by Tim Pratt
Merihim stood up from the table and crooked a finger at Prinn, then headed toward the room they’d claimed. The pale man looked at the devilkin’s back before rising to follow, and his blank countenance momentarily spasmed into a look of hateful rage before smoothing out again. Rodrick wondered if anyone else had noticed. Probably Eldra—she seemed sharp—but the Specialist was muttering to himself and drawing designs with the tip of a knife in the gravy on his plate.
The Specialist looked around, scratched at his messy thatch of beard, then picked up his plate and carried it to the middle of the three bedrooms, closing the door behind him. A moment later he opened it again and poked his head out. “I need this room to myself. I have books. And many poisons.” Then he closed it again.
“I suppose that means we’re rooming together.” Rodrick lifted one eyebrow at Eldra. “Unless you insist I sleep out here on the rug? I can assure you, I’m a perfect gentleman.”
Eldra smiled sweetly. “I’m pleased to hear it. The alternative would be for you to be a dead blackguard. I have ever so many knives. You’re welcome to share my quarters, if not my mattress, as long as you don’t snore.”
“None of those who’ve shared my bed have ever complained.”
“Not true,” Hrym said from the corner, where Rodrick had propped him. “I’ve complained. You’re always breathing. And shifting. Sometimes muttering. Flesh is so noisy.”
Eldra turned toward the sword. “Tell me, Hrym, is Rodrick a dependable and loyal friend?”
“Loyal? To a point. Dependable? Intermittently. Why do you ask?”
“We’re going to be serving together, and we’re apparently to be sent on a mission quite soon. It would be nice to know what sort of people I’m serving with.”
Hrym hrumphed. “We’re not mysterious. I like resting on piles of gold. Rodrick likes spending our gold on women, wine, and velvet cushions. Thus, we never have enough gold, and are forced to leave the comfort of our quarters occasionally in order to obtain more. That is our relationship, and our motivation, in their entirety.”
Rodrick groaned. “There’s a reason I do most of the talking in our partnership. Hrym is entirely too honest sometimes.”
Eldra’s smile now was less sweet, but struck Rodrick as more genuine. “I find his frankness refreshing. So it’s just avarice and hedonism that motivate you, then? No personal, political, or ideological factors? You’re purely amoral beings?”
“Love of gold is a philosophy,” Hrym said. “In fact, it’s an immensely popular one, with adherents all over the world.”
“I wouldn’t say I’m purely amoral,” Rodrick said. “I’m Andoren, after all. I don’t like slavery. I think people should have a say in their governing.”
“But you don’t go out of your way to fight slavers, or try to spread Andoren principles of government into the heart of, say, Nex?”
“No, but I don’t hire myself out to slavers or tyrants, either. I also don’t knowingly work for cults devoted to evil gods, or for demon-worshipers. I’d rather not see the world overrun by locusts with human faces or enormous slugs with shark’s teeth and so on.”
Eldra trailed her finger through the gravy on her plate, then sucked her fingertip, looking at Rodrick thoughtfully before saying, “You’re not out fighting demons at the Worldwound, though.”
“We stopped a cult from freeing a demon lord once,” Hrym said. “I’d say we’ve done our part. Consider our service rendered.”
“We believe in leading by example,” Rodrick said. The way she’d sucked her finger, staring right at him … Rodrick knew when he was being manipulated, but that didn’t mean it was ineffective.
“Do you murder people in order to steal their gold?”
“Of course not.”
“What if they’re bad people?”
Rodrick shook his head. “I won’t say we’ve never killed anyone—”
“Mostly me,” Hrym said. “If it’s bigger than a fly, anyway.”
“—but we’re not muggers.” Rodrick made a sour face. “Murdering people to steal from them is inelegant. There’s an artistry to taking someone’s gold. Ideally you get them to hand it over willingly, and get them to thank you for the opportunity. At worst you take their gold in secret and travel many leagues away before they notice.”
Eldra nodded. “I have a similar philosophy. I’d like a long and comfortable life, and I’ll go to whatever lengths are necessary to secure it, but I don’t look for opportunities to harm others, and I find needless cruelty boring and vulgar. It’s pleasant to find a like-minded person—and sword—here. The Specialist strikes me as less a man and more a collection of eccentricities and obsessions, and Merihim and Prinn … I have no idea what their goals are, but I don’t think they’d hesitate to do murder if it helped their cause. And Temple … Well. Temple is a zealot. Zealots are usefully predictable, but I’m never comfortable around them.”
“Perhaps we should make an informal alliance, then?” Rodrick said. “Sending us all into the field to work as a team seems like a laughably naive proposition, sure to end in disaster and betrayal, especially with Merihim in charge. But if you and I and Hrym make an agreement to look out for one another, it could greatly increase our chances of survival.”
“Hmm.” She cocked her head. “That strikes me as acceptable.”
“And if one of us finds a way to get rid of these gems…”
“Oh, indeed. Share and share alike.”
“I feel better already,” Rodrick said.
“If the two of you are going to roll around together with your clothes off, please leave me out here while you do it,” Hrym said.
Eldra’s laughter bubbled. “I don’t think there’s much danger of that tonight, Hrym. But in the future … who knows? Battlefields sometimes forge strange bonds. Give me a quarter hour to prepare for bed before you come in, Rodrick?” She rose and walked, with a doubtless perfectly calculated amount of sway, into the bedroom, shutting the door behind her.
“Is she manipulating you, or are you manipulating her?” Hrym said.
“I’m surprised at you, Hrym. It’s disheartening to see that level of cynicism in a sword so young.”
“I can’t help it. I’m observant.”
Rodrick leaned back in his chair, balancing it on the two back legs and putting his feet on the table. “I’m honestly not sure it matters. We’re almost certainly using each other, for mutual protection and aid, and I imagine she’s as alert to the possibility of betrayal as I am. Of course, if she decides to lure me into her bed in hopes of securing a more lasting sort of loyalty from me, I won’t complain. That would make the next year pass much more pleasantly.”
“You’re repulsive. I’m repulsed. If you get to have your carnal pleasures, I demand my metallic ones—I want a bed of gold.”
“Wouldn’t it be a wonderful world if everyone got what they wanted?”
Hrym seemed to think about that for a moment. “No,” he said at last.
6
A BRIEFING
Rodrick was dreaming of fiery red beetles trying to burrow under his flesh when someone nudged him, hard, under the left armpit. A distant woman said, “He hibernates like a bear, doesn’t he?”
Hrym’s familiar voice replied, “He excels at laziness.”
Rodrick groaned and sat up. Eldra was sitting on the edge of her small bed across the room, looking at him innocently as he rubbed the tender spot on his ribs. What had she poked him with? The purple-and-white parasol leaning against the foot of her bed seemed a likely culprit. “What is it? Is something on fire? Why wake me up unless something’s on fire?”
“It’s morning, and you need to wait outside while I wash up.” She inclined her head at the table that held a basin, pitcher of water, and mirror.
Rodrick smoothed down his unruly hair. “Why do you need to wash up again? You washed up last night. You haven’t done anything to get dirty.”
“She’s got all sorts of powders and unguents and things i
n jars and vials,” Hrym said. “I think she must be half alchemist. The mysteries of womanhood.”
“Exactly,” Eldra said. “As you polish boots and sharpen knives, I too must tend to the tools of my trade.”
Rodrick, who had never sharpened or polished anything in his life, groaned again, picked up Hrym, and staggered out into the common area. He went to the kitchen and splashed water on his face, then walked to the lightwell and looked at the little plants growing in pots in the weakly filtered spill of dawn light. He looked around, confirmed he was alone, then poked his head into the lightwell, looking up the shaft. Probably about twenty feet up to the surface. The sides of the shaft were rough stone, and the shaft was narrow as a chimney, so climbing out of it wouldn’t be a terrible challenge … but there were three different metal grates, set at different intervals, starting halfway up the shaft’s length.
“We could freeze the iron and shatter the bars,” Hrym offered.
“Not without leaving a mark, unfortunately. If we were actually plotting an escape, that would be an option, but I was just hoping to find a way to slip out unawares and return unobserved. Temple doesn’t seem inclined to give us anything to drink down here apart from water, and a year without wine, ale, or liquor will feel like a century. Perhaps when we’re sent on missions I can slake my thirst.” He closed the window, propped Hrym in the corner, went to the low couch, and sprawled out, hoping for a bit more sleep.
His hopes were not fulfilled. Merihim came out dressed in stylish leathers, whispering with brown-robed Prinn, then sat at the desk and began writing something on a sheet of parchment. The Specialist emerged soon after, wearing the same ink-stained garb as before, and began banging pots around in the kitchen. Finally Eldra emerged, looking fresh-faced and natural, with her long black hair put up in a deceptively simple-looking arrangement of braids, wearing yellow silk trousers and a white blouse. Rodrick considered disappearing back into the bedroom, but by then he was thoroughly awake, so he sighed and sat at the table with Eldra just as the Specialist set out a pot of tea.
The Volunteers were just finishing up breakfast—the Specialist had done something amazing with eggs, sausage, and some local herbs Rodrick had never encountered before; Prinn ate half a turnip—when Temple arrived carrying a wooden scroll case under her arm and Rodrick’s bag dangling from her hand by the straps. She was trailed by the tallest woman Rodrick had ever seen, with short dark hair and a hawkish face, dressed in leather and chainmail, with a very large sword on her belt and her hand firmly on the hilt. The edges of an ornate necklace peeked out from beneath her clothing, an oddly decorative touch for someone so otherwise brutally practical.
Temple looked them over and nodded, as if confirming some grim suspicion. “Good, you’re all up. I was afraid Rodrick would still be sleeping.”
“Would that I were,” he murmured. “May I…?”
Temple tossed the bag in his direction, and Rodrick smiled, rising to retrieve it and peer through the contents. Everything seemed in place, including the only items of value: his lockpicks, his devilfish cloak, and the medallion he’d gotten in Jalmeray that allowed him to speak and understand almost any language. He returned to his seat beside Eldra.
“Everyone start paying attention.” Temple turned and nodded toward the scowling woman beside her. “This is General Andraste, the highest-ranking member of the Lastwall crusaders you lot are ever going to even glimpse. She’s been kind enough to support my little endeavor, because she’d rather you lot die on dangerous missions than good soldiers of Lastwall.”
“I love your hair,” Eldra said, with apparent sincerity.
The general’s mouth twisted in distaste. “These Volunteers of yours seem to be everything you promised, Temple.”
“All that and more, I’m afraid. But they’re more than equal to the tasks we’ll set before them. And if they’re not…” She shrugged. “No great loss. We were going to hang them anyway.”
Andraste looked at each of them, hard, as if memorizing their faces. “All of you are scum. The best of you are merely liars and thieves; the worst are far worse. But even the likes of you may be redeemed. There is no nation more noble than Lastwall, and no people with more important work than our crusaders. Your assistance will help balance, to some small extent, the vile acts you have performed in the past. Perhaps if you die in service to Lastwall, Iomedae will smile upon you. Perhaps not. But if you do not serve, you will die in a state of disgrace, of that you may be sure. I have my doubts about your worth. I think perhaps it would have been better to hang you. Please do your best to prove me wrong.” With that, she turned and stomped out of the room.
Hmm. A general, and a high-minded one at that. Rodrick’s suspicion that Temple was a completely rogue element of Lastwall’s government seemed a little less likely … though it was still possible this was a pet project supported by only one general. He couldn’t imagine the entire leadership of such an honor-bound country would possibly get behind an initiative like the Volunteers.
“All right,” Temple said. “On to business.” She opened the scroll case and removed a large sheet of paper, which she deftly pinned to a wooden wall, one tack per corner. She pointed to the image sketched there in black ink. “This is your mission. His name is Bannerman. Study his face.”
The face on the paper was that of a middle-aged human man, with long lank hair, deep-set eyes, a prominent nose that had been broken once or twice, a narrow and stubbled jaw, and a long jagged scar down the right cheek. He looked like a rough and disreputable sort, which didn’t mean much. (Rodrick was generally considered to have an open and friendly countenance, which didn’t stop him from robbing people down to the soles of their boots.)
“He probably isn’t in disguise,” Temple said, “though he may have more of a beard by now. His eyes are a sort of muddy brown, and his skin is tanned and leathery from long years on the battlefield. He’s in the Fangwood, last I heard. I want you to bring him back, alive and unharmed.”
“Should we assume he won’t come willingly?” Merihim said.
Temple smiled faintly. “It’s fair to say he won’t come unless you capture him and make him come.”
“Why do you want him?” Eldra asked.
“I need him,” Temple said. “Alive, too, and of sound body and mind. No torture or maiming allowed. You can knock him around a bit if that’s necessary to complete your mission, but don’t do any serious damage.”
Rodrick raised a hand. “I know Lastwall has thief-takers, and more soldiers than you know what to do with, all of whom are more skilled at tracking fugitives than we are. Why send us?”
Temple sighed. “You all seem to be under the impression that this is a sewing circle or a conversation in a coffeehouse. I give you a mission, and tell you the requirements, and you do it. You continue to do it for a year, and then you get to go free. Understood?”
“At least tell us if he’s dangerous,” Merihim said.
“Of course he is. Would I send you after someone harmless? Fine. Some background will help your efforts. Bannerman is a trained crusader of Lastwall, and before he joined that august fighting force, he grew up in the forests of—well, the area now known as Nirmathas. He knows combat, and tactics, and how to use the forest to his advantage.” She smiled. “He’s quite formidable, actually. It’s a good thing there are five of you.”
Rodrick glanced around. “Five of us, but none of us is exactly a ranger. I do rather better in cities than among the trees.” He didn’t mention that he never would have been captured by Temple in the first place if he hadn’t been blundering around in a forest, hiding under bushes and falling into rivers. The confession wouldn’t have done much to increase the esteem of his fellow Volunteers.
“I spent a year tracking a golden panther cult in the Mwangi Expanse,” the Specialist said. “My woodcraft is tolerable.”
“I’m good at everything, anywhere.” Merihim shrugged. “And Prinn doesn’t care. Prinn is Prinn in every environment.”<
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“I quite enjoy the occasional stroll in the country,” Eldra offered. “A forest is just a sort of overgrown garden, really.”
“I want some gold,” Hrym said, presumably because everyone else had spoken and he wanted to contribute too, but no one paid him any attention.
Temple crossed her arms and looked them over. “You’ll leave in an hour. I’ll have horses saddled and waiting upstairs, along with supplies to keep you going in the field. You have three days to bring back your target. If you’re not back by the morning of the fourth day, I’ll let the gems do their work. Same if you come back without your target. Oh, and one other thing: I mentioned that you shouldn’t kill Bannerman … but don’t kill any other people, either.”
Merihim scoffed. “Really, I don’t mind a few restrictions—they get the creative juices flowing—but that’s too much. What if we’re set upon by brigands?”
“Practice your nonlethal skills. I’m sure the Specialist and Eldra both know a few. And Rodrick and Hrym can neutralize a great many threats without drawing blood.”
“Sometimes people lose fingers and toes and the odd tip of a nose to frostbite,” Rodrick said.
“Acceptable losses.”
“What about monsters? The Fangwood isn’t a park.”
“I said don’t kill people. Monsters are monsters.” Temple handed the scroll case to Merihim. “Maps of Fangwood, with Bannerman’s likely location marked. Happy hunting.” She exited through the heavy wooden door.
Merihim spread out the maps on the kitchen table, and the Specialist joined her in studying them.
“What’s the plan, O Great Leader?” Rodrick said.
Merihim shrugged. “I’m like a great architect being asked to build a birdhouse. The plan? Go into the woods and drag this Bannerman out. How hard can it be to capture one rogue crusader?”
“Doesn’t that seem like an astonishingly dangerous thing to say?” Eldra sighed. “These slippers won’t do for tromping through the forest, will they?” She disappeared into the room and shut the door again.
