Her skin was darker than Soffjian’s, though not nearly as much as Hewspear’s, which was like the inside of a lantern. No, hers was the color of sandnuts. Her hair, not quite black, wasn’t long enough to be braided or pulled back into a bun or a tail, but still required a wild assortment of silver pins and clasps to keep it in some semblance of order. She reminded me of the river wrens I’d seen as a child, wild feathers sticking out in nearly every direction at once. She had silver rings on each eyebrow, and several along the rims of her ears, and at least one stud flashing on her nose. And while Soffjian’s eyes were dark and dangerous, this woman’s were so pale it was hard to tell they were blue at all, but still worlds warmer. There was something impish about her expression, as if the sight of several armed men was amusing for some reason. Dimples, bubbly cheeks, a small nose that had a fetching almost squared off tip, a hint of mischief in those peculiar eyes—if Soffjian was far more martial and imposing physically than I expected from a Memoridon, this other woman was far too puckish. Assuming she was a Memoridon.
Soffjian looked around the room, taking everything in in that all-too familiar way. When she lit on Braylar, she said, “Brother.” She laid her ranseur on her shoulder, almost lazily. “I might be offended being welcomed by so many sharp and pointy objects, but Hewspear here tells me you’ve all suffered some scratches and bruises in a recent scuffle with the locals, so you’re a bit on edge. Understandable, of course. And to be expected. But still. The lack of an embrace is a little hurtful.”
Braylar smiled, utterly humorless, and while he slowly slid Bloodsounder back on his belt, he made no move at all to approach her. “Soffjian, sweet Soffjian, I hope all of my missives these last years have found you well.”
She smiled in return, equally devoid of any warmth, and Braylar looked at Vendurro. “Sergeant, you haven’t neglected to send them, I hope?”
Vendurro looked as confused as he appeared uncomfortable. “Missives, Cap?”
Soffjian replied, “I do believe your captain is having some fun at your expense. Always baiting and berating the underlings, eh brother? Ever the bully. But I am well, thank you ever so much for the concern, feigned or not. You, however, are looking a bit peaked. Jagged cheekbones, overcast complexion, some alarming bruising around the neck there, and yes, so many new scars. I would say, if you’ll forgive me, that you look particularly unwell.”
The other woman stepped closer. “Oh, Soff, always so critical. Would you rather he looked like a swineherd? He is a Syldoon captain, after all. I know they discourage us from fraternizing with you boys, but I must say, all the steel and scars are quite fetching. Exciting, really.” When she smiled, it was clear her mockery was good-natured. “Hewspear, Mulldoos, Vendurro, so good to see you all again.” She stopped when she saw me at the back of the room and waved. “And you, too, stranger with the crossbow. Though I do hope you lower it a bit. We are all friends here. Or at least not open enemies. Well, unless I’m getting that wrong. I do do that on occasion. And it seems we received our mandate so long ago, I hardly remember why we rode all this way.”
I lowered the crossbow, embarrassed I hadn’t already. Then Braylar looked at his sister and said, slippery with sarcasm, “While I am clearly overjoyed to see you again, I am anxious to be enlightened. Why did the two of you make such a trek? Surely it must be taxing already. I would have prepared a more suitable celebration of your arrival had our Tower Commander sent notice.” He made no effort to disguise the bite in the last line. It was difficult to tell whether the arrival of Memoridons, the fact that his sister was one of them, or the surprising nature of the visit irked him more. It very well might have been a tie.
She smiled, thin and tight. “Very well. Cutting right through the pleasantries. My arrival is notice, of a sort. It seems you and your retinue have caused all the mayhem you’re going to in the region. You have been recalled.”
Braylar raised one eyebrow. “Truly? That does strike me as… odd. We are here by command of the Tower Commander himself. You do realize we have spent years in this region, orchestrating and preparing, and finally putting things in motion. Our orders were clear. Are clear.”
She matched him eyebrow for eyebrow. “Mayhaps you should have followed them more quickly then.”
“If Commander Darzaak has cause to be concerned or displeased, I assume we would have heard of it already. From him. Directly.”
“Had the recall come by way of Commander Darzaak, I assume you would be right. But this recall comes from Emperor Cynead himself.”
“Directly,” the shorter woman added. When the siblings both glared at her, she said, “Well, just aiming for clarity. These kinds of messages often get muddied carried from place to place. Details get left out, conflated, what have you. Just want to be sure no one is confused about any of the particulars. I’m often confused. It’s an unpleasant way to go through life.”
“Shut it, Skeelana,” Soffjian ordered. Again, sounding eerily similar to her kin in the room.
Braylar looked at Soffjian. “And the good Emperor is aware that these plans are part of a greater Imperial mandate, and endorsed by his administration? Surely these facts have not slipped his mind, even as pressed as he is by mundane Imperial matters? Details get lost in the capital from time to time as well.”
Skeelana nodded. “Excellent point.”
Soffjian tapped the butt spike of her ranseur on the floorboards. “Not his mandate, brother. The predecessor he ousted. And while he did nothing to stop them, I would hardly call that a ringing endorsement. But in any event, he is recalling your company, as well as most others in Anjuria, if rumors are to be believed. But I don’t trade in rumors. Only in fact, cold and cruel and often transcribed for posterity. Even Memoridons don’t always trust in memory.” She retrieved a scroll from her belt pouch and handed it to Braylar.
Braylar did not examine the seal for authenticity, but broke it quickly, bits of blood-colored wax falling onto the floor. Mulldoos and Hewspear exchanged a look as Braylar read the contents, eyes darting quickly across the lines. I wondered if it was coded or written simply in Syldoonian.
Vendurro asked, “They really pulling out the other companies here? A lot of Syldoon in the region.”
Soffjian replied, “Rumor, Sergeant. Rumor’s the slut you bend over a chair and never see again. Truth’s the lady you wed.”
Mulldoos slid the falchion back in his scabbard. “Truth usually turns out to be a bitch. And twice the trouble. Give me a bed full of rumors any day.”
Skeelana laughed. Soffjian did not. She said, “Ahh, yes. Your lot does have a penchant for whores and barmaids.”
Mulldoos burped, loud and long, as if he’d been saving it for rebuttal. Or the preamble, anyway. “Better company than most. Only consort with ladies and other powerful bitches when we got little enough choice.”
Soffjian didn’t take her eyes off Mulldoos that I noticed, and there was heat behind them. But she kept her voice level, so much so that it was difficult to tell that the jovial tone was counterfeit. “Bitches, witches, so difficult to tell if one is truly more flattering than the other. But ‘powerful,’ Mulldoos? You are far too kind.”
Before their exchange had an opportunity to escalate, Braylar rolled the scroll back up and said, “Well, Mulldoos, you and anyone else in the company tired of Anjurian politics can breathe easy. It seems there is no wiggle room to speak of here. We will be returning to Sunwrack. Anon, as it happens.” His tone ran at cross purposes to his words—he didn’t seem particularly pleased or at ease.
Soffjian slowly spun her ranseur in circles, watching the tassels flutter above her hand. “I am hurt, brother, that my word alone wouldn’t persuade you on this point, but hardly stunned. Which is why I was relieved to have the documentation. You have been abroad for so many years, I expect that this must come as a welcome surprise.”
Twin scars at the corner of Braylar’s lips twitched. “It is indeed surprising. But no less so than the fact that an esteemed Memorido
n should be sent to deliver the news. Were my Jackal brothers so very occupied that none could be tasked with serving as courier? Certainly you haven’t misbehaved and earned Commander’s Darzaak’s displeasure. Again.”
The ranseur stopped spinning and now it was Soffjian’s turn to force a hastily counterfeited smile. “Oh, no. I volunteered. Not wanting to miss the opportunity to reconnect after so many years, Bray.”
There were undercurrents I didn’t understand in the exchange but didn’t have a chance to parse them out when Braylar gave a feral grin. “Much longer, and you might not have been able to track us at all.”
Soffjian’s eyes flashed with something closer to hate than love, but her false smile didn’t waiver. “Oh, dear brother, I will always be able to track you. Always.”
“A keen comfort. Truly.”
Skeelana added, “Between the two of us, I’m sure we could find your company just about anywhere.” She said this casually, impishly, but there was something else veiled there as well. A warning?
Braylar sat down in his chair. “Well, with this unexpected turn of events, we have plans and preparations to make. We cannot simply pull out of the region without undoing so much of the good work we’ve done here.”
Soffjian lifted the ranseur, briefly inspecting the divot in the floorboards the butt spike made. “I have not read your orders, of course, so can’t speak to the specifics, but I was under the impression that Commander Darzaak was himself following imperial directive when he issued them. So I imagine there will be some urgency in obeying.”
Braylar’s smile seemed a touch more genuine now, though no more pleasant. “Ahh, yes. I imagine you need to return to Sunwrack very soon. So far afield, sister. It must be quite… uncomfortable for you. Don’t feel the need to wait on our account. If you must go, by all means, go with speed. We won’t be far behind.”
Skeelana answered before Soffjian could. “Oh, I just don’t think we could do that. No, no. You see, we have orders to accompany you every step of the way. Commander Darzaak was most insistent on that point. So there will be quite a bit of time for the two of you to catch up. Which is wonderful, if you ask me. Just wonderful.”
“Truly moving,” Hewspear offered.
Braylar ignored both of them, eyes still locked with his sister’s. “All those skills, all that power, and still as much a pawn as the rest of us, yes? Never fear, we will move shortly. Just after I have followed the rest of the orders that prefaced the recall. The particulars of which, I will still leave to your vaunted and vaulted imagination. Now then, we have a great deal to do in a very short amount of time. So, if you will be so kind as to leave us to it…?”
Soffjian seemed to like being dismissed as much as Braylar liked being recalled, but she nodded and replied, “Of course. Far be it from me to interfere with the work of soldiers and saboteurs. That is, I imagine, what you are doing in this region, is it not? Being but a pawn, I so rarely have fulsome information to operate with.”
I wondered which parent the siblings had inherited their biting rejoinders from.
Braylar’s smile didn’t fade, though it seemed held there more by rigid force of will than any emotion. “I have so missed our engaging repartee, sister. Truly. But we will continue another time, yes?”
Soffjian held onto the ranseur, and performed an exaggerated bow and curtsy. “As you will, brother. Only remember, the recall originated with Cynead, not Darzaak. So you would be wise not to dawdle overmuch. I suggest you make your final maneuverings soon. This Emperor has never been much of a forgiving sort. Though which of them has?”
She turned and headed to the door, but before exiting, stopped in front of Vendurro and laid a hand on his shoulder. “I am truly sorry for Glesswik’s death.”
If anyone thought it strange she would know such a thing, having only arrived, no one gave any indication. Vendurro nodded and said only, “Appreciated.”
Soffjian let Skeelana leave first and then pulled the door shut behind her. We all listened as their footfalls receded down the hall toward the stairs, then Mulldoos broke the silence. “What are you fixing to do, Cap? Want me to round up the regulars and get them pointed home?”
There was an edge to the question, as if the answer he expected and the answer he wanted weren’t likely to be the same.
Braylar didn’t disappoint. Exactly. “I have no wish to give my sister the satisfaction of vacating so quickly. But she is right on that count—the Emperor is not the most patient of men. So, we ride out tomorrow. Tell the rest of the men to prepare the wagons and supplies. We will meet them after.”
Mulldoos looked at Hewspear, then back to his captain. “After?”
Braylar stood and started toward his room, only seeming to realize halfway there that Mulldoos had asked him a question. I wasn’t sure if this was due more to him calculating several moves ahead, or if the stolen memories were taking their toll. He looked at Mulldoos. “We are going for the High Priest tomorrow. Have twenty men ready to ride out with us. Twenty-five, if that leaves enough to handle the wagons. No, no, twenty will have to do. I have no wish to leave our cargo poorly attended.”
It was obvious this didn’t sit well with Mulldoos, but he paused long and hard to chew over his objections before finally saying, “The High Priest, Cap? What for? Brune was ready to plunk us in his toy room already. Sure as spit he’ll figure we were in league with Henlester or worse once we pull out. What’s the point going after the priest? Won’t matter if we silence or even capture that holy horsecock. Nothing will win Brune’s good graces now. Can’t see we got much to gain there, Cap. What am I missing? Am I looking sideways again?”
I expected Braylar’s temper to flame up anew, being questioned by his lieutenant so soon after their recent dustup, but he appeared calm enough as he slowly made his way back to the table. “You are correct. The good baron will no doubt presume the worst. Thanks to a rash and foolish Emperor, a great deal of effort will have gone to waste here, and I suspect in the other baronies as well. Lives spent and lost over nothing now. You are absolutely right—we have no more to play out with him. Not just now. But Henlester is another piece on the board. And still a valuable one. If we can procure him without additional loss, we will do it.”
Mulldoos seemed ready to argue the point, but perhaps remembered the recent dressing down he incurred out in public and thought better of it. Instead, he looked to Hewspear in mute appeal.
While Hewspear didn’t share the pale boar’s hot blood, he still seemed to be of a similar mind, at least as far as this single topic went. Everything else was a point of contention. “Captain, as we discussed, there is still the possibility—perhaps a strong one at that—that Brune is baiting us with the leak of the High Priest’s whereabouts. He could be waiting for us to march right into that trap.”
Mulldoos couldn’t help adding, “Like the ruined temple, Cap? You said you thought we would spring one there, but I didn’t listen. Turned out you couldn’t have been more right. I couldn’t have been more wrong, you couldn’t have been more right. There. Said it loud and clear. So why risk another trap?” Braylar twitch-smiled. “We wasted life enough in this region, Cap. Said so yourself. And that was before Cynead’s little summons. Now that waste is bigger, and worse. Nothing at all to show for it. Nothing, and—”
“That is precisely why we make a move to obtain the High Priest. Or at least close enough to see if there is a trap waiting for us, to see if he is even there. If there is a chance to take him, we can at least leave Anjuria with something to mitigate the losses. If only a little, yes? But if we don’t at least ride to see, we surely will abandon Anjuria with only Syldoonian dead on the ledger. And that is unacceptable. We cannot ignore an Imperial mandate, much as I would like to, but neither can we leave with nothing. I will not allow it.”
Mulldoos looked ready to press on, as he was wont to do, but Hew-spear seemed to sense that and wisely interrupted. “Very well, Captain. But it does raise the question, would it be not wiser t
o keep our forces together? If Brune is attempting to ensnare us, we are doing half the work for him by splitting our men. And we do have something else for the ledger—those scrolls and maps, those ancient volumes. We risk losing those if we leave them behind to chase down a rumor.”
Braylar smiled, “As the good lieutenant says, he prefers those. But we don’t know precisely what we have compiled. It might prove to be nothing of value, antiquated scratch marks on piss-poor parchment of no interest to anyone. But there is a very real chance that Henlester might be ours for the taking. And if there is something useful in those dusty scrolls, he could also be instrumental in ciphering the meaning and piecing things together.
“The rest of the men will be behind us only by half a day, a day at the most. We have a chance to seize the High Priest and double the value of our prize. We go on the morrow. Prepare the men. That is all.”
Hewspear rose, sensing the futility of arguing the point, but unable to completely help himself. “Soffjian did mention the Emperor was expecting us to withdraw at haste.”
Braylar replied, “And so we shall. As it is, she’s likely not expecting us to depart for a few days. I’m sure she imagines I will do my best to frustrate her, as I know she would me. So, given that Deadmoss isn’t too far out of the way, we might even make a better pace for home leaving tomorrow. Anything else, or are you two layabouts willing to follow orders now?”
Mulldoos shook his head, his thick neck rippling, and appeared ready to dig in, but Hewspear gave him a look, and he kept his reply to, “And if you sniff another trap? What then, Cap?”
Braylar’s smile disappeared. “If I sense a trap, you will be the first to know, and the first to remind me of what happened the last time we didn’t retreat when we had the chance. I will not lead us to our destruction. If our scouts, flesh and blood, or steel—” he tapped the haft of Blood-sounder, “give the slightest hint that things are amiss, we regroup with our wagons and our dead, and head home, ledger be damned, yes? Now ready the men.”
Veil of the Deserters Page 7