Complete In the Service of Dragons

by William Robert Stanek

  “Thieves?” interrupted Nijal.

  “You speak of things you do not understand, friend Nijal. The guild serves the people. Were there no need, there would be no guild.” Nijal tried to speak. Awn cut him off. “Listen and listen well, my friend. There are no honorable sea captains left in Krepost’. The honorable few and their crews set sail from here many long months past.”

  “Why should I trust you?” Nijal asked. It was a thing that had been on the tip of his tongue for some time.

  Awn stood, removed his leather jerkin and then his long-sleeved shirt. Nijal’s eyes lit up. A single massive tattoo flowed across Awn’s biceps, shoulders, and back. It was the kind of tattoo he had seen on many of the older men in his father’s service. The kind of tattoo that marked Awn as a blademaster for hire and told the story of his battles. “I am a free man and will die as such,” Awn said, his voice strong and his eyes directed at Nijal. Nijal and Shchander both returned the words, speaking the free man’s code proudly.

  “The Bandit War, you were there?” asked Nijal.

  Awn nodded. “At the start of it, I was but a boy in my father’s service. By the end of it, I was sure I wanted no part of it. You are the spitting image of your father, you know.”

  “My father? Then this isn’t—”

  “No, it isn’t.” Awn gestured to four men who stood suddenly closer than Nijal and Shchander were comfortable with. The four grabbed and held the two. “Don’t struggle. They mean you no harm. I do only what I must to protect you.”

  Nijal was pushed from behind and held down. He screamed as something white hot was pressed into the small space behind his left ear. When the strong hands relaxed, he came out swinging wildly only to find empty air as the men who had held him stepped away into the shadows. Awn’s hand on his shoulder calmed him somewhat. “What have you done to me?”

  “When next you see your father, tell his lordship that Feghan of the Wall has repaid the debt owed,” so saying, Awn snapped his fingers and blindfolds were returned to Nijal and Shchander’s eyes. “We will return you now to yours. When the time comes, show the coin and the mark, and you will be spared.”

  

  At once, Teren perceived the somber mood; it mirrored his own. His own heart was heavy, though not with failure. He knew why the plan had fizzled and the reason was moving ever closer. An enormous host, a vast and powerful horde, swept towards them. Teren alone knew their hopes and desires, which he did not have to look into their hearts to find. Despite the rain’s torment, the slickness of the ground, and the improbability of the move, the forum came to the hard decision to evacuate the camp before they were swept into the sea and before the enemy came to their door.

  If a battle were to find them, they wanted to have the upper hand and not the reverse. They had endured too much and trained too long to fail so miserably. The snow on the plains, though thick, would not be altogether inhospitable. Tents were left where they stood. Only stores that could be readily carried out by hand or packed onto horses were taken. Even the ships were left in the harbor and those on board were to remain there until the waters calmed.

  Stakes and poles were driven deeply and firmly into the ground along the paths leading out of the low areas. Ropes were strung along them to ease the way and provide extra support. Men waited with teams of horses to pull burdened animals along the inclines. Those leaving the camp may have appeared disgruntled, wet and muddied, but they were not disheartened. They would endure. It took a considerable feat of stamina and endurance to command the movement of thousands, but Valam shouldered the burden. Thick columns spread out in row after row, forming many different groups. Some walked, others rode, but all moved onward.

  

  Ansh Brodst trembled with joy as he undressed. He did not waste any time in putting on the new pants, overshirt and fine leather boots. The boots were several sizes too big for him, but after he had removed and stuffed them, they felt very good. Footsteps startled him and he stopped, pulling the body that lay on the ground near him further into the recesses.

  He snatched up the helmet and placed it on his head, running awkwardly in the mailed shirt, but he made it to his destination before the other approached. He bade the other to proceed before him, and he followed at a close distance. The harsh clank of a door behind him calmed his nerves, but then a sudden voice behind him sent shivers through him again. He stopped as ordered and waited.

  “You two off to the armory. That uniform will not do, and you, captain, are late!” The last part had not been directed at Brodst, but for an instant he almost responded. Without calling undue attention to himself, Brodst carefully scanned each crossing they came to, listening intently if the moment allowed. Thankfully, the one before him was in a hurry and wasn’t paying close attention.

  Captain Brodst considered ducking into one of the crossing passageways and disappearing along it, but he discarded the thought. Something told him to continue. He was sure the armory lay somewhere just ahead.

  A commotion down one of the hallways caused him to slow down. He turned and peered down the hall but found nothing. The voices came from a room or path he could not see, and he did not waste any time checking it further before he continued on. The armory had been just ahead behind the sleeping quarters, but Brodst did not make it that far before he was called out.

  “You, there, halt at once!” bellowed a high-pitched voice.

  Captain Brodst froze solid. He turned around wearing the expression of one caught, and it was very fortunate that his face was hidden beneath the helmet. His expression would have given him away. Instinct told him to stand at attention, and he did this quickly without a second thought. He did not speak, but rather he waited.

  “Just where do you think you are going? I bet I know, you sniveling worm,” barked the other as Captain Brodst’s heart pumped wildly, and the veins along his neck and temples pulsed. “You are a lazy good-for-nothing oaf! A laggard. Several hours of standing at attention will cure you of the wish to sleep when duties are at hand.”

  Captain Brodst thought about pleading otherwise, but he dared not speak a word. Standing at attention would not be as severe a punishment as getting caught. He flexed his arms, bringing his hand tighter against his legs. Over and over in his mind he repeated a little prayer, a simple plea.

  “That is right; do not move until I tell you to move,” roared the voice. Brodst eyed the man, but not too closely. He was scrawny from head to toe, thin and pale, and very young. “Get this man a cloak. You are lucky you—I do not have time to chastise you properly, but I will mark you in my mind. Do not think I have forgotten you and do not leave my sight until I dismiss you, because I will find you again. Quickly, now, tie this cloak about your neck! I need a tenth man! Move, move, move!”

  Brodst heard the man laughing at him as he took his place in the file. His body shook convulsively, but not from fear of reprisal. “Thank you,” he whispered in his thoughts, as relief spread over him. As the squad began to move, he unfortunately closed his eyes to take a deep breath. He ground his teeth together as he was kicked into movement, vowing he would repay this little wretch if he ever got the chance.

  Soon he found himself one of many in an enormous hall filled from end to end. He was all the way in the rear against the wall, but he still had a clear view. He could almost see the entire gathering; only the center was blocked from his view. The air was hot and stuffy around him. He was sweating profusely, but he still did not remove his helmet. He looked about, calmed by the fact that others also wore theirs.

  The shuffling of feet died out, and a firm voice took its place. He listened to the message, not understanding at first, but a name sparked his interest and nearly caused him to fall. He had locked his knees and as he shifted backwards, he lost his balance. He attempted to relax. He knew better than to lock his knees when at attention. A different voice, soft and fair, took him by complete surprise, and he did fall.

  “Remove your helmet, you fool!” whisp
ered several voices to him. Many others just called him a fool, and pushed him back up to his feet. He shed the helmet as he was advised. Streams of sweat ran down his face, which was beet red. He searched to the left and right of him to see if anyone took particular interest in him. It did not seem that anyone did, but a voice saying, “Eyes front” told him that someone was, indeed, watching him.

  “This is it,” he told himself, as he waited and listened. He began to look for a way out, any way out. He cursed himself for being foolish. He could have ducked down any of a handful of corridors, but he had not. He was stuck in a no-win situation. He heard the yelling and screams. He wanted to run forward with all his heart and be with her to comfort her. “Damn it!” he cursed as he sprang forward.

  His eyes were wide with terror as he came to stand in the midst of the host. He had Calyin by the hand and didn’t know what to do. Many frenzied thoughts swam through his mind, any one of which he could have taken and would have if the voice had not commanded him to do otherwise. “Walk her around you fool!” it had said, and he did.

  He walked her around in small, close circles, whispering into her ear. Her words made him sink his head low, as she was coerced to tell all the other wanted to hear. Tears mixed in with the sweat pouring from his face, and fortunately mingled with them unseen. His heart was pounding so loud that he thought everyone around him could hear it, and then suddenly it was over. She was being taken from him, and he followed.

  

  A small group of three talked long into the night and when morning arrived, they were fully awake. Their minds had been asleep for so long that it was wondrous suddenly to find full cognizant thought. Amir’s face still flowed with anger. Xith and Noman were calmer but were also unsettled. They had been caught unaware and did not know how long the shadows had walked among them. They wondered what secrets the shadows had told their masters and what damage had been done to them that could not be repaired.

  As daylight came, they turned to other thoughts. Breakfast came first, and then the three walked to the small inn where Two Hands should be waiting for them. The city was peculiar to Amir’s perceptions; he knew he had walked its streets in the recent past from the hazy images in his mind. Although he recalled some of its avenues and turnings from the past, he still found himself noting with remark some of its structures.

  The market was open and in full operation already, and as it was an alternate, though rather circuitous, route to their destination, they opted to pass through it. Xith purchased a few baubles at Noman’s recommendation and a rough hide pouch, which he filled with his purchases. Amir drew the attention of many passers-by due to his size. Noman had brought him along specifically for this purpose. This day he wanted to be marked.

  The three reached the inn shortly before lunch as Noman had deliberately slackened their pace. They ordered a full lunch from the innkeeper and ale for all. They ate, savoring each bite and sip, waiting for a robust figure to approach them. After a time it did, accompanied by two others. Without a word or nod of acknowledgment, Xith untied a small purse from his belt and tossed it. It fell with a hefty clank onto the table beside them.

  As Two Hands reached for the bag, Noman raised his hand, warning him away from it, saying, “We would have your decision first, Master Two Hands. What is it?” Noman smiled when he saw the other nervously rubbing his fingers together as he began to talk.

  “We have, or rather I, have decided that it is not in our best interest to undertake this endeavor—”

  “Then why did you wish this?” asked Amir snatching the bag from the table.

  Two Hands seemed to shrivel as he hunched over, smiling. Amir undid the drawstrings of the pouch and spilled its contents. Ten many-faceted jewels rolled across the table. Even the dim light in the hall marvelously reflected their fiery red. Noman picked one of the gems up, holding it up to the light between his thumb and forefinger. He shook his head back and forth as he returned them to the bag.

  Noman held onto the last one, still waving his head. “Such a pity,” he said offering it into a waiting sweaty palm, “Do not hold it long lest its weight corrupt your desires.”

  “This alone is worth the sum I asked for. Would you give them all to me?”

  “You would require a king’s ransom for a few days’ work. Don’t be hasty. For the sum, I would require your personal services, but there is, of course, a catch, and it is not that I do not trust you, but I will give you the remainder only at our destination, nowhere else.”

  “How can I be sure you won’t play any tricks on me?”

  “The same could be asked of you, my friend. Do we have a deal?”

  The shipwright rose up to his full height, perhaps considering the words or perhaps considering the weight of the gem still tucked in his palm. For a lengthy span his eyes were withdrawn and unfocused, and in his hand he played with the new trinket. “I have been out of the winds for some time; you could do better with a different lot, but I think you have made a fair choice in choosing me. My ships are strong and true as are my captains. I warn you now, the seas will be rough and there can be no turning back or all is lost. We must make haste; we shall leave with the first allowable tides. Do not delay in gathering your company and return at once! I shall take you all the way to Taliltan. Passing the storm season there will be refreshing! Krepost’ must await me until the seasons change!”

  Noman carried the biggest smile of the three as they departed the inn and as an afterthought he returned the pouch to Xith. He almost felt bad for what he had done, but he was also thankful. Two Hands had not snatched up a different gem from the table before he had offered him the one. He even whistled a short, sweet tune as they walked back, moving through its notes several times.

  

  Thick tufts of snow were thrown high into the air as two files of horsemen trotted across the plains. Dampness made the snow cling to all it touched. Danyel’, who normally rode at the fore, was now at the rear of the group. His eyes were cast upward and searching.

  Radiant shafts of light pierced the outer boundaries of the dark cloud cover overhead. The group stopped for a time to brush bunches of ice from their clothing and from the horses’ hides. Danyel’ split the group into two, sending one section to the immediate north and directing the other to the west. It was during this time that a figure making directly for the gray of the storm slipped past them unseen.

  Danyel’ knew this section of the plains very well, as he had scoured it for its every hidden recess down to the last. He mentally marked the stretch of land; the boundaries of it formed a line along the route the others had taken west, where their excursion carried them. They now held to a gently sloping northwesterly route, going toward the foot of the mountains.

  A river flowed here, cutting a wide vein into the heart of the mighty range of stone. Danyel’ paused again, waiting for the first party to catch up. As he disliked idleness, he set to work rubbing his horse’s legs down. He did not want the mixture of cold and wet to bite into the beast’s muscles. It also kept him busy and gave him time to think, as mundane chores often do.

  When the force became whole again, they began to follow the river’s path inward. As commander, Danyel’ was at the front. His eyes were downcast now, searching for different clues this time; however, the gust of winds against the snow revealed little.

  Once inside the canopy of the rock, the air became warmer and the snow’s depth lessened. All along their path, narrow canyons reached back into hidden recesses, but they held to the river. There was a clear path cut along it beneath the snow, which was obvious to their experienced eyes.

  The file had become single now and stretched out a fair distance. A sense of foreboding told Danyel’ to proceed warily, and he did. Every now and then, he sent one or two of the men to search any small tracks he found, but so far no fresh trails had been spotted. His eyes began to probe among the rocks almost as often as they turned toward the ground or the path ahead.

  His expl
oration carried him deeper than he had dared to venture before. He brought everyone to a halt for a time, but after a short wait they continued on. The day was young, he told himself, or wanted to believe. The file was narrowed again as they began. Danyel’ found himself in the middle as the path narrowed, running tight between a steep cliff wall and the river’s edge.

  The water ran swiftly here and was capped with white swirls in many places. As an afterthought, after seeing a shallow recess in the rock, he instructed two riders to remain there until his return. Although his mind was troubled, he proceeded. The sun was out and its warmth touched his face, driving away his earlier dark thoughts. It was deep among the shadows of a grotto, and also deep along their path, that a discerning eye noted the remnants of what perhaps was once a footpath that was now overgrown due to disuse.

  The captain set additional sentries at the fore of the overhanging rock wall and proceeded on foot with several of his fellows into the recesses of the hollow. They walked through the shadows of the rock and a short space later emerged into the fullness of day. The river ran quietly just out of sight, funneling down a cavity in the stones. The waters had split, turning both northeast and northwest.