“Those men were assassins, weren’t they? Not thieves,” the captain continued.
Beltrane had already assessed the situation. No sense trying to deny the facts, then. “Yes.”
“Now we’re getting somewhere. Tell me everything.”
Cyril glanced at Kiralynn, then back toward Beltrane. He certainly didn’t wish to discuss the matter with either of them. Would they even believe me?
Beltrane folded his arms. “I see your reluctance.”
“I’ll wait outside,” Kiralynn said.
“No. Stay,” he told her. He fixed hard eyes on Cyril and leaned forward in his chair. “My lieutenant has my full confidence.”
There was no charming this man from his course. All right, then, diplomacy be damned. “I’m sure she has yours, but not mine. And neither do you,” Cyril said.
Beltrane sprang to his feet. “How dare you!” He stretched out his arm with a pointed finger. “You’re the one who can’t be trusted. You anonymously attached yourself to my caravan. You lied to my guards. And now you dare to enter my tent and insult my honor.” He pounded a fist on the table. “Lieutenant, remind me to have a talk with that fool Darius.”
Perhaps I have overstepped my bounds, Cyril thought. He should have known the captain would be the touchy sort; they usually were. In all fairness, the captain was trying to fulfill his duty of protecting the caravan. What if the assassins had succeeded? Beltrane’s superiors back in Mentiria would not take it well. With his career on the line, of course the captain wanted to know all the details of the incident.
Cyril sighed and decided to take the risk. Officers of the Guard should be able to keep things to themselves, at least. Making himself comfortable, he began to talk. He recounted the story of the Orb, the theft, and the investigation in Farmstead Abbey. From time to time, he thought he detected a smirk from Kiralynn, as if holding back a laugh. Then the Golgent and the relationship between Brother Roderick and Blackfang the Magician, and lastly, the assassination attempt. He avoided any mention of the Thieves’ Guild.
Both officers stayed quiet throughout, but when he finished his recitation, they both let out a hearty laugh. Kiralynn shook her head. “The Golgent and the Orb.” She snorted and raised a hand to her mouth. “Stories to scare children.”
He’d expected disbelief, but derision? Cyril crossed his arms and glared at them. “This is no laughing matter.”
“What do you think travelers do to pass the time on these long nights?” Beltrane asked. “They tell stories. We’ve heard hundreds of tales about the Golgent.”
“It’s usually elders trying to entertain the young,” Kiralynn added. “They spin outlandish tales – and it seems like Cyril ‘the Wise’ is no different.”
Cyril stood up and drew himself to his full height with all the dignity he could muster. “I’ve told you the truth. Whether you choose to believe me or not is up to you. I shan’t bother you with this matter any longer.” He spun on his heel and stalked out.
CHAPTER 14
FORKS IN THE ROAD
A ROOSTER’S CROW STIRRED DAGORAT FROM his slumber. The pesky bird belonged to the farmers from wagon twenty-two, and woke him up every morning. He rubbed his eyes and stretched his arms, reaching over to stroke Katrina’s silky hair. Instead, his hand glided over a rough burlap potato sack. That gave him a start; he usually woke first. Where could she be? He poked his head out the back of the wagon. Not seeing anyone, he moved to the front and peeked out the flap. Liberon sat on the driver’s bench, making small talk with the guards. No doubt they had become acquainted during their overnight vigil.
Gaseous bubbling in his innards made Dagorat clutch his stomach. He bent over and released a loud farfe. Great, the whole camp must’ve heard that one.
The sound made Liberon twist around and thrust open the canvas flap. “Good morning to you, too,” he said with a smirk. The guards stayed silent, but their eyes clearly declared their amusement.
Then, off to the left, a woman’s laughter caught Dagorat’s ear. He spun around to see Katrina doubled over, pointing at him. “Well, what do you expect? I’ve been living on dried beans for over two weeks now,” he huffed.
But his excuse made Katrina laugh louder. After some time, she regained enough control to speak. “Good thing we were only close enough to hear it.”
He waved his hand in dismissal and hopped down from the wagon.
“Make sure you’re done before you come anywhere near me,” Liberon said.
“Don’t you start, too,” Dagorat said. “Do I smell tea?”
“Thank the Gods that’s all you smell,” Katrina said, waving her hand in front of her nose. Laughing, Liberon spit out a mouthful of tea.
Cyril sat up, roused from sleep by all the noise. “Can’t a man get any proper rest around here?” He staggered off to the woods to take care of morning business. By the time he returned, the others had calmed down.
Katrina handed the mage a full cup. “Sorry. We didn’t mean to wake you so rudely.”
He accepted it and took a swig. “No bother. On the contrary, I should thank you. What a horrid dream. I was lost, trying to find my way through a dark, foul-smelling bog.”
Everyone bellowed again – even Dagorat. The confusion on Cyril’s face made it worse. “What’s so amusing about my dream?” the mage asked.
Katrina whispered in his ear. His eyes widened as his gaze shifted toward Dagorat. “Did you really?” he asked.
“Yes, he did,” Katrina answered.
“Next comes the piddling show,” Liberon said.
“All right, all right, that’s enough,” Dagorat said. Really, they acted like a gaggle of toddlers.
Cyril opened his mouth to comment further, but hesitated at the sound of an approaching horse. Moments later, Kiralynn rode into their camp.
Dagorat breathed a sigh of relief, thankful to be saved – at least for now. Moving to stand by Katrina, he reached out and took her hand. The lieutenant reined up politely this time, dismounted and left her horse to graze. The guards snapped to attention as she drew near. “You’re dismissed. Go back to camp and get ready to move out.” Both saluted and left as she moved past them to talk to Cyril. “There are necessary matters to discuss.”
The mage lit his pipe and regarded her coolly. “I take it that Captain Beltrane’s attitude has improved, then.”
Kiralynn fidgeted with her leather vest. Really? Dagorat thought. What had happened with the captain last night? He’d been asleep by the time Cyril returned. He studied Kiralynn’s reaction closely. Something must have gone wrong; she tugged at her vest again, then closed and laced it tight. “Yes, the captain and I are going to give your mission some attention. He sent me here this morning to aid you.”
Her diplomatic tone sounded too deliberate, too careful. She had also mentioned the mission. How much had Cyril told her? He shifted his attention to Katrina and Liberon. Catching their gazes, he rubbed his chin and quickly raised his index finger over his lips.
“Did you question the assassins last night, then?” Cyril said.
“Yes. They seem to know nothing about this Orb of yours.”
Dagorat startled. Cyril told her about the Orb? From the corner of his eye, he spied a wary expression on Liberon’s face.
“Of course not,” Cyril said. “Blackfang wouldn’t share such information with common hired thugs. But I don’t understand, then. What changed your mind?”
“Blackfang’s wagons.” She swallowed hard. “They’re gone. Left in the night. Must have used some witchcraft to muffle their movements, because no one heard a thing. But we’ve sent out a patrol to follow their tracks.”
Liberon hung his head. “We were so close.”
“Lends a certain…credence to your story, doesn’t it?” Kiralynn raised her chin. “And now I have a few questions for you. Why didn’t you come to us on the first day? We could’ve seized Blackfang’s wagons and searched them.”
Cyril studied her with mild amusement. “Sh
all I remind you of your reaction to my story last night? What would your captain or his superiors have said to me if I had brought this information to them earlier? Without any sort of proof to back it up?”
Kiralynn examined an insect on a rock near her foot. “You make a fair point,” she muttered.
Dagorat made a mental note to get the whole story later. He snorted. “In any case, I’m certain Blackfang and his brother took precautions against a search. One of them saw us investigating at the monastery, and then spotted us here yesterday. They had to know we were following them. I doubt that you, or I, or the guards, no matter how well trained, could find anything he hid away.”
She bristled and straightened up. “My soldiers know how to search. Many travelers try to use the caravans for smuggling.”
Katrina let out a laugh. “Your soldiers can’t outwit Shadow…I mean, Blackfang.”
Dagorat squeezed her hand. Shut up!
“Shadow…as in Shadowtooth?” Kiralynn tilted her head.
Oh, well. Dagorat supposed he ought to tell her. She knew much of their story already. “You’re right. Shadowtooth,” he said. “Blackfang and Shadowtooth are…the same person. Or, really, it’s more accurate to say that they’re twin brothers who take turns playing the same person.”
Kiralynn’s eyes flared, and her hand clutched the hilt of her sword. “Shadowtooth.” Her voice became a growl through her tight jaw. “The head of the Mentirian Thieves’ Guild? He rode in this caravan under my protection?” She shook her head. “Wait ’til the captain hears about this.”
Dagorat stared at her, taken aback. Why such anger? Sure, anyone would be annoyed at being deceived, but there had to be more to this. He thought back to the story he’d told Liberon, about the fiasco when the Mentirian Guard raided the wrong place when going after the Thieves’ Guild. Oh, this could be rich. He had to ask. “Were you and the captain involved in that embarrassment with the Guild about a year ago?”
Her grinding teeth confirmed his guess. “I’ll hunt that filthy pig to the ends of the world,” she said.
“Put away your personal vengeance,” Liberon said. “The question is, what will we do now? We can’t just let him go! Why else have we come all this way?”
“How can we leave the caravan?” Dagorat said. “We don’t own the wagon or the horses. Not to mention we have no idea where Blackfang went.”
Kiralynn held up a finger. “The wagons belong to the king. How convenient that Blackfang used his own.”
“That’s not a coincidence. He planned this down to the last detail,” Dagorat said. “A true rogue always plans an escape.”
Thundering hooves announced the approach of four guardsmen. Eager for news, everyone moved toward them as they halted and dismounted. One of the scouts opened a map and reported to Kiralynn. “The tracks led us here, near Byrcha,” he said, pointing to the map. “Then the three wagons went off in different directions. One north toward the foothills of the Spine, one northwest toward the swamps, and one southwest back to the road behind us. We followed each set for about a mile before they disappeared.”
“Disappeared?” Cyril said. “How is that possible?”
Dagorat snorted. “He’s a magician, remember?”
Cyril pierced him with a glare that could have melted stone. Dagorat put up his hands in surrender. “All right, a performing prestidigitator. But also a master rogue, don’t forget.”
“Hmm,” Cyril said. “A plan designed to force you to give up the chase. Or at the very least, scatter your forces. Most likely, Blackfang and his henchmen will meet up again at another point before making their way to Golgent territory.”
“Not necessarily,” Katrina said. “That’s the most obvious choice. It’s more likely that he’ll do something completely unexpected.”
Everyone gaped at her. “Whatever do you mean?” Cyril asked. He chomped into a pickled egg.
Kiralynn moved to face Katrina. “What unexpected thing?”
“I know him.” She took a deep breath and offered a modest shake of her head. “He’s deceptive and sly. More than anyone else I’ve met.” She doodled in a small patch of dirt with a stick. “He’s thinking and planning just as we are. The tracks are too obvious. He’s smarter than that.” Her eyes focused on the map, deep in thought. “Shadowtooth wants us to chase him so he can pick us off. If we split our forces in three different directions, it makes things that much easier for him. Look. One set of tracks went north, but there is no way through the Spine. Which means he’s probably laid an ambush on the way there.” The Spine was the mountain range which cut through the center of the continent, separating the land into north and south.
“You’re right,” Dagorat said. With awe, he regarded Katrina. Beautiful, funny and intelligent, she thought like he did. Katrina, glorious Katrina, the only woman whom he could love for her mind, body, and soul. In that moment, his heart swelled, fit to burst. “No wonder I love you,” he blurted out.
Cyril and Liberon fixed their gazes on him, mouths open in “Ooo’s” of surprise. Silence fell on the camp – the kind of silence that’s fat with anticipation. Dagorat kept his attention on Katrina, who sat with narrowed eyes and clenched teeth. Oh, no. What had he done? Had he misread her so completely?
The fat silence continued for a long moment. Then Cyril cleared his throat. “Well,” he told Katrina, “it’s good that we have you with us.”
She grunted and kept staring at Dagorat, drumming her fingers on her thigh. He squirmed. He hadn’t intended to tell her that he loved her; he said it without thinking. But why did that make her mad? Even if she didn’t love him back, wouldn’t she at least be flattered? He cast a glance at Cyril for a little help, but the mage just offered him a blank and somewhat helpless expression. Wise in the way of books, but not in the ways of women.
“I’ll go gather some firewood for tonight,” Katrina said. She stood and stalked toward the woods. Halfway there, she broke into a run. Dagorat distinctly heard a sob. In desperation, he gaped at Kiralynn. Maybe another woman might shed some light on all this.
The lieutenant appeared rather puzzled herself. Ah, yes. She didn’t know anything about him and Katrina or their relationship. He drew in a breath to explain, but in true female fashion, she beat him to it. “I’m not entirely sure what that was about, but maybe you should go after her.”
He looked to Cyril for confirmation. The mage nodded; Dagorat put down his tea and trotted after Katrina, taking deep breaths to steady his nerves. He watched from a safe distance as she plucked rocks from the ground and hurled them fiercely at the trees. With a gulp and a fervent hope that none of the rocks would find his head, he approached warily.
She turned away and continued lobbing stones. Dagorat had no idea what to say, and stood behind her awkwardly. After an eternal tense silence, she addressed a nearby stump, voice dripping with rage. “What do you want?”
Too bad he hadn’t received a little more thorough advice before he’d left camp. He’d have to bull ahead. “Why are you angry with me? What did I do?”
Katrina spun around with a large stone in hand, and sized him up. “You don’t know?”
Dagorat blinked. It had to be what he’d said, but why? “You’re angry because I said I love you?”
She hurled the rock to the ground, thankfully, and put her hands on her hips. “I may be a thieving mouse, but I’m still a woman.”
“Did I ever say otherwise?”
“Damn fool. You have the courting ability of an orc.”
Why can’t she say what she means? He tightened his lips. “Oh? How did you learn about orc mating rituals?” he said. “You should tell us about it some night around the campfire.”
Radiating fury, she approached with slow, deliberate steps. Defiantly, he held his ground when she dealt his face a sharp blow. His head rocked to one side, and he tasted blood. He wiped a drop from the corner of his mouth, staring at her coldly.
Katrina backed up a step, tears forming. “I didn’t me
an that.”
“Yes, you did,” Dagorat said. Enough of this nonsense. He stomped back toward their wagon. His face stung with lingering pain, but the ache in his heart was far worse.
“Wait!”
He ignored her and kept walking. When he arrived at the wagon, the other three were still breaking their fast. “Any more tea?” he asked, not truly caring.
Cyril swallowed another egg, fished a small piece of cloth from a pocket and tossed it to him. “You’re bleeding,” he said, pointing to a corner of his own mouth.
Dagorat sank cross-legged on the grass and dabbed at the blood. “Any ideas about how to outwit Blackfang?”
“No. We were waiting for you and Katrina to come back,” Liberon said.
“Right now, I don’t give an orc’s ass what she has to say.”
The monk shook his head, while Kiralynn sighed and then shrugged. The lieutenant pulled a large scroll from a sack, unfurled it and showed it to Cyril.
“Ah, excellent,” the mage said. “A copy of Korak’s map of Tyrennia. Where did you get that?”
Kiralynn gave a satisfied smirk. “The Royal Mentirian Guard is well equipped.”
Dagorat leaned over for a peek. “Where are we?”
She placed a finger on the map, near Byrcha. “Around here.” The group studied the parchment. “Maybe he’s ahead of us somewhere along the Jalken Road by now.”
“Or trailing us from behind. Imagine if his gang were to converge back on the road behind us,” Dagorat said. “They may attack again in the night.”
Kiralynn tapped a finger on the map. “With all our Guards around the perimeter? He’s not that foolish.”
He mulled that over. Yes, Shadowtooth was a rogue, not a fighter. And he would hardly risk losing the Orb now. “All right. Let me see that.” He grabbed the map. “We have to assume he’s heading for Golgent lands. It’s also safe to say that he’s more concerned with safety than with speed. I mean, it took him a year to get the thing, so what’s a few extra weeks?” He cupped his chin. “The northern tracks mean nothing. Even if he ditched his wagons, there’s no way through the Spine.”
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