by Guy Antibes
“What about common Wollians?” Sam said. “Do they own swords and whatever else you stored here?”
“Not really. Why do you ask?” the fort commander said.
“Because what do you think the weapons are intended for, souvenirs?” Sam said. “They are going to be distributed to your enemies, don’t you think? If we know who your enemies are, we might find a way to retrieve them.”
The fort commander pursed his lips. “Point taken. You aren’t too slow, after all,” he said.
Sam guessed it was a compliment. “So now that we know the means and can guess at the motivation, unless the weapons are headed for a ship to some other country, you can come up with a plan to retrieve them.”
The two Wollian commanders talked to each other. Sam heard the term Mandrim again. He followed wagon tracks out of the armory and through the hole, now guarded by four soldiers. Like in Baskin, the roads were cobbled in Rakwall. so wagon wheels left no tracks, and Emmy wouldn’t be able to help them without a scent to follow. He returned and saw a trace of fluffy green pollen snagged on the edge of a brick leading out of the armory. He made sure it wasn’t something else by flipping his spectacles up to make sure it disappeared with his unaided sight.
“Miss Plunk,” Sam called to Banna, who joined him at the outer wall.
“What is that?” Sam said, pointing to the tiny tuft.
“I don’t know.” She got closer and had to squint to see it. She held out her hand for Sam’s spectacles, but he had thought to bring his spyglass and handed it over.
She looked closer. “It isn’t any kind of animal pollen that I know. You can’t tell what the effect is unless you touch it.”
“Do you want to do that?”
“If something happens, hold my hand. It might diminish the effect,” she said.
Sam never would have thought such a thing was possible. He nodded.
Banna put out her finger and touched the pollen. Nothing happened.
“What do you feel?” Sam asked.
She looked at her finger. “What do you want me to do?” Her voice lost much of its edge.
Sam thought the question odd. “Touch your toes,” he said.
She touched her toes.
“Were you scared when the nomads kidnapped you?”
She nodded as her eyes welled up.
“Stick out your finger,” Sam said.
She obediently did so. Sam put his hand around her finger and looked at her. The tension crept back into her face.
“Do you remember what I said?”
She ran her palms across her eyes and looked at the tears. “I do. That puts sheep pollen to shame. It makes a person compliant, but I don’t know what animal would demand obedience.”
Sam didn’t either. Had pollen science improved in Polistia or in Wollia? They would have to find out. That was just as important as finding who had stolen the weapons using layered wards.
The two commanders picked their way in the rubble to reach them. Sam was about to show them the small tuft of pollen, but it had disappeared.
“Banna?”
She looked with her spyglass. “It’s gone. I didn’t take it, and that means it isn’t passive pollen, but more like a ward. A ward,” she said, her mind elsewhere.
“We found more evidence of the advanced use of pollen,” Sam said. “Unfortunately, the effect destroys the pollen.” In a sense, Sam was relieved. Maybe someone couldn’t be made totally obedient for the long term, but Banna had been affected after she touched it. Perhaps it was like a drug that was consumed and lasted for a period of time. It was plain that Sam could cure the momentary effect.
~
Commandant Ahman sat back after listening to Ilsur describe their midnight ride through the eastern grasslands. Sam had heard it before, but Ilsur told the story in Vaarekian.
“You rescued Miss Plunk?” Ahman said, the sarcasm in his voice didn’t make sense with the question.
“I did.”
“Against a woman?” Ahman lifted his head back and laughed. “I guess a teenager and a woman are well-matched, versus a single female nomad.”
“I didn’t fight her,” Sam said. “I just showed her my sword.”
Ahman looked at Ilsur with a question on his face. “You merely waved your sword at her, and she fell at your feet?”
“No, she ran when she saw it, and Emmy knocked her off her feet.” The commandant hadn’t allowed Emmy in the dining hall.
“Emmy?”
“The dog,” Ilsur said.
Ahman laughed. “It would even knock me off my feet. What kind of sword do you have?”
“A Lashak weapon, Commandant,” Sam said. He took the sword off his belt and gave it to Ahman.
“This is real?”
“As far as I know,” Sam said.
“It’s real, Ahman. I’ve held a few in my time. It is a fine example, a true warrior’s blade,” Ilsur said.
“Are you a true warrior?” Ahman asked Sam in a mocking tone.
“No,” Sam said, “but I know how to use the sword.”
Ahman stood up and removed his coat. “Prove it to me.”
“Ahman,” Ilsur said, tugging the commandant’s shirtsleeve. “He’s just a boy.”
“He comes into my fort, strutting like he is really something, and orders me to immediately look at the ruin of my fort as if to rub my face in my incompetence. Just a boy.” He glared at Sam. “An impudent boy.” He tossed the sword at Sam’s feet. “Get up.”
Sam rose. “Do I have to do this?” he asked Ilsur, who only nodded.
At least he had sparred once or twice when the ship’s mates let the Wollian work out with him. He hoped Ahman was trained in the same style.
Sam took a drink of water and splashed the rest into his face. He was tired from riding in pursuit of the nomads.
Ahman laughed. “A Toraltian custom?”
Sam recognized a bully when he saw one, and he figured Commandant Ahman was a sarcastic bully.
Sam followed Ahman to an open area in the dining hall and swished his sword around a bit. The commandant used a Wollian sword, a copy of the Lashak weapon that Sam had in his hand, except now that Sam looked at the Wollian version, it looked crude compared to his, but he had to remind himself that smooth lines on a sword meant little in a duel.
Ahman attacked Sam with a sweeping horizontal slash. Sam used the unsharpened back of the blade to stall the move until he could evade it. He countered with a thrust, which Ahman was a little slow in stopping. The Commandant was well trained but sluggish, Sam thought, unless it was a trick that Sam had seen before on the floor of the Baskin Constabulary.
Sam pressed the Commandant, who was forced backward. Ahman pulled a long knife from his boot. Sam wondered if the duel was planned before dinner, but the knife was a mistake to Sam’s thinking, as he drew his wand.
“That has no edge,” Ahman sneered, distracting Sam enough to slice his shirt open and score his arm.
“It doesn’t need one, since it has a point,” Sam said. His cool reply seemed to rattle the commandant, but Sam had practiced plenty of times with a sword and his wand, and he generally did better, even if he lost a match. The wound wasn’t anything to worry about, since he had suffered similar enough times when Sam had fought constables with sharpened weapons.
Ahman thrust with his knife. Sam stopped it with his sword and stepped in to slam the sword hand of Ahman with his wand, who gasped and dropped both sword and knife, holding his hand. Sam kicked Ahman’s sword out of the way. The man’s sluggishness wasn’t a misdirection, after all.
“Do you yield, Commandant? I have a sword and my wand.”
The man nodded, still holding his hand. “Battle ax is more like it.”
“A bruise is better than having half a hand, Ahman,” Ilsur said.
Ahman looked at Sam with lidded eyes, still betraying the pain in his hand. He broke into a smile, “True.” He bowed to Sam. “A better warrior than I,” Ahman said. His face brightened.
“I think it is time for sweets!”
An aide wrapped Ahman’s hand in a pollen bandage while they had sweet and savory pastries with the lightest, flakiest crust Sam ever recalled having. Ahman’s spirits seemed to have recovered quickly after his defeat. “You are better trained than many of my men. I thought my training would make up for the speed I have lost as I’ve grown older.”
“I practiced every day when I served as an apprentice-constable in Baskin. I lost over half my matches.”
Ahman popped a pastry in his mouth and spoke, still eating. “I’ll bet the swordmaster threw his best at you.”
“He did, and the worst wouldn’t fight, but I fought with two advantages today. The Lashak sword is lighter than the swords I trained with, and yours is even lighter than mine, negating some of your strength and weight advantage over me. The second advantage is that I have fought with my iron wand many times, so I had a familiarity edge.”
“And an unconventional edge, my throbbing hand tells me. I would have never thought to bludgeon my opponent to submission, but I will have to remember that technique. It is like something the nomads might have brought from the grasslands.”
Sam nodded. “Actually, I was taught to fight unconventionally by a healer.”
“Harrison Dimple is that healer, Ahman,” Ilsur said.
“Dimple, the pretender?”
Ilsur nodded. “He was Sam’s first sword instructor.”
Ahman looked at Sam with bright eyes. “Forgive me for thinking you were without abilities. I’m not a person who immerses himself in pollen lore, but I live to lead men who fight with steel. I thought to teach you a lesson, but I end up being schooled by you.” He bowed his head toward Sam.
At least the arrogant bully could apologize with his smooth, sarcastic tongue, Sam thought.
Chapter Sixteen
~
“A hman has lost much of his speed,” Ilsur said. “I fought him myself some years ago, and he was much faster. That isn’t his excuse, you know. He is still a trained soldier.”
Sam took another bite of the ball of meat that was part of his Wollian breakfast. It was immersed in a spicy sauce, but he liked it. “I could tell. At first, I thought he might be feinting, but the lack of speed made it possible for me to prevail. He would have drawn even more blood with those blades if they had gone through. As it is…” Sam lifted his arm to show the bound wound.
“A blood score is the sign of a well-fought match, especially when the one blooded prevails,” Ilsur said.
Banna sat down to join them in the officer’s mess. She seemed back to her normal self, pinched face and all.
“I spent last night thinking,” she said. “Who would benefit most from the arms theft?”
“The nomads,” Sam said.
“Yes, but who backs the nomads?”
Commander Ilsur raised his eyebrows. “No one backs the nomads. They are their own agent.”
“And they were manipulated by the green pollen tufts. I am familiar with the effects of animal pollen on humans. What I touched yesterday is more potent, and I am concerned an outside party can stir up the nomads.”
“There are the Mandrim,” Ilsur said. “They are nomads who have set themselves apart from the others. They feel they are better.”
Sam thought about that. People who set themselves up as being better were just as susceptible to outside influences. Banna Plunk had pushed the nobles Lennard Lager, the lord of Mountain View, and Justice Minister Bolt over the edge. Anyone could be manipulated, even him, he thought morosely, after his recent prison visit came to mind.
“What faction has something to gain by improving the weapons they have?” he said.
“Nomads, nomads, nomads,” Ilsur said. “One thing about factions and a reason they exist in abundance in Wollia is that they mostly cancel each other out. What bothers me is that such a daring raid is not at all like the Mandrim. They would rather prevail through combat, not using wards like this.”
“An outside faction or a foreign power?” Sam asked.
“A foreign power then.” Banna said, flatly. “Vaarek is likely stirring up the nomads. It will be easy if they feel they are persecuted.”
Banna Plunk would know, Sam thought. She had done the same kind of thing, stirring up disgruntled gold-seekers in the Toraltian mountains.
“Why would Vaarek be making trouble in Wollia?” Sam asked.
“Viktar Kreb, Vaarek’s new dictator, has his eyes set on more than Vaarek, more than Polistia, and likely his greed extends to Wollia. Unless Commander Ilsur or Commandant Ahman has a better idea, since I don’t know as much as you do about the factions in this place.”
Ilsur sat back in his seat. “I am flummoxed by the move. As Ahman and I said, Wollians don’t use wards. That alone gives anyone using them an advantage. We also don’t know how to make pollen that makes someone so compliant. If Kreb wants to stir up trouble, riling up the nomads makes sense. If you could get them in one place, they would be the biggest faction in Wollia. The thing is, they are spread all over the continent.”
“Are the Mandrim?” Banna asked.
“The Mandrim are more concentrated, but that is relative to their nomadic brothers. Then perhaps an expedition into the grasslands might be called for,” Ilsur said.
Sam shrugged. “We can spend a bit more time since The Twisted Wind won’t be leaving anytime soon.”
“You didn’t ask me,” Banna said, “but if you confront a pollen expert, you might need the both of us, Commander Ilsur.”
Sam was surprised Banna included him as a needed member of their company.
“I’ll have a word with Ahman. He eats at his home with his wife and children.” Ilsur looked at Sam. “Are you surprised he is a family man?”
“I am,” Sam had to admit. “He seems too independent.”
Ilsur smiled. “I have my own family. We don’t live our entire lives to serve the Potentate.”
“I guess not,” Sam said. He hadn’t thought much about the home lives of officers since he had left Baskin. Dickey Nail had avoided all talk on the subject, but Bentwick’s family was well known to him. Harrison Dimple was a bachelor, living on his own in the woods outside Cherryton.
~
A knock on Sam’s door prompted him to rise. He had taken a morning nap, since they wouldn’t be leaving Rakwall until after a midday meal in the officer’s mess.
Desmon Sandal grinned as Sam opened the door.
“What brings you here?” Sam said, surprised that the sailor stood in front of him so far from The Twisted Wind.
“Word came that Banna Plunk was abducted. I thought I would ask the Captain if I could help, since no one else on the ship could.”
Desmon was certainly intimate with the communications at the port. “We rescued Banna. She is fine, and the captors are in the fort jail waiting for an exchange of some kind.” Sam shrugged because he still didn’t understand why the nomads were to be let go, and he asked Desmon about it.
“It keeps the factions mollified,” the sailor said.
“Until now.”
Desmon looked at Sam and nodded. “This is very uncharacteristic for nomads. I’m sure Commander Ilsur told you that.”
“He did. We are heading out right after lunch. Are you going to join us?”
After another grin, Desmon said, “Who is going to tell me no, except for Commander Ilsur—”
“And Commandant Ahman.”
“He commands the Armory?” Desmon’s face fell. “We have a little history between us.”
“Then set it aside. I have a little history with him myself. He called me out for a duel last night.” Sam pulled back his sleeve to show his bandaged arm. “At least I won.”
“You did?” Desmon said with some disbelief in his voice.
“He has lost a bit of his speed, and I think I’ve improved mine a bit with all the practice I had using Captain Darter’s dueling sword on our voyage from Carolank.”
“That is another reaso
n for your deserving the Lashak sword. Nomads are afraid of the Lashakans.”
Sam told him the story behind Banna’s abduction.
“She was lucky they didn’t kill her. That woman has the kind of attitude that makes for a short life in Wollia.”
After Sam’s experience with Commandant Ahman, he believed Desmon. “It is close enough for lunch. Let’s go down together.”
“I suppose I won’t be staying here tonight.” Desmon looked at the vacant bed in Sam’s room.
“Your mattress will be the soft grasses of the nomad domain.”
They walked downstairs. The visitor’s rooms were above the soldier and officer messes. The two officers were arguing over a map spread out on a table.
Ahman looked up. “Sandal, what are you doing here?”
“I am currently a sailor on The Twisted Wind, the ship that brought Sam and Banna to Wollia. Since I am the only Wollian speaker on board, Captain Darter sent me to find out Banna Plunk’s status.”
That wasn’t exactly what Desmon had told Sam, but using the Captain’s name lent some legitimacy to his presence. Actually, Sam didn’t think Desmon needed anyone’s permission, since his actions were consistent with the fact that his friend was a spy.
“We can use you as a translator again,” Commander Ilsur said. “Consider yourself attached to your friends.”
“An excellent suggestion,” Desmon said.
“Actually, it is a condition of your coming with us,” Commandant Ahman said. “I’ll not have you riling up my men.” He then broke into a conversation with Ilsur and Desmon in Wollian.
Sam stood there, watching the body language of those involved. Desmon didn’t plead or get as worked up as Ahman, while Ilsur sat back, somewhat amused by the back and forth. Perhaps Desmon and Ilsur cooperated with each other but were in different branches of whatever service Desmon was attached to. In the end, Ahman gritted his teeth and gave some order to Desmon, who smiled faintly and bowed.
Banna and a few other officers drifted in during the heated conversation. Sam sat at another table with the Polistian woman. Desmon joined them.
“And why are you here?” Banna said, spine stiff with indignation.
