“Maybe he didn’t care,” Edda suggested, “until the day we get here there is another explosion in the Craftsmen District? Maybe he wants to know why we are snooping around and if it was us last night?”
“So our opportunity for intel is looking more and more like a trap. I’d say that settles things,” Nerthus said. “I'm going to send my report back to the home office. I'll let them know that the situation here is a little...unique, and that I’d humbly like some backup. Or at least some guidance. The last thing I want to do is spark an incident with another country. Cecil, is there anything you want me to add for your people?”
The Weaver dug into one of his pockets and produced a tiny scroll, sealed with a dark blue ribbon. He handed it to Nerthus.
“That note explains as much as possible for my, as you put it, people,” he said. “It’s got some preliminary thoughts and hypotheses on what is going on here. I'm also requesting at least one other pair of eyes to join us. Like I said, I'd like some support as well.” Nerthus nodded as she took his message, tucking it into one of her own pockets.
“How long will it take backup to get here?” Edda asked. “Best guess?”
“Best guess?” Nerthus echoed. “We could probably have a few more bodies within a week. Sooner if they really haul ass.”
“Help from the Bastion can arrive much more quickly,” Egveny said. “Three days at most, I should say. In the meantime, if things go from strange to bad, there's my, ah, special cargo to help. But if things progress too quickly, which part of me is expecting, then yes, I agree we'll need support.”
Nerthus stood up, placing her napkin on the table. “Mind if I ask just what that 'special cargo' is? You still haven't told us.”
Egveny managed an approximation of a coy smile. “No, not just yet. If it turns out we don't need it, then I don't want to have to explain things. Erm, trade secrets, you could say.”
Nerthus shrugged. “Fair enough. I'm going to the wagons to send the message and tell Clyde to get some sleep. Afterwards I plan on going for a stroll or two of my own, if you'd care to join me, dear Carthinia.”
“I would love to,” Edda said, her mouth stuffed with food. “We still going to the party?”
“Of course we are. I didn’t pack that damned dress for nothing,” Nerthus said as she walked out of the inn. She made her way around to the back where the stables were, a cold sweat beginning to form down her back. Showing up so openly may have been a mistake, she realized. Posing as agents of the Consortium gave them easy access to some places, Titus’ party for one example, but it also painted a big bright target on them all. Who knows how many of Titus’ men were watching them now? Or someone other than Titus who she didn’t even know about? As she walked into the stables, she saw their third hired man, Clyde. He had a sleepy expression on his face, and sat on the bench of the wagon, leaning against the wagon frame with his arms crossed. When he saw Nerthus approach he did his best to appear alert. She gestured over her shoulder to the inn.
“Go get some sleep,” she said. “Your time is yours until dusk, unless something catastrophic happens.” Giving her an appreciative smile, Clyde hopped off the wagon, moving a little stiffly. He did his best to work the kinks out of his legs while looking dignified, and Nerthus caught a fleeting glimpse of at least five different knives and daggers on his person as he did so. The man knew his trade, she had to admit.
“Thank you, ma'am,” he said, and headed towards the inn's servant's entrance. Before he could walk past her, she grabbed him by the arm, halting him.
“Watch your back,” she whispered. “I’m pretty sure we’ve been made. Stick with the other two, or at least with Cecil. No one is to be solo as long as we’re here. Got it?”
Clyde nodded and walked towards the inn. Though his expression didn’t change, Nerthus could sense his body tensing slightly, like a spring coiling itself. Yes, Clyde could take care of himself. Nerthus climbed up to the bench where Clyde had been sitting, took out a small strip of paper and a tiny bronze pen. She thought for a moment before writing, choosing both her words and the cypher she planned on using very carefully. She then scribbled out her message, rolled the paper up tightly, and wrapped a bit of string around it, not unlike Egveny's message, which she promptly took out of her pocket and undid the blue ribbon around it. Unrolling the message, she chuckled as she read. The strip was completely blank except for one line, written in exquisite penmanship.
You shouldn't try to read what I wrote, Cecilia. Reseal the message please.
“Can't blame a girl for trying,” she muttered with a grin as she resealed Egveny's message and placed it and her own message in her pocket. Opening the straps on the wagon covering, she turned and sat in the bed of the wagon. The bed was dominated by a massive box, part of Egveny's 'special cargo'. The box was made of some black wood she had never seen before. As she looked at it, she was reminded of an ornate coffin, only it was much too wide. Nerthus saw three different locking mechanisms on the box, and was sure there were more that her eyes wouldn't be able to see. The other two wagons each had an identical box in them, and her curiosity was burning to open one. Instead, however, she reached up and opened one of the four small cages hanging along the ribs of the wagon cover. Inside was a gray swallow, a special breed of messenger bird. Smart, nimble, and fast, they were common for sending messages in the area. And while they couldn't outrun a nighhawk, they were fast enough to be out of the local nighthawk population's territory before sunset.
Tucking the two messages into the sparrow's special holders around its legs, she carried it out of the wagon before releasing it. The sparrows she had brought with them were born and raised in the Praetorian Umbra's personal aviary, and would fly straight back there. She stood there for a moment, waiting for the sparrow to fly out of her eyesight, before heading back to the inn to change and take a tour of the city with Edda.
The sparrow for its part flew particularly hard and fast, desperate to get back to his home. He only made one detour, however. Unexpectedly feeling the need to land and get a drink of water, the sparrow alighted on the rooftop fountain of the Bellkeep’s capitol building, the aptly named Keep of the Bells. There, the sparrow joined a group of fellow messenger birds of various types, each of them drinking from the fountain, chirping and warbling happily between drinks. While the sparrow felt the strong compulsion to return to his home in Tethis, the urge to stay and drink for a moment overrode his conditioning. As he drank he failed to notice a man dressed in a sharp, tight fitting nobleman’s pants and jacket take the sparrow's two messages, opened and read them. He then scribbled down two replacement notes and tucked them in the sparrow’s little pouches. The man ripped up the original notes, patted the sparrow on his head, and walked back inside the Keep. Suddenly feeling refreshed enough to continue, the sparrow flew off towards Tethis, with no one the wiser.
Chapter Ten
Johan and the rest of the Outriders found Garm sitting in one of the booths in Rickets, with an untouched ale on the table in front of him and his back against the wall. He motioned for them, and they joined him in the booth. The booth was designed to give its occupants a measure of privacy for when the tavern was busy at night. In theory it would comfortable hold six people, three on each side of the table. Yet even though the Outriders weren't in their armor, taking Garm's suggestion seriously and wearing their differing riding attire, it was a very tight fit. Aleksander pulled a chair up from a nearby table and sat outside the booth looking in. Alek's bulk notwithstanding, one could only see into the booth from walking head-on towards it. However, instead of providing Garm a measure of inconspicuousness, it made him look rather suspicious. He waited until they were seated in the booth around him before nodding to Johan.
“Sir. Thanks for making it here so fast. Sorry about my note. I'm, ah, not accustomed to writing.”
Johan waved the comment off. “Not a problem. Assuming, of course, you have a good reason for summoning us all here like this.”
�
�I do,” Garm said, nodding. He cast a glance past the Outriders at the almost empty tavern before continuing, his voice quieter. “The peacock and I were sitting out front before heading back when I saw someone...important walk past us. He didn't see me, and the peacock was able to track him through the town to his house.”
“Who was it?” Johan asked.
“It was one of the Underking's lieutenants. Kian is his name.”
The Outriders all sat back slightly at that, their thoughts racing. All of them had heard one story or another about who the Underking was.
“Why didn't the two of you take him in?” Vegard asked, his massive frame cramped in the confines of the booth. “That would've been a good haul for us.”
Garm grunted. “Yeah, but with him here we might be able to catch so much more.” Garm's voice took on an odd tone. “Like I told the peacock, Kian is the Underking's advance scout. He usually travels a day or two ahead and makes sure an area is secure, in a way, for the Underking's arrival.”
It only took a moment for that to sink in. Vegard whistled softly, and Toma's eyes widened a bit.
“So he's coming here,” Toma said. “The Underking I mean?”
“Can't be,” Vegard said. “There's nothing here for him. It's got to be something else we aren't seeing.”
“But you don't believe that,” Johan said to Garm.
“No. One way or another he'll be in or near Coula. Today or tomorrow I'd wager.”
“How, erm, how do you know so much about him, Garm?” Toma asked. “This guy is one of the most wanted men in almost every city-state on the continent. How do you know his methods when the Praetorian Umbra's agents don't?”
Garm hesitated for a second before rolling up his sleeves and showing his wrists. Starting at the back of his hands and traveling down to just below his elbows, Garm had extensive scarring. At just a quick glance, it would have looked like he had gotten into a bloody melee with a plate glass window. But upon closer inspection, his scarring was deliberate. There was an almost delicate touch to the scars, as if they were made by a runesman or calligrapher. They had caused no end of rumor when Garm was a soldier in the Dominion’s Bulwark Legion. Was he an outlaw? Some had suspected that he was part of the Praetorian Umbra's agents, sent in to watch and report on the Bulwarks. Even among the small, tight-knit Outrider unit, the men had always wondered just what baggage those scars came with.
“I used to run with his little group. Years ago. Back when he was very small time. These,” Garm said, turning his wrists over, “were an older tradition in the Underking's circle. Like a non-stop initiation.” He sighed slightly, and took a sip from the warm beer in front of him. “That isn't important. Well, not now it isn't. What is is that the Underking is on his way here. We have a really rare chance here, sir. We can bring him in.”
Johan sat back in the booth, considering. “I take it,” he said slowly, “that you don't really want to go into your past a little with the Underking?”
Garm looked down. Almost...ashamed? “I'd rather not, sir.” He took a slow sip from his beer, and then looked up sharply. “My loyalty is to you first, sir. And the Legion. The man I was, the man who ran with the Underking, he's gone. Been dead some time now.”
Johan caught Aleksander's eye and suppressed a sigh. He had just tried to pry into the past life of one of his men, hoping to ensure that Alek wasn't some nascent threat to his men. He backed off from that to save one friendship, and now the same thing was happening again. Johan found himself thinking the same thoughts about Garm as he had about Aleksander. He had trusted Garm with his life, and more importantly, the lives of his men to this point. He'd have to see it through a little more before forcing the issue. With the both of them. Again, his thoughts drifted to Aldir. Just how did a hero deal with the lies and secrets of men? Those were monsters you couldn't fight with a sword and shield.
“Okay,” Johan said at last. “But after all this, once the Underking is in our hands, you're going to tell me...” he paused, considering something. “No, you're going to tell us everything. Everything, do you understand me? We aren't the army, Garm. You can't just get away with being a faceless file in the ranks. We are something more, and that means you have to give something more. No deep, dark secrets between us. No hidden grudges or personal conflicts. No deep seeded rivalries amongst us. I know I can't promise you much, but I will promise you all this: if you have a past that haunts you, some shadow that hangs over you, I won't abandon you. We will face it. All of us. Together. Now, if any of you can't give me that,” he paused and cast his gaze across the booth, “if any of you can't do that, then we will be having a much different discussion after this is all said and done. Do I make myself clear?”
Garm, Toma, and Vegard all nodded. Alek looked down guiltily, but even he nodded. Johan nodded with them.
“Good. Now, enough of this touchy-feely emotional stuff. We've got a criminal mastermind to bring down. Garm, tell me what you can, operation-wise. Let’s get to it.”
Ryker was sprawled out on the grass in a small common area just within eyesight of Kian's house. It was little more than a vacant lot that had been overrun with bright green grass, but it had looked inviting. The houses surrounding the lot were small and in good repair, and there was an old couple sitting on a bench near him. If he was going to blend in anywhere, that was the spot. He had taken off his riding coat and had stretched out, soaking in the sun. After Garm had left him, Ryker had wandered around the area, walking among the small huts and houses, always keeping Kian's house in his periphery. He had focused on the house with such intensity, conjured the image of Kian so forcefully, that he could feel Kian inside of it. Well, perhaps feeling wasn't the right word. It was more certain than that. It was a knowing. A few times, he had fleeting mental images of Kian actually moving within the house. But he dismissed that as trying a little too hard to get inside his target's mind. Ryker did notice, however, that if we walked a certain distance away from the house, the knowing grew less and less certain, even if he was still looking at it. So he had found a patch of grass nearby and relaxed a bit.
The sound of children playing throughout the houses, the birdsong, and the gentle din of a town was strangely relaxing to him as he lay there. He had grown up in Tethis with Johan, and the two of them had quickly acclimated to the hustle and bustle of city life. Life in the Legion had been easy to adjust to also, he thought. Each Legion camp they had constructed was a small city in its own right, with its own people, its own smells, and its own unique sounds. Joining the Outriders and being transferred to their little country house in Coula, though, had taken some adjusting. It was so quiet, so remote. So utterly devoid of the beauty of taverns and tavern girls. Johan and the others had seemed to thrive in it. But Ryker found himself ill at ease in the quiet. He didn't like being alone with his thoughts lately. Or his dreams.
Getting to his feet, Ryker stretched a bit before putting his coat on. He had no idea how long it would be before Garm or one of the others joined him. He walked past the old couple sitting on the bench and waved to them, giving them his most charming smile.
“I’m out here waiting for you to let me in,” the old man said.
“You called to me,” his wife said..
Ryker froze in place, his spine turning to ice. “What did you say?” he demanded.
The old man gave him a confused look. “I said 'enjoy the day', sunny. Heida above, son. Relax.”
“Oh, uh, my apologies.” Ryker composed himself and pointed to his head. “Took a stone to the head in the Legion. Messes with my hearing sometimes. You two have a good one.” Ryker walked on without waiting for a response. He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts as he walked. His knowing that Kian was still in the house seemed to flicker as he did so. He didn't want to make the connection to his strange dreams and the odd way he had been able to track Kian through the city, but he couldn't deny that the two separate events seemed to be linked. He had never been much of a hunter or a tracker, a
nd his Legion life had afforded him nothing in the way of espionage training. But it all seemed to be connected somehow. He caught himself massaging his right shoulder again and forced himself to stop.
A familiar thumping sound echoed around Ryker as he walked, and he whirled to the source of the noise. To his right, one of the simple huts had twisted in appearance, its walls suddenly growing taller than its roof would allow. Where the simple wooden door should have been was a massive set of stone doors. There was a familiar swirling along the surface of the doors, and Ryker found himself transfixed by the sight. Runes, letters, and carvings all seemed to form up in patterns and then just as quickly slide away out of his sight. He felt a strong sense of vertigo as he watched, as if the door was rushing towards him while the house was pulled away. The sunlight, which moments ago had been noontime bright faded until all around him seemed dark. The thumping sound from behind the doors increased in intensity, with every impact sending runes and images rippling from the doors.
“I'm out here, waiting!” the voice thundered from behind the door. Ryker froze in place, terrified. “Why won't you let me in?” the voice boomed. The voice beyond the door was so loud, so strong, that Ryker raised a hand as if to ward the sound away. His vision seemed to blur around the edges, and with a deepening sense of horror, Ryker saw that every door in the area had been replaced with the churning portal before him, demanding of him. His senses were bombarded with input as every swirling door, every storming vortex, seemed to encompass his entire world. The thumping had escalated into horrendous crashing sounds, emanating from all around him, buffeting him with their violence like breakers on an ocean beach.
“Leave me the hells alone!!” Ryker bellowed, dropping to his knees, hands over his ears and eyes shut tight. He cried out as the thunderous voice threatened to deafen him when suddenly a hand clamped down on his shoulder.
Chasing Down Glory: The Outrider Legion: Book Two Page 14