by RG Long
“Death take us early,” she said, shaking her head. “You all are supposed to be the spies here. Aren’t you used to this?”
“Pardon, miss?” a sleepy Jurrin asked from the back. “What’d I miss?”
The stern looking woman took a deep breath and shook her head at them.
“I would enjoy an explanation from you all about this business at hand. Where is Holve? He’s the one with whom I’ve been corresponding.”
Maccus let out a nervous chuckle.
“Well, you see, ma’am,” he began. The woman’s stern brow deepened and Maccus continued on as quickly as he could.
“We were interrupted in our escape from Meris. Holve and some others stayed behind to give us time to get out. He did give us instructions to give to you, though. And he hopes you’ll come to terms with his proposal.”
The woman pursed her lips together and let out a humpf.
“We’ll have to see about all that,” she said. “Let’s not talk in the stables. There’s a workers’ dining hall just up the way. It’s been cleared so we can talk openly. Follow me.”
Ealrin was relieved. He moved himself out from under the layers of fabric and stretched as he put a foot down on the clean stable floor. It felt both incredibly good to stand at his full height again and incredibly painful. His right calf was seizing as he took a few steps. He was impressed. Though he could hear the sound of horses and other animals about, the stables were not smelly or unclean. They were very well kept.
The rest of the company was getting out of the cart when Ealrin noticed that the large bearded man was with the woman as well. Probably for her protection, he thought. She wasn’t all that large of a woman, though her demeanor was certainly intimidating enough. It was eight against two, however. Ealrin wondered about how much faith she put in her bodyguard?
He helped Blume and Olma out of the cart. Tratta slapped away his hand and jumped down herself. Shrugging, he stood back so the others could get down as well. Once Jurrin came to the edge, he stepped up again.
“Thank you, Mister Ealrin!” he said enthusiastically. “My legs were so stiff I didn't think they’d get moving on their own!”
“Let’s stretch them out a bit more, shall we?” Ealrin asked, motioning for Jurrin to walk ahead of him and follow the line of people out of the stall and into the greater stables.
The place was deserted, save for the animals that kicked and whinnied every so often in their stalls. Ealrin couldn’t guess the time, but he was sure it was past the middle of the night. His eyes burned enough for that at least.
Moving his tired legs helped him wake up enough to take in his surroundings. The stable was much taller than any he had ever seen, even in some palaces and castles. The stable doors were all closed and the walkway was free of strands of hay. This woman ran a very clean and tight organization, Ealrin mused.
She took a turn through a door and they followed her quickly. Letting them all come through, she shut the door and bolted it after they had all come into the dining hall that was lit with a few candles in holders along beams in the wall. Long stone tables had stone benches that went the length of the room. A fire was lit in the hearth in the center. On either side of the fireplace, doors went into what he assumed was the kitchen. From this vantage point, he could see they were locked as well.
Ealrin didn’t like being locked in a room, but he at least did take comfort in knowing that they outnumbered her and her bearded companion. He was, however, concerned that they were now in a chamber in her house, or courtyard, or whatever it was.
They were at her mercy.
She put her hands together and let them rest on her waist as she spoke directly and firmly to Maccus.
“My name is Miss Rivius and I’ve been in contact with Holve for a month now. You say he is unable to come because he was taken at Meris,” she said, giving Maccus a look that Ealrin was sure meant to convey power. “What proof can you give me that you are, in fact, agents from him and not from another?”
Ealrin felt weak. This was a valid point and a concern he himself would have had if he were on the other end of this. How would they be able to prove that they were who they said without the man himself? Was there a secret phrase they were to say? Should they recite his previous correspondence? Perhaps Gregory would know?
Ealrin knew none of these things. He turned to look at Maccus and then at Gregory. Though neither of them made a movement, Ealrin could have sworn he saw a passing glance go between them. Again he felt that burning anger towards Holve. If only he had told them more, they might not be in this mess.
“I do not see the white-haired woman Holve spoke of,” Miss Rivius said plainly, looking over the group. “But I would be satisfied if the other member of your group he mentioned showed me their gift.”
Gift? Ealrin raised an eyebrow at her. What gift did they have to show? Holve gave them nothing, that he was aware of, to give in exchange for her trust. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw something that made him jump and come to a realization of her words at the same time.
Several bowls and plates that had been placed on the table were floating about an arm’s length off of the surface.
Miss Rivius nodded.
“That will do.”
The objects came gently back to a rest on the stone surface. Ealrin looked and saw Blume breathing hard, but managing to stay upright. He thought he saw a flash of black from her ring, but it was so quick he couldn’t be sure. The woman folded her arms in front of her and then looked them each in the eye, one at a time. She then turned to address Maccus again.
“Speak,” she said. “I will listen.”
Maccus let out a sigh.
“I’m not sure, Miss Rivius,” he said after a moment. “Holve wasn’t quite clear on what to tell you and what to keep close at hand. We’re not sure where you stand, after all. How can we trust you?”
Ealrin wasn’t sure Maccus was aware that they weren’t in the position to be bargaining or withholding information. And even if they were, it certainly wasn’t with a tone like that.
“Allow me to put your mind at ease,” Miss Rivius said. Ealrin thought it might have been an attempt at sweetness, but her face was still stern and hard. “Either you will convey all of your information, or you will be leaving my shop, never to return. If you claim to know me, or put my head out for a hunt in order to save your own skin, I will deny it to your face and bring forth eight witnesses who can attest to my being in bed during this night, or else otherwise busy about my business.”
Maccus shrugged and mumbled something like, “Can’t do no better.”
“As I think Holve was tellin’ you in the letters,” Maccus began. “The cult of Ladism is growin’ weaker by the day. They know this and are doin’ their very best to ensure their religion goes on. But with the Isolian armies marchin’ on their castles, they’re bringin’ with them their worship of Yada. And they can back up their claims with shows of magic. The power of Rimstone is becomin’ extremely pervasive.”
“This I know,” Rivius said. “As much as I detest Isol, I know that they have behind them a very powerful religious, as well as battle-hardened, advantage.”
“There’s a problem,” Maccus said, nodding. “Not only is Isol spreadin’ the teachin’ of Yada, there’s another force at work. A demonic influence that’s takin’ hold. With Isol becomin’ stronger every day and Ladism not giving the people the power to fight it except with the promise of a good death, the people are turnin’ to whatever may aid them in repellin’ the invaders.”
Tratta spoke for the first time.
“Holve was serious that we come and get support from you and whoever else we could in Meris, ya know?”
Rivius nodded at this, as if she was aware of such information. The bearded man shook his head and looked down at the floor.
“People have lost their minds. Turning from the gods of Ladis to demons? What are they thinking?”
“They see their religion failing them, don
’t they?” Tratta interjected. “A belief that only means they’ll do well later? What if people what to live now, ya know? They’ll turn to whatever can promise them life now instead of just a good place to be dead.”
Maccus looked over at Tratta harshly, but didn’t say anything. Ealrin took all this in slowly. Ladism, the religion that hated magic and tried to crush its users, was weakening in the presence of the much stronger and more able to prove itself Teachings of Yada. Beyond both of these, the demons. The same ones they had fought in Ruyn.
But who would worship such terrible creatures?
“I’ve heard of entire towns being burned to the ground, with the survivors coming out and praising the name of some god or goddess I’ve never heard of,” Rivius said plainly. “The stories come in from all over Juttis. They seem more prevalent here than other parts of Ladis, at least, right Ferrin?”
The bearded man, who Ealrin supposed was Ferrin, agreed.
“Every day we hear of some new town destroyed and with the burnt stones that used to house people being used to build some altar to a demon.”
He spat, then looked sideways at Miss Rivius.
“Pardon me, ma’am, but they’re darned fools. They have no idea what they’re getting into and no clue who they praise,” he said, a disgusted look on his face. “They’ll bring ruin down on us all.”
“That’s not the main problem,” Maccus said. “Holve was thinkin’ that all the demons and what not got its start here in Juttis. At least, he said it looked that way on Ladis. Which is why it’s been so hard to get our people in to spy on the city.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Rivius said, waving a hand. “Juttis is a city so enthralled with Ladism that I can’t keep enough of the cloth in stock. They fly off my shelves.”
Maccus bowed to her.
“Beggin’ your pardon ma’am,” he said in what had to be the nicest tone Ealrin had ever heard. “But I’m thinkin’ the problems not on the streets, but a bit higher up.”
“As in?”
Maccus cleared his throat and looked around the room.
“This is what Holve was concerned about sharing with you in his letters, ma’am,” he said cautiously.
“I understand,” Rivius said with a wave of her hand. “Go on.”
“Well,” Maccus said, looking around the room once more as if he were worried. “The Prince of Juttis may not only be worshipin’ the demons who have plagued the towns around here, but he may also be plannin’ a full on coup of Prommus.”
Rivius let out a dry chuckle.
“And what good would that do him? The Isolians are marching on Prommus as we speak, or so the news goes. We’ve sent one, maybe two thousand men to help aid that battle.”
“And thousands more have stayed behind,” Maccus added. “I don’t think the prince is plannin’ to win by men alone. We believe he’s learned to harness the powers of the demons and wants to lose them on both Prommus and Isol. We saw a bit of that already in Meris from the prince there.”
Ealrin nodded, remembering the terrible display between Blume and Prince Grattus.
“And so why do you need me?” Rivius asked. “I’m a business woman who has her own worries in a city already run by men. Why should I put myself on the line for, what exactly? The Isolian army? Ladis? The religions they support?”
Maccus shook his head.
“None of those, ma’am,” he said. “We need peace more than anything. The wars must stop or we’ll see even more dire circumstances.”
“Like what?” Rivius asked.
Her question, however, was left unanswered. A crash just outside the door made them all jump. Ealrin was on his feet just as Ferrin unbolted the door and shoved it open. They ran into the stables just in time to see a young boy with a red bandana sprinting through the passage between the stalls, a stack of barrels overturned just beside the door.
Rivius cursed.
“Go get him, Ferrin,” she said. “He was listening at the door! I don’t know what he heard, but I fear what he may do with it.”
“Miss Rivius?” came a voice from behind them. Ealrin turned and saw a servant girl with dark hair in a jacket that seemed too nice for her station. She was flanked by several guards, most of whom had their spears out. She looked terrified.
“The Prince is here to see you.”
32: Missing Soldier
“Oy!” Cas called as Tret bumped him with the tent poles. “Watch it, clumsy!”
“Clumsy yourself!” Tret said as the fabric Cas had been trying to keep dry fell once again onto the ground, absorbing a good deal of water and mud when it landed.
“Curse this rain and this march,” Cas said, picking up the tent fabric and wiping it with his free hand. It was a lost cause, he knew it. The command was to set up camp, no matter how wet, because the rain wasn’t going to stop. But the army had marched as far as it could.
Cas felt this in his tired feet and aching legs. He was used to marching and fighting. That’s all they had done since they had landed in the Theocracy. The army had seen victory after victory, what with the help of their magical cannons and the far too spread out armies of the temple and state.
It was hard to feel weary after being a part of two successful campaigns against major castles in Ladis, but even victory could wear men down. Cas straightened himself out, feeling his aching legs and arms.
His uniform was a wreck. The blue pants were brown from the knees down and not from the lack of stopping to relieve himself. This mud they were trekking through was never ending. Every inch of him was wet, from his metal breastplate to his helmet and leather cap he wore underneath it. Though, he wasn’t sure if that was rain water or sweat.
He sighed as his tent mates worked around him, getting the poles to their tent lined up and strung across. Four men to a tent. Ten tents to a squad. Ten squads to a battalion. Four battalions to a general. Then however many generals Her Ladyship required to conquer the realm.
Cas wasn’t sure of their final numbers. He felt like a small part of a giant boulder. It could smash down a mountainside, causing damage wherever it went. If it lost a few chips here and there, it wasn’t too great a loss. The boulder didn’t care.
It just kept rolling.
“Get that tent up!” the captain of their squad called. Cas came out of his daydreaming and found that his tent mates had already placed the poles and rope and were looking at him expectantly.
“Ah!” he grunted as he began sloppily unfolding the fabric he had been holding against his side.
“Give me that side,” Tret called, relenting from shaking his head at his comrade and giving him a hand. “What’s with you?”
Cas didn’t reply. He was too focused on the tent, knowing full well their captain would keep his eyes on them until the job was done. Or at least nearly so.
“And where is Dervon?” the captain called on them. “Has he broken ranks?”
Cas looked at Tret, who looked at Rallet, who looked foolishly to his sides. There was no Dervon.
“I haven’t seen him since we halted,” Cas said stupidly, knowing it was going to mean trouble.
The captain was not pleased with that answer.
“What do you mean you haven’t seen a man in your own tent?” she shouted at Cas. He was sure there would have been spit flying at him if it weren’t for the rain. Their captain was an intimidating woman. Her neck disappeared into her strong muscular shoulders and her hair was cut so short she might have been mistaken for a man. She didn't care.
Captain Oberon was not the kind of woman to care about what any of her troops thought of her. She only thought about pleasing her Ladyship and her generals.
Cas was floundering for an answer when Rallet spoke up to save him from a screaming.
“I think Captain Fortran may have given him scouting duty,” he said. “Something about wanting more men out on patrol in the rain.”
“Fortran!?” Oberon hollered, pointing her rage at Rallet. “What the hell is he think
ing? Commanding my own troops? I’ll give him a piece of my mind. And you better have that tent up before I get back or there’ll be hell to pay!”
Oberon stomped off, her metal breastplate and shoulder armor plinking with the rain that was falling down on it.
Cas turned to Rallet.
“Thanks,” he said.
Rallet just nodded.
They both knew full well that Captain Fortran had not commanded Dervon to do anything. In fact, now that he thought of it, the last time Cas had seen Dervon was when he had run off to relieve himself as soon as they stopped marching. He wasn’t worried. The fool would probably get back at some point and receive the full lashing of Captain Oberon’s temper. Hopefully in the mix, Oberon would overlook Rallet’s lie. More than likely, he and Rallet would only get what blew over.
It was what they understood as soldiers in the army of Yada.
The rain still poured down as they finished their task. All around them men and women bustled to complete their tents, knowing full well the fabric would soon soak up all the water that came down on it and allow it to leak inside.
Oh well, Cas thought. At least they weren’t marching anymore. It wasn’t long before they had managed to get their tent up, even before some of the rest of their squad did. There wasn’t any use going into the tent yet. It would have to be inspected by their captain. So the three took their places at the corners of the tent, ready for Captain Oberon to come and tell them they were free to go in.
It was a long wait.
For some reason. the other soldiers were taking a long time to get their tents ready. Cas did his best to remain calm. Getting antsy would only result in a reprimand from their captain and that meant a lot of patrol duty around the camp. Or marching. Or whatever work seemed to please her at the moment.
At last, after what seemed like an hour, the captain called out over her ranks.
