The Ragged Man

by Tom Lloyd

  ‘Who the buggery was he?’ Ardela demanded.

  The soldier laughed. ‘You don’t know? Piss and daemons! And you still followed him here?’ He paused and stepped closer to Legana, prompting Ardela to close in protectively, until Legana raised a hand, calming her.

  ‘You look familiar,’ the man mused, stepping back a few seconds later. ‘I’ve seen you before.’ His voice was less than friendly.

  Legana shrugged and tugged the blindfold down from her eyes. The only men from these parts she’d met, mercenaries aside, were King Emin’s bodyguards in Scree. Either he was one of those, or she’d be fighting her way out soon enough.

  ‘Fate’s eyes,’ the man breathed, peering at her, ‘you’ve changed a lot since then.’

  Legana ignored the fact that his hand had moved to his hilt and lifted her slate to write on it. - When?

  ‘When? Just the summer, and considering the company you kept back then I’m not sure I like the fact you’re changed.’

  — Your Brother.

  The man shook his head. ‘He weren’t the one I was thinking of.’ He stepped back again, aware Ardela was poised to draw her sword. ‘But I heard some strange things in recent times; sounds like you deserve condolences for more than one reason.’

  Legana dipped her head in acknowledgment. There was a moment’s silence before the soldier cleared his throat.

  ‘Right, well . . . Best get you inside with the others and fed.’

  He set off without waiting and after a brief hesitation the three devotees followed along, Legana voicing for their benefit the question they were all thinking. ‘Others?’

  The ‘others’ turned out to be two women and a mismatched collection of men. The majority were like the soldiers manning the gate - Ardela realised there were too many for them all to be titled. When she got close enough to one to inspect the crest they all bore on their collars, she realised she was looking at King Emin’s bee symbol.

  King’s Men then, she thought, returning the stares she was getting from all around.

  Ardela hadn’t come into contact with King Emin’s personal agents before, but she’d heard enough to respect them, and she guessed that the two dozen men assembled here comprised a significant proportion of the force. They had been ushered into a large square hall on the ground floor of the tower. The room itself lacked any decoration beyond the flags of the nation. The most significant feature was a huge cauldron, smelling of stew, simmering away at the far end in a massive fireplace. A balcony jutted out over the hall and a wide stone staircase ran up the left-hand wall.

  Two King’s Men got up without a word and abandoned their table to make space for Legana. She didn’t need to be guided towards it, but sat with the caution of the blind. Once comfortable, Legana looked slowly around the room, pausing at each knot of people in the big hall. More than one man flinched under her gaze and Ardela couldn’t help but wonder what Legana was seeing with her shining emerald eyes.

  Devotees were trained to assess people at a glance; even someone like Ardela, who had strayed from the path, did so by instinct. The King’s Men occupied the left-hand wall, and sitting with them were two mages who seemed together to average each other out: one was a shrunken little worm of a man, the other oversized, like a white-eye who’d done nothing but eat for months on end.

  Sitting close by, but not quite included, were the only other women present. They sat together, and were obviously wary of everyone, despite the fact one was most likely a battle-mage. She wore her dark hair as short as a boy’s, and her leaf-brown padded tunic was adorned with a crisscrossed network of silver chain and crystal shards.

  The other’s trade was harder to discern. A long scar down her right cheek showed she hadn’t spent her life closeted away, but she carried no obvious weapons and she was dressed in normal travelling clothes, which made her stand out in this crowd.

  The rest were an ugly bunch. Four dark-skinned, tattoo-covered mercenaries from the south were sitting with a shaven-headed man who sported bronze earrings in his left ear and had a sheathed pair of scimitars slung over his shoulder. A second battle-mage, who looked, judging by his clothes, as if he’d fallen on hard time, loitered in the corner. He was biting his nails and eying his more reputable colleagues across the room.

  Their white-eye was busy downing a jug of wine and ignoring his hunched table companion, whose face was hidden by a raised hood. Sitting furthest from everyone was a broken-nosed man of thirty-odd summers who bore the scars of many a kicking, if Ardela was any judge. He looked like a vagrant they’d picked up off the street rather than a mercenary, his hair and beard tangled and as filthy as his clothes, but she guessed it wasn’t just the smell that kept the rest away. From the way several of the mercenaries were eying each other she guessed they had met before, most likely not always on the same side.

  Finishing his wine the white-eye slipped off his sheepskin coat to reveal well-muscled arms that rivalled the southerners’ for tattoos. He obviously startled one or two of the King’s Men, who whispered to their companions and checked their weapons were at the ready, but the white-eye seemed to be enjoying the reaction he was getting. He made an obscene gesture at the nearest, all the while chuckling mightily.

  ‘A room I seem to belong in,’ Legana commented to her sisters. ‘I smell Gods and daemons in the room, and mages of all sorts.’

  ‘Daemons?’ Ardela said out loud in surprise. The man with his hood still raised flinched as she spoke and turned slightly to look at them askance. Whatever he saw he didn’t like and curled even further in on himself, but they caught sight of metal on his chest before he turned away. A soldier most likely.

  ‘Cursed. There’s a God and daemon inside him, fighting for control.’ Legana tilted her head and continued to stare at him. ‘Once a priest, I think. There’s something of Vrest about him.’

  ‘Most likely he’s Devoted then,’ Ardela murmured, ‘or leastways once was. Lots of them take Vrest’s orders when they get made up to officer rank, and they do like questing after daemons.’

  Any further conjecture was prevented by the sound of boots coming down the staircase. The three women turned as more King’s Men descended, one a scowling white-eye carrying a long mace who Ardela guessed to be Coran, King Emin’s bodyguard. He was as big as any white-eye of the Palace Guard and just as brutal-looking. She doubted the man had ever been handsome, but his face was not so much scarred as battered, like that of an ageing prizefighter.

  Coran’s expression darkened as he looked around the room. He had the sort of permanent scowl of a man vicious to the bone, no matter what company he kept. Ardela wondered if he saw his own face as a legitimate weapon, if he could hurt the other man with it; she’d met some - a few - like that, when the fight wasn’t fun if they both didn’t end up bruised and bloody.

  As though to confirm Coran’s identity, a man came out onto the balcony a few seconds later beamed down at the assembled crowd. He wore a rusty-red hat adorned with peacock feathers and a black brigandine that echoed the peacock feather pattern. Ardela couldn’t see his much-described piercing blue eyes from the other side of the room, but since the second thing every report of the man mentioned was his infuriating, mocking smile, that she noticed easily enough.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming,’ he said in a clear, aristocratic voice. ‘As for my uninvited guests, this is a particular pleasure,’ he added with a slight bow.

  ‘I don’t like surprises,’ growled the dishevelled battle-mage, standing up. He spoke Farlan with a clipped accent that chopped up the rhythm of the words and made them ugly in the ears of a native speaker. ‘Uninvited guests ain’t a welcome one - and don’t get me started on him,’ he added vehemently, pointed an accusatory finger at the vagrant standing on one side.

  ‘Piss on you,’ the white-eye with the axe interjected, reaching for another jug of wine. ‘Stop your whining, Wentersorn, ’fore I cut your other one off.’ He jabbed a thumb behind him towards Legana. ‘Before anyth
ing, tell me about her. Who gets in without an invite?’

  King Emin leaned forward on the balcony rail. ‘It is a fair question, but I doubt there’s much I could tell you of any accuracy - the Land is a different place since last we met. She is, however, welcome here as my guest so I would appreciate a little courtesy from all of you.’ He looked at Legana. ‘Lady, would you and your companions help yourselves to food? You will, I hope, forgive me if you have already heard any of this.’

  When Legana had indicated her assent and Shanas had fetched them some stew, King Emin cleared his throat and started, ‘You all know what you’re good at, and what sort of job I generally have for you. Those who don’t know their companions can worry about that afterwards - you can all swap reputations, delightful nicknames and tales of adventure after I’ve finished. I need men I can trust to take orders, and if any of you have a problem with that, then best you say so now. After tonight, if you continue with us I’ll consider you part of the Narkang Army. Should you choose not to join us, I’ll have to insist you stay a while to ensure you can’t betray our plans, but you will be afforded every measure of hospitality and comfort, of course.’

  The white-eye raised a hand to attract the king’s attention, making Ardela feel for a moment like she was back at her lessons in the temple. ‘Hope that don’t apply to me,’ he said with a grin that didn’t reach his white eyes. ‘Ain’t taking fucking orders from any o’ them.’

  King Emin gave the man an indulgent smile. ‘Then it is fortunate that I’m putting you in charge of part of the unit.’

  ‘Hah! You’ll be making me nobility next!’ the white-eye said with a laugh.

  Half the men in the room realised the king hadn’t been joking and began to object, but Emin hushed his troops and waited for the mercenaries to quieten down.

  ‘Enough of the bravado,’ he said. ‘If there’s any man among you who wants to test himself against Daken you can take it out into the courtyard now - no, that’s excepting you, Coran!’ he snapped as his bodyguard hefted his mace. ‘Daken leads one half of the unit, Coran the other. You each will be responsible for getting them to the Circle City by whatever unobtrusive method is necessary — ’

  ‘That means secret-like,’ Daken interjected, looking directly at the rogue mage, Wentersorn, ‘for the dumbshits among you.’

  ‘Yes, Daken, yes it does,’ Emin said with exaggerated patience. ‘For preference it would also include not starting a fight with your own men too. Once in Byora you will liaise with my man in the quarter, who will give you your final orders.’

  ‘What about him?’ Wentersorn demanded in a whining voice, pointing at the vagrant standing all alone. ‘You can’t expect any of us to travel with Shim the Bastard!’

  Considering Daken’s naked hostility towards him, Ardela guessed Wentersorn had to be genuinely afraid to speak up again and she turned her attention to Shim. The man kept his eyes low.

  ‘Several of the Brotherhood will be part of your group. Some will be filling you in on necessary details of how they work, and two will be escorting Shim separately.’

  Shim said something in response that Ardela couldn’t understand, but the mage did. He shrank back for a moment, then found his courage and replied in the Narkang dialect, drawing his knife. It was quite clear what he meant, whatever language.

  ‘Curious,’ Legana said, ‘it seems he’s a mage-killer of some sort. Not a mystery I want to investigate too closely, I think.’

  ‘What are we doing here?’ Ardela whispered back.

  ‘Waiting for our turn,’ Legana replied. ‘King Emin may be the patron we’re looking for - his agents and officials may be able to find our sisters faster than we ever could alone.’

  ‘You’re going to ask him outright?’

  ‘He’s a politician; when have you ever heard a politician say something plainly? But look at who we’re sharing a room with - this is part of an ongoing campaign and the man is having to recruit Raylin mercenaries to bolster his numbers.’

  ‘So he might need us more than we need him?’

  ‘Luck’s a chance taken.’ Legana repeated. ‘Let’s wait and see what chances the King of Narkang has to offer us.’

  While they spoke, Daken had stirred himself to take control of his new troops. He wasn’t as tall as the king’s bodyguard, Coran, but he was nonetheless a white-eye, and not even the battle-mage looked keen to face him down. Once all was quiet again King Emin wound the briefing up.

  ‘If you’ve quite finished, I suggest you eat and drink your fill and be ready for an early start. Daken, I want them ready to leave at dawn so hangovers are your problem. Veil, make yourself and the other four known to your unit commander. Gentlemen, ladies, you’ve all been offered a good price for your services and continuing allegiance afterwards.’ King Emin paused, then his voice hardened. ‘Don’t test my patience by trying to renegotiate now.’

  With that he disappeared from view. The room was silent for a moment before one of the King’s Men rose and headed for Daken, which became the cue for the rest to start their conversations again. For a moment Ardela thought they had been forgotten, but then she realised Coran was staring at her. Once he realised he had her attention he indicated up the stairs with a twitch of his head.

  Ardela whispered to Legana, who scribbled something on her slate and climbed to her feet.

  There were fewer eyes on them than Ardela had expected. The odd couple of mages were watching Legana with puzzled expressions, but the others were more concerned with Shim the Bastard, whoever he was. The normal troops were sizing up their new comrades, trying to keep an eye on the more obvious threats - all except Daken, who appeared to be basking happily in their unhappy attention. Now she knew his name, Ardela recognised him; his reputation wasn’t one to necessarily be proud of - he was known as Daken the Mad Axe, not so much a delightful nickname as an accurate one, if even half the stories were to be believed.

  As the three reached Coran he reached out to take Legana’s arm, but she kept back and raised the slate. Reading whatever she’d written on it brought the colour darkening in Coran’s cheeks. Ardela saw his fist tighten, but the man had a good enough hold on his temper to turn away and lead them up the stair without a word.

  Ardela coughed to smother her laugh as she caught sight of what Legana had written - Touch me and you’ll be missing a ball too. The white-eye’s reputation was not a pleasant one, especially where women were concerned.

  Legana followed Coran unaided up the single flight of stairs, running her fingers along the bare wall to help her balance. Ardela and Shanas kept close behind and they found themselves entering a cold, almost-bare study. A dozen unopened wooden crates stood on the floor. The only furniture was a dusty desk and a tall shelved cabinet, which occupied much of one wall. King Emin perched on one corner of the desk and inclined his head courteously as each woman entered.

  ‘Normally I wouldn’t believe your presence here could be merely fortuitous, but after Doranei’s reports I have to accept the possibility, ’ he said to Legana.

  Legana hesitated for a moment, and just when Ardela was expecting to be told to relay her words to the king, Legana erased the message on her slate and scribbled quickly.

  Interesting, Ardela thought as she watched Legana hold up the slate. She doesn’t want him to know about that yet.

  ‘“Chance, nothing more,”’ King Emin read aloud. He shrugged. ‘Certainly it was not fate, and for that you have my condolences. Doranei has told me something of your situation. I can surmise a little more, and I believe my help might prove valuable. As it happens I have a task that your sisterhood would be most suitable for.’

  Legana gave him her most radiant smile. Faced with that, Emin’s own faltered a fraction.

  ‘Damn,’ he said. ‘This looks like it’s going to cost me.’

  CHAPTER 7

  Grey ghosts of mist hung over the valley floor, sheltered from the listless breeze by the cliffs of Blackfang. Nothing moved inside the valley; no
creature or spirit heard the silence shrouding the Library of Seasons broken by a small sound coming from the northern cliff. Set into the rock was a solid doorway, securely barred on the outside. The sound came again, tiny, even amidst the fearful hush: the muffled click of a leather-wrapped hook catching a bolt, the slow scrape of the bolt being dragged open. It was followed by a long, patient pause of several minutes - long enough, perhaps, to ensure anything hearing the rasp of metal would have investigated by then.

  The valley floor was gradually being brought into life by the faint brightness spreading across the sky and by the time one of the doors eased open and Captain Hain of the Cheme Third Legion peered out, the murk of dawn was starting to dissipate. Directly in front of him Hain could see a small stretch of grass that extended for twenty yards, dropped away gently on the left, and ending more abruptly on the right at the white stone walls of the animal pens.

  Debris was scattered all around the sloped roofs, and a single furrow, a large one, had been carved into the turf. Beyond the pens was the shell of a large, low building; the roof that had once covered one end had been ripped off and through a hole in the outer wall Hain could see the interior was equally wrecked.

  To the left, around the base of Blackfang’s peak jutting out into the bowl of the valley, he could make out half of the Fearen House, the largest building in the valley. The great dome looked intact, but one wing had been ripped clean away. Lord Styrax’s beastmasters thought the dragon would most likely have chosen the Fearen House to sleep because of the amount of power in the place - most of the books were preserved by magic. No magic had worked in the valley itself until the spell had been broken; the attendants had ensured any ageing works were moved to a library annex outside the valley, where the protection spells would reactivate and slowly restore the book until it was fit for another fifty years in the library.