by Kal Spriggs
“You are protected, morally, by your consideration as child... but you are also vulnerable. You cannot challenge those who seek to do you harm, nor can you confront them and be taken seriously,” Nanamak shrugged. “This allows them to hide behind whispers, and to plan darker actions while they remain out of sight. The lack of response makes them bold, and soon they will strike.”
“You think I will-”
Her gifts warned her a couple seconds before the man stepped out from behind the tree with a bow drawn back. She could not make out his face in the shadows of the trees, but she saw his mind and the determination to kill her. Amelia flashed back to her training with Tirianis. She reached into his mind and projected an image of her to the side. The archer let loose and the arrow hissed through the air where her illusion stood. Amelia painted the image with blood and in the man's mind, she fell lifeless to the ground.
She became so focused on her opponent that she had not noticed that Nanamak moved. She turned her head to see him engaged with a spirit or construct of some kind. A figure made of wood towered over him. She could see it reach out one arm towards her. The ancient Wold moved in a blur, his hatchets smashed pieces of wood away from the looming figure. Where his hatchets struck, the air seemed to flicker with lightning, and she could feel energy bleed away from the construct.
One clawed wooden hand swept at Nanamak, but it bounced off his leather tunic, and the runes on it flared with light. He leapt up and swung both hatchets at once, and the construct stumbled backwards.
Amelia reached out with her mind and found the controls that bound the construct. They seemed simpler than those of the sentinels, and Amelia reached deep inside the alien thoughts and ripped.
The construct jerked and twitched and then lay still, its wooden arms and legs splayed out. Nanamak stepped back from it with a nod of satisfaction.
In her mind, she could sense the archer as he withdrew. She could also sense his satisfaction and his cruel sense of pleasure that he had killed the woman whose life had threatened his group's plans. She also sensed that he had killed before, in his long life, men and women from the lands outside of the Eastwood who were seen as threats.
Amelia turned to Nanamak. The wizened little man looked relaxed and at ease, yet she wondered at his arrival. He is always at the right place at the right time, she thought. Was it too paranoid of her to wonder his role in this attack as well as the previous one against Simonel?
Nanamak gave her a smile and when he spoke, he did not even seem short of breath. “As I said, you might want to consider that your opponents will feel free to kill you... after all, a child has no ability to fight back.”
***
Captain Kerrel Flamehair
The Lonely Keep, The Lonely Isle, Duchy of Masov
Twenty Fifth of Tremarn, Cycle 999 Post Sundering.
Kerrel stopped outside the low tent. She cast a glance behind her again, and saw no sign that anyone followed. She stooped low and almost had to crouch to get inside.
She found the inside little improvement. Drying clothing hung from the ceiling, and a half dozen women occupied most of the floor space, their hands busy with thread and needles. “Is Rain here?” Kerrel asked.
“I am Rain,” A young woman said. Kerrel turned to face her. She felt her jaw drop in surprise at the sight of the other woman. She matched Kerrel in height and her red hair and green eyes seemed a perfect match as well. Her narrow, fox-like face was different, as was her cocky smile. The woman wore barbarian furs and some kind of blue tribal tattoo crept up the left side of her face. Even so, she could have passed for Kerrel's sister. She looks more like me than Moira did, Kerrel thought with shock.
“I, uh, heard that you were the one to talk to about special sewing,” Kerrel said.
“Oh?” Rain asked. She looked at the women at work, “Not really. But lets step out back.” The other tall woman stepped through a flap at the back of the tent, and Kerrel followed her. Outside in the sunlight, Kerrel saw that Rain had two hatchets hung on loops on either side of her belt, as well as a large collection of knives. “You don't seem like what I was lead to believe.”
“Oh?” Rain asked. “You don't know anything about me, so why don't you state your business, and cease to waste my time.”
“Very well,” Kerrel said, her voice sharp. “Aut Inventiem Viam Aut Facium.”
“Oh,” Rain grimaced. “That business.”
“I have a message to pass along to Luciel Order. I cannot afford to write it down.” Kerrel studied the other woman, uncertain why the Order had chosen such a noticeable messenger. Out in the light, she looked older, but still young. She might have traces of Starborn heritage, from the age of her eyes and her confidence.
“I will see that it reaches them. Though if I knew I'd have to deal with you... well I might have charged more,” Rain said. “State your message, I'll make certain it reaches them.”
Kerrel's eyes narrowed, “You've a rude attitude and they didn't say you were a mercenary.”
“You're the mercenary, dear,” Rain said. “And before you take offense... well, lets just say that I was involved in a mission of my own, before they asked me to help them out. Playing messenger is not something I'm suited for... I'm more into your line of work, back on Aoriel.”
“Oh,” Kerrel said. “I could see why playing messenger might seem a step down.” She hated to think what it would be like to be stuck as a mere messenger. Then again, the woman had mentioned she had other business. Kerrel wondered if that was with the Luciel Order or related somehow.
“It's something to pass the time and I've done worse,” Rain said. “Though if what I've seen back home is any sign of what will soon happen here, you can expect the next few cycles to be interesting.” Her tone was casual, but Kerrel could hear an edge of anxiety in her vibrant voice. Clearly she worried about friends and companions back home. It was a feeling that Kerrel knew well enough.
Kerrel felt a sudden curiosity, “I haven't spoken with anyone from Aoriel, do you have time, perhaps, to tell me some of those lands?” The one thing she truly enjoyed about her work with the Order was the travel she had done... even if it meant she had to come to the Lonely Isle to fight the Armen.
“Not really,” Rain said. “Lots of fighting, right now. Lots of fighting, a war against the gods, lots of fun. The sooner I deliver your message, the sooner I can get back to it.”
Kerrel shook her head, “Very well. The Vendakar commander, Pradjahdar, has made an agreement with the Armen. He plans to allow them through his ford, and he'll let them fall on Hector's force from the flank. I will be trying to get the independent mercenaries, particularly those of the cavalry, to disregard Lord Hector's orders and to defeat his battalion. I need the Luciel Order to convince the locals to make their own preparations. Specifically, I need them to reform when needed to prevent the Armen from destroying this army.”
Rain nodded, “Okay, I'll pass that along. Sounds like it'll be a good fight, shame I'll miss it.” She gave a fox-like grin and her hands went to the two hatchets she wore on either hip.
“You'll be gone that soon?” Kerrel asked.
“Yes,” Rain said. “Though it's a shame I'll miss out on the fight. I've finished up my other business and I've a friend who can get me out of here before your battle.”
“Well, thank you, Rain,” Kerrel said. “Maybe we'll get a chance to fight together sometime.”
“Oh, that would be fun,” Rain smiled. “We always need some good mercenaries, and with how you look, we could play some good tricks on people, you and me.”
“Any way to reach you?” Kerrel asked with curiosity. Something of Rain's attitude felt right to her, like an old friendship rekindled.
“Some of the Luciel Order keep in contact with us on Aoriel,” Rain said. “They can contact Lady Sonya and she or Telion can reach me. Just ask for Princess Rain Whitestar of the Wind Dale.”
***
Captain Kerrel Flamehair
The gua
rds outside of Attrimar's tent showed no surprise as Kerrel stepped up before them, though one of them checked to make certain his sword remained loose in its scabbard. “I'm here to see Attrimar,” Kerrel said. She kept her voice level, though she felt unease at the upcoming conversation.
She also felt distaste, but she had done many distasteful things as a mercenary. Dealing with the likes of Attrimar just seemed worse because she had made the decision, rather than her employer.
A voice spoke from within, “Send Captain Flamehair in.”
Kerrel stepped past the guards and into the tent. Attrimar's taste in fashion ran towards comfort and luxury, she noted. She stepped onto a plush carpet and she saw fine curtains hung down to conceal the walls of the tent. Overstuffed cushions lay in piles, arranged in artistic clusters around the tent. Rich golds and deep reds seemed to be the central colors, tasteful yet somehow overstated enough to seem decadent.
Attrimar lay at his ease in the largest pile of cushions. “Greetings, my Lady. I had wondered how long it would take you to come to me.”
“You expected me?” Kerrel asked and arched one eyebrow.
“My men have kept me informed as to your activities,” Attrimar said. He gestured at a cluster of pillows, “Please take a seat.”
“I'll stand,” Kerrel said.
“As you prefer,” Attrimar said. “You seem to oppose the treachery that the Vendakar Houses of Rajpakopol and Rajdahar have planned. And as far as I can tell, you've convinced the Mongrels, the Lancers, and Correia's Harbringers to aide you. I'm a bit confused about your visit to the sewing area, but I'm certain that had something to do with getting information.”
“Oh?” Kerrel asked. She had not yet heard back from Pargan about Correia's Harbringers, so clearly Attrimar had good sources of information. Then again, she had not stopped moving yet during the day. Also the news that the Luciel Order's messenger remained undiscovered by someone so well informed boded well to her.
“It doesn't matter much,” Attrimar said. “I figured you would come to me for help sooner than this, to be honest. You lack ties with the locals, so you need someone with my connections to broker a deal. And of course, there's the issue of your cousin.”
“We can settle the latter first,” Kerrel said. She had not thought to use Attrimar's connections to swing the local forces to her side. Then again, she wanted to see how expensive his help would be with her original intent.
“Of course,” Attrimar said. “Commander Pradjuhar has your cousin imprisoned in a tent next to his own. I have, purely by fortunate circumstance, of course, already positioned a pair of my men as the waste collectors for his camp. They can smuggle your cousin out with the evening garbage, he won't be missed until the morning, perhaps later if his forces are occupied with a distraction such as the impending battle?”
“That sounds like a plan,” Kerrel said cautiously. “And what payment do you think would be fair?”
“Well now, that is a question, is it not?” Attrimar said. “This will be quite dangerous to my men, I will have to compensate them for their troubles and if they are caught... well I'll have to make certain they die quickly, the Vendakar torturers will make any man spill his secrets.” He took a sip of his red wine, and for a moment, it looked to Kerrel almost as if the red wine that stained his lips were blood. “And then there's the risks I take by opposing the Vendakar. They have quite a bit of trade power, especially those two Great Houses.”
Kerrel met his gaze. She noticed his dark eyes had flecks of gold at the center of his iris and those flecks seemed to catch the light in odd ways. “Yet, helping me is to do yourself a favor. You'll prevent the loss of your market here with Lord Hector. Also, I'm certain it might be difficult for you to deal with the Armen as they overrun the camp. You may lose some of your wares. Also, its a good distance to the port. You'll have to travel that distance through countryside that swarms with Armen raiders.”
“A point,” Attrimar smiled politely. “And one I have considered. Yet I fail to see why your cousin's rescue significantly changes things.”
“Think of the leverage they hold over me,” Kerrel said. “I am not truly free to act without his freedom.”
“A point which you undercut with your reputation,” Attrimar said. “I think that the Vendakar should never have tried the hostage method with you. They saw your past and assumed family to be your weakness... while I think it is the other way. You are at your most dangerous when your family is threatened.”
Kerrel stared at him, “So you think that the fact that they took Jonal makes me more willing to kill them?”
“Oh, of course, that,” Attrimar said. “But more, it means you will cross lines you might otherwise find... questionable, in order to accomplish your goals. Such as talking to a 'pimp' that would otherwise disgust you.”
“You find it amusing?” Kerrel asked. Her hand dropped to the hilt of her saber. She met his odd gaze with a calm expression, even as she fought to keep her temper contained.
“Oh, yes I do, all the more so because you must swallow your anger and disgust to deal with me...” Attrimar took another sip of his wine. “But I'll tease you no more, child. Back to business. I will free your cousin for you, but in return, I want a favor.”
“What kind of favor?” Kerrel asked.
“There is a... token of mine, that someone took, many cycles ago. It came into the hands of one of the southern nobles of the Duchy of Masov. I want you to retrieve it. I will make sure you are provided with a description, as well as a suitable trade.”
“Why not get it yourself?” Kerrel asked with narrow eyes.
“As you showed, it takes some pressure to get someone so nobly inclined as yourself to deal with the likes of me,” Attrimar said. “The man who has it would not 'walk across the street to piss on me if I were on fire,' as he so colloquially stated once.”
“So I broker this deal and send you this token? In return you'll deliver my cousin to me before the battle?” Kerrel asked.
“Yes, and as a matter of faith, I will wait until you have the opportunity to deal with the gentleman in question,” Attrimar said. “After all, your own honesty will ensure you'll hold up your end of the bargain, while you have no trust for me. Besides, I feel confident that your distaste for me will make you do your best to get my task done quickly, so that you'll be done with me.”
“Then we have an agreement,” Kerrel said.
“We do... which leads us to the question of local support of your effort to save Lord Hector from his allies,” Attrimar raised an eyebrow. “But you don't seem very interested.”
Kerrel met his gaze with a calm expression and tried to put an edge of boredom in her voice, “Well, I'm not certain I'll really need your help.”
“If you think that someone like Commander Nasrat will leap to your aide... you are sadly mistaken. As a matter of fact, I would hardly be surprised if he delayed his response if he realized your life lay in the balance.”
“True,” Kerrel said. “But can you influence him?”
Attrimar's smile turned pained, “I do have some limits, I'm afraid.” He sighed, “I of course, have dealings with his daughter, witches are unable to not make deals. But I doubt I have enough influence over her to directly intervene, especially if I used the truth about your involvement.”
“And lying to a witch is generally a bad idea,” Kerrel smiled. “So what, you could probably get a couple companies, maybe their reserves, to assist. I'm expecting the Vendakar cavalry to attack either the local battalion or Lord Hector's central battalion, mostly to sow confusion so that the Armen can make their crossing unopposed.”
“A company of infantry support could be very useful...”
“They might well do what I need them to do, especially if I position my men right and if my people spread rumors that the Vendakar mercenaries have made offers for mercenaries to trade sides.” Kerrel said, “They're already suspicious of mercenaries, I might as well make it work for me.”
“Those rumors will get back to Lord Hector,” Attrimar said.
“Not before the battle, not if I time them right,” Kerrel said. “And after the battle, it won't really matter, one way or the other.” Either it would work out or she would be dead. Either way, the matter would be settled.
“You don't even want to hear my price?” Attrimar seemed almost desperate.
“No,” Kerrel smiled, “I think I have other business to attend. Got a whole battle to plan, you know. Good day to you, Attrimar.”
***
Captain Grel, The Duke's Hound
Ryft Peaks, Duchy of Masov
Twenty Fifth of Tremarn, Cycle 999 Post Sundering
Grel the Hound reined in his horse as the black-cloaked figure seemed to appear out of nowhere directly in front of him. “Andoral's Black Balls!” He grunted. He heard the troop behind him come to a halt, with more curses, some darker than his own.
“I think you should watch your tongue or be prepared to lose it,” Xavien said.
“Sorry, my Lord,” Grel said. He waved one of the men with additional horses to come forward. “This is a wizard in Lord Hector's employ. He will help us to track the bandits.” Grel just hoped that Xavien wouldn't hold his delay against him. It had taken far longer than Grel had expected to get all of the other mercenaries rounded up and headed back to their posts. It had taken even longer to get Henderson and his men ready for this march. Organizing pack horses, supplies, and food for a hundred men and twice that number of horses had been a chore that he would have left to others... except he couldn't trust the others with the full scope of the danger they faced. Going into these mountains at Xavien's beck and call could take a week or six months. If it took that long, they could see snow on the ground by the time they rode out... if they rode out.
“Lord Hector didn't mention any wizards,” Henderson said, his voice sharp.
Grel grunted, “Well he doesn't tell you everything, does he? After I told him the witch had failed, he sent this one. He also said we should obey him as if he speaks with Lord Hector's voice... no matter the instructions, understood?”