Uprising

by H. M. Clarke

  “I know the place. We will.”

  ‘Until we meet again.’ Wotha again thumped his fist to his chest, and then the three turned and left through the gatehouse.

  “Wow, so… they were Dymarki… They are more impressive in person.” Donal spoke softly, as if in awe. Ryn silently nodded her agreement.

  “I certainly wouldn’t want to be on their bad side,” she said, thinking on the claws and the sight of their large fangs.

  “You have no fear of that, The Dymarki are not traditionally a warlike people. They only fight to defend themselves, their honor and their territory,” Dagan said in response. “Now, let’s get back to the topic at hand. Kathryn and Ashe, you are to go out to the farmhouse and use that as your base of operations for searching the area around Kaldor for any signs of this group. Both of you need to grab your packs and supplies. You leave tomorrow at dawn. And Ashe, you keep an eye on her. Make sure she doesn’t throw herself in front of anything sharp.”

  “Of course, Dagan.”

  “Then be off with you. The rest of us will joint you out there in a few days. We’ll then go through everything we have discovered and determine our next course of action.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Dinner that night was a sombre affair; the Main Hall of the Blackwatch Barracks was no longer as lively a place it once was. All the banners and tapestries that adorned the walls were now covered with thick black linen and around the hall was set large bouquets of white Sardom lilies that were traditionally said to keep the God of Death from re-entering the house. Their thick, sweet scent covered the smell of sweaty unease from those seated within the hall.

  Ryn knew that the Blackwatch Garrison had been told earlier in the day of the attacks on the prisoner caravan and the deaths of fellow constables. Several people who had travelled with them from Brookhaven had their Pairing broken and were now in the Infirmary grieving their loss while surviving their own injuries. Some of those constables had trained her, Ashe, Donal, Banar and Lily and they had all gone up to the Infirmary just before dinner to give their condolences. Even as she now sat at the far table between Dagan and Ashe, Ryn could not get the image of their distraught, anguished faces out of her mind. Dagan must have sensed her unease, because he kept smiling at her and that made her even more uncomfortable.

  Around them sat the residents of the Kaldor Blackwatch Barracks who were dressed in a sea of black, white and grey. This was not a training school, so there were no green and brown cadet tunics to be seen. Their individual conversations were muted; quiet. It made Ryn think she was in a temple.

  Moving quickly through the aisles round them were the numerous movements of the kitchen and drink servers who were pouring wine and serving food to those present.

  Time seemed to crawl as each meal course was served. Ryn could feel the eyes of the nearby constables upon them. Their scrutiny made her uncomfortable. She could see from the expressions shown on the faces turned toward them, that they all knew that their group had been with the ill-fated caravan. She knew that as soon as the meal was over that they would be assailed on all sides by good meaning people asking questions.

  Ashe was not a talkative dinner partner and Ryn slowly got the impression that he was avoiding conversation with her on purpose. Dagan, on the other hand, was giving her emotional whiplash. One minute he would be his dour, joyless Magister self, and then the next he would quip and joke raucously around with the others. Not for the first time she thought him a strange fish, and not for the first time she realised that he was doing it to distract her from her morose thoughts. As dessert was being served, Dagan managed to catch her eye. The small, reassuring smile he gave her suddenly dispelled all her fears.

  A tap on her shoulder made her jump and Ryn looked quickly around to see a Page behind her holding a pewter wine jug.

  “Wine, constable?”

  Ryn shook her head. “No Thank you.”

  “The Knight Captain insists,” the Page said quietly as he held the jug forward expectantly.

  Ryn looked up to the High Table to see Knight Captain Toth Stayton watching the exchange. He gave a slight nod.

  “On second thought, I will have some wine.” Taking her goblet from the table, she held it out to the Page to fill.

  The Page filled her goblet and as he wiped the overspill from her cup, he slipped a small piece of parchment into Ryn’s hand.

  Ryn quickly covered her look of surprise and thanked the Page, who then returned to stand behind the Knight Captain.

  She felt the parchment pressing against her palm and was at a loss as to what to do with it. Ryn gathered that Knight Captain Stayton wanted no one else to know that she had it. She took a sip from the goblet and placed it gently on the table. Taking a quick look at both Ashe and Dagan on either side of her to make sure they were not watching, Ryn then hid her hands under the table and slipped the note into the sleeve of her gambeson. She then causally picked up her goblet again to pretend to have another sip of wine. She tried not to wrinkle her nose. White wine was not her favourite.

  The rest of the evening flew by quickly for Ryn. Once the main dessert courses were finished, Ryn excused herself from the table claiming tiredness. Ashe looked concerned, and Donal made a joke about her getting old.

  Ryn saw Lily frown. It was not considered polite to leave the hall before the Knight Captains. She ignored it.

  Ryn gratefully headed towards the side entry and felt Dagan’s presence fall in behind her.

  As the doors closed behind them Dagan asked, “How are you really feeling?”

  Ryn kept staring ahead of her as she replied, “Really, I am fine. Just feeling a little tired after the journey. Do not worry.”

  Dagan snorted in disbelief but said nothing.

  Ryn sighed in relief. She hated lying, especially to Dagan. She was now only beginning to realise that his quick actions in the forest had saved their lives. Ryn owed him a great deal. Now when he was around, Ryn felt protected and safe.

  Ryn felt the piece of parchment slip from her sleeve and she deftly caught in her cupped fingers. Balling her hand into a fist, she held it to her chest as she walked.

  When they arrived at her room, Dagan halted her.

  “Let me go first.” At Ryn’s quizzical look he just said, “I do not trust this place.”

  Dagan opened the door and stepped into the room. From the corridor, Ryn could see that someone had lit the candles and could hear the fire crackling in the hearth. After Dagan had disappeared around the door, Ryn expected to hear the clumping of his boots on the flagstones, but to her surprise nothing could be heard of Dagan except for his low mumbling.

  After a few moments, Dagan appeared at the door again, the blue runes of his staff dimming back to natural wood.

  “All is well, I have been given the room across the hall,” Dagan nodded his head at the door opposite hers. “Goodnight.”

  He stood in the corridor watching Ryn as she entered her rooms and closed the door behind her.

  Leaning heavily against the door, Ryn released a pent-up sigh when she heard the door across the corridor open and close. Looking down, she opened her fist to reveal the crumpled note. Ryn wondered what it said and why it had to be so secret. The way the Knight Captain got it to her did not bode well for its contents.

  Ryn snatched a candlestick and seated herself at the small writing desk. She placed the candlestick in front of her, being careful not to spill the wax. Ryn held the fold of parchment up to the light and could faintly see markings in ink showing through.

  Ryn was afraid of opening it, afraid of what it might say. She stared at it again in the candlelight. What if it said something against Dagan? He is a Magister first after all.

  ‘Fool.’

  Quickly unfolding the note, she laid it out before her on the table.

  The first thing that she noticed was that Toth Stayton’s hand writing was beautiful. The crabbed script that she was used to reading from her friends had deadened her mind to the fac
t that writing itself can be an art form. Ryn then started to read. The note was short and to the point.

  ‘Tell no one about this note. Meet me at the Town Chapel after the noonday meal tomorrow. We will talk. Knight Captain Toth Stayton.’

  Ryn stared at the note, dumbfounded. Something was going on, that much she had gathered at dinner. Surely it can’t be because the Tribunal is mixed up in all this? But why meet at the Town Chapel when they can see each other here at the Barracks? And why would he want to me with her? Also she was to go with Ashe early in the morning to the abandoned farmhouse, so she could not keep this meeting with Toth Stayton. She will send Peck with a note if things are to be kept secret, Stayton will have to wait until she returned to meet with her.

  She sat trying to puzzle the meaning behind the note but gave up when she realised that only questions seemed to be circling around in her mind and no answers.

  Folding the note, Ryn was about to put it in the bureau draw when her intuition stopped her. Instead, she unfolded it again and bared its edge to the heart of the candle flame. After a few moments the parchment began to burn. The flame crawled slowly along the side of the note and burning ash began to float to the tabletop. The flames crept steadily towards her fingers and Ryn began to panic. Looking around in desperation, she spotted the small fire in the hearth and cursed herself for a fool.

  Walking as fast as she could while protecting the burning note from the movement, Ryn approached the hearth. She then tossed it quickly into the fireplace and watched as the flames consumed the last of the parchment.

  Brushing the ash from her hands, she turned and began to ready herself for bed.

  Water lapped gently at the stone foundations of the Barrack wharf, its sound eerily echoing around the large underground chamber that was the loading bay for all large goods being bought into the barracks. The barred portcullis of the Watergate stood closed, the river reflecting the light of the full moon into the chamber.

  The boy stood ill at ease at the far end of the wharf, the reflected moonlight glinting on the silver embroidery that is worked into his tabard. Glancing around him, the boy began to walk slowly into the cavernous room, the sounds of his finely tailored boots ringing loudly as they trod the cobblestones.

  As soon as he reached a large stand of crates, he stopped and listened again for any sign of company. Silence greeted his ears. Glaring around furiously in the half-light, he was startled when he felt a soft tap on his shoulder.

  Spinning around, the boy nearly fell backwards as he came face-to-stomach with the person behind him.

  “Careful Page.” The woman’s voice sounded like the low rumble of rocks before they tumbled in an avalanche down a mountainside.

  The Page stood back quickly from the woman who he could only dimly see in the half-light. Even in the dark the boy could see that the woman was built like a bear and seemed to rear above him taller than most men around the Barracks. This was not the usual person he met.

  “Where is Nemett?” The Page asked.

  “That is none of your concern,” the woman said as she casually crossed her tree-trunk arms across her chest. “What is of concern is the lack of substance in the information that you have been giving us.”

  The figure did not move, but the Page felt a sharp stab of danger tingle down his spine.

  “What do you mean?” the Page stammered, “I always try to get the information Nemett asks for.”

  The woman just rumbled deep in her throat.

  The lack of response needled the boy’s pride to flame up and sear away the fear he was beginning to feel.

  “What do you expect for the silver you pay me,” the boy said angrily, forgetting the niggling sickness that he felt in the pit of his stomach.

  Quickly, the woman’s left hand moved and in the faint moonlight, the Page could see the glint of gold.

  “Now, you arranged to see Nemett for a reason tonight boy,” the low voice rumbled. “What was it?”

  The gold coin held between the stocky fingers was suddenly joined by another.

  “I have information regarding the woman constable that Nemett was asking about,” the boy rushed in his excitement at seeing the gold. When the woman did not answer the Page went on. “Tonight in the Hall my master sent me to deliver a note to her. I had a quick glimpse at it before he folded it. The woman is to meet Knight Captain Stayton at the Town Chapel tomorrow at noon. Alone.” The last was added as an afterthought. Not quite the truth, but it sounded good.

  “No doubt her bird will be sniffing at her heels.” The woman spoke as if to herself.

  “Here.”

  Suddenly the two gold coins were flicked in the boy’s direction. He reached up to catch them and was surprised to feel a stabbing pain in his stomach. Looking down, he saw his own blood gushing over the woman’s hand as a knife pushed deeper into his belly. The coins fell to the flagstones, forgotten.

  The big woman grunted as the tip of the knife hit bone.

  “Nemett has told me something else, boy.”

  Effortlessly, the tree trunk arm lifted the knife to bring the Page to her eye level. The boy screamed in agony as the knife began to cut slowly through his vitals using his own weight.

  Nemett had said that the boy was uncertain, that the blackmail was no longer working. The Page was becoming a liability. The boy must not endanger the Master’s plans, must not warn anyone–especially the Tribunal–of their activities.

  “You have been double dealing with us to the agents of the Aequitas Tribunal.”

  His screams slowly turned into a gurgle as blood began to flow into his throat and mouth. His body began to convulse, and the boy’s face contorted into a rictus smile.

  The woman snorted in distaste.

  Moving to the edge of the wharf, the woman studied the boy’s face. It was now relaxed in death. If blood were not dribbling from his mouth, you would think the boy was sleeping.

  Disgust crawled across the woman’s face and she tossed the body of the Page into the waterway. Washing her knife in the flowing water, she watched as the body sank slowly beneath the water and disappeared under the stone pylons of the wharf.

  The woman stood and re-sheathed her knife.

  “You have heard Master?”

  The woman’s eyes seemed to unfocus, and she nodded her head to a silent conversation.

  “Yes Master,” she finally said, “It will be arranged.”

  Idulki then strode from the chamber.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Dagan leaned back in his chair and gazed out of the window to the street. Across from him at the table lounged Banar, who was idly running a finger around the rim of his cup as he looked about the eating house. He had taken rather quickly to pretending to be Dagan’s Pair. Dagan suspected that it was more ammunition for Banar to throw at Kathryn next time she called him an ass. They were seated at a table that butted against one of the large cantilevered windows that faced out onto the main thoroughfare and caught the brightness and warmth of the morning through its thick glass.

  The street was busy enough for this time of morning, with men and women scurrying back and forth along the street hopping from one establishment to the next. Their horses were tied to the hitching post and stood, twitching their ears back and forth as the sea of humanity moved around them. But the two men he wanted to see were nowhere in sight. Dagan sighed and picked up the last half of his hot buttered scone.

  “Still no sign of them?” Banar asked before Dagan could take a bite.

  Dagan lowered his arm but did not put the food back on his plate. “No. They should have been here by now.”

  “Have you thought that maybe now that they are back in the big city that they have taken the opportunity to ‘slip away’?” Banar made a ‘shooing,’ gesture as he talked, though his eyes still looked about the room.

  Definitely not the lout he pretends to be, Dagan thought, but out loud he said, “Vannik wouldn’t. Not with his sentence so close to being completed. No one want
s the Tribunal on their back.”

  “What about Bron?”

  “Bron won’t do anything that would compromise his brother.”

  “Where did they go to yesterday when we arrived in The Capital?”

  “They went to open up their townhouse and to check up on their current ‘business interests’.”

  “Business interests, huh?”

  Dagan nodded and took the opportunity to take a bite from his scone. It had cooled a little, but the butter was still soft and salty. He chewed and swallowed as he looked back out of the window.

  “Do you think the Brother’s Osega would allow me to access their ‘Business Interests’?”