A gentle knock sounded on the wagon’s door.
“Yes?” She called out, not wanting to open the door and admit the cold if she didn’t have to. “What is it?”
“Your pardon seeress. We have taken the man.” Came the voice. Jecha smiled, and the smile was colder and more bitter than the wind behind the blizzard.
Yeg and Derry sat calmly at the small wooden table in the small room on the first floor of the little house in the harbor. It had once been the second floor, but time and rising water had elevated its importance, as it was the only room in the little house with harbor access. A small wooden boat rocked in the water outside of the house, tied to a half-dock with a thick hemp line. But there was a door between the half-dock and the room in which they sat, and the room had a small fireplace and no windows, so it was not cold.
Of course, this being the first great blizzard in a year that promised many more, it was not warm, either. The twins had somewhat compromised the integrity of the room’s walls by driving deep metal hooks high into them, and from the hooks hung chains, and at the end of the chains were shackles. A man stood caught in them, with his face bloody and his arms held high.
The man was very tall, but the room had a very high ceiling, making Yeg wonder if perhaps it had belonged to a rich man, for in his experience poor people and low ceilings went together like honey and butter. The twins had needed to stand on the table to lay in the hooks, hammering them deep into the crossbeams behind the plaster wall.
The man was very quiet, and they did not offer him any tea. They passed the iron pot between them, and they filled small tumblers with the stuff. It was Jagle Black, good tea by any man’s estimation, and steeped long in thickly honeyed water. If you could drink hot candy, this was what it would be like, Yeg decided.
Derry was playing a game with numerous little wooden pegs in holes to make a puzzle, and even though he’d long since mastered the thing, he carried on with it, maybe to keep his hands nimble for the day’s work. They heard the thump of a small boat striking the half-dock, and the man looked up almost hopefully, but when neither of the twins so much as raised an eyebrow, hope that it was intervention or rescue left the man.
Jecha knocked three times in a sharp tattoo before Derry opened the door, letting in the old woman along with a blast of freezing air that had him drinking quickly of the tea. An Entreddi lad called Mykol was left sitting in the boat, huddling in his heavy coat. There were some things that a lad shouldn’t see until he was much older than Mykol’s twelve years.
Jecha sat at the table with the twins at first, ignoring the chained man for the moment. “How did you catch him?”
“Easy enough.” Derry said. “He was nosing about down by the Silver Throne tavern, asking after his witch friend. A couple of girls from family Benneti noticed the scalloped sword and the accent. We got behind him leaving and took him with a Benneti crew on the channel next door.” He smiled. “Nobody saw anything.”
“And if they did, none would tell.” Yeg added. “Not in this neighborhood.”
“What do you want of me?” The man said, looking at the three of them. “I’ve nothing you want.”
Jecha stood and walked up close to him, her milky blind eye glistening in the light of the lamp eerily. “You are Hulmini, judging by your accent and your sword. Tell me, what are you doing in Mortentia?”
“Bodyguard.” The man replied simply, which was good, for although Jecha did not believe it, at least the man was talking.
“And who do you work for?”
“I work for a woman named Anrealla Bishota.”
“Do you mean the black haired woman you have been asking after?”
“Yes. She owes me money.”
“How long have you been with her?”
“A month.” The man said, foolishly. It was a poor lie, for the two of them had been seen about together and noted for at least half a year. Yeg shook his head and Derry allowed just the trace of a grin to touch his mouth.
“You are a poor liar, Hulmini. But we will have the truth from you, I promise. Before you protest or say another lie, let me tell you what we already know.
“We know about your partner, the black haired witch. Her name might be as you say, but it hardly matters. We know that the two of you spent the spring on the Redwater River, stealing babies to start a war. We know that you have a way of putting your thoughts into the minds of other men and making them do your will. We know also that you have been running about the King’s Town, up into the suzerainty, and also that you have been looking for a man named Eskeriel. We also know about what your abomination did in the Entreddi camp, for I was witness to that. What I want to know is who you work for, specifically, where you were hired, who pays you and who else you work with. Also I want to know what you did with the babies you stole. You will tell me.”
“Woman, I don’t know what you are talking about.” The man said with a shake of his head.
“I wonder how long you have been in Mortentia, and how familiar you are with the customs here, Hulmini. Tell me, have you ever heard of flensing?” Derry smiled and Yeg did too. They were glad to be of use.
In the end the man broke, as Jecha had known he would. The truth was both more prosaic and more horrifying than she had thought it would be. Prosaic in that the man was truly little more than a mercenary, and horrifying that any man would allow himself to take gold to do the things that the man had done.
As for whom they worked for, the witch knew that and he didn’t, but the money was Tolrissan, and their instructions came from Telderin. The Hulmini’s name was Fracelo, or maybe he was lying about that, but it didn’t matter if he was. He was a sword, and hired for his sword only, but he had eyes and ears, and he had seen and heard much.
He described their tasks. The stealing of babies and the starting of the war she had already deduced, but the killing of the king’s eagles was something of which she had been unaware. They meant to find and capture Eskeriel, not to kill him, which explained in part the actions of the misbegotten blind beggar on the night family Haila died, but did not explain the murder of the Entreddi family itself. When pressed, Fracelo admitted that the witch had just given the seeker his head in that task.
There were two seekers, she learned, one in Northcraven and one in the King’s Town, but with the death of the tree and the strange men from the Wild Lands who had died when the Kalgareth sank, the witch had lost control of them both.
The tree itself was a great strangeness, for it almost seemed to be more a thing of poisons and potions rather than of magic. Was it possible that the manner in which the tree took over the minds of its victims was not magical, but in some way a thing of nature? Jecha knew that some plants could make men insane, and she knew that some plants had ways of communicating with each other, but the powers the man ascribed to the tree seemed truly beyond belief. Still, she did believe him.
“Why kill the eagles?” Jecha asked him, and he raised his battered and defeated face to answer.
“To break Mortentia. The same reason we started the war.” He said wearily. “To break this land so that it can never become a power.”
“And who is the power you serve?” She demanded, and Derry stepped forward with his knife again.
“The Brizaki Empire.” He confessed. “We serve the Brizaki Empire.”
“And why do you seek to capture Eskeriel? What purpose does that serve?”
“I don’t know. Only the witch knows, or maybe even she doesn’t. The truth is we serve ourselves, for gold and power. We were to take the Aulig and turn him over to others to use.”
Jecha turned to Yeg and Derry, and they both nodded. They had gotten all of the information the man possessed. Derry stepped toward the man again, and he looked at the gypsy with genuine terror in his eyes. “Wait!” He said. “Wait, there’s more.” Derry paused, holding his knife and looking a question at Jecha.
“Tell me.” She demanded.
“The seeker. It’s marked this Tuchek,
the man you call Eskeriel. The hunters will come, and they can find him anywhere. They will take him where we failed.”
“And who are these hunters?” Jecha asked coolly.
“He has many, of all different races and kinds. He has trolls and beastmen, Thimenians, Auligs, Mortentians. His hunters can be found anywhere.”
“That’s not particularly useful.” She answered. “Is there some way to know them?”
“They are all warriors of one kind or another. They are connected to his power and he can talk to them over long distances. I have met some before, in Tolrissa. I think I could identify one if I saw him.”
Jecha smiled a little at the last. “You try to make yourself useful. I understand.” She said. “But you helped to slaughter the family Haila, so your usefulness is at an end. Goodbye Fracelo.”
In the end the boys put him in Jagle bay, laden with weights so that he might never rise again.
“We are getting nowhere, cousin. We must go north, up to this Northcraven.”
“Yes.” Derbas Al-Dhulma said, looking wryly at Rashad. “That is where we left him. I suppose he must still be there. I still think he might be this man Tuchek we’ve been hearing of.”
“Coincidence, cousin. I am sure many of the nobles here take on Auligs for servants and guards, like the king of Rammas has his Skundalhese bodyguards. Having an outlander servant with exotic features inspires an unwarranted fear, and such men are rumored to be harder to corrupt. This Tuchek could be anyone.”
Derbas frowned before he spoke. “Perhaps it is as you say. I agree we have given this city far too much of our time. Certainly, compared to the places we came to last time it has many more charms, but eventually we must brave the primitive lands that lie beyond it, no matter how inconvenient it is. When Yarom returns we will engage him to hire us a coach so that we may travel north in at least some warmth.” He noticed that Rashad still occasionally fiddled with the unfamiliar collar of his tunic, even under his heavy coat.
“Maybe we should hire a sleigh.” Rashad replied, for they both knew the snow was still falling outside of the inn. Since this storm of snow had begun he had ventured out of the Welcoming Maiden only once. The cold had been so intense that his eyes began to water. On such a day as this he did not envy their bodyguards, who were out and about asking questions.
It was mid-morning on Marketday, the twenty-eighth day of the month the Mortentians called Leath, or just at the beginning of the eleventh moon in Rammas, and snow had been falling heavily for two days. Derbas Al-Dhulma, known here as the former sailor turned merchant Kharin O’Torth, was wrapped so heavily in layers of heavy linen and fur that he looked twice his size. They were drinking hot tea, a custom that Rashad, known here as Joth Sailwright, had been delighted to discover was much the same as it was in distant Rammas. Of course, in Rammas they drank hot tea in small glass tumblers, and they made it strong and black. Here the tea was brewed weak, probably because they did not have so much of it, and they drank it in tall wooden mugs.
Rashad knew a little bit about the making of sails, probably enough to fool someone who knew nothing of that craft, and the idea that he had been rescued at sea from a foreign ship explained his very strong accent. Derbas’ accent was very slight, just enough to mark him as from someplace else, and he had chosen Torth because he had heard many strange accents there. He could name a few streets in Torth, and if pressed probably could have fooled a few people under light scrutiny.
Their bodyguards Yarom and Gheros fit into Mortentia City easily, for they were the kind of men who blended in anywhere. For three and a half Mortentian weeks they had lingered in the port city, which every local person called the King’s Town, reluctant to journey north into a land increasingly torn by rebellion, war and now snow.
At first the city had seemed a promising place to search for the scout Eskeriel, for there were many travelers and refugees here from all over the country. Unfortunately, despite their profligate application of silver coin in many places, the only lead that had developed was this Tuchek person who had once served Baron Brego D’Tarman of Pulflover. But Tuchek had disappeared months ago, and no trace of him was to be found anywhere. With a weary sigh, Derbas-Al-Dhulma rose from the table and walked to the door, intending to go down to the common room for a late breakfast.
The cooks at the Maiden had not liked to prepare food after the regular patrons had already breakfasted at dawn, but neither Rashad nor Derbas liked to rouse themselves so early. It had taken but a single gold coin to persuade the tavern’s owner to reopen the kitchen that first morning, and the two travelers had become legendary for their generous gratuities. When they came downstairs nowadays they usually found a small army of servers and cooks ready to put food or drink in their mouths. Gold had once again proven its ability to shatter longstanding customs and habits. Derbas was glad he had a lot of it.
He was reaching for the door when a soft knock sounded on it. He looked at Rashad, who quickly tucked a knife behind his back and went to stand behind the room’s wardrobe, out of sight of the door. “What is it?” Derbas asked the door.
“We seek the merchant Kharin O’Torth.” A young man’s voice replied. “We were told this is the place.”
“And who are you?”
“We have information for you. Let us in and we can discuss it.”
“Go to the common room.” Derbas said, mistrusting the voice. “I will be down in a moment.”
“Do not delay.” Came the reply.
Derbas tucked his own knife behind his belt, and after a suitable time, he opened the door. The corridor was empty, so he walked toward the stairs, motioning Rashad to follow.
The common room was empty of other patrons at this hour, but the servants were waiting, and Derbas could smell his breakfast, a concoction of meat and eggs liberally spiced. He saw an old woman sitting at a table by the window, which was shuttered tightly against the cold. This was yet another misfortune he associated with this downtrodden and primitive land, for even in the King’s Town there were very few windows properly made of glass. Most buildings, including this one, had few windows, and those merely small holes in the wall that were closed by battening wooden shutters. On a dreary day of blizzard the common room was as dark as a cave, with only a few small lamps and the fire in the hearth to illumine it.
He approached the table, an elaborately carved thing of dark wood, highly polished by much use. Two serving maids appeared as if by magic at his sides, and he asked them for his usual breakfast. Then he turned to the table. “Would the two of you like anything?”
“We are content.” The old woman said, looking at him. She had one eye that was the color of watered milk set in a face that had seen many years of wear. Her hair was white and pulled back from her face in a simple braid. The man with her looked to be just out of his teens, with dark eyes and heavy lashes. He might have been Araqueshi to look at him. Derbas knew from their clothing that these two were of the Entreddi, a traveling people who could be found on roads all across the Known World.
“How goes the search for the King?” He asked her, and she smiled pleasantly. It was a ritual courtesy, and she seemed pleased that he knew it.
“We will find him one day, as the spirit wills.” She replied, then she departed from the ritual altogether. “How goes your search for Eskeriel the Aulig?”
Derbas nodded and smiled in return. “It’s like you say. We will find him one day if the spirit so wills.” He sat down at the end of the table, facing them both side on. “You know my name, and apparently you know my business, too. Might I have yours?”
“Our business or our names?” She asked rhetorically. “As for the first, I am not quite ready to share that with you. As for the second, my name is Jecha, and I was the seeress for the Family Haila. This is my companion Derry. Now, you said that I know your name, but I don’t. I only know the name you are using falsely. Also I know that you are not from Torth, although it makes a good story. If I had to guess, I would say you were
Araqueshi, from your features and your accent, but you might not be. I have only met a few of your kind.”
“You are perceptive.” He replied with an appreciative smile. “But I am not here to answer your questions, Madam Jecha. I am here because I was given to believe you might answer mine.”
She shook her head and smiled again, but this time it was not a friendly smile. “I think you will answer mine, for I am fairly certain from the way he scratches at a robe that is not there and from his shaved head and eyebrows that your companion is a priest of Hidor. It is likely that he bears the skintintings and tattoos that mark him as such, does he not? If you will answer to me, perhaps he will not need to answer to an inquisitor, for it is death to wear such markings in Mortentia, as I think you know.”
Derbas sat back in his chair and looked over at Rashad, who was attempting to look nonchalant standing next to the kitchen’s entrance. He waved his cousin over with a wry twist to his mouth. “Join us, cousin. The woman thinks she knows you.”
Rashad sat down next to the woman’s youthful companion, who thus far had not spoken. He looked at Jecha for a moment. “I am sure she is mistaken. We have never met.”
“Madame Jecha, this is my cousin Joth. Joth, this is Madame Jecha the Entreddi. She was just making a not very veiled threat to turn you over to the inquisitors should we fail to answer her questions.”
“That is very interesting, Madame Jecha. Tell me, how goes the search for the King?”
“We will find him someday, if the spirit wills.” Her ritual reply was guarded, and she looked at him with a wary eye.
“Yes, if the spirit wills. I know your ritual, and I like it very much. There are many families of Entreddi who travel the silver crescent in Araquesh, and I have met many of them. If you know of that road, you know that the Orders of Hidorus control the wells. How do you think those families will fare if they are denied water?”
War of the Misread Augury: Book One of the Black Griffin Rising Trilogy Page 116