The Ragged Man Part 10

Ardela hadn't come into contact with King Emin's personal agents before, but she'd heard enough to respect them, and she guessed that the two dozen men a.s.sembled here comprised a significant proportion of the force. They had been ushered into a large square hall on the ground floor of the tower. The room itself lacked any decoration beyond the flags of the nation. The most significant feature was a huge cauldron, smelling of stew, simmering away at the far end in a ma.s.sive fireplace. A balcony jutted out over the hall and a wide stone staircase ran up the left-hand wall.

Two King's Men got up without a word and abandoned their table to make s.p.a.ce for Legana. She didn't need to be guided towards it, but sat with the caution of the blind. Once comfortable, Legana looked slowly around the room, pausing at each knot of people in the big hall. More than one man flinched under her gaze and Ardela couldn't help but wonder what Legana was seeing with her s.h.i.+ning emerald eyes.

Devotees were trained to a.s.sess people at a glance; even someone like Ardela, who had strayed from the path, did so by instinct. The King's Men occupied the left-hand wall, and sitting with them were two mages who seemed together to average each other out: one was a shrunken little worm of a man, the other oversized, like a white-eye who'd done nothing but eat for months on end.

Sitting close by, but not quite included, were the only other women present. They sat together, and were obviously wary of everyone, despite the fact one was most likely a battle-mage. She wore her dark hair as short as a boy's, and her leaf-brown padded tunic was adorned with a crisscrossed network of silver chain and crystal shards.

The other's trade was harder to discern. A long scar down her right cheek showed she hadn't spent her life closeted away, but she carried no obvious weapons and she was dressed in normal travelling clothes, which made her stand out in this crowd.

The rest were an ugly bunch. Four dark-skinned, tattoo-covered mercenaries from the south were sitting with a shaven-headed man who sported bronze earrings in his left ear and had a sheathed pair of scimitars slung over his shoulder. A second battle-mage, who looked, judging by his clothes, as if he'd fallen on hard time, loitered in the corner. He was biting his nails and eying his more reputable colleagues across the room.

Their white-eye was busy downing a jug of wine and ignoring his hunched table companion, whose face was hidden by a raised hood. Sitting furthest from everyone was a broken-nosed man of thirty-odd summers who bore the scars of many a kicking, if Ardela was any judge. He looked like a vagrant they'd picked up off the street rather than a mercenary, his hair and beard tangled and as filthy as his clothes, but she guessed it wasn't just the smell that kept the rest away. From the way several of the mercenaries were eying each other she guessed they had met before, most likely not always on the same side.

Finis.h.i.+ng his wine the white-eye slipped off his sheepskin coat to reveal well-muscled arms that rivalled the southerners' for tattoos. He obviously startled one or two of the King's Men, who whispered to their companions and checked their weapons were at the ready, but the white-eye seemed to be enjoying the reaction he was getting. He made an obscene gesture at the nearest, all the while chuckling mightily.

'A room I seem to belong in,' Legana commented to her sisters. 'I smell G.o.ds and daemons in the room, and mages of all sorts.'

'Daemons?' Ardela said out loud in surprise. The man with his hood still raised flinched as she spoke and turned slightly to look at them askance. Whatever he saw he didn't like and curled even further in on himself, but they caught sight of metal on his chest before he turned away. A soldier most likely.

'Cursed. There's a G.o.d and daemon inside him, fighting for control.' Legana tilted her head and continued to stare at him. 'Once a priest, I think. There's something of Vrest about him.'

'Most likely he's Devoted then,' Ardela murmured, 'or leastways once was. Lots of them take Vrest's orders when they get made up to officer rank, and they do like questing after daemons.'

Any further conjecture was prevented by the sound of boots coming down the staircase. The three women turned as more King's Men descended, one a scowling white-eye carrying a long mace who Ardela guessed to be Coran, King Emin's bodyguard. He was as big as any white-eye of the Palace Guard and just as brutal-looking. She doubted the man had ever been handsome, but his face was not so much scarred as battered, like that of an ageing prizefighter.

Coran's expression darkened as he looked around the room. He had the sort of permanent scowl of a man vicious to the bone, no matter what company he kept. Ardela wondered if he saw his own face as a legitimate weapon, if he could hurt the other man with it; she'd met some - a few - like that, when the fight wasn't fun if they both didn't end up bruised and b.l.o.o.d.y.

As though to confirm Coran's ident.i.ty, a man came out onto the balcony a few seconds later beamed down at the a.s.sembled crowd. He wore a rusty-red hat adorned with peac.o.c.k feathers and a black brigandine that echoed the peac.o.c.k feather pattern. Ardela couldn't see his much-described piercing blue eyes from the other side of the room, but since the second thing every report of the man mentioned was his infuriating, mocking smile, that she noticed easily enough.

'Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming,' he said in a clear, aristocratic voice. 'As for my uninvited guests, this is a particular pleasure,' he added with a slight bow.

'I don't like surprises,' growled the dishevelled battle-mage, standing up. He spoke Farlan with a clipped accent that chopped up the rhythm of the words and made them ugly in the ears of a native speaker. 'Uninvited guests ain't a welcome one - and don't get me started on him,' he added vehemently, pointed an accusatory finger at the vagrant standing on one side.

'p.i.s.s on you,' the white-eye with the axe interjected, reaching for another jug of wine. 'Stop your whining, Wentersorn, 'fore I cut your other one off.' He jabbed a thumb behind him towards Legana. 'Before anything, tell me about her. Who gets in without an invite?'

King Emin leaned forward on the balcony rail. 'It is a fair question, but I doubt there's much I could tell you of any accuracy - the Land is a different place since last we met. She is, however, welcome here as my guest so I would appreciate a little courtesy from all of you.' He looked at Legana. 'Lady, would you and your companions help yourselves to food? You will, I hope, forgive me if you have already heard any of this.'

When Legana had indicated her a.s.sent and Shanas had fetched them some stew, King Emin cleared his throat and started, 'You all know what you're good at, and what sort of job I generally have for you. Those who don't know their companions can worry about that afterwards - you can all swap reputations, delightful nicknames and tales of adventure after I've finished. I need men I can trust to take orders, and if any of you have a problem with that, then best you say so now. After tonight, if you continue with us I'll consider you part of the Narkang Army. Should you choose not to join us, I'll have to insist you stay a while to ensure you can't betray our plans, but you will be afforded every measure of hospitality and comfort, of course.'

The white-eye raised a hand to attract the king's attention, making Ardela feel for a moment like she was back at her lessons in the temple. 'Hope that don't apply to me,' he said with a grin that didn't reach his white eyes. 'Ain't taking f.u.c.king orders from any o' them.'

King Emin gave the man an indulgent smile. 'Then it is fortunate that I'm putting you in charge of part of the unit.'

'Hah! You'll be making me n.o.bility next!' the white-eye said with a laugh.

Half the men in the room realised the king hadn't been joking and began to object, but Emin hushed his troops and waited for the mercenaries to quieten down.

'Enough of the bravado,' he said. 'If there's any man among you who wants to test himself against Daken you can take it out into the courtyard now - no, that's excepting you, Coran!' he snapped as his bodyguard hefted his mace. 'Daken leads one half of the unit, Coran the other. You each will be responsible for getting them to the Circle City by whatever un.o.btrusive method is necessary - '

'That means secret-like,' Daken interjected, looking directly at the rogue mage, Wentersorn, 'for the dumbs.h.i.+ts among you.'

'Yes, Daken, yes it does,' Emin said with exaggerated patience. 'For preference it would also include not starting a fight with your own men too. Once in Byora you will liaise with my man in the quarter, who will give you your final orders.'

'What about him?' Wentersorn demanded in a whining voice, pointing at the vagrant standing all alone. 'You can't expect any of us to travel with s.h.i.+m the b.a.s.t.a.r.d!'

Considering Daken's naked hostility towards him, Ardela guessed Wentersorn had to be genuinely afraid to speak up again and she turned her attention to s.h.i.+m. The man kept his eyes low.

'Several of the Brotherhood will be part of your group. Some will be filling you in on necessary details of how they work, and two will be escorting s.h.i.+m separately.'

s.h.i.+m said something in response that Ardela couldn't understand, but the mage did. He shrank back for a moment, then found his courage and replied in the Narkang dialect, drawing his knife. It was quite clear what he meant, whatever language.

'Curious,' Legana said, 'it seems he's a mage-killer of some sort. Not a mystery I want to investigate too closely, I think.'

'What are we doing here?' Ardela whispered back.

'Waiting for our turn,' Legana replied. 'King Emin may be the patron we're looking for - his agents and officials may be able to find our sisters faster than we ever could alone.'

'You're going to ask him outright?'

'He's a politician; when have you ever heard a politician say something plainly? But look at who we're sharing a room with - this is part of an ongoing campaign and the man is having to recruit Raylin mercenaries to bolster his numbers.'

'So he might need us more than we need him?'

'Luck's a chance taken.' Legana repeated. 'Let's wait and see what chances the King of Narkang has to offer us.'

While they spoke, Daken had stirred himself to take control of his new troops. He wasn't as tall as the king's bodyguard, Coran, but he was nonetheless a white-eye, and not even the battle-mage looked keen to face him down. Once all was quiet again King Emin wound the briefing up.

'If you've quite finished, I suggest you eat and drink your fill and be ready for an early start. Daken, I want them ready to leave at dawn so hangovers are your problem. Veil, make yourself and the other four known to your unit commander. Gentlemen, ladies, you've all been offered a good price for your services and continuing allegiance afterwards.' King Emin paused, then his voice hardened. 'Don't test my patience by trying to renegotiate now.'

With that he disappeared from view. The room was silent for a moment before one of the King's Men rose and headed for Daken, which became the cue for the rest to start their conversations again. For a moment Ardela thought they had been forgotten, but then she realised Coran was staring at her. Once he realised he had her attention he indicated up the stairs with a twitch of his head.

Ardela whispered to Legana, who scribbled something on her slate and climbed to her feet.

There were fewer eyes on them than Ardela had expected. The odd couple of mages were watching Legana with puzzled expressions, but the others were more concerned with s.h.i.+m the b.a.s.t.a.r.d, whoever he was. The normal troops were sizing up their new comrades, trying to keep an eye on the more obvious threats - all except Daken, who appeared to be basking happily in their unhappy attention. Now she knew his name, Ardela recognised him; his reputation wasn't one to necessarily be proud of - he was known as Daken the Mad Axe, not so much a delightful nickname as an accurate one, if even half the stories were to be believed.

As the three reached Coran he reached out to take Legana's arm, but she kept back and raised the slate. Reading whatever she'd written on it brought the colour darkening in Coran's cheeks. Ardela saw his fist tighten, but the man had a good enough hold on his temper to turn away and lead them up the stair without a word.

Ardela coughed to smother her laugh as she caught sight of what Legana had written - Touch me and you'll be missing a ball too Touch me and you'll be missing a ball too. The white-eye's reputation was not a pleasant one, especially where women were concerned.

Legana followed Coran unaided up the single flight of stairs, running her fingers along the bare wall to help her balance. Ardela and Shanas kept close behind and they found themselves entering a cold, almost-bare study. A dozen unopened wooden crates stood on the floor. The only furniture was a dusty desk and a tall shelved cabinet, which occupied much of one wall. King Emin perched on one corner of the desk and inclined his head courteously as each woman entered.

'Normally I wouldn't believe your presence here could be merely fortuitous, but after Doranei's reports I have to accept the possibility, ' he said to Legana.

Legana hesitated for a moment, and just when Ardela was expecting to be told to relay her words to the king, Legana erased the message on her slate and scribbled quickly.

Interesting, Ardela thought as she watched Legana hold up the slate. She doesn't want him to know about that yet. She doesn't want him to know about that yet.

'"Chance, nothing more,"' King Emin read aloud. He shrugged. 'Certainly it was not fate fate, and for that you have my condolences. Doranei has told me something of your situation. I can surmise a little more, and I believe my help might prove valuable. As it happens I have a task that your sisterhood would be most suitable for.'

Legana gave him her most radiant smile. Faced with that, Emin's own faltered a fraction.

'd.a.m.n,' he said. 'This looks like it's going to cost me.'

CHAPTER 7.

Grey ghosts of mist hung over the valley floor, sheltered from the listless breeze by the cliffs of Blackfang. Nothing moved inside the valley; no creature or spirit heard the silence shrouding the Library of Seasons broken by a small sound coming from the northern cliff. Set into the rock was a solid doorway, securely barred on the outside. The sound came again, tiny, even amidst the fearful hush: the m.u.f.fled click of a leather-wrapped hook catching a bolt, the slow sc.r.a.pe of the bolt being dragged open. It was followed by a long, patient pause of several minutes - long enough, perhaps, to ensure anything hearing the rasp of metal would have investigated by then.

The valley floor was gradually being brought into life by the faint brightness spreading across the sky and by the time one of the doors eased open and Captain Hain of the Cheme Third Legion peered out, the murk of dawn was starting to dissipate. Directly in front of him Hain could see a small stretch of gra.s.s that extended for twenty yards, dropped away gently on the left, and ending more abruptly on the right at the white stone walls of the animal pens.

Debris was scattered all around the sloped roofs, and a single furrow, a large one, had been carved into the turf. Beyond the pens was the sh.e.l.l of a large, low building; the roof that had once covered one end had been ripped off and through a hole in the outer wall Hain could see the interior was equally wrecked.

To the left, around the base of Blackfang's peak jutting out into the bowl of the valley, he could make out half of the Fearen House, the largest building in the valley. The great dome looked intact, but one wing had been ripped clean away. Lord Styrax's beastmasters thought the dragon would most likely have chosen the Fearen House to sleep because of the amount of power in the place - most of the books were preserved by magic. No magic had worked in the valley itself until the spell had been broken; the attendants had ensured any ageing works were moved to a library annex outside the valley, where the protection spells would reactivate and slowly restore the book until it was fit for another fifty years in the library.

He began to mouth a prayer to Karkarn before catching himself - he wasn't going into battle, he had only a knife on his belt, and rumour was the Menin were no longer favoured by Karkarn: the priests travelling with the army and in Akell, where most of the Menin were billeted, had been troublesome for months. Demanding greater involvement in political and military matters had apparently been only the start and factions were now developing.

Ritual and combat training mixed easily for the War G.o.d's chosen tribe. Many of the officers, including as Major Amber, had learned weaponscraft at a training temple dedicated to minor Aspects of Karkarn. Now there were divided loyalties, and like many, Hain wasn't sure what side he was on in the argument between G.o.ds and tribe. Loyalty to the G.o.ds was something he had always taken as a given, but it was the priests themselves who were pus.h.i.+ng men into taking sides and declaring what authority they bowed to - nation, lord or priesthood.

He shook the matter from his head. Now was not the time for such things; he had a dragon to worry about. His task was to scout the valley without getting eaten, and lay the snares.

Captain Hain took a deep breath and stepped out into the weak light of dawn, moving as silently as he could to the animal pens. When he glanced behind at the doorway he could just make out the eyes of one of Gaur's huntsmen, lurking at the edge of the tunnel that led back to the Akell quarter. The man gave him an unnecessarily cheerful thumbs-up that made Hain shake his head in bemus.e.m.e.nt.

Bunch of madmen, the lot of them, he mused. So why is it I'm the one playing rat-mazes with a d.a.m.n dragon? So why is it I'm the one playing rat-mazes with a d.a.m.n dragon?

He reached the animal pens and, trying not to breath in the pungent odour, crouched down to check his route. Then he set off at a crawl towards the shattered building. Guessing stealth would serve him better than haste, he kept an eye on the distant Fearen House, ready to sprint for the tunnel entrance at the first sign of movement. It was only a hundred yards of ground, but for Hain it felt like it took an age to cross. He could smell the charred wood before he reached the building, but when he got there the thick stone walls appeared sound enough for his purposes.

Hain made his way around the edge and surveyed the rest of the valley. The Scholars' Palace had been almost entirely destroyed, with what was left of the lower floors scorched and blackened. Great chunks had been ripped from the building and thrown down onto the valley floor. There was a lot of debris lying around, but other than the one wing which had been torn open the Fearen House didn't appear to be much damaged, and as far as Hain could see, it was empty. His breathing came a little more easily at that, but only until he began to imagine the creature perched on the cliffs, watching him like a hawk watches a mouse. The dread returned.

A little surprisingly, the huge gate that led to Ilit's Stair, the two-hundred-yard-long slope leading down into Ismess, was untouched. The dragon had destroyed large sections of the quarter, but it obviously preferred to fly over the cliffs of Blackfang rather than waddle out through the gate. Of the remaining large buildings inside the valley, two had been completely destroyed while the rest appeared whole.

There was no sign of the beast anywhere right now so Hain took one last look up at the cliffs and made his way back to the other corner of the ruined palace and gestured to the waiting huntsman. He emerged from the tunnel, carrying a pair of shovels, with a long cable looped over his shoulder.

Hain pointed at a patch of ground between them and the animal pens. 'That's the spot,' he whispered.

'Don't believe we're even tryin' this,' the huntsman moaned with a shake of the head. 'You're goin' t'get us killed, settin' snares for a d.a.m.n dragon!'

'Shut up and get back there for the rest,' Hain hissed, trying to keep from raising his voice. 'We know they're not going to hold it.'

The huntsman said nothing more as he handed over the cables and made his way back to the doors. Hain watched him for a moment, wondering if the man was right, then he shook himself. It didn't matter if the huntsman was right or not; he had orders to carry out. He bent to the task of separating out the cables on the gra.s.s, trying to put to one side the ridiculousness of the idea - even though it was partly of his devising.

'Let's hope the beastmasters are right about dragons being similar enough to wyverns,' he muttered, 'otherwise looking stupid's going to be the least of our problems.'

He peered up at the sky, which was lightening with every pa.s.sing minute, though dawn was still a way off. The beastmasters had said there was no way of predicting when the dragon would be active and away from its lair, but darkness would prove no barrier to its eyesight. Hain's best bet was to work alone and quietly, as soon as it was light enough for him to be able to see the dragon approaching.

So get a b.l.o.o.d.y move on, he ordered himself, and started to cut the turf. Whether it works is someone else's problem. Whether it works is someone else's problem.

A knock came at the door of the orphans' chamber. The d.u.c.h.ess of Byora looked up from her breakfast and watched blearily as Sergeant Kayel crossed over to the door and opened it a fraction. Mornings had always been precious to Natai. Whether or not her husband, Ganas, had risen with her, she had cherished these precious few hours before official duties took over. It was a fair indulgence, she thought; no matter the problems the day might bring, she was always better prepared, both in temper and perspective, having spent some time with her young wards first.

Natai looked around. The orphans' chamber was conspicuously lacking in one detail: orphans. Only Ruhen was present, together with his painfully thin nurse, Eliane, who was sitting in the furthest corner of the room. The rest were absent, as were the nurses who tended to them, and Natai felt a flicker of anger - until her gaze returned to Ruhen, sitting happily at her side. This morning he was playing with an old quill, drawing elegant spirals on a battered piece of parchment. She tilted her head to look at the page; the shapes looked almost like writing from a far-distant place.

'Ruhen, dear, would you draw something for me?' she asked on a whim.

'Yes, Mother,' the boy replied solemnly, looking up at her through his long lashes. The ache in her head softened as he smiled, and the shadows wove patterns in his eyes.

So beautiful, she thought dreamily, so beautiful, and so clever. so beautiful, and so clever.

She moved her hand to stroke the line of his jaw and tuck an errant lock of long brown hair behind his ear to stop it falling over his face. Ruhen's cheek dimpled a fraction and Natai felt a flutter of pleasure in her belly.

How foolish I was to think him so young when he first came to me- No, he has been here for years, of course. I am his mother, I gave birth to him. I remember the pain, the first clench of labour as Ganas and I went on our Prayerday trip . . .

Her thoughts tailed away into nothing. Remembering was hard, so hard, and so painful. She was Ruhen's mother, and that was all that mattered. He gave her joy by his mere presence, and in time she would be proud to watch him grow into a prince, to rule all of the Circle City.

'Your Grace?' A deep voice interrupted her reverie, making her flinch. She looked around vaguely until she realised it was Sergeant Kayel who was talking.

'Yes? Yes, what is it?' She frowned. 'Did someone bring a message?'

'They did, your Grace,' Kayel replied. He heaved his large frame into a chair and dropped his elbows heavily on the table.

Natai pursed her lips. Her bodyguard should not eat with his mistress, should he? She wished for a moment she could remember ... She watched him drop a handful of letters on the table and pick up several hardboiled eggs in his scarred hands.

'Strangely enough,' Kayel continued after filling his mouth with one egg, 'the letters ain't for you, your Grace. One is for me.'

'Who would write to you? Who are the others for?' She caught sight of Ruhen, holding out his hand for the one of the eggs Kayel had.

'You want one?' Kayel offered an egg to the little boy, but not close enough for Ruhen to take it. 'What do you say, then?'

'Now,' Ruhen said with a firmness that made Natai tense. Kayel chuckled and leant over, extending his reach until the boy could take it from him.

Natai relaxed again. A boy must have a father A boy must have a father, she reminded herself. Ganas was a sweet man, but he was weak. Kayel is a better influence for my little prince. Ganas was a sweet man, but he was weak. Kayel is a better influence for my little prince.

'Anyways,' Kayel continued, one cheek bulging, 'the other letters are for Aracnan and the Jesters. The seal is Menin, General Gaur's own.'

'What does he want with you?'

Kayel smiled and a knife seemed to magically appear in his fingers. He picked up the letter and ran the blade under its seal. He unfolded the letter, held it up to the light and read it out loud.

'Sergeant Kayel, you are cordially invited to join Lord Styrax the morning after tomorrow at dawn for a hunt. Attendance is mandatory for all subjects loyal to the new ruler of the Circle City.'

'Well, you must not refuse him then,' Natai said suddenly. 'To do so would give grave offence.'