As they approached the main gate, Weiser could see that the wagon train column was met by two guards on foot dressed in blue with gold trim. He noted the different dress from the Realmsguard soldiers he was traveling with; theirs were gray with yellow trim. The Realmsguard scout in the lead reached down and shook the hand of each guard as he passed by.
Weiser’s carriage driver spoke softly to the shopkeeper. “They’re royal guards. Nice fellows.”
The royal guards saluted the wagon train leader and he returned their salute, right arm extended, palm open (no weapon), and smartly brought back in a fist over the heart. Weiser noted that the Royal Guard salute was similar, but terminated with a flat hand over the heart, not a fist.
“We have the storekeeper, Mr. Weiser, from the Outpost. He insisted on coming out here. He is hoping Mallivar, the septor, is here. Is he?”
“He’s here, all right,” replied one of the guards.
“Good . . . I mean, good for the storekeeper. Will one of you take him to Mallivar’s quarters?”
The two guards looked at one another, then one spoke up. “Sure. I will.” He then motioned for the carriage driver to follow him. He led them through a wide passage between the rear facings of two buildings that opened onto a small parade field. Weiser paid close attention to the layout of the Compound. He could even see in the dim light of the moon that there was no catwalk high up on the inside of the Compound’s wall. He was correct; the Compound was not a fortress. A road circled the field, and buildings of very similar architecture and composition were positioned along the outer side of the circle, facing the field in the center. The guard led the carriage to the left on the circular drive. The surface of the drive was flat and even and covered with gravel to rival any road in the Realm. Except for a few horses tied before several of the buildings, there was no one in sight. The open field in the center was deserted, though columns of smoke rose from several of the structures, suggesting to the Diremorph that the Compound was well inhabited.
The guard from the gatehouse directed the carriage to rein up before a large three-story structure with a long, raised, covered porch. A second guard stepped out of the building and stood by the door.
The gate guard announced, “We have a visitor for Mallivar.”
“Thank you,” said the royal guard at the door. “Driver, wait for your passenger here.”
Weiser slowly emerged from the carriage. He straightened his coat and looked up to the guard at the top of the porch. He did not speak to the carriage driver as he turned to walk up the short flight of steps. The driver perhaps expected the old storekeeper to at least say goodbye, for they had been traveling companions for four days. But the driver was of no further use to the Diremorph; he no longer mattered. The new Weiser was noticeably bent over, and his walk was stiff yet deliberate. He stepped forward with the aid of his walking stick. He clearly displayed the appearance of a man in his later years, and four days of riding in a carriage had taken a toll.
When he reached the top step, the guard asked, “Is Mallivar expecting you?”
“Take me to him and we’ll see,” said Weiser in a hoarse whisper.
The guard held the door as Weiser stepped into the building foyer. The Diremorph’s eyes darted quickly about to take in the interior features of the building. On each side of the hallway were large double doors. At the end of the hallway was a staircase leading to the upper floors. The guard rapped on the double doors to the right. A moment passed and there was no reply. He knocked again, only firmer. One of the doors opened partially. A man with a huge neck, dressed fully in black with just a trace of scarlet, appeared in the doorway.
“What?”
“This gentleman has come to see Mallivar.”
The man in black, Mallivar’s personal guard, opened the door slightly more and looked toward the phony storekeeper as the royal guard stepped out of the way. “Does he know you’re coming?”
“No.”
Mallivar’s guard glanced at the king’s royal guard standing again at the door and then spoke quietly to the bent man before him. “Who are you?”
“My name is Weiser. My business is with the septor.”
Mallivar’s personal guard closed the door slowly, looking over the man who called himself Weiser.
The Diremorph stood before the closed door. The royal guard at the door spoke kindly. “You could sit down, sir. This might take a while.” There were chairs on either side of the double doors on each side of the hall. Several minutes passed. Weiser raised his walking stick and banged on the door with three quick strikes. He then turned, walked across the hall, and took a seat opposite the double doors leading to Mallivar’s suite.
The guard in black pulled open both doors and stepped into the foyer. He looked first at the old shopkeeper sitting on the other side of the hall. Then he turned to look at the king’s royal guard at the door, who looked away.
Weiser spoke in a firm, clear voice. “Take this to your master. Tell him I am waiting.” He held up an object about the size of a small dagger covered by a piece of black cloth.
Mallivar’s personal guard hesitated only briefly. He stepped forward and made a motion to crudely snatch the object from the Diremorph’s outstretched arm. But the creature pulled his hand away with blinding quickness that startled the guard.
Weiser spoke again slowly. “Tell him I am waiting,” he said and handed the object to the guard. The guard took the cloth-wrapped piece and retreated into Mallivar’s suite, closing the double doors with a flourish.
“Not the most neighborly folk,” said the king’s royal guard at the door. Weiser did not acknowledge him. He sat motionless, staring at the closed double doors. Nearly an hour passed. The king’s guard at the door had taken a seat on the side of the hall opposite Weiser. The two did not speak to one another. The king’s royal guard fought sleep.
The door to Mallivar’s suite suddenly opened opposite him, and a second stout guard, also dressed entirely in black, appeared in the doorway. He looked at Weiser across the hall and motioned with his head to follow him.
One of the septor’s private guards led the old shopkeeper into Mallivar’s room on the first floor. Mallivar was sitting in a reading chair with his back to the door. The Diremorph studied him and the surroundings. The position of the chair allowed sunlight to drift in over his right shoulder during the day. In the nighttime, as it was now, there were lamps attached to the wall throughout the room. A straight-backed chair was positioned in front, but slightly to the left, of Mallivar. The guard pointed to the empty chair and Weiser promptly and quietly went to it and sat down. Mallivar did not look up immediately.
The Diremorph studied his mark carefully. Mallivar was much taller than most men. His hair was black and full. He had a carefully trimmed beard and goatee. He is excessively vain, thought the Diremorph. That is good. I can use that.
Slowly the septor looked up from the book he was holding. He looked the old storekeeper from head to toe without speaking and then motioned with his hand for his guard to leave them. “Where did you get this?” he asked as he reached to pick up the silver tube from a small table to his immediate right.
“It was delivered to me by the gnolls,” said the new Weiser.
“Delivered to you by the gnolls? I didn’t know they did that. Are you on speaking terms with the beasts?”
“The gnolls entered the Outpost where my store is. They placed this in my store and then quickly left. I took that as a sign they had delivered it to me,” said Weiser.
“A sign.” Mallivar looked at the tube in his hand, turning it over. “It opens. You know that, of course?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“There is a parchment inside the tube—you know that, too?”
“Yes.”
“Did you read the message on the parchment?”
“No, sir. I cannot read it.”
Without looking up, Mallivar said, “Do you know who I am?”
“Yes. You are Mallivar, the
Septor, Grand Scholar of the Realm.”
“And do you know what I am very good at?”
“I would suppose a number of things.”
“I am particularly skilled at detecting a fraud,” said Mallivar and he slowly lifted his eyes to greet the storekeeper. The Diremorph said nothing, but he was amused. He knew Mallivar was implying the tube might be fraudulent. The septor had not the slightest inclination he was jousting with the ultimate deception, a doppelganger.
“I am told you are a shopkeeper at that dreadful and appropriately named Desolation Outpost.”
“That’s true, my lord.”
Mallivar continued. “Have you shown this to anyone else?”
“No, my lord.”
“Not Commander Raxell or any of his playmates?”
“No, sir.”
“How about others here in Riverlok? The young prince is often here.”
“No, no one,” said Weiser.
“Really? You would have impressed them with your find.”
“I am a businessman, my lord. I am impressed by real power.”
“That’s a curious reply,” said Mallivar. He sat still and looked hard at the figure seated across from him. Then, in a humorless voice, he said, “Why did you bring this to me?”
“You are respected throughout the Realm for your scholarship and brilliance.”
“I am not flattered by that remark, storekeeper, simply because what you have said is true. But tell me this: why did you bring this object—your gift from the gnolls—to me? Are you giving it to me? And what is it you want in return?”
The Diremorph now leaned slightly forward in his chair, his hands folded on the top of his walking stick. “I said I believe the gnolls delivered the tube to me. I believe I am but a messenger between the races. I believe I was to see that the parchment reached the eyes of the most learned man in the Realm. That happens to be you. If you decide to burn it, then so be it. If the message contains something you can act upon, then I think you will do so. If you choose to do that, I am here as your servant.” Weiser then slowly straightened himself in his chair.
Mallivar again looked hard at him and said nothing for a time. Then a smile creased his thin lips. “Where are you staying, storekeeper?”
“I have no accommodations,” said the imposter.
“Are you in a hurry to get back to your shop, or whatever?”
“I am in no hurry to leave.”
“Fine. There are many things we can discuss. Many options that I can ‘act upon,’ as you put it. I had planned to spend another month here. I’ll arrange for you to have a room here in the Compound. There is a small, out-of-the-way tavern on the waterfront with excellent turtle soup. I dine there frequently, and you will dine with me. We have much to discuss, as I said, and weeks to do it in as you apparently are in no hurry to get back to your shopkeeping.”
“I am very grateful, sir,” said Weiser.
At the end of his proclamation, the Septor, the Grand Scholar of the Realm, stood quickly and gracefully to his full height. Weiser tried to rise as swiftly, but his old frame rose to its bent state much slower. Mallivar seemed amused. He looked down at his new friend. “And at the end of our long discussions, we will know how much of a servant you are willing to be.”
The new Weiser, recent ghoul from the land of the gnolls, nodded agreeably. “At your service, my lord.”
Chapter 8
Hasdel looked across the commons in the center of the Compound. Under the bright moon, the courtyard contrasted the sharp gray images of familiar buildings in the square with long dark shadows concealing the known and the unknown. The king’s messenger turned his head slowly, scanning the full sector. He squinted his eyes as he tried hard to look into the blackness. Kalo watched and knew the gava was allowing his eyes to adjust to the different casts of light.
He followed Hasdel outside into the night air. The young thief was clothed as a Realmsguard in a gray cloak and a faded gray headscarf with a bright yellow braided band about his forehead holding the headscarf firmly in place. The headscarf hid the brown hair falling over his neck. Seeing Hasdel in the same gray cloak of the Realmsguard gave Kalo an unexpected exhilaration. The cloak concealed the Riverman’s street-worn clothing even from himself, and for a moment he felt like a true companion of the gava in front of him.
He remembered Ty had often said he wanted to become a Realmsguard. It was Ty who had wished that, not him. The idea was so fanciful to Kalo that the thought never stayed with him whenever Ty brought it up. He wasn’t a Realmsguard now and he knew it. But for the first time, completely unintentionally, he was pretending to be one.
Hasdel reached out and put his hand behind Kalo’s neck, gently prodding him toward the only building with light coming from a ground-level window.
“Let us go, trooper,” said the gava softly, and Kalo’s fantasy continued.
They quickly crossed the courtyard and neared the main building. The messenger looked purposefully ahead; the young thief in disguise looked from side to side. They saw no one. Light shone from the room nearest the front entrance. Hasdel stopped before the door and peered into the dimly lit window. He turned to Kalo. “You are going to have an opportunity to use the advice I gave you sooner than I thought. Keep your wits about you, Riverman. Your good friend Mallivar is inside, alone with his companion Weiser.” Hasdel spoke again, though more to himself. “How these two came together is a mystery.”
Kalo glanced into the window and froze. There, by the fireplace, was the tall man his ferret had stolen from. Alongside him was the hunched man who had been seated across from him in the tavern. Mallivar was taller than Hasdel; he was taller than most men. He stood straight in contrast to his bent companion.
Kalo turned quickly about and slid down with his back to the wall until he was sitting on the ground, holding his knees up to his chin. “He’ll recognize me!” he said in a wavering whisper. Kalo wanted to jump up and run. Evil and Mallivar had been spoken of as one, and now he would face him.
Hasdel placed his hand on Kalo’s rigid shoulders. “We must go in this way,” said the gava slowly. “I will do the talking. Move your arms about as if you are cold. That distracts the eyes. When you are still, people will look at your face.” Kalo could see a slight smile on the gava’s face in the light of the window. He saw no humor in the unfolding events. His pretension to be a Realmsguard was gone. He was a boy in man’s clothing—a thief who wanted to escape. This time without words, the gava reached down and pulled the young Riverman gradually to his feet.
Hasdel pushed open the door and stepped in with Kalo close behind. They startled the royal guard by the staircase, who came quickly to his feet as they entered. Kalo folded his arms and began to rub them as he had been instructed. “Hello,” said Hasdel to the guard as he peered into the adjoining hallway. Mallivar stood facing the fire, with his companion Weiser a few feet away. The septor was clothed in a long black cloak that fell gracefully down his lengthy frame and touched the floor. It had a high collar that rose up around his neck and scarlet edging along its border. He was bare-headed with long, thick black hair parted in the middle.
The two looked back at Hasdel and the young thief. “Still up, Mallivar?” inquired Hasdel in a cheerful voice. Mallivar did not answer. He only looked at the two and then turned back to face the fire. Weiser stared closely at the gava with his bulging eyes but did not speak. In his drab clothing, he was the perfect opposite of the stunning septor. His shoulders were hunched forward. His hair was thin, streaked with gray, and covered by a slouch cap that enveloped most of his head.
Hasdel spoke softly to the guard. “I need to see Prince Andre.”
“It’s very late, gava,” said the guard.
“It certainly is,” answered Hasdel, quickly stepping past the dazed guard. Kalo followed hastily as they bounded up a flight of stairs. When they reached the first landing, Hasdel turned to Kalo. “Now, wasn’t that fun?”
Up one more flight of stairs they
hurried. In a moment, they stood before a door of solid oak. Hasdel put his ear to the door. He looked in both directions down the hallway, then knocked lightly. “Andre,” he called softly and knocked again. “Andre, it’s me, Hasdel.”
The door opened a few inches, and a handsome young man with long, light hair peered out. “Hasdel?” Upon seeing the gava, he opened the door wider and ushered the two inside. The gava and the thief stepped into a small sitting room with a modest fireplace and stood in the presence of the king’s only son, Prince Andre. At one side of the room sat a couch with a lamp burning brightly. The room seemed out of place in this otherwise unrefined setting.
“This had better be good, my friend,” said the prince as he returned to the couch. “I am reading a marvelous story.”
The prince did not look at all how Kalo had imagined. He was slender and of slightly smaller build than Hasdel, with fine straw-colored hair and a clean-shaven face. Kalo assumed royalty dressed in extravagant clothing, yet this prince wore a simple blue robe and walked barefoot.
Hasdel wasted no time explaining their purpose for coming. “This young Riverman came into possession of something belonging to Mallivar, which he turned over to me. I now bring it to you, my prince,” said Hasdel as he handed over the silver tube.
“Mallivar asked me for twenty of our royal guards to help recover a valuable relic earlier this evening. I told him I would consider it in the morning. The men need their rest, don’t you think?” remarked Prince Andre. He took the silver tube. “It’s very cold, isn’t it?” he noted as he turned the piece over in his hands. Hasdel did not reply to either remark.
The Ruins of Melda Page 5