Jaya eyed them all demurely. “They’re very sweet to flatter me with their surprise, but perhaps we might go somewhere we may speak in confidence.”
Trell bowed to her wishes. “This way.” As he was escorting her to his tent, he asked in a low voice, “Should I call my officers?”
Jaya was nodding politely to the men as she passed them. “We have matters to discuss that will concern them.” She smiled and nodded to the next two Converted, who mustn’t have realized they were staring at her like a pair of carp, for surely they would’ve closed their mouths if they had.
As they were passing Rolan’s cerulean and gold tent and its bowing prince and servants, Trell murmured to the Nadoriin, “Get Raegus and the others and join me in my tent.”
Rolan looked up under his brows by way of acknowledgment.
Reaching his own tent, which was larger yet less grandiose than Rolan’s, Trell swept aside the drapes and escorted Jaya into the partitioned section he used as his study. Walking to a cabinet, he asked, “Can I offer you anything, my lady?”
“Thank you, no.” She pulled a pair of rolled canvases out of…somewhere and extended them to him.
“What’s this?” Trell crossed the room to take the canvases from her.
“A map of the land surrounding the fortress. The most accurate you will find anywhere, as we’ve drawn it from our view in the sky; and a diagram of Khor Taran—the best we can create for you without walking its streets and passages ourselves.”
Trell stared at the rolled-up maps feeling like she’d just bestowed the entire Kandori fortune upon him. “Thank you, Jaya.”
“It is the least we can do.” She seated herself primly on one of the folding camp chairs, making it appear the seat was designed for the specific purpose of displaying her perfection.
Trell set the maps on a long table and went to pour himself some wine. “You won’t mind if I…”
“By all means, Trell of the Tides. We needn’t stand on ceremony, though I’m touched by your gracious welcome.”
Just then Rolan and Raegus entered, with Tannour and Loukas close on their heels.
“Ah, perfect timing.” Trell made quick introductions, and then the men took seats around Jaya. Trell smiled at the arrangement. For all the world it appeared as if Jaya was holding court and they were her knights.
“Jaya is here with information about Khor Taran.” Trell took his seat behind his desk. “You four are the only ones who know that we’re marching directly for the fortress. However, most of you don’t know that a thousand of my father’s men are being held there.”
“Now that makes sense.” Rolan blew out an affirming breath. At Trell’s confused look, he shrugged and explained, “Our Su’a’dal wouldn’t have sent the son-of-his-heart to round up a degenerate lot of bandits.”
“We’ve all been wondering why he sent you here,” Tannour added.
Trell acknowledged their perceptivity with a nod. “This company’s mission beneath Raegus’s command was to deal with the Saldarians. My mission is to free my father’s men. If my suspicions are correct, we’ll take care of both with the one assault.”
“Jai’Gar willing,” Raegus murmured.
Trell held a hand to Jaya. “My lady, if it pleases you…”
She nodded to him and then looked to all the men. “My brothers and I have been watching Khor Taran for some time. It sits, as you know, as the fist at the end of Mount Attarak’s south-westerly arm. Three of the fortress’s five sides sit atop sheer cliffs. The fortress can only be attacked from the north, and the majority of its defenses are aligned to that direction. The currents indicate the recent addition of a wielder at the fortress. It is safe to assume the Dannish soldiers are being held under magical duress.”
Trell knew well enough how easily that could be accomplished. When Sebastian had overcome him in the Kutsamak, he’d found himself lying flat before he knew what hit him.
“A’dal?”
Trell turned his head to see the servants Rami and Yusef standing in the draped partition. Rami held up a tray with several goblets and a large bowl. “Would you take refreshments and your meal now, or—”
“Oh, yes, you must,” Jaya said. “I didn’t realize you hadn’t supped, Trell.”
“It’s fine, Jaya—”
“No, no. ’Tis meet they should care for their A’dal and his officers.”
“Very well.” Trell had no interest in arguing the point. He was hungry enough to eat his boots. “Have you all eaten?”
“I have, A’dal,” Raegus said. Then he grinned. “Two helpings.”
“Some refreshment for you then.” Trell smiled and waved the servants to come in.
Rami walked the line of Trell’s guests offering each of them a goblet and bowl from his tray, while Yusef made a beeline for Rolan. “Sidi, your stew. Naveed made it himself—”
“Ah, no,” Rolan pushed the tray away. “Mushrooms and I have a long-standing disagreement. A’dal, you should have this. Naveed’s stew is favored of the gods.”
Trell glanced from an suddenly rigid Yusef to Rami, holding the tray with Trell’s food. His eyes looked over the rail-thin youth. “Perhaps you would take my meal, Rami?” The lad certainly looked like he could use an extra helping of everything.
“Shukraan, Sidi.” The boy bobbed a delighted bow and departed.
Yusef set his tray down before Trell with a smile that seemed somewhat forced. Then he bowed and departed. Tannour got up and closed the drapes in the wake of his exit.
Trell spooned his steaming stew to cool it. “If you have any other intelligence to offer about the lay of the fortress, Jaya, perhaps you can share it with Loukas. I’ve tasked him with the entire problem of winning the battle,” he winked at Loukas. “He’ll no doubt appreciate any intelligence to help even the odds.”
“I’ll be happy to consult with him.” She nodded amiably to Loukas before shifting her gaze back to Trell. “There is more news, if you will hear it.”
Trell had a mouthful of meaty mushrooms, so he mumbled, “Please,” and motioned with his spoon for her to continue. It really was excellent stew.
Jaya let out a portentous breath. “Radov is amassing his army in obvious preparation for a renewed attack on Raku Oasis. The Ruling Prince himself has been spotted among a party heading for the outpost of Ramala. He’s even pulled the majority of his forces from Abu’Dhan.”
Trell perked up. “Then…”
“Yes, your task becomes easier. There are fewer than five hundred men holding the fortress now.”
Trell fell back in his chair. “That is…amazing news, Jaya.”
She smiled graciously. “Such a windfall is needed though, for I don’t know how much additional help we’ll be able to give you, Trell. Rhakar and I must stay on the front lines until such time as we can determine Radov’s ultimate motive.”
“Other than stupidity, you mean, my lady?” Rolan muttered.
Jaya settled her cool gaze upon the Nadoriin. “The Ruling Prince has exhibited less than admirable judgment in the past, but since the massacre upon the Khalim Plains, he hasn’t risked his army in a press for the oasis. Now he brings his entire force to bear. Stupidity alone cannot account for this, Rolan Lamodaar.”
“Something has changed.” Trell pushed his bowl away and scrubbed at his jaw. “Radov must have some new device, something foul dreamed up by hal’Jaitar no doubt…” he lifted his gaze to her significantly, “something he thinks will eliminate you all as a threat.”
Jaya held his gaze soberly. “This is exactly our concern, Trell.”
“But surely, my lady…” Tannour cast a disbelieving smile around at them all, “you don’t actually fear it—whatever it might be—this dubious threat?”
“We are powerful but not infallible, Tannour Valeri. Arrogance accounts for far more losses than victories in the annals of history.”
“If Radov intends to move on the oasis,” Raegus said, “our Su’a’dal will need us back as soon as…pos
sible…” his face suddenly became pasty, and his head lolled forward.
Trell jumped from his chair, but Rolan was faster to catch their falling friend. He laid Raegus down on the floor while Jaya knelt and placed her hands on his head. A moment later, she looked up at Trell. “He’s been poisoned.”
They all processed this, and then everyone looked to the bowls of stew. Loukas blanched, while Tannour looked relieved that he hadn’t yet touched his.
“Trell…” Jaya’s eyes were wide upon him.
“I feel fine.” He called for his valet and got no answer. A cold foreboding settled upon him. “Rolan—”
The Nadoriin was already making for the drapes. “Say no more, A’dal. I’ll see to the men.”
“I’ll go help him.” Tannour darted out.
Loukas gathered up the bowls and set them on the table. “I’ll find Rami.”
Trell looked him over. “Are you well?”
“Enough,” Loukas replied, though he’d begun to sweat. “I ate only a little.”
Trell nodded. “Thank you then.” He looked back to Jaya and a very pale Raegus. “What can you do for him, Jaya?”
The drachwyr had her eyes closed and her hands on Raegus’s head. “I’m mending his pattern so the poison can’t attack him further, but it will still run a course through his system.”
Knowing his friend would recover dampened Trell’s agitation only slightly. “I need to speak to the cook. Are you—”
“Yes, go. I’ll do what I can to make him more comfortable.”
Trell was out of his tent in a flash.
The camp was in turmoil, with many men retching outside their tents and others moaning from within. Those unaffected were doing what they could, but most appeared unsure what to do. Trell grabbed the first of those he came upon and sent him in search of the company’s Healer while he ran towards the cooking tents.
He found the head cook trapped against his wagon, cringing beneath the point of Rolan Lamodaar’s fat-bladed scimitar. The cook’s four assistants were lined up beside him, each one looking more fretful than the next. Rolan looked ready to slay them all.
He nodded to Trell upon his arrival and then looked back to the cook. “Now you can tell our A’dal this concoction of lies,” he pushed a little harder with his sword into the cook’s chest and growled, “but don’t expect him to swallow it the way you expected all of us to eat that hell-spawned stew.”
The cook turned a pleading gaze to Trell. He was an older Basi, more than twice Trell’s age, and balding beneath his turban. He had a round face and a butcher’s forearms, but gentle eyes.
“A’dal, beneath Jai’Gar’s eye,” he raised clasped hands as in prayer, “I picked the mushrooms myself. I know which ones are safe to eat. I was tasting the stew throughout its preparation—my assistants may vouch to this—yet here I stand.”
“Yes…” Rolan drawled with a daggered gaze, “here you stand.”
The cook wetted his lips. “A’dal, I’ve served thousands of meals to these brave men. Why would I seek to harm them now?”
He had a point. Trell had already considered the idea that there might be a spy in their camp, but the likelihood it was their devout Basi cook seemed small.
“Rolan…” Trell motioned for the Nadoriin to lower his blade. Then he asked the cook, “Could anyone else have gotten to the stew?”
The man’s expression became even more fretful. “Just we five—”
“A’dal!” The man Trell had sent in search of the Healer rushed up. “Madaam Chouri and the…the lady dragon are seeing to the men taken ill.”
“Shukraan. See what you can do to help them.”
The man nodded and rushed off again.
Trell looked back to the cooks. Then he frowned at them. “Someone poisoned the stew, Master al’Fazim. If you gave them no opportunity, then one of you is clearly responsible.”
“Master,” one of the cooks whispered.
All eyes turned to him, including his master’s, which appeared quite unforgiving of his interruption.
The man looked pained beneath the spearing stares but he managed, “What about the rosemary?”
Master al’Fazim threw up both hands. “The rosemary! You are brilliant to remember that unpleasant moment, Bazel.” The cook looked quickly back to Trell. “Young Lalim couldn’t find the rosemary, A’dal. Bazel, Dahi, Muhid—we all searched for it. We had to take everything off the wagon. I feared we would not have the stew ready in time.” He gave a deep exhale. “It was a tragic moment when we realized…” he opened palms to the heavens resolutely, “we simply had none.”
“So, during that time…?” Trell posed.
“Yes, we were all away from the pots. Oh!” he crushed his head between his palms. “May Jai’Gar forgive us our careless inattention!” He clasped his hands and bowed his head, his lips murmuring a silent prayer. The other cooks instantly mirrored him.
Trell cast a sidelong look at Rolan. “We’ll need to search elsewhere for our poisoner. Master al’Fazim,” his tone drew the cook’s gaze back to him, “the Prime God is more likely to forgive when he sees effort to atone. Perhaps you and your assistants can consult with Madaam Chouri to see if there is any antidote you might brew to help ease the men’s discomfort.”
The cook nodded gravely. “Your wise will be done, A’dal.” He glanced nervously at Rolan and then shooed his assistants away to see to the task.
“So…” Trell regrouped with Rolan as the cooks were shuffling off, “some of the men who ate the stew are sick, others not. Your stew, which your man Naveed made himself, was free of it—for which you and your man have my gratitude.”
Trell cast a narrowed gaze out across the camp. “Whoever our culprit, he mustn’t have been able to poison all the stew before the cooks returned. But the question remains, who was his target?”
Rolan sheathed his sword, his expression thunderous. “All of us, it would appear.”
“Yes, that’s definitely how it appears.” Trell cocked a brow at him.
Rolan considered him with evident speculation. “Half a dozen men here have hefty prices on their heads, A’dal, myself included.”
“Yes, I thought of that.” Trell motioned to him to follow and headed back to his tent. “What chance the Saldarians we’ve been chasing had some role in this?”
“Could be. Could also be a grudge carried too far.”
“Perhaps some quiet questioning to both ends would be prudent.”
“Your will, A’dal.”
As they reached the center of camp, Trell looked around at the general state of the men and blew out his breath. “We’ll need to stay here another night. I won’t march them in this condition.”
“I’ll spread the word.” Rolan ducked a bow and departed.
While Jaya and Madaam Chouri attended to the sick, Trell walked the camp, checking in with every man, explaining what they’d learned, reassuring them personally that better precautions would be taken to preserve their health, that they might find a glorious death on the field of battle, not in their beds. And he promised them the culprit would be found and made accountable for his actions.
Many men volunteered their assistance in this effort, but the last thing Trell wanted was the inevitable avalanche of suspicion that would follow such activity. He advised the men instead to stay alert for anything suspicious or out of the ordinary, and to communicate such to their chain of command—or directly to himself if they feared their superiors were somehow involved.
Trell ended his rounds where he’d begun them, at Raegus’s side. The Avataren had recovered some of his color and was nursing a goblet of something when Trell entered his tent. Trell cracked a smile as he shut the tent flaps behind himself. “What—in your cups again already?”
“Blaaagh,” Raegus shook his head. “It’s foul, whatever it is. Almost worse than that fethen poison, this stuff.”
“It seems to be helping. Your fair humor is back.”
Raegus belched and then
grimaced. “If torture can be termed as help.” The once-commander’s expression fell into gravity. “How is it out there?”
Trell pulled up a chair and told him all.
When he had the whole story, Raegus asked, “Will you question the men to find the culprit? Conduct a search?”
“No.”
“No?” Raegus sharpened his gaze on him. “What am I missing?”
Trell leaned back in the folding chair and draped his hands over the iron arms. “Since you told me about the Saldarians and how they seem to stay one step ahead of the company, I’ve suspected there was a spy among us.”
“A spy.” Raegus scrubbed at his jaw, mulling this over. “But why act now? Why this?”
“That’s what I don’t yet know.” Trell rubbed his thumb absently on the knobby end of his chair. “If a spy sits behind this poisoning, he must be smart to have lasted this long beneath your observation. He’ll only have hidden the evidence in someone else’s packs, or long divested himself of it entirely. Searching for him at this point seems futile. And in truth, I don’t want the distraction. I told the men to be on the lookout for anything suspicious.”
Raegus grunted. “I wouldn’t have been so forthright with them. Soldiers need to know what direction to march and who to swing their swords at. Little else.”
Trell pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and middle finger. “The surest way to attempt to control a man is to lie to him.” He dropped his hand and looked back to Raegus. “I think men can sense that—on some level, they know that you’re just trying to manipulate them, that you don’t care if they have a thought, that their thoughts don’t matter.”
“I vow you can sense it.” Raegus snorted. “I’m not sure the rest are so perceptive.”
Trell regarded him resolutely. “If we were a thousand strong, I would agree with you, but we’re two hundred, Raegus, and we’ll be facing at least five hundred men holding a fortified position, and their wielder, whose presence exponentially increases our chance of failure. I don’t just need soldiers. I need thinking men.”
Trell sat forward and braced elbows on his knees. “In a game of Kings, one soldier, pointed in one direction, is the equivalent of a pawn. He can take the enemy one to one. But a thinking man—a Sorcerer or a Knight—if played well, he could take ten pieces off the board before he falls. If I have two hundred thinking men, and each one poses a match for ten of the enemy, now we have a fighting chance.”
Kingdom Blades (A Pattern of Shadow & Light 4) Page 72
