsh studied them.

  When last she’d passed through this way, the gates hadn’t existed, and the walls had arched over an empty space. She stopped before them, noticing the thick iron bands reinforcing it, and the multitude of nicks and scratches marring its surface. After a long moment, she raised her hand and knocked, but the thick wood absorbed the sound, and she sighed.

  Gustav came alongside her.

  “May I?”

  Marsh gestured toward it.

  “Be my guest.”

  Before she knew what he was doing, Gustav had pulled his sword, reversing it so he could strike the gate with its pommel. This time the sound boomed out, echoing beyond the gate and into the city beyond…or, at least, a small portion of it. Gustav leaned on the wood, resting the pommel of his sword against it so that the blade stuck out above his head.

  The hurried scuff of footsteps followed as the echoes died away, and Gustav stepped away from the gate, making sure he was standing in clear view of the walls as he sheathed his sword. Marsh and the others moved back with him, and it was only when they all stood in the circle of light thrown by the torches that they heard the metallic clank and grind of locking bars being lifted.

  “Wait,” Gustav cautioned, as silence descended and the gates slowly ground open.

  It took Marsh a few minutes to see why. Three men worked to push each half-open, and then they ran to the other side and threw themselves against it to stop it from opening fully. And they were not alone.

  Beyond them, blocking the entrance were two rows of armored soldiers.

  “Looks like the Ledge has got a head start on the founder’s idea,” Marsh murmured, and Gustav nodded.

  “Good,” he said. “At least we know they’re prepared to defend themselves.”

  “I know those men,” Henri said. “They used to be guards.”

  “They still are guards,” Izmay argued, as though she didn’t get the point Henri was trying to make.

  Sometimes Marsh wished the woman would give the man a break—and then she wondered what the ex-caravan guard had done to deserve the stirring he got.

  “Caravan guards!” Henri clarified, his voice thick with disgust, just as the front row marched forward.

  “City guards,” their leader corrected. “State your business.”

  Marsh drew herself to her full height, aware of Gustav and Roeglin doing the same beside her. She’d been about to speak when Roeglin stepped in.

  “We are emissaries from Monsieur Gravine, the Founder of Ruins Hall. He seeks an alliance with Kerrenin’s Ledge.”

  The guards’ leader stepped forward and tapped the joining circles on Gustav’s chest.

  “And these? What do they signify?”

  “I am Captain Moldrane of the Ruins Deep Protectors, and Monsieur Gravine’s formal representative. The four circles represent the four caverns, and our sworn duty to assist in their protection. More than that, we need to discuss with your rulers.”

  The man studied his armor, the circles, and the weapons that he carried. He then moved on to inspect Marsh and Roeglin, and the men and woman behind them.

  “And these?”

  “Helped ensure we reached you.”

  The man snorted, his gray eyes flashing.

  “It would take more than these to protect you from what lurks down in those tunnels.”

  “Another matter we will discuss with your council,” Gustav broke in, smoothly.

  He glanced back at the darkened trail and the now pitch-black forest.

  “May we come in, Captain…”

  The man’s lip curled in an expression of distaste…or possibly it was disgust that he was not the rank Gustav thought he was.

  “Sergeant Thierry.”

  “Sergeant,” Gustav said, correcting himself.

  He made a point of looking around, once more.

  “We might have cleared the shadow monsters from the trail, and the raiders holed up in Mid-Point, but the night is still dangerous.” He gestured toward the gateway. “With your permission.”

  The sergeant snapped him a quick glance, and then surveyed the trail and forest behind them.

  “You will come with us,” he said.

  “Agreed,” Gustav told him, and the sergeant rejoined his waiting troops and led the way through the gate.

  7

  Delayed Meetings

  Much to Marchant’s relief, Sergeant Thierry and his men did not want to put them in cells overnight. Instead, with the gates once more firmly closed and barred behind them, they were taken to a small stone building serving as an office just on the other side of the wall.

  Here, their details were recorded, and they were asked to go through to a small waiting room.

  “Captain Brodeur will want to speak with you,” he said.

  He did not add how long the captain would take to see them, and Marsh decided she wouldn’t ask unless they were there for a prolonged period of time. In the end, she didn’t have to. The good captain arrived scant moments later.

  “Good evening,” he said, wasting no time coming to the point. “I hear you want to speak with the council. On what matters?”

  Gustav regarded him coolly, and then stood and offered his hand.

  “I am Captain Gustav Moldrane.”

  When Brodeur had dutifully taken and shaken his hand, Gustav turned and indicated Marsh and Roeglin. “These are Shadow Masters Leger and Leclerc. We are here to speak to the council regarding an alliance between the Ruins Deep and Kerrenin’s Ledge communities, as well as our mutual security.”

  Brodeur regarded them, caution vying with hope in the dark blue depths of his eyes. He ran a hand through his tousled, dark hair.

  “Is that all?” he asked, scanning all of them. “Surely the shadow mages aren’t mercenaries for hire. What is their stake in all this?”

  “That is a matter we’ll be discussing with the council,” Gustav told him, smoothly.

  Brodeur frowned.

  “I’m afraid it isn’t. It is my duty to assess the security risks to the town and report to the council. I will need to advise them.”

  Gustav nodded but refused to back down.

  “Then I expect to see you at the meeting,” he said, “because these matters are not open for discussion outside of it. Monsieur Gravine insists.

  That was news to Marsh, but she kept her surprise from her face, regarding the Captain calmly, when he looked from Gustav to Roeglin to her and then back. After holding Gustav’s stare for several long heartbeats, he stepped back from the table.

  “I have sent a runner,” he said, “but it takes time
for the council to convene.”

  He didn’t quite stop the disapproving twist of his lips as he said it, and Marsh figured the council’s tardiness at convening must have been a thorn in his side for some time. She tried to keep that realization from her face and stayed silent. The time for speaking would arrive soon enough, and even these small glimpses at the political landscape were of value.

  When none of them spoke, Brodeur continued.

  “Where were you planning on staying?”

  Gustav looked over at Marsh, and she looked up at Brodeur.

  “We were going to stay at the local waystation,” she said. “Could you direct us?”

  The captain’s face broke into a smile.

  “Leclerc?” he asked. “You think I don’t’ recognize the name?”

  He looked her over carefully.

  “Your uncle’s been up here every day for weeks, asking if we’ve had news from Ruins Hall. I think you know very well where your waystation is.”

  Marsh blushed at being found out, and she shrugged.

  “I didn’t mean to deceive you,” she told him. “I just couldn’t be sure it was still there…or that my uncle…” Her voice caught, and a brief hint of sympathy flashed over Brodeur’s features.

  “I don’t know what you might have seen in the depths,” he told them, “and I’d like to discuss that with you, if I may?”

  His eyes caught Gustav’s nod, and he relaxed a little as he hurried to explain.

  “We’ve fended off several raids, hence the gates you came through, but we’ve lost none of the townsfolk.” His eyes took on a worried look. “I don’t know how the farms deeper have fared…”

  “The farmers are gone,” Marsh told him, regretting the bluntness of her words when she saw him flinch. “I’m sorry. That is something else we’ll be discussing with the council. I trust you’ll be there?”

  He nodded, his face looking more drawn than before.

  “I asked to take men out,” he began, his skin paling. “I…”

  His words faltered to a stop, his failure to go against his orders looking like it had affected him more deeply than it should. It didn’t take Marsh long to figure out why.

  “I’m sorry. Who did you lose?”

  Her quiet question caught him off-guard, and he shook his head.

  “Not me,” he said, “but I promised I’d try…”

  He chose a point on the wall opposite, and stared at it, his throat working as he pulled his emotions under control. After a moment, he blinked and looked back at them. Marsh had an idea of how he felt. She’d let people down, too—a whole cavern’s worth—when she’d followed the shadows to Leon’s Deep, instead of those the raiders had taken from it.

  Of course, if she’d followed the raiders, she and the children wouldn’t have been able to fight them, as they were doing now. They’d have been bundled up with everyone else the raiders had taken and vanished into Depths. Turning toward Leon’s had been the best choice to make, even if she didn’t feel it.

  It was. Now, pay attention. Roeglin’s gentle reminder pulled her from her memories in time to hear Gustav’s reply.

  “The shadow mages will be going after those that have been taken,” he said, and Marsh stared at him.

  He caught her look and the one Roeglin shot him and shrugged.

  “Some things just have to be said,” he explained. “The captain needed to know.”

  Brodeur moved toward the door, casting Gustav a solemn look.

  “I did. Thank you.” He paused before he left the room, fixing Marsh with an almost friendly look. “The waystation’s where you left it, Leclerc—and your uncle will be happy to see you. I won’t spoil the surprise by sending someone ahead to warn him.”

  He stepped out and then stepped back in again.

  “But I will send a runner to the station as soon as I have an appointment for you. Did you have any other errands you needed to run?”

  Gustav shook his head.

  “Beyond finding a place to stay and repairing our equipment, this is our primary task. We’ve no plans to leave until it is completed.”

  The captain hesitated and took another step into the room.

  “You do have the means to support yourselves?” he asked, looking uncomfortable with the question, but Gustav put his fears at rest.

  He unhooked a small pouch at his belt and sat it on the table, the rattle of stones inside it easy to hear. Opening the drawstrings, he removed three of the gems and set them on the table. Brodeur’s eyes widened, and he turned back to the door.

  “That is good to know,” he said. “Thank you.”

  He vanished around the door, and Sergeant Thierry appeared shortly afterward.

  “You can go,” he said. “We’ll send someone to Hawks Ledge as soon as your appointment is available.”

  He accompanied them to the door and waved them in the general direction of the station, and then he returned to the gatehouse.

  “I wonder how many men they have in their guard force,” Gustav murmured, glancing after the man.

  Marsh shrugged, adding it to the list of questions they should ask the council. Butterflies fluttered through her gut, their wingbeats turning from discomfort to mild nausea as they drew closer to where Hawks Ledge was situated.

  “You okay?” Roeglin asked, and Marsh nodded.

  “Just fine.”

  He tutted.

  “Aisha would be disappointed,” he told her. “It’s not nice to lie.”

  “Why don’t you get the Deeps out of my head, before I kick you out of it?”

  Roeglin opened his mouth to reply, but Gustav clapped him on the shoulder and shoved him toward the tall, narrow door in the waystation’s walls.

  “We need to check out the beer,” he said, following after. “Marsh will catch us up when she’s ready.”

  As if his words were a signal, Izmay, Gerry, Zeb, Henri, and Jakob followed, leaving Marsh standing on her own on the wooden walkway outside her childhood home. She looked up at the stylized pair of hawks painted above the entrance, took in the broad set of gates the caravans used when they arrived and stared at the door as it closed behind them.

  She stood there long after the others’ footsteps had faded, but couldn’t’ bring herself to go inside. Nerves and nausea rolled through her, and she took a step back. At first, she intended to just lean on the wall and stare at the street for a bit, but she knew she didn’t have long. Her uncle would be sure to ask where his latest visitors had come from—and, once he discovered they’d traveled from Ruins Hall, he’d ask after her…and then he’d come looking.

  Marsh turned away from the door.

  She wasn’t ready for this. She needed a minute. She wondered if Roeglin was keeping tabs on her mind, or if Gustav was distracting the mage enough to give her some privacy. The thought made her pause, but when the mage made no comment, she figured it was the latter, and she had a bit more time.

  Which reminded her…Marsh looked up and down the street and spotted the turn-off for Kearick’s. It hadn’t gone anywhere, but she was feeling just a little off-center, so it took her a moment to recognize it. As soon as she did, she stepped off the walkway, and trotted across the street, then down a block to the corner.

  As she went, Marsh remembered that the trader had sent a seeker after her…with orders to kill her while retrieving the commission she’d been carrying—for an agent of the shadow raiders. Kearick had had all the time he was going to get!

  She wondered if he already knew she’d arrived. Now that she was doing something other than facing the thought of meeting her uncle, the memories of working for Kearick were returning. Her boss had always seemed to be well-informed. Was his network still intact, or had it changed with the raiders’ attacks?

  Marsh glanced up and down the street, both glad for and wary of the glows lighting her way. While they’d reveal anyone waiting in the shadows, they’d show her progress, too, and she had no desire to be an easy target. It didn’t take her
long to reach the Emporium, and she was surprised to find it closed.

  Just after sunset was far too early.

  Taking another look up and down the street, Marsh walked over to the entrance and tried the door.

  Nope. That is well and truly locked, she thought and tried to peer through the front window. She couldn’t see anything in the unlit depths beyond and sighed. She was left with only one option.

  Marsh turned and walked back out to the street. A few more steps took her to a narrow alleyway running along the Emporium’s side. She took a moment to scan it for life, and then to tweak the shadows to ensure no one was waiting. When the shadows came back empty, she moved quickly from the walkway and into the dark, hurrying to the small set of steps leading up to the landing and side door halfway down the Emporium’s side.

  That, too, was locked—but it didn’t matter; Marsh had a key…of sorts.

  Drawing a slender needle of shadow from the dark, she made short work of the lock and slipped inside. When she’d closed the door behind her, Marsh looked around—just in time to see a blade slicing toward her. She leapt forward and felt the impact as the edge lodged in her pack, but she didn’t stop moving, stepping back lightly, and pulling a sword from the shadows cloaking the shop’s dark interior.

  To her surprise, there was no one in the direction the attack had come from. Calling a shield to her arm, Marsh made another turn, carefully surveying the inside of the shop. Still no one, not even when she blended the shadows with her ability to seek out the glow of an existing life force. Once she was sure she was clear, Marsh shrugged off her pack and pulled the blade out of its side.

  It was more a spear than a sword, with a short shaft and a broad-bladed head. Studying it, Marsh realized it could be thrown.

  “Or launched,” she murmured, suddenly understanding why Kearick had always warned her against letting herself in when he didn’t expect her. “Kearick, you are such a misbegotten son of the Deep.”

  It made her look for the nearest glow, taking the cover from the stone so that she could better see what she was doing. Kearick might not be here—and he might not have left anyone behind to guard the Emporium, but he hadn’t left it undefended. It made her wonder what he had to hide. Knowing the man, he either planned to return, which meant he had something to return for, or he was sending someone to collect what he’d left behind.