by James Wisher
“Lord, Slevas?” Eric wasn’t comfortable enough with telepathic communication that he could send the words without speaking them.
Knight Commander, there has been a setback. Even from a distance the power of the demon’s mental voice caused Eric to tense for a fight. He couldn’t win a fight with the demon. Even from a distance Eric suspected Slevas could destroy him with a thought. I require you to discover what happened to a caravan due to arrive in the city two days ago.
“Of course, my lord. It may take some time as many caravans enter Lord’s Way every day.”
The caravan belonged to the Tristar merchant house and it passed through a village called Three Streams over a week ago. I expect an update by midnight.
The demon broke contact leaving Eric breathing hard and trembling. Every time he finished communicating with the demon he felt like a rookie after his first battle, trembling and sick to his stomach. It should have gotten easier, but no.
Eric got up, unlocked the door, and left his office. The paperwork would have to wait. Bypassing the chaos of Watch headquarters’ main lobby Eric turned right and exited by the back door. Technically he was supposed to tell his second in command he left the building, but he didn’t want to and nobody cared anyway.
Outside, Eric judged it to be approaching mid-morning. He had, perhaps, fourteen hours before he needed to report to his master. No time to fool around. Three Streams was north of the city so any caravan would check in at one of the two north end gates. Eric headed in that direction, setting a brisk pace.
He walked through his city, barely noting the masses of people, buying, selling, arguing, and stealing. Lord’s Way was a merchant city, everybody always trying to get one over on a competitor. They were no better than the thieves whose names covered the pages on his desk, the difference being the merchants robbed people within the rules and the thieves didn’t.
When he reached the north gate one the guards was busy inspecting a pair of wagons. Eric hung back and watched. While his underlings poked through the contents of the wagons one merchant slipped a small pouch to the Watch sergeant who made it disappear just as fast. Eric shook his head and smiled. He didn’t mind his men taking bribes for undervaluing the merchants’ cargo the only people more corrupt than the merchants were the politicians that collected the taxes on them.
When the guards finished going through the motions Eric approached. At the sight of his lion embossed breastplate they snapped to attention. “Sergeant, I need a word.”
The older man’s eyes widened and he looked around, hoping there might be another sergeant hiding somewhere that Eric wanted to talk to. Not surprising considering he’d accepted a bribe seconds before. Eric wondered if he feared losing his job or having to share the coin. “Sir?”
“Give me your log book.”
He dug through his satchel and produced a small note book. Eric snatched it out of his hand and scanned through the last two weeks of entries. Nothing from Tristar had passed through the gates. Eric returned the notebook. “Keep up the good work, sergeant.”
“Yes, sir.” he saluted, a slack look of relief on his pathetic face.
Eric left gate one and headed for gate two. A brief examination of their logbook showed the same as the first, nothing from Tristar in the last two weeks. The caravan hadn’t entered the city, he felt certain, so where the hell was it?
He left the gates he headed toward the warehouse district, lucky for him it wasn’t far from north gate. Hundreds of warehouses sprawled through the district, some new and others old and sagging, most somewhere in between. Tristar’s was unremarkable, small, but well cared for it had the look of a well run, small company. The doors stood wide open and one man rifled through one of the scores of crates while the other wrote on a slate.
“Excuse me,” Eric said.
The two men looked at him, then at each other, and then started toward him. As they got closer it became clear that they were twins, red hair, green eyes, and both of them so thin that together they barely cast a shadow.
“Can we—” the twin on the right began.
“Help you?” the twin on the left finished.
Eric gave them a hard stare. The twin on the right flinched. “Sorry, we do that sometimes.”
“Never mind, I’m investigating an increase in bandit activity and I was wondering if you had any caravans missing.”
The left hand twin ran back into the warehouse, to check their records Eric assumed. A moment later the twin that remained cocked his head then nodded. “We have one caravan outstanding and it’s two days overdue. Given the state of the roads a brief delay is not something to be concerned about.”
“You’re certain it left on time?”
“Oh yes, a messenger bird is sent as soon as the caravan departs. We received the message on time and the caravan master expected no delays.”
Eric nodded. “Very well, thank you for your help.”
Eric left the warehouse and returned to headquarters. The caravan left on time but didn’t arrive. Either it was delayed on the road or someone attacked it. Either way he had enough to contact the master. Four hours had passed since the demon gave him his orders, it should be pleased with Eric’s speed at least.
When he reached his office Eric locked the door and thought about blood and pain and death. He conjured one horrible image after another. Early in their relationship Eric had asked Slevas why he couldn’t contact the demon directly when he had news. The master had laughed and explained that a mere human lacked the ability to do magic of any sort. Eric had bristled at the contempt in Slevas’s voice but as he had no desire to die just then he’d forgone comment.
It wasn’t long before he caught the master’s attention. You have news?
“Yes, master. The caravan left on schedule but it hasn’t arrived in the city yet. Either it’s been attacked or had a breakdown.”
Of course it’s been attacked, fool. I sent the bandits that attacked it. The problem is the bandits didn’t bring me the item I desired.
So much for the master being pleased with the speed at which he acquired his information. “Perhaps if I knew what was happening I could be of better service, master.”
The demon’s displeasure sent a shiver up Eric’s back. Had he overstepped?
Very well, Knight Commander. Slevas emphasized his title to remind Eric who had arranged his elevation. One of my agents located an item my master has sought for over a century. Before the item reached me it was stolen. The thief had the item shipped to the city in the missing caravan. I arranged for the attack and recovery of the item, but I still haven’t got it. Clear?
“Yes, master. That section of road is patrolled by Lord Knight Jeremiah Kane. If he learned of the attack he almost certainly is the cause of your bandits’ delay.”
You know him?
“Yes, we served in the Watch together before he received his spurs. He’s dedicated to doing his duty. In all the years he served in the Watch I never knew him to take a bribe.”
Very well, contact Kane and find out about the caravan and my mercenaries. I want to know as soon as you learn anything.
Slevas severed the connection.
The fastest way to reach Jeremiah was messenger bird. Given the master’s current mood the fastest way was the best way. Eric jotted down a quick note and rolled up the little strip of paper. Eric hadn’t thought about Jeremiah in years. They’d never been friends, to different, mirror images really. Jeremiah had gotten his knighthood by taking an arrow for the lord mayor; Eric got his by selling his honor to a demon. You couldn’t get much more opposite than that.
Chapter 3
“I’m sorry, dear, I don’t recognize it,” Alexandra said after studying the strange markings on the scroll. Jeremiah had returned to the estate earlier that morning, prisoners in tow. The bandits languished in cells at the rear of the barracks. “If you’d like I can check the library, maybe I can find something. In fact it would make an excellent lesson for the boys.”
“By all means,” Jeremiah said. “Anything you can discover would be good. Did anything interesting happen while I was gone?”
“No, everything’s been quiet, even Xander behaved himself. Oh, I almost forgot, Duncan’s coming out for a visit tomorrow. His note mentioned relaxing for a day before some important meeting.”
“Is he bringing his family?”
“He didn’t say, but I assume Jolie and Morgrin will come, they usually do.”
“I should get their rooms ready.”
“Jeremiah, relax, I’ve already got the maids working on it and the last thing they need is you fussing over them like a mother hen.” She crinkled her nose. “I think you should take a bath instead.”
Jeremiah felt like a new man after washing off a week’s worth of sweat. He rolled his shoulders, glad to be rid of forty pounds of steel hauberk. Since his wonderfully efficient wife had the preparations for Lord St. Jaques visit under control he was free to check in on Burt and question the prisoners.
Outside clouds filled the sky and the wind held a nip, a reminder that summer wasn’t there yet. The short walk to the cottage did wonders for Jeremiah’s aching legs. When he arrived he found the cottage door unlocked, but he knocked anyway.
“Come on in.” Burt said.
Jeremiah pushed the door open and found Burt tidying the room, his bandage gone, and the injured arm seeming to give him no trouble. “Feeling better?”
Burt looked up. “Oh, aye, sir. That healer of yours done a hell of a job. I reckon my arm’s better now than before I got stuck.”
“Bones will be pleased to hear it, but don’t praise him too much. He’s near impossible to deal with now.”
“How’d you make out with them bandits?”
Jeremiah smiled. “They won’t be troubling anymore caravans. We killed half of them and the rest are locked up in our prison. We’ll be taking them to Lord’s Way to face the king’s justice in a couple days.”
“Damn good thing. Seems a man can hardly walk down the road without getting shot at. So what’s to happen to me now, sir?”
“Nothing, you’re free to be on your way. If you prefer you can stay on until we run the bandits in and ride back with us.”
“I reckon I’ll do that. Don’t care much for traveling alone at the moment.”
Jeremiah left Burt to his cleaning and walked across the yard to the barracks. When he stepped inside the two score men inside snapped to attention. “At ease. Have the prisoners caused any trouble?”
“No, sir,” Marcus said. “I understand Lord St. Jaques is coming tomorrow. Will he be inspecting the men?”
“I doubt it. I think he’s looking to relax.”
Marcus’s shoulder’s dropped as the tension went out of him. Professional solders hated it when a nobleman got it in his head to tell them the best way to handle their business.
“Come on, I want a word with our guests.”
The bandits were crammed into three cells meant to hold half as many men. The sour smell of sweat almost brought a tear to Jeremiah’s eye. Marcus coughed. “We either need a bigger jail or to stop taking so many prisoners.”
“Attention!” Jeremiah said. “I require information. Whoever provides it will get a reduced sentence. What was so important about that caravan? Why was it attacked?”
When no one spoke Jeremiah said, “I don’t want to administer beatings, but if that’s the only way to get you to talk I will.”
One of the bandits eased his way over to the bars. “It ain’t that we don’t want to tell you, me lord, it’s just we don’t know nothing. The boss says where and when and we attack.”
Jeremiah frowned at the man.
“Let me get a couple of the boys,” Marcus said. “We’ll beat the truth out of them quick enough.”
Jeremiah laid a hand on his second in command’s shoulder. “No need for that. I’ve dealt with his kind often enough to tell when they’re lying, he’s not. You must have some idea why you attacked that caravan.”
“Truly sir, I ain’t. One afternoon we was sitting by the fire when this big black bird flies over head and lands on the boss’s shoulder. It’s got a scroll tube tied to its foot. The boss takes it and off the bird goes. The boss reads the letter and next thing we know were marching off to set an ambush.”
Jeremiah nodded, getting a handle on what was happening. “Let’s go, we’ll get nothing more here.”
When they’d left the jail behind Marcus asked, “What do you think, sir?”
“It’s clear someone hired those men to attack that specific caravan, no doubt to acquire that small chest we recovered. Anything more will require the scroll to be translated.”
* * *
Xander stood beside his brother while his father pace in front of the main house. Uncle Duncan would arrive any minute. The way Father worried you’d think it was the first time Uncle Duncan had come for a visit rather than like the hundredth. Every time the same thing, pace and worry until he got here, then brandy and old war stories. Xander chafed in his fancy slacks and tunic. He scratched the back of his knee with the toe of his boot. In the distance he spotted a short row of horsemen surrounding a carriage coming down the dirt road toward the mansion. At last. “Here they come, Father.”
Father stopped pacing and crouched down beside Xander. “Please be good.”
Xander raised an eyebrow but the clatter of hooves and squeak of the carriage drowned out his indignant comment. The carriage door popped open and the round form of Duncan St. Jaques clambered down from the carriage before the coachman got down from his seat to help.
Father fell to one knee, head bowed. “My lord.”
Duncan smiled. “For goodness sake, Jeremiah, get up. There’s no need for that foolishness when it’s just the families.”
“Uncle Duncan!” Xander and Gabriel shouted in unison and charged the older man.
Duncan scooped Xander up and spun him around once before setting him down. He ruffled Gabriel’s carefully combed hair. “Hello, boys. Gabriel, I swear you’ve grown six inches since my last visit.”
Behind Duncan his wife, Jolie, better known as the scarecrow when the servants thought no one was listening, climbed down out of the carriage. Rail thin and tall Jolie stood in stark contrast to her husband.
Xander darted forward and offered his best courtly bow. “You look very pretty today, Aunt Jolie.” This was a bare faced lie and Father wouldn’t approve if he heard, but it was polite so at least mother would be happy with him.
Jolie’s pinched face crinkled up into a smile. “That’s sweet, dear.” She dug into her little purse and fished out a saltwater toffee for Xander, just as he’d hoped she would. A complement always yielded a treat from Aunt Jolie. He assumed this was because she was so ugly the only way she could get compliments was to bribe people.
“Mother, you gave away my candy.” The petulant voice of Morgrin St. Jaques echoed out of the carriage. Xander had hoped they’d left the snot behind this time, but no such luck. Tall like his mother and fat like his father Morgrin towered six inches over Xander. Not that he intimidated Xander. Morgrin was soft, slow, and lazy, not a combination that inspired fear.
“Just one piece, dear. I have plenty more.”
“But they’re mine,” Morgrin squealed like a hog at the troth. Turning to Duncan, Morgrin said, “When are we going fishing?”
“After lunch.” Even Uncle Duncan sounded annoyed with Morgrin.
“I want to go now.”
“The boys can take him,” Father said.
Xander winced. The last thing he wanted was to spend the day with Morgrin bloody St. Jaques. He’d only been in the boy’s presence for five minutes and he already wanted to strangle him.
“Yes, Father,” Gabriel said, always so quick to agree.
Morgrin looked down at them and sniffed. “Very well, come.”
“Change your cloths first,” Mother said. A temporary reprieve, but one Xander grasped like a life line.
Th
e boys trotted up to their room. At the top of the stairs Xander said, “Hey Gab, want half my toffee?”
Gabriel opened the door to their room and Xander darted in past him. He stripped off his itchy shirt and pegged it into the wash pile.
“Give it here, runt, I’ll split it for you.”
Xander tossed him the treat, not worried in the least about not getting his fair share. It would never even occur to Gabriel to take more than his share. Xander shook his head; it wasn’t natural to be that honest, especially where toffee was concerned. Xander had a pair of scuffed pants on and was taking his time looking for an old shirt when Gabriel tossed him half the toffee. He popped in his mouth and sighed, wonderful stuff, sweet, buttery, bliss, pity father never brought any back with him from the city.
“How could you stand there and lie right to her face?” Gabriel asked.
“What?” Xander pulled on his favorite, soft brown tunic.
“Aunt Jolie, you told her she looked lovely. That woman was born ugly.”
Xander smiled; trust Gabriel to state the obvious. “So? Did you see how happy she was when I complemented her? If everyone was as honest as you how many complements do you imagine she’d get?”
“That’s not the point.”
“Forget it, Gab. Hey, do you think we could lose Morgrin in the forest and go down to the lake by ourselves?”
“We probably could,” Gabriel pulled on his second boot. “But Father would have a fit when we got home.”
Xander grinned. “It’d almost be worth it.”
“Forget it, runt. Let’s go.”
He rolled his eye behind his brother’s back and skipped down the steps after him. Xander loved his brother, but he sure was a stick in the mud.
The moment they stepped out the door Morgrin said, “Finally. Let’s go.”
Mother handed Gabriel a small basket. “That’s lunch for you boys. Dinner’s at sunset, be sure your back.”
