The soldier nodded, clearly relieved to be relieved. Without another word, he grabbed the railing and hustled down the stairs. You would have thought he was fleeing a fire.
Vendurro scratched at the tuft on his chin, glanced at me, suddenly seeming less confident than he had before the other men, looking young and just as nervous as I felt. That should have been comforting, but only served to make me feel worse.
He straightened his shoulders, pushed the door open, and said, “Vendurro and Arki, coming in.”
The room must have belonged to the innkeep or been reserved for whatever prominent fieflord happened to stop for the night, as it was larger than expected, though mostly empty. A few cabinets thrown open, an empty chest with the lid up, a wardrobe, doors also open, and in the center, a large canopy bed, the posts carved with intricate scenes of deer being chased round and round by hounds and hunters. And in the center of that, the captain.
Hewspear and Mulldoos were standing there, looking down at him. Braylar was sprawled on his back, limbs outstretched, breath shallow and labored. Just as he had been in the Green Sea.
“He collapsed, didn’t he?” I asked. “Downstairs?”
Mulldoos kept his eyes locked on Braylar. “What gave that away? The fact he’s lying there senseless, all collapsed like?”
I tried not to sigh or roll my eyes, despite the fact that he wasn’t looking at me. “What I meant was, the men, your men, they saw him collapse, correct? Which means they aren’t—”
“Yeah,” Mulldoos shouted, “the men, our men,” he mimicked, “plaguing saw him go down, you dumb—”
Hewspear interrupted, “What Arki is trying to suggest, I think, is—”
“You taking his side, that it? This stupid little shit?”
Hewspear shook his head. “There are no sides to take. And you would scarcely find anyone except a Syldoon more overeducated than our scribe here. But the men have seen the captain go down several times now. And might be less than comfortable with that.” He turned to me. “Is that in fact what you were driving at, Arkamondos?”
I nodded. “They looked…” Having already angered Mulldoos, I searched for the right word.
“Spit it out, you horsecunt!”
“Spooked,” Vendurro offered. “They looked spooked. And with good plaguing reason. With Lloi gone, and that rogue witch not being one at all, well…”
Mulldoos looked ready to verbally assault him, or me, or even Hew-spear, jaw clamped tight, muscles bulging in his thick neck, eyes big and wild, seeming even wilder under those misplaced pale eyebrows. But instead he took out his rage on one of the carved posts, kicking up dust, and moving the bed several inches. If anyone else had been sleeping there, he would have bolted upright. Even a drunk would have at least rolled over and slurred a complaint. But the captain didn’t even stir.
“Never thought I’d miss that whore, Lloi. Plague me. Plague him.” Mulldoos dropped down on a stool, not caring that it nearly broke with his bulk. For the first time since I’d known him, he didn’t sound surly, angry, or argumentative. He sounded defeated.
Eyes still on the captain, Mulldoos asked me, “How long was he out like this? In the grass? Before Lloi finally showed her sorry ass and muddled through helping him?”
It seemed a bad time to state the obvious—that her muddling was the only thing that kept him upright and stopped the troops from questioning his status the last few years. “Not long. A few days? He started showing signs of the sickness earlier though.”
Mulldoos looked at Hewspear. “We got no time, and less. Only reason I found the little hellcat was keeping my ears open in every tavern in Alespell. And turned out she still couldn’t do shit. Out here…” He shook his head. “Grim odds of finding another one out in the wild. Mighty grim.”
Hewspear leaned against a faded panel on the wall, the paint chipped and flaking off. He peeled off a strip with long, dark fingers, thinking, and let it fall spiraling to the dusty floor.
Vendurro didn’t appear to have any idea how to behave. He stared at the lantern, as if trying to find the answer in its dim honey light.
Already on the wrong side of Mulldoos (was there a right side?), I was reluctant to speak up again, but with no one else shouting out ideas, I felt I had to try. I cleared my throat. No one looked, so I just spoke. “We could tell Soffjian.” I thought about what she told me in the wagon. “Or better yet, Skeelana. They might be able to help.”
Hewspear seemed to consider it, but then shook his head. “The captain forbade it. Expressly. We’ll just have to send men to outlying villages.”
Vendurro’s shoulders fell a notch. “This is the outlying village. No big settlements out this way. A few other small villages here and there, but the chances of wandering into one just before a hedge witch gets hung? Mulldoos called it—grim and grimmer going.”
Mulldoos gave me a long look, his blue eyes too pale to be flinty, but no less hard or unfriendly. The next words out of his mouth shocked me. “Never thought there’d be worse than admitting Hewspear might have the right of something, but this tops it. Scribbler’s got the right of it. I told Cap he should’ve done this back in Alespell. And you did, too, you wrinkled goatcock. Only thing that makes any kind of sense. Especially now that we got no options left.”
Hewspear pulled another long strip of paint off the wall and looked at it, balanced on his fingertips. “You know their history. And even discounting that, there are a number of reasons the captain wants to keep the Memoridon beyond arm’s length. If we reveal his condition, we risk revealing more. And that we cannot do. Not yet.”
I said, “She already suspects he is hiding something.”
Hewspear blew the long strip off his hand. “Oh?”
Mulldoos turned on the stool, wincing as pain must have shot up his injured leg. “You talking to Soffjian, you skinny shit? That’s ripe, it is. Real plaguing ripe.” His hand fell to the falchion on his hip. He looked ready to rise and use it just then. “You trying to work your way up that witch’s skirts?”
I shook my head quickly. “No! She doesn’t even wear skirts! But no!”
“Real bad idea, trading information to try to bed that witch.” Mull-doos drummed his fingers on the hilt. “Like to be a messy end for you, either way.”
I forced myself not to take a step back, despite every instinct screaming that was the best idea. “No, it wasn’t like that.”
“No? The not giving up vital information, or the not trying to wet your dick in the driest hole on earth?”
“What? Neither. I wasn’t doing either one.” I quickly added, “She cornered me in the barn a little while ago, started asking me questions, about the girl, and Bloodsounder, and—”
Mulldoos rose. “And what’d you tell her, scribbler?” I imagined several other people looked into those same cold eyes just before being sliced open.
“Nothing! I dodged every question and delayed.” I looked at Vendurro, “Luckily he came out, and she left before she could get very far. But she already suspects. That’s the point I’m getting at.”
Mulldoos looked at Vendurro. “That right?”
Vendurro nodded, looking very serious. “Yup. Came in there, just like he said, caught him with his pants down.”
I shouted, “What? That isn’t true!” I tried to keep the keening edge from my voice as I turned back to Mulldoos. “That isn’t true!”
Vendurro laughed. “Nahhh, I’m just pissing on you, Arki. It’s true, Lieutenant. Didn’t even see her in there. Must have taken off when I come near. Soffjian scares the hardness out of him. Same as me, when it comes down to it. Any sane man. No way was he seeking her out, and he wouldn’t have the guts to even think of bedding her, even if she weren’t Cap’s sister. Which of course she is. Just saying.”
Not the most complimentary defense, but I tried to look grateful that he took my side as he went on. “He’s telling it straight—went out to fetch that case of his, and got stuck in the wagon with her. Nothing more.”
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Mulldoos took a step toward me and I realized I was clutching my case tight to my chest. I tried to relax my arms, in case I needed to throw it at him and try to run. For all the good that would do. “So, not trying to get your gems rubbed, but still doling out information. Not sure, but that might be worse.”
“I told you, I didn’t volunteer anything. She caught me unexpectedly, and I tried to get out of there without looking like I was hiding something.”
Mulldoos didn’t advance closer, but his hand didn’t drop away from his weapon either. “Course you are. Even though we ain’t told you much at all, that’s ten times more than we want that cold bitch to know. Shouldn’t have told her a thing, you skinny prick.”
I knew if he attacked I’d likely be dead before I hit the floor, but I was tired of being bullied and humiliated. “I didn’t. She doesn’t know anything. I said suspects. And just a second ago, you were saying we should approach her! Now you’re saying we shouldn’t trust her?”
“That was before I knew you were meeting in the dark with her.”
Vendurro said, “She sought him out, Mulldoos. Not the other way round. And to hear him tell it, he didn’t tell her nothing she didn’t already know or think she knew.”
Mulldoos didn’t look especially mollified as he turned on the sergeant. “He been in the company a couple of tendays and you fall in love, Ven? Thought we taught you better than that. Only ones you can trust are your brothers. The rest of the world? Marks, victims, or enemies. Sometimes tools. Which one you think he is?” He jerked a thick thumb in my direction.
Hewspear clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth. “Arki didn’t need to mention meeting Soffjian at all. But he did. And his suggestion, much as I mislike going counter to the captain’s orders, is the only one that stands a chance of success. As you yourself proposed before blustering about.” He pushed off the wall slowly, nearly peeling himself. “Are we agreed on this then? We invite the Memoridons in, tell them all they need to know, and ask them to help the captain?”
Mulldoos nodded once, fast, grudgingly, still looking as if he’d prefer to cut someone open. Hewspear looked Vendurro’s way, and the younger man swallowed hard. “Can’t see no other choice. No good one, leastwise. If you’re asking me, I say let’s do it.”
Hewspear nodded. “Very well. Vendurro—find Soffjian or Skeelana.” He stared at the prone captain. “And quickly, lad. Quickly.”
Vendurro looked as if he’d been asked to stick his hand into a viper’s hole and wiggle his fingers, but he gave a quick nod and hurried from the room.
Mulldoos returned to his stool and kept vigil. For all the good it did.
I wished I could have said something to him to change things in my favor—remind him that I helped save the captain’s life in the temple, or Hewspear’s in the copse, or could have run when we were in Alespell and chose not to, especially after seeing the Hornman I spared. But of course I couldn’t. And of course it wouldn’t have done any good, even if I had.
If Mulldoos was right—if I was only a tool to the Syldoon, with never a chance to be more than that, then I was a fool to stand up to Soffjian to try to protect them. As it turned out, I was a fool regardless. She could have struck me down without blinking, even if I had good cause. And in the end, it didn’t matter. With no other recourse, we were doing the one thing the captain had absolutely forbidden.
Now the only questions were: could she or Skeelana help him, would they, and what would it mean once they had access to the interior of the man?
The group sat in silence like that, watching nothing, waiting for what felt like ages, when there was a soft rap on the door. We all turned as it opened and Vendurro came in first, followed by Soffjian and Skeelana. Despite having no immediate use for it, Soffjian carried her ranseur. I suppose if being among the Syldoon (and now a combat Memoridon) taught me anything, it was that unexpected bloodshed could come at any time and from any quarter. Skeelana, as usual, had the bare minimum armament of a suroka, though on her it seemed a ceremonial weapon, at best. I’m sure I would have looked equally uncomfortable with it on my hip.
Soffjian looked around the room, taking everything and everyone in slowly, and again I was reminded of the way Braylar surveyed a scene or situation, calculating and either pragmatic or cold, depending on how you viewed such detachment. She stopped when she got to me and smiled, though it was hardly warm. “Well, Arkamondos. It seems all your efforts to maintain secrecy were undone anyway. Or will be soon enough. Though I do commend you for the great lengths you went to try to maintain the little charade.” Soffjian looked directly at Mulldoos, and whether Vendurro had tipped her off or she was that masterful at gauging temperament, she said, “You should know, clumsy and artless as he was, your young scribe here did his best to reveal nothing of your captain’s very unusual condition.”
She might as well have been talking to the furniture for all the reaction she got.
Soffjian stuck the butt spike of her ranseur on the floor and gave it a slow spin, setting the tassels flowing like a dancer’s skirts, and then she looked at Hewspear. “Vendurro tells me you have need of our services.” She glanced at Braylar again, like a battlefield surgeon, determining whether a wound would prove fatal, result in amputation, or perhaps could be treatable. “While I appreciate your rigid brotherhood, tell me what I need to know. Spare no details. Not if you truly want us to save my brother. That is why you summoned us, is it not?”
Hewspear explained it all then, the necessary information at least. If it had been Vendurro briefing her, it would have been the opposite of brief and taken three days, but Hewspear was succinct, including only those critical facets—a pithy account of unearthing Bloodsounder, its peculiar debilitating effects, their thwarted efforts of breaking the bond between weapon and man, enlisting Lloi, her efforts to drain the poisonous memories out, subsequent death, and the failure to find someone else to take her place and help the captain.
Soffjian listened for the most part, asking for a small bit of clarification here, a little elaboration there, and though it all seemed designed to help her better assess his condition and her ability to aid him, having experienced her scrying firsthand, I felt as if her line of questioning served some other purpose as well. Though I couldn’t fathom what that might be.
She seemed intrigued by all she heard, but not especially shocked, and only vaguely surprised by some of it.
I looked over at Skeelana once or twice as she sat apart from everyone else, hoping she might somehow reveal something, anything. But she only made eye contact once, and broke it just as quickly. I wondered if I was reading too much into things. Or perhaps not reading enough.
Finally, Soffjian seemed satisfied, and Hewspear had unspooled as much as he intended.
Mulldoos spoke for the first time. “We brought you in to take care of him. No secret I got no love for your kind, but—”
“Really?” Soffjian feigned shock. “I confess I’m as wounded as I am surprised.”
“But I figured if some crippled barbarian whore could keep him from going mad, you and yours ought to be able to fix him good. Maybe cure him. Free him. But let me tell you something, witch—”
“Oh, do. Please.”
“I watched Lloi tromp around inside him, finding those stolen memories, stealing them back out, so I know how long it took. And she had no real skill. So if I get the feeling you’re strolling around seeing the sights, looking at more than exactly what you need, I swear to Truth, I’ll cut you into pieces so small they wouldn’t choke a rat. You understand?”
He had such a violent presence, and spoke with such horrible conviction, there was no doubting he meant every word, but it did not have the intended effect. Soffjian seemed unfazed. “Your loyalty and desire to protect your captain are both duly noted. But I do believe I take some exception to your tone, Lieutenant. At best, it could result in me simply refusing to aid him at all. At worst, it might invite the wrath of a war Memoridon who can blast you to
madness without more than a blink. I’d advise you—and I’ll only do so once—to adopt a slightly more congenial manner.”
Mulldoos should have been terrified, but to his credit, if he was he completely masked it. “Advise whatever you plaguing want. Warning still stands. Cap didn’t trust you to look him over, I sure as hells don’t either. But we got no choice. Only do what needs doing. Nothing more.”
She could have walked out or struck him down and neither would have surprised me, but after pausing for a few moments, as expressive as a reptile, she said. “Oh, I hear you, Syldoon. Make no mistake. But the memory of a Memoridon does not end. Do remember that.”
Soffjian looked Skeelana’s way, and the younger woman sprang off her stool and came over. Soffjian put her hand on Skeelana’s shoulder. “As I told our anxious scrivener over there, this will require some delicacy. I am not good at delicate.”
“Useful at last.” While everyone else in the room was wound tight, Skeelana looked like she was ready to jump in a swimming hole on a hot summer day. “What would you have me do?”
“It’s just like sifting through memories, searching for the truth. Only, as the good soldiers here have made abundantly clear, we’re not looking for his memories. Only foreign matter that does not belong.”
Skeelana nodded. “Finding it should be easy enough. But I’ve never—” She took a deep breath, and it was hard to tell if she was nervous or excited. “I’ve never extracted anything like that before.”
Soffjian smiled, and for once there was some warmth to it. If only a hint. “Well then. You will be making some history. Memoridon history at least. An untrained was already trudging around there, muddying the waters. If she can do it, I’m confident you can manage.”
I said, “You’ll feel quite nauseous after.” Everyone in the room looked at me as if they had completely forgotten I was even a bystander, and I immediately felt the flush in my cheeks. “That is, if previous experience holds true. The stolen memories, they’re like poison, and drawing them out, you’ll experience a little of what the captain has. But it passes. After you vomit anyway.”
Veil of the Deserters Page 23