The boy rushed forward with a jug of cider.
“If Lord Ragget controls the jungle outpost, how are we going to recover our losses?” Cuci asked. “That is why you invited us over today, wasn’t it? To discuss ways to-”
“Send an army to the outpost,” Lumist offered. “Kylpin can have them there by mid-summer. I’ll lead them if you let me.”
Kylpin nodded. “You must regain control, Ian, before the natives-”
“I can’t even control this conversation!” Ian cut them all off. He waited until they’d all grown quiet. “There are many issues I wish to address. First, as Ambassador, I can’t just wage a war against another Lord.”
“Forget the army then!” Glavinas shouted. “Just go over to his estate and stand up to him like a man!” He gulped down his cider. “Face to face. Show him you’re not afraid. Show him you have a pair!”
“I’m not afraid!” Ian stood up. “I’m simply trying to maintain the peace!”
“By letting him push you around?” Glavinas muttered. “Someone give me a hand. I’ll go myself.”
Lumist moved to help him. Ian banged his fists on the table. “No!” The dishes rattled. “Let him stay where he is! If he’s so drunk or fat he can’t get up on his own, he’s of no use to me.”
“BAH!” Glavinas roared. He reached for his flagon. Finding it empty, he hurled it across the room. “Can’t anyone keep this full?”
“I agree with Glavinas.” Lumist said. His raspy voice held some fire in it. “No words will solve this problem, Ian. You need to confront Ragget. Today! See what he has to say for himself before you speak to the king.” He placed his hands firmly on the table and leaned forward. “Gyunwarian-haters need to know we aren’t going to take their abuse anymore!” He pointed to the bruise on his face. “This is unacceptable!”
“Ragget had nothing to do with that,” Ian said. “You can’t blame him for everything wrong in the city.”
“Haven’t you heard the rumors?” Lumist demanded. “Ragget belongs to the masked assembly of the Chondaltian temple! They preach violence toward foreigners!”
“YOU started that rumor! Now, everyone please SIT DOWN!”
Cuci wrung her hands. “Ian darling, I think they might be right. During the last few months there have been more and more attacks on Gyunwarians. Just the other day, I saw-”
“Yordicians have been attacked too,” Glavinas blurted out. His hands tightened into great fists. “And some Yordicians have been run down and left to die in the street like . . . like . . .” he glanced up and stared violently at Ian, “. . . like dogs!” He grabbed a wedge of Dardynian cheese and tore into it as if he was punishing the food with his teeth.
Ian sank back in his chair. He ran his hands through his hair. The meeting was not going well. Instead of finding solutions to their financial problems, the discussion had turned into a witch hunt with Lord Ragget as the prime target. He disliked Ragget just as much if not more than everyone else at the table but blaming him for every little problem they faced was too much.
And accusing him of unsubstantiated crimes in his own home was not exactly the wisest choice of action, though it seemed the only way to quiet his friends. “Very well.” He swallowed the lump in his throat. “I will call upon Lord Ragget and see what he has to say for himself.”
“I’ll go with you, my friend,” Kylpin said.
“As will I,” Lumist added, his voice tinged with menace.
“No.” Ian declared. “I don’t want a small mob descending on his estate.” Nor did he want to try and control the old knight’s fiery anger. “Kylpin, you may come with me. Lumist, I need you to stay here and make sure Glavinas doesn’t sneak off to the wine cellar?”
Lumist crossed his arms over his chest and for a moment Ian was afraid he’d have another argument on his hands, but the old knight eventually nodded. Glavinas snorted like an angry valley ox and unsuccessfully tried to rise again.
“Be careful, Ian darling.” Cuci stood and came around the table. “I don’t need to tell you Lord Ragget is a dangerous man, do I?” She clutched his hands in hers and pulled him into a warm embrace. “A very dangerous man.”
“Cuci, please.” Ian tried to laugh. “You’re acting as if you’ll never see me again!”
Chapter 46
A flock of squawking seagulls climbed lazily into the air as Captain Wolfe Straegar rode through the towering piles of garbage which littered the dank southern edge of the dock ward. The noisy birds spiraled higher, riding the warm updrafts and anyone watching the skies would know someone was passing through the area.
Straegar made no attempt to hide his passage. Nobody traveled this far south along the docks unnoticed or without a very good reason. Cat-burglars and cutpurses avoided this area of the city completely and none of the wardens willingly patrolled here even in large groups. The infamous south docks of Belyne were known by its few inhabitants as Motre-liare’, old Yordician for ‘Land of Death’.
In recent months, Straegar began thinking of it as his second home.
Out of habit, he checked the way behind his horse. No one was following him. No one usually followed him down here, not unless they had been invited. He rode past the remains of what he could only assume had been a trespasser, strung up from one of the burnt-out lamp lights. A pair of carrion birds perched upon the corpse, their ever-watchful eyes tracking him as he rode past.
He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his uniform sleeve and swore under his breath when he noticed one of his brass buttons was missing. Damned useless buttons. They were always falling off.
He guided his horse off the docks and headed toward the dilapidated warehouse slouched at the end of the dirt-baked road. A weather-beaten sign swung from a rusty chain and whined like a sick animal every time the foul wind blew in from the sea. The warehouse’s name, once painted across the board, was illegible and long forgotten.
But no one found this place by its sign anymore.
As Straegar drew near, a small boy darted out from behind a pile of broken crates and snarled at him. Straegar guessed the boy’s age to be eight or nine and he was dressed in rags stained with urine and sweat. An unruly mop of blond hair hung over his face and though he looked as dirty-gray as the building behind him, his blue eyes shone brightly through all the grime.
“Muskrat is One-eye here?” Straegar asked.
Still showing his teeth, the boy’s head bobbed up and down.
Straegar dismounted and tossed the reins toward the boy. “Keep an eye on my horse, won’t you?”
The boy scratched his lice-infested head and shrugged.
Straegar pulled a half-eaten loaf of bread out of his saddlebag and held it up. The urchin’s blue eyes widened, and he licked his dusty lips.
“You have to share this with the others.” Straegar gestured to either side of the open warehouse door. He knew Weasel and Porcupine would be listening somewhere nearby, hiding in dark holes, waiting to pounce on any unsuspecting passer-byes.
Muskrat snarled, and his head bobbed again.
“And if I find anything missing,” Straegar gestured toward his horse, “I’ll skin your hide and nail it to the wall to dry. Understand?”
Muskrat’s eyes narrowed.
“I mean it!” Straegar said. “Anything at all.”
Muskrat opened his mouth and a high screeching keen burst forth. It was answered and echoed by the other two boys. Straegar patted his stallion’s neck. They were laughing at him. He smiled thinly. His threat was an empty one. He knew it. They knew it. Even if they did steal something, he’d never catch them. They knew the streets, alleys, rooftops, sewers and catacombs better than anyone.
Straegar dropped the half-loaf and walked into the warehouse unmolested. Behind him the vagrant boys snarled over the food like rabid dogs. He’d learned before, if he fed them, they’d leave his horse alone.
He paused a moment to allow his eyes to adjust to the darkness within. The warehouse was small, dry, and u
sually empty.
Not today.
He squeezed past a row of dragon-marked crates and headed toward the rear of the building. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a small blond guard shadowing him through the warehouse.
“Zerick,” he called out. “You and Mason had better stay out of sight. Word on the street is Lord Weatherall is looking for you.”
The guard grunted but did not reply.
Straegar reached the back door, pushed through it and stepped into a vast, monolithic building.
From the outside, the buildings along the dusty block looked like a series of tall weather-beaten warehouses, all built together and leaning against each other for support. In truth, it was one large sturdy fortress and for nearly six years the training site for a growing army of men loyal to just one man.
Lord Devin Ragget.
Straegar had first stepped inside the building not quite seven months ago. Lord Ragget himself had revealed the building to him, proudly showing off the vast training facility, the small temple, the dormitories, the smithy, and the cache of weapons and foods.
But it was the army Straegar found most impressive.
By law, noble lords and ladies were permitted a small contingent of armed men to protect themselves and their property. Typically, a lord kept five to ten men on retainer, but no more than twenty were allowed. No king wanted an army loyal to someone else housed within his own city walls.
Straegar had seen over five hundred men on that first day alone.
“And for each man you see here,” Ragget had told him from the balcony overlooking the training ground, “There is ten more living in Belyne just waiting my call to action.”
“Five thousand fighting men?!” He looked at the lord in amazement. “How? Why?”
“That is not your concern, Captain Straegar.” Lord Ragget replied. “You are here to train . . . and recruit new members.”
Straegar’s past connections with the Belyne Military Academy allowed him to approach men he believed would support their cause. Their order. Their religion. He had never been a deeply religious man, relying instead on the strength of his sword-arm and the quickness of his mind to keep him alive, but there was something about Lord Ragget . . .
He made even the most hardened, skeptical, and stubborn men stop and listen.
And believe.
After hearing Lord Ragget speak just once, Straegar had found himself believing too. Never had he realized what truths could be revealed by such an impassioned, fervent speaker. The city needed to be cleansed. The country was on the verge of ruin. Their very existence was threatened and the fault of it lay firmly at the open Yordician-Gyunwarian border. As more and more grubby Gyunwarians poured into their country, infesting every aspect of Yordician life, breeding with and forever fouling the pureblooded, the numbers of true Yordicians dwindled. And the most heinous crime committed by these Gyunwarians was the union between Lady Cecily and Ian Weatherall, the Gyunwarian Ambassador. Their marriage had produced the heir to the Yordician throne.
A filthy half-breed!
Straegar paused to catch his breath. Just remembering Lord Ragget’s impassioned speech, all those months ago, made the blood rage inside him again. A strong man with a strong will and a strong army to back him could rid the country of the vermin threatening to usurp the purity of their nation.
Straegar ground his teeth as he hurried past the training grounds. He ignored the scores of men going through their brutal paces and turned down the wide corridor to the dormitories beyond. Temporary cages had been installed near some of the eastern bay doors and were currently filled with copper-skinned savages from the Splintered Islands. Most of them stood or lay quietly in their pens, but a handful of the more wild-eyed ones stretched out arms and tried to paw at him as he passed. A few hissed or squawked or clicked or made animal noises, but he wasn’t concerned with them either.
He was here looking for just one man.
Natham Lipscombe.
The surly one-eyed sailor had been silent since early this morning. Lord Ragget had been unable to raise Lipscombe on the disc and had finally called upon him with a simple command.
“Find Natham Lipscombe, now!”
Straegar reached the end of the corridor and saw the door leading to Lipscombe’s quarters closed. No sound came from beyond the door, but if Muskrat said he was here-
Straegar kicked the door open.
The wood frame near the lock splintered. The door swung violently into the small room and smacked against the side of the occupied bed. “LIPSCOMBE!” Straegar bellowed. “Wake up!”
“Dammit t’ hell!” Lipscombe cursed, jerking awake and reaching for his sword. “Can’t a man catch a bit o’shut eye?”
“Lord Ragget has been summoning you on the disc!” Straegar growled. His hand was already resting on the hilt of his sword.
Lipscombe ran some fingers through his tangled hair and scratched at his stubbly beard. “I haven’t slept ‘n days.” He yawned. “I spent all o’ last night hawlin’ damn bodies ‘round, ‘nd ballin’ tha’ whore.”
“We’ve all been busy,” Straegar said. He glanced around the filthy room and cringed. What an animal!
“Have we now?” Lipscombe swung his legs over the side of his bed and eyed the broken door lock. “‘nd what exactly have ye done, ‘cept kick m’damn door in?”
“I’ve been keeping a network of wardens loyal to us busy watching certain nobles throughout the city, while keeping the other half of the wardens loyal to the king occupied elsewhere.” He glared down at Lipscombe. “And then I wasted the better part of the morning searching for you, because you wouldn’t answer Lord Ragget’s summons.”
“So yer his little lap dog, huh? His little bitch in heat? I was wonderin’ th’ peckin’ order ‘round here.” He held his hand out about chin high. “Lord Ragget,” he lowered his hand, “ev’ry one else,” he lowered his hand more, “‘nd ye, standin’ in th’ shit with yer ass in th’ air waitin’ t’ get fucked.”
Straegar bristled at the comment. His fingers twitched. He desperately wanted to strike this foul bastard down. Lipscombe was a pathetic excuse for a man, but Lord Ragget had insisted he be kept alive.
For now.
“Well, since I’m here giving you orders I guess that would put you somewhere beneath me under the shit,” Straegar growled.
A crooked sneer spread across the right side of Lipscombe’s face. “Good. I’d rather be b’low shit.”
Straegar frowned. That was not how he had expected Lipscombe to respond.
“As I see it . . .” Lipscombe rummaged around in his blankets. “. . . ev’rything grows better with th’ shit on it.” He found his shirt and pulled it on over his head and down over his heavily scarred body. Straegar frowned at the assorted red and white lines. Some of those ragged scars had looked like giant teeth marks. “While yer busy gettin’ yer asshole stretched, I’m growin’ stronger.”
Straegar fumed in silence. Lipscombe snickered.
“I don’t think you should keep Lord Ragget waiting any longer,” Straegar finally said.
The right side of Lipscombe’s face pulled up into a nasty grin. “Damnably annoying, ain’t ye?” He pulled out a small silvery disc and held it up. “Got m’disc right here.”
“Lipscombe?” A stern voice, Ragget’s voice, filled the tiny room.
Flickering light burst from the side of the disc facing Lipscombe. Straegar didn’t have to see the image to know what kind of expression Ragget was wearing.
“Yeah?” Lipscombe mumbled. “I hear ye lookin’ for me. Yer little pet jus’ delivered yer message.”
“Was the Hewes woman eliminated? I saw her flee the warehouse this morning.”
“Yeah, I sent Pervis o’er t’ her daddy’s keep earlier.”
“I thought Pervis was torturing her father.”
“He was, still is.” Lipscombe said. “Pervis took a couple o’ my men wit’ him. Took her daddy too. Gonna let th’ poor bastard watch
his family git killed.”
“Joseph Hewes must stay alive!”
“I know, I know.” Lipscombe gave an exasperated sigh. “I told Pervis tha’. Nothin’ will happen t’ daddy Hewes, I swear.”
The silvery disc went black as pitch.
Lipscombe frowned and gave the disc a gentle shake. “Somethin’ ain’t right, here.”
“Dammit Lipscombe, I’ve had quite enough of your incompetence today.”
Lord Ragget’s voice still emanated from the disc. Straegar stepped around and looked over Lipscombe’s shoulder at the mirror’s dark face. “Where’s Lord Ragget? Why can’t we see him?”
“Captain Straegar, are you still there?”
“Yes, M’lord,” Straegar replied. He pulled out his own disc. It too was dark.
“Something must be wrong at the Hewes’ keep,” Lord Ragget said. Straegar heard the anger building in the great man’s voice. “Get over there right now and report back to me when you have learned the problem!”
“Yes, M’lord.”
“And whatever you do,” Lord Ragget growled, “Kill the bitch but make sure you keep Joseph Hewes alive!”
Chapter 47
“Josie is that you?”
Leigh’s weak voice broke through the red fog of rage swirling around Josephine. Her trigger finger relaxed, and she lowered her magical weapon. A dozen or so crossbow bolts protruded from what remained of Pervis’s skull. The initial blast had thrown him off Leigh and he now lay in a gruesome puddle of his own fluids a few feet away.
“Josie . . . help me.”
Josephine wanted to run to her sister, to comfort her, but she found herself rooted just inside the doorway. In her mind’s eye, she saw herself kneeling beside Leigh, taking her hand, and wiping her sweaty brow, but, a turbulent fury roiled inside her and she scanned the bedroom hoping to find another target for her rage. Two opposite sides of her personality dueled within her, the gentle care-giver, and the angry huntress.
“Josie . . .?”
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