Footsteps quickly followed the sound of Xandor’s voice. Armored men with crossbows filled the corridor. Their sergeant stepped into the room and studied the two trespassers. Their calm demeanor surprised him.
Xandor warned, “Be careful. There’s some kind of poison in the stove.”
The militsiya sergeant glanced around, the residual pungent odor making his eyes water. Nothing seemed to be disturbed other than the ledgers lying on the floor. He checked the man on the floor. When he discovered the man was dead, he turned and gave Xandor a hard stare. “Who are you?”
Xandor handed the sergeant his identification. As the guard read it, his eyes grew wide.
“What’s one of the Kral’s rangers doing here?”
“We’re working with the Ochi i ushi.”
“We’ll see about that.” He held out his hand and ordered, “Your weapons.”
Chert and Xandor glanced at each other as they slowly handed the guard their weapons, hilt first.
“I’m taking these men with me,” he said aloud and motioned for three of his men to follow him. “The rest of you continue the search and let me know if you find anything.”
“Where are we going?” Xandor asked thickly, still groggy from the smoke.
“The zatvor[2].”
“What?” Xandor exclaimed. He made to grab the sergeant and said, “You cannot detain us!”
The soldiers in the hallway gripped their weapons tighter, preparing for a fight. Stepping easily away from Xandor’s hand, the sergeant said hotly, “I don’t care who you are. A man is dead. You will do exactly what I say.”
Chert held Xandor, calming the ranger. Xandor glanced from the sergeant to Chert and back to the sergeant. “Fine. We’ll do it your way, but you’re letting the killer get away.”
Ignoring the ranger’s protests, the militsiya escorted the two men outside where the fresh air cleared Xandor’s head. As they moved down the street, the ranger caught a glimpse of someone standing in the alley. His wild and unruly hair glinted red in the torchlight. By the looks of him, he was one of the clansmen who hailed from the mountainous region along the northern border of Trakya. Why was he here?
The two made eye contact, and Xandor read the smile in the other man’s eyes. He was about to say something to the sergeant, but the man disappeared.
* * *
True to his word, the sergeant led them to a single-story, stone building that housed the zatvor. Maybe the two could have made a run for it, or maybe they could have fought their way free. In either case, Xandor decided to take time and think—there was more going on here than they had been told.
A quick knock broke him from his reverie. The sergeant ushered the two men past the thick wooden door of the zatvor and inside a cell.
* * *
Voices woke Xandor. A noble-looking gentleman wearing a waist-length black doublet, carrying a leather satchel approached them. Silver double-headed eagles emblazoned each side of his satchel, symbols of the Ochi i ushi (the Eyes and Ears) of the Kral, an organization tasked with protecting Trakya from both internal and external threats. His politician’s eyes scanned the various occupants in the cells before settling on the ranger and the dwarf.
“Wake up Chert,” Xandor said, pushing him awake.
The dwarf and ranger rose when the nobleman stopped at their cell.
“Dobŭr vecher, Marcus!” Xandor said. “We didn’t expect to see you today.”
“Dobŭr vecher, Xandor,” Marcus said with a smile, shaking his head. “I didn’t expect to have to get you out of jail today.”
Marcus opened the cell door and stepped back, giving the two men room. They followed him into the sergeant’s office, where he took the seat behind the desk. The sergeant was nowhere around.
“I expected better,” Marcus said flatly. “I know you two haven’t known each other long, but I need you at your best. Getting put in here causes complications, especially if we’re to keep this mission off the record.”
“Marcus, it won’t happen again,” Xandor replied. “Were you able to find anything out at the office?”
“The dead man was a scrivener for Advocate Khristova,” Marcus answered. “If I had to guess, some of their ledgers are missing. Maybe just one. They found burnt pages in the stove.”
“Who tipped off the militsiya?” Xandor asked.
“One of the patrolmen thought he saw someone go inside. Must have been you.”
Xandor thought back. He was sure that they had not been watched. “What’s going on here, Marcus?”
“I was about to ask you the same question.”
“We searched their whole warehouse and wagons and didn’t find anything except for some weird silver nails they used to fasten the crate lids.”
“Did you talk with Jasper?”
“A little. He couldn’t tell. You still think they’re smuggling something?”
Marcus pushed back from the desk and ran his hand through his hair. “Yes. No. I don’t know.”
“Pull us out now if you think this caravan is digging for pyrite,” Chert said.
“No. There are too many strange rumors coming out of the East, many centered on the White River. Dragahn’s caravan has been out there twice this year already, and I need to know why—something other than what’s written on his itinerary.”
“What’s the connection to Advocate Khristova?” Xandor asked.
“I hope nothing.”
“What do you mean?”
“The Khristov’s roots run deep. It would not look good for the Ministry if word got out that they were connected to something illegal. That’s one of the reasons I cannot openly investigate their business without hard evidence.”
“What about the soap?”
“What about it? It’s very popular with the upper class and has been for some time. I even have a bar of the stuff at home.”
“You’re not giving us much to go on,” Xandor said.
“I know,” Marcus replied. After giving Chert and Xandor a moment for thought, Marcus stood. “Stay with the caravan and find out what you can. I’ll find a roundabout way to check on Advocate Khristova here in town and see if anything turns up.”
Xandor gave a curt nod and held out his hand.
As he shook Xandor’s hand, Marcus said, “Be careful. Yana worries about you.”
Xandor smiled at the mention of her name. “Tell your sister not to. There’s probably more chance of her falling out of the sky with those contraptions she rides than something happening to us.”
* * *
The red-haired Northman watched Marcus leave the zatvor. He left alone, with no signs of the Kral’s ranger. Behind the Northman, another man with wild red hair stepped close enough so as to not be overheard.
“Mladen, we need to go. Assenov is waiting for us at the mage’s guild.”
Shadows hid their features as they watched Marcus disappear down the street.
“You bring the soap and the book?”
“Yes.”
“What about Dragahn?”
“Don’t worry. I’ve got it all taken care of. He won’t make it through tomorrow.”
“Ognian, I hope you’re right. Otherwise, it will be our asses.”
* * * * *
Leaving Pazard’zhik (October 13)
The sun had not quite risen, and the outlines of the buildings were just becoming visible as Dragahn stepped out of the main hall. Dressed in his thick wools and cap, holding a steaming tin cup of coffee, he stopped a few yards from the door and took a small sip. Inhaling the crisp morning air, he breathed in the excitement of the moment. In front of him, workers had already hauled the wagons out of the warehouse and into the frost-covered courtyard. Others led the Percherons out of the barn, their harnesses fastened and gray blankets draped across their backs.
Pyotr, holding his own cup of coffee, stepped up behind Dragahn. The two stood silently, watching Viktor and his men expertly hitch the draft horses to the vehicle tongues. Once the horses were i
n place, they fidgeted and stamped the ground, eager to be on the road.
When Grendel had first seen the horses come out of the barn, he’d had his doubts Sachin could handle their kind, but now, seeing him interact with the animals, he realized this slight man was an expert horseman. Grendel stood near the second wagon, watching Sachin speak to the lead horse and run his hand along the creature’s flank. Grendel did not understand the words whispered, but all the horses responded to it.
The Percherons gave Grendel a good stare but otherwise gave no indication his bestial appearance concerned them. He took it as a truce of sorts.
Last of the team to appear, Jasper walked past Pyotr and Dragahn and inspected the chuck wagon one last time, checking to make sure everything was in order.
Viktor and his horsemen took their new rounceys from the stable boys. A few minutes later, the sun peeked over the horizon. Dragahn finished the last dregs of his coffee and yelled, “All right, ladies, load up!”
In the front, Dragahn and Jasper were ready with the chuck wagon; next came Sachin and Grendel, followed last by Lucky and Pyotr. Behind them, Viktor and his men saddled up; Viktor and Branimir trotted to the front of the line while Daniil and Bogdan remained to guard the rear.
With a flick of the wrist, the caravan chief snapped the reins, and the Percherons moved forward at an easy walk. The two horsemen in front, along with the stable hands, helped direct the morning traffic away from the gates as they opened. Once clear, the team turned and headed toward the north bridge. People and animals dodged this way and that as the team travelled quickly through the narrow streets of Lower Pazard’zhik.
They passed row after row of warehouses and other large buildings, and Jasper noticed most bore Cyrillic symbols indicating they were active members in a guild such as smiths, weavers, or carpenters. He thought back to yesterday’s speech and hoped they wouldn’t have any trouble.
Although he tried, the jumble of buildings prevented Jasper from seeing how close they were getting to the northern gate. A dim rumble, felt more than heard, grew as they approached, and Jasper caught fleeting glimpses of the Maritsa River as it plunged over the escarpment. Gradually, the larger buildings gave way to smaller shops and inns catering to the traveler and allowed for a grander view of the river’s sparkling waters.
The rumble became a dull roar as they came within sight of the city gate, a large archway fashioned from black stone covered with dwarven runes, most of which had become illegible with the passage of time. Beyond lay a fifty-foot wide stone bridge. Underneath, two rows of regularly spaced columns founded on the bottom of the Maritsa supported its massive double-barrel vaults, which spanned both side-to-side and front-to-back. Along each side of the deck, short stone parapets prevented wagons from falling into the river.
Being so early in the morning, their three wagons were the first to arrive at the north gate. When the team was within eyesight of the archway, a dozen soldiers dressed in fur-lined sable and argent tunics moved from their positions and barred further progress.
Dragahn called for a halt, and he and Viktor dismounted as one of the guards approached. The chief pulled out his itinerary and manifest, all the while giving the guard his best smile.
“Good morning, Sergeant Deyan.”
“Morning, Dragahn,” the guard replied sourly. “Where are you going this early?”
Dragahn handed him his papers with his left while shaking the guard’s hand with his right. As he did so, Jasper noticed a glint of silver pass between the two men.
The guard unfolded the papers and checked for all the appropriate approvals. Seeing everything in order, he motioned for two of his men to come forward.
“Let’s take a look,” Sergeant Deyan said, passing by the chuck wagon with Dragahn following him.
Viktor yelled for Bogdan and Daniil to open the canvas. They quickly dismounted and handed the reins off to a waiting Lucky. The two horsemen pulled back the canvas enough to reveal the eight crates.
The sergeant pointed to one and together, Bogdan and Daniil pulled out the crate while the guards watched. Bogdan produced a pry bar and gently opened the lid. A guard reached inside, picked out one of the wrapped bars of soap, opened it, and put it back.
“It’s soap, Sergeant,” he said.
Sergeant Deyan looked over his shoulder with a bored expression and said, “Yep, it’s soap. Make a note of it in our log, and let’s check the next one.”
The two horsemen quickly closed and renailed the lid with nails pulled from a large doeskin pouch, then raced to the rear wagon and peeled back the canvas. Sergeant Deyan picked another crate at random, the two men opened it, he looked inside, and they closed it back up. As soon as the three guards moved away from the rear wagon, Bogdan and Daniil quickly straightened both canvases and remounted. They drew beside Sachin and returned his pouch of nails.
Dragahn walked with the sergeant and one of his guards, making inquiries about the weather and road conditions. As they talked, Sergeant Deyan studied each rider, driver, and passenger. He stopped when he came to Grendel.
“What’s your name?” he demanded.
“Grendel, sir,” he replied.
“Your accent is strange. Where are you from?”
“J’Bel.”
Sergeant Deyan gave Grendel a hard stare before turning back to Sachin. “I hope you keep him on a tight leash.”
Waving his arm, Sergeant Deyan signaled for the guards at the archway to move aside. He produced a pair of crimping pliers and stamped their itinerary. When he was done, he handed it back to Dragahn and said loudly, “You’re cleared. Have a safe journey.”
Before Dragahn walked away, the sergeant added quietly, “Keep your eyes open, Dragahn; the guild knows you’re making another run.”
“I will. Thank you, Deyan.”
The sergeant patted one of the Percherons on the flanks and headed back to his men as Dragahn and Viktor resumed their positions.
Just before the team moved out, Sachin reached down, pulled a scarf out from under his belt, and wrapped it around his head. He looked at Grendel and said, “I hope that mask will protect you from the dust and dirt.”
* * * * *
Ambush (October 13)
Dragahn yelled, flicked his wrist, and the team started.
As they crossed the bridge, Jasper looked to the left and watched the water falling into the mist below. The rising sun caught the mist and shimmering rainbows appeared from different angles. For one precious moment, every thought racing through his mind quieted as he took in the beauty of the scene. With a deep sigh, he turned back to the road ahead.
At the end of the bridge stood another stone arch; this one appeared to have once been part of a larger structure. Ruins of an old wall extended several feet to either side, marking the outer perimeter of Pazard’zhik.
The guards on this side of the bridge were only stopping traffic going into the city, so the team kept moving. Just past the arch, the road forked. Dragahn directed the horses away from the shipyard and docks and turned east. The road climbed gradually as it wound into the mountains surrounding the city.
For the first few hours, the team rode with the sun in their eyes. The temperature rose as the sun rose, and it didn’t take long for Jasper and Dragahn to toss their jackets into the wagon behind them.
Viktor rode alongside their wagon, chatting with Dragahn while keeping an eye out for trouble. The Percherons made good progress on the well-maintained roads, walking at an easy pace. Everyone had an opportunity to enjoy the beautiful countryside as it rose and fell gently, but in the near distance, high, snow-capped mountains towered over both sides of the road like crenellations.
Jasper watched in silence as cottars harvested their late-season crops or winterized their homes. Irregularly-spaced walls of stacked stone crisscrossed the countryside. Some delineated property boundaries while others separated the different fields used for crop rotation. Jasper guessed a good many were probably built just to store the vast
number of rocks they found while plowing.
The homes they passed varied significantly, based on family wealth. Most were small, single-room buildings while others were two-room cottages. Then there were the estates of the wealthier landowners—dark stone buildings with roofs of clay tile or slate. They sprawled across the land like small villages.
Outside one particular estate, emaciated horses grazed on the sparse grass. Seeing Jasper studying the horses curiously, Draghan grumbled, “People don’t care for their horses.”
“Pardon?” the cook replied.
Dragahn gestured toward a small horse ahead. As it stood munching grass, Jasper could count the ribs. “This time of year, everyone is getting ready for the first snow, so they end up practically starving their animals. Horses need more than grass.”
Jasper shrugged. “What else can they do? They have to save the good stuff for later.”
Draghan stared at the nearby stone residence; smoke rose from the chimney. “They’ve got enough money to build those fancy houses, seems like they’d use some of it for the horses this time of year.” He nodded at a cottage as they passed, directing Jasper’s gaze toward the smoke seeping through a simple hole in the thatched roof. “It’s a lot easier to tell the wealthy from the poor out here.”
With this new insight, Jasper understood the chief a little better. He glanced sideways at Dragahn and wondered how someone who had worked his way up through the ranks could get caught up in smuggling. Was it the quick money or something else?
Shortly after their conversation, the small cottages and estates gave way to heavily wooded country, teaming with wildlife. However, after a stretch, the forest soon ended and small homes with cleared plots dominated the landscape again.
The road traffic varied as the day progressed, and Viktor’s team did an excellent job of clearing a path when it became congested.
Son of Cayn Page 5
