“Definitely.” The Unknown smeared a chunk of bread around his plate and then placed it carefully in his mouth. “There is an argument, therefore, that says we helped you take the amulet, however unwittingly.”
Denser inclined his head and refilled his mug from the copper pot on the table.
“What sort of percentage did you have in mind?”
“Five per cent of sale value.”
Denser blew out his cheeks. “That'll be a lot of money.”
It was The Unknown's turn to shrug. “Call it compensation for the death of a Raven man. Or for the countless nights we wake up shaking and sweating from the visions of what we saw in there. I don't mind telling you, it took all the control I had not to turn and run.”
“That would be a first ever,” said Ilkar eventually into the void. The Unknown inclined his head.
“He wouldn't have been the only one,” said Sirendor. More nods around the table mixed with the odd smile.
“And none of you know the half of it.” All heads turned to see Hirad standing in the doorway of the kitchen. He walked toward them slowly, his face drawn and pinched round the eyes.
“You all right, Hirad?” asked Sirendor.
“Not really. I was outside remembering what Sha-Kaan said, and if that doorway was still there I'd be taking the amulet back to him.”
“Why?” Sirendor again, and Denser held his breath.
“Something he said. About holding the portal from his world to ours and guarding something we shouldn't have made. Whatever it was, he is angry now, so what if he chooses not to hold the portal any longer?”
“I haven't got a clue what you're talking about, Hirad.” Sirendor for the third time.
“Neither have I really,” said Hirad. “Just that if we ever see a Dragon in the skies of Balaia, it'll be the end for all of us.”
“What do you mean, exactly?” asked Denser.
“What do you think I mean?” snapped the barbarian. “We'll all die. They are too powerful and there are too many of them. Trust me.” He moved to the cooking pots and ladled himself some meat into a bowl.
“Look. Going back a little.” Denser's attention was once again on The Unknown Warrior. “I'll agree to the five per cent if you agree to bodyguard me back to Korina.”
Ilkar swung round from where he had been staring at Hirad as if he had been slapped in the face. “I have already told you that we will not work for Xetesk.” His voice was low, steady and certain.
“Just exactly how much do you think that thing is worth, Xetesk man?” asked Hirad.
Denser raised his eyebrows. “Well, though I can't guarantee it, I think we're talking in the region of five million truesilver.” There was a brief pause of slack-jawed disbelief.
“We'll take the job.”
“Hirad!” snapped Ilkar. “You do not understand.”
“It's good money, Ilkar.”
“It's unbelievable, more like,” said Talan. “That's a quarter of a million truesilver for taking a passenger down a road we're already travelling.” Hirad just mouthed the figure.
“You know something, Hirad, I just cannot believe that you of all people would agree to this. He all but had you killed.” Ilkar's tone bordered on contempt.
“Yeah, so he owes me.” Hirad kept his face away from the Xeteskian as he spoke. “I don't have to like him. I don't even have to look at him. In fact I can go on hating him. All I have to do is put up with him riding near by on the way back to Korina. Then he pays us a great deal of money and we never see him again. I think I can handle it.”
“Anyway it's not that simple,” said Ilkar.
“Yes it is.”
“It isn't and I have a real problem with it,” began Ilkar, but the barbarian loomed over him.
“I know you don't agree with the Xetesk morality—”
“That's an understatement and a half—”
“—but considering what you lot have been about behind my back, I don't think it's the kind of money we should turn down, do you? It might be the last we ever make.” He straightened. Ilkar just scowled at him. “Face it, Ilkar, you'll be outvoted. Don't make it difficult.” Ilkar's eyes narrowed to slits.
The Unknown reached a hand across to Denser. “We have a contract. Talan will write it and you and I will sign it. No actual value will be mentioned but the percentage and intention to pay will be registered.”
“Excellent,” said Denser. The two men shook.
“Indeed it is.” The Unknown drained his mug. “You know what, I can feel a Rookery party coming on.”
The door to the kitchens opened again.
“I hear you couldn't save my mage. A pity. He was a good man, Seran.”
The Raven turned to look at their employer, and Denser his erstwhile opponent for the first time. Baron Gresse was middle-aged with a powerful mind and a quartet of sons to make up for his own fading strength. Spurning rich man's clothes—and he was among the top five Barons in terms of wealth—he walked in wearing practical riding garb, cloak over one arm, leather jerkin, woollen shirt and leather thighed cloth trousers.
He dismissed his men at arms from the door and waved away the babbling kitchen folk as he made his way to The Raven's table. He studied them all through his large brown eyes, his balding grey head moving smoothly as he did so. He reached out a hand.
“The Unknown Warrior.”
“Baron Gresse.” The men shook.
“A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“Likewise.” The Unknown glanced along the table. “Get the Baron some coffee, Talan.”
“Well, well, The Raven. Hardly a surprise we won the day. Seran always chose well.” Gresse chewed his lip. “Where will I find another like him, eh?”
“Julatsa,” said Ilkar. “At least we're consistent.”
Gresse chuckled. “Do you mind if I sit down?” He gestured at the bench. Ilkar moved along and he sat. Talan placed coffee in front of him. He nodded his thanks.
An awkward silence fell around the table. Denser scratched his beard nervously. The Unknown gazed at the Baron, impassive as always. Ilkar's ears pricked.
“I shan't keep you in suspense,” said Gresse, sipping at his beverage, a smile playing about his lips. “But I was hoping you might be able to back up something I've heard.”
“Of course,” said The Unknown. “If we can.”
“Good. I'll be brief. I have been called to a meeting of the Korina Trade Alliance concerning deteriorating conditions to the west of the Blackthorne Mountains. There are rumours that the Wesmen have stepped up activity, broken the Understone Pass Right of Passage agreement, and there are fears of incursions into the east—although I should point out that the garrison at Understone itself has reported nothing out of the ordinary. I need to know whether you have picked up any rumours. I understand you were fighting with Baron Blackthorne himself not long ago, and he is unable to attend the meeting.” Gresse's eyes twinkled.
“We only fought with him so The Unknown could get a better deal on his wine.” Sirendor smiled.
“I feel sure you did not.”
“As it happened, that was part of the agreement,” said The Unknown. “As regards rumours, we heard plenty while we were there, but this is six months ago we're talking about.”
“Anything you heard, even in passing, that I could bring to the table would be useful.”
“Put it this way,” said Ilkar. “If you believed everything you heard, the Wytch Lords are back, Parve is a bustling city once again and the Wesmen are torching everything west of the Blackthorne Mountains.”
“And you give these rumours no credence,” said Gresse.
“Nothing a Wesmen war party might do would surprise me,” said Ilkar. “But aside from that, no.”
“Hmmm.” Gresse was thoughtful. “Interesting. Thank you for your help yesterday, by the way. I understand you lost a man. I'm sorry.”
“It's a risk, let's be honest,” said Hirad, though his tone was unconvincing.
“You make it sound as though you're on your uppers,” said Talan.
Gresse shrugged. “Taranspike Castle is of major tactical importance. The owner negotiates rights of passage through one of the principal routes in and out of Korina. Had I lost it to Baron Pontois, he would have controlled both of my key transport routes to the capital as well as holding land on two sides of my estate. He could have chosen to deny me access or price it out of my reach, either way bankrupting me over time. My best alternative route takes days, not hours.”
“Unless you chose to take one back by force,” said Hirad.
“That is always an option. Expensive but an option.” Gresse's face hardened.
“And yet you'll sit down with Pontois at the Korina Trade Alliance,” said Talan.
“Yes. Strange, I know, but reality. Such is the malaise of the KTA. The word ‘alliance’ rings very hollow these days.” There was more than a hint of sadness in his tone.
The table fell silent for a time. The Unknown Warrior studied the Baron while he drank his coffee. The big warrior smiled, Gresse caught his expression and frowned in response.
“It seems to me that you omitted to tell us any rumours you might have heard,” said The Unknown.
“I did, and I have something rather more than rumour, I'm afraid. I have evidence that the Wesmen, far from burning, are subjugating, building and uniting again.”
“What do you mean, again?” asked Hirad.
“I'll teach you the history later,” said Ilkar with a shake of his head.
“How could you—” Denser bit his lip and closed his mouth.
“Something to say, Xetesk man?” Hirad growled.
“I was merely curious how he came by such information.” Denser's recovery was betrayed by a face that displayed his surprise.
“Everything has its price,” said Gresse, coolly. “Might I ride to Korina with you this morning?”
“Be our guest,” said Hirad. “Denser's paying, after all.”
“Good.” Gresse rose, shooting Hirad a quizzical look. “My party will be ready in, shall we say, one hour?”
“It suits us perfectly,” said The Unknown. “Gentlemen, The Rookery beckons.”
Erienne and the Captain met in the library. Warmed by two fires and lit by a dozen lanterns, the immaculately kept house of books was testament to his intelligence if not his morals.
Five shelves high, covering three sides of the room, perhaps fifteen by twenty-five feet, books loomed around her. A fire stood either side of the only door. Rugs covered the floor and a reading desk dominated the far end. She had been told to sit in a large green leather-upholstered chair near one of the fires, and when the Captain came in, followed by a warrior carrying a tray of wine and food, he said nothing before setting himself in a similar seat at right angles to her.
She had locked her gaze on the fire to stop her eyes catching sight of him, allowing the light of the flames to mesmerise her, only dimly hearing the clink of glasses, the glug of a pouring bottle and the metal sound of knife on carving tray.
“Once again, welcome, Erienne Malanvai,” said the Captain. “You must be hungry.”
Erienne let her eyes travel over the tray that sat on a low table between them, surprised at the quality of its content.
“How dare you offer me that, when the muck you served up for my boys is hardly fit for a dog, let alone frightened young children?” she said. “They will each have a plate of this now.”
She could sense the Captain's smile. “You heard her. Fresh lamb and vegetables for the boys.”
“Yes, sir.” The door closed.
“I am not unreasonable,” said the Captain.
Erienne's face was pure disgust. “You have taken two innocent children from their homes in the middle of the night and locked them terrified in a cold tower. You have kept me from them and fed them muck I wouldn't give to my pigs. Don't talk to me about reason.” Still refusing to look at him, she selected some meat and vegetables and ate in silence. She poured herself a glass of wine and drank staring at the fire. All the while, the Captain watched and waited.
“So ask,” she said, placing her empty plate on the table. “I doubt I have any secrets from you.”
“That would certainly make things simpler,” said the Captain. “I am glad you are being so cooperative.”
“Don't feel it's out of any fear of you or your band of lame monkeys,” Erienne said haughtily. “I care for my sons and any way that I can help them that does not compromise the Dordovan College is fine by me.”
“Excellent.” The Captain refilled his glass. “I do wish you'd look at me.”
“To do so would make me nauseous. To utter your name is an affront to my College and to speak with you is tantamount to heresy. Now get on with your questions. In an hour I want to see my sons again.” Erienne kept her face turned to the fire, drawing comfort from its warmth and colour.
“And so you shall, Erienne, so you shall.” The Captain stretched out his legs toward the fire; a pair of scuffed and age-cracked brown leather riding boots moved into Erienne's vision. “Now then, I am becoming very disturbed by the extent to which so-called dimensional investigation and research is damaging the fabric of Balaia.”
“Well, you've clearly been very busy in here, haven't you?” said Erienne after a pause.
“Clever remarks will get you hurt,” said the Captain, his tone leaving her in no doubt that he meant it.
“I was trying to say that very few people have any knowledge of the existence of dimensional magics, never mind the potential for their danger.”
“No.” The Captain reached down and scratched his left leg, Erienne glimpsing his greying hair, thinning from the crown. “Contrary to popular belief, I believe in the value of magic in the right place. But I also understand its dangers because I have taken the time to find out for myself. Meddling with dimensions could, I believe, destabilise the world balance that currently exists.”
“You're talking to the wrong College,” said Erienne.
“Well, Xetesk mages are just a little harder to come by,” said the Captain testily.
“I'd love to say I was sorry,” retorted Erienne. And at last, she looked at him. He kept his grey hair close-cropped and his beard, which still held flecks of brown, was similarly well trimmed. Skin was sagging under his eyes and his red-patched cheeks and nose were evidence of a reliance on the bottle. He was getting fat, too, as he breasted middle age, a fact which his leather coat and shirt failed to hide. He ignored her sudden attention.
“But Septern was a Dordovan mage.”
“We've already established that you've done your homework.” Erienne refilled her glass. “It also no doubt told you that he's been presumed dead for about three hundred years.”
“And there the information ends?” said the Captain. “I was rather hoping a Dordovan Lore Mage like yourself could fill in a few gaps.”
“And now the misunderstanding is yours,” said Erienne. “Because you assume we have secret texts.”
“But Septern was a Dordovan mage,” repeated the Captain.
“Yes, he was. And a genius. And so far ahead of his time that we still haven't managed to re-create all of his work.” Erienne plucked some grapes from the fruit bowl and ate them, spitting the stones into her hand and throwing them into the fire.
The Captain leaned forward, frowning. “But surely he reported his findings. I understood that to be a requirement of every mage.”
“Septern didn't live by those rules.” Erienne sighed as the Captain's frown deepened. “Look, you need to understand. Septern was a throwback to the days before the Colleges split.”
“So he wasn't just ahead of his time, he was behind it as well.” The Captain smiled, pleased at his own joke, revealing lines of brown, rotting teeth set in flame-red gums.
“Yes,
I suppose so. The point is, his mind was able to accept lore at the very base level, and that let him read and understand Dordovan, Xeteskian and Julatsan lores with varying degrees of success. It made him brilliant but it also made him arrogant. He lived outside of the College, rarely reported on his work, made only cryptic logs of his research and not all of those logs are in our library. Xetesk has some, others are lost at his house—assuming he wrote anything at all about some of the things we know he was capable of.” Erienne took a sip of wine. “Could I have some water, please?”
“Certainly.” The Captain rose and pulled the door open. The sound of a man dragging his feet to attention echoed in the corridor outside. “Water and a glass. Now.” He returned to his seat. “An interesting history. Of course, I am aware of his house. I have had men at the ruins on several occasions. So tell me, what is the state of your development of dimensional research, and what do you hope to achieve?”
Erienne opened her mouth to speak, then closed it, pondering her answer. It was all too easy. The Captain was nothing like she had been led to believe. That she would hate him forever for the kidnap of her children was certain, but his behaviour was confusing. Here she sat in a warm room, where she had been fed with good food and asked gentle questions about her College activities. So far he had asked her nothing he couldn't have found out by knocking on the College's front door. There had to be more, it was just a question of when he dealt it to her. She had the uneasy feeling she was being softened up for a heavy blow. She determined to keep her mind sharp.
“What we know of Septern tells us that he achieved a great deal in terms of dimensional magics. He created a stable, self-sustaining portal for travelling between nominated dimensional spaces and we believe he travelled widely—some of his wilder writings suggest as much.
“Dordover is nowhere near his level of sophistication in dimension doors. We can't travel, we can't see in, all we can do is plot other dimensions and chart land and sea features. To progress more quickly, we need Septern's lost texts because we believe this magic mixes College lores.”
“And where do you hope this research will take you?”
Dawnthief Page 6