by Erik A Otto
The apprentice did a small bow and gestured for him to follow. The girl then led him up the stairs to the backside of the keep. “We only have an apprentice room for you, Apostle. Please accept our humble apologies.”
“That will do fine,” Paulo said.
“We will have a dinner prepared with the nobles in an hour. Should I ask them to save a seat for you?”
“No, thank you, apprentice. I’ve had a long journey. I will need some rest.”
“Do you wish me to bring food to your room?”
“No, thank you. You enjoy your evening, apprentice. Oh, there is one thing. Can you wake me at first light tomorrow?”
“Yes, Apostle.”
The apprentice did a blind bow and left. Paulo listened to her walk down the corridor, then he closed the door and examined the room. It was extremely sparse, with a straw bed, a water canister, and a latrine area in the corner. The walls were all wood, with no Matar bone used, except for the prayer circle in the middle.
Once he was confident there were no viewing holes, he maneuvered the Brickstone cube to the center of the floor, took out the silverstone file he’d hidden in his robe, and began carefully scraping between the bricks where the mortar was thin.
Chapter 15
The Commander
“An army of infidels awaits outside your walls, and you would turn me away!” Aisha blasted the guard. “My escort and I have information that is critical to the security of the keep. I demand to speak with the Conductor immediately!”
The gatekeeper still didn’t appear perturbed by her tone. He said, “By the grace of Matteo, it places a great burden on me to ask, on whose authority, ma’am? You say you are Pomerian? You have been invited to the Festival?”
His servile manner was beginning to frustrate her. Aisha minced her eyes at him. “For the second time, I am the High Commander Aisha Pomerain, and I haven’t been invited.”
“By Matteo’s humble virtue, I ask for patience while I consult the venerable. I do this with expedience in the face of your eminence.” The guard bowed timidly, then left.
Three other guards watched her cautiously as the fawning one departed. She stared back at them obstinately, her horse blasting fog through its nose into the chill morning air. The other nine men in her retinue stood in a solid line behind her, silent save for the breathing and snortling of their own steeds.
The gatekeeper was gone for a long time. In the meantime, a carriage arrived with the Beauchamps’ crest on it, along with an escort of horsemen. The Beauchamps were one of the greater houses of Rio Castellan. The eyeglass windows were shrouded with curtains, so she couldn’t see who was inside. The lead horseman showed his crest to one of the guards, who promptly checked his list and let them in.
It irked Aisha that they stood in waiting when these nobles could be let in with such ease. The Beauchamps could be traitors. This guard could be unwittingly handing the Old Keep to the Cenarans with a simple check of his list.
The servile guard eventually returned. About twenty garrison men trailed him. “Honorable High Commander, first, please accept my apologies for the delay. The Conductor welcomes you for an audience in the Old Keep. However, he has asked—with all humility and grace—that you be aided by these humble men to have your escort well provisioned with Matteo’s servants during your brief tenure. The Conductor also requested, ever so humbly, and with divine intent and knowledge of your forbearance, that you sequester yourselves from the presentation area in the courtyard. He explains that a great many hours’ work has gone into preparations, and the commencement approaches in less than two hours.”
It took a while for her to wade though the obsequious blather and register what he was saying. She looked toward the garrison men he referred to and noted that the ‘humble men’ didn’t look so humble. They were definitely veterans, probably handpicked from the Old Keep garrison, most with bows on their backs and short halberds or bone-toothed blades on their hips.
But it was the only choice she had.
“Thank you, guard. Praise Matteo,” she said, and she nudged her horse forward.
The garrison men fell in step with her as they traversed the end of the promontory. They jockeyed through the gates, where the whites of the eyes of many guards could be seen behind the arrow slits. She feared these weren’t the uncaring eyes of bored guards but the focused eyes of men ready for action, watching her every move. She gripped her reins tightly and welcomed the feeling of her scabbard bouncing at her hip.
Once in the main courtyard, they were led to an open area close to the stables, as far away from the stalls and tables of the festival as possible.
“Please rest here,” one of the garrison men said. “The Conductor will see to you shortly.”
There was an uninterrupted line of horse rear ends facing them from the stables, and if the smell of that wasn’t enough, there was a dense layer of dung that lay trampled beneath her, saturating the ground around them. No matter the priestly talk of humility and welcome, so far her experience was quite the opposite.
“Greetings Princess. What brings you this far north on this busy occasion?”
Aisha had to look around to figure out where the voice was coming from. Eventually, by craning her neck up, she saw the Conductor. He was perched several levels above her, only his neck and shoulders exposed above the high bannister of a balcony. Beside him was a slim young woman with raven hair that looked to be his scribe.
Aisha called up to him, “Venerable one, will you not come down and join us? I wouldn’t wish upon you to yell. Or shall we join you instead?”
“You are so gracious, Princess, but no. I must avoid the manure, you see. I have duties to perform in less than an hour and cannot risk exposing myself, nor do I wish to have you or your men track this up through the halls after so much care has been taken to clean it.” His smile was wide and charismatic, but his words were hollow. They had surely brought them to this manure-laden spot deliberately, perhaps so he could use this very excuse.
Preto continued, “But speaking of my duties, I must attend to them, so please tell me what business is so pressing, and then perhaps after the Festival we can reconvene.”
This wasn’t how she had imagined her encounter with the Conductor. She’d thought they would meet somewhere behind closed doors, analyzing delicate speech intonations to determine each other’s true intentions. In her current position she would practically have to yell up to the balcony, and any nuance would be lost in the volume of their belligerent exchanges.
Again, she could see no other choice.
She took a deep breath and began. “Conductor, there is a Belidoran brigade stationed less than an hour’s ride from your gates. The commanding officer is a man who has withheld Marked men from the monks. I know this man. He consorts with these infidels—he fraternizes with them, and has become inflicted with their madness. He has shut me out, despite my title as High Commander, because I know his true nature. I think prudence is warranted against this man and his brigade, and so as a pledge to you, and to the servants of Matteo, I have come all the way from Pomeria through the Albondo woodlands with five hundred men to defend the Old Keep. Please allow us to enter and support the garrison until the threat passes.”
The Conductor nodded and took some time to ponder a response. He ostensibly looked at his scribe’s notes, mentioning something to her and pointing at the papers she held. Finally he called out, “My dear princess, I’m not sure what has caused you to be encumbered with concern. Not two days hence, the man you speak of had words with me and has agreed to bring the infidels he harbors to justice. He has acknowledged his indiscretion and remains an upstanding noble from a family steeped in laurels for honorable service. So no, we thank you for such a gracious offer, but Belidor is endowed with its own military servants. We can deal with the minor indiscretions of one of its officers.” He finished with a smile and a slightly patronizing tone.
Aisha nodded. “I understand, Conductor. You have…brought
light to the shadows that concern me. But perhaps a small host of my regiment could stay the night to exercise an abundance of caution, as it were.”
“An abundance of caution?” the Conductor asked, holding his chin thoughtfully.
“Yes. Perhaps we should have more military support at the keep, just to be sure no madness lurks hidden in this man?”
The Conductor’s smile was abruptly gone. Now he looked annoyed. “I will address your question, Princess, but first, if I may, your allusion to madness prompts me to ask about Pomeria. There are rumors of strife and discord there. Worse, we hear of lax discipline toward Matteo’s Canons. This will, in time, bring an unwelcome tide of paganism to fill the spiritual vacuum your kingdom has allowed to propagate. It doesn’t help that a member of the royal family, your sister, was found to be a traitor and infidel. It’s a blight on Pomeria, really. And then, recently we heard you have been stripped of the title of High Commander you claim to hold. So…”
He paused for effect, shrugging as if what he was about to say was obvious. “…I’m sure you understand an abundance of caution would suggest we take care in our dealings with you, High Commander, just as much as any general of our own. An abundance of caution would also suggest perhaps you should return to Pomeria to tend to the much more abundant concerns that lurk there.”
Before she could resolve a response, the Conductor began again. “But, ah yes, you have come on a mission to our aid in the perils we face. I do understand we Sandaliers are not fastidious in dealing with less-than-spiritual matters of defense and war. Rest assured, however, we have the matter well in hand. In what you would call an abundance of caution, we have called on the Great Defender. He will be arriving at the keep shortly with his entire army, and of course, we cannot house both your men and his when there is space for neither. We already have enough horse excrement to fertilize the bog for an entire year and have no need for more.”
Preto’s smile returned, and he nodded for emphasis.
Her men looked around sheepishly, embarrassed for her, especially when the words were yelled for much of the keep courtyard to hear. He’d not only denied her request but also discredited her and Pomeria. The Conductor was skilled in this kind of discourse, and Aisha was at a loss for any points to refute him, never mind save face for her and Pomeria.
What’s more, although she’d known the Great Defender was already planning to come to the Old Keep, she didn’t know he would be marching his whole army here. If the Great Defender’s army arrived soon, it could derail everything, especially if he or his advisers were traitors.
Aisha had noticed that the gatepost guard had run over to the group as the Conductor was speaking. During the pause, he yelled up to the Conductor, “Most venerable one, sincerest of apologies for any interruption of your discourse. I come to report that another military host approaches.”
“Already? The Great Defender moves with great efficiency.” The Conductor smiled at her again.
The guard spoke out again. “Venerable one, no, I apologize again and pray Matteo’s forgiveness for my impetuous words should they not meet with your approval. It is the general Granth again. He comes with a small host, in which he has the Truthseeker, the Traitor, and the Imbecile in bonds. He comes to give up the infidels.”
Chapter 16
The General
The wispy guardsman shook his head. “Sir, the Festival is about to commence. For that reason, the Conductor has told us he wishes the inspection be done outside the keep. He is concerned about distractions that taint the glory of the Shepherd’s Crossing. And as to your inquiry about my commanding officer, he is still inside the gates. Maybe it would be best if we wait for him.”
Timothur was already at a boiling point. The first guard he’d spoken with had gone into the keep to check with the Conductor after a lengthy debate filled with priestly gibberish. This one could at least communicate quickly, but he was still getting nowhere.
Timothur replied, “The Conductor will certainly want to see the returned infidels with his own eyes, and while we wait, the princess Aisha of Pomeria is in the keep, slurring my honor in front of every noble in Belidor. Why let her in and not one of your own? I must gain entry so I can have words with the Conductor about not only the infidels, but this Pomerian as well. Did you know that this supposed High Commander is the sister of one of the infidels?”
“No, sir, I did not, but I must stay within the most venerable one’s guidance. I cannot confirm these three you have with you. The Imbecile and Traitor match the drawings and description, but the Truthseeker is difficult to identify in all those bandages.”
Timothur leaned into the guard, his eyes shining. “So am I to understand you would turn away a general? A general delivering three of the most sought-after criminals in Belidor!”
The man withered away. Timothur withdrew in turn, sitting erect again on his horse. “I know you do your duty, guardsman, but we waste time. Your superior has already gone to advise the Conductor, but he could be gone for several minutes just as much as he could be gone for half an hour. You will escort us inside. It will be a simple transaction; we will transfer the infidels to the monks, I will have quick words with the Conductor, and then we will be gone. Otherwise, if we delay, the Festival could be compromised by the spectacle of the infidels, and all because of this bureaucratic pomp.”
It was a calculated risk. The guard might steel himself against him, putting up some excuse, and Timothur might never gain entry. But this one looked unlikely to stand up to Timothur’s authority. Surely he must have perceived the request to have the inspection done outside to be an arbitrary whim of the Conductor, for why would they fear one of their own generals, his retinue, and three prisoners? The man’s dilemma was to risk mild backlash from the Conductor for what would hopefully be a relatively minor lapse in judgement versus causing a major incident with a reputed general and noble.
The guard still couldn’t make up his mind, so Timothur tried to make it for him. “Come,” Timothur said, urging his horse forward, brushing past the guard. “I will be sure to note your service to the Conductor, but time is limited.”
The guard didn’t speak. Nor did he call out in alarm. Rather, after some hesitation, he ran to catch up to Timothur and put a hand on his reins to escort him inside. Timothur’s men followed.
Timothur’s bluff had worked.
The train of horse rode under the external gate, then under the courtyard gate. Timothur scanned the square once inside. On the far end, down near the stables, he saw the red and white Pomerian colors worn by a number of men and women on horseback. To the right, just in front of the Great Mural of the Shepherd, was the beginning of the Festival procession. Flowing banners had been fastened to huge posts. These draped over the assembly’s stalls and tables, citing the Canons. Some of the apprentices and Sandaliers were already manning their stations. Also, at the beginning of the procession, a small crowd of twenty or so finely dressed nobles had assembled.
He steered his horse in the direction of the small crowd but still close to the outer wall.
The guard tugged at his reins. “Honorable sir, if we could stop here. I’m sure the monks will arrive soon.”
“Yes, of course.” But Timothur kept prodding his mare forward until the guard had to visibly strain himself to hold the horse in place.
When they came to a stop, Timothur and his men waited patiently with the infidels while the nobles continued to gather nearby. Some were whispering and pointing. One of them ventured forward for a closer look. Timothur recognized him. He was a noble from the Melange family in Esienne.
“You are one of the Granth brothers, aren’t you?” The nobleman asked. “Is that Vanaden?”
“Timothur. Greetings, Mr. Melange.”
A look of wonderment filled the man’s eyes as his purview shifted to Timothur’s captives. “Yes, my apologies. I forgot your brother had passed. And these are the infidels, yes? That must be the Imbecile, and the Traitor, and…who is this
third one?”
“The Truthseeker, sir.”
“Amazing. What a great service you have done for Belidor.” Melange’s eyes remained wide, scanning the prisoners.
Timothur only nodded.
Melange returned to the gathering several steps away. He spoke to the nobles and gestured emphatically back toward Timothur and the infidels. It was enough to draw the curiosity of several others who came over to look at the prisoners. Timothur and his men sat prone in their saddles, letting them gawk, while some of the nobles tried to strike up conversations.
“How were the infidels apprehended?”
“Is it true the Imbecile can emulate anyone?”
“Your questions will be answered in good time,” Timothur responded, trying to deflect until later. He was in no mood to bandy words with these noblemen.
The Conductor finally clipped across the courtyard, donning his plastered smile. He was followed by the head monk Colidas Barbitan and two other monks who wore dark masks emblazoned with the Matagon Spire insignia on each cheek. The masks obscured their faces and amplified the sound of their breathing. Trailing behind and to the side was the Conductor’s scribe, a tall dark-haired girl. Timothur recognized her; it was Perenna de Nagar. But this was no time for reacquainting with old friends, so he didn’t acknowledge her.
The Conductor first addressed the encroaching nobles. He waved at them ever so slightly with open arms, fanning them back toward the festival stalls. “Please, please, if you could assemble at the beginning of the procession, I will be there shortly. You needn’t expose yourself to this dirty business with the infidels.” Their curiosity was so intractable that they didn’t move immediately. Preto continued to wave with broader sweeps of his arms, trying to usher them back, and eventually the nobles started to turn. About half returned to the main gathering, but the other half moved only a few feet back, then turned to watch again.