The Agent

by Brock E. Deskins

  “I told you before, The Guild controls the roads now, and every soldier and Guild member from here to Urqua is looking for us.”

  “I could use my magic to get us past them.”

  “Do you have that much faith in it that you could fool everyone we come across?”

  “No, I guess not,” Adam relented.

  “I didn’t think so.”

  “Can you at least tell me where we are going? I don’t think anyone is going to find us up here and force me to reveal your great, secret plan.”

  “If you have the vaguest concept of geography then you should know where we’re going,” Garran replied.

  “Arnao?”

  “It appears you studied more than just useless scripture.”

  “Scripture is far from useless. It teaches compassion and helps guide us to a fulfilling and meaningful life. It teaches us how to find strength from outside ourselves when we think we are too weak or exhausted to go on.”

  “You know what I find outside of myself? People I want to either screw or punch in the throat.”

  Adam glanced at his shuffling feet and mumbled, “I don’t want to know which one of those I am.”

  “It varies by the hour.”

  “I cannot imagine why it is you seem to have such a hard time making friends. You’re so open and personable.”

  “I know, right?” Garran stopped, sniffed the air, and worked his jaw around as if to unplug a stuffed up ear.

  Adam pulled up short and looked around. “What is it? Are we in danger?”

  Garran threw his pack to the ground began pulling out its contents. “A witch’s squall is coming. Get your shelter half out. We only have a few minutes before the storm hits.”

  Adam unshouldered his pack and set it down as he gazed up at the patchy altocumulus clouds. “It doesn’t look bad to me.”

  “Remember what I said about trusting me?”

  An ominous rumble punctuated Garran’s point, and Adam began unpacking the oiled canvas shelter. As he pulled out his half of the tent, shadows turned the pristine snow grey, and dark clouds with evil intent rolled over the tops of the peaks above of them.

  Garran pointed to a large slab of stone poking up through the snow next to a rocky overhang. “We’ll set up over there.”

  The two men grabbed up their gear and raced to the escarpment’s sheltering base. It only took a few minutes to erect the tent, but the wind cast coin-sized snowflakes down upon them even before the storm clouds completely blotted out the sky above.

  Garran and Adam clamored inside just as the snowflakes grew to the size of a child’s palm. Fierce wind shook the tent and slammed the flakes into the canvas like a swarm of angry bees. Had they not been on the leeward side of the rocky bluff, the gusts would have likely uprooted the tent and flung it away, leaving the men to face the storm’s wrath unprotected. The tent had a canvas floor, but Garran spread one of the wool blankets out and lay atop it.

  “What are you doing?” Adam asked.

  “The rock is going to radiate the cold. We’ll stay warmer by insulating the floor and using your blanket to cover ourselves.”

  Adam accepted Garran’s explanation with some reservation and spread his blanket out to cover them both. Garran pressed up close to him and draped an arm over his shoulder.

  “Do you have to get so close?”

  “We need to use our body heat to keep warm; otherwise we’re going to freeze to death. It’s perfectly natural,” Garran assured him.

  Adam shifted uncomfortably. “I hope that’s your weapon handle jabbing me.”

  “Perfectly natural,” Garran whispered sleepily.

  “I swear to God, I better wake up with ever last bit of my virginity intact, or you won’t have to worry about trouser failure ever again.”

  Garran responded by snoring loudly. Adam Stayed awake for hours. He feared leaving himself vulnerable, particularly when Garran began moaning a woman’s name in his sleep and pressed even closer. Also concerned that the falling snow would collapse their flimsy shelter, he frequently stabbed at the sides of the tent with a stick to knock the snow off before it could accumulate an unbearable weight.

  He did not relax his vigil until the snow stopped falling and Garran resumed a more peaceful sleep. It was a battle he could not maintain forever, and exhaustion finally claimed its victory around midnight. Even then, restful sleep eluded him. Assassins stalked him through the monastery’s halls, and the faces of his family haunted him. He battled his nightmares throughout the night until movement inside the tent woke him.

  Adam felt Garran’s back pressed against him. “What are you doing?”

  “Honing my blade.”

  “Why are doing that now—”

  Adam flung the blanket away, scampered from the tent with great haste, and stood just outside. “That is repugnant!”

  “No, it’s a euphemism.”

  “Every time I think you could not possibly be more disgusting, you go and outdo yourself!” he raged. “Why in the hell are you masturbating?”

  “Because you set some rather clear boundaries last night, boundaries I thought you would appreciate me respecting!” Garran shouted back. “Instead, you just yell and criticize me without a word of thanks for my consideration.”

  “Thank you?” Adam asked incredulously.

  “You’re welcome. Was that so hard?”

  “I am not thanking you for not raping me in my sleep!”

  Garran crawled from the tent. It’s not rape.”

  “It most certainly is!”

  Garran rolled his eyes. “Says who?”

  “Says more than three hundred years of established law in seven of the nine kingdoms, you degenerate halfwit!”

  Garran’s lips twisted into a crooked line. “Oh. Well, there has to be a loophole in that somewhere. There’s always a loophole.”

  Adam tightened his hands on fists and held them at his sides. “There is no hole, loop or otherwise, else I am sure you would have raped it.”

  “Okay, now you’re just being mean.”

  “I am not being mean, I am being honest.”

  “Well…”

  “Well, what?”

  “My day of reckoning with the Almighty is going to be a lot more awkward than I thought. Wait, what if a man and a woman are both really drunk. They go up to a room and get into bed. Neither of them is sure who passed out first. Is it still rape?

  “Of course it is.”

  “But who’s the rapist?”

  “You are.”

  “Why?” Garran demanded.

  “Because you are a man.”

  Garran crossed his arms. “Well that’s not fair.”

  “Life isn’t fair! If it was, my family would not be dead and my future would not rely on an agent who is an alcoholic, drug-abusing, reprobate. He would be less of a scoundrel and more like—”

  “Gregor? Yeah, he’s a real peach.”

  “There are plenty of options between Gregor and a reprobate who feels the need to abuse himself while within the confines of a very cramped tent!”

  “I have a medical condition that if not relived causes me a great deal of discomfort and makes marching through the snow all but unbearable!”

  “You would not have that problem if you did not lace your rancid tobacco twists with rapture root.”

  “Then I would have other problems that are harder to deal with. Okay, maybe not harder but certainly more difficult.”

  Adam threw up his hands and stormed away. “I give up.”

  “Wait! Which two?”

  Adam stopped and turned around. “Which two what?”

  “You said it was against the law in all but two of the kingdoms. Which two—you know—just so I know where I stand and can make sure I abide by the law?”

  Adam glared, shook his head, and took several deep breaths in an effort to calm his mounting frustration.

  A voice cut through the tense silence. “I hate to break up your little lovers’ spat, but y
ou’re trespassing, and we don’t take kindly to trespassers.”

  Garran and Adam turned toward the unexpected voice and saw an enormous man who appeared to be nearly the size of the bear whose skin he wore. The fur was stark white and still possessed the head, which the man wore as hood or helmet. He rested his hands on the pommel of an equally impressive two-hand sword, its tip buried in the two feet of snow yet still displaying a good, four feet of shining steel.

  Adam inched closer to Garran who was making a show of keeping his hands away from his weapons. “Um, you said we?” Adam asked.

  The man jerked his chin. A thin layer of snow bulged upward as several men emerged from beneath it. Two wore furs similar to the first man, and sheepskins bleached white covered four others. Each held large and lethal weapons in mittened hands.

  “Almighty preserve us,” Adam whispered in quick prayer. “Can you fight them?”

  Garran shrugged. “Sure, but doing so might result in a rather quick and inglorious end to our lives.”

  “You are transcended. I thought this was what you were supposed to be made for?”

  “I never said I was a good one. It’s kind of touchy, and I can’t always control it.”

  “Why am I not surprised? Lack of control seems to be your specialty.”

  “Criticism seems to be yours. Besides, it would ruin our diplomatic mission before it even started, so why don’t you shut up and let me do my job?”

  Adam looked both surprised and doubtful. “You planned this?”

  “How many times do I have to tell you, I plan everything.”

  The Hillman interrupted their banter. “What are you two scrawny flatlanders doing here?”

  “Looking for you, actually,” Garran answered.

  “Why would you be looking for us? I’ve got a wife and near fifty sheep. I’m too exhausted to take on a flatland fancy boy.”

  Garran smiled as the Hillmen laughed. “We need to speak to your laird on a matter of diplomatic urgency.”

  “Well, as warden leader, I can speak on Laird Melkior’s behalf and give you his official diplomatic response.” The Hillman turned his back on them, bent slightly at the waist, and loudly broke wind.

  “I am glad I let you do the talking,” Adam said as he watched the band of men laugh uproariously. “These are truly your people.”

  “I know, right? This guy’s a hoot. This might be easier than I thought.” Garran spoke to the warden leader once more. “Would Melkior and the rest of your clan be so quick to crap on the chance at reclaiming your ancestral lands?”

  Their reaction to his words was not quite what Garran had expected. The Hillmen’s faces colored and scowled, and the warden leader plowed through the knee-deep snow. The man was even bigger and more terrifying up close. He reached out an arm as thick as Adam’s leg, grabbed Garran by the front of his coat, and lifted him off the ground.

  “You done gone and ruined the good mood the fresh snow put me in by bringing up such a sensitive subject.”

  Garran clasped his hands around the Hillman’s wrist and croaked, “This is the rightful King of Anatolia!”

  The giant of a man looked at Adam and flung Garran several feet into the snow. “Well now, I might just make room for one more in my haram after all.”

  Garran stood and brushed away the snow now covering most of his body. “Before you do, I think you should bring us to your laird. It would be a shame to sully the chance at reclaiming what is rightfully yours.”

  The man looked between Adam and Garran and slowly nodded. “All right, but if this turns out to be a load of sheep dung, I’m going to sully a lot more than a diplomatic opportunity.”

  “Fair enough.” Garran extended his hand. “Garran Holt, senior agent assigned to Prince Adam Altena.”

  “Wait,” Adam said, “I’m not in a position to—”

  “To explain himself to a bunch of soldiers like us,” Garran cut in.

  The Hillman’s enormous mitten engulfed Garran’s hand. “Albrekt, squad leader of this sheep-buggering band of wardens. All right, we’ll take you to say your words to Melkior, but don’t expect him to be as warm and welcoming as me.”

  Adam turned to Garran as they began packing up their tent and supplies. “That was warm and welcoming? I nearly pissed myself when he hefted you like a child.”

  “They didn’t kill us outright, which I half expected, so yeah, Albrekt seems to be a bit of a big softy.”

  “Was dropping us in the laps of the people who hate us more than anyone alive part of your plan?”

  “Of course.”

  “I don’t know if you are insane or just full of crap.”

  “Why can’t I be both? Is it some sort of insecurity that drives you to assume such limits in others?”

  “I—I have no answer for that.”

  “Because it hits close to home. Perhaps you should spend the time traveling to their winter homestead reflecting on it.”

  “I have no answer because the stupidity of it baffles all logic and reason!”

  Garran winked. “Does it?”

  “Yes!”

  “Almighty, you two bicker like an old married couple!” Albrekt shouted.

  “I know, right?” Garran responded. “He puts out like a sour old house mouse too.”

  Albrekt and his fellow Hillmen laughed. Adam’s face colored as he did his best to ignore the crude savages, amongst whom he counted Garran.

  CHAPTER 10

  Bjarne plodded after his older brother, his snowshoes kicking up compressed clods of snow with every step. “Aage, we’re getting too far from the winter stead. We’ll barely make it back before dark if we turn around right now.”

  Aage was fourteen and already bigger than most grown flatlanders. He was almost as tall as many of the adult Hillman but still lacked their sizable mass.

  “It will be dark before we get there if you don’t stop complaining and hurry up,” Aage said, the butt of his spear marking time with his steps.

  “I still don’t understand why we have to go so far just for some stupid, shiny rocks.”

  “They are crystals, and the clearest I have ever seen. They will look beautiful woven into Frieda’s hair. She’ll have to ask me to the winter dance if I get them for her.”

  “You’re probably going to be the next laird. Half of the girls in the steading want to ask you to the stupid dance,” Bjarne panted as the slope climbed steadily upward.

  “Yeah, but Frieda is particular. I have to practically break my neck trying to impress her enough to pay any attention to me.”

  “That is why you want her, stupid, and she knows it. That’s why she pretends she doesn’t care. I’m only twelve and I understand that about girls.”

  “You don’t know anything about girls.”

  “I know none of them are trekking out in the snow and up a mountain right now. I know they are all back at the steading sitting around a fire, warm and cooking, or sewing. Do you know why?”

  “Why?”

  “Because they know some lovesick blockhead will drag his little brother along with him to get them all the shiny baubles they want, all without having to leave the steading.”

  “Yeah, and do you know what that means?”

  “They’re a hell of a lot smarter than us?”

  “No…probably, but it means they know we can provide for them better than the lazy louts who are sitting around back at the steading with them.”

  “I still say we are going too far. Father is going to be furious if he finds out we went all the way out here on our own, and you know what that means.”

  Aage cast his eyes down at the snow near his feet. “He’ll tell mother.” He looked up toward the bluff where he had seen the glittering crystals a few days ago before the witch’s squall had hit. “Maybe we should go back.”

  The shaft of Aage’s spear sank into the snow. He craned his head around and shouted, “Stop!”

  Bjarne was slow to respond and took two more steps before his brain could i
ssue the order for his legs to stop moving. It was one step too far. The snow beneath their feet crumbled into the crevasse, and they plummeted into its dark maw. Aage twisted his spear in his hands and wedged the two ends against the icy walls. The steel head gouged into the ice and cast off a spray of shards.

  Aage spread his legs, bracing them against the crevasse’s walls, and reached out for his little brother. He grasped Bjarne’s wrist, but the hold was fleeting. Inertia tore his brother from his grasp, and he bounced off the walls and plunged past. Aage heard him strike the ground with a dull thud and painful cough.

  “Bjarne!” Aage called out as he clambered down the cleft as quickly as he could.

  There was half a minute of agonizing silence before Bjarne responded. “I’m fine. Knocked the air out of me and rang my bell a bit. Be careful, it drops into a cave or something. Let me see if I can strike a torch.”

  Aage heard Bjarne rummaging around in his satchel and soon saw sparks flicker as he struck steel against flint. The oil-soaked strip of canvas flared to life, and Bjarne wrapped it around the blade of his dagger to make a torch. A rumbling growl followed by a ground-shaking roar cut short his triumphant exclamation.

  Aage watched in horror as the brown bear they had awakened lumbered into view below him. The bear reared on its hind legs and towered over Bjarne. Its massive head nearly brushed the lips of the crevasse’s opening a few paces below Aage’s feet. Without a second thought, Aage pointed his spear downward and dropped through the opening.

  His spear plunged into the beast near where the shoulder attached to its thick neck. The bear roared its outrage. Aage struck hard and bounced off the creature’s back, losing his grip on the weapon. He regained his feet quickly, but the bear was just as fast. With a swift strike of its massive paw, he sent the young Hillman flying through the air and rolling across the cavern floor.

  Aage cried out from the pain of several broken ribs as he stood once more. He pressed one hand against his side and drew his sword with the other. He felt the tears in his flesh through the sheepskin jacket and the blood welling out from beneath it. His sword once belonged to grandfather and was too heavy for him to wield effectively with one hand, so he ignored his injury and grasped the hilt with both hands.