Weaving Man: Book One of The Prophecy Series

by Tove Foss Ford

  There was a general murmuring of agreement at the news. Kaymar waited until the room quieted, then continued.

  “You have your assignments. If you should find your targets are not where they are supposed to be, report back to Ifor immediately for another assignment. Do not let grass grow under your feet, ladies and gentlemen. We begin at six. Let’s make a clean sweep.”

  With uncanny speed, the group dispersed. Not a trace was left behind – no telltale scrap of paper, no chalk dust or pencil shavings, no ash or cigar stubs. Within moments the room was empty, as if no-one had ever been there at all.

  ***

  In Surrela, the exquisite Surelian capital, a trunk was delivered to Therbalt’s second in command. The man complained about paying the cartage but capitulated when he saw the nametag identifying the luggage as belonging to DeLarco. He grudgingly offered up the money. Therbalt himself came in response to the news that the item had arrived and ordered it pried open when it was obvious the key was missing.

  Within seconds, people were fleeing the scene ahead of a sickening miasma of rot and the sight of DeLarco’s carefully folded body decaying in its final resting place, wrapped in rubberized canvas.

  Moments later, timed explosive charges detonated and a series of explosions shattered the morning calm of three cities, completely destroying four townhouses, a tavern and a country estate in the process. Days of sifting through the rubble would finally reveal that a total of forty-three of Lord Therbalt’s operatives had been killed outright.

  Therbalt fled the moment he saw DeLarco’s body, leaving his mistress behind to be destroyed as his townhouse went up in a roaring flash. Many days later, the woman’s body would be recovered and identified as Ermina Trottenheim.

  The blast knocked Therbalt unconscious. He fell to the pavement, where he was partially buried by rubble. He was passed over as dead by rescuers and slowly came to consciousness on his own, hours after the explosion. It was nightfall by the time he was able to sit up and move without vomiting. Burned, bleeding and nearly deafened by the blast, he finally crept through the darkened backstreets to one of his safe houses.

  Later that night, Therbalt boarded a ship to Surytam dressed as a merchant seaman, nearly penniless, well aware that he must abandon his plans to take the Throne of Mordania. It was time to disappear.

  ***

  The Mordanian Military Academy’s Graduation Day was a busy time in Erdahn. Many people traveled large distances to attend the ceremony. Menders’ Men, Bartan’s Assassins and Glad’s Girls slipped into the crowds seamlessly.

  At six o’clock in the evening, a nude Kaymar Shvalz walked into a steam bath frequented by a certain minister of the Queen’s Council. The man had corresponded at some length with Lord Therbalt about a “change” of Queens, actively encouraging the plot to take Katrin’s life. Kaymar sauntered casually toward an empty bench near the minister, pausing behind him just long enough to thrust a push dirk into the base of the man’s brain, killing him instantly. Kaymar then left the bath at a relaxed stroll, deciding not to lounge in the steamy heat after all. He hated the smell of such places.

  At six-thirty, a lanky youthful gentleman gained entrance to Erdahn’s most exclusive gentleman’s club. He ordered a drink at the bar and stood chatting companionably with the barkeep. Soon he was joined by a well-known attorney, who had financed hiring DeLarco for Lord Therbalt. The attorney ordered his nightly brandy with soda. He exchanged a few pleasant words with the lanky youth and allowed himself to be distracted by a brief altercation between two club members, just long enough for a dose of flavorless morric acid to be deposited in his drink. The young gentleman drank up and said a pleasant goodnight to the barkeep, who was cleaning glasses before the evening rush, his back to the bar. The attorney was dead after his next sip of brandy, witnessed by the two Menders’ Men who had provided the distracting altercation. Within ten minutes, all three had reported to Ifor Trantz and were dispatched to their next task.

  An employee of the Rondheim Bank, who had dabbled in laundering money for Lord Therbalt, locked up the large bronze doors of his workplace and then bought a box of matches from a ragged young matchseller. She bantered kittenishly with him for a moment before moving down the street, calling out that she had matches to sell. He drew a cigar from his silver case, bit off the end and struck a match. As he raised it to the cigar, it exploded violently, neatly removing his head. The matchseller dodged into an alleyway and started to zigzag through back streets toward her next target.

  By seven o’clock, a Lord Surentz, lounging in his bath, was suddenly rendered unconscious with skillfully applied pressure to the side of his neck. His head was lowered beneath the soapy water. His doctor later came to the conclusion that he had fallen asleep in the bath and inadvertently drowned. Surentz had been a solid supporter of Lord Therbalt’s plans for eliminating the Queen.

  Assassins fanned out across the city through the night, a lethal tide inundating the rich and influential citizens who had aided in the plot to kill Princess Katrin and her family. Plotters were stabbed, throttled, pushed down cellar steps, poisoned, made to look as if they had committed suicide, run down by carriages or thrust from windows. A total of twenty-seven traitors to the Throne were eliminated during that short summer night.

  Sunrise was well underway when the last of the assassins reported to Ifor Trantz. He leaned over Kaymar, who was catnapping on a window seat. Despite his self-doubt, Kaymar had been out almost all night, taking on the most difficult targets himself.

  Ifor smiled at the spectacle of Kaymar working open his pretty blue eyes.

  “All of them,” he said quietly. “We got all of them.”

  “Good,” Kaymar said with satisfaction, stretching luxuriously. “Now, we have a graduation to attend.”

  Ifor handed him an envelope. “Menders just brought this along for you,” he said.

  Kaymar recognized his mother’s handwriting and tore the envelope open. He had sent word to her as soon as the DeLarco operation was complete but had not remained at The Shadows long enough to receive her answer.

  Dearest One,

  Thank you for letting me know you have completed your dangerous mission. It is always best that I am aware of such things. I am glad that you so entrust me that you admit me into your confidence. How very proud I am of my brave and giving son.

  It has long been known to me that your work can place you into danger and it is always with great relief that I find you have not been called to sacrifice yourself. We are lifting a glass to you as I write this. Your brother is greatly relieved also and sends his best wishes.

  If indeed you are going on the world tour with our Katrin, please convince Cousin Menders to stop at Moresby on the way to Surelia. It is high time he saw that part of the Stettan estate that was lost to his father. We have been guests at his Shadows enough times, more than time to turn the tables!

  Again, my dear, you make Mahmay so very proud. You delight me as you have from the day you were born, our red little Kipper. What a magnificent man you have grown to be.

  Your loving mother,

  Princess Dorlane Cheval-Shvalz

  Kaymar smiled with pride and joy, carefully folded the letter and slid it into his waistcoat pocket.

  (56)

  To Become a Soldier

  Katrin took advantage of the mirror in Commandant Komroff’s office to make sure her fake mourning was as it should be. She hoped she would never have to wear garments like this all the time. As if a woman in mourning wouldn’t be miserable enough, the dress was far from roomy, the straight fronted corset was a trial to the patience and the bonnet and veil were an endless fussy horror. The entire outfit was constantly in need of adjustment and repositioning. Why a bereaved lady would have to wear something that forced her to endlessly pull, tug, flatten and adjust, Katrin couldn’t say. Perhaps it was meant to distract the mind from grief.

  For the first time, Katrin wore all her hair up, which had taken an age and a hundred hair pi
ns to achieve. Eiren had to send Kaymar running out for more pins, an errand that took him forever to complete, leaving Katrin waiting with her hair half up for over an hour.

  For security, Hemmett hadn’t been told she was coming. He’d taken the news that she couldn’t attend his graduation stoically, although he’d been terribly disappointed.

  After years of reading the ongoing correspondence between Katrin and Hemmett, Commandant Komroff had been delighted to meet the Princess. He declared her far too pretty to be a widow and proposed to her on the spot, an enormous twinkle in his eyes, laughing outright when she graciously declined. He told her that now she had the first of her proposals out of the way and could notch her belt. He was a funny, small, dapper man, not tall as she’d imagined, though his carriage and demeanor made him seem so. He had merry blue eyes and the wrinkles around them let her know that his face was more accustomed to smiles than frowns.

  She’d been left alone in Komroff’s office while Hemmett was summoned to see the Commandant. The ceremony was only an hour away, so Hemmett would be peeved, probably worried about a last minute change of plans.

  She heard brisk, determined footsteps and flipped the waist length, black bordered veil over her face, adjusting it so it fell around her in a sort of black pyramid. She turned her back, as if she was looking out the window.

  There was a brisk rap at the door. It opened.

  “You sent for me, Sir?” Hemmett’s voice said, followed by, “Oh, I’m sorry, Madame.”

  Katrin turned toward him and flipped the veil back from her face. Then she gasped.

  He was a grown man. Not only that, but a grown man wearing the full regalia of Army dress uniform, complete with gold braid and buttons, sword and pistol. When she’d last seen Hemmett, he’d still had the ghost of boyishness on his face, a certain youthful softness. In the last two months, that had vanished. It was a terrible shock, almost like being confronted with a stranger. For one moment she wondered what it would be like to kiss him.

  “Willow?” He sounded completely baffled. He was familiar to her again. To her surprise, he closed his eyes and shivered for a second, going pale.

  “What is it, Bumpy?” she asked, horrified that what was supposed to be a wonderful surprise was falling flat.

  “Oh – just seeing you in that mourning – a goose walking over my grave. For a moment I thought – something had gone terribly wrong,” he replied, opening his eyes again and grinning at her. “You’re the last minute change in plans, I suspect?”

  He caught her up, hugging her so hard he knocked her bonnet and veil off, so they hung by the ribbon that went under her chin.

  “Aren’t you the funniest little widder woman?” he teased. “Thank you for burying your grief long enough to come and see your humble subject graduate, Your Royalness.” He put her down.

  “Show respect, low fellow,” Katrin laughed, trying to get her bonnet back in place. “I’ve already received a marriage proposal.”

  Hemmett scowled. “From whom?” he asked.

  “Your Commandant, right after I got here. I turned him down,” Katrin smiled. He blinked and then laughed.

  “You could do worse, but imagine having to live here at this monkey house and fending off his bonded,” he said. “Here, the bow on that thing is tangled. Gods, what an ugly hat.”

  “It’s supposed to dissuade potential suitors,” Katrin answered as he got the knot untangled.

  “It would do that. It even dims you down. Got it. Here, put this fishnet back over your head. What do you have to do, nail it in place? Thank the gods I don’t have to change my speech, it’s carefully memorized. There’s no way I could forget anything of it now. I’m so glad you came, Willow!”

  ***

  The great hall of the Royal Mordanian Military Academy was an impressive sight, with flags hung from the high ceiling and red, white and black bunting looped along the walls and around the stage. Katrin and her group kept their distance from the main crowd until they were ushered to center row seats on the aisle. As Princess she would have been in a box seat up front, but from here she could see more of the crowd and watch their reactions, so perhaps this was better.

  Katrin saw Kaymar and Ifor come in a side door, where they had a hurried conference with Menders. He nodded and shook their hands, then returned to his place between Katrin and Eiren while Kaymar and Ifor went to their seats in the row directly behind her. Bartan, the Court Assassin, came in through the same entrance, caught Menders’ eye and nodded before taking a seat several rows away.

  Katrin felt Menders relax. He reached over and lifted the widow’s veil off her face, turning it back over the bonnet. Things must have gone well. He would never have uncovered her face otherwise.

  The ceremony was long. Though there was much military pomp and great seriousness at this somber and important occasion, there was also a thread of light-heartedness due to the human touch afforded by the Commandant. He ran a tight ship, but he tempered discipline with humanity. When a cadet had trouble with a speech or recitation, the Commandant knew when to step in and save face.

  “He’s seems very thoughtful and kind,” Katrin whispered to Menders.

  “He is indeed. They are all his boys and their welfare is a personal issue to him,” Menders answered. “No toughening here. Discipline, yes, but cruelty? No.”

  Finally, the Commandant rose and introduced Hemmett, who had been sitting at the head of the graduating class, looking incredibly dashing.

  “It gives me enormous pleasure to introduce this year’s top graduate, Captain Hemmett Greinholz,” Komroff said solemnly. “To achieve that honor, Captain Greinholz has overcome an uncommon obstacle which makes it particularly difficult for him to read and write. Only through strong self-discipline and originality of thought has he been able to overcome this handicap to excel academically as well as in military disciplines. He has persevered in the face of debilitating odds to have the second highest scores, ever, in the history of this academy.”

  Katrin looked over at Menders, who remained impassive. She had heard enough to know who Hemmett had come second to. Katrin beamed with pride at the thought. Not only the cadet with the highest grades in his class, but second only to Menders!

  “Not only that, but Captain Greinholz has proven himself a talented leader and a compassionate friend. Many of the young men here owe him a debt of gratitude for support and comradeship he has extended over his five year career at the Academy. At all times it has been an inspiration and pleasure to have him here with us.

  “And now that I’ve completely embarrassed him, I give you this year’s top graduate, Captain Greinholz.”

  Hemmett stood and stepped forward, saluted, and then removed his hat, stowing it under one arm, while the Commandant shook his hand warmly. Komroff took his seat and Hemmett turned toward the crowd, placing his hat on the podium, out of his way. The audience waited with hushed anticipation. Respected and admired by most, it was also well known that Hemmett possessed a powerful sense of humor. Would his speech be laced with jokes?

  “I asked the Commandant how long I should speak. He said until booing started or everyone fell asleep, whichever came first. I promised to spare the audience too much agony, so I will try to be brief.”

  Hemmett grinned then and the audience, which had been stunned at his informal presentation, laughed. No-one could stay grim when Hemmett grinned; his smiles were infectious. The he grew solemn.

  “Today Mordania is beset by enemies, both from without and from within. These are dark times. They test of our resolve and moral courage. They require calm resolution and clearheaded thinking from those called upon to serve our country in times of peril. We of the military are the first to serve and the first to sacrifice ourselves to a greater calling, for a greater good. This we do willingly, both as soldiers and as proud Mordanians. My graduating classmates and I only hope that such service, love and sacrifice will not be squandered needlessly, for the desire for material gain and the proud vanity of
a few.”

  A murmur rippled through the crowd. Hemmett went on.

  “Even now, the sons of Mordania are engaged in wars overseas, against enemies both real… and imagined.”

  The voices of the crowd were louder now and uneasy, for to question the deployment of Mordania’s military forces was considered all but treason.

  “The young men who are out there, fighting for us, look forward eagerly to a letter from home – just as I have done during the past five years away from those I love. Equally precious have been the letters that I’ve sent back in return, as they represent the bonds of love that remind a soldier of why he is putting his life on the line. Many letters I have written to a lifelong friend have made me reflect on why we in the military do our honorable and difficult job. So rather than drone on at you, I wanted to share one of these letters instead. It goes farther to sum up my convictions as a soldier of Mordania than any fine speech I could make.

  “Dear Willow,

  I’ve decided that I’m not good at writing speeches. I manage to make myself sound very pompous, with many a grand flourish and you know that is not like me. So I’m going to write a letter to you instead and let it be my graduating speech, because that way, it will be from my heart.

  You once asked me what it really means to be a soldier. I think I can answer you now.

  On the eve of becoming a fully commissioned officer, I’ve been giving a lot of thought to what makes a soldier. It is not the uniforms and protocols, maneuvers and parades. That is window dressing.