The Captive

by Paul Lauritsen

  “There were a couple others in the Citadel we wanted to watch as well,” Narin remembered. “But subject . . . forty-three was the primary suspect, right?”

  “Right,” Relam agreed. “You mention a subject who had ties to the palace as well, yes?”

  “A servant,” Narin agreed. “Not sure how far that one will go though. He certainly spends time in the densest region of Mask activity, and has crossed paths with some of our other suspects, but he seems to have no special skills. He performs menial tasks, cleaning and the like, so he doesn’t seem like a prime candidate to be an operative.”

  “A messenger, then?”

  “Possible,” Narin muttered, chewing distractedly on the end of his writing stick. The Master of the Citadel’s gaze strayed from the records to the window and he blinked in surprise. “Damn it all! Have we spent the whole day here?”

  “I think so,” Relam said ruefully. “This sort of research takes time.”

  “A great deal,” Narin agreed. “I had hoped to take care of some other things today, but it seems they will have to wait. In any event,” he added reluctantly, “I should be returning to the Citadel.”

  “And we should be returning to the palace,” Eric said sternly. “It’s not safe – ”

  “To be out this late,” Relam finished, rolling his eyes. “I know, Eric.”

  “A reminder never hurts.”

  “Never seems to help either,” Wil observed, grinning.

  Eric turned and frowned at the cheerful guardsman, folding his arms across his chest menacingly.

  “What?” Wil demanded, “I was just saying!”

  “Next time don’t,” Galen said shortly. “Anyway, sir, we really should be getting back.”

  “Yes,” Relam agreed. “Narin, Oreius, keep working at this please. As more records are added to the pile, more trends will likely appear. Let me know if you discover anything, but don’t let anyone know what you’re doing. If the Masks get wind of this . . . ”

  “We know,” Oreius grunted. “They’ll come for us, destroy the records, and we’ll be back at square one. We’re being careful, Relam, I promise.”

  “There’s something else we should have considered sooner,” Narin realized. “We’re setting tails on many of their operatives and our suspects, but it’s more than likely they’re doing the same thing to us.”

  Relam shivered. “In which case, your house might be becoming something of a target, Oreius.”

  “It would take a lot to remove me from the picture,” the old warrior growled. “None of the windows in this house are large enough for someone to squeeze through, and the doors are as solid as you will find. I’ll lay some traps on the grounds as well, just to be safe.”

  “Would you mind telling us where said traps are?” Narin asked.

  “Just stay on the main path from the road to the house, or come around the back,” Oreius replied. “I’ll leave those two routes untouched for now.”

  “What if they pick the locks on your doors?” Relam asked worriedly. “After all, these people are master criminals. They probably have that capability.”

  “There’s still the deadbolts,” Oreius said, “And those aren’t going anywhere. They’re huge, and the sockets they fit into are pretty deep in the door frame,”

  “Could they be filed through?”

  “Not quickly, and not quietly either.”

  Relam frowned worriedly, trying to think of anything he might have overlooked.

  “I’ll be fine,” Oreius assured him. “I’m not new to this sort of life, boy. Remember those awareness drills I put you through? They work just as well here as on the battlefield.”

  “If you say so,” Relam said uneasily. “I hate leaving you out here alone though.”

  “Well, like you, I don’t trust anyone outside this room,” Oreius grunted. “And when you’re in that situation, alone is the safest way to live. Gives you a shot at seeing the next day.”

  “Sir,” Eric said anxiously, glancing at Relam. “We really must be going.”

  “I know,” Relam sighed. “Remember, everyone, nothing we discussed leaves this room.”

  “We know,” Wil assured him. “Right Johann?”

  “Right.” Johann frowned. “Why does everyone always check with me on these sorts of things?”

  “Not entirely sure,” Wil replied with another impudent grin, “But I’m sure there’s a reason.”

  They started to make their way out of the small room then, awkwardly shuffling around the table and muscling their way through the door. After a few minutes, they had all reached the main hallway, and a few moments later they had reached Oreius’ back door.

  “Be careful,” Relam warned again, glancing back at Narin and Oreius. “I don’t want either of you dead on my behalf.”

  “We made a choice,” Narin replied. “But we’ll do our best to avoid ending up dead either way.”

  Eric opened the back door pointedly. “Sir.”

  “Yes, yes,” Relam agreed wearily. “Time to go. I know, Eric.”

  The guardsman ushered Relam outside, as well as the other guards. Narin followed them out, raising the hood of his cloak immediately. Relam and the others followed suit, and pulled their cloaks tighter about themselves. The night was freezing, and a stiff wind was now blowing out of the north.

  “That’s another storm brewing,” Narin observed, glancing up at the sky. “Tomorrow will be a brutal day.”

  “Could be,” Relam agreed quietly as they moved out onto the River Road. “But we’ll survive. We always do, no matter how bad the winter gets. We’ve learned to handle it.”

  “What about the tent camps?”

  “We’re still sending them aid,” Relam said, shrugging. “And the buildings are getting closer to finished. I think they’ll be fine.”

  “That’s good,” Narin murmured. “The sooner the west side is cleared up, the better. Hate to see all those people without a home though for now. That’s a tough break.”

  They walked in silence the rest of the way to the Citadel. As they were passing the main entrance, Narin turned towards Relam slightly, keeping his voice low.

  “Keep your wits about you Relam. I know the Masks said they wouldn’t kill you, but there’s no guarantee they weren’t lying. And they can always change their mind.”

  “I know,” Relam murmured in reply, slowing his pace slightly. “You watch yourself too, Narin.”

  “I will,” the spymaster promised. “Good night, Relam. I’ll let you know if we make any more progress.”

  The master of the Citadel turned abruptly then and made his way towards the gates. There were no guards on duty outside the gate, but as Relam watched, Narin rapped on the portal a few times, spoke a few words, and was admitted.

  “Your majesty,” Galen muttered urgently. “We should keep moving.”

  Relam nodded, turning back towards the palace. As he did, a gleam in a nearby alley caught his attention. His eyes were drawn to it immediately, and he squinted into the gloom, trying to identify the source.

  “There’s someone watching us,” the young king murmured to the others. “In that alley, just past the Citadel.”

  Galen looked at the alley sharply. “Is his face . . . shining?” he asked dubiously.

  Relam looked closer and caught a glint of gold. Then, the indistinct figure moved slightly, its hood falling back to reveal a full golden mask encasing the front of his head.

  “Run,” Eric muttered, grabbing Relam by the arm. “Everyone run, back to the palace!”

  Relam wanted to protest, but Galen and Eric had him by both arms now and were running back to the palace as fast as they could, Johann and Wil acting as a rear guard. Relam turned back once and saw that the masked figure had moved out into the street and was watching their retreat. As he watched, the golden-masked figure raised a mocking hand in farewell, then turned and disappeared into the night.

  “Sir,” Galen growled, “If you would focus on running, we might make it to
safety a little faster.”

  Relam reluctantly turned back towards the palace and increased his pace, his four guards clustered so tightly around him it was almost hard to find a spot to put his feet down as he ran. The cold of the night was forgotten, ignored in the heat of the chase. But there was a deeper chill in Relam’s body that had penetrated his very core. A mortal fear that went far deeper than a cold winter’s night.

  They ran right up the front steps of the palace, past the surprised night guards at the front door. Inside the palace, their pace slowed only slightly as they hurried back towards Relam’s study.

  Only when the study door had been locked and the windows secured with heavy shutters did Relam relax. He sat in his desk chair, gasping for breath, trying to calm his racing heart.

  “Well,” Wil muttered, his face drawn. “That was certainly exciting.”

  “This is no time for jokes!” Eric snapped. “That was one of the Masks we just saw!”

  “Well, we knew they were out there.”

  “They saw us with Narin,” Galen added, joining the argument. “There’s no telling what will happen next!”

  “I think,” Johann interrupted, “We handled the situation perfectly.”

  Every eye in the room swung towards the fourth guardsman, surprised he had spoken up.

  “What do you mean, Johann?” Relam asked finally. “How did we handle it perfectly?”

  “The Masks want you timid and afraid, yes?” Johann asked. “That’s what’s motivating them now? They want you out of the way, living in fear of what they’ll do next.”

  “Yes,” Relam agreed. “That is what we have discussed before.”

  “Then,” Johann said brightly, “We just did an excellent job of validating that behavior. We ran like there were demons after us, sir. That Mask will report back to the others that the king is scared witless and they still have the upper hand.”

  Relam frowned thoughtfully, leaning back in his chair. The others were silent as well, contemplating Johann’s assessment of the situation.

  “As much as I hate being described as ‘scared witless’,” Relam finally said, looking around at the other guardsmen, “I think Johann might actually be right.”

  “Might be,” Galen grunted. “But that doesn’t guarantee anything. And if that Mask recognized Narin, or figured out where we came from, then we have another problem.”

  “I know, but Johann’s point is still valid. What happened tonight was a good acting job by all of us. We’re scared of the Masks, wondering what will happen next . . . that’s where they want me right now. Tentative. Uncertain. We’ll keep up the charade, making only a few forays out into the city to visit the people, and make them think they’ve won. Lull them into a false sense of security.”

  “And that’s all well and good,” Eric interrupted, “But I think we’re forgetting something: we still don’t know what their plan is. We can identify their operatives, we can guess at the location of their base – if they have one – but we still don’t know their long term plan. All we know is that it is in motion, and they do not expect his majesty to survive their plan, whatever it is.”

  What little optimism Relam had recovered after Johann’s words was shattered by Eric’s. “You’re right,” the young king agreed miserably. “We’re no closer to knowing what’s going to happen. But maybe if we find their lair, we can stop their plan and stop them before their plan is finished.”

  “In which case, we need to buy Oreius and Narin some time to figure things out,” Galen pointed out.

  Relam nodded. “Exactly. For the next couple of weeks, you’re not guardsman. You’re actors. All of us are. We need to play along with what the Masks expect to see, but not obviously so. Do you think you can do that?”

  “Johann and I are master actors,” Wil replied immediately. “How else do you think we never get into trouble?”

  Eric smiled ruefully. “For once, I agree with Wil. Never fear, sir, we’ll play the part. For however long it takes.”

  “But as soon as we find out what the Masks are up to or where they are, the act is over,” Galen added, cracking his knuckles. “They’ve threatened our king one too many times in my opinion. If we get anything actionable, we’re going after them. Hard.”

  “That,” Relam murmured, “Is a day I cannot wait to see.”

  Chapter 31:

  Flight of the Keepers

  Khollo straightened from his kneeling position beside Uthano and shook his head. “Sven, you’ve got this strap backwards again. It’s really not that complicated.”

  “What?” the northerner demanded, sliding off of Uthano’s back to examine the strap running around the crimson dragon’s middle. “What do you mean backwards?”

  “I mean it’s supposed to connect here,” Khollo replied patiently, pointing. “And you’ve got it all twisted around too, which can’t be comfortable for Uthano.”

  It digs into my scales, the dragon agreed. I assumed it was supposed to feel uncomfortable.

  Khollo shook his head. “No, you shouldn’t really notice the saddle most of the time. It definitely shouldn’t be causing you pain when you’re still on the ground.”

  “But then, Sven’s not too bright about these sort of things,” L’tel muttered. The youth from the plains was sitting on Thela’s back, legs secured by flying straps, prepared to fly for the first time. Just beyond him, Halena was perched on Amang’s back, looking decidedly nervous about the prospect of leaving the ground.

  “It’s not that Sven’s not smart enough,” Khollo said, defending the northerner. “But, it would help if you would focus on the moment instead of daydreaming about flying.”

  “I did focus! I got the rest of the saddle right, didn’t I?”

  “You may have gotten the rest attached correctly,” Aralye put it, “But don’t forget how many tries it took for you to make your saddle right in the first place.”

  Sven scowled and clamped his mouth shut, working on the offending strap with short, sharp movements. Khollo struggled to hide a grin as he remembered Sven’s first attempt at copying the saddle Kanin wore. The straps had not been attached evenly on either side, so the leg straps on the left and those on the right did not line up. The straps around Uthano’s middle had not been placed properly either, so the saddle was forced to sit askew on the dragon’s back. The result of these two mistakes was a giant cockeyed mess. Sven had tried to sit in the saddle, only to find there was no way for him to anchor both of his legs to the saddle at the same time and that even on the ground, with Uthano standing still, he was in imminent danger of falling off. It had been pretty much back to square one after that.

  Luckily for Sven, this first attempt had only taken him a day. He spent the rest of the week correcting his mistakes, working at a more deliberate pace and paying attention to Khollo’s instructions. He ended up finishing a few hours after the others, but his errors had not delayed the group too badly.

  This was a different matter though. The other young Keepers were ready to fly, with the exception of Aralye, and had been ready for the best part of the hour while Khollo pointed out mistake after mistake with how Sven had saddled Uthano. The crimson dragon stood still and stoic through the whole process, apparently trusting his human companion would eventually get it right.

  “There!” Sven crowed, giving the strap a final tug. “That has to be right!”

  As the northerner rolled out from under the dragon, Khollo bent over to examine the strap, fully expecting to find something else wrong. He was not disappointed.

  “Sven, you forgot to tighten the strap fully,” he said with a sigh. “Although, you did at least connect it right this time.”

  I was wondering why I could no longer feel it, Uthano remarked. Is it not even touching me?

  Khollo looked again and noted the two inch gap between the leather strap and Uthano’s belly, the leather dangling and swaying gently. “No,” Khollo said, shaking his head. “If Sven tried to fly like that, the saddle would roll
over the first time you tried a maneuver and likely dump him on his head.”

  That would be bad, Uthano said as Sven crawled underneath the dragon again, swearing under his breath. Sven, can you fix it please so we can be off? It is a perfect day for flying.

  “I’m . . . working . . . on it,” Sven grunted. “You’re just so blasted big, Uthano.”

  “Amang’s bigger,” Halena called from where she sat. “And his saddle went on no problem.”

  “Same with Thela,” L’tel added. The dragons rumbled their agreement, their growls echoing along the ledge. Only Ayrmi and Aralye did not chime in.

  Sven continued struggling with the saddle for a moment longer, then started to crawl out from under his dragon. “There! Now there’s nothing that – ”

  “Sven,” Khollo interrupted.

  “Huh?”

  “Instead of fixing only the problems I’ve seen, why don’t you take a couple minutes and go over everything while you’re down there and make sure you’ve done it right?”

  “But – ”

  “Because I can almost guarantee something is wrong still, and you finding it without me having to search for it will save us a little time in the long run.”

  Sven cocked his head frowning. “But if there’s nothing wrong, then we’re wasting time.”

  “No,” Khollo replied, “Because you’re learning to do this right, so we don’t have to go through this routine every time you’re about to take off. Do you know how long it’s been since you started saddling Uthano?”

  A long time, the crimson dragon replied wearily, twisting his neck to look down at Sven.

  The northerner flushed, then crawled back under the dragon. “If you insist,” he muttered sullenly. “Stupid, thrice-blasted saddle. By the gods of snow and ice . . . ”

  Khollo wandered off, shaking his head, and found himself standing next to Ayrmi and Aralye. “We may yet get the two of you in the air with the others,” he observed quietly. Ayrmi’s eyes whirled cheerfully, while Aralye managed a slight smile. It was clear though that even with Sven’s bungling, the girl was feeling left out.

  “Remember,” Khollo whispered. “Trust.”