When she finished her meal and stood, Cassie said, “Are you ready to go down, then, my lady?”
Clara nodded and, strapping on her practice sword, headed out. Looking over her shoulder, she saw not only Cassie but her (now) four guards following. She turned away with a frustrated sigh, feeling like the whole stupid castle was starting to follow her around.
Down in the practice yard, Emmerich watched her approach with a barely-concealed amused look.
“I see you met Cassie,” he said. “Do you like her?”
Clara nodded curtly. Unable to help herself, she took up her slate and wrote, “I can take care of myself.”
Some of the humor went out of his face. “I know. But your rank demands it. And it's just in case.”
They hadn't really talked about her strange episode. Clara didn't like to think about it. She had the strangest feeling, ever since, that there was something not quite right. Sometimes, she found herself scanning a room as if looking for someone, though she didn't know for whom she searched. It deeply unsettled her.
“I have something for you,” he said, bringing her attention back to the present. “You've made so much progress over the se'ennights, I thought you earned it.” He turned and picked up a sheathed sword leaning against the fence. “Take off your practice sword.”
She did and he took it from her, dropping it in the dust at their feet. Stepping forward, he deftly buckled the new sword around her waist. She raised her eyebrows at the weight. It was lighter than Haggard's sword.
“Draw it,” he said, stepping back.
Clara did, and admired the etching on the blade: twin ivy vines winding around each other along the length. The pommel was a small dark blue stone and the grip wrapped in black leather. The cross guard was etched with more ivy leaves.
“About time you had your own sword, I think,” said Emmerich, a strange look on his face. “And, this to match.” He held out a sheathed dagger.
Sheathing the sword, she took the dagger and drew it, admiring the identical pattern.
“You can wear it on your waist, or in your boot. I would suggest your waist.”
She nodded, feeling gratitude well up in her.
“Well, come on. Today we're doing archery.” He turned and walked away before she had the chance to write a thank you on her slate. After fumbling with her belt to slide on the dagger, she jogged after Emmerich to the practice range.
Emmerich began by showing her the different parts of the bow and arrow, filling her mind with archery terms. He was just beginning to notch an arrow when a messenger ran up to them in the field.
“My lord,” said the boy, bowing low. “A message for you.” He held out a rolled missive.
Emmerich unrolled it and Clara stepped close to read it around his shoulder. It was from the mysterious Captain Asher she had been hearing about. It read:
All is well. Will be arriving in a few se'ennights’ time. Have amassed enough men for another company.
Emmerich grunted and nodded at the messenger, who left.
Clara touched Emmerich's arm and, when he turned to her, wrote, “When he gets here, we will march onto Candor?”
“Aye.”
“And will you hide me away again?”
“Clara, you can't ride into battle. Not with your condition. And you sure as hell can't go ahead to join Gavin.”
The fierceness of that last statement surprised her and she did not try to continue the conversation during the remainder of the lesson.
Chapter Nineteen
A se'ennight after leaving Orlind Castle, Gavin waited in the long line streaming into Candor City. Castle Newfound reared from a hill in its center, its tall spires piercing the air.
The largest walled city in the Northern fiefdoms, and their touted “capital”, it sat on an island where the River Braddock, coming down from the icy mountains of the far North, split into River Lance (which turned west on into the Plains) and River Lyn Tone (which traveled south, through Bertrand, easing east and on into the ocean). From the rivers sprang numerous tributaries and smaller rivers that watered the fertile swampland of the Far South.
Every bit of trade going south to Bertrand went through Candor. Every bit of trade coming up from Bertrand went through Candor. It sat like a giant purse on a rich man’s desk, begging to be stolen.
Many had tried. The vast majority of invaders had failed. So, quite naturally, while some residents (including the spy) had left, many a merchant were streaming into Candor to avoid the–
“Damn rebels,” muttered the mercenary standing in front of Gavin.
“You're just sore you ain't lying warm with Aimee,” replied his companion.
“She could have come.”
“But she didn't.” His friend looked over at him. “I'm sure she's not warming someone else.”
The first mercenary growled a low curse.
“It'll go right over us,” continued the friend. “No one has been able to take this place.”
“They took Orlind.”
“Orlind was a pile of rubble.”
“I heard the Baroness had a sorcerer.”
“And I heard their leader is a two-headed monster, but that don't mean I believe it.”
“Well, whichever, if it weren't for him, our employer wouldn't be making us stand in this bloody long line.”
His friend sighed. “Can't really argue with that.”
They were silent for a while. Thunder rumbled in the distance, eliciting groans all around. Gavin gratefully urged his horse forward a few dozen steps with the line as one more caravan was let through the main gate.
The first mercenary spoke up again. “Though, I can't help but cheer him on.”
“Oh?” The second turned to look at his friend.
“Aye.” He looked at his friend. “You've heard the stories coming out of Bertrand. If half of them are true–”
“Probably aren't.”
“But if they are, I may not be so quick to draw on any of his soldiers if they come knocking on the front gate.”
“Our employer would like to know that.”
The first mercenary's shoulders tensed. “And will he?”
His friend smiled. “Ah, hell, no, Bert. I'm right there with you.”
“Damn straight.”
The crowds within Candor vibrated with more energy than ever. There seemed to be more of everything since Gavin's last visit. More vendors lined the narrow street. More people shouted at the top of their lungs to be heard by their companions. More animals brayed, neighed, whinnied, and defecated. Gavin felt like he was trapped in a tiny room with a hundred unwashed bodies all yelling at the same time.
He finally pushed his way toward the residential eastern side of the city. Here, where guards in blue livery patrolled, things were calmer than the streets close to the city's center and the castle. Houses hid behind walls and carefully sculpted trees and hedges. A few dogs barked but otherwise, it remained quiet. And deserted. Not even children played in the streets.
After a few blocks, he approached a modest gate. Dismounting, he pulled on the clapper. A few moments later, an older man wearing purple and grey approached.
“Can I help you?” he asked.
“Aye,” Gavin replied. “I'm here to see Master Elbert Wigginson.”
“And you are?”
“Terrence of Brill.”
“I shall tell him you're here.” He turned on his heel and walked back up the path into the house.
Gavin waited, tapping his foot on the flagstone. A pair of guards strolled down the sidewalk on the other side of the street. He looked casually away. Finally, the servant returned and, opening the gate, bowed him in.
“If you will follow me, sir,” he said, locking the gate and leading him to the house, where Gavin hitched his horse at a post before going inside.
Decorated in the Southern style, rich red wood paneled the walls, and tables held artfully arranged trinkets. On the walls hung religious paintings and portraits of merch
ants and their wives. The servant led Gavin down the hall to the study.
He opened the door, stepped in, and said, “Terrence of Brill, sir.”
“Thank you, Lawrence. That will be all.” A stocky man with grey hair stood from behind his desk.
Gavin came in and the servant took Gavin's bag and left, closing the door behind him. The two men studied each other for a moment before Elbert broke into a broad grin. Coming around the desk, he held his arms open wide.
“Terrence, my old friend.”
The two men embraced.
“Sit, sit,” Elbert said, drawing him to the two chairs arranged before the fireplace. Gavin sat gratefully while his host poured them wine at the sideboard. “I would ask what brings you to Candor, but that's hardly necessary.”
“Aye,” said Gavin. “The streets here are silent compared to the center and by the gate. Thank you.” He accepted the glass of wine. He sipped and raised a brow appreciatively.
Elbert sat across from him. “That's because most of those homes you saw are empty. It's rather amusing, actually. The merchants outside Candor come here seeking refuge while those within run for Bertrand or Tier or even across the sea.”
“Like rats off a sinking ship.”
“Don't insult rats, my friend.” He sipped his wine.
“His coming is delayed, by the way. Our friend? He's decided to wait for the rest of his party to join him.”
“Doesn't like to travel alone?”
“In this time? With the rebel mob on the loose? Hardly.”
Elbert chuckled. Slowly, though, the laughter bled from his eyes and his face settled into grave lines. “Our other guests are only a se'ennight's journey away. Probably less.”
“That so?”
“Aye.”
“I hope that it isn't a large number.”
“Oh, large enough to fill Lady Perth’s mansion.”
They sat in silence for a little longer. Finally, Elbert continued, “Some new plans are being drawn up for the summer home.”
“Sounds delightful.”
“Oh, it is. Trouble is, my architect wishes to surprise me. Won't let me even get a peep out of him.”
“I hate it when that happens.”
“Who doesn't?”
Silence filled the room again. When the wine was gone, Gavin set the empty glass on the table with a small clink. “I hate to intrude on your kindness–”
“Feel free to wander the house while my maids prepare your room.”
“You are too kind, old friend.”
They stood and hugged again. Gavin walked out of the room and turned right to go up the servant's stairs. He went up, all the way to the attic. Opening the dusty door, he smiled to see Portent perched just inside an open window.
Sitting next to the bird on an old trunk, he took out a small scrap of paper, an ink well, and a pen. He added a little water to the well, shook it, and, dipping the pen in, carefully wrote in code, “Expect about 300 extra men. Will be here in one se'ennight from this sending. Beware. Marduk is planning something unknown.”
Sprinkling a little sand on the words to dry them, he looked out the window onto the rooftop of the neighboring house. He wondered how Clara was doing. Had it really been just a se'ennight since the last time he saw her? His heart clenched a little.
Portent stood patiently while the message was being tied onto his leg. Holding him around his body, Gavin leaned out of the window and tossed the bird into the air. The falcon opened his wings and soared up into the sky.
Gavin awoke. Outside on the street, several drunks sang and a few carriages rattled by. Soft moonlight filtered into his room through the drapes. Sitting up, his eyes scanned the dark bedchamber, the space between his shoulder blades itching with suspicion.
Kicking off the coverlet, he rolled out of the bed and lit the bedside lamp. Warm yellow light flooded the room. He was alone.
Scooping up yesterday's trousers, he jerked them on and fastened on his sword. He carefully lifted the lamp and approached the bedchamber door, straining his ears for any sound. Hearing nothing, he opened the door and eased into the hallway.
From the stairs floated up the muffled sounds of conversation. Elbert having a late night visitor? Gavin's stomach cramped a little as he walked silently up to the landing and looked over the railing's edge. Flickering light spilled into the hallway from the parlor. Keeping to the wall to avoid creaky stairs, Gavin came halfway down the staircase and blew out his lamp.
“The price has doubled,” Elbert said.
“You should be grateful,” replied a smooth, accented voice, “that you are getting your life, much less coin.”
“I'm not asking for more coin. I'm asking for the release of my nephew and his family.”
“Done.”
“How can I be sure you will?”
There came a long pause and, then, softly, “You doubt the word of the King?”
“No. No. Not at all.”
“It sounded like you did. I speak for the King. Any deal we strike is the same as if you made it with him.”
“Aye. Of course.”
“Where is he?”
“Upstairs, second bedroom to the left.”
Gavin tore off the glass shade of the lamp and held the wick to a lit candle in a sconce by him. As the first soldier came through the parlor door, he flung the lamp as hard as he could. It shattered on the expensive wooden floor at the soldier's feet, flaming oil splashing everywhere. The soldier took most of the oil in his face and fell, screaming, as the conflagration spread in the hall.
Elbert yelled, “What's happening?”
Gavin dashed back to his room and snatched up his pack. Not bothering with anything else, he ran to the servant's stairs and took them two at a time, coming out in the kitchen. Men were yelling and cursing by the parlor as they tried to put out the flames. From overhead, he heard running feet.
Gavin's hand grasped the knob of the backdoor when he heard, “Nowhere to go, spy.”
Whirling, he drew his sword but his attacker was already on him, punching him in the gut and stomping on his foot. He lashed out with the blade but the man caught his wrist and twisted. With a cry, Gavin dropped his weapon. The man struck him on the head with something heavy and Gavin sunk to the floor, unconsciousness swallowing him.
The first thing Gavin smelled when he woke again was horse dung. Next, he felt a hard floor beneath him and tight ropes binding his arms painfully behind him. His hands were numb. A cloth covered his eyes and a raging headache pounded his skull. Below, he heard a horse snort and stomp.
Groaning, he sat up. Whoever tied him hadn't bothered with his ankles.
“Ah, you are awake.”
The speaker jerked the blindfold off of Gavin's head and bright sunlight pierced his eyes. Blinking rapidly, he focused on his captor, seeing first an emerald belt reflecting candlelight. Gavin brought his eyes up to the wizard's face.
The man was short and swarthy. Black hair chopped closely to his head, he had large, expressive black eyes over a short nose. Someone could have called him handsome. That was not the first word to spring to Gavin's mind.
“What do you want?” Gavin asked.
“No preamble?” He spoke with a heavy accent, possibly Arventi, but the words were the dialect of Bertrand’s High Court. “No begging for your life?”
“You're going to kill me in the end. So why bother?”
The man nodded. He sat in a chair across from Gavin. “I have a few questions.”
“I'm not terribly surprised. You want to know how big General Emmerich's army is? How many siege machines he has? What his plan of attack on Candor is going to be? You're going to have to kidnap someone else, because you aren't learning any of that from me.”
“We already know all of that.”
Fear, like a lump of ice, lodged into Gavin's heart. “Is that so, now?”
“It is.”
“And how did you come by this information?”
“Well, ob
viously, we have eyes and ears in the Castle Orlind. But let's not waste time on such trifles.”
“Why have you kidnapped me?”
“Tell me about the Seer, Lady Clara.”
“I don't know who you're talking about.”
“You're lying. Eyes and ears, remember? So, tell me about her. Everyone has a story. What is hers?”
“Go to Hell.”
The humor drained from the wizard's face and his eyes became flat, black, and cold. “Tread carefully, bard. I can make your blood boil without killing you, and I can make flesh-eating beetles appear under your skin. Answer my question.”
Gavin spat toward him.
“Not very original,” he said. “But I give you full marks for spirit.”
Casually, the wizard raised his hand and Gavin's flesh began to melt from his bones. Liquid pain flowed over his body and he began to scream, over and over, as skin bubbled and boiled and slid off of bone, muscle, organ, and tendon. Blood and melted skin splattered on the floor in large drops. The air felt abrasive as it touched the exposed tissue. He felt the air whistle past his teeth as he screamed.
The wizard waved his hand again and the pain stopped. Blinking and gasping, Gavin looked at his body: unmarked and whole.
“Someone will hear me,” he said hoarsely, trembling.
“That's what spells are for, my friend. Let me ask again. What is Clara's story?”
“No.”
Every bone in his body began to vibrate and, one by one, break. His leg bones shattered, his ribs fractured, his hips broke, and his fingers contorted into unnatural angles. The scream ripped from his voice as he fell to the floor, his spine crunching loudly. The pain left. Gavin turned onto his side and vomited.
“I'm not,” he gasped, “telling you anything.”
The wizard sighed. “It's going to be a long day, I think.”
Beetles crawled up his legs and tore at Gavin's body, gulping down greedy bites. It felt like a small, hot knives slicing into him over and over as the beetles worked their way up. Gavin squeezed his eyes shut.
It's only an illusion, he told himself. Only an illusion.
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