by Tim Pratt
They rode out of Vellumis and into the countryside, and eventually into the forest. Eldra and Rodrick would have gotten lost in the woods, wandered in circles, and eventually been eaten by whatever local monsters enjoyed human flesh, but the Specialist’s memory of their route was eerily perfect, as always. He led them back to the place where they’d camped, and they left the horses there, since the journey to the old fort took them through a denser part of the woods.
“This part of the forest is young.” The Specialist slashed away at brambles and branches with a heavy stick as he walked. “There must have been a fire not too many decades past. That’s why it’s so overgrown. The trees and bushes and weeds and vines and briars are all still fighting for supremacy. Not like the deeper forest, where the battle was settled long ago, and the victorious trees block out the sun with their reaching branches, and keep the undergrowth from getting so untidy.”
“I like it.” Eldra kicked a branch out of her path. “It’s hell to walk through, of course, but I love the sense of life I get out here.”
Rodrick ducked to avoid a tree limb. “I prefer the sense of life I get in a tavern, with a willing wench on my knee and a tankard in my hand.”
“That also has a certain appeal,” Eldra said cheerfully. She’d given up on pretending to be jealous when he mentioned other women, apparently. He couldn’t decide if that disappointed him or not.
“It’s just there.” The Specialist pointed his walking stick at an overgrown mass of stones and old timbers. Parts of it had clearly been made by human hands, but since then it had been left in the hands of nature for a very long time.
They made their way through the thorn vines to a formidable door made of thick wood that had practically petrified, reinforced with rusty black iron and chained shut. “Well?” the Specialist said. “Go ahead. You’re the leader here.”
“If we open that door and walk in, I bet Bannerman will throw a rock at us, or try to strangle us with his chains, or something. May I?” Rodrick took the Specialist’s stick and pounded it against the door. “Bannerman!” he called. “Are you alive in there? It’s Rodrick. We’ve come to save you.” Silence. “All right? I’m coming in. Don’t kill me.”
He unwound the chains and eased open the door. The interior of the fort was dark and windowless, but a shaft of light illuminated Bannerman, who looked grimy and annoyed, seated on the floor. His hands were bound with the same manacles they’d used when they apprehended him in the forest, and a chain connected them to the central timber that held up the fort’s stone roof. He scowled at them ferociously.
Zumani was there, too, with a chain looped around his neck and waist, also tied to the central post. He leapt to his feet, or tried to, but the chain wasn’t quite long enough, so he strangled himself briefly and then sat back down. “I demand you set me free immediately!” he said. “I am a free man of Nirmathas!”
“Shut up, Zumani.” Bannerman’s tone was weary. Rodrick suspected he’d said the same phrase quite often since his imprisonment. He looked at Rodrick. “Did Temple send you to free me? I knew she wouldn’t give in to Merihim’s plan. Only why did she take so long?”
Rodrick and the others went into the fort. He wrinkled his nose. The inside smelled the way you’d expect it to after a few days holding prisoners who couldn’t go farther than the end of their chains to relieve themselves. “How about we unchain you and then we can explain everything in the fresh air?”
“Just unchain me,” Bannerman said. “I could use a break from the poet there.”
“This is outrageous!” Zumani shouted.
“Shut up, Zumani,” Bannerman and Eldra said simultaneously.
* * *
They told Bannerman everything, apart from the theft of the signet ring and the raid on the Interdicted Library. Rodrick did most of the talking, with Eldra interjecting at certain points, and the Specialist making the occasional technical or purely pedantic clarification.
Bannerman listened to them with obvious impatience, arms crossed, frowning and squinting and sucking his teeth, but he let them get through it all.
“That’s a remarkable story,” he said at last. “I don’t believe it, of course.”
Rodrick had considered any number of possible reactions, but somehow outright disbelief hadn’t been among them. “Ah. Well. It’s true.”
Bannerman shook his head. “You’re liars, every one of you. Even the Specialist—we still don’t even know his real name!”
“If you knew my name, you might be able to find out things about me,” the old man said, in the tones of one explaining an everyday mystery to a confused child.
Eldra frowned. “What could we possibly gain from making up a story like this?”
“Apart from goading me into murdering my employer?” Bannerman shook his head. “You know Andraste had the necklace, and you also know about her … predilections … so I believe that part. Her debauchery is a well-kept secret, and knowing about it has helped Temple a lot politically. I believe you stole the necklace from her, and freed yourself from our hold. As for the rest of your tale, though—no. You’re just afraid Temple will chase you down and press you into service again. So instead you come and rescue me, hoping to make me feel indebted to you, and then tell me, ‘Oh, by the way, your beloved friend and mentor is actually a monster in disguise, even though she looks and sounds exactly like she always does, and you should really help us sneak into the Bastion and deal with her.’” He turned his head and spat onto the forest floor. “I won’t be your dupe, Volunteers.”
“Why wouldn’t we just run away?” Eldra said.
Bannerman showed his teeth. “Run? From the crusaders of Lastwall? We’re very good at chasing down deserters, and that’s what you lot are trying to be.”
Eldra shook her head. “I’m sorry, Rodrick, I agreed to help you, but if he’s going to be like this, I don’t see how we’re going to proceed.” She turned back to Bannerman. “We don’t even want you to kill Temple, you stupid man, we just want to get Hrym out of Prinn’s clutches!”
“You don’t have to ask me to kill an undead rot at the heart of the Bastion of Justice. Obviously duty would compel me to do such a thing. I don’t claim to have a mind as cunning as any of you treacherous scum, but even I know it’s not necessary to ask someone to do something you know they’ll do anyway.”
“You give us too much credit—” Rodrick began.
“We checked Prinn out.” Bannerman stepped forward, his fists clenched. “Our chirurgeon looked him over, just like he looked over the rest of you, and he was as human as you or me. He wasn’t some undead monster then, so he’s not one now.”
The Specialist bent down and reached into his pack, and Bannerman was on him in an instant, knocking him flat on the ground and pinning him down. Rodrick didn’t see what the Specialist did, exactly, but there was a flurry of movement, and suddenly Bannerman was facedown, with one arm wrenched behind his back, and the Specialist kneeling beside him, holding the crusader’s wrist almost delicately. “Bannerman, I was going for a book, not a weapon,” he said mildly. “Eldra, if you’d be so kind?”
She reached into his bag and took out the slim black volume the Specialist had been studying the night before. “Turn to the marked page, please,” the Specialist said.
Eldra flipped through until she reached a page marked with a bit of string, read it, then grunted. She put it on the ground right under Bannerman’s nose. “Can you read, crusader?”
“Of course I can.” He squinted, at the book, lips moving slowly, and finally sighed. “All right, let me up.”
“That must be some very persuasive writing,” Rodrick said.
The Specialist released Bannerman, who stalked a few feet away and began to pace back and forth, fists clenched, brow furrowed in thought. Eldra picked up the book and handed it to Rodrick. He’d never enjoyed reading, but he could do it well enough when he had no choice. The book was a bestiary, of sorts—but devoted to accounts of the undead, includi
ng totenmaskes. He scanned the page until he reached the relevant passage. “Ah, yes,” he said. “The Specialists told us about this. When a totenmaske steals someone’s identity, they become fully human, indistinguishable from the real thing. Your chirurgeon wasn’t incompetent after all.”
“This doesn’t prove anything,” Bannerman said. “What if you’re just claiming Prinn is a totenmaske because those can’t be distinguished from humans?”
“Your suspicion is understandable,” Eldra said. “When dealing with people like us, it’s even a survival trait. But we aren’t asking you to walk into the Bastion and put a sword in Temple’s heart. Why don’t you go and talk to her? Tell her you escaped from the fort, and feel her out, and see if she seems like the real Temple to you. While you’re in there, you can figure out where Hrym is, too, and maybe contrive to carry him out again, once you realize we’re telling the truth.”
The Specialist cleared his throat. “The totenmaske also drains memories from its victims, though, so it could be a very convincing impersonation. Prinn may know everything Temple knew.”
“Oh, isn’t that convenient,” Bannerman said. “So if I ask Temple questions, and she answers exactly as I expect, that proves she’s a totenmaske, does it?”
Rodrick closed the book. “Well,” he said. “There is one question you could ask, that would prove whether or not we’re telling the truth.”
29
THE CONVINCER
They left Zumani chained up, to his loud and vocal dismay. Bannerman wasn’t even remotely convinced by their story yet, but if Temple was an undead monster in disguise, he didn’t want to risk bringing her the revolutionary.
If Rodrick hadn’t been worried for Hrym, the whole situation would have been amusing. Usually, in his life, if he told a lie and put the full force of his charm behind it, people believed him. Now, for once, he was telling the whole truth (more or less), and he wasn’t believed. There was probably some morally instructive lesson there, but he wasn’t in the mood to learn it.
They returned to the horses and rode back to Vellumis. Bannerman didn’t talk much, just glowered and muttered. They didn’t reveal to him where they were staying, but made arrangements to meet him at the harbor the following morning, after he’d had a chance to talk to “Temple.” At the edge of the city, they parted ways, Bannerman promising swift vengeance if they weren’t at the appointed meeting place when the time came.
Back in the basement, Rodrick fretted, and paced, and was generally miserable and distracted. The Specialist kept going through his books, talking to himself and jotting notes, and then announced he had to run an errand. Eldra stopped him before he left, whispering something in his ear, and the Specialist whispered something in return—then chuckled, a rare sound from the old man. He disappeared into the night, and Eldra walked over to Rodrick, smiling in her adorably dimpled way.
“What was all that about?” he said.
“Oh, I just asked him how long he was going to be gone.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because I don’t want there to be any rush, silly.” She leaned in and kissed him. Rodrick was briefly surprised, but insofar as he had any success at all in life it was because he tended to seize opportunities when they arose, so he put his arms around her. She melted into him, and for the next hour, he didn’t think even once about the fact that she was actually an octogenarian.
Afterward, they lay side by side on their cots, which they’d pushed together to make something resembling a bed, for all the good it did. Rodrick didn’t feel any cause for complaint, though. He’d spent far less pleasant evenings in featherbeds and on piles of furs. “That was amazing,” he breathed.
“Thank you, darling. You were better than I expected, for someone your age. Imagine how good you’ll be after a few mores years of practice.”
“I’m insulted,” he said. “But, strangely, I don’t mind.”
She rolled over toward him, putting her cheek against his. “I did enjoy it, darling. I didn’t plan to grow fond of you, and yet, somehow, here I am. You’re a liar and a thief and a confidence trickster, but your heart’s not as black as some.”
“I’m touched by your high opinion of me. But I have to ask—why now?”
“Two reasons.” She traced her fingertip in little circles on his chest. “First, I couldn’t stand how sad you looked. You’re just eaten up by worry for your friend, and the misery was written all over you. Distracting you for a while seemed like a kindness.”
“I applaud your philanthropy. What’s the other reason?”
“I don’t want anything from you now,” she said. “I don’t need you as an ally in the Volunteers, because the Volunteers are no more. I don’t need you to help me steal a signet ring—it’s already done, and I have it. Indeed, now you’re the one who needs me, not vice versa.”
“Oh.” Rodrick felt a peculiar sensation of warmth in his chest, a tightness in his throat, perhaps even a stinging in his eyes, quickly blinked away. “So you could sleep with me now, and I’d know it was just because you wanted to, and not because you needed me for something.”
“Exactly. I spent the early years of my career, back before you were born, using sex as a way to get what I wanted and needed. In my old age, I have no patience for that sort of thing. Old habits are hard to break, so I still use the promise of sex, and the hint of sex, and the suggestion of sex, when the situation merits—but actually going through with it? I reserve that strictly for people I want to be with.”
“Eldra. I just. You. You’ve been. I want to tell you—”
“Stop, stop!” she cried. “Don’t go all hearts and flowers on me now, Rodrick. You’ll ruin my good opinion of you. We did a nice thing together, because we wanted to, and because we needed something good in the midst of all this misery. Let’s leave it at that.”
“Does that mean … you don’t want to do it again?”
“Hmm,” she said. “The Specialist did say he’d be gone for at least two hours…”
* * *
The next morning, they all rose with the sun—even the Specialist, who’d been gone rather longer than two hours, and barely even got home before dawn—and trekked down to the harbor. Rodrick and the Specialist sat on the same low wall where they’d contemplated their future prospects after their escape from the poisonous gems. Eldra was off on her own, watching and armed, just in case Prinn had managed to fool Bannerman after all, and they needed some help making a hasty escape.
The crusader appeared at the appointed time, plodding toward them, either truly disconsolate or pretending to be in order to catch them unawares. The constant vigilance of suspicion could be exhausting, Rodrick thought.
Bannerman sat on the wall next to them and stared at the ships. “You’re right,” he said. “It’s not Temple. I went to the Bastion, and told them I’d escaped, and she—he, Prinn, damn him—met with me right away. I asked what became of you … and he said you’d all been killed by your gems as punishment for your treachery.”
Rodrick exhaled. That had been his idea: ask Prinn what happened to the Volunteers, and hope the totenmaske would be caught in an obvious lie. It wasn’t a perfect plan, though. The totenmaske might have said, “I killed Prinn and Merihim, and the others escaped, so I let the gems kill them.” That would have been problematic, but it would have also caused Bannerman to ask other questions, like, “Why did you let them escape?” and “Why didn’t you try to drag them back?” and such, so Rodrick had figured it was worth the gamble.
“Besides, I asked around, and everyone agrees Temple has been different the past few days,” Bannerman said. “She never drinks, usually, but she’s been going through gallons of wine. She’s been demanding rich food, when she’s normally so focused on work she barely remembers to eat. She’s even going to the feast to honor General Andraste tonight, when she makes a point of avoiding functions like that. She’s apparently made crude and suggestive remarks to men and women in her employ, too. The Bastion has been
taken over by a monster.”
Wine, lust, and gluttony? The new Temple certainly sounded more fun than the old one. If she weren’t an undead monster, Rodrick would probably enjoy her company.
The Specialist made a hand signal, and a few moments later, Eldra strolled down the waterfront, twirling her parasol, and joined them.
“Did you happen to see Hrym?” Rodrick said. “I can’t help but notice he isn’t on your hip.”
Bannerman shook his head. “No. I know where he is, though. Prinn said he hadn’t decided what to do with Hrym yet—to try to convince him to serve Lastwall, or to lock him up in some vault somewhere. He’s still sheathed in that antimagic scabbard, in Temple’s office. There was no chance for me to grab him, though.” He sighed. “I considered lying to you—telling you I had him hidden away, and that if you helped me expose and defeat Prinn, I’d give him back—but I’m so weary of deceptions, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I will make this offer, though: if you agree to help me kill Prinn, I’ll show you a secret way into the Bastion and help you get Hrym back while we’re there.”
“No thank you,” the Specialist said.
“Yes, I’ll decline,” Eldra said.
Rodrick scowled at them. “Both of you promised to help me.”
“Help you get Hrym, yes,” Eldra said. “I have no interest whatsoever in having my flesh shaped or my memories drunk. I do not ever even want to see Prinn again.”
“Agreed,” the Specialist said.
“Okay.” Rodrick held up his hands. “All right. This is my proposal, Bannerman. You help us all infiltrate the Bastion. The Specialist and Eldra will lend us their skills for that part. We’ll get Hrym first. Then, their debt to me discharged, those two can slip out again … but I’ll help you stop Prinn before I leave. Having Hrym in hand will make that easier anyway, don’t you think? But I also need you to agree not to consider any of us deserters, and let us have our freedom. I think we’ll have earned it.”
