by Robert Beers
Adam nodded.
That got him another grunt, “Good, if this is an attack rather than an assassination they'll need someone up there who can handle themselves with a blade, from what I hear, you'll do.” He scribbled something onto a notepad he pulled from his breast pocket and thrust it at Adam. “Here, take this, show it to those at the guard entrance, they'll let you pass. Get to Captain Bilardi as quickly as possible. If the worst has happened, he's the new Duke and there's some in this town who won't like that. They may try to take advantage of the chaos to remedy the situation.”
Adam saluted, slapping his right fist over his heart and then headed in the direction of the guard entrance to the castle.
The guard at the door took the proffered note and glanced at it, “Whatta you want me to do with this?”
Adam blinked, “Did you read it?”
There was enough of a hesitation to tell Adam the next words out of the guard's mouth would be a lie, “I read it, whatta you think I am, a gnomic?”
“If I'm still standing here you must be,” Adam loosened the sword in its scabbard, “That note tells you to let me pass as quickly as possible. Why am I still on this side of the door?”
The guard looked at the note again, this time holding it up before his eyes, “Is that what it says?” He murmured half under his breath.
“Do you really want Captain Bilardi finding out you kept me here when I was supposed to be at his side?” Adam clicked the sword against the scabbard a couple of times for emphasis.
“Huh,” The guard peered over the note at Adam, “The Captain you say?” He stepped aside giving Adam access to the door. “Pass Lieutenant, pass. You'll tell milord Captain I let you in right quick if he asks, won't you Lieutenant?”
“Of course I will, you've been a prince among men,” Adam muttered to himself as he passed.
The stair to his right took Adam to the second floor and another guard. This one was better bred than the last and with a brief glance at the note waved him on.
On the third floor he was directed down a long corridor to another stair. This one would lead to the Ducal apartments. Part of the way there he felt the magik kick in. Adam had almost forgotten about it, what with Thaylli's job, the Culperti's insisting she stay with them and dealing with the vagaries of learning what it was to be a commissioned officer in Grisham's guard. He stopped short and cast about with his Wizard's sense in the way that Milward taught him. Nothing threatening seemed to be in the castle. He exerted more power, enough to the point where he could even sense the mice moving through the dungeons. Lessons from the past taught him to listen when the magik spoke, but this time he was at a loss to what was being said.
Probably something to do with that flaming prophecy, he thought, as he took the stairs to Duke Bilardi's apartments. His other thought was how Thaylli would react to his use of language. Living in the barracks had salted his tongue a bit. Adam felt it made him more dashing, in spite of Thaylli's disapproval, somewhat like Ethan, that drunken watchman he and Charity met outside of Silgert. The man had proved to be much more than a common drunk, he was the one person who'd beaten him in a fencing match. He wondered about the man now and then.
More guards were at the top of the stairs and a beehive of activity sent its clamor out of the double doors leading into the apartments proper. The burly Sergeant wasn't about to let him pass, note or no, “I'm right sorry m'lad, but it's me head iffn ye turn out to be another one o’ them assassins, ‘er an Ortian in disguise. The Cap'n hisself is gonna hafta say iffn ye get in, ‘er not.”
“But I'm here to make sure he stays safe.”
The Sergeant folded arms the size of Adam's thighs across his chest, “So ye says. I've sent one ‘a me men to fetch his Lordship. He'll set me to rights iffn I'm wrong.”
Captain Bilardi came out of the rooms with his eyes fixed on the floor. He only looked up after the guardsman prompted him to do so. His eyes looked hollow and dark circles beneath each of them added to his haunted appearance. At first he appeared not to recognize Adam, then his face brightened and he straightened out of his slouch, “What are you doing keeping him out there? Let that man through—at once!” He bellowed the last two words.
“Adam,” Bilardi took him by the arm as soon as he passed by the guards, “Thank Bardoc you're here. I would have sent for you, but with all what's happened...” His voice trailed off.
“They said someone killed your father,” Adam tried to keep his voice even. The Captain looked as if he was walking a razor's edge with exhaustion waiting on either side.
“Tried, Adam, tried,” Bilardi shook his head, “and it looks as if their attempt may yet succeed. The bolt took him in the chest, deeply. The physic's a good man but I fear this may be beyond his skill. He says even the attempt to find where the blood is coming from will kill my father, but if we don't try...” His voice trailed off again.
They walked into the room where the Duke lay. How small the old man looked against the bed struck Adam. His skin was nearly the same shade as the sheets. Rasping breaths came slowly one after another. Off to the left of the huge bed another old man fussed with several small beakers and vials. A pungent smell, redolent with herbs, came from them.
Bilardi quickened his steps to his father's side, “Father,” he whispered, “I'm still here. Can you hear me, Father?”
Adam joined the Captain and gazed down on the old Duke. He looked even worse up close. The wound had an ugly color to it and black blood seeped from the ragged edges.
Duke Bilardi stirred and his breath quickened briefly, then he relaxed further, seeming to sink into the bedclothes.
The physic turned from his mixings holding a vial of something dark. He forced one of the Duke's eyes open with a thumb and forefinger and nodded, “He'll be gone soon. That last bit was him slipping into a coma. If you've any rituals you want performed I'd suggest seeing to them now.”
“Yes, I suppose I'd best do that,” Captain Bilardi turned his head to look up at Adam, “Will you stay with him Adam? If he dies before I get back with the priest I don't want him dying alone.”
“Yes, of course I will,” Adam nodded gravely.
He looked back down upon the Duke as the old man's son left the bedroom with the physic on his heels. The thin chest rose and fell slowly. At least he doesn't seem to be fighting for every breath now, he thought. Then another thought crept in, one about the Elf Fireshaper he battled on the journey from Access to Grisham. Maybe this was why the magik started up. He had a hard time believing his powers had a mind of their own. It was more likely that somewhere deep within his mind he knew more than he realized and it was in those times the magik was used.
A glance over his shoulder showed the parlor outside the bedroom to be empty. Now was his chance. He focused on the wound in the Duke's chest, trusting the magik to shape itself into what was needed but leaving a bit set aside so that he could get out if necessary. It would not be good to have a repetition of what happened with the Fireshaper, where the shaping would not turn off. He would have died if Milward had not been there to save him.
That thought stopped him in his tracks. Why did he dwell on that incident just now? The fight with Milward over his accepting Bilardi's commission had split their friendship, with Adam stalking out of the inn taking Thaylli with him. For a long period he'd nursed a simmering resentment towards his mentor, but now he wished the cranky old Wizard was here with him.
Where are you Milward? He sent the thought winging out into the ether with a pulse of power as he extended his Wizard's sense over the City. The pulse vanished as quickly as it was sent and his sense returned empty handed. Milward was no longer in Grisham. He wasn't even any where near Grisham.
A shudder from Duke Bilardi brought him out of his reverie and back to the task at hand. He glanced over his shoulder once more. The parlor room was still empty but he could hear voices in the hallway beyond. There was little time left if he was going to do this. He quickly reestablished the magik's focus
on the wound in Bilardi's chest. An image of corruption along with torn vessels coalesced in his mind's eye. Holding a part of the magik aside just in case, he released the shaping to do whatever it would for the old Duke.
The old man's eyes opened as his back arched upwards off the bed. He gasped, but not in pain and both of his hands grasped the bedclothes tightly enough to turn the knuckles white. More gasps came as the spasm continued and Adam's shaping worked its magik. Already loose, the dressing fell away revealing the wound. Adam saw the flow of blood reverse direction and begin to draw back into the Duke's body. As the last drop disappeared into the wound, its edges began to lighten and knit together as if time itself was running backwards.
The Duke continued to twitch for several seconds after the shaping ended and then he relaxed, closed his eyes, and began to snore. Adam gently pulled the covers up to the old Duke's chin.
“My father, is he still alive?” Captain Bilardi rushed back into the room followed by Magister Mallien, a grossly fat man dressed in highly ornate priestly robes.
Adam stepped away from the edge of the bed, “Dead men don't snore, do they?”
Bilardi did a classic double take between Adam and his father, “He's snoring? He's snoring, listen to that, he's snoring!” The shear joy on the Captain's face was revealing.
He turned to the Priest while keeping a hand on his father's shoulder. “You're no longer needed here Magister. I apologize for pulling you from your bed, but as you can see he seems to have recovered.”
“But you said he...” Mallien's mouth snapped shut and then he shot a suspicious glance in Adam's direction as if to say, what do you know about this that you aren't telling?
The High Priest gathered his robes about him and turned to leave the Duke's bedroom. As he reached the door he looked over his shoulder and glared at Adam, “Something happened here tonight, Captain, I will find out about it, eventually. We'll speak of this later, good night.” He waddled out of the apartments without another word.
Captain Bilardi chewed his lip for several seconds while he watched his father sleeping. He reached down, pulled a corner of the covers back and fingered the spot where the wound once lay festering, “Something did happen here,” he said quietly, “like at the market square. We've been treated to a miracle.”
“You've made a powerful enemy tonight Adam,” The Captain didn't take his eyes off his father while he spoke. “I don't believe you meant to, but it happened anyway. Magister Mallien isn't a man who forgets insults, intentioned or otherwise, and he has his own agents to mete out his particular brand of justice.”
“I can take care of myself,” Adam shrugged.
“I'm quite sure you can,” Captain Bilardi's mouth twitched, “It's not exactly your skin I'd be concerned about but those you care for.”
Adam started, “Do you mean he'd harm Thaylli, or the Culperti's?”
The Captain sighed, “And my father wouldn't lift a hand to stop him. You have to understand something Adam. Grisham is a political animal as much as it is a city. The Priesthood is a power unto itself within the city. My father controls the military and he does carry some influence among the merchants as well, but only in some matters. There is a Grand Council meeting now and then when something particularly nasty occurs, but that doesn't happen too often.”
“What about the war?” Adam thought that at least should have raised some eyebrows.
“Yes, there is that, isn't there?” Bilardi's chuckle held a bitter tone. “You don't have the heart of a politician Adam. You're neither selfish nor corrupt enough. According to the Priesthood the war is entirely a military affair and none of their concern. The merchant's council expects the guard and the city wall to protect their interests. Remember this period, Adam, this is the first time they and the Priesthood have agreed in recent history. They both want the military to solve their little problem.”
Adam crossed his arms, “I don't consider war a little problem.”
“No sane person does,” Bilardi sniffed. “What are you going to do about Mallien?”
“I don't know, keep my eyes and ears open I guess.”
“I'll help,” Bilardi moved away from his father's bedside and into the parlor. “It looks as if my father will rest well enough on his own,” he said as an aside, “I can have a number of guardsmen take turns in visiting your girl's pub. If any of the Magister's people try something at least they'll have a nasty reception.”
Adam showed his relief, “Thank you Captain. I appreciate that.”
Bilardi shrugged, “Consider it a favor for a friend.”
“Can I ask a personal question?” Adam sat in one of the large parlor chairs. Healing the Duke had taken a lot of energy and fatigue was setting in.
“Go ahead,” Bilardi sat in a chair opposite Adam, “I'd have thought we'd reached a point where you wouldn't think to ask.”
Adam grimaced, “Sorry, it's how I was raised. My question's about Mallien.”
“Oh, are you planning something already?” The Captain seemed inordinately pleased at the idea.
“No, that's not why I asked,” Adam smiled to ease the negation. “What I wanted to know was if you feel about the High Priest the way I think you do, why invite him to be the one to handle your father's passing? Why not one you liked?”
“The answer to that is easy,” Bilardi toyed with a button on the arm of his chair. “I wanted the pleasure of waking Magister Mallien out of a sound sleep for a reason he couldn't refuse. When he got here and found out it was all for nothing, well that was just that much more icing on the cake,” he chuckled.
“Captain, you have a wicked sense of humor.”
“Yes, I do don't I?”
Chapter Fourteen
Flynn tossed the body onto the pyre and wiped his forehead with the back of his sleeve, “That's the last of ‘em. The buzzards are gonna hafta move on somewhere else to eat now.”
“Three companies, gone just like that. How did it happen?” Charity surveyed the remains of the battlefield one more time.
“Don't know ‘bout the others Miss Charity, but we was caught flat-footed an’ out in the open by their bowmen,” Flynn undid the top of his canteen and downed a good swallow of water, “It was just lucky Neely an’ me was close to them boulders.”
Neely spat, “Luck is right, th’ first wave took out more'n half th’ men. Whoever's leadin’ those States bastards is doin’ a right tight job of it, I'll say that for ‘em.”
“It's not a man,” Circumstance spoke up from where he knelt by a large rock spattered with brown stains.
“What's that?” Charity looked down at the boy. Even since his miraculous dash through the attackers back at the Ortian base she had kept him close to her. He seemed more than willing to oblige her obsession.
“It's not a man,” He repeated. “The one leading them, it's not an Elf or a Dwarf either, I don't know what it is, but it's not a man.”
“You sure about that boy?” Neely asked.
Circumstance nodded, “I'm sure. It doesn't smell right and the magik is telling me a name but I don't understand it.”
Flynn looked confused. Neely made a warding sign. “What's he talkin’ about Miss Charity?” Flynn looked from the boy to his mistress.
She sighed, “I guess it may as well be out in the open. Circumstance told me something of this back in the camp. There are times when he knows things and there are times when he can do things, magical things. He doesn't know why, but he has learned to listen. I think he's becoming a Wizard like my brother. You both saw what he did to those soldiers attacking us. All he did was point at them. He told me early on how he started a cook fire by just wanting it.”
“I was hungry,” Circumstance broke in, “and Ethan was taking an awful long time at it.”
Neely swallowed, “I told you a while back magik makes me nervous Charity.” He held up a hand as she opened her mouth, “An’ I remember what you said about your brother. A man can change a whole lotta things about hisself if
fn he tries. Hells balls, I like to fish now, an’ ridin’ a horse is a lot whole better'n walkin'.”
“But?”
“Ain't no but, I'm just tellin’ you an’ Circumstance here not to take offense iffn I look a bit shaky when he does somethin'. Learnin’ to ride an’ fish is one thing, getting’ your nerves switched around is somethin’ else altogether.” Neely relaxed into a slouch as he grinned at the two of them.
Flynn looked over at the assembled stack of wood, “I wish I'd knowd about this earlier,” He said, shaking his head.
“Why?” Charity asked.
Flynn smiled as he waved at the now fully engulfed pyre, “Cause we woulda gotten this thing burnin’ a whole lot easier. My hands is near worn to a stub with all that stick spinnin’ I had ta do.” He chuckled and rubbed the top of the boy's head, “You do what feels natcheral to you lad. Me an’ Neely, we learned a bit about listenin’ a while back usselves,” He winked at Charity, who blushed pinkly.
“Well, we may as well be movin’ on. I don't know about the rest of you but my nose could use better smellin’ air right about now,” Neely brushed off his hands and began fitting his arms through the straps of his pack.
“How far to Grisham from here?” Charity picked up her own pack and shouldered it.
Flynn shaded his eyes as he looked off into the eastern distance, “Don't rightly know, d'you Neely?”
“A good month's walk, iffn we don't run into any raidin’ parties or more press gangs lookin’ for eager troops, say about six weeks. We'll not be takin’ a straight route, you can be sure of that.” Neely sniffed the air, “C'mon, let's put a few miles ‘tween us an’ that stinkin’ pyre, ok?”
They skirted the rock outcrop from where the original ambush had come and began making good time on the gentle down slope that would eventually lead to Labad's highway. The moon was already high when Charity decided she'd ridden far enough and called a halt. The cat took that as an opportunity to jump into the sward and do some hunting.
