by Guy Antibes
He remembered Antzen’s name, but he pretended he didn’t recognize the man, now dressed as a Teryon officer. He didn’t know the insignias of rank. “Dessolo of Venato? We fought last week?” the officer said.
“Oh,” Anchor said and then straightened into attention. “Sir. I didn’t know you were an officer.”
Antzen laughed whereas his men chuckled. Anchor didn’t see any mirth in their faces. “I’m an officer in the duke’s army. I am not from Blintz.”
Anchor thought the man a bit too smooth, but perhaps he could learn vital information from him.
“Walk with me,” Antzen said.
Anchor fell in beside the Antzen. He felt naked without a sword in his hand.
“I still don’t know why you came all the way to Grianne to join the army.”
“I’m not sure I know myself,” Anchor said. He fiddled with his belt buckle as they walked. “I left Venato for a reason to join the Learsea army. After that didn’t work out, I only wanted to be in my home country long enough to pass through it. By the time I got here, I had heard about your encampment. I’m a soldier. It’s all I know.”
Antzen narrowed his eyes at Anchor. “Where did you learn your swordsmanship?”
Anchor laughed. All he had to do was change the location of South Keep. “I took a promotion at a border keep. The commander didn’t want me there, so he gave me nothing to do. I spent all my time looking at maps, reading battle histories and sparring. Probably half of my time sparring. I took the best of what I learned and incorporated it in my style.”
“You did well. I could tell you were laying back. I’d like you to fight one of my sergeants without holding back. Can you do that?”
Anchor’s heart sunk. The captain could easily make it a death match and Anchor had nowhere to run when he won and if he lost… He pursed his lips. Anchor had seen too many duels in his life and there were always distractions that could do any man in.
The tents became further apart. Anchor thought this might be an officer area. He sniffed the air. The constant stench of unwashed bodies didn’t permeate every smell. Antzen took Anchor by the elbow and steered him through a few tent alleys until they came to a clearing of sorts. A group of more men waited for him.
“I want you to fight Sergeant Dellamo. He’s a fellow countryman of yours. He might have some questions for you after your match.”
Anchor took a deep breath. Antzen would expect him to kill Dellamo to hide his origins. Dellamo would undoubtedly expose him, should Anchor allow the sergeant to live. At least that is how the dilemma presented itself to Anchor.
“Very well. I’ll need a weapon.” From behind him, someone tossed a sword into the dirt at his feet.
~
The Golden Blade looked as it did when Lotto first learned to swing a sword with his arms mentor, Kenyr. He walked into the shop part and heard the clanking of dulled steel blades in the practice hall beyond. Lotto yawned. He’d had a quick breakfast before heading to Kenyr’s.
How many times had he stepped into the hall to see Kenyr teaching other students? He’d never counted, but it was in the hundreds. Kenyr stopped working with two young men.
“Ah! I have a sparring partner for the both of you.” Kenyr towered above his two teenaged charges. Lotto noticed his blond hair lightening up with gray and his beard now looked whiter as well.
“Two on one?” Lotto said, as he took off his heavy coat, vest and removed the knife on his belt. He walked to a weapons rack and pulled out a dulled sword made in the Seytaran style. Whipping it around to get a feel for the balance, he took a position close to Kenyr’s students.
“Be as creative as you wish, young men. He may look young, but he is a seasoned fighter in the Prola and Happly campaigns and has come to us recently from Gensler.”
Lotto smiled at the two now-frightened young men. “Actually we have winter quarters in a Red Kingdom village. Now can we begin?” The workout would do Lotto some good. The weather had turned cold in Sally’s Corners and he hadn’t sparred with anyone in a few weeks.
He let the two come to him. They stood too close together and Lotto looked pleadingly at Kenyr.
“Ahem. Stand further apart. You don’t want to get in the way of your partner’s swings,” the instructor said as he repositioned the placement of his students.
One of them thrust at Lotto, who parried the blade towards his partner. The other boy nearly moved into the blade and Kenyr had to stop them again. The rest of the session continued in the same vane until Lotto fought with the two boys for a few minutes.
“You can go on up,” Kenyr told Lotto. “I’ll bundle these two up and send them home. No more lessons today, so you’ll have my undivided attention.
Lotto hadn’t gotten the workout he intended, but the boys, hopefully, learned about fighting as a team, something that he hadn’t seen Kenyr teach too often. He reached the top of the stairs and entered Kenyr’s world. He breathed deeply and took in the smells so different from a Valetan’s house.
Kenyr tromped up the stairs and gave Lotto a big hug. “What brings you to Beckondale?”
“A few people thought I needed a break from the front.”
“And so you do.” Kenyr went to his kitchen and brought the stoked fire to life. “Tea in a few minutes.”
“I’ll have to agree. Do you have any students that would be useful as sparring partners?”
Kenyr laughed. “None to beat you, but a few that will bring out a sweat. It might take a few days to arrange.”
“I’ve been banished for two weeks. Mander came with me.”
“It’s hardly a vacation when you have to travel much longer than your vacation.” Lotto heard Kenyr fussing about clanking mugs together.
“We were brought in by a Ropponi teleporter. Took a blink of an eye.”
“Good for you.” Lotto let Kenyr work in the kitchen without another word until he brought out two steaming cups of tea and half of a loaf of bread. “That’s fresh, early this morning,” he said. “Try this honey sauce from Serytar. Found it at the market last week.”
Lotto’s heart beat a little faster. How could Zarronan goods get into the Beckondale market? Someone had to bring it in. He took a sip of the tea. Kenyr always made it strong. “Is the merchant still here?” Lotto tried to act calmly, but the implications Kenyr’s discovery could be very important.
“I think I saw him yesterday when I opened my tent for business.” Lotto remembered Kenyr’s side business, selling repaired arms in the market. He bought his father’s old sword from Kenyr years ago and now he wished he had worn it to The Golden Blade. “As soon as we finish up here, I’d like to find your merchant. We shouldn’t be getting any merchandise from Zarron. Lessa has sealed up the ports on the western side of Besseth, nearly past Foxhome.”
“So if merchandise can leak into Besseth, what else can? Right?”
Lotto nodded. “Exactly. Can I borrow a sword?”
Kenyr smiled. “You can borrow me, too.”
The walk to the market took less than an hour and Kenyr took him across the way from the merchant’s tent. They observed the merchant for awhile before approaching. Kenyr walked around to the back.
“Nothing suspicious, but he has other merchandise from Zarron. There is a guard watching his back, but the crates have Dakkoran-style script,” Kenyr said.
Lotto wondered if he needed to notify Mander, but decided he should act immediately. So much for a vacation. “I’ll go around to the back and take care of the guard while you talk to the merchant.”
“A man of action, as always,” Kenyr said with a chuckle. “I’ll give you a few minutes.”
The guard at the back didn’t seem too vigilant and as the man leaned back to point his face at the morning sun, Lotto slipped the point of his sword under the guard’s chin.
“Don’t move if you choose not to bleed,” Lotto said. “Go into the tent, quietly.” Lotto pulled the man’s sword from his scabbard and laid it on the ground. The guard backed t
hrough the slit in the tent and bumped into the merchant.
“What do you want?” The merchant pleaded with his arms extended. “I’m just a poor merchant.”
“Sit,” Kenyr said and both men sat on the dusty rugs that covered the pavement.
Lotto nodded at Kenyr to continue.
“I bought a jar of Serytaran honey sauce last week. Where did you get it? It seems that you carry a fair number of Zarronan goods with most of it from Dakkor, itself. Didn’t you know Valetan is all but at war with the Dark Lord?”
The merchant looked frantic and pointed to the guard. “You got me into this! He told me about cheap imported goods. I’ve bought eight crates of Zarronan foodstuffs and for a good price.”
Lotto looked down at the guard. “How did you find out about this merchandise?”
“A friend told me this came from Histron. He sold it to me. He’s gone, though. Back to Histron for more, I imagine.”
“His name and description,” Lotto said.
“His name is Gart. Black hair, blue eyes. A head shorter than you. He’s got a scar from the side of his lip down his chin.” The guard showed the scar was on the man’s left side.
“When did he leave?”
The guard shrugged. “I saw him a few days ago at The Winding Road.”
Lotto raised his eyebrows and looked at Kenyr.
His friend made a face. “It’s a dive close to the West Gate.”
Lotto straightened up. He wished he had Shiro’s Sunstone to know if the man spoke the truth. “We’ll let our people know first, then it’s to The Winding Road and maybe the road to Histo.”
“Don’t leave Beckondale,” Lotto said. He motioned with his hand and lifted them both off of the rug. “I’m a wizard as well and will know where you two have gone.” He winked at Kenyr and let the two men drop to the floor. “You’ll give my friend, here, a good price in the future, okay?”
The merchant’s eyes had already grown large and he nodded. Lotto doubted the merchant would be going anywhere. They left the tent by the front opening.
Lotto headed to Mander’s house with Kenyr struggling to keep up. “I’m going to have to learn to teleport,” Lotto said. “I could be at the border, heading back to Beckondale in a few moments and now we’ll have to get our bottoms burned on the saddle.”
Mander greeted both of the men as they rushed into the warmth of his house and into the sitting room. “You two look as if—”
“I have some potentially bad news.” Lotto said. “Kenyr ran into a merchant with crates of Zarronan food in the Beckondale market. I think it was lifted from the supplies of a Dakkoran regiment. The merchant’s guard told us that they bought the goods from a man who came from Histo.”
“So you want to run off and capture him?” Mander said.
“Of course, wouldn’t you?”
“Aside from my bad back? No. Aside from being transported a few times to Learsea and riding a horse around with Anchor, I won’t go seeking trouble. I suggest that you let Lessa handle it. It’s a little early for lunch, but we can manage it.”
Lotto gritted his teeth. “The seller still might be in Beckondale, anyway. I’ll try there and then…”
“Do we have visitors dear?” Lotto heard Anna, Mander’s wife call from the hallway. He heard two sets of steps. Anna came into the room, followed by Sallia.
“Princess,” Lotto said and bowed to her.
“You’ve never bowed to me before,” Sallia said.
“We are in Beckondale. It’s different.” The situation flustered Lotto. He caught some amusement in Kenyr’s eye.
“No, it’s not, Lord Mistad,” Sallia said. “Or is it?”
She played with him. Lotto didn’t like her confidence. He wondered if it had always been there.
“Lotto, Kenyr. Don’t let us disturb you, except to sit and listen in,” Anna said.
“My dear, Lotto thinks he’s uncovered evidence of a regiment of Dakkorans.”
Anna laughed. “Right under our noses?” She dipped down to look under a chair.
“Histo,” Lotto said. He’d been subjected to Mander and Anna’s humor before. Time hadn’t stopped their making him the butt of their jokes. But he didn’t mind. The two were his dearest friends along with Kenyr.
“Councilor Lessa can take care of that,” Sallia said.
Mander clapped. “I said the same thing.”
“I think the Red Rose who brought us worked with Lessa on the coast, he might have even traveled to Mountsea,” Sallia said. “I do more than just roam around, you know,” she said, looking at Lotto.
He didn’t know what to say. Did her time with King Goleto put some spine in the woman? Or Anna? Lotto shook his head.
“Is that a no?” Sallia said.
Lotto looked at Anna’s smug smile. “Let’s go, Kenyr.” He really needed to learn how to teleport. He wanted to disappear from this room. Mander’s expression didn’t appear to provide any help. “We’ll check out the tavern and then grab our Ropponi friend.”
Mander saw them to the door and made sure the two women weren’t listening in. “I imagine Anna’s provoking the princess. I think it’s good for her. Sallia used to be quite a brat and somehow Unca tamed her. I’ll have a servant bring the Red Rose here. He should accompany you wherever you go. They are all superb fighters. Now go.”
~
The Winding Road looked more like a collapsing building. Lotto rarely came through the West Gate. The army generally left the city from the South and East gates. The buildings seemed to lean this way and that way. The roads didn’t seem to be kept up as well as the rest of Beckondale and he could see why.
“A dangerous place,” Kenyr said.
Lotto nodded his agreement. The sooner he found the mysterious Gart, the better.
Kenyr rubbed his hand on the dirty ground and rubbed some on his face and Lotto’s and ruffled their hair before they entered.
The stench of ale, urine and unwashed bodies just about pushed Lotto back out into the street. Kenyr merely belched and sauntered up to the bar. “A couple of ales, my good man.” He rubbed his eyes as if to see better.
Lotto leaned his back against the counter and propped his arms up behind him, looking out at the clientele while he talked to Kenyr. “I don’t see anyone that looks like who we seek.”
“Someone’s coming down the stairs.” Kenyr took a sip of the ale and winced. “This will clear you out if you’ve a mind.”
Lotto saw four legs. One set belonged to a pudgy woman and the other might have been just like any in the room. “Looks like we won’t be blistering our behinds,” Lotto said.
Kenyr twisted to find a black haired man, shorter than the woman of rather majestic proportions that accompanied him down the stairs. There was the scar. Now if Gart knew something, they’d be on their way out of this part of town as soon as possible.
The woman took Gart to the bar. “Pay the barman, dearest. He don’t trust the likes of me. Do you Barn?”
The barman shook his head. “Not while I breathe.”
Gart plunked some silver coins in the man’s hand and his ‘woman’ turned to walk alone back up the stairs. “Next!” she called out as she clomped back up to her place of business.
“Ale.” Gart said, lifting his chin to urge the barman on.
“You Gart?” Lotto said.
The man squinted back at Lotto. “What do you want to know for?”
“My friend is from Serytar. He bought a jar of Serytaran honey sauce from a merchant in the market. His guard told us that you supplied them.”
“A man can buy and sell freely in Beckondale, so what?” The ale came and the man smacked his lips. He glugged down a good portion of his mug. Lotto heard Kenyr groan and he had to concentrate not to smile.
“I’m interested where you acquired those goods. Histron?”
“Perhaps. What’s it worth to ya?”
Lotto dug around in his purse and pulled out a gold coin. “This is all I’ve got to give.”
He didn’t want to dicker with this man. Gart quickly slipped it in his pocket.
“I stole it from a Dakkoran army in the woods of Histron. They nearly caught me, but I grew up where they are camped. More than a regiment, I reckon. I’ll not be going back for more, if that’s what you think.”
Lotto smiled. “I think you’ve just been drafted into the Valetan army. We’re taking you to Mountsea in Prola and then you’ll show a friend of mine where the men are. Don’t tell him, but I’ll give you forty-nine more of those when you get back and I know those men are taken care of.”
“It’ll take weeks to get to Prola,” Gart said. “The army may be gone by then. It’s been nearly a month since I lifted the goods.”
“An army that size leaves tracks. That’s all my friend will need. Come along with us.”
Gart drained his ale. “You gonna finish that?” He looked greedily at the mug and then up at Lotto.
“No, but you can.”
~~~
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
~
ANCHOR PICKED UP THE SWORD FROM THE GROUND. It looked like Anchor’s old blade that he picked up in Happly. The Ropponi had brought the weapon since it had a similar weight to the Sunstone sword.
“Your friend’s weapon. We don’t see too many like that,” Antzen said. “Now fight.” All amiability vanished from Antzen’s face. “I don’t want you killing Sergeant Dellamo.” He looked at Anchor’s hulking opponent. “And I don’t want you killing him. Not until we’ve found out where he’s from. Got it?”
“Yes, Captain.” Dellamo didn’t look any happier about the situation than Anchor did.
“Go ahead, both of you.” Antzen said and sat down on a camp chair.
Anchor would fight to the level of his opponent, but he suspected Dellamo would do the same. They saluted one another and began to test each other out.
“Attack, Dessolo,” Antzen said. Anchor had to remind himself that was his last name.
“No killing, remember?” Anchor said as he parried a slash from Dellamo. “I will assess my opponent’s capability first. He may do the same with me.”
“Why are you here in this camp?” Antzen said. It appeared he intended to interrogate Anchor while he fought. The technique certainly kept Anchor’s mind whirring as he continued to spar with the sergeant.