The Redemption of Desmeres

by Joseph R. Lallo

  “It is truly astonishing…” Anrack muttered. “These troop numbers. These… nearmen. There were so many. And the dragoyles. The power of them. They could fly, and obeyed implicitly… I’d seen glimpses of such things, heard rumors… How could we not know about the scope of it all?”

  “If you dig deep enough into the records you’ll find that great pains were taken to hide or, err, disguise and obscure the influence of their more supernatural contributions to the war effort.”

  “But I served directly under General Trigorah Teloran, Scriben. One of the five Generals.”

  “Again, err, dig deeply enough and you’ll learn there weren’t five Generals. Trigorah bore the title of General, um, certainly. But from the view of the others, she was well beneath them. The D’Karon were running the war, and she was a native.”

  As Ruprecht stuffed his pipe with shaky fingers and retired to a position far from any pages that might take to flame, a pair of Elite soldiers pushed open the door and hurried out of the icy wind. Anrack looked briefly from the page.

  “A report,” he grumbled. “Well past time. What have you got for me?”

  “Our men on Lumineblade’s trail have reported back. Nothing yet. Descriptions have gone cold in all of the populated stops. We lost his horse’s trail as soon as he made it to a main road, and the hounds haven’t turned up a trace.”

  “Absurd. For more than two weeks we were barely a step behind him. He covered his tracks ably, but not so well we couldn’t follow.”

  “Commander Anrack, err, General Teloran’s records indicate the Red Shadow was able to largely evade her Elite, um, for decades.”

  “That was the Red Shadow. This is Desmeres Lumineblade.”

  “And as you will read when you get to the first, err, ‘interview’ with Desmeres in Epidime’s files, Desmeres was operating as the Red Shadow’s partner during that time. It isn’t, err, unreasonable to imagine he has many of the same skills.”

  “Then why would his discovery have been so simple until now?”

  “Perhaps seeing you, err, face to face put an edge on his fear. Or perhaps he’s found something worth hiding again? I find that a bit of, err, focus tends to sharpen me up quite a bit.”

  “Your commentary is not necessary, Record-Keeper. This is an Elite matter.”

  “Ah, err, I apologize. This being my quarters and these being my records, I imagined my input was sought and valued.”

  “Keep your mouth shut until I order you to do otherwise or you have something relevant, Record-Keeper.”

  “Err. Yes, Commander. I—is it relevant to mention that I am not a member of the military and thus you are not technically my superior?”

  Anrack looked to his men. “Have we received any news from the men dispatched to the storehouses General Teloran had marked as high interest?”

  “No, Commander. If they have kept to schedule, they would have arrived at the first of them only a few hours ago. The earliest we could expect to receive word would be in several days when the messengers return.”

  The commander pounded the desk. “Delays. Delays.” He snatched up a bundle of pages. “These D’Karon were able to dispatch orders instantaneously from across the kingdom! They had crystals that could deliver spoken messages at a whim, and General Demont had direct control over any number of beasts. That is how a military should be run!”

  He turned to Ruprecht.

  “You. Have you identified any such crystals amongst your artifacts?”

  “Of course. Err, but you—”

  “Whether I am permitted to utilize them is not your concern, Record-Keeper. Gather them and ready them. I shall require training in their use. If the queen is truly dedicated to Lumineblade’s acquisition, she shall see why binding my hands unnecessarily out of a superstitious fear of D’Karon tools is folly. And when I have received her blessing on the matter I want them to be ready.”

  “Do you have any further orders, Commander?” asked an Elite.

  “Return to the palace, arrange a meeting with the queen, and report back to me with when I can see her. I should also be informed as soon as any messages are received from currently in the field.”

  “Yes, Commander.”

  “Then go.”

  They hurried to the door and took their leave. When they door shut, Anrack continued his analysis of the endless mounds of pages in the record-keeper’s care. For a minute or two, the keeper puffed at his pipe and watched him work. Then he fished in his pocket for a cork and stuffed it in the pipe’s end before stowing it.

  “Err, Commander, you said I should speak up only when relevant,” Ruprecht said.

  “Yes…” Anrack rumbled.

  “I think I have a matter which you would consider relevant.”

  “That is for me to determine, not you.”

  Ruprecht marched over to the pages representing those of Epidime’s notes that had been discovered. Without any evident attempt at identifying the contents, he pulled a small black book from among them and began leafing through the pages.

  “There was a matter I seem to recall reading about in my initial investigation of these notes. With regards to Desmeres and the Red Shadow.”

  “Find the passage and set it aside. I shall look into it next.”

  The record-keeper continued. “He found himself fascinated by some of the same points that you have, um… fixated upon… Here. ‘The weapons. Most unique. Similar treatments and similar enchantments used in Lain’s weapons and Desmeres’s…”

  “Lain is the Red Shadow, yes?”

  “Err, among many names, yes. If I may finish, ‘… Desmeres rarely engages in combat, but shows evidence of similar training. This indicates a similar origin.’ I wonder, Anrack, have your other bits of research turned up anything on from whence Desmeres hails?”

  “He is a half-elf. If he is not local, then he is from South Crescent.”

  “You’ve not determined this with any certainty?”

  “Where he was born is not the point of present concern, Record-Keeper. Where he is now is the issue.”

  “When you’re attempting to untangle a cord, it helps to find one of the ends. If you can’t find the near one, you may as well look for the far one. I feel certain I recall some mention of a theory in that regard in later notes.”

  “This is a pointless avenue of inquiry,” Anrack said.

  “Reserve judgment until I find what I’m after, Commander.”

  He shifted the top of a pile nearer to those Anrack was reading and fetched a larger book with a leather binding.

  “I do wish Epidime would have been more, err… standardized in his record-keeping. All of these books of different sizes make for a storage nightmare. … Here, ‘Lain proved profoundly difficult to read. Gaining control was simple enough, but for all the time I spent within his vessel I failed to unlock all of his secrets. Truly impressive strength of will. I suspect this Entwell place can be blamed for that as for all other remarkable elements of his training and character.’”

  “Reading… Control… I’ve encountered these words often in what I’ve read of Epidime’s notes. It is said—”

  “That he could take control of the bodies of others. Yes. In fact, it is the opinion of Deacon that he had to, as he had no body of his own. Err, rather a useful skill for an intelligence officer to have, eh, Commander? To worm his way into the heads of the enemy? It continues, ‘The pieces are sparse, but I feel certain that Entwell is hidden behind those blasted mountains I’ve yet to penetrate. The skills hidden beyond are utterly tantalizing. Wizards of unparalleled training, warriors of legendary skill. The sheer density of knowledge and power within that place. I simply must make a point of finding my way there before I’m through with this world. Lain owes his skills to that place, to a trainer called Master Weste. Myranda and Deacon as well. Even the elemental seems to have been born of that fertile patch of ground. And yet it is hidden from me, the mountains opaque to my searching and a barrier to my travel. Its connection to
the Chosen and its utterly flawless capacity to elude D’Karon discovery speaks volumes of divine intervention. I do so dislike when the divine are overt in their preparations…’”

  “Let me see that,” Anrack said, snatching the notes away.

  He scanned along the page, finding only D’Karon writing. After a bit of comparison, he was able to determine Ruprecht was indeed reading them accurately.

  “How can you read the words so fluidly?”

  “Steep yourself in them for weeks at a time and you’ll develop a fluency as well. Shall I continue?”

  Anrack handed the book back to him. “Summarize.”

  “The whole of it boils down to a cave called the Cave of the Beast. Epidime believes it leads to a place called Entwell, and he wanted the knowledge and skills of that place for himself.”

  “And yet he did not claim it for himself.”

  “He did not become aware of it to any level of detail until the months preceding his defeat, and even then, he’d made attempts. It seems that the mountain and the surrounding mystic environment were perfectly suited for keeping him at bay. Immune to his magic and hidden from his perception. He would have to find his way through the cave just as a mortal would have. There are passages within his notes that suggest he was unwilling to do so until he could determine the path with certainty. That would require an ‘interview’ with someone who had passed safely through the cave with knowledge of its layout. It is a short list. He failed to read Myranda’s mind at all, and failed to read Lain’s mind fully. That left only Desmeres and Deacon, though for reasons not made clear he discarded Deacon as an option.”

  “And he did not read Desmeres? Not even during his brief time in direct command of the scoundrel?”

  “Desmeres is described as being ‘inventively elusive and impressively well-prepared.’”

  “If we assume this to be true, then weapons of the coveted sort that have inspired the queen to demand his capture rather than execution would be available in abundance there.”

  “If we assume this to be true, then warriors of the sort that defeated the D’Karon are there as well. And wizards of the sort that closed their gates.”

  “But he claims Duchess Myranda and Duke Deacon have spent time there. If that were true, why would we not be made aware?”

  “I’m sure royalty has their reasons. Though I think you’ll find when one has a peerless treasure within one’s kingdom, one tends to keep it a secret for fear of those who would seek it for themselves.”

  “Mmm… A not entirely unwise sentiment.” Plots and plans began to churn in Anrack’s mind. “If this place exists… If it did give Myranda and Deacon their training… That is clear evidence that they are at the very least amenable to training troops to fight for the north. If we were to reach that place. If we were to take men there… Each could return armed with weapons the match of what Desmeres keeps so selfishly, and furthermore armed with training available nowhere else…”

  “So it would seem my findings are relevant to your interests.”

  “And it would seem, as has been so clearly the case in all other matters of war, the D’Karon had considerable insight and immoral but sound tactics. What you have brought to my attention certainly adds further potential value to the intact acquisition of our target, but it moves us no closer to actually locating him.”

  “Once again, Anrack, Epidime’s writings hold the key,” the record-keeper said, selecting another book.

  “Commander Anrack,” he corrected.

  “My apologies, of course, Commander.” He cleared his throat. “Let me see now. ‘Well hidden within Lain’s mind, I found many memories of the same place. It is not the largest of the storehouses in his memory and my own research, but it is clearly the most valuable. Huge quantities of precious metals. Documents of some kind. Dozens of examples of Desmeres’s weapons. And more valuable to Lain for reasons far from the point at hand, many, many books. It is easily the best protected of the targets, but unquestionably the one which if watched would eventually see their return.’ There is additionally enough information to reliably identify this storehouse among those we’ve marked on the maps.”

  The record=keeper kicked open a chest and pulled out a map, then dabbed at some ink and referred to the book before marking the midpoint of an unassuming field.

  “There, Commander,” he said.

  Anrack looked over the map and the book, his expression thoughtful and calculating.

  “While it is undeniably a potential method to seize our man, I am not overly fond of simply sitting and waiting for him to arrive. He might choose to avoid the storehouse. Placed in a field as it is, it would be difficult to remain hidden in ambush. … However… We’ve seen the lengths he will go to retrieve his weapons… And… yes… it does say this place holds many of his weapons… The solution is simple then. We find the place. We raid it. At best we find Desmeres himself cowering inside. At worst, we acquire fine weapons which he will be compelled to recover, and which can be put to use disabling him.”

  “A fine plan well devised, Commander.”

  “Mmm… I shall oversee it personally.” He looked to the record=keeper. “Your speech seems to have become a good deal steadier than when we first met.”

  “As I said, Commander, focus tends to sharpen me up quite a bit. And it has become clear to me that your interests and my own are quite closely aligned.”

  “I am the Commander of the Elite, working in defense of our kingdom. My interests are the best interests of the Northern Alliance as a whole.”

  “Perhaps so, but your dedication, and your insight into the value of the sorts of things Desmeres and his knowledge could bring us show a particularly keen sense of opportunity and advancement. Epidime and I share a fascination in the mysteries that may lurk in this ‘Entwell’ place. I am the record-keeper, after all. I live to get my hands on interesting new information. I am quite confident you shall bring me precisely what I am after.”

  #

  Late in the evening, Desmeres approached the door of a small boarding house at the edge of Krestok. The wind howled as he fought with the door. A good hard shove with his shoulder finally dislodged it and he stumbled through. Inside, it took a similar amount of effort to get the door closed.

  “Who goes there?” came a man’s voice from behind.

  Desmeres turned. The boarding house had a tiny foyer. It had barely enough room for the door to swing fully. Only a small corner was clear of the door, the hallway to the lower rooms, and the narrow stairs to the upper ones. In that corner a chair had been placed. A locked chest sat below the chair and figure sat atop it. The only light came from a small stove smoldering at the man’s feet. Desmeres could see little more than the man’s general shape in the darkness.

  “I could ask you the same question,” he said.

  “Night watchman. And you are?”

  “I have a room here.”

  “What is your name, sir.”

  “Mr. Tenant.”

  “Mr. Tenant, eh? Strange. Seven of our ten tenants are called that. Large family, I suppose. To which Mr. Tenant am I speaking?”

  “Lower level. Third on the left.”

  “You’ve never come in so late, Mr. Third On The Left.”

  “And I’m glad of it, too. A man trying to navigate a dark hall like this is liable to break a leg.”

  “I’ve got a lantern here if you need it.”

  He held out a copper and glass mechanism with a small cup filled with slim tapers attached to the side. Desmeres took it and knelt to the stove, lighting a taper and with it the lantern.

  The night watchman was an elderly man. His head was bare but for a fringe of gray hair. Layers of shabby gray cloth protected him against the cold, and he’d tied a gray rag across his eyes.

  “Watchman is an honorary title, I suppose,” Desmeres quipped.

  “You would be surprised what these ears can tell. Like the fact you’ve got a dog under that jacket. And Mr. Third On The Left
hasn’t been paying the extra copper to keep his animals indoors.”

  “The dog is a new addition. And a moot point for that matter, because I’m here to move out. Business requires me elsewhere. You shall have your room back in a few hours.”

  “That’s all well and good, but I’ve never heard you come through here before. For all I know, you’ve been beating out our morning man for the extra fee. You aren’t going anywhere until our morning man returns to confirm your story.”

  “I’m in a bit of a hurry.”

  “The sort of hurry that leads a man to move out of his room in the dead of night? There is already cause to suspect you of trying to avoid paying your full bill. Shall I summon the town guard and see what else you may be guilty of?”

  Desmeres narrowed his eyes. “Night watchman and extortionist. I had underestimated your value as an employee.”

  “Extortion is the least of my roles. I also assign rooms. If you’ve enjoyed your view, you can thank me for that, Mr. Third On The Left.”

  “As I recall, it was the only vacancy at the time, and as you’ve already pointed out, we’ve not met before.”

  “No, but I assigned all other vacancies the night before.”

  Dowser struggled in his bundled up place under Desmeres’s coat.

  “Much as I would enjoy continuing this discussion, I am in a considerable hurry, so you win. I will pay the extra fee. Just—”

  “Paying a man to let you vacate early? Now that is certainly the act of a guilty man. Perhaps I shall alert the guards now, then.”

  “What would you have me do?”

  “Wait until the morning.”

  “What is your stubborn requirement that I wait a few hours?”

  “Move-outs mean open doors, and open doors mean cold breezes. Losing your sight makes every sensation seem far stronger. I prefer to save the move-outs for the morning shift, when there is the benefit of warmer temperatures and someone else is in this chair.”

  “So you would delay me by hours simply to avoid your own discomfort?”

  “Yes.”

  He smirked. “I suppose I cannot begrudge an honest man with reasonable motivations. Very well. You leave me with no options. The morning it shall be. A night with a roof over my head is probably wise.”