“Please, release me,” Greffid said. “I just needed some apples for the—”
“Keep quiet!” Bertwil said, leafing through the journal.
“Last chance,” Morroy said, placing his sword point on Fetzer’s chest. “Tell us who you really are.”
“This is your last chance to give my book back,” Fetzer said. He felt his anger rising.
Morroy threw back his head in laughter. Fetzer knocked his blade aside and punched him, sending him backward and jerking the sword from his hand. Juhl stepped forward but Fetzer parried and spun past her, shoving her into Bertwil.
Bertwil raised his yellow-glinting sword to avoid harming her. Fetzer kicked Morroy as he recovered himself, then tripped him. Fetzer then scooped up a bedroll blanket. When Bertwil and Juhl came at him he whipped at their blades with the blanket and lunged with Morroy’s sword.
Bertwil backed off to give Juhl more room. She flicked a latch on the hilt of her sword, splitting it into two separate blades. With a sword in each hand she spun toward Fetzer and reduced his blanket shield to a rag, forcing him back. He kicked the lantern, spilling the candle’s flame into an open bedroll.
Fetzer next kicked over a stand of kegs, causing Juhl to break off her attack as she regained her balance. She dropped one of her swords and Fetzer recovered it, easily deflecting her next attack. Morroy crawled to pat out the flames on the bedroll, but Fetzer kicked him a third time.
Fetzer crossed swords with Juhl, forcing her back. Bertwil finally charged him but Fetzer dove and rolled away. Juhl was on him again but he stabbed with her sword, pinning her cloak to a crate. Bertwil came for him again.
Fetzer saw a sparkle of light from the corner of his eye. He spun and caught the sparkle with his blade, deflecting toward Bertwil the little glass vial that Morroy had thrown. It broke upon his barrel chest and sent him down to the deck, vomiting and sputtering.
Juhl aimed a second vial at Fetzer. He deflected it also, into a barrel. Then Fetzer went to her and put his blade to her throat. He watched Morroy put out the fire with a water flask while Bertwil continued heaving on his hands and knees. Greffid sat frozen on the floor.
“You’re good,” Juhl whispered softly to Fetzer. Her gray eyes were cold but captivating.
“Get up,” Fetzer told Morroy. “Slowly, or I’ll spill her blood.”
Morroy did so and Bertwil recovered himself. The big man’s eyes were puffy and his nose and mouth was caked with mucous.
“Damn it, Juhl!” he said between gasps.
“He’s good,” she said again with a smile. “Now you must tell us who you are.”
Fetzer calmed his breathing. “A nobody who has turned his back on everything he knew.”
“Not everything,” she said, glancing at his sapphire ring. “And the book?”
“My journal is my only companion. Return it to me—slowly.”
Morroy picked up the book and extended it toward Fetzer. Fetzer could see that he’d broken the Calbrian’s nose.
Bertwil’s eyes began to weep away the puffiness but his breathing was still labored. “If you harm her, you’ll not leave this hold alive, I swear it.”
Fetzer smiled as he took the journal. “I don’t plan to leave. I want to be part of what you’re doing. I’ve heard everything and I like it.”
Morroy chuckled as blood dripped from his nose. “You’ve heard almost nothing…”
“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” Bertwil added.
“You’ll need more than the three of you to assault Gottfried’s castle,” Fetzer said. “Let me join your cause, whatever it is. As you’ve seen in my pages, I’m like you.”
“You’re not like us,” Bertwil said.
Fetzer sensed that Bertwil was considering his suggestion. He took the risk of slowly removing the blade from Juhl’s throat. She looked at Fetzer and pulled herself loose of the crate, then stood calmly between Fetzer and the others.
“The master does want more recruits,” she said. “If he had meant us harm, he would have done it.”
“He broke my nose,” Morroy said.
“You took my journal,” Fetzer answered, throwing his sword toward the Calbrian. “I killed the last man who did that.”
“Why should we trust you?” Bertwil asked.
“You’ve probably never heard of Perilune Academy. Overseen by Count Atilon of Perilune, vassal of Lord Minister Sigbert.”
“I know it,” Morroy said.
“I left it in tatters, spilling the blood of its best cadets. I was a petty nobleman’s son. But no more. There is nothing for me there except execution, and nothing I want more than revenge. I’ve never heard of Candlestone, but if it’s responsible for killing high lords, then I want to be part of it. I’ll take any oath and complete any ‘task,’ as you call it. You’ll find me loyal to this new calling.”
“Prove it,” Bertwil said, shoving Greffid with his foot. The cook cried out as he landed at Fetzer’s feet. Bertwil tossed the gold-bladed knife to Fetzer and he caught it.
“He’s not a high lord,” Fetzer said. “He’s just a cook.”
“He’ll talk,” Bertwil said. “Show me your new loyalty.”
Greffid scrambled away from Fetzer but Morroy jerked him up and held him fast. Fetzer swallowed, staring at the panicked, struggling cook. He was no match for Morroy’s sinewy strength. Fetzer brought the knife closer as Juhl looked on. Fetzer took hold of Greffid’s jaw and with a quick twist of the blade cut out his tongue.
“Release him!” Fetzer shouted and they dropped him to the deck. Greffid, shrieking through his hands, hid himself in the crates.
“That did not demonstrate loyalty,” Bertwil said.
“Greffid is illiterate and now he can’t talk. We can keep him hidden down here until we’re off the ship. He’s no threat to us.”
“Us?”
“If he wants to join, let him come with us to kill Lord Gottfried,” Juhl said. “Master Arasemis will determine his loyalty.”
“If this is trickery, you’ll not be as fortunate as the cook,” Bertwil said. “And stay out of the way.”
“You also burned my bed,” Morroy said. The Calbrian smiled through crooked teeth. Fetzer smiled back.
“You are most brave,” Juhl said to Fetzer, smiling. “And foolish.”
“I have nothing to lose,” Fetzer said, “but I have the world to gain.”
18. ARTHAN
Mordmerg Free City, Delavon Ministry
Midspring, 3034
If one looked past the rising columns of smoke, Mordmerg could be charming. It was wedged between great forests at the bottom of the Bram Valley. From their approach, Arthan and Serdot could easily see the alderman’s keep. It was the tallest tower capping one of the five hills inside the city walls. For Arthan, the town looked as foreign as a distant country.
“The streets are paved with red and gray river stones,” Serdot said. “The buildings were built with pride and the inhabitants are usually content. Most speak Donovar and one of the Almerian languages. And though Donovards travel there only with special permissions, the city folk have free passage throughout your father’s lands.”
“Yet something, someone has disturbed all that,” Arthan said. “How do we get in?”
“There is a secret door one tower down from the western gatehouse, behind the bushes. It’s usually locked but I pilfered a key during my last trip. The trouble is not knowing how many guards will be on the other side. We should wait here until nightfall.”
When the sun finally set, the pair scurried through the dark, crossing the ring road between patrols. Serdot led them straight to the door and unlocked it. The wall chamber was dark and abandoned.
“A passage meant for emergencies and otherwise forgotten,” Serdot whispered. “Truth be told, luck is often a key part of a widsemer’s work. Last time I came to Mordmerg I had to use my dagger.”
Serdot led them through several corrido
rs of rough-hewn rock until they reached the gatehouse. He watched through the keyhole for a while.
“Well?” Arthan whispered anxiously.
“Just one guard is posted. He’s pacing up and down the stairs and circling through the rooms.” Serdot pulled a small steel wedge from his pocket. “Stay here.”
When the guard was gone again Serdot slipped through the unlocked door. Arthan watched him creep to the gate cranks. Serdot silently positioned the wedge into the gears of the contraption, then returned to Arthan and closed the door.
“Aren’t we going through the gatehouse?” Arthan asked.
Serdot shook his head. “When they open the gate in the morning, they’ll not be able to close it until they discover the stopper. But Livonier should be here by then.”
“And if they open the gate during the night?”
“They won’t. By law the free cities seal their gates at night. Come, this way.”
Serdot led them down another corridor and stairs that emptied onto the street from inside the walls. They donned their hoods as it began to rain. At one point a patrolman stopped them. Arthan was surprised by the accent that Serdot quickly employed to talk their way past.
The streets were littered with debris. Some houses and shops were burned out, and horse carcasses and upturned carts blocked some streets. But the city was quiet. When they neared the alderman’s keep they saw abandoned barricades across every street.
They pushed their way through broken furniture, barrels, upturned wagons, and heaps of firewood, splashing through puddles and trying to keep their cloaks from catching on the barricades. But Arthan bumped a pewter plate from its perch, sending chicken bones crashing to the cobblestones. They froze and he cringed.
“Hurry,” Serdot whispered.
They turned a bend and Arthan could see a hill and the barred gate into the alderman’s courtyard ahead. The walls were high and scarred.
“You there, halt!” came a voice from a nearby alley. Two pikemen rushed out. “Halt!”
The pair ran up the hill toward the gate. “Open!” Serdot shouted as men came to the bars, swords drawn. “In the name of the lord minister!”
A lantern was brought up as they approached. The defenders had their own pikes, ready to shove through the bars.
“I am Arthan Valient, son of Maillard! Where is my cousin Golbane?”
“Open the gate!” Serdot shouted again.
“Show a sign!” shouted a knight through the bars.
Arthan’s heart pounded under his tunic and mail. First it felt like a skipping, then a squeezing. He doubled over as the pikemen behind them ran up the hill toward them. Serdot took hold of him.
“Arthan! Are you wounded?”
Arthan leaned on Serdot as he tried to calm his breathing. “It’s nothing…” Arthan leaned toward the lantern and removed his hood to show the knight his face, then showed his wist ring with the Valient seal.
The gate jerked open and the knights pulled them through as the enemy’s pikes thrust close. The gate slammed and the knights thrust out their pikes in turn, fending the enemy off.
“I’m sorry, Arthan,” said the chief gate guard. “We’ve had them fake the arrival of your father, so we have to take every precaution.”
“Aldon? My cousin has an old man guarding his front door?”
The gray-haired knight laughed. “Well, my lord, we didn’t count on being trapped here. But I’ve a few years left in me.”
“Where is Golbane?”
“Follow me.”
They walked toward the tower keep as the enemy shouted curses through the gate before retreating back down the hill. Meanwhile, the rain fell harder.
---
“You need a shave, Cousin.”
Golbane looked up from an improvised map of stones and bits of wood, then smiled. “Who let you in here?”
“Your old wet nurse,” Arthan said. He extended his hand but Golbane gathered him up in a bear hug.
“It’s been too long since I’ve seen you, Cousin,” Golbane said. “But I’d know that pampered face anywhere. Who’ve you brought with you?”
“This is Serdot.”
“Count Golbane.” Serdot bowed. “We’ve met once. Some time ago.”
“Yes,” Golbane muttered. “That matter with the Temari woman who showed up in Brambard.”
Arthan looked at Serdot, puzzled.
“It was…a delicate matter,” Serdot said.
“Well then, what happened, Cousin? You came to Mordmerg to put out a few fires and you let them trap you here, waiting for me to rescue you? Where is the alderman?”
“Hurmant? Hell if I know,” Golbane said. “Probably plotting with his rabble how best to charge through my gate. He’s peeved that I took over his keep.”
“But your letter said Hurmant asked for your assistance,” Arthan said.
“Yes, that’s true. But I didn’t say—”
“And that the Almerian garrison had been slaughtered.”
“Yes, you’ll find their bodies outside in the courtyard, at the rear of the keep.”
“But Hurmant is not assisting you?”
“Of course not,” Golbane said. “I wish I could have written to your father since my arrival, but both messengers I attempted to send out were caught and killed within view of our gate. I don’t know why the brutes haven’t overrun us by now. They have the numbers and equipment to force the gates and take the keep. Strange, but my father always said poor leadership makes a bad—”
“But we received your letter,” Serdot said. “You asked for Maillard to come with reinforcements.”
“I sent no such letter.”
The three looked at each other for a moment.
“This was a trap,” Arthan said.
“And Golbane was the bait,” Serdot said.
“Who would do this?” Arthan asked.
“Almerians. Free city folk. Doesn’t matter now,” Golbane said. “Perhaps now the big assault will come.”
“Maybe not, if the letter’s request for Maillard means he was the target,” Serdot said.
“They’ll not mistake two cloaked figures as the lord minister’s arrival,” Aldon said. “And they must have heard your name at the gate.”
“Perhaps I was bait for Maillard but they’ll be satisfied with their catch anyhow,” Golbane said. “Maybe you’re the new bait, Cousin.”
“Well, let’s figure out our end,” Arthan said. “What is our situation?”
“Of my original company, I have seventeen men well enough to fight,” Golbane said. “Twenty-three wounded, several of them still guarding the walls.”
“Only seventeen, Cousin?”
“The rebels surrounded us when we entered the city under Hurmant’s false promises of protection. I didn’t think we’d last near this long.”
“Rebels?” Serdot asked.
“That’s what I’m calling them. They killed their Almerian overlords and Hurmant is part of it. And now we know about their little scheme to lure the Valients here. I don’t think all the people of Mordmerg are involved because most of them stay shuttered up in their homes. But I can’t say what started it all, or why they set the fires.”
“No demands?” Arthan asked.
“None.”
“Fine,” Arthan began. “We have your seventeen or so, plus Serdot and me, and a few wounded who can still hold a sword. We should be—”
“Cousin,” Golbane laughed uneasily, “there are thousands of rebels. Did you not bring a force of men with you?”
“I brought a company, same as you. But we were ambushed on the road from Rachard. I ordered Livonier to hold the road and send word to Father.”
“If they’ll be satisfied with you, Maillard won’t get here in time,” Golbane said, sitting down at the map table. “We’ll have to get out on our own, or we’re lost…”
“What else?” Arthan said, looking over the map.
“We are here,” Golbane said, pointing to a black stone in the middle. “Here is the council house nearby, where the city-state decides on their little laws with Almerian guidance. Here is the northern garrison and the north gate. The east gate is farther away, here…”
“The west gate is best for an escape,” Serdot said. “It is closer and rigged to be locked open for a time after they open it, either for our escape or for Livonier’s entry.”
“And we can signal to Livonier from here,” Arthan said. “His scouts will be watching.”
“Good, we’ll make for it then,” Golbane said. “We have nothing to lose in trying. Have yourselves a hot meal, courtesy of Hurmant’s kitchen, then get a few hours sleep if you can. We’ll load the wounded into the wagons and saddle up the horses. We’ll be doubled up and slow, so we’ll shed the heavy plate armor. Keep your mail on.”
Food was brought to Arthan and Serdot and they found chairs in the corner of the hall to keep out of the way.
“Do you think we’ll make it?” Arthan asked.
“The odds are against us, my lord.”
“Should I have acted differently with our company?”
“No, I think it was wise to send word back to Rachard and have Livonier protect the road, in case they’re planning something more. And there was no way for us to know Golbane’s letter was a forgery.”
“You suspected something wasn’t right, didn’t you?”
“It was suspicious that they requested your father come to Mordmerg and I should have been more insistent about that. If I’ve learned anything living in the shadows, it’s to trust my gut. There are no coincidences. Luck, yes. But if something doesn’t feel right, by definition it isn’t.”
“I’ll remember that,” Arthan said. “Now, let’s get some rest while we can.”
19. WREDEGAR
Eglamour, Toulon Ministry
Midspring, 3034
“Where is Sir Garentorf?”
Wredegar knew that tone. For an ambassador, Vesamune never attempted to hide her true feelings when barking at him. “The commander is dead,” he said.
“And the others?”
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