The Great Northern War (The Portal Wars Saga Book 2)

by Wisher, James E

  Father leapt to his feet and slammed his fists on the table. “Impossible! If the sons of whores were operating out of my town, I’d know.”

  Otto struggled to keep his voice even. He doubted his father went into town more than five times a year. How did he expect to keep track of what was happening?

  “According to the bandit I interrogated, the spy has disguised himself as a traveling tinker. The sort of person you’d never give a second thought about coming and going.”

  The three men around the table shared looks.

  “Does that mean something to you?” Otto asked.

  “A tinkerer arrived in town yesterday,” Stephan said. “Griswalda and I were out shopping and some of the items on his cart caught her eye. I thought nothing of it at the time, but he was a big, bearded man, certainly big enough to be from Straken.”

  Father looked like he could have happily caved Stephan’s head in. It was a nice change of pace to have that anger directed at someone else. “It didn’t occur to you to mention that given everything that was happening?”

  “There are plenty of big, bearded Garenlanders as well, Father,” Stephan said, as if a logical argument had ever worked on Father.

  “Perhaps, my lords, we should go arrest this tinker and find out for sure who he is,” Graves said.

  “My men and I can handle it if you’d like, Father,” Otto said. It was a twist of the dagger more than anything, but he just couldn’t resist.

  “I think not.” Father stood and said, “Assemble the garrison, Graves. We move as soon as they’re ready. Otto, you and whoever you brought can stay out of the way. If we find anything, I’ll let you know.”

  Otto bowed and took his leave. As he walked out of the keep, his mind raced. He needed to keep Father from killing the spy long enough to extract whatever he knew about the rest of Straken’s activities. If Father wanted to torture him to death after that, he was welcome.

  The moment he was outside he caught Hans’s eye and made a circle with his finger. The sergeant and his men quickly gathered around Otto.

  “Lord Shenk?” Hans asked.

  “Father’s going after the spy. He’s ordered me to keep out of it. That said, we need to be near enough that we can search his property and hopefully keep the man alive long enough to question.”

  Hans nodded. “Orders?”

  “I wish I had some. We’ll follow the garrison, keep back, and stay alert. If the tinker is really a Straken spy, he might have a few surprises in store.”

  Otto offered up a silent prayer to any angel or demon willing to listen that Father would keep his temper under control. The last thing Otto had time for was a complete reset of his search.

  Chapter 14

  After their harrowing visit with the Riverman, Allen had no desire to work in the tavern. He went directly to bed and stared at the dark ceiling. After all the years he’d known the Riverman, he never guessed he was anything but an eccentric hermit who liked living by the water. Instead he turned out to be some kind of monster, albeit a monster that saved Allen’s life. If you had to deal with monsters, that was the best sort.

  He couldn’t have said how long it took him to finally fall asleep, but he woke up far too soon. When it became clear he wasn’t going to sleep anymore, Allen got up, dressed, and went out into the common room. Ulf was already up and preparing something on the stove. It smelled better than his usual concoctions.

  Ulf looked up from the pot he was stirring. “You’re up early.”

  “We’ve got another full day. The tavern will have to close for today. I need you with me for this one.”

  Ulf nodded. He never argued with Allen. Granted, he only gained the ability to speak a little while ago, but even so, Allen appreciated the silent support.

  “What are you cooking, some sort of alchemy potion?”

  “Tea. Want a cup?”

  Allen grinned. “Sure. I’ll get the mugs.”

  He fetched a pair of tin cups from behind the bar along with a bottle of brandy. Ulf poured the tea through a strainer into both cups and Allen added an unhealthy dose of brandy to his own. Despite working in a tavern, he’d never seen his silent barman take so much as a sip of alcohol.

  When he’d finished the slightly bitter, but still tasty drink Allen said, “We’re going up against a smuggling gang. Got any tricks we can use to reduce their numbers?”

  “How many are there?” Ulf asked.

  “No idea, but I’ll wager it’s more than the four of us can handle in a fair fight. I thought maybe some of that stuff you used to put out the guards last summer. If you can dart a few of them before they know we’re there, it would even the odds.”

  “I have a spare vial of sleep potion, but only six darts. If we need more than that…”

  “It’ll be enough, hopefully.”

  Aride that was supposed to be ten miles ended up taking four hours for Allen and his companions. First they had to go an extra mile downstream to find a ford, then they had to ride back on the opposite side where there were no roads and barely a dirt path, and finally they ended up turning away from the river proper and traveling most of another mile through thick undergrowth along a narrow but deep offshoot of the main river.

  But now, at last, they were gathered twenty yards from the smugglers’ camp. The sun was low in the sky and soon it would be dark. They couldn’t hit the camp in broad daylight. Allen counted fifteen men gathered around a bubbling pot waiting for dinner. A flat-bottom barge was tied up at the edge of the firelight. Dozens of boxes littered its deck.

  The smugglers were as motley a collection of scoundrels as you could hope to find. All of them would have looked right at home in Crane’s band of cutthroats had they still been among the living. They were all dressed in battered leathers and had at least two weapons jutting from their belts. They looked more like pirates than smugglers.

  Not that they couldn’t do a little thieving when time allowed. Allen didn’t know them well enough to guess how they spent their free time. Nor did he want to. He just wanted to know about Anders. If he went to all this trouble and these slobs didn’t have any useful information, he was going to be pissed.

  Erin crawled over beside him. “Even if your friend takes out six of them, there’s still no way we can handle nine on our own.”

  Her voice was tight and anxious, and he didn’t blame her. “We’ll think of something.”

  “I already have,” Ulf whispered. He pointed at a branch hanging over the camp. “If I climb up there, I can pour the potion into their stew. That’ll get all of them at once.”

  Allen eyed the branch and frowned. It looked awfully skinny. “You really think it’ll hold your weight?”

  “I think we have limited options if we want to do this without getting killed.”

  Allen couldn’t argue with that. “Good luck.”

  Ulf slid away from them and crawled out of sight toward the tree’s base. He didn’t make a sound as he slipped through the undergrowth. Allen shook his head. His friend was a man of many hidden talents. Hopefully his aim was as good as his stealth.

  As Ulf made his way to the tree, Allen tried to listen to the smugglers’ chatter. He picked up a word here and there, but the rush of the river drowned out most of it. What he did hear was disjointed and made no sense. Erin and Eric had shifted their crossbows into position just in case this went badly. Allen wished he thought to bring one of his own, but he had little experience with the weapons and would probably just end up missing anyway.

  Time seemed to crawl as they waited, but finally he spotted Ulf inching his way out across the limb. The further out he went, the more it bent, but there were no cracks, thank heaven. Ulf eased three-quarters of the way out on the branch and waited.

  The bearded fellow tending the pot finally turned away to get something from a basket behind him. The moment he did, Ulf poured the potion. Only a few drops went wide.

  Allen restrained a victory cry and waited with bated breath for dinner to be s
erved.

  Fortunately, he didn’t have long to wait. After a final sprinkle of salt, the smugglers lined up, each with his or her own bowl, to be served. The cook ladled thick, brown stew into each bowl and they settled in to eat. Before, when Ulf darted someone, the poison kicked in immediately. Allen wasn’t sure how long they’d have to wait for it to work when it was eaten.

  The answer came ten minutes later when the first person clutched his stomach, groaned, and fell over, unconscious. His companions had just time enough to be concerned when they started falling over as well. The cook was the last to go but go he did.

  Ulf dropped down from the branch and landed between the fire and an unconscious smuggler. He reached down and touched the side of the woman’s neck. “She’s alive.”

  Allen blew out a sigh. It would’ve defeated the purpose if he’d killed them all. Allen needed answers, not bodies. He stood and his back popped. Lying on the forest floor wasn’t the most comfortable thing in the world. He couldn’t wait to get back to the city. Roughing it was not for him.

  The three of them joined Ulf in the clearing. Allen looked around and asked, “How long will they be out?”

  “Not long,” Ulf said. “The potion isn’t as effective when eaten.”

  “What the hell are we going to do when they all wake up?” Eric’s voice was shrill with fear.

  Before Allen could respond a voice from the barge said, “Hey! Where’s our food?”

  “Damn the luck.” Allen bent down and grabbed two bowls. “You two follow me. As soon as you see the boat guards, let ’em have it.”

  The mercenaries nodded and hefted their crossbows.

  Allen coarsened his voice and said, “I’m comin’. Keep your pants on.”

  He walked over, holding the bowls in front of him. Standing in the front of the barge was a tall, slim man with a scar across his face. The smuggler looked down at Allen. “Who the hell—“

  The rest of his question was cut off when Erin fired her crossbow. The bolt drove into his neck and came out the other side.

  “Bart!” A woman came running toward the fallen man.

  Eric fired but only grazed her side.

  The woman snarled and pulled a hand axe from her belt.

  Allen tossed the bowls and drew his sword.

  He turned aside the first heavy blow from the axe. The female smuggler was strong if not skilled.

  Behind him Eric and Erin rushed to reload their crossbows.

  Allen turned aside another strike and his counterthrust took her in the left shoulder. It was a deep wound, but she was so enraged she didn’t seem to notice.

  He barely dodged a backhand slice before lunging in again. His blade found her stomach this time and she collapsed.

  Behind him one of the crossbows fired again.

  Someone groaned further down the barge. Partially hidden by the crates was a third man, a throwing knife at his feet. Hopefully he was the last guard.

  They made a quick sweep of the barge while the female smuggler bled out. Looked like they were in the clear.

  “Sorry about that first shot,” Eric said. “When I saw it was a woman I flinched.”

  Allen shrugged. “All’s well that ends well as the saying goes. Let’s grab some rope and get the others tied up before they come to.”

  When they got back to camp with two coils of heavy hemp rope, they found Ulf already tying up his third smuggler with a thinner cord he’d found in the smugglers’ supplies. The three of them joined in and before the first person came moaning back to consciousness, they had them all bound and stripped of weapons.

  “They’ll need a little while to recover before you’ll get any useful information,” Ulf said.

  “Keep an eye on them.” Allen grabbed a burning brand from the fire. “I’m going to take a closer look at their merchandise.”

  He motioned for Eric to join him. The younger man set his crossbow down and the two of them returned to the barge. It was easier to see with the makeshift torch to light their way. The crates were simple wooden boxes without merchants’ marks on them. Not that it meant much. If they were shipping stolen goods it was only natural that they’d transfer the items to unmarked crates.

  “Pry the top off one,” Allen said.

  Eric drew his dagger and set to work. The lid was attached very well and it took a few seconds to get it off. A dozen long items wrapped in oilcloth filled the crate. Allen handed Eric his torch and pulled one out. It was clearly a sword. Fine steel gleamed in the torchlight.

  The weapon had a round pommel, an upswept guard, and an oak hilt. It was a common design in Garen, one you could buy from any of a dozen forges. It certainly wasn’t something you’d need to smuggle. There weren’t even any internal taxes on blades.

  It took about ten minutes to check the rest of the crates. They all held either swords or armor, all in a common style, and none of any great value. There was exactly nothing remarkable about these items beyond the fact that they were on a smuggler’s ship.

  What was the point?

  “They’re about ready,” Ulf called.

  It was time to find out.

  Allen and Eric returned to the camp and Allen brought the sword with him. The smugglers were all sitting up and looking more or less alert. A couple of the brighter-eyed ones were staring holes in Ulf and Erin.

  Well, no sense beating around the bush. “Who’s in charge here?” Allen asked.

  His question was met with silence, so Allen chose one of the smugglers at random and crouched down in front of him. “Who are you working for and what are you doing with these weapons?”

  The man bared a mouthful of rotten teeth. “I don’t know anything.”

  Allen straightened and said, “That’s unfortunate.”

  A casual backhand swing with the sword cut the unfortunate smuggler’s head half off.

  Dead silence filled the clearing.

  Allen looked all around. “Now that we’re all clear on what happens to those who don’t know anything, I’ll try again. Who are you working for and what are you doing with these weapons?”

  The smugglers were all looking at each other. Allen took that to be a good sign. Hopefully one of them would speak up and answer his question.

  Half a minute passed and it became clear his hopes would not be answered. He chose another smuggler at random, a woman this time, and tapped her on the shoulder with his bloody sword. She looked up at him with fear in her eyes.

  “Nothing to say?” Allen asked.

  “Okay, look. We were hired to move the merchandise downriver to the border. We were told someone would meet us there and we’d get paid the rest of our gold. It was supposed to be a simple job, easy money.”

  If they kept to the river, the only border they would reach was Lasil’s. The question was, why did anyone need to use smugglers to move merchandise there? Garenland was still on reasonably good terms with them, at least compared to some of the other countries. It didn’t make sense.

  “Who hired you?” Allen asked.

  “I don’t know who they are, I swear,” the woman said. “We’ve delivered small loads for them before. I think they might be thieves, but I can’t prove it.”

  If the merchandise came from thieves, it made more sense that they needed to use smugglers. It shouldn’t be too hard to figure out which merchant had a load of swords and armor stolen lately.

  Now he just had to decide what to do with the smugglers. Marching them back to the city in the dark didn’t especially appeal to Allen. Besides, the watch would only hang them anyways.

  A bloody few minutes’ work and the smugglers were all dealt with. Hopefully he had enough information now to satisfy Lord Shenk. As soon as he thought it, Allen knew it wasn’t going to be enough. He needed to hunt the thieves down and find out if they were involved in Anders’s blackmail scheme.

  But tomorrow would be soon enough for that. Right now, he needed to get home and get a drink.

  Chapter 15

  Otto
and his squad tagged along behind as Father and Stephan led twenty men, half the castle garrison, out the front gate toward Castle Town. Some might think twenty men was excessive to capture a single target, but Otto was relieved. If Father was bringing this many men, he had to be hoping the spy would see them and simply surrender. Of course, depending on how devoted he was to Straken’s cause or how well he knew Father’s reputation, he might kill himself as soon as he saw them coming.

  That would be the worst-case scenario. Otto had learned a great deal of magic in the past year, but speaking to the dead was still beyond him, assuming such a thing was even possible.

  At least they’d chosen a good time to make their move. It would be hours before anyone returned from the orchard. If there was a battle, they wouldn’t have to worry about anyone getting hurt. Not that Father or Stephan was apt to give a commoner a second thought if they got in the way.

  When they reached the main street, Stephan pointed left and the group turned.

  Otto frowned. The town market was the other way. Surely the tinker would have set up there to avoid drawing attention. He needed to have a better look around.

  “Hold a moment, Hans.” Otto stopped and closed his eyes. A moment later his sight flew free and over the rooftops. From on high it wasn’t hard to spot a solitary covered wagon at the edge of the village. A mule was cropping grass twenty feet away. It was a very idyllic scene. Hardly the sort of place you’d expect to find an enemy of the state.

  Otto pushed his sight through the canvas side of the wagon. Inside was a collection of pots, pans, and other odds and ends. A small anvil and a collection of tools sat in one corner, just as neat and tidy as you could hope for. What was missing was a big man with a beard.

  Where the hell was the tinker?

  “Your father and his soldiers are getting further away, my lord,” Hans said.

  Otto ignored him. Finding the tinker was what mattered. Where would he be if he wasn’t at his wagon?