As he approached the road, Tristan felt a twinge of guilt that he had not checked on his friend earlier. He could see Sven sitting by the wayside waiting for him. As he approached, Sven raised his flask to his lips and took a long drought. ‘How bad is it?’ Tristan asked drawing nearer.
‘See for yourself,’ Sven responded sullenly, leaning forward so that Tristan could see the crossbow bolt lodged in his left shoulder.
‘You might want to save a little of that,’ Tristan said, gesturing at the flask. ‘You’ll need it when we take that bolt out of you.’
‘I know,’ responded Sven, eying the mouth of the flask as he swirled its contents. ‘Half for me, half for the hole in my back. Let’s get this over with.’
Tristan looked at the wound closely. Fortunately for Sven, it had missed any crucial arteries, but lodged as it was in his shoulder, the bolt would have to be pushed through. Sven pulled out another dagger and bit down on the cold steel. Tristan took hold of the bolt and broke it in two. Sven groaned in pain as the head of the bolt twisted against the flesh in his shoulder.
Tristan gave Sven a moment to recover before he pushed the bolt the remaining distance through Sven’s shoulder. ‘Gaarrrr…’ Sven groaned in agony, as Tristan removed the bolt. Taking the flask from Sven’s hands he poured it into the wound and began cleaning it. ‘You ... know ...Tristan,’ Sven mumbled between pained breaths, ‘One might think you were enjoying this.’
Tristan laughed heartily, ‘I don’t take any pleasure in your pain, Sven, but we do have a long night ahead of us and we can’t afford to miss this opportunity. Besides, you’re better off than those two.’ Tristan replied, gesturing to the two bandits that had fallen nearby.
‘Don’t mock the dead, Tristan, lest the Allfather hear and take you in their place.’
‘It will happen soon enough, Sven, but it won’t be today. I doubt there are two bands of lawless thugs between here and the Hog’s Head,’ Tristan asserted, trying to raise Sven’s spirits.
Tristan tore some cloth from the fallen bandits and fashioned a field dressing for Sven. It took some effort but after a few heaves and some unceremonious shoving, Sven was back in the saddle and they were on the road again.
The remainder of the journey passed without further event and soon the Hog’s Head was visible on the horizon. The two weary travelers rode in, the night’s festivities well and truly under way. From the yard, the two riders could hear the carousing and noise spilling out of the tavern as they approached. Riding in they handed their reins to a nearby stable boy, along with a piece of silver for his efforts, and gave some instructions for their horses’ care. The boy smiled as he pocketed the generous tip and assured them that their mounts would be well cared for.
Pushing open the door Tristan found the pub packed to the rafters with patrons of every size and description seated at tables throughout the establishment. From the corner of the room, a minstrel plucked at his banjo filling the room with music. Sven quickly identified their man in the corner and nudged Tristan with a cheeky ‘told you so’ expression. Shaking his head Tristan reluctantly handed over the silver piece and the pair took a seat in the corner of the room where they could observe the courier’s movements less obtrusively.
After a few minutes, a comely serving girl made her way over to take their order. ‘What can I get you two gents?’ she inquired.
‘We’ll have whatever is left in the larder and a pair of Hogswash,’ Sven ordered, pressing a few coins into the woman’s hand and giving her a wink. She giggled and headed off to the kitchen as Sven turned to Tristan, ‘Hogswash couldn’t be more aptly named; the stuff tastes like something out of a pig’s trough.’
‘Then why the devil did you order it?’ Tristan asked bewildered.
‘It’s pretty much all they serve here. Most of these poor sods won’t admit it, but they come here for the company not the liquor. Our friend does anyway, that’s to be sure.’ Sven threw a nod in the direction of the courier who was busily engaged in a conversation with one of the serving girls. Tristan had to admit that she was very attractive.
After a few minutes, their server returned with two bowls of stew and a pitcher of beer. Sven was quick to compliment the server, ‘Lovely, I don’t suppose you have any rooms left for the night? It’s been a long trip and we could sorely use the rest.’
‘Just the one. It’s at the end of the hall, a little worn, but it’s better than the barn.’
‘It’ll do, how much?’
‘Two gold pieces.’
Sven raised an eye at the price, but reluctantly pulled out the gold.
‘I’ll be back with the key in a moment,’ the lass replied before snatching up the coins. Sven laughed as she walked away, slipping one of the coins into her pocket.
‘Why are you laughing?’ Tristan asked quizzically. ‘She practically robbed you.’
‘She’s quick on her feet and clever. I like that. If I get the time I may come back and try to recruit her.’
‘Aha, recruit her? You’re sure that’s what you have in mind?’
‘Very funny, Tristan. You’d be surprised, you know, in places like this- the information flows as freely as the beer.’
‘You tell yourself whatever you need to, Sven, succeed or fail, I’m sure you’ll enjoy the attempt.’
Sven attempted to shove Tristan but only succeeded in sending stabbing pains through his already throbbing shoulder. ‘Have some pity, Tristan. I’m a wounded man.’
Tristan laughed loudly before taking a long drought of the Hogswash, which tasted every bit as foul as Sven had promised. After what seemed like an eternity, the courier got up from his table and headed towards the hallway that led to the rooms.
Sven and Tristan leapt to their feet and ensured they reached the hallway in time to see his door close. Taking note of the door so that they might return later, the pair walked down the hall arriving at their own room. The worn and beaten passageway did little to reassure them of the quality of their lodgings.
As they opened the door Tristan stared in disbelief. ‘Sven, she robbed you blind.’ Stepping past Tristan into the room, Sven glanced around. Calling the furnishings worn was akin to calling a hole, a well. Certainly not worth a silver let alone the two gold pieces it had cost them. Tristan hoped that whatever they gained from the Wolf’s missives would make the effort and pains of the day worthwhile.
‘How do you want to go about this?’ Sven asked.
‘We’ll wait for a few hours to ensure he is sound asleep- he was drinking quite heavily so it shouldn’t be hard to slip in unnoticed and take a look around.’
‘What will you do if you find them?
‘I’ll replace them with these,’ responded Tristan, holding up a set of papers sealed with a wax seal bearing Baron Gerwold’s crest. ‘I had one of our forgers prepare them before we left in case we are successful. They don’t contain anything of note merely an accounting of the goings on of Belnair. The Duke of Fordham may be a little confused but not enough to make him aware that his communiqué have been tampered with.’
‘You have a fiendish mind, Tristan. If this works, we may be able to bring the forger here and have them prepare a new set each week to sow confusion between Fordham and Belnair.’
‘Precisely! We need any edge we can get as the field is most certainly stacked against us at present.’
Sven stretched out on the bed and the two men continued scheming to pass the time. Tristan stayed on his feet, exhausted as he was, he was more fearful that if he lay down he’d soon be asleep and they would miss their chance.
After a few hours the noise of the tavern had died off and it was clear that most of the occupants had retired to their rooms or collapsed in a heap at their tables. Tristan let himself quietly out of the room. As no one was in the corridor he made his way quickly down to the courier’s room. Quickly checking around to ensure he wasn’t observed he gently tried the door. It was open.
Pushing it aside he let himself in. Asleep unde
r the sheets on the bed, was the courier, snoring heavily. He must have left the door open hoping the serving girl might visit. Tristan smiled to himself, not quite the visitor you were hoping for, he mused silently.
The courier was out cold and he doubted a stampede could rouse the drunkard from his slumber. Never the less Tristan quietly made his way around the room searching for any sign of a message or missive. At length he found the pouch tied inside the courier’s jacket which had been hastily tossed over a chair in the corner of the room. Emptying the contents on the desk he was delighted to find it contained a set of papers very similar to those provided by the guild’s forger. We’ll have to give him a bonus, Tristan thought, the resemblance was uncanny.
Tristan hurriedly switched the papers and replaced everything the way he had found it before slipping out of the room. Tristan made his way back to his own quarters carefully to ensure he made no sound. Closing the door, he found Sven had fallen asleep which was no surprise given his condition. Tristan felt for the pain he must be in, in spite of his injuries the loyal spymaster carried out his duties ceaselessly and without complaint.
Removing his boots Tristan flopped down on his bed exhausted. Pulling the papers out of his pouch, he spotted the other papers he’d lifted from the dying bandit earlier in the day. I’d almost forgotten about those, Tristan mused as he pulled out the papers. Better start with these, I suppose. Tristan unrolled the papers and let out a gasp -their staring back at him from the parchment was a crude sketch of himself.
Chapter 18
The Council Chamber of the Guild of Thieves.
‘We have a traitor in our midst.’ The statement was greeted by stunned silence as it rang throughout the chamber. ‘Not necessarily in this room, but certainly within the guild. Our wider recruiting has exposed us to it and now our enemies have crept in among us.
Sven and I were ambushed on the road to Fordham. They knew the course we would travel and were laying in wait for us. An assassin’s bolt almost killed Sven, the killers carried this on them.’ The table jumped as Tristan slammed the parchment down - the sketch of Tristan’s face clearly visible.
‘We must root out these rats before they compromise us all. We have worked too long to fail now. The Wolf hang over us as an ever present threat, we’ve stayed ahead of them by lurking in the shadows and striking from unseen quarters. If we are exposed too soon, the iron fist of the Wolf will grind us to dust.
Until we know more, we must exercise extreme caution. No one outside this council is to travel beyond the Guild’s walls without my leave. We will stop the flow of information until we can find its source-then we will silence it permanently.
I suspect we’ll find the Wolf at its heart. Gerwold is getting paranoid as he draws near the throne. He may have wiped out the Listarii under the cover of darkness, but a bunch of thieves like us… he’ll execute us in broad daylight and not break a sweat.’ The statement hung heavily in the air, the Council unsure of how to respond to such a bleak outlook.
‘You paint a grim picture, Tristan.’ Halmir stated, breaking the silence. ‘I imagine you have a plan though or you would not have called this meeting.’
‘I do. We need to separate Gerwold from his allies. Mizumura and Fordham are more or less complicit, so if Falen is successful, the Mizumura will be tied to them by marriage and we will be horrendously outnumbered in the field.
We have found a means to sow discord between Fordham and Belnair; if we are successful it will improve our odds considerably. The Baron of Fordham is power-hungry; he will happily ride Gerwold’s coat tails to the throne. We need to hinder them in any way we can. Torch their fields, raid their barns and silos. An army won’t march on an empty stomach. If we can sufficiently hinder them, we can improve our odds considerably in the coming war.
That leaves the Mizumura -if we can scare off Lady Hitomi -it with leave Belnair alone arrayed against Kings Court who will be aided by our forces. It will not be easy but with the Allfather on our side we may yet save ourselves the tyranny of a Wolf on the throne.’
‘That is a lot of “if’s” Tristan.’ Halmir’s frustration was evident in his voice. ‘The guild had come so far only to find ourselves lagging dangerously behind Gerwold’s insidious scheming.’
‘Indeed, there is lot to be done between now and then if we are to succeed, but I will not watch the liberties we’ve enjoyed for five hundred years slip away and be lost. Not whilst I have one breath of air left in my lungs!’ Tristan stated emphatically.
‘Here, here!’ shouted Ezras.
‘I have a few ideas,’ ventured Sven, ‘but we are going to need a few things to make it work. ‘
‘What did you have in mind?’ Halmir inquired.
‘Well, it looks like we are going to be spending an increasing amount of time out and about, building relations with our fellow Valaarans... I think it would be appropriate for us to be properly attired. I’ll have our agents in the Palace begin to acquire Wolf tabards and uniforms. Meanwhile, if there are any patrols that wander too deeply into the poor quarter, they might lose theirs as well.’
‘Imagine the chaos we can cause in those,’ Ogryn bellowed laughing heartily.
‘I don’t think they come in your size, Ogryn. You’d have to tie it round your waist as a belt,’ Ferebour jibed slapping the table.
‘Yours neither, ya runt,’ bellowed Ogryn, ‘we’d throw it over your head and you would disappear, you stunty scoundrel.’
The council room erupted in laughter. Ferebour may have had the short stature of a Dwarf, but there was nothing little about the broad shouldered stone master, with a physique that looked like he had been carved from a mountain. Tristan imagined that a quarrel with the Dwarf would end poorly indeed.
The men continued to plot and scheme - each of the council members bending their own unique skills and abilities to the problem at hand. If only a fraction of the ideas bore fruit, it might be enough to level the battlefield, thought Tristan.
The meeting concluded and the council members dispersed to attend to their duties. Soon only Halmir, Tristan and Sven remained. Tristan pulled out the missives that they had stolen from the Wolf courier at the Hog’s Head tavern.
‘I thought these better discussed in private. Not that I distrust any of the council, but loose lips sink ships. If the Wolf gets wind that we are tampering with their dispatches, it will leave us very vulnerable to being exploited by them.’
‘So what do they contain?’ Halmir asked.
‘It is a detailed accounting of the garrison of King’s Court. According to their agents, there are less than eight thousand men at arms under the council’s command. The Wolf is already planning their siege. Gerwold knows that the throne is a potent symbol. He plans to seize it before the year is out. By the time King’s Court is aware of their intentions, they will be surrounded by a combined army of Belnair, Fordham, and the Mizumura.
Inside Gerwold’s workshops, siege machines are being built to breach the walls. Meanwhile, the Mizumura and remnants of Fordham will hold off the Sisaron and try to prevent them coming to the aid of their old allies at King’s Court. If they catch King’s Court unprepared, it may fall inside a week. The King’s Council must be warned.’
‘You needn’t worry about that Tristan,’ Halmir interjected. ‘They have long known of Gerwold’s ambitions, perhaps not in this level of detail, but they know the Wolf long for the throne -Gerwold does now as his father did before him. The Wolf have long been discontent with their station in life. It is no coincidence that the guild conducts its affairs here in Belnair.’
‘What do you mean, Halmir?’
‘Do you recall the day you joined us, Tristan?’
‘Of course, like it was yesterday.’
‘Did you not find it strange that the Underman knew you on sight?’
‘A little yes.’
‘The Midsummer’s tournament you were victorious at, remind me where it took place?’
‘In King’s Court,’ Tr
istan answered the pieces starting to fall into place. ‘Falen and I were introduced to the King’s Council before the tournament. So that means the Underman is on the council?’
‘Indeed he is. I’ve kept him aware of our progress here and the threats that face King’s Court. You can rest assured that no matter how King’s Court appears to be conducting its affairs, behind the scenes they are making preparations for the coming conflict. Gerwold will not catch them unprepared. We just need to ensure they are not overwhelmed.’
‘Easier said than done,’ remarked Tristan. ‘We have a lot of work ahead of us.’
Chapter 19
The foothills of the Hikari Mountains.
The Mizumura had once been humble fishermen, plying their trade in the crystal blue lakes and rivers that flowed out of the Eternal Mountains. Sitting as it did between the waters of Mizu-umi and the Hikari mountain range, the Riverhold was a natural fortress. It had served the Mizumura well from the time they had first begun scratching a meager living from the rocky hills. Those times were long past as trade with their neighbours had bought considerable prosperity whilst Mother Nature herself had shielded the Mizumura from their jealous neighbours.
The name Mizumura meant Water Village in an ancient tongue, an apt name for the township that had once stood there. The humble town of yesteryear bore little resemblance to the bustling metropolis that now sprawled out in all directions, from the foot of the mountains right across the surface of the lake itself. In their industry, the Mizumura had driven stakes into the lake bed and fashioned foundations for a veritable flotilla of buildings. From housing through to agricultural enterprise, the shortage of land was only a temporary setback as the Mizumura took to the water. Indeed, the industry and engineering of the Mizumura were impressive to behold as they reclaimed land from the lake itself.
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