“Good. And don’t bother trying to sneak out. These ears don’t miss anything.”
Desmeres paced down the hall, trying to steady Dowser, who was becoming increasingly fussy.
“Leave the lantern outside your door,” the watchman called. “I will collect it when I hear your door shut.”
“Anything to make your evening more comfortable,” Desmeres said.
“Much obliged, Mr. Third On The Left.”
He continued down the hall and let himself into his room, keeping the lantern in hand just long enough to light the one inside the room. Once he stowed the one he had borrowed and shut the door, he gazed around the place that had been as near to a home as he had since the closing days of the war. It was the absolute minimum for long-term lodging. There was no access to anything resembling heat. Little more than a bed and a bit of storage out of the wind and weather. Not that anything more would have been necessary or called for. During long swaths of his life, he’d made do with living outdoors or in the scattered underground storerooms and safe houses he’d prepared. The two long weeks he’d spent in this room while planning out the bulk of his weapon retrievals were the longest uninterrupted period of civilized living he’d enjoyed in years. Since then he had not spent more than two nights in this room or any other.
Desmeres opened his coat and let Dowser down, then eased himself onto the bed. The puppy roved about the ground, sniffing so vigorously at each piece of furniture, it looked as though it was attempting to inhale them.
“Well, Dowser. You kept quiet. And you’re keeping quiet. That’s a good start. It shows this idle chit-chat is working. But from the way you were trying to burrow through my jacket to get at the new smells, I doubt we’ll be able to get any focused tracking out of you any time soon. Krestok would be a fine trial by fire for training you to find a needle in a hay stack, but at this stage you’re more likely to beg treats and scratches off every person you meet.”
Dowser found his way to the storage chest and nosed it open. Before Desmeres could hop to his feet and stop the puppy, he had snatched up a long, thin potion bottle and waddled over to Desmeres with it.
“No, no, no,” he said quietly, gently tugging the potion from the dog’s mouth. He checked the label. “That would have been messy… We’ll have to train that little habit out of you before too much longer.”
After stowing the potion and securing the chest, he folded the blanket previously used to swaddle the puppy and dropped it on the ground beside the bed. Dowser sniffed it, then gratefully curled up atop the makeshift bed.
“Get some sleep. Come morning, we’ll wash up, grab a bite, and pick one of the locations from this book to start searching for our first indebted. Since the blind man worked out I had you with me, I suppose there’s not much use in keeping you hidden. Perhaps tomorrow we’ll let you take a walk and see how you react to a proper crowd when immersed in it.” He yawned. “But that’s for tomorrow.”
#
At Fort Greenworth, the late hour made little difference to Commander Anrack. Ever since the record-keeper had made mention of this Entwell place, it had been central in his mind. He’d demanded that Ruprecht gather any and all notes he had so far encountered regarding the place and speculations of its location for Anrack to analyze personally. The language was an impediment. Anrack was a native Varden speaker. He had not bothered even to learn Crich, technically the language of his homeland, or the language of Tressor. Attempting to grasp the nuances of the wholly alien language of the D’Karon was a challenge to which he was ill-suited, but he kept at it. He would make no decision until he’d confirmed the information with his own eyes.
Anrack was a man mindful of treachery from all corners. It was not in him to simply trust the word of the record-keeper regarding what Epidime’s notes said. There was something about the man’s actions that concerned the commander. He could not place his finger precisely on what it might be, but Ruprecht Scriben had an agenda. That, in and of itself, was not necessarily a bad thing. Too many people cut themselves off from those who have their own plans before first determining how well those plans complement one another. Ambition was a good thing, and something to be sought. Some of the finest soldiers ever to serve under him had fought all the more viciously and bravely out of the desire to have Anrack’s job for their own. He would rather have someone hoping to take his place than someone looking for the first opportunity to desert his post or shirk his duties.
All through the night, he worked at the translation. Twice messengers made the trek from the capital to take orders and deliver reports from his assorted men on assignment. They had, of course, turned up nothing. One thing that was quite certain was, as Ruprecht had suggested, they would not be getting the better of Desmeres without getting ahead of him.
Just minutes after dawn broke, yet another knock came at the door.
“Scriben,” Anrack barked. “The door!”
The commander’s cry shook the record-keeper from the light dose he’d fallen into.
“Heavens, Commander. Do you ever sleep?” he mumbled.
“Not when there is work to be done. Answer the door. It will be another set of messengers.”
Ruprecht stumbled to his feet and hurried to the door. “You really ought to get some rest, sir. A weary mind is prone to, err, mistranslation.”
“I shall be mindful of that if I find myself becoming weary. The door!”
“Yes, Commander.”
The record-keeper released the brace and opened the door, allowing two half-frozen Elite soldiers to stumble in. It was clear at first glance that these were two of the new recruits. Unlike the other reassigned Undermine members, their shortcomings weren’t in the form of decorum or polish. These men were simply too young to have satisfied the requirements of the Elite. They were barely men at all, one still in his teens and the other freshly out. Veteran soldiers they were not, but their light frames and youthful vigor made them ideal for delivering messages quickly.
One of the soldiers, still brushing the snow from his cloak, opened his mouth to speak. Before the first syllable could leave his lips, Anrack interrupted with an order.
“Get over here, both of you,” he demanded.
They marched to his side, trailing snow all the way.
“What have you got for me?” Anrack demanded two steps before they arrived.
“All of our dispatched Elites have reported at least once. No encounters with Lumineblade. Two of the hidden safe houses were discovered as well. The traps at the entrance were more difficult to disable than the findings indicated. Three men had to be treated for wounds.”
“Desmeres will pay dearly,” Anrack fumed. “And what of the queen?”
“She has considered your request, and says that… She says that…”
“Give me the dispatch, soldier.”
“Right, Commander,” the messenger said, fumbling through his bag.
“Messengers not able to recall their messages…” Anrack rumbled. “I am in command of children.”
The messenger revealed a carefully lettered message and a formal order bearing the royal seal. Anrack snatched message and looked it over.
“‘Commander Anrack,’” he read, “‘I have considered your request. As General Trigorah made skillful use of D’Karon equipment and methods in service of our cause and in command of the Elite, it is not without precedent that you would be permitted the same opportunity. You are thus permitted to make limited use of basic D’Karon equipment. Enclosed is a list of items which, according to prior investigation by Deacon, can be safely used if done with proper training. Also enclosed is a formal proclamation allowing their use. Please note, this equipment is to be utilized in extreme emergency, only when out of view of the general public, and no closer than one day’s travel from the border to Tressor. Each use shall be documented, and the usage shall be discontinued if any unexpected or undesirable effects result from said use.’”
Anrack gripped the message tightly, visibly
struggling against the urge to crumple it.
“The message reeks of reluctance. That woman ties my hands and expects results. I do not understand how the same woman with the wit and audacity to stage an offensive against her own capital in order to wrest it free from the grip of these D’Karon creatures could become so cautious and careful in the months that follow.”
“In those days, the city was in a state of war. An old war is a good deal more stable than a fresh peace,” Ruprecht said. “I would suggest it is, err, sound strategy to step lightly over the thin ice of this armistice.”
“And the opinion of a record-keeper is a good deal less valuable than a seasoned commander,” Anrack countered. “However, this decision shows that she has at least a reasonable concept of what is required to assure success. Record-keeper, take this list and gather any of the items upon it that are within your collection. When you are through, prepare a list of instructions as to their operation.”
“Yes, Commander,” Ruprecht said. “Does this mean you are leaving?”
“As soon as you have completed my orders.” He turned to the messengers. “You, help the record-keeper collect and pack the goods. You, prepare the horses for a return trip.”
“I don’t think I can do that, Commander,” said second messenger.
“If you do not think you can follow the orders of your commander then you have no place in the Elite, soldier.”
“I mean to say that we don’t have any fresh horses. The ones we rode barely made it here. You’ve been stretching the Elite stables to their limit with all of the messages you’ve been sending and getting. And we don’t even have a third horse for you.”
“Further evidence of the woeful state of the Kingdom’s defense…” Anrack muttered. “Very well. See to the horses and ensure they are properly groomed and in the stable. Remain with them until they are adequately rested, and fetch me the moment you are confident they can make a return trip with proper speed.”
“Yes, Commander!”
The smaller of the two men hurried back out the door and toward the stables. The older lingered beside Ruprecht.
“Err, you’re the one he’s assigned to me, eh?” the record-keeper said. “Head down that aisle there. The very last crate has got a load of amulets and wands. Most of them are too powerful for what the queen’s listed here. Just bring me the whole box and I shall find some appropriate ones for you.”
The man nodded and hurried off.
“You know, with all of these trips to and fro, it is a shame the portal gems aren’t on the queen’s list here.”
“Portal gems?”
“You must have run into mention of the portals in Epidime’s writings? Though I suppose if I understand correctly, he was the one member of the five Generals who seemed to get from one side of the Kingdom to the other without their use. The benefits of no permanent body, I imagine.”
“Please focus on one topic at a time, Scriben. What of these portal gems?”
“General Teht was the most enamored with them. The D’Karon had maps of places that were mystically prepared, as though they were… err… ports of call for a transport ship. They could drink away the magic from inside gems like the ones on the walls and use the power to open doors from wherever they stood to one of these ports. Special portal gems could even be placed elsewhere, wherever they chose, in order to allow travel to arbitrary locations, if only once. Dangerous, though. They tended to do damage when they closed. Stands to reason why the queen wouldn’t want them used by the unskilled.”
“Before my exposure to your records, I had my doubts that five individuals, even five Generals, could have so effectively and completely maintained a stranglehold on the Northern Alliance and its people. But with each new tale of their exploits, I become less astounded by that and more astounded that they had not simply wiped away our enemies in the first weeks of the war.”
“I am certain they would have, if that had been their aim. But let us not forget they were seeking to defeat both the north and the south, as well as east and west in time. Neither peace nor victory were their aim. Only annihilation and conquest. Those things take time.”
“Regardless. Do you have any of these portal gems?”
“I may. Your presence has interrupted my cataloging, so I’ve made little progress toward identifying the contents of the latest shipment of artifacts.”
“If you find them, sequester them for my use. If the queen can be made to see the value of the use of a small sampling of the D’Karon equipment, further discussion and illustration of my capacity to utilize them wisely could well motivate her to offer more.”
“Yes, Commander,” he said.
“Also, please identify for me which of these books contains Epidime’s record of the contents of this primary storehouse we anticipate Desmeres of targeting. In fact, do that now, before any other task.”
“In a hurry, Commander?”
“As soon as the horses are rested, I shall return to the capital, muster a suitable force, and head for the place directly. I wish to know precisely what sort of treasures we can expect to find there, if only to know which if any Desmeres has already retrieved. That should provide us with an indication of whether he’s visited recently, and thus how soon he can be expected to return.”
“Mmm… Wise thinking. The volume you are looking for is third in that stack. Eighth or ninth page. You’ll recognize it because of all the numerals. If that will be all, Commander, I believe I ought to aid the assistant you’ve loaned me. If my eyes do not deceive me, he is rooting around in the wrong box, and that is a recipe for disaster in a place such as this.”
Anrack dismissed him with an irritable wave of his hand. Sure enough, when he turned to the indicated page and began to translate what he found there, it was indeed precisely the passage the commander had requested. It was remarkable how scatterbrained the record-keeper could appear to be, and yet how thoroughly and effortlessly he could recall the seemingly inexhaustible library of observations and musings. Evidence, perhaps, that certain minds are properly suited for certain tasks and can’t be expected to excel at anything less or anything more.
He set that thought aside and focused on the page. It held a careful record of what Epidime had ‘seen’ on the shelves and walls of the storeroom. Anrack marked them down, organizing the manifest by the value to himself and to the elite. As the list of priceless weapons and raw wealth grew, Anrack wondered what would be the greater prize earned from the storeroom. Desmeres himself, or the weapons he’d created.
#
Genara tromped irritably through the streets and began to dream of the hot bowl of stew that awaited her back at the inn. Since the crack of dawn she had been pacing the city of Krestok. Her first order of business had been to find the banquet hall that she was with each passing moment cursing more thoroughly for bringing her to this place. If Desmeres had etched it with such perfection upon her ring, she reasoned it must have been easily visible to him. Her hope had thus been that it was tucked away in some forgotten corner of town.
Such had not been her luck. Krestok Banquet Hall was a beloved landmark of the town. It sat not far from the intersection that marked the center of town, and was the second tallest building in Krestok. Half the city had a view of the building, and as the design in question was along the edge of its tall, peaked roof, her search for Desmeres’s potential lair was scarcely narrowed at all.
Her questioning of the locals was somewhat more successful. One of the many benefits of being an attractive woman was that other women didn’t feel threatened when speaking to her and men practically tripped over themselves for the chance to have a chat. It was nice to know even if she was not so firmly in possession of her youth anymore, she still could turn a head when she needed to. Slipping away from the gentlemen when she was through talking to them was difficult, as they were often concerned for her well-being. Those who were less-than-gentlemanly were even more difficult to escape, as they tended to assume any aid would earn t
hem a reward of their choosing. Genara was no stranger to such things, and her earliest years in her chosen profession had been a peerless education on how to escape unwanted attentions. It began by avoiding the unwanted attention in the first place by choosing her interviewees with care. At the moment, a white-haired man who was oddly underdressed for the cold weather was walking away from her. That was a good sign. The older ones were less spirited, and the underdressed were eager to get indoors and wouldn’t talk any longer than they had to.
“Excuse me! Excuse me there!” she called, hurrying across the busy street.
“Mmm?” the man called over his shoulder.
“I wonder if you have seen a friend of mine.”
“I haven’t.”
“How do you know? I haven’t described him yet,” she said, catching up to him.
He turned vaguely in her direction, revealing the blindfold that from behind she’d mistaken for a scarf.
“Because I haven’t seen anyone lately,” he said.
“Oh. I am very sorry, sir. I couldn’t see.”
“That is all right. I can’t either.”
“I’m sorry to bother you. I’ll leave you be.”
“Now, now,” he said. “You’ve got my ear. You may as well bend it. Who are you after?”
“Err… Forgive me, but I’m accustomed to describing what he looks like. I wouldn’t even know how to ask you about him.”
“Do you know what he sounds like?”
“Like he’s too smart for his own good, and like he’s utterly confident in every last syllable.”
“Mmm… Clear diction?”
“Even when he’s been drinking. Do you know him?”
“About a half dozen of him. There’s a few boys like that up toward—”
“There you are!” barked a harsh voice.
Genara rolled her eyes and pulled back her hood.
“Sounds like Farfin, the big stable boy from the north end,” the blind man said. “Do you know him?”
The Redemption of Desmeres Page 13
