The Clandestine Circle

by Mary H. Herbert

  “And who are you?” the man snarled, pointing to Linsha’s uniform. “His guardian whore? Of course you’re going to speak to save him.”

  Linsha turned livid. “Save him from what? The likes of you? He doesn’t need me to speak for him. His actions should be all you need to remember his devotion to Sanction.”

  “What devotion? He’s probably hiding in his palace behind the city walls.”

  “No! He’s—” But her words were cut off by a barrage of questions.

  “Then why has he ordered the gates locked against us?” a woman shouted.

  Another sailor cried, “Why has the harbor been closed down?”

  Linsha threw up her hands as if to ward off the verbal blows. “To slow the spread of the plague until we can find a cure.”

  The suggestion of such a possibility brought a storm of response. Questions, statements, angry curses, and hopeful shouts erupted from the crowd as everyone voiced his or her opinion.

  The dark-haired man’s strident voice rose above all others. “Lord Bight’s only idea of a cure is to burn down the harbor district. He burned the ships and the inn, didn’t he? That’s his answer to a cure. Burn us to the ground and use the merchants’ money to rebuild! That’s why the gates are locked!”

  “I’ve had enough out of you,” Linsha muttered to herself. She raised her voice over the clamor and bellowed, “Have any of you stopped to think that gathering close together like this could be what helps spread the disease? Look at the crew of the Whydah and the people they touched. How many of you are already infected?”

  That silenced them. The terror of the plague was more effective than dragonawe to break up the shouting mob. Everyone looked askance at those around to look for the telltale blotches, the flush of fever, or the blank-eyed look of delirious terror. The crowd abruptly fractured as most people thrust their way out and hurried away. A few moved farther away from each other and waited to see what would happen next.

  In the jostling and shoving press, the dark-haired man tried to sidle away from Linsha. Someone banged into her back, and she snatched the opportunity to fake a fall forward. Her hand shot out and grasped the man’s arm as if to save herself. Her other hand flashed into her coat and pulled a slim knife from her waistband. When she straightened, she had the blade pressed firmly into his back and his arm bent at an uncomfortable angle.

  “We need to talk. In private,” she hissed in his ear.

  His eyes rolled back at her, and she felt his muscles tense. “Don’t try to fight me. I can break you in half.”

  She saw Commander Durne and several guards deliberately move her way through the dispersing crowd. Her eyes narrowed and she looked for a path to slip out of sight. She didn’t want to interrogate this fellow in front of the man she suspected he almost killed.

  But there was nowhere to go. The sinkhole was to her right, and a mass of people behind her might spot her dagger and try to relieve her of her prisoner. The guards and the commander were closing in on her.

  Instead she tried a desperate ploy. Hauling the man closer, she shoved her dagger through his clothes and into the skin of his back. He gasped and stiffened in fear. “I saw you at the south pier,” she said fiercely, close to his ear. “You are the one who told the youths to throw the bottles at the Governor’s Guards.”

  The man sneered. “So what of it? Seemed a good joke at the time.”

  Linsha smiled inwardly. So she was right. Now to take it a step further. “No. You meant more. You wanted to cause trouble for Lord Bight. You’ve been all over the waterfront stirring up trouble and spreading rumors. Who do you work for?”

  “No one!”

  “Do you see that man walking toward us? That’s the man who fell in the harbor after the bottle hit his head. I’m going to tell him it was your fault.”

  The crowd was rapidly thinning, and Durne was clearly headed in their direction, his brow lowered and his hand on his sword. Her prisoner saw the commander and visibly blanched. A strange curse burst from his lips, and he tried to squirm out of her grasp. Linsha twisted his arm tighter and pushed the blade deeper into his muscle until he clenched his teeth and stilled his struggles. They both were breathing heavily from their quiet, intense struggle.

  “Who paid you?” Linsha tried again.

  “Get me out of this and I’ll tell you,” he whispered, almost frantic.

  “Tell me now and I’ll let you go to fend for yourself.”

  “The Knights,” he gasped. “An agent for the Knights.”

  “Which Knights?” Linsha breathed.

  But she was too late.

  A Khurish trader, huge, swarthy, and tipsy on the free wine, swaggered up to see the sinkhole. Suddenly he staggered and banged into Linsha’s arm. Her grip on her prisoner slipped. He snaked out of her grasp, whipped out his own dagger, and leaped at her.

  At the man’s violent move, the Khur turned in surprise, his big arm sweeping around to stop the man he thought was attacking him. In the same instant, Commander Durne sprang after the dark-haired man. The Khur’s huge forearm swept over the shorter man’s head and caught the side of Linsha’s face, knocking her down heavily. Durne reached them just as she fell. Propelled by his angry momentum, he slammed into the dark-haired man and they both fell backward into the Khur. In the blink of an eye, the three men tottered on the crumbling edge of the hole. Then, in a tangle of arms and legs, they toppled over the rim into the blackness of the pit.

  Linsha tried to sit up. Her head rang from the Khur’s accidental blow. She sensed someone come up behind her, and without looking around, she knew it was Lord Bight. His hand steadied her and his quiet strength helped her to her feet.

  “Lord Bight! It’s Lord Bight,” people cried around them. “He’s here!” Overcoming their fear of the plague, people came forward to gather around their governor. The Governor’s Guards hurried forward, too, and swiftly took their places around Lord Bight to keep the crowd at a safe distance while he talked to the citizens and tried to allay their fears and answer their most desperate questions.

  Meanwhile, Linsha recognized one young guard and called him over. “Morgan, come help me. Commander Durne fell in the hole.”

  Together they climbed carefully over the edge and down the steep slope. Tendrils of acrid smoke rose to meet them. Dirt and debris slid under their boots, making their footing unstable. They found the Khur first, flat on his back and grinning at the night sky. He was unhurt and unperturbed by his predicament, so they left him where he lay and searched deeper for Durne and Linsha’s prisoner. The pit was hot and treacherous, with hidden holes and shattered debris.

  A faint groan led them to the commander, who was sprawled on his back against a large pile of street pavers. The speaker lay on his chest close by, his legs still tangled with Durne’s. Morgan scrambled over to his commander and examined him as best he could without moving him.

  Linsha slid over to the other man. He remained motionless and limp, his arms flung out. She tugged him free of the commander’s legs, then pulled him over. He rolled, gurgling, onto his back to reveal a dagger buried in his chest. Muttering several highly suitable epithets, she pulled the knife out of his body. It was an old one, plain and well used. Probably his own. Disgusted, she laid it on his chest and turned back to Commander Durne.

  Morgan had the commander sitting up and trying to get his breath.

  “Had his wind knocked out of him,” the guardsman grinned, obviously relieved.

  Commander Durne drew a gasping breath and winced.

  “Are you hurt?” she asked.

  “I hit my back on the stones. I think he fell on me.”

  They all looked at the body.

  “Who is he?” Morgan wanted to know.

  Linsha shook her head. “I don’t know. I thought I recognized him from the incident at the south pier, but he wouldn’t talk to me. I was hoping we could arrest him and make him talk. He must have fallen on his dagger.” She decided it would be better not to say any more, ev
en to Commander Durne.

  “Too bad,” Morgan said and immediately dismissed the dead man from his thoughts.

  The two of them eased Commander Durne to his feet, but when they tried to help him climb the slippery slope, he groaned in real pain and nearly fell again.

  “Morgan, we’re going to need some help to get the commander and that Khur out of here. Go see if you can find some rope and some extra arms.”

  The good-natured guard didn’t mind taking orders from a squire when they made sense. With an easy punch to Linsha’s arm, he climbed up the side of the sinkhole and out of sight.

  Commander Durne sank thankfully to a sitting position on a heap of dirt. Linsha squatted beside him to wait. Despite her efforts to ignore him, she found her eyes drawn inevitably to his face, and she saw his pale gaze studying her. A delicious warmth stole over her, and she indulged in a visual appreciation of his handsome features: his wide mouth, the long, straight nose, the slight indentation in his chin.

  He endured only a moment of her silence before his words came tumbling out. “I do not have and never have had a relationship with Shanron,” he said abruptly.

  Startled, Linsha lowered her eyes. “Even if you had, it is none of my affair. You are my commander. You made that very clear.”

  He sighed. “I am well aware of that. Yet I find myself drawn to you. I hoped I could put you out of my mind during your absence.…” His voice trailed off. His hand cupped her chin and gently tilted her face up to look at him. “Even in this reeking darkness, you’re beautiful,” he whispered. “What is it about you I cannot resist?”

  Usually so confident and self-assured, Linsha trembled. She tried to say something, but nothing even remotely coherent came to mind.

  “Commander Durne! Lynn!” Morgan’s voice called above them. “Here comes a rope.”

  The moment of privacy was gone. Linsha felt rather than saw Durne withdraw from her, and although disappointment cut her, she understood. He couldn’t reveal his feelings or even show favoritism for her in front of his guards and still remain an effective leader. She gave him a small smile, then scrambled to her feet to fetch the rope.

  With the help of willing hands above and a strong rope, Commander Durne climbed up the sinkhole. Linsha managed to urge the Khur to his feet, tie the rope around his middle, and help him out of the hole as well. The dead man was left where he had fallen.

  He wasn’t alone for long.

  True to the needs of that disastrous week, workers soon set about filling the sinkhole with dead victims of the plague. When it could hold no more, the bodies would be covered with lime and buried under a mound.

  Linsha was the last one out of the hole. She climbed out gratefully and withstood a bearish hug from the drunken Khur. She watched him walk unsteadily away. “Thank you, Morgan,” she said to the guard as he coiled up his rope.

  “Good work, you two,” Lord Bight said, joining them. “Now, if the fires are out and everyone is finished playing in the hole, we must go.”

  A crowd of people still hovered around, and they followed the governor and his guards as the group mounted the horses. Lord Bight was given Morgan’s horse, and Morgan and Linsha doubled up with other riders.

  “Lord Bight,” someone called. “Would you open the city gates? We have friends and family behind the walls. Some of us have jobs. It’s too late now to stop the spread of the sickness in the inner city, so let us go in.”

  Guild Master Vanduran joined the governor by his horse. “The City Council acted in what they thought was the city’s best interest,” he tried to explain.

  Most of the people wouldn’t accept that. “They never asked us!” another man shouted.

  “That’s right!” called a woman. “When they closed the gates and the fires started tonight, we thought you intended to burn the harbor district.”

  The lord governor looked out over his citizens and raised his hand for silence. “I did not order the gates to be barred, and I never considered burning the sick house or any part of the city.” His voice took on the same hypnotic, reassuring tones he had used at the gathering on the south pier. “The closing of the gates was a misunderstanding between myself and the council. The fires were not of my doing, but I promise you I will investigate these rumors of arson. Do you believe me?”

  A murmur of cautious satisfaction met his question.

  Led by Lord Bight, the company rode forward slowly, so the trailing crowd of Sanction’s citizens could keep up with them. More people—men, women, kender, dwarves, elves, and a scattering of other races—joined the march through the hot, dark streets toward the city wall.

  Torches were burning beside the huge double doors that stood closed and barred against the city’s own populace. City Guards paced the walls and watched nervously as the crowd approached. They didn’t recognize Lord Bight in the dim light until he raised his hand to stop the procession.

  As soon as the riders and the whispering, expectant crowd halted behind him, he rode forward into the torchlight, accompanied by Commander Durne.

  “Who dares bar the gates of this city against me?” he shouted.

  Agitated voices called from the wall walk, and there was the sound of running footsteps.

  Captain Dewald’s fair head appeared over the wall. “My lord! I did not know you were out there. I’m sorry. We were told to allow only Commander Durne and his men to reenter.” He snapped orders to someone below, and a postern gate was thrown open.

  Lord Bight did not move. The crowd watched their governor hopefully.

  “Captain, who ordered these gates to be locked?”

  “Your Excellency, the City Council demanded that we lock the gates, and in your absence, we had to obey,” Dewald shouted.

  “You did as you were required, but I am now countermanding that order. It is too late for such a measure to be effective. This city will have to stand or fall as a whole. Open the gates and leave them open.”

  A heavyset figure robed in dark robes pushed his way through the postern and stood blocking the smaller gateway. It was Lutran Debone, the city elder. “My lord, is that wise?” he cried. “We have not yet had any outbreaks in the inner city. Why risk those people to certain exposure?”

  Lord Bight urged his horse forward a few steps. “Have you closed the city market? Did you forbid the merchants from visiting their offices or warehouses in the harbor district? Did you shut down the houses on the Street of the Courtesans? Or forbid entrance to anyone from the waterfront in the previous days? Have you kept the City Guards apart or forbade their patrols on the waterfront? The disease is already out of control. Since we cannot stop it, we must join together to find the best ways to fight it. Now, open the gates.”

  Shouts of agreement rose up behind him, and the throng of spectators pushed forward toward the wall.

  Alarmed, Lutran turned, hurried back inside, and slammed the postern shut behind him. But louder than the slam of the smaller door came the grinding of gears as the great gates were pulled open.

  A cheer rose from the watching crowd as Lord Bight, Commander Durne, Linsha, and the guards rode in through the gate. Satisfied at last, the people walked in through the gates after the governor. There they halted, gathering in chattering groups on the street to enjoy their victory. They knew now their governor would stand up for them.

  There was no sign of Lutran Debone.

  Captain Dewald met Lord Bight and Commander Durne beside the guards’ hall. He saluted his leaders, the relief plain on his face.

  “You were right, Your Excellency. The Sailors’ Scourge has already started among the courtesans and in the guard camp. I had not had a chance to tell the council.”

  Lord Bight nodded. He watched the crowd slowly dispersing back into the outer city, and his face grew sad. “Keep the gates open, Dewald. No walls are going to help us now.”

  As soon as the guards’ horses had been unsaddled and tended and the guards had trooped off to the dining hall for a well-earned meal, Linsha dashed
up the ladder into the hall loft. Her head had no sooner cleared the opening when a winged shape dived out of the darkness and dropped onto the floor beside her. Linsha cleared the ladder, scooped up the owl, and groped her way into a darker, more private corner of the barn. She flopped down on the hay and buried her face in the owl’s downy feathers.

  Varia cooed with delight. “I missed you! Where did you go? What happened?” she hooted.

  The lady Knight lay back in the scented hay, and while Varia perched carefully on her knees, she told the bird the whole tale of her journey under the mountains with Lord Bight to visit the black dragon. Varia listened intently, her head tilted slightly forward and her eyes stretched wide. She commented on each new event with chuckles and clucks and hoots and growls. Although she was used to Varia’s talkative nature, Linsha couldn’t help a smile. Telling the owl a story was like talking to a crowd.

  The owl listened carefully, though, and when Linsha was finished, she wanted to know more.

  “So you think Lord Bight has traded with the dragon before?”

  “Absolutely. He knew the paths well and knew how to summon her. Most incredible of all, she responded. She doesn’t like him, that’s certain. But she regards him with some respect. I’d like to know why.”

  “Most of Krynn would like to know why.”

  “Including the Knights of Solamnia.” Linsha sighed and scratched Varia’s neck under her warm fathers. “That reminds me. I saw Lady Karine this evening during the fire. I have to report to the Clandestine Circle.”

  “What fire?”

  “Well, when we got back—” and Linsha launched into the rest of the story of the warehouse fire, Karine, the sinkhole, and the death of the dark-haired man with the clubfoot.

  Varia hoo-hooed softly. “The description fits the man I saw. It probably was the same one.”

  “It galls me that he died before he could tell me which Knights. I hate to even think it, but I wouldn’t be surprised if the Clandestine Circle had something to do with this,” Linsha said.

  Varia fluffed her feathers in agitation. “Spreading lies and unfounded rumors about your opponent just to create trouble is not honorable.”