The Dagger of Trust

by Chris Willrich

  "I don't know. I feel we're going in the right direction, so maybe the feeling is mutual."

  "This worries me."

  "I can't sit out this fight."

  "I understand. I don't think there's a choice for you. But I hope that Ozrif can roust the River Guard to help. Perhaps even the druids..."

  "I don't have much hope there."

  "Nor I. Well, at least if we die in the attack, we won't have to worry about finishing our entries for the thaumacycle competition."

  "A shame. I'd like to hear yours."

  "Likewise."

  They were silent for a time, but it was a different silence than that which had come before.

  "I'm sorry to have dragged you into this," Gideon said.

  "I don't recall any dragging. Why, I don't think you could drag me into anything, Gideon Gull."

  "I'm sorry that by knowing me you've had to face devils, traitors, and frothing rage zombies."

  "Gideon Gull! They are not zombies. Zombies are magically animated corpses. The frothers and Smoke-Tongued are living people!"

  "It was a thematic comparison—"

  "For shame. And you call yourself a bard!"

  "Perhaps I should stop apologizing. I'm not very good at it."

  "Arrogance always did suit you better."

  "I feel as if this is an exchange I can't win, and I don't even know the rules."

  "If you win an argument against me, you'll simply lose in other ways."

  "I have no idea what you mean."

  "I think you do. We camp once more before reaching the castle. No one will begrudge us what we do."

  He smiled. "You're seriously proposing we collaborate on the same opera?"

  "I'd throw a rock at your thick skull, but I can't reach one." She paused. "You would really collaborate?"

  "I've never collaborated with anyone," he said, realizing as he said it that the offer was real. "There's a first time for everything."

  She smiled, tilted her head to one side. "Really? I seem to remember you doing a lot of collaborating, in the old days. Not just with me, either."

  "There's collaborating and there's collaborating."

  "Which kind are we talking about?"

  "I'm not sure anymore."

  As they had been talking, whispering had been left far behind, and their voices echoed around this quiet stretch of the stream.

  Corvine said, "Do you mean the collaborating where you're up late working out duets until the neighbors start banging on the floor?"

  "I mean the collaborating where you share music all the way from tuning up to crescendo."

  "Ah," she said, "you mean the collaborating where your lyrics and my lyrics mix together until we can't tell which is which anymore."

  "Hm. Is that the collaborating where you wake up after an all-night session exhausted, but somehow you're ready to collaborate again?"

  "Get an island already!" shouted Grizzendell.

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  They didn't get an island. They did get a small hill, guarded by three stalwart-looking oak trees, yet allowing a clear view of the stars. They also got a bedroll. And there was collaborating of both kinds.

  The morning was bright and cold and wonderful.

  "Good morning!" the unseen Grizzendell bellowed in their general direction. "Rise and shine! Breakfast! Vengeance!"

  "Agh." Gideon found it less wonderful to make his body move. "I'm not twenty-nine anymore. Alas for old age."

  Corvine laughed and patted his shoulder. "Don't worry. It's not a permanent condition."

  "Oh, thank you very much."

  "At your service." She rose to dress, but paused to watch dark birds flit over the wide pale blue; he watched her watching. "This is a moment outside time. I don't know how things will be if we survive."

  "You don't need to give that speech."

  "Well, dead Corvine wouldn't be able to." She resumed dressing. "And you probably wouldn't want her to."

  "I mean, if we survive, we can talk about the rest."

  "I may want to move to Andoran, Gideon."

  "Or, we could talk now..."

  "You've drawn ever closer to Taldor. But I feel myself drawn to your homeland. That must seem maddening to you."

  He stretched, winced, and grabbed his clothes. "Well, perhaps we're simply drawn to contrasts. It's an artistic quirk. Do you feel you'd be more at home in Andoran?"

  "I don't know. I'd like to find out."

  "Everything's tangled. I love my home. Recent events have helped me remember that. But I love yours as well, Corvine. Perhaps our loves are something only the gods can sort out."

  "I don't necessarily hold with the gods, Gideon. I notice you still make the sign of Erastil, and I respect that. I've never had much time for gods, or they for me. But there is something larger than ourselves at work in the relationship of Taldor and Andoran. I've read a lot about Andoren democracy. I used to think that Andorens were arrogant."

  Gideon drew himself to his full height, and painted a smirk on his face. "And now?"

  "Ha! I still do. But there's a reason for it. Democracy's the future, Gideon. I think that one day Taldor will have real voting, not just our feeble Senate. And it will be completely Taldan to have that, not an abandonment of our heritage, as some claim."

  "I've never seen you worry about the larger world. I'd assumed art was enough for you."

  "Things change. Once in a while. Would you live with me there, in your country?"

  "I have a duty," he said, the strangeness of it making his voice rough. "To your country."

  They stood there silently.

  There came a cough.

  Viridia stood at the edge of the trees. "If you're decent, lovebirds, we should be about it."

  Corvine said, "Decent, I don't know; but we're dressed."

  "Good enough."

  "You go ahead," Corvine said to Gideon. "I'll finish gathering our things."

  Gideon did as asked, noting that Viridia lingered to have a few words with Corvine. He wished he could listen to their conversation, but it was probably pointless to try sneaking up on a Lion Blade student and a bard. And I should probably be relieved I didn't need to answer Corvine's question.

  He joined his companions for breakfast. The Ses'h had allowed a campfire, and Asta and Grizzendell had collaborated in making the party's cold supplies interesting. There was even Sargavan coffee.

  Adebeyo said, "Lsst'tok says if we move soon, we'll reach the castle by sunset."

  "Good," said Gideon. "We can study it in the light, and infiltrate in the dark."

  "Sebastian's forces may greatly outnumber ours," Merrigail said, sitting down beside him on a mossy log, sharpening her sword.

  Gideon looked around at the survivors of Riposte, and the grim looks that shadowed their eyes, even this bright morning. "Ours may be more motivated. Even so, if anyone wishes to depart..."

  Asta snorted.

  "Don't be a fool," Adebeyo said. Grizzendell spat.

  "The Dawnflower's brought me this far," Dymphna said. "I'll see it through."

  Gideon had thought Hammerton and Briar, the pair of ordinary Andoren sailors, might have turned back; but they looked at each other and nodded their agreement with Dymphna. The elf Tyndron merely smiled beside the fire and sharpened his own blade.

  "Very well," said Gideon, "I simply don't wish to compel..."

  "Rubbish!" said Briar, in a rare outburst. "We follow Commander Merrigail, Hammerton and I. And even if we didn't, you won't last two days without a decent cook or accountant—we won't have you dying hungry and penniless before you even reach the battle. You have no authority to release us, Gull."

  "And I won't insult them by releasing them now," Merrigail said.

  "Fine," Gideon said, pleased and chagrined. "In that case, we go forward, into hideous danger!"

  "That's the spirit!" Grizzendell said.

  "The same could be said for you," Merrigail said more quietly. "As a spy, your task can be considered com
plete, no? You've reported in. Ozrif and the River Guard know the truth. Isn't it appropriate to sit out the battle, avoid risking your life?"

  "Are you trying to talk me out of this?"

  "Not at all. I'm merely curious."

  "If we don't act, Sebastian's plans may come to fruition. War may begin."

  She nodded. "And by then your government may decide it's best to go along. It's one thing to prevent a war, another to abandon one when it's underway. Then there's loss of life, treasure, and prestige, and nothing to show for it."

  "The thought had crossed my mind. So?"

  "So you're risking your life for an ideal, Lion Blade. For the greater good."

  "It might be simple vengeance. I'm a simple spy, after all."

  "You're more than that, Gideon Gull. What I don't understand is why you hide from it."

  "What? Should I be billing myself as a hero?"

  Merrigail shook her head, smiling. "In our age, that word has become a rusty old door whose hinges are stuck. It's a block to your imagination. But there's a light behind the door. Don't seek to be a hero. Seek the light."

  "I feel like I'm back talking to the druids again."

  "I see no reason to insult me."

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  The second day of travel through the snowy woods and streams was glittering and peaceful, and Gideon's muse did not haunt him again. There was one interruption near midday, however—a welcome one.

  A dark hawk winged under the white-fringed boughs, bearing a message from Ozrif. Corvine read it to the group.

  Greetings and commiserations, Corvine.

  I sorrow to hear of Tambour's betrayal. Let me soothe you with news. Bad news first: The druids won't help. The most they'll do is send this bird of Arenway, which I'm told can find you anywhere. The good news: They'll let us help ourselves. The River Guard has permission to disturb the Verduran Forest by attacking Sebastian's castle. Alas, only one reinforcing ship's arrived, so their numbers are limited. We'll disembark at a discreet distance and prepare a surprise attack. If you can clarify your plans, perhaps we can arrange a signal. This hawk will return to me when you're ready. Tell Viridia I look forward to seeing her, even under these circumstances!

  In desperate hope,

  Ozrif

  "Desperate hope indeed," said Gideon. "But less desperate with the River Guard on hand."

  "Perhaps we can link up," Viridia said.

  "We may not have the opportunity," Merrigail said. "We'll be approaching across the river, remember. So it must necessarily be at night."

  "We have any number of signals available," Corvine said.

  "Let's break for lunch," Gideon said. "Corvine, you mind writing a return message?"

  "My pleasure. As for a signal, why don't I tell Ozrif to be alert for the spells a bard's likely to use in combat? He'll recognize them."

  "Sebastian knows those spells too."

  "If Sebastian starts casting them," Corvine said, "I suspect we'll still be wanting the River Guard."

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  They made good progress, but as the sun dropped and reddened, Gideon feared they'd lose the light. Then suddenly the wide, dark flow of the Verduran Fork appeared through a gap between boulders and trunks.

  And not just the river.

  "There," said Lsst'tok.

  Without the Ses'h, they might never have found the castle at all. Mist shrouded the opposite shore. Where it cleared, Gideon could spy a granite bank stretching for a quarter mile upstream and down, broken at many points by stream beds, mud flows, piles of boulders, and determined trees. In one particularly misty spot, the cliff rose higher, perhaps five hundred feet, to form a promontory. The cliff bent inward in this place, so that a vast swirling pool was sheltered below, and an outcropping loomed above. Trees and shrubs and moss clung to the rock, and the setting grew increasingly ghostly as one looked toward the heights, where in the sunset glow indistinct branches and stones seemed wreathed in fire.

  Between the promontory's trees rose a dark watchtower with a greater gray keep looming behind, a crenelated wall surrounding both like a square-toothed lower jaw. Tower and keep bore crenellations as well, and amid the ones on the tower Gideon thought he glimpsed a gray-bearded humanoid figure in a white robe, like a wisp of fog itself. He blinked, and it was gone.

  Through the haze most of the tower's windows looked like black seeds against frosty ground, but some glowed, two with firelight, a gold that contrasted the sunset's red. There were also windows that flickered with unnatural blue, green, or purple.

  "Magic's being done in there," said Corvine beside him.

  "That's not all. I sense her. The War Fog is active nearby." Gideon closed his eyes. "And I think the ghost ship is coming."

  "How do you know?"

  "I just do. It's the music."

  The group took cover. Before long the ghost ship did indeed glide into view, still resembling Demonwake for Gideon, a dark mirror of lost Riposte for Corvine, and other ominous craft for the rest.

  As the vessel approached the castle, it sank beneath the waters. Pale green light glowed under the surface a short while, and then the river was once again dark, wavelets tinged by sunset scarlet.

  "Once again I saw the Seawraith," Viridia said, "the constellation of the pirate goddess, the way I viewed it from the plains when I was a girl. Only this time swirling with nebula-sails, handled by ghosts with eyes like dying stars. What did you see, Lsst'tok?"

  "The Evernest, drowned and drifting upon the waters, Ses'h moving within it like dead things animated by foul magic."

  Gideon said, "There must be some hidden port over there for the submersible."

  "I've been thinking about the ship," Viridia said. "Evidently the 'ghost' aspect's a disguise. But if it can truly travel underwater, why use such tricks at all? Surely submerging and going unnoticed is better than any camouflage."

  "It must have some reason for surfacing," Corvine guessed. "Limited air?"

  "Exactly. I suspect it can't stay down constantly."

  Merrigail said, "It probably saves that capability for times it truly needs to hide."

  Gideon said, "That means we have a chance to attack it."

  "Are you serious?" Corvine asked.

  Gideon looked at her. "Isn't that where you were all going with this conversation?"

  The others shook their heads.

  "Oh. Well, I still think it could work."

  "Gideon Gull, berserker," Corvine said. Yet there was amusement in her voice. "Let's say we're mad enough to hear you out. What's your plan?"

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  One hour's travel downstream and eight hours of waiting later, Gideon was beginning to despair. He was nodding off once again when Lsst'tok poked him, startling him into a cold awakening.

  "It comes," said the bog strider.

  Gideon looked upon the waters and saw the glow of Demonwake approaching, and heard the dim, strident music of Blacwin's Wanderloss in his mind. He began waking the others.

  Once again the Ses'h carried them, this time onto the waters of the Verduran Fork.

  "Thank you, Lsst'tok," Gideon said. "I may not see you again."

  "I will convey your thanks to the seer-queen. For myself, I doubt time's currents will bring us another meeting. But I wish you well. Should you survive, and make account of us to your people, see that we are left alone."

  "You have my word. I'll do what I can."

  Though the stars blazed above, the only significant illumination came from the spectral craft bearing down upon them. The bog striders were moving at double time to intercept the vessel, and Gideon mentally braced himself for a terrifying transition.

  It happened at a dizzying pace. Demonwake swelled to monstrous proportions ahead; Lsst'tok and the other Ses'h flung the companions through the air; and Gideon had a terrifying moment of seeming to plunge headfirst into the glowing hull of the great vessel.

  In the next moment his vision blurred and he found himself with his comrad
es upon the varnished satinwood deck of a very different sort of vessel. It was considerably smaller than Demonwake had appeared to be, intermediate in size between Riposte and the crusaders' keelboat.

  The ship lacked sails or oars, and the bow was dominated by a bizarre assortment of brass controls. Beside the helm was the draconic snout of the alchemical weapon Merrigail had called a firedrake. But the shocked crew were not so esoteric, being humans clad in undecorated variants of Taldan military greens and blues.

  Disoriented as Gideon's boarding party was, they still gained a moment of surprise.

  They took full advantage. Gideon leapt forward and tackled the nearest crew member. Merrigail shield-bashed another. Behind him, Viridia cast a sleeping spell toward the stern. Corvine had likely unleashed the spell of loathing, for he heard an unfamiliar voice cry, "Ugh, get away from me! You disgust me!"

  The man who appeared to be the captain swung a cutlass at Gideon; the bard drew his daggers and tumbled out of the Taldan's reach, but there was little room to maneuver on the deck. Tyndron intercepted the captain and a true melee ensued.

  Gideon reached the helmsman, who worked something resembling the controls of the maniacally complex pipe organ of the Rhapsodic Academy. He put a dagger to the man's throat.

  "Turn us around."

  The man hesitated, and then his hands lashed out and turned knobs. The ship lurched to one side.

  Momentum flung Gideon away from the helmsman, who drew a dagger of his own. A couple of the Taldan's comrades fell into the water. A couple of Gideon's nearly did as well.

  Suddenly Grizzendell was there, tripping the helmsman and punching him into submission. "You're lucky the Lion Blades want you all alive," he snarled. "Now how's about doing what the man said?"

  The captain, wounded, was surrendering his sword to Tyndron.

  "Adebeyo," Gideon said, "care to assume command?"

  Riposte's former first mate took the captain's sword from the elf, nodding his thanks.

  The vessel's crew had numbered eight, and the six remaining were soon bound, in what Gideon suspected was the most successful fight he'd ever have. Tyndron had taken some light cuts, as had Asta. Viridia retained a trace of her limp. But his team was in better condition than he'd any right to expect.

  A sane gambler would walk away with his winnings, Gideon thought. Probably as far as Oppara.