The Sellsword

by Cam Banks

  “Under control? How in the Abyss did they escape?”

  The sivak said nothing.

  “What does he intend to do? There’s just you and your fellow sivaks, Captain Aggurat, and whatever staff he held onto for the kitchens. Blast him. Where is Cazuvel at present?”

  The sivak led the highmaster down a narrow flight of stairs, along two hallways, across an outside balcony that overlooked the jungle, then back inside to a sitting room. On the other side of a door was the grand hall. “He’s through there,” the sivak said and stood aside.

  Rivven Cairn pushed through the door and watched Cazuvel pacing back and forth alongside a large cage containing some kind of scaly, winged tiger. When he saw her, the albino pulled himself up to his full height and walked briskly over. “Your Excellency.”

  Another human, missing an arm, stood off to one end of the room. Rivven recognized the man as somebody Aggurat had killed several days before, although that man had possessed two arms. Rivven knew how sivaks worked, and she knew Aggurat. If the reports were correct, the missing arm was Vanderjack’s doing; she’d heard that Aggurat had lost his arm to Vanderjack’s blade.

  “One of Aggurat’s draconians just told me that the prisoners have escaped, Cazuvel!” Rivven said. “I don’t believe that was on my list of instructions.”

  “Ah, no, it was not, Your Excellency,” Cazuvel said, bowing his head. “Forgive me—I fear the sivaks are given to panic. But there is no real reason to be concerned at this point.”

  “So you know where they are, then.”

  “Quite so, Your Excellency. Might I offer you a drink?”

  Rivven just stared at him, trying to figure out what he was up to. Cazuvel seemed to take that with grace and indicated the chair he’d been sitting in earlier. “Perhaps a seat?”

  The highmaster sat down and propped up her chin on one balled fist, waving at the mage with the other hand. “Carry on. I’m sure we have scant moments before we hear the front gates close behind the escapees.”

  “Ah, but therein lies the underlying cause of my calm demeanor,” the mage said, showing perfect white teeth. “The sellsword will not leave the castle, for there are three compelling reasons for him to remain.”

  “You have appropriated his magic sword?” Rivven said, perking up.

  “Indeed. I feared that the weapon might be lost once the sivaks captured the three of them. But the kapak scouts retrieved it in the jungle. I have it safely stowed away.”

  “Good. I’ll be taking that with me,” said Rivven, feeling heartened. “All right, what are the other two compelling reasons?”

  “The second is that,” said Cazuvel, pointing at the slumbering dragonne in the cage.

  “Yes, I see that. What is it exactly? Some kind of magical abomination you’ve created?”

  “No, Your Excellency. That is a creature from the Dragon Isles, one of the dragonnes blessed by the gods to protect and ward those loyal to them.”

  Rivven’s eyes narrowed.

  “They were riding it when the Red Watch intercepted them.”

  Rivven felt her heart racing. She hadn’t considered any divine interference in any of her plans, not because she wasn’t herself religious, but because the sellsword was by all accounts ruled by only greed and self-interest. Rivven did not think the gods who honored those traits would have stepped in the way of her plans. Was it the gnome? Or the girl? The gnome was just another mercenary, surely no different from Vanderjack, and the girl … Rivven already knew about the girl.

  “The third reason?”

  Cazuvel pointed above his head. “The painting in the gallery,” he said. “Vanderjack may be a mercenary, but he lives by his contract. My magical wards tell me that they’ve just located Baron Glayward’s ‘beautiful daughter.’ Your arrival could not have been more perfectly timed.”

  Aggurat hadn’t said a word since Rivven had arrived. In fact, he had not budged in the slightest. “What’s wrong with him?” she asked, indicating the disguised draconian.

  “The commander regrettably triggered one of my magical defenses,” said Cazuvel. “The effect will wear off in about an hour. I could have dispelled it myself, but I felt that perhaps a lesson was in order.”

  Rivven frowned. “These draconians of the Red Watch,” she said, “they’ve had more experience and training in working around magic than probably any other draconians on Krynn, other than the auraks working directly for the Dark Queen. How could he have stumbled into a dangerous ward?”

  Cazuvel started to put together an explanation, but Rivven shook her head. “No, it doesn’t matter. We need to deal with the sellsword and his friends. With any luck, the Ergothian will be in a position to listen to my attractive offer. Then you can do whatever you want to the gnome.”

  “And the girl?” asked the mage, rubbing his hands together.

  “Let her go, I think. She’s still under the protection of the arrangement I made with the baron. She’s done her job, and if she knows what’s good for her, she’ll go back home and remind the baron—again—of the deal we made.”

  Rivven observed Cazuvel’s disappointment with that. “Don’t look so glum, wizard,” she said. “You can keep the exotic beast. I’m sure there are all kinds of unusual magical experiments you can conduct on it, to your edification. Now let’s go pay our guests a visit.”

  The highmaster placed her dragon helm upon her head, swept aside her flowing cape, and headed for the doors to the entrance hall. It was about time she finally met the Ergothian.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Vanderjack stared at the Baron’s beautiful daughter.

  “You knew the whole time, didn’t you,” he said accusingly.

  Gredchen was leaning up against one wall of the gallery, running a hand through her hair. “Yes, of course I did. But I couldn’t tell you everything. Lord Gilbert’s orders.”

  “To the Abyss with the baron,” he swore. “I had a signed contract and everything. Did Theo know?”

  Theodenes was still lying on the floor, staring blankly up at the painting, his limbs occasionally twitching as the ghoul’s paralysis worked its way out of his system.

  “No, he didn’t.”

  “So that’s two of us you’ve been lying to. I thought this was going to be an actual rescue mission. I kind of looked forward to it—a romantic notion, I suppose. Instead it’s an art recovery job. Who in the blazes pays somebody to come all the way into occupied territory for a bloody painting?”

  Gredchen coughed. “Well, it’s not just—”

  “Lord Gilbert Glayward, expatriate Solamnic and gloomy art collector, that’s who. Ackal’s Teeth!”

  Vanderjack paced back and forth, tugging at the collar of his arming doublet. It was chafing at his neck. His head pounded from the lump on the back of his skull, and his stomach was lurching again. He had lost his sword, he was miles behind enemy lines, and his contract was effectively a sham.

  “Look,” said Gredchen, a little of the steel returning to her voice. “Let’s just take the painting, get out of here, and—”

  “Listen, lady.” Vanderjack spun about, raising his voice. “I’m not leaving the castle until I get my sword back. I am fond of that sword. It’s how I pay the bills and keep myself in drink, something I am going to need a great quantity of if we ever manage to get out of this mess.”

  “I am sure the baron will completely cover any and all expenses, including buying any new sword you desire. This painting means more to him than you can possibly know.”

  A surge of anger replaced the wave of weakness and nausea that had come over Vanderjack. “No!” he yelled and slammed his fist against the wall only inches from the painting’s frame. Wooden panels split, the painting rattled in its place, and Gredchen let out a shocked shriek.

  “Be careful!” she said, rushing forward to steady the painting.

  “That sword is irreplaceable! It was my mother’s sword, and I didn’t even swindle her out of it. I need that sword, that particular
sword, my sword. Mine!”

  “Separation anxiety?” said a woman’s voice from the direction of the stairs.

  Vanderjack and Gredchen stopped shouting at each other and turned. The red dragonarmy highmaster, fully armored, caped, and helmed, stood at the top of the stairs. Behind her were the gaunt albino wizard Cazuvel and the hulking form of one of the Red Watch sivaks.

  “Ackal’s Teeth!” swore Vanderjack.

  “Ackal’s Teeth? I heard he’d replaced them all with wood near the end of his long depraved life,” Rivven Cairn said. “It’s a pleasure to finally catch up with you, Ergothian.”

  Vanderjack instinctively reached for his sword, but gritted his teeth and formed a fist instead. “The pleasure’s all yours, Cairn,” he said. “Believe me.”

  “As I am sure you have already discovered, the good Baron has sent you on a fool’s errand. I’m not sure if he’s going senile in his old age or if he truly believed this would work, but you won’t be returning with that painting.”

  “Highmaster, please, we’re only here to retrieve what is rightfully his,” said Gredchen, stepping forward with her hands raised and open. “Under authorized contract.”

  Rivven cocked her head to one side. “Do you know, Cazuvel,” she said, “Gredchen here actually lied to me earlier? She told me she knew nothing about the Ergothian and was simply on the road within my lands to get supplies.”

  “How unfortunate,” muttered the wizard, his violet eyes wandering along Gredchen from crown to heel.

  Gredchen shuddered then started to say something, but Rivven cut her off.

  “Enough. You’ve made your bed, girl, so now you’re going to have to drag it home to the baron’s manor and lie in it. Say good-bye to the Ergothian.”

  “I’m half Saifhumi, actually,” Vanderjack said through clenched teeth. “Some say it’s where I get my good looks.”

  “Do they now? But Saifhumi explains a lot,” Rivven said. “The Saifhumi are all pirates, thieves, and liars.”

  “Guilty as charged,” Vanderjack said more cheerfully than he felt, glancing around to see if there was any way out of their predicament other than through the highmaster, the wizard, and the draconian thug. It didn’t look likely.

  “Sellsword, I am here to collect on debts you have incurred since you signed on with the baron. You have three choices: you can repay me and the highlord of the Red Wing with steel coins, with your services, or in blood.”

  “Can I have a moment to think about it?”

  “You can have as long as you like. Of course, you will have to do your slow deliberating back in my dungeons under Wulfgar. I’m sure you’ve heard that they are quite secure, unlike those beneath this castle.”

  “Your hospitality is legendary,” Vanderjack said. “But perhaps I can pay you back in services, as you suggest. Yes, it almost appeals to me. However, I can’t rightly sign up with your army without proper armor—my armor, which has been taken away from me, and my favorite sword.”

  “Your Excellency,” said Cazuvel. “The armor in question once belonged to your captain Annaud.”

  Vanderjack shrugged. “He wasn’t using it anymore.”

  “That’s enough!” Rivven snapped. “I shall be keeping both your stolen armor and the sword Lifecleaver as partial repayment. You would get suitable replacements in my—the highlord’s—army.” She turned and looked at the sivak, who was lurking silently at the top of the stairs. “Bring him along. Leave the gnome to the pleasure of the wizard.”

  “Now wait a minute,” said Vanderjack as the sivak advanced upon him. “That sword is a priceless family heirloom.”

  “Gredchen, you are free to go,” said Rivven coolly. “I suggest you make haste. I can’t guarantee your safety for long. Apparently,” she looked pointedly at Cazuvel, “some of my officers and draconians have been acting quite independently lately, and I would truly hate to have you suffer under any of their unwarranted misbehavior.”

  Gredchen looked apologetically at Vanderjack, who didn’t return the favor. The sellsword’s arms were yanked behind his back by the sivak, and he was forcibly marched out of the room and down the spiral stairs.

  “Watch the head!” the sellsword called out, launching into a long string of expletives.

  Rivven Cairn moved to stand in front of the baron’s beautiful daughter and pointed at the stairs.

  “Go,” she barked to Gredchen, “before I change my mind.”

  “What about Theodenes?” asked the baron’s aide, looking at the incapacitated gnome.

  “Does it matter?” asked Rivven.

  “He is promised to me,” said Cazuvel, stepping forward and hovering over the gnome, fingers laced together.

  “I feel responsible for him,” she said in a soft voice. “Moreover, I admit I feel a fondness for him.”

  Rivven hesitated, her brows knitted. “Very well.” Rivven turned to Cazuvel. “Sorry, wizard. I’ve had a rare change of heart. You can keep that dragonne creature, but the gnome goes home with Gredchen.”

  “But, Your Excellency!” said Cazuvel, noting Gredchen’s look of surprise at the mention of the dragonne.

  “Any more complaints, wizard, and you won’t even get that,” she said dismissively. She motioned toward the gnome. “So pick him up and get out of here.”

  Gredchen nodded and stooped to lift the gnome up in her arms. “The baron isn’t going to be very pleased,” she whispered.

  Rivven looked at her with amusement. Gredchen turned, paused to glare at the wizard, and hurried down the stairs with Theodenes thrown over one shoulder.

  When Gredchen was gone, Rivven turned on the mage. “Fetch me that sword. I’m taking it with me.”

  “Your Excellency, is that wise? It is highly magical,” said Cazuvel. “My preliminary examination of the weapon was cut short by the necessity of dealing with the dragonne, however, so I have not had time to divine its properties.”

  “Leave that to me,” she said. “I may not have your experience with extradimensional forces, but I know magic swords when I see them. Meet me on the tower’s roof in a few minutes.”

  Cazuvel bent low and nodded, whispering a few words in the language of mages. They were the command words for a teleportation spell, and Rivven watched as the winds of magic spirited him away, leaving behind only a brief afterimage.

  Alone, Rivven Cairn turned to the portrait of the baron’s beautiful daughter. She ran a gauntleted finger down the painted curve of the girl’s jawline and tilted her head to one side.

  “Such a terrible loss to the world,” she whispered. “Captured here in your youth and wide-eyed innocence by the skill of the artist. You’re just as I remember you.”

  She turned away then. “No time for sentiment now, Rivven. What’s done is done.” She made a mental note to herself to have the painting locked away somewhere. It was an embarrassment, even there in the middle of the Sahket Jungle. She didn’t like how close the baron had come to getting his hands on it, even though there was no way that could have actually happened.

  Rivven extinguished the magical lamps with a spell of dismissal. She left the gallery in darkness and went down the spiral stairs. As she alighted on the upper landing, she paused for a moment. She looked over the railing to watch Gredchen carry the gnome out of the huge front doors of the castle and into the late-evening air. She smiled a little at the “Vanderjack” lying on the stairs—that had given her a momentary jolt earlier—then went on through the doors to the great hall.

  The sivak had already passed through there with the Ergothian prisoner. The door near the back of the hall that led to the sitting room was still partly open. She passed the cage with its slumbering beast and, curious, stopped beside it.

  “Mencelik batin sihir,” Rivven said, speaking the words of a spell, opening her senses to the hidden threads of magic around her. “Mencelik tak’kalihatan sihir.”

  Sure enough, vivid purple and black bonds of power wreathed the dragonne, keeping it from waking. She looked ar
ound the room, following the lines of power unseen to those without arcane talents, and saw that they were tightly bound to the very foundations of the castle. Threads of magically infused energy wove into the walls, along the granite floor, and even around the wooden supports above.

  Commander Aggurat stood motionless as ever, and Rivven could see the spell that had been placed upon him. She narrowed her eyes. It wasn’t a magical trap or an accidental trigger. Cazuvel had deliberately frozen the sivak commander in place, binding him just as securely as he had the dragonne in the cage.

  What in the name of the Dark Queen was the wizard playing at? She walked over to Aggurat and rested a hand on the shapeshifted draconian’s shoulder. With her vision she could see both the smaller, human form he was wearing and a ghostly outline where his true form would be. The true form wasn’t bound by Cazuvel’s magic. So …

  “Sihir perubhan keajukan,” she intoned, passing her hand before the sivak’s face, chest, and over his head. “An-narhr sihir an-nahr.”

  Nothing happened.

  “Sihir perubhan keajukan,” she repeated more insistently. “An-narhr sihir an-nahr.”

  The sivak’s human form began to blur and swell. The illusory form of the human faltered and changed to silver scales, dragon wings, and a reptilian countenance; without the human form to attach to, the dark ropes of magic snapped free and retreated into the walls and floor.

  Commander Aggurat convulsed and jerked as if he were overcome with a seizure. His eyes darted from left to right, finally settling on the highmaster, who waited patiently for him to collect his thoughts and steady himself.

  “Your Excellency!” breathed Aggurat. “How …?”

  “You’re welcome,” she said. “I freed you from Cazuvel’s spell, but I had to get rid of your disguise to do it. What has happened to you and why?”

  “It is not the Black Robe Cazuvel,” Aggurat said, rubbing at the stump of his left arm with the clawed hand of his right. “It looks like him, and perhaps it even thinks on some level that it is Cazuvel, but it is not.”