by Randy Nargi
A plan formed in Bander’s mind. He called Niam over.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
ALTHOUGH HE WAS THEIR LEADER, NO ONE WAS COMFORTABLE IN THE PRESENCE OF MORIN OF THECT. Least of all Gredarl Kar. The crime lord had worked with many extremely powerful and ruthless men over the years, but none like the dark mage.
The four of them were seated around a circular table hewn from ceaon timbers at the far end of Ahantophan’s old library: Gredarl Kar, Asryn, Chiran Hemmig, and Morin of Thect.
It was hard not to stare at the dark mage. With his ashen skin drawn tight against his bones, he looked like a desiccated corpse. His face was sharply angled with high cheekbones and extremely wide set eyes, sunken in shadows—so much so that one could not discern their color. His eyes appeared as black gashes across his face. The dark mage’s forehead was high and regal, and he had no eyebrows nor any facial hair at all. His nose and mouth were the barest of slits, giving him a reptilian appearance.
“Crime lord, you will prepare for a siege,” he said in a whispery rasping voice that still managed to command.
“Yes, My Lord. Forty men stand ready and I have called for a dozen more who will be here in the morning,” Gredarl Kar said.
Asryn said, “Don’t forget the battle mages, son. We’ve got over 70 camped out right downstairs. Shie said that they represent the best of the best. A formidable foe. And now they work for us.”
“What good are battle mages here? I thought you said that no spells can be cast within these walls,” Chiran Hemmig said.
“It just makes it easier to kill the invaders once they have been routed and try to flee,” Gredarl Kar said. “There is a lot of open field between here and the Northway.”
“Good thinking, Kar. You ain’t as dumb as you look!”
“Enough of your prattling,” Morin of Thect hissed. “Our enemies will use deception and subterfuge to attempt to gain access to the fortress. Meomannan Quill will most certainly be aiding them, and despite the power of the Tree Heart, he may find some way to attack us. You must all be vigilant.”
Chiran Hemmig bowed his head slightly and asked, “My lord, what about Bander of Rundlun? He is a cunning brute who will most certainly be part of the enemy force.”
The dark mage waved his hand dismissively. “If he concerns you so much, plan on dispatching him first.”
“Yes, My Lord.”
“I am more concerned about Bryn Eresthar. The blood of Forn runs strong in his family and he is trusted by the Viceroy.”
“That’s why I wanted him dead already!” Asryn blurted.
“Then make it so. I will leave you to your preparations,” Morin of Thect said, fixing each man in turn with his chilling gaze. “Do not fail me.”
After he stalked from the room, each of them breathed a sigh of relief. For several moments no one uttered a word, then Asryn got up and paced in front of the other two men.
“You hear that? I was right all along. We should have concentrated on taking out Eresthar.”
“Do what you will,” Gredarl Kar said. “The end game is here. I doubt there’s anything you can do to disrupt our plans.”
“I don’t like the tone of your voice, son.”
“After this is done, you won’t have to hear it again, Your Grace.” Gredarl Kar spat out the honorific with as much sarcasm as he could muster, and by Asryn’s expression, it did not go unnoticed. But Gredarl Kar did not care a whit. He so wanted to flip this sniveling little man face down on this table and snap his spine. And he would have done it right then and there if he thought the dark mage would not kill him for doing so.
I look forward to the day!” Asryn retorted as he left the library.
“Touchy little bastard,” Chiran Hemmig said.
“Indeed. I was just now fantasizing about snapping his spine.”
Chiran Hemmig barked out a laugh. “You and me both, brother.” His face darkened. “But he thinks he’s going to be the next Viceroy.”
Gredarl Kar shook his head. “That will never happen, my friend.”
“Really? How are you so sure?”
“Let’s just say he wouldn’t live that long.” Gredarl Kar reached over and refilled both his and Chiran Hemmig’s wine goblets. “In fact, I think you would be a much better candidate.”
“I’m just an old soldier. The thought hadn’t crossed my mind.”
"Well, it should, my friend. Don't be modest. You already sit on the Imperial Council. You command the most powerful army in the land. You have years of experience as a leader and worked your way up through the ranks. Asryn, on the other hand, was handed every position he's ever had. He's a spoiled child, with no common sense whatsoever. He's rude, stupid, and weak."
“You’ll hear no arguments from me,” Chiran Hemmig said. “You are an excellent judge of character.” He raised his glass in a toast.
“That I am, my friend. And that’s why I believe you should be the next Viceroy. And I want you to know that I will do everything in my power to make that happen.”
Chiran Hemmig drained his glass and stared skeptically at the crime lord. “And what would you get out of it? A Council seat? A governorship?”
“Nothing like that,” Gredarl Kar said. “I am a simple man who likes to keep to himself. No, I do not seek power nor a leadership position. At least not a public one.”
“Then what would you want?”
Gredarl Kar shrugged. “Nothing of note.”
“I will be the judge of that. Speak plainly, crime lord.”
“I always do, my friend.” He took a sip of his own wine. “Very well. Should you—I mean, when you—become Viceroy, I could imagine that you might look kindly on my attempt to clean up Rundlun of the various gangs and factions which now battle for control of the city’s underworld, so to speak.”
“Go on.”
“There will always be a criminal element. That is human nature, Chiran Hemmig. But it doesn’t have to be a chaotic one. I prefer to think of it all as commerce. And just as you will have an Imperial Magister of the Measure who looks after Rundlun’s…how shall we say…legitimate commerce, there might be a similar position to oversee the commerce that occurs in the shadows.”
“A criminal Magister of the Measure?”
“Exactly. One man who organizes criminal commerce—if we must use that word.”
“And that would be you?”
“Yes. There would be many advantages to such an arrangement. Less mayhem on the streets which might affect ordinary citizens. No warring factions. Absolute control. And, of course, new tax revenue.”
“New tax revenue? How do you mean?”
“Well, not a tax in that it would be collected by the Ministry of the Measure. More of a commission of sorts. On all criminal transactions that result in revenue. Payable to you. Directly.”
A faint smile played across Chiran Hemmig’s ruddy face. “I see.”
“I probably don’t need to tell you that even one percent per year would be more gold than many of the richest men in the Empire earn.”
“That would be good,” Chiran Hemmig said.
“I’m glad you think so.”
“But five percent would be better.”
Gredarl Kar tried to look shocked. He stuttered and stumbled. In truth, he was prepared to offer ten percent—but he wanted to test the other man’s greed. “Sir, I… I’m not sure how that would work… you have to understand—”
Chiran Hemmig reached over and clapped Gredarl Kar on the shoulder. “You are clearly a wise man. I am confident that you have the ability to make it work.”
Gredarl Kar looked down at the floor and attempted to muster an expression of defeat, an expression that was quite foreign to him. “We may be getting a little ahead of ourselves…”
“Right you are, right you are. But we’ve planted some good seeds, haven’t we, Magister? And we all know that from good seeds can sprout some mighty ceaon trees.”
“An apt analogy, my friend.”
“But first we have a job to do,” Chiran Hemmig continued. “Like it or not, we need to work with both Asryn and the dark mage. And we need to quash the enemy who would bring all of our grand plans crashing down into the dust.”
“Well said, my friend.” Gredarl Kar raised his goblet. “Let us toast then to victory. Not one but two victories. The first will destroy our enemies and topple the Imperial government. The second will be a victory of rebuilding, with you as our captain!”
“I’ll drink to that!”
Chapter Thirty
LATE THAT AFTERNOON, ETTHAR CALAIN RETURNED TO THE OLD COOPERAGE. The old spymaster looked tired, but Bander saw a glimmer of excitement in his eyes.
“Come with me,” he said.
“Where?”
“It wasn’t easy, but I’ve secured some items that hopefully will improve our odds a bit.”
They walked a few blocks to where a carriage waited and then drove across town to the northeast quadrant near the River Aedre. There sprawling warehouses cast long shadows across thoroughfares wide enough to accommodate both caravans and cattle drives.
Etthar Calain directed the carriage to stop near one nondescript warehouse and led Bander inside. There he greeted a tall, thin man with an owlish face.
“This is Haltin Moor,” Etthar Calain said to Bander. “He’s done a lot of special projects for me.”
Bander shook the man’s hand. “Good to meet you.”
“Likewise.”
Etthar Calain continued, “Haltin Moor’s a tyckner. A damn good one at that.”
Bander had known just a few tyckners. It was a rare profession: part engineer, part weapon smith. Some people thought there was a bit of magic involved in the tyckner’s art as well.
“Let’s see what you’ve got for us,” Etthar Calain said.
Haltin Moor nodded and led them over to a table filled with a few odd-looking items. “This has been rather short notice, but I managed to pull a few things together…” He reached over and selected a something that looked like a leather cuff or a bracer, but with a metal sheath running along the length of it.
"Observe," the tyckner said as he strapped the device to his wrist. "This one here is quite compact. You can wear it within your sleeve. Just make sure the blade has a clear passage."
“Blade?” Bander asked.
Haltin Moor snapped his wrist down and—thunk!—a hidden stiletto shot out about six inches from his sleeve.
“That could do some damage,” Bander said appreciatively.
“Especially with this.” Haltin Moor held up a small glass ampule filled with a milky liquid.
“What’s that? Poison?”
“Of a sort.” The tyckner unstrapped the hidden blade device and opened a compartment on the metal sheath. “It’s a relorcan tincture. You place it in here and it is drawn through a hollow point on the blade. Most effective against battle mages like Raggur Nil.”
“Don’t ask how we obtained the relorcan,” Etthar Calain said.
“I won’t,” Bander said.
Next Haltin Moor picked up what appeared to be a normal arrow, although Bander suspected otherwise.
“A companion weapon, if you will—if close range combat isn’t possible.”
Etthar Calain pointed to the end of the arrow, which had a poison well right behind its head. “Hit a mage with this amount of relorcan and their casting days will be over for a long time.”
“Just one of those?” Bander asked.
“You’re a good shot, aren’t you?” the old spymaster grinned.
Haltin Moor moved down the table and selected a lightweight black leather satchel with a long shoulder strap. “Come around, if you please.”
They moved closer so they could see inside the bag. It was heavily padded with cloth stitched into various open compartments. Inside each compartment was a spiky glass object the size of an egg.
The tyckner carefully removed one of the objects and held it up to the light. It resembled a caltrop, a spiked star-like device thrown on the ground to slow or stop people or horses. Bander could see that the caltrop had been meticulously crafted of glass and there seemed to be different liquids swirling in each spike.
“A caltrop,” Bander said.
“Indeed.”
"But not very sturdy. Usually, these are made of iron so they can penetrate a foe's boot and lame him."
Haltin Moor grinned. "These will do more than lame." He gingerly handed one of the calrops to Bander. "I'm not going to demonstrate these because there are only twelve of them, but take my word that when your opponent steps on them, he will suffer more than an injured foot. In fact, his feet might be the only thing left of him."
“Explosives?”
“Right you are, sir. The glass compartments break, the reagents mix, and boom!”
“I like booms.”
"Good, just be careful transporting them. Someone strikes your bag and you will experience some booms at a very uncomfortable distance." He moved to the third and final object on the table. It was a thick leather belt with six pouches.
“This is another one you don’t want to have break on you.” Haltin Moor fished out the contents of one of the pouches. It was a ceramic orb, the size of a crabapple.
“More explosives?” Bander asked.
"Not exactly, but the same principle. Three chambers are within, filled with three different compounds. Once they combine there is a reaction. But in this case, there is no destructive force. Just a blinding flash of light and a deafening sound. It will be as if a lightning bolt strikes the ground right where you throw it."
Etthar Calain said, “It will easily incapacitate anyone within five yards of the impact. Maybe ten.”
“Including me?”
“You want to throw it as far as you can into the enemy,” Haltin Moor said.
“Very well. I’ll take it.”
Bander and Etthar Calain thanked the tyckner and returned to the cooperage with the special weapons.
As they rode, Bander said, “Interesting items. But I wonder if they are more appropriate for Jaden than me.”
“The bounty hunter has his own toys. You keep these.”
“We’ll see. But what I think we really need is reinforcements.”
“We’re working on that.” Etthar Calain reached into a pouch at his belt and withdrew a small item. “Before I forget, you’ll be needing this.”
Bander nodded and took the item. “I’m not sure what I will do with it, but thank you.”
Back at the cooperage, Wegg, Faramir Boldfist, and Silbra Dal had prepared a dinner of chopped chicken flavored with cinnamon and ginger, roasted vegetables, potatoes, and some freshly-baked saffron corn pebble cakes.
“Delicious,” Bander said as he bit into a pebble cake, so named because it was flat and rounded like a pebble. “Where did these come from?”
“I baked them,” Wegg said.
“In my oven,” Faramir Boldfist added.
“Oven?” Bander asked.
“I was getting bored so I found some old bricks. Plenty of room in these big fireplaces to stack ’em up into an oven.”
“Ingenious, but we shouldn’t get too comfortable here.”
“Agreed,” Silbra Dal said.
“I don’t know,” Faramir Boldfist said. “This place isn’t bad. It beats sleeping under a tree.”
“Or in a prison cell,” Dusk added.
After they finished their meal, they continued to plan the raid on Gredarl Kar’s fortress as best they could—given the lack of information they had. They talked through all their options and the contingencies. If this happened, they’d try that. If that happened, they tried this. They tried to figure out lines of attack and retreat.
A few hours later, Meomannan Quill appeared. “I come bearing gifts,” he said.
He reached into the folds of his cloak and withdrew four small slabs of dark crystal—each no bigger than the palm of his hand. “These were not easy to obtain.”
“What are t
hey?” Bander asked.
Hirbo Thrang picked one of the slabs up and inspected it. “It’s too small to be a scrying crystal.”
“Wrong,” the Grand Guildmaster said. “It is indeed a scrying crystal. A minor scrying crystal to be specific.”
“I have never heard of such a thing,” Silbra Dal said.
“That’s because you have thrown your lot in with this outlaw and turned your back on your studies.”
Silbra Dal shook her head. “Are you going to tell us about these or not?”
“I will tell Bander and Etthar Calain,” Meomannan Quill said peevishly.
“Really, Quill, you’re acting as childish as they,” Etthar Calain said.
“Fine.” He held up one of the slabs. “These four minor scrying crystals are attuned to each other and paired together. They require a mage to activate them, but once one is activated, anyone can use the other three.”
“So they are scrying crystals?” Hirbo Thrang asked.
“Minor scrying crystals,” Meomannan Quill said, shaking his head. “They can transmit the sound of your voice, like farspeech, but not your image.”
“Fascinating,” Dusk said.
“I’m glad you think so,” Bander said. “I’d like you to coordinate our communicating using these crystals.”
“Just tell me what to do, Captain.”
Meomannan Quill said, “I have one other item that may be of use.” He removed a scroll case from his bag and opened it. Carefully, he withdrew a scroll which appeared to be extremely old. The paper was cracked and brittle, and Bander could see that it had been torn and damaged.
They all gathered around the table as the Grand Guildmaster slowly unrolled the scroll. Perhaps a third of the page was missing. The remaining section showed what appeared to be a diagram, drawn in faded ink.