“I’m sorry. Can’t hear you. Let me finish up here and we’ll talk about why you came!”
Anrack tightened his grip around the head of his cane and wrestled with an immediate and growing distaste for the addle-brained fool he’d been sent to meet. He reached the rear of the barracks and surveyed the record-keeper’s living arrangement. It was sparse by any measure. This section of the building had formerly been where the meals were prepared. A short wooden wall separated it from the rest. Unlike the stone, the wood of the wall had deteriorated markedly in the years of disuse. The keeper had seen fit to put the dry rot to use, breaking the wall away bit by bit and throwing it into one of three large hearths to burn for light and warmth. A bubbling pot stuffed with a seemingly random assortment of rations filled the area with a strong and unpleasant scent, and a bed roll had been set on the ground just far enough from the fireplace to keep from catching flame. He had strategically stacked a few of the larger crates to serve as a table, and smaller ones had been called into service as seats. Anrack kicked one into position at the table and sat heavily to await his host.
He didn’t have to wait long, the spry keeper approaching from behind and rubbing his hands anxiously as he took a seat opposite the commander.
“Your, uh, your men will close the doors when they are through, yes?”
“Of course they will.”
“It’s only that this place barely gets below freezing on the best days, and—”
“They will finish unloading and shut the doors, now if you please, I have come here for a reason!” Anrack shouted.
“Oh, yes. Yes, yes. Your reason, please, sir.”
“As I have stated, I am the new commander of the Elite. At present my mission is to apprehend a rather resourceful traitor to the throne, a man named Desmeres Lumineblade.”
“I know no one by that name. M-my name is Ruprecht Scriben.”
“I am not here to interview you or interrogate you on the man’s whereabouts, Scriben. I happen to know that the man was briefly in the direct employ of the five Generals. They must have some manner of records on him. As you are the cataloger of those records, I require that you make available to me the complete personal effects of the late General Bagu.”
“No! You don’t want that, Commander. Err, not at all.”
“You are not in any position to tell me what I do and do not want,” Anrack said. He reached into his jacket and revealed an official document with the royal seal. “I have been given written permission from the throne. Any and all records are mine to study.”
Scriben took the document and looked it over for a moment, then handed it back.
“I didn’t say you couldn’t have them. I said you don’t want them.” Ruprecht’s eye darted away, looking vaguely at the mounds of unsorted goods beside the makeshift table. “Not Bagu’s records. No, not his…”
“You will do as I—”
“I have two good reasons for you to avoid Bagu’s records. Very good reasons. Uh. The first is that he was very protective of his privacy. Very protective, yes. Didn’t even trust the other Generals. There are traps. I’m not sure how to disarm them all. My knowledge of magic is limited. Growing, but limited.”
“Listen to me—”
“Have you ever been struck by a D’Karon spell? Hmm? No. No, err, I can see you haven’t.” He gestured stiffly at his face. “Leaves a mark, see? And I was loaded with the strongest defense charms the palace could produce. Not enough. It doesn’t just strike your body, Commander. That’s the least of what it does. Hits the soul. You’ve never felt pain like that. Searing. Withering. I can’t manage a single spell anymore. Weakened my spirit almost beyond the breaking point. Can you imagine it, Commander? I wouldn’t have merely been killed. My soul itself would have been shattered. I would have been utterly undone. Worse than death. And this was a spell meant for other D’Karon. I’m sure of that. The wording surrounding was explicit. Yes, uh, yes, it is certain that no sane man would want to go through Bagu’s records until they can be rendered safe by a more skilled hand than mine. Duke Deacon of Kenvard. They say he is due to give it a try. Better man than I, that one.”
Anrack crossed his arms.
“And?”
“And what?”
“You twice interrupted me, and you claimed there were two reasons. You’ve given me only one.”
“Oh, yes, err. Yes, the second reason. The second reason is that you want information, yes? As much as you can get. And Bagu, he got information, certainly he did. But not all of it. Not by a long shot. It was filtered through his subordinate. A lesser General called Epidime. Yes. If you want information, you want Epidime’s records, not Bagu’s. I have some of them here. Yes. Just some. He wasn’t as, um, focused as Bagu. Worked every corner of our Alliance. We’re still trying to pull them together.”
“You will give me any information I request.”
“Of course, of course. Epidime’s records first. I’ve spent the most time going through them as they are the most voluminous.” He cleared his throat and stood, fetching a small black wand from a case at the edge of the table. “Keep your eyes open. I don’t always know precisely where things will maneuver themselves when I do this.”
“What are you going to do.”
“Um… You asked me to fetch you the records. I shall do so.”
He took a step back, then gave a skittish look at the wall of crates nearest to his little den and took another cautious step. Satisfied, he shut his eyes and clutched the wand, muttering something under his breath. The result was immediate. A thunderous rumble rolled through the facility, crates and stacks skidding and shifting as though a team of men had snapped to attention and set about sorting them. Loud metallic clangs echoed sharply as lids tore free, launching their nails with terrifying force. Bits of debris and dislodged frost clattered across the ground and bounced to rest. One by one, items began to drift from the violet glow of the storage stacks. Sheaves of pages, thick leather tomes, and wax-sealed scrolls emerged and set themselves down. Large leather folios with engraved insignias formed orderly piles beside a more chaotic mound of assorted writings.
Anrack watched invisible forces do the work that would have taken a dozen men several hours to achieve, then turned to the anxiety-stricken record-keeper as he clutched tight to the wand. The shifting and settling noises dropped away, and Ruprecht took a shaky breath and brushed aside the pages that had stacked atop the wand’s case so that he could replace it.
“I thought you’d told me you couldn’t cast the slightest spell,” Anrack said.
“Oh, I cannot. Not any longer, and likely never again. The D’Karon curse was quite thorough,” he said.
“Then how do you explain what I just saw? How did you conjure great heaps of very specific items if not through magic?”
“It, uh, it was magic, commander. It simply was not my magic.” He tapped the box. “The D’Karon can give as well as take. The spell is contained in the wand, and the power supplied by these gems all around us. As long as I don’t perform acts like that more than, err, once or twice a week, the gems barely even dim.”
Anrack’s gaze became distant as he sunk deeply into consideration. He pushed open the box and plucked the wand.
“Can anyone conjure such effects from this device?” he asked.
“Not without a bit of training, but just a bit. It is no more difficult to use than any other weapon of war. Err. I imagine. I’ve not been properly trained in any specific weapon of war, to be perfectly honest.”
“How many such wands are available?” Anrack asked.
“Hundreds. For now.”
“For now?”
“The Duke and Duchess of Kenvard are working out how to dispose of them.”
“What? That is absurd. These are precisely the sort of weapons that could restore our capacity to defend our borders should the Tresson military disregard this ill-conceived attempt at peace.”
“As I understand it, these are the weapons that were
responsible for forestalling this attempt at peace to begin with. This magic is not without cost. It leeches away strength from the land and its people. If I had any more to give, I’d be wary about remaining in this place, but Bagu’s curse has made that at best a secondary concern.”
“Regardless, in addition to all of this information, I want however many pieces of such equipment you are able to collect and identify.”
“No, Commander.”
“You will not deny me, Scriben. I have a proclamation from the queen—”
“That entitles you to written materials and other records. No artifacts. Specifically no artifacts. I read it when you showed it to me, Commander. I’m a record-keeper, reading is central to my role.”
Anrack pulled the proclamation from his pocket and looked it over.
“That woman must delight in tying my hands…” he rumbled.
Ruprecht cleared his throat and sorted through the summoned documents.
“This book and this book are the cleared records from Bagu. These three are not yet cleared. Um. If you intend to review them, I’ll ask you do so far from here. It was one of those books that earned me my scars and I very much doubt I could survive even a glancing blow from a similar enchantment.”
“And what of the rest?”
“The rest are raw reports from Epidime. Again, what we’ve found. None of them were encoded beyond being written in the native tongue of the D’Karon, and Duke Deacon has been kind enough to provide materials for translation based upon his current understanding.”
“Then I will require your aid in deciphering them?”
“Or any other able translator. Err. I can recommend some colleagues. I shall be rather distracted by more primary duties.” He glanced down the length of the building at the dim glow of day from the cargo door. “Those fellows have two new crates for me already. New loads of artifacts arrive every day.”
Anrack looked to the wand, then to the rows of crates, many yet to be opened.
“No, Record-Keeper Scriben. I believe my place is here with you. We both have much to learn from what the D’Karon have left behind.”
#
A few days passed, and Genara returned to Clennock’s Den, but had difficulty keeping her mind on her work. With the exception of the odd and specific request, Genara’s place was as something of a mediator between Klye and his staff and the girls. Presently she was in a large, comfortable room just off the main dining room of the Den. A schedule of sorts had formed over the years Genara had been present, with girls quietly marking off what days and times they expected their higher value visits. Anyone with a regular visit would be kept from the dining room so that she could be certain she would be prepared and available.
“All right, girls. The soup is on and the sun is setting. It won’t be much more than an hour before the tables start filling. On your feet and in a line,” she said.
A murmur of dissatisfaction fluttered from the assembled women as they pulled themselves to order.
“Now, now. Enough muttering. You plan things properly and it’s more coin in your pocket and an easier night for everyone. If memory serves, Merna and Dulsi each have regulars tonight. What’ve you done to get ready? Merna? The Ambassador?”
“I was talking to Fesmaa, one of the Tresson girls. She taught me some phrases in Tresson,” said Merna, a petite young woman lady with dark brown hair and deep red lips.
“Not a bad angle, Mern. Don’t lay it on too heavy, though. You bring in too much of a man’s work and he’s liable to get sick of it. They come here to get away from that. Dulsi, what about you?”
“I couldn’t think of anything, Genny,” said the somewhat taller blonde.
“Really, Dulsi. You’ve got… oh, who is it…” Genara furrowing her brow.
“The big fat fellow with the robes,” Merna said.
“I know it is the big fat fellow with the robes, Mern. I was trying to think of his name. Oh, blast it, the name doesn’t matter. He’s the royal playwright. Go upstairs to the library and get yourself a book of poetry and memorize something. Pick one that doesn’t make any sense. The artists always like the ones that don’t make any sense.”
“Okay, Genny.”
“That just leaves you, Louisa. I don’t remember you being in here this time last week.”
“There’s been this hairy fellow. He does a really lousy job of hiding some blue and gold enameled armor.”
“A member of the Elite? Congratulations. I don’t think we’ve had one of those in here with any regularity. Too dedicated.”
“Not this batch of Elites. We must have three or four of them lately.”
Genara tapped her foot. “I suppose the queen has lowered the bar a bit on that. But then, you end a war, you’re bound to cut down on the supply of veterans. What have you done to prepare?”
“He’s… kind of a simple guy. Hasn’t shown any interest in anything… beyond the obvious.”
“Then the answer is food, Louisa. With the simple ones it’s always food or booze. And booze should be a last resort. You pay attention to what he orders and come back to me after. I’ll let you know what to recommend to him next time.”
“Good thinking, Genny,” she said.
“The benefit of years, Louisa. Anyone else? No? Okay, then. Keep your eyes open, remember to keep their secrets, but don’t keep anything from me that I ought to know. I’ll see you all tomorrow morning.”
The girls stood to scurry off to their assignments, but against her better judgment, Genara caught Louisa’s arm.
“Just a moment,” she said. “I want a word with you.”
“Something wrong?” Louisa asked as the others filed out, leaving them alone.
“Nothing you did wrong, Lou. It’s something I’m about to ask you.”
“What is it?”
“This Elite fellow. Is he the bragging type?”
“All the soldiers are.”
“Okay… Okay, Lou. Now, this stays between you and me. I don’t want you to press him. But if he runs his mouth about his current mission, and it’s that he’s after a man… I want you to tell me what he says.”
“Genny, that’s—”
“I know what it is, Lou. You keep it between us, and if it gets out I’ll take responsibility.”
“What’s this about, Genny?”
“You remember a few mornings ago, when the Elites stormed in and had a word with me?”
“Sure. It woke me up.”
“My guest for the night was the man they’re after. I’d like to know how that search is going, if only to be prepared for when they come knocking again.”
“Sure thing, Genny. I’ll let you know what he says.”
“Again, don’t press him. I don’t need him getting suspicious or you getting in trouble.”
“Don’t worry about it. See you tomorrow.”
Louisa stepped into the dining room, and for a moment, Genara was alone with her thoughts. That was something she’d been hoping to avoid. Lately her thoughts had not been kind to her, tying her head in knots and generally keeping her up at night. It was a relief, then, when Klye knocked at the door.
“Genara. Are you decent?” he asked.
“As decent as anyone gets in the Den,” she replied, tugging her sleeves and straightening her skirt.
He opened the door and stepped inside.
“I’m pleased to have you back. You’d be surprised how quickly the frayed ends begin to show when you aren’t about. I trust the family was well?”
“Brother has plenty of work. It will be years before they’ve replaced the last brick. Funny how peace did more damage to our capital than war ever did.”
“Mmm. No doubt we’ll be back to war soon enough. On that point, I wanted to have a word with you. Have you much insight into Tresson culture and behavior?”
“Not yet. The new girls from down south keep to themselves. We’ll have to break them of that habit if they hope to earn as well as the rest of us. I understand we trea
t our women a bit better up here than they do down there.”
“That is precisely the sort of thing I wish to know. There will be another farcical diplomatic delegation in a few weeks. I understand word of our superior service has reached them, so I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if we were to attract some of the mysterious devils. I don’t mind taking their money after how long they’ve been spilling our blood, but if they are liable to cause trouble or act in an ungentlemanly manner, I would just as soon turn them away.”
Genara nodded. “I’ll make a point of discussing it with them.”
“Good, good.” He turned to leave, but paused. “Oh. You’d mentioned your brother, but not your father. Is he well?”
“Well enough. He had a moment. When I was telling him about what had sent me north, he seemed certain he knew the man responsible.”
“In your father’s state, I don’t imagine this is the first tale he’s told of similar dubiousness.”
“You didn’t see his eyes, Klye. This was something from the old days. The days he’s always said were better off forgotten. It’s got my head full of questions. The sort Father can’t or won’t answer. And that just leaves the one man left to ask.”
“Best to make yourself comfortable with the mystery then. Only one person, if the word can rightly be applied, has ever entirely slipped the grasp of the Elite. So unless this man of yours is as skilled as the Red Shadow, it won’t be much longer before you’ll need to track down an unlabeled cell in the dungeon or an unmarked grave to ask your questions.”
“I know, Klye. I’ll try to put it out of my mind.”
“That would be wisest,” he said.
He held the door for her and the pair stepped out into the dining room. The busiest part of the night kept her mercifully occupied. When there were clients about, there was always a job to be done, though an untrained eye might have missed what she was up to. Dedicated as she was to maintaining civility, she kept a complex mental tally of drinks served, meals eaten, comments passed, and a thousand other little indicators of whether her customers or her girls were heading in a direction that might end poorly. If she noticed something of concern, she would gently steer matters into a more civil direction. She technically didn’t have the authority to deny service to a patron or throw him out, but she had the ear of both Klye and the doorman of the evening. For all intents and purposes, she was as much in command of the operation as Klye.
The Redemption of Desmeres Page 9