The Warder

by D K Williamson

The man sneered. “Of course not. Imagine Malig’s paranoia if he knew one of the key figures in bringing Harold to power was now financing King Lunacy’s attempt to reclaim the crown. That was the purpose of my involvement, keeping the source of the funds hidden. I am very good at my job.”

  “Can I see the records?”

  “You may, at least a portion of them. First though, I would know your name.”

  “I am Warder Dech of—”

  “Ah, I know of you,” Ludd said with a nod. “Warder Dech, once Dech Crouse. Your name surfaces with regularity in the stream of information. A man of honor in a despicable world by most accounts. I will divulge what I know of the plots Malig Tancar and Duke Philip have working if you agree to two conditions.”

  “And what are these conditions?”

  “First, you make it explicitly clear I am the man who compromised Malig’s plans in retribution for this evening’s actions. Whether you tell King Harold or Misters Leophric and Ives or both, I care not, but I want Malig to know. My work was to his benefit and he seeks to kill me? That, sir, is bad business.”

  Dech nodded. “Consider it done. The second condition?”

  “The source of the information concerning Duke Philip will not be divulged. I break my side of the agreement as my way of repaying Arataine for saving my life. I do so because I know an Arataine under Philip will have no Warder Dech serving her. Some of the information I will reveal to you shall remain in my possession, information that leads directly to me. You will be free to examine it, but you must give me your word my name does not leave your mouth or be scratched upon paper by your hand with regards to this matter.”

  “You have it.”

  “I will retrieve what you seek,” Ludd said as he came to his feet.

  “You keep it here?”

  Ludd smiled. “I do. Believe me when I tell you it is most difficult to recover if you are not me. Based on what occurred this night, I may need similar guards on my windows and doors. Perhaps actual guards as well.”

  Ludd returned within minutes and after clearing a few items from a table in front of Dech’s seat, placed a stack of materials before the warder. He placed another smaller collection next to the first.

  “The second pile stays here. The larger is yours. Ledgers, receipts, copies of old maps of Nevar, and correspondence,” Ludd said as he took his place opposite Dech.

  “Why Nevar and why old maps of the place?”

  “Specified in the contract. Not the entirety of the grand duchy, just the area known as the Dark Forest adjacent Arataine near the Brosalean. Also information concerning the Castle of the Dark Forest, damaged when taken in siege and battle over a century ago. It has been largely abandoned since and is apparently mostly a ruin now. Before you ask, no, I do not know why they sought this information.”

  “Why did Duke Philip seek this?”

  “Philip, no. Malig’s people sought it. Odd, yes?”

  “Yes. Was Philip aware of this?”

  “No. Each party had requirements and each requirement was met. I share no more than contractually agreed. Well, until assassins visit my home in the dark of night. At such a juncture, I deem it bad business and provide it to those that have my interests at heart… even if it is simply by circumstance or convergence. One should not be hasty to dismiss such events as random chance.”

  While inclined to agree, Dech said nothing and spent quite some time poring over the documents, enough to have an idea what each party sought. It was clear Philip intended to push Malig into invading from Byrmont while the exiled king’s plan appeared to enter Arataine from the forests in Nevar south of the Brosalean.

  “Interesting, yes?” Ludd asked when Dech looked up.

  “Quite,” Dech replied. “You have been most gracious in sharing this, but might I inquire about two other subjects?”

  “Certainly, though I may not answer.”

  “Fair enough. Have you heard of any incidents involving practitioners of derkunblod or libraries with works dealing with the subject?”

  “I have heard of the magic, but it is not my area of business. Can I ask why this is important?”

  “There have been numerous incidents recently. Murders, the destruction or theft of documents and scholarly works that deal with the magic. Not just in Arataine, but in Nevar and Byrmont as well.”

  “Is there a theory as to this campaign’s purpose other than suppressing knowledge of it?”

  “It is not my area either. I am merely gathering information for those that do possess the knowledge.”

  Ludd nodded and looked away in thought for several seconds. “Who stands to gain from suppression of such an obscure magic?”

  “Malig’s ally, Olk Mirkness.”

  “Mirkness?” he said with surprise. “I know the name, but he has long been absent from rumors. The dead often are. Are you sure it is him?”

  “I am sure of very little. If he is alive and is aiding Malig, how does derkunblod play in this?”

  Ludd shook his head. “I will make some subtle inquiries. Likely nothing your Rasimus or Leophric and Ives cannot do, but here in Marador I can acquire it faster. I will send anything I discover to the pair in Drumming.” He smiled mischievously before continuing. “It would please me to no end if it is something they do not know.”

  Dech smiled in return. “They will be overjoyed should that occur.”

  Ludd chuckled again. “It is quite late. I insist you stay here. I will have my people see to your horses.”

  “I must care for them. A requirement if I am to stay here.”

  “Ah, the order. Something I did not know. Then I will direct one of mine to show you the stables and your accommodations shall await you upon your return. For tonight at least, my home is yours.”

  . . .

  Chapter 18

  Dech crossed the border into Arataine and rode south to the city of Shadow on the eastern side of Banner Peak. Atop the steep mountain rested Sky Castle, the seat of Frederick, Duke of Endcaster. Holding a vital position in the northwest corner of Arataine, the peak and its fortification covered the marches with Byrmont and Marador. To the east ran an odd and imposing land feature called the Blade, a steep and high wall of rock heaved forth long ago that provided a natural barrier for much of Arataine’s northern border. Because of this, any Maradoran foray south would need to bypass this obstacle. Frederick’s family prided themselves on their reputation for having held the northwest marches since Arataine’s founding generations before.

  Shadow carried the sobriquet City of Long Nights, the high ground to the west bringing sundown early and casting its dark figure over the metropolis the source of the nickname.

  Within the duchy, Shadow was second only to Drumming in population and even though its proximity to the borders of Byrmont and Marador was only marginally less than Drumming’s, its cosmopolitan makeup was greater than any other Aratainian city save for the portion of Calad that rested within the kingdom.

  Making his way to the order house in Shadow, he rode into the small courtyard behind the building that served as training area and provided room for stabling. He dismounted and as he tethered his horses, he heard the sound of horseshoes on a cobbled surface.

  A mounted man rounded the building and rode into the courtyard, his long and ornate blue robe bunched up near his hips and bare, furry legs extending to the stirrups. Seeing Dech, he moved toward him and stopped alongside.

  “We have a situation I believe requires contrition knights,” the man said as he dismounted.

  “You’ve come to the right place then,” Dech replied.

  “Indeed. How many contrition knights are on duty here? We may need them all.”

  “I cannot say as I have just arrived. There may be as many as twenty or as few as three or four depending on patrol duties and schedules. Let us go see the order-captain.”

  The man tethered his horse a distance away from Dech’s and the pair walked toward the three-story order house constructed of dark brown st
one blocks.

  “I am Aril,” the man said, brushing at his robe. “A mage in Duke Frederick’s household. You are a warder, correct?”

  “Correct. I am Sir Dech.”

  The two entered the building and found an armored contrition knight sweeping the floor of the anteroom. The knight looked up and seemed mildly surprised to see the pair.

  “It is an honor, Warder,” the knight said. Dech recognized him as one of Bilden Fergus’ group who took the oath at the Fortress of the Order.

  “The honor is mine, Sir George,” Dech replied. “Is the order-captain here?”

  “He is. You flatter me by recalling my name.”

  “Is Vernon still the order-captain?”

  “Yes, Warder. The others here say he has always been this house’s order-captain.”

  “And always will be,” Dech said finishing an old joke among the order.

  “I’ll take you to his office,” George said with a smile.

  Though Dech would normally decline the action, decorum called for George’s introduction of the mage Aril since they did not know the purpose of his visit. Lack of familiarity required formality. The warder introduced Aril and the two followed the young man down a hall.

  The door to Order-Captain Vernon’s office was open and George stepped inside and announced, “Mage Aril of Duke Frederick’s retinue and Warder Dech to see you, Order-Captain.”

  The aged man behind the desk stood with some effort and gestured at the chairs in front of his desk. “Stay, if you will, Sir George,” he said in a strong and gravelly voice. Looking at Aril, he said, “There is crisis requiring our aid?”

  “Is my concern that apparent?” Aril replied.

  Vernon smiled, the ancient scar that traced a line down the right side of his face standing out. “Barely, but I have ages of experience. A gift of the old. What do you require?”

  “I am not as well-versed in contrition knight capabilities as I should be, so I must ask: can you aid me in dealing with a siphon mage?”

  Vernon scowled. “A siphon? I’ve not heard of that sort in years, but yes, we can aid you. We must if you require our skills.”

  “So you’ve dealt with such a foe?”

  “I have… thirty years past.” Vernon looked hopefully at Dech.

  The warder shook his head in reply.

  “Then I’m the only one,” Vernon said in a troubled tone. “Knowledge helps, but you’ll need us. Any being that chooses to become a siphon is dangerous. Save for druids, never heard of one not turning to draw from sentient beings.” He leaned on his desk and looked to Sir George. “Tell all of the brothers present to prepare for action save for Sir Clark. His injuries will not permit him to help with this. Tell Sir Tucker to equip his arbalest.”

  George gestured an acknowledgement with a hand and moved out smartly.

  The order-captain lowered himself into his chair with a quiet grunt. “Detail the situation for us,” he said.

  From somewhere within the building a deep voice bellowed, “To arms, lads! Full gear.”

  Aril briefly looked over his shoulder at the call before beginning. “A report was made to the town guard that a man was seen dragging a young woman down an alley near the marketplace to the east of here. Her screams drew looks. Four guards followed the trail and learned where the man went. They pursued and found him carrying her down the steps into the area locals call the sump.” Aril glanced at Dech to see if he followed. “This is an area where a drainage canal once ran, but canals outside the city and sewers underground replaced it long ago. Since then, it has been used by those in the lowest portion of society as dwelling space.

  “This man ran down a narrow street and entered a doorway. When the guards got there, they found the door barred and they forced it open. The first man to enter was killed by a spell that knocked him down causing him to strike his head. The man behind him was staggered by it. Realizing they faced a mage, the two unharmed guards were able to extricate their wounded comrade and seek help. More town guards, a trio of Duke Frederick’s knights, and a clergyman sought to engage this mage and were able to make entry, but ultimately fared worse than the initial group. They left four inside who are presumed dead and had another four injured. This prompted them to call for a mage.”

  “That would be you,” Dech said.

  “It would. When I arrived, I found the mage had warded the entrance, but I am confident I can remove it. I was able to look inside and could see the young woman he abducted was the sixth such person he had victimized. They lie conscious and eyes open, but in repose and seemingly unaware. It is as described in manuals of the arcane arts. The mage is undoubtedly a siphon.”

  “I agree,” Vernon said. “That sounds exactly the same as my experience.”

  “He draws from living creatures,” Dech said. “In this case humans.”

  “Five humans and a dwarf,” Aril said, “but you are essentially correct. Six sentient beings.”

  Vernon growled with a look of angry disgust.

  Aril nodded. “With six persons to draw from it will be difficult to subdue him and given that he is cornered, he may draw heavily from his victims. It seems he has no intention of surrendering or even negotiating. Given the form of magic he is practicing and his use of human and dwarvan sources, he would certainly face the gallows if he did surrender.”

  “Let’s take this outside,” Vernon said. “We’ll muster and strategize.”

  The order-captain struggled to his feet, declining assistance from Aril. Despite obvious pain, the old man led them outside at a quick pace. They found four knights in the courtyard already.

  “Mounts, Order-Captain?” a contrition knight with a bandage-wrapped head asked from the stable.

  “No, Sir Clark. There is a crowd there already I’d hazard. Horses would just make it worse. No point in making a narrow street even smaller.”

  Dech walked to his horses to equip his helm, Aril going with him.

  “You have knowledge of siphons. Is this something the order teaches?” Aril asked as Dech withdrew his helm from the packsaddle on Otto’s back.

  “It is,” Dech replied. “We may be called upon to deal with anything from conventional battle to pursuing highwaymen, or fighting were-creatures, vampyrs, or rogue mages. But training only goes so far. For those of us with no experience dealing with a siphon, Vernon’s knowledge will be of immense help.”

  “I believe it will. It is my understanding you contrition knights wear amulets or medallions to counter magics.”

  “We do,” Dech said securing the bag on Otto’s packsaddle, “but our medallions are configured to counter those forms that draw from the Font.”

  Aril thought for a moment before replying. “As you know, siphon magic draws from living creatures, but your wards should provide some counter. It is a similar magic, but draws directly from a source without the transit from the Flint plane. I hope it will be enough.”

  “As do we all.”

  Other contrition knights exited the order house as Dech and Aril rejoined the gathering.

  “Will you be leading us?” one of the knights said to Order-Captain Vernon.

  “No. Warder Dech will and he doesn’t need me hovering over his shoulder or offering useless advice.”

  “You’ll hear no objection from me,” Dech offered. “You still serve.”

  Vernon dipped his head at Dech’s compliment. “Still serving, but not in the field, Warder Dech. Still serving a purpose even if I can barely ride a horse anymore. Sir Clark and I will man the order house. Before you set out we will create a basic plan, but don’t expect it to survive beyond the doorway into this mage’s lair.” Vernon pointed at Aril. “Based on what you know of this mage you face, how advanced is he in skill?”

  “I suspect the siphon is relatively new to his craft and form. He will need to be close to his sources in order to produce powerful spells.”

  Vernon nodded. “How close?”

  “I am speculating, but a few paces I estimate
. From what I saw, he did not range far from the victims.”

  “What harm might be done to the victims if we were to move them?” George asked.

  The order-captain smiled at the young knight’s instincts. “None. That is what I suggest you try. Make entry with all the aid our mage friend here can provide. Some of you must occupy the siphon while others pull those poor souls clear.”

  “Why then am I carrying this?” a tall, broad, ginger-haired knight said hefting a heavy crossbow with a grin. His was the bellowing voice they had heard earlier.

  Vernon smiled with hard eyes. “You carry it because you have the most skill and if that siphon lowers his guard even the slightest, you use that skill to place a bolt in his head. Any more questions, Section-Leader Tucker?”

  “Not a one,” the big knight said with a determined smile.

  “Siphons can cast the same spells as most mages,” Vernon continued, “but where they excel is here,” he said with a tap on the side of his head. “They’ll get in here if they can. Fright, dread, panic, that’s what they like to sow. It’s because they draw from mortal beings like us it works so well for them, or so I was told long ago. But fear, dread, and panic is something we all know like an old friend. From veteran knights like Tucker and Dech to men fresh from the oath taking like George, each of us knows how to conduct ourselves. Face fear head on and know the dread and panic that chills your backbone is a lie.”

  Aril nodded. “While I have never dealt with a siphon, I do know dreiden spells as you described are best resisted by those of strong will and courage.”

  “We have some of those sorts around here somewhere,” Tucker said eliciting a laugh from the gathering.

  “Focus is the key,” Dech said. “Concentrate on your duty or goal, not the fear.”

  “Just as they taught us at the Fortress,” George said.

  “Exactly right,” Vernon agreed. “Go now, the sooner those people are free, the better. May the Creator go with you.”

  Dech led six contrition knights out with Aril walking alongside. Tucker soon joined them.

  “Been years since we last went into harm’s way together,” the big knight said.