Contents

A Flight of Ravens

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

A Flight of Ravens

By

John Conroe

This book is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Copyright © 2021 John Conroe

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

The Demon Accords series:

God Touched

Demon Driven

Brutal Asset

Black Frost

Duel Nature

Fallen Stars

Executable

Forced Ascent

College Arcane

God Hammer

Rogues

Snake Eyes

Winterfall

Summer Reign

The Demon Accords Compendium, Volume 1

The Demon Accords Compendium, Volume 2

Demon Divine

C.A.E.C.O.

Darkkin Queen

The Demon Accords Compendium, Volume 3 

The Zone War series:

Zone War

Borough of Bones

Web of Extinction

The Shadows of Montshire series:

A Murder of Shadows

A Flight of Ravens

A Mischief of Rats (Fall 2021)

Cover art by Gareth Otton.

To all the front line heroes of 2020

Prologue

It was the pain that woke him.  Pain from wounds inflicted by the bear he should never have tangled with, pain in his jaws, bones, and joints, pain deep in his mind and even deeper in his heart. He put the pain aside as he’d been taught long ago and considered other things.

It was still predawn and very cold, although he did not feel cold as much as he used to.  What made it through his fur to his skin was merely uncomfortable and nowhere near as distracting as his pain.  He set the cold aside and opened his senses.

The forest was beginning to wake in the gloom preceding daylight, birds starting to call, wild turkeys roosted in the trees above gobbling to each other, not doubt warning of the danger he represented.  Nearby, a squirrel, comfortable in its closeness to an oak tree, rustled in the snow-dusted leaves, rooting around for acorns.  His stomach rumbled at the smell of the furry rodent.

Other scents reached him, the pine under whose boughs he rested, the mold of leaves that cushioned him from the frozen ground, the crisp, clean water that flowed through a small brook not thirty spans away.  The wind shifted and swirled, and a new scent reached his sensitive nose.  The coppery taint of fresh-spilled blood.  Deer. Female and young.  With that delicious bouquet came the harsh sour of canine: coyote, the little wolves.

With a soft snarl that sent the squirrel up its tree and silenced the turkeys high above, he came to his feet and followed the blood spoor.  Crossing the brook, he paused to slake his thirst before continuing on his hunt—a hunt for the dead but still a hunt, nonetheless. 

The fickle wind brought him enough hints and samples to set his mouth watering, thick saliva flowing between his gnarled, misshapen fangs, past lips that failed to close anymore, to drip down in long strands to the forest floor.

He crested a small hill, his motion catching the attention of a trio of canines in the act of feasting upon a still-steaming doe. All three looked up at him and snarled, but each backed away as he descended the far slope.  He gave them a deep growl, a warning of lives ended suddenly and swiftly.  The three went silent and dropped back even farther, ducking into shadows to hide.

Knowing them cowed, he opened his newly massive jaws, ignoring the pain of bone rent and twisted far too late in life.  With an audible snap, he bit down into still-warm flesh and blood and feasted for the first time in days, perhaps weeks.  Hard to tell.  His perception of time was not what it used to be, as much changed as he was.

He ate his fill, almost half the small doe’s body, while the little wolves watched him with glittering eyes from the shadows of the gloomy forest.  The sky lightened considerably while he gorged himself, the sky turning purple, then blue as the sun staged itself for its daily ascent.

Full to the point of pain, he snarled a final warning to the coyotes then turned and moved onward, taking up his journey, the one that drove him all day every day and most of each night, over hill and valley, through thick forests and across rushing bone-cold rivers, up stone cliffs, and between the peaks of ancient mountains.

It was long past sundown, beyond even the midnight hour, when he finally crawled cautiously over the summit of a hillock that wanted to be a mountain.  On the far side of the crest, he stopped and gazed through the darkness at the valley below.  Lights, the flames and fires of mankind, illuminated a city tucked into the folds of the land, watered by a river snaking through it and fed by the farms that surrounded it.  Haven.  Ash Newberry was home, and nobody and nothing would stop him from finding those who were his own.

Chapter 1

I woke suddenly, my hand automatically finding the axe next to my bed.  I listened and felt, but there was no sound save the gentle hiss of the banked fire and the soft moan of a cold, early winter wind twisting about the eaves of the Knife and Needle.

I don’t know what had awoken me, but I learned a long time ago to damn well listen to my instincts.  Jella had drilled that into me for so long that it was now part of me, impossible to ignore.

With no immediate and obvious answer to my feeling of misgiving, I instead found myself remembering the day I enrolled in the king’s army.  Why that memory?

Jella had accompanied me from Drodacia. In fact, she had simply nodded when I had told her I was leaving to travel to Haven for the annual enlistment trials.  “Of course, we are leaving,” she had said with a nod.  “Now, what are you doing standing about?  Isn’t it past time for your evening run up the mountain?”

Of course, I had immediately run up the mountain behind her cabin, as I did every morning and every night.  Two weeks later, we had descended from the Drodacian mountains and made the journey to Haven in the heart of Montshire.

The morning of the trials, we rode together to the military fields where the testing would occur.

“What do you see?” she asked as we rode onto the fields and toward the enlistment tables.

I had already seen my father’s steward, Tupper, talking to one of the higher-ranking officers off to one side.  The old aide must have felt our eyes upon him as we approached because he suddenly looked up and spotted me.  But that observation was too obvious.  When Jella asked questions, one did well to listen, look, smell, and feel first, think carefully second, and answer thoughtfully third.

So, I took my time and noticed that more than a few officers were watching our approach with interest.  I hadn’t been to Haven in several years, but really, how hard was it to pick me out?  How many recruits show up with a Drodacian Forester?  Also, Father knew I would be enlisting this year and doubtless wanted Tupper to witness my placement in the trials. Can’t have the boy shaming the family honor, now can we? And I hadn’t been quiet about my plans, telling Brona and mother multiple times over the last two years.

I noticed a man off to one side, talking with an officer of the royal guard.  The lord marshal himself, Kiven Armstrong, who administered the royal city of Haven on the king’s behalf and commanded the city’s constables.  That seemed unusual, as the lord marshal had no power over the military.  Then the royal guardsman turned and I recognized him with a start.  Colonel Erser, head of the royal guard.

This wasn’t graduation day for the Montshire Basic Military Training class; this was just the trials that would rank inductees and weed out those not even worthy of training.  Top officers do not waste their time with the beginnings of a military class; they have much better things to do.

The obvious answer flowed to my lips and I was about to speak it when I noticed yet one more officer, this one hidden in the shadows, his mottled green and brown cloak fading into the background, the complete opposite of the bright, almost garish dress uniforms of the other military officers that shone in the morning sun.

“There are a lot of factions here to witness the trials,” I said to Jella.

“Why?  What is that they are here to see?” she pressed.

“My father’s man is here to see how I do.  Father would not want me to perform poorly and cast shade upon the DelaCrotia name.”

“And?”

“Colonel Erser is here on behalf of the king, also likely to see how I do.  The man in back is an officer in the Ranged Reconnaissance Squadron, perhaps here on a whisper or two from Brona, as she knows my ultimate goal.”  I took another moment to pause and think.  Eventually, I shook my head.  “I fail to think of why the lord marshal is here.”

Jella gave me a sharp look and I braced myself for her even sharper tongue.  Explaining my deductive and tactical failings was almost an art for her and certainly her favorite pastime.

“I fail to find a reason as well, and that bothers me.  I will look into it, even as you show them all what they’re here to see,” she said, turning back to the people in front of us.

I fought to keep my expression bland, as surprise filled me from head to toe.  That was a first, I thought.

“Were this a real test of your skills, I would demand that you make me proud.  But this is just basic selection.  If you can’t pass this, I will end you myself,” Jella said, instantly returning me to familiar ground and, in an odd way, settling my nerves. 

“Yes, Battlemaster.”

Still abed, I tucked my hands behind my head, fingers laced. I hadn’t thought about that day, eight years ago, in, well, eight years. Most of my memories tended to travel to so many other more momentous days instead.  Still thinking about the recruitment trials, I rose from my bed and stirred up the fire, adding birch bark and a couple of sticks of pine fatwood to the glowing embers and blowing until flame rose up amid the ashes.  Slightly larger pieces of well-split spruce went on next, followed by a couple of hunks of oak and maple.  When the fire was burning soundly, I poured water from a pitcher on my chest of drawers into the small cast iron kettle, hung it from the fireplace crane, and swung it out over the hot flames.

While it heated, I ground caffe beans and poured them into a metal mesh basket that rested in a tripod, a clever and expensive device that Brona had given me, and then set the whole contraption over my favorite clay mug.  The device was vaguely scandalous but had no moving parts and was cleared by the church.

The water would take time to reach the proper temperature, so I chose to get dressed for the day. I pulled on thick trousers, warm socks, and several layers of wool shirts. Next came weapons. My long-bladed belt knife, a punch dagger in each of my boots, and a long, slim blade sheathed horizontally at the small of my back. A small prototype single shot bolter in a clever sheath that hid between my pants and stomach just to the right of my belt buckle, roughly over my appendix. That weapon had a double lock on its triggering system, at my insistence, as it spent a lot of time primed and pointed at portions of my anatomy that I would really, really not like injured.  No sword or axe, as carrying those around Haven would attract attention. 

The frost on the glass windowpane caught my eye as I readied myself, and first I looked at it, studying the fingers of crystal ice, and then I looked through it to the world beyond.  There, way in the distance, were those very military fields of my memories. Immediately, my thoughts tumbled back to them.

“This morning, we will test your basic fitness and this afternoon, we will test your skills for combat, both armed and unarmed, then your horsemanship if you happen to have use of a horse and tack,” an army sergeant had told the assembled applicants. “At the end of the day, we will let you know who we will select this year.”

In times of peace, the kingdom’s military is very picky about who it recruits.  Those stringent requirements tend to be loosened a great deal whenever war breaks out.

Immediately after that little speech, the instructor led us through a grueling set of exercises, then on a ten t-span timed run, and immediately after that, he put us through a long, difficult obstacle course, also timed. 

At midday, we were given a half hour to select a meal from a table of cheeses, breads, cold meat, apples, dried berries, and various nuts. 

Based on Jella’s advice from the night before, I ate sparingly, keeping to just some bread and an apple, washed down with water.  Some recruits feasted like it was their final meal.   Jella’s warning turned out to be wise, as immediately after lunch, we were paired off and told to fight empty-handed until one of each pair submitted to the other. The winners were paired off again and the fights continued.  More than one contestant was forced to bow out because of stomach cramps.

At the end of the combat bouts, it came down to just me and a big kid from a farm near Haven.  My matches before this one had been fast and certain, but this time, I was up against a boy both bigger and older, who looked like he lifted cows all day, every day.

I had trained with father’s men-at-arms in battlefield grappling and hand-to-hand combat almost since I could walk, and had trained with Jella in the Drodacian combat art of wogando for the last two years. In the end, I won the contest, but it took three times longer than any other fight I’d had, mostly because the farm boy knew a surprising amount about unarmed combat. That skill, combined with his size and strength, made him by far my toughest opponent.  Add into that a very high tolerance for pain and I had almost had to break his right arm to get him to yield the fight.

“Great.  Both of you get some water and get back here.  We start sword and staff next,” the sergeant had said after the boy finally slapped the ground in surrender.

Walking over to the water barrel side by side, we didn’t say a word to each other.  At the barrel, I waved the other boy to drink first, which I think surprised the kid.  He drank and offered the dipper to me.  “I’m Ash,” he said. 

“I’m Savid.”

The rest of the afternoon was spent in controlled contests of blunt sword and padded staff.  Ash was quite skilled with a quarter staff, fighting me to a draw three out of four times, but he knew next to nothing about swords.  By the end of the fighting, we had both acquitted ourselves well and simultaneously formed a rock-solid respect for each other.

“You did passable, apprentice,” Jella allowed when I finally rejoined her.  The day had been exhausting, but I ended up taking the top spots in both the armed and unarmed combat trials, came in fourth in the riding tests, and finished the timed run and obstacle course within the top ten times for each. My name had been called when they read the selected candidates, as had my new friend, Ash Newberry’s.

“Did you find out why the lord marshal is here?” I asked her.

She nodded and pointed across the field.  Kiven Armstrong was congratulating a large boy on his success.  When the boy turned sideways, I could see that it was Ash.

“The kid you’ve been buddies with all day is his nephew by his sister.”

“Which explains where he learned to fight.”

“Yup. He is the youngest son. His older brother will inherit the farm, so he has that in common with you as well. Kiven has no sons, just daughters, so he is very focused on his nephews.  All pig shit, if you ask me.  Girls can be much smarter fighters than men.  But I will admit that the boy has combat potential for certain,” Jella said, watching Ash.

Back in my now warm bedroom, the water in the pot was bubbling and I used a heavy leather glove to remove it from the crane and pour it into my caffe maker.  The mug filled with the deep brown beverage as my nose was filled with its rich fragrance.   Why had I woken up thinking about Ash? We had entered military basic together, then went through infantry training and finally, we were both selected for Ranged Reconnaissance.  From Basic to Despair, we stuck together, had each other’s backs, and learned a great deal from each other.  Ash had been my trusted second with every unit that I commanded, till he ran his own. And now Ash was missing, more than a month past due, and I was too much the realist to think I would ever see my friend again. I had searched for him and his murder the entire time, using all the resources of the Shadows as well as my own skills at Finding.  Nothing.  Two weeks ago, I had called it, adding his name to the roster of fallen RRS on the wall behind the bar downstairs.  I had spoken to his wife, now a widow, and begun the process of getting her death funds and her widow’s stipend.  Why was I still dwelling on him?

Draining the mug and rinsing it with more water from the pitcher, I poured the rinse water into the potted forest fern on the stool by the window and headed out. 

Chapter 2

Brin found me a half hour later, pushing open the office door without a knock, a tray in her sturdy arms. 

“Oh, Savid,” she said, coming to an abrupt halt, the plate and real metal fork rattling.

“Up early, Brin,” I said, looking up from a report.  “Figured restless energy is best put to use.”

“Ah, it’s like that, is it?” she asked, giving me a side look as she set down the tray, which bore a new mug of caffe and a plate, which she uncovered, loaded with thick buttered toast and egg-potato hash.

“There’s lots of things going on,” I said, leaning back.

She picked up last night’s empty ale cup on her way out, looking back over her shoulder.  “We all miss them too.”  She pulled the door closed behind her, leaving me with coded letters, business reports, and deep thoughts. 

An hour or so later, a knock came at the door.

“Come,” I said.

The door opened to reveal a smiling face as Corell peeked in, holding a small plate in her right hand.  Centered in the middle was a walnut-studded cinnamon bun, glazed with melted maple sugar.

“When?” I asked her, frowning at the treat.

“Literally two minutes ago,” she said, grinning. 

“Right. Have Welton saddle Tipton please,” I said, immediately picking up the stacks of papers and putting them inside the desk drawer.

Corell moved over and grabbed my breakfast tray, setting the delicious confection down in the middle of the empty plate. 

I locked my drawer and grabbed a thick cloak from the stand behind the desk.  Turning, I saw Corell still grinning at me.  “Yes, but at least split it with whoever else is working this morning,”
I said.

Her pretty smile turned to mock outrage.  “Of course I will,” she said.

“Hmmpf,” was my only reply, causing her to grin again.  It was standard practice to give away these freshly made, very expensive treats whenever they showed up, which was often, and it was a habit my staff knew well.  Just as they knew that the pastries were a summons.

I rode Tipton through the streets of Haven, the signs of a busy day beginning to show everywhere.  The city was waking up, flour and sugar being delivered to the baker who supplied much of the Knife and Needle’s needs beyond whatever Brin made from scratch, the sound of metal being hammered at the forge and bank one street over, and a wagon load of cabbage, broccoli, parsnips, and potatoes headed for the grocer’s two buildings down.

The air was cold and crisp, normal for early December in Montshire, and Tipton moved with steady purpose, the horse already knowing where we were headed and eager for another warm stall.

Early morning and the light foot traffic allowed us to get to our destination in a little over fifteen minutes.  The king’s castle loomed nearby, the main wall rising up behind the building we approached. A boy took Tipton’s reins and turned toward the livery stable, the horse almost leading the boy.

The stable manager gave me a nod but otherwise ignored me, instead yelling to a pair of men attempting to back a wagon of grain toward the barns.  I stepped around the delivery disagreement, heading deeper into the stables, following as Tipton entered his normal stall.  The establishment was fairly new, built on the remains of a candlemaker’s shop that had burned down.  The principal owner had bought the land and brought in several investors to fund the stable business, which rented stalls to Haven’s visitors, bought and sold horses, and repaired and sold tack.  Tipton had his own sometime stall because I was one of the investors, albeit a small one. The fact that no one else ever used this stall was ostensibly because of that.

I tipped Charlie, the lad who would see to Tipton’s second breakfast (greedy horse), and stepped aside so he could head to the grain bins.  As soon as the boy was gone, I patted my old horse and stepped to the end of the stall, the wall being the back of the stables closest to the castle wall.  My fingers tucked behind a post and jiggled a little latch, which unlocked a portion of the wall.  I swiveled it open and ducked through, closing the false wall behind me.  I was now in an alley behind the stables, the massive curtain wall of Havensheart rising four spans over my head.

Barely big enough to lead a horse down, the alley was officially an escape route to get expensive horses out of the stable should it catch fire.  Tipton’s stall wasn’t the only one with a less-than-obvious door, just the only one that was ever used.

The alley was perhaps unique of alleys in Haven in that it was clear of trash and debris, as well as empty of people, even Haven’s homeless knowing that it would be patrolled by castle guards.  The stable’s owner insisted on a clean, fire-hazard-free alley, as did the officers of the royal guards, some of whom weren’t excited to have even a one-story structure near the castle’s defensive curtain wall.  The building, itself, had some modifications to its engineering to mollify the royal guardians. In the event of invasion, pre-cut and pinned key structural supports would allow the entire thing to be collapsed almost flat.  A major concession to the castle’s security, but as the lead investor happened to be the crown princess, it made complete sense.

I stepped three spans to the right of Tipton’s stall door, finding myself at a narrow stone-braced archway that was built right into the curtain wall.  It wasn’t big, just a single man wide and when I stepped into it, I was actually under the wall itself.  Immediately a steel gate slid down behind me, hardly rattling in well-greased tracks. Another gate was in front of me, behind which was a massively thick, steel-bound door, currently closed.  Dust floated down onto my hair from the murder holes above me and I heard the sound of boots shuffling on sanded stone.  A voice called out a muffled order above me.  Seconds ticked by before the oak door opened, revealing three armed and armored guardsmen, two with spears, the third bearing just a long, shining steel needle that glistened with a green fluid at its tip.  Behind the three were another four, two holding span-and-a-half body shields while two snipers rested heavy war crossbows on the tops of the shields.  The crossbow men were two spans apart, only their faces and arms exposed.  The shield bearers each held a naked sword, ready to rush forward should the spear holders and the tester die.

Above me, I was confident that at least four men held heavy war spears over the murder holes, ready to drive them down and through me should I not check out.

I stepped to the forward gate and pushed my right arm through.  The needlebearer moved forward and pricked my arm, then slid back smoothly to watch the results.  Seconds ticked by, but only a small spot of red blood welled up from the puncture wound and the green fluid left by the needle failed to change color.

“Clear,” the needle man said loudly.  The gate in front of me lifted smoothly, admitting me to the grounds of the castle.  As soon as I was through, the gate was lowered and the heavy door was closed and re-bolted.

Glancing back as I walked toward the castle, I could see a wooden sled holding tons of stone just to one side of the door.  When my business in the castle was complete and I left, the sled would be pulled by oxen back in front of the oaken door, locked into place by metal rods pounded down into the packed earth, all to fortify the weak point in the wall.

Looking forward, I found a young royal guard’s officer waiting for me.  “All okay, sir?” he asked, saluting me and holding it until I returned it.  Holder of the Kingdom Cross and all that.

He wasn’t just being courteous; he knew I had helped design the defenses and entry procedures throughout the castle. 

“Looks good—for now,” I allowed.  “Where’re we headed, Lieutenant?”

“Queen’s Garden sir,” said the young officer, whose name I thought might be Ty Berill.

Chapter 3

Brona had taken over her mother’s private garden, fiercely maintaining it to the exacting standards of Ilana Warcan. And when I say she maintained it, I meant that she maintained it, by her own hands, with only her mother’s elderly gardener, Veece, to help her.  He was well into his eighth decade but looked ten years younger thanks to constant exercise, fresh air, and excellent castle food.

Lieutenant Berill escorted me to the stone archway that opened into the queen’s private garden, closing the door behind me and no doubt taking up guard outside.  The garden was square, maybe ten spans by ten spans.  High overhead, a network of clever glass windows let the sun in but kept out much of the cold.  I shuddered to think what those had cost the kingdom.  Brona called it a greenhouse—an old pre-Punishment word.

Normally, green and flowering plants grew in great profusion against all the walls, climbing trellises and the single wooden pergola at the rear of the square. Now, with winter close if not already here, most of the garden’s green came from four potted juniper trees, posted at the four corners of the square path that traveled around the raised beds in the center of the garden.  Brona, clad in brown trousers and a thick jacket, was bent over the only other green things left, rows of lettuce, spinach, kale, cabbage, and chard that grew in great bunches.  Brown vines held the last of the winter and butternut squash gourds, the sharp knife in the princess’s hand indicating that their time on the vine was at an end, which admittedly was far past most other farms or gardens in the kingdom.  Brona was seeking affordable ways to create more of these greenhouses without falling afoul of the church’s religious edicts on technology. 

I took a moment to admire my hardworking princess, hardly ever getting to see her in well-fitted pants. 

“You’re looking at my behind again, aren’t you?” she asked without turning around.  The pruning knife flashed in her hand, releasing another vegetable from its parent plant.

“Just nice to see a royal hard at work,” I said.

She snorted.  “Right.  Quit your gawking and come load these crates.”

“Bound for the soup kitchens, are they?” I asked, moving up beside her.  Partially empty crates each held one variety of leafy green vegetable, except one that held two different squashes.

“Most of it goes to them, but a bit, maybe a fifth, goes to the castle chef.  Papa likes what I grow in Mother’s garden,” she said.  As her mother had before her, she donated most of the vegetables the Queen’s Garden produced to the needy.  But Brona took it further, funding and running food pantries and kitchens throughout the kingdom, using money from her own investments, such as the stable that currently held Tipton.  Growing plants or growing money, Brona was equally skilled, and she took her responsibilities for her people extremely seriously.

I loaded crates from the piles she’d already harvested, catching up fairly quickly.

“As honored as I am to be in your mother’s garden, I doubt you needed my hands for this.”

She gave me a sly grin and grabbed my nearest hand.  “I happen to like these hands a great deal,” she said, then the smile slipped away.  “But yes. I wanted to tell you that our guest in the castle basement has revealed some interesting things lately.”

“Which, the lady or the meathead?”

“The lady, of course.  She’s our only guest.”

That told me that Dorn, Siril Ossiman’s henchman, had likely left this mortal realm.  Brona is rather ruthless and her father, the king, has zero tolerance for those he deems traitors to the kingdom.  It was possible that they had banished him, theoretically, at least.  Unlikely though.  Warcan leniency is not a thing.

“Torture?” I asked, completely casual.

“Doesn’t work well… you know that,” she said, giving me a side-eye.  “That some kind of test?”

“Professional interest.  It’s been more than a few weeks since she took up residence and I thought that well had already run dry,” I said, although I was always testing my princess, just as she tested me.  We have a complicated relationship, our bonds woven deep and thick, yet sometimes thorns can appear, even on the strongest roots.

“No, that was a test.  But you know I don’t think torture is at all useful.  People will say anything to anyone to avoid pain.  It’s a stupid approach, as I know that you know,” she said, giving me a reproachful look.  I let it bounce off.  I might be wholly bound to my princess, but I was immune to many of her tricks.

“No, we’ve found that given time, even the most disciplined agent will tire and relax their guard. The trick is confirming that it was an actual slip and not intentional.”

“What did you find out?”

“There appears to be another traitor, this one highly placed within our circle of trust.”

“Why?  Why do people think going over to the Paul will be anything other than a sentence of death, either at our hands or his?” I asked, instantly incensed.

“Most people would want to know who, what, where, or when… you ask the why,” she said, turning and smiling her brilliant happy smile at me.  That one, I am not immune to.

“We don’t know any of those answers, by the way, as Rubella doesn’t either.  As to the why, it can simply be greed of money, dear Savid… or love.  Revenge, envy, or some perceived injustice.”

“And it goes without saying that we know this isn’t just a clever ploy to have us suspecting everyone among us,” I said.

She smiled again.  “Yes, without saying.  Rubella used the same turn of phrase three separate times with three individuals.  Exact wording and intonation.”

“Ah, a prompt for response,” I said.  Keeping spies isolated from each other sometimes requires the use of a code phrase to identify a deeply placed asset.

“Who did she say it to?” I asked.

“Again, you never ask what others do.  Most would want to know the phrase first.”

“Does it matter?  It’s just words,” I said.

“Do your heroes come home is what she asked.  Neil, Kiven, and Erser,” she said.

“Did all report it?” I asked, part of me horrified and part already working through the problem.

“Yup, to a man.  Of course, I had double observers on her cell who independently confirmed what was said and to whom.”

Without boasting, I feel comfortable saying that I am an expert on small unit tactics and special operations. I’m also fair to passing on larger-scale strategic warfare, but my princess absolutely excels at the twisted turns and back alleys of intrigue and espionage. Putting not one but two watchers on every interaction her special guest had was normal to her way of thinking.  The fact that she mentioned two observers meant that even a third was possible.

“Oscar?” I asked.  Brona’s favorite eslling was a Reader of exquisite talent and reliability.  Strength in a Truth Reader isn’t nearly as important as the skill and ability to be exceptionally accurate with the information they receive.  The human mind is a crazy complex organ—thoughts occur rapidly and on multiple levels.  Mental discipline varies greatly from person to person, as do actual patterns of thought and logic.  Picking through the myriad of conscious and unconscious thoughts and emotions that everyone has all the time is extraordinarily difficult—most eslling readers are not quite sane by the time they reach adulthood, if they reach adulthood at all.

“Got nothing from any of the three,” she said. “But she never said the phrase when any of them was close enough to Read.  I’m considering saying the phrase to her with Oscar nearby, but I can only do that once.”

“Yeah, that’s a last-ditch move. So, either none of the three are the agent in place or one of them is incredibly well conditioned and disciplined,” I said.

“We’ll see,” she said.  “If none of them are the sleeper, then I want to expose her to more people.  See who else she asks and how they respond.”

“But if it is one of them?”

“It’s a problem.  Tell me, oh wise man of warcraft… which could do the most damage?” she asked.

“Erser,” I answered without hesitation.  “If the royal guards are compromised at the top, you and your father are in incredible danger.  After him, I would say that Neil Slinch, as head of the Ravens, is almost as dangerous.  Kiven would be merely horrible in comparison.”

“I happen to agree, although my thoughts might be biased by my intrinsic need to preserve myself,” she said, all logic and prudence.

“What about Salis?” I asked.  Her lifelong bodyguard was a Wenkroy-trained warrior with one of the longest contracts in Wenkroy history. 

“I’ve sent her to Rubella’s cell many times on various errands.  The Lash taunts her but has never used anything like a code phrase.  I’ve had multiples of my associates monitor those interactions, including both Oscar and our new young prodigy, Sydney. She’s a doll, by the way.”

“Is she fitting in?”

“She’s shy, but I think she’s reasonably happy… as happy as a child who lost her parents and home can be.  She really looks forward to your weekly Rik matches, and only partially because she mostly wins.”  I snorted at that comment. Who doesn’t lose to a see-er?

Then she added, “But I think Salis is okay.”

“Getting old though.  She’s gotta be mid-forties,” I said.

“Let’s see you tell her that!” Brona said with a sharp grin.

“She’s still tough, but we all slow down.”

“She’ll take a blade for me without question and, as you know, age may bring slowness, but it also brings cunning and treachery.  Spar with her if you have any doubts.”

“I think I will.  But I’d also like to assign a couple of my people to your staff.”

“You think you could get them past Erser or Slinch?”

“Actually, I do.”

She stopped working and turned to me, openly curious.  “Who do you have that you both trust and is unknown to our paranoid protectors?”

“Well, now see, if I told you, then it wouldn’t be a secret at all, now would it?”

“You ass. I won’t allow anyone to be hired near me or Father unless I’ve cleared them myself.”

“Meaning eslling cleared,” I said.

“I have other ways but yes,” she said impatiently.  “Now, who and what are you hiding?”

“You have your strays and I have mine,” I said, watching as she processed my words.  Her eyes shifted back and forth between each of mine as she thought rapidly.

“You’ve picked up someone new… not ex-RRS!” she guessed.

“Hmmpf. Like I’d trust your safety to a newbie,” I said.

“Wow, now I really am intrigued,” she said, and I could tell that she was.  Secrets drive Brona crazy.  Puzzles, codes, tricks, and cyphers, all absolutely must be solved or she can’t rest.

“Hey, looks like we’re done here.  Want me to carry these crates out?”

Her eyes narrowed and the hand holding the pruning blade tightened.  “I’d stab you myself if I thought it would do any good,” she said, then sheathed the blade as if to remove temptation. 

I went to grab a crate and she put her foot on the edge of it.  “Savid Thomas DelaCrotia!”

Some secrets I never tell her, like gifts and surprises of a good kind.  But I started this little game knowing that she had to know or I’d never get my agents planted near her and her father.

“I have a couple of young assets, one male, one female.  The lad is Paddy’s eldest boy, Brent. Sixteen and very well trained already.  He’d be going for this year’s enlistment, but I held him back, thinking he’d make an excellent unknown agent.  The girl is a true stray, a street kid that Soshi took in.  Rose.  She’s fourteen.”

“I know who Brent is; he’s Welton’s older brother.  I think that would be an easy fit.  If anyone presses me, I tell the truth—son of one of my people.  Could he learn to be a page?” she asked.

“Already knows quite a bit about it.  We expose a lot of our people to the court so that they know how to blend in.  I’ve had Brent with me in the castle several times, as has his father and his Uncle Ash.  We’ll say he’s fifteen and not yet ready to enlist, but with Paddy missing and presumed dead, he needs to help his mother.”

“Is that true?  Does Paddy’s widow, Treena, need help?” she asked, a furrow between her eyes.

“No, we’ve made sure that’s the least of Treena’s worries, although extra money never hurts.  I take care of our people to a greater extent than anyone knows.  Sissa too.  I’ve actually had Welton and Brent helping their Aunt Sissa as well, what with the pregnancy and all.”

“How is Sissa?” Brona asked.

“Well, she’s getting later in term and her husband is almost certainly dead.  We check on her constantly, as does Treena, and the boys.”

“Is she working still?  She’s so very gifted with a needle.”

“As much work as she wants or can handle.  She’s as good with leather as she is with fine cloth, so we have lots of sheaths and weapons harnesses for her.”

She smiled at that, then got serious again.  “Tell me about this Rose.  I’d heard something about Soshi having a foster child.  What can she do?  Fourteen is pretty young.”

“She’s an orphan.  Taken in by a thief’s den at about five years or so.  They trained her along with the other urchins.  She tried to pick Soshi’s pocket.  That didn’t go well, or you could say it was the best thing she could have done under the circumstances.  That was four years ago.  She does all kinds of odd jobs for us; everything from cleaning rooms at the Knife and Needle to running messages to lookout duty and some light undercover work.”

“You’re working the poor girl that hard?”

“Don’t judge till you meet her.  We call her Rose because she’s pretty, but wicked thorny too.  She was already pretty good with a knife when we got her; now she’s lethal. And a bit of an actress.  Any warrior or assassin who discounts her will pay the price. And if we didn’t work her, then she’d get bored and into trouble.  But give her a task, even menial, and she’s all over it.  And she likes to earn money.  Building herself a Go to Hell fund, as she calls it.  Bright as the sun, interested in business, loves working for us.”

“I’m supposed to be in charge of the Shadows.  How come I didn’t know about her?”

“Because she’s not a true Shadow… not yet.  She’s been headed that way all along.  There are all kinds of assets you don’t know about because that’s what you have me for.”

“Hmm.  What’s your play?”

“That will be your call, but I was thinking you might need a new chambermaid, or at least an extra one.”

“You were going to tell me all along, weren’t you?  I’ll have to meet her.  Chambermaids don’t get to stay close enough all the time.  How much education does she have?  How does she talk?”

I frowned at her.  “You know better than that.  All my people’s kids have to take lessons. She could read a bit and was great with numbers when we got her.  Now, reading in her spare time is one of her favorite things.  And for the last month, Trell has been teaching some of our people.  He tells me she has a good ear for accents and potential to learn the flute.  She won’t sound like a gutter kid, but I don’t know that you could pass her off as one of your ladies, at least not yet, but she can ride a horse, use a crossbow, clean a room, tally numbers, or serve meals.”

“I’ll just have to meet her.  When?” she asked, serious as hell.  I couldn’t hold back a grin.  Yes, it made sense to add extra security as soon as possible, but really, this was her curiosity more than anything. I moved three of the crates to the garden entrance, then came back.

She frowned at me, eyes on my grin.  “I can bring her by anytime you say,” I said.  “Sooner would be better.”

She thought about it, tapping her ruby lips with a work-gloved finger.  “Just after the noon meal, I’ll be in my office, working on accounts.  Bring her yourself.  My secretary will give you grief about interrupting me.  Be insistent—but don’t be an ass about it!” she warned, the gloved finger now held in front of my face.  “She’ll check with me and I’ll agree, grudgingly.  You have information for me and just happen to have this Rose with you.  How does she dress when she’s playing messenger?”

“Depends on how official it is.  If it’s to a business or High Family house, we have them wear a kind of uniform.  Dark jacket, cap, and trousers, with clean, well-made boots.”

“Have her wear that.  Hair up and under the cap.  As boyish as possible,” Brona said, the wheels already clearly turning.

“Well, as I said, she’s a pretty one.  You want us to mask that?”

“Yeah.  Don’t go crazy but make it hard to tell if she’s a girl or boy, at least at first glance. Enough so that if she was in a dress and made up the next time anyone saw her, they would have a hard time knowing it was the same person.”

She already had a plan and there was no way in hell she’d tell me.  Payback’s a bitch, as they say.

“Have Brent report to the castle seneschal today.  We’ll put him to work as a page for my father within the next day or so.  In the meantime, I would like you to think about who our bad seed might be.”

I stacked the last crates with the others.

“You must have gotten up pretty early to have harvested all of this by this time of morning,” I said.

“Yeah, couldn’t sleep.  Dreams that my closest confidant and partner was hiding pretty young girls in his workplace,” she said with a mock glare. 

“I was up early too.  Thinking about Ash and the others.”

“That’s actually what woke me.  Wondering what the Paul did to our people.  We need to get a hold of that as well.”

“Let’s get this extra security in place while we come up with a plan to find the hidden agent. I’ve got every Shadow and Shadow asset on alert for anything to do with the Paul.”

“As do Father and Neil.  Now, I’ve got to ready some of these beds for winter and I don’t have much time before my first appointment.  Scram, Shadow,” she said.  Then she leaned close and kissed me on the lips.  She had a spot of dirt on the tip of her nose and I pointed to my own to warn her.  With a cute frown, she wiped her nose and then made a shooing motion with her hand.

We call our stray young thief Rose because of her looks, sharp knife, and quick, thorny wit, but when Brona was a young girl, the staff all called her Razor, at least among themselves.  So sharp, of wit, intellect, and tongue that you could easily be cut to the quick.  I’m told, by some of those same servants, that after I left for Drodacia, she changed and the nickname faded away, replaced by simply Her Highness, or in private, Herself.  Soshi’s protegee and Brona might just have some things in common despite the vast differences in their stations.

Chapter 4

“You’re getting fat,” I said.

A single black ear briefly flicked my way before returning to its previous position.

“Oh, you’re okay with that are you?” I asked.

Tipton snorted in reply.  He has very expressive snorts.  Most are various ways of saying he’s happy.  This one was pretty sarcastic.

“Fine, be that way.  As a friend, I’m just trying to look out for you,” I said.  Both ears flicked back toward me, then went forward.  His walk might have picked up a little speed.

I talk to Tipton because I’ve had him most of my life and he’s one of my few constants.  I also talk to him when my mind is working on difficult problems and I need to distract myself.  Sometimes when I do this, new ideas or answers pop up all on their own.  It wasn’t working this morning.

Brona’s information had disturbed me right to my core.  If one of the three men she’d listed was a traitor, the kingdom was in trouble.  Putting a pair of teenagers near my princess and king was not the ideal solution, no matter how well trained they were or how dedicated.  My first instinct was to abduct all three men and question them at length, preferably with eslling help.

It was a bad instinct for at least three reasons.  First, it would totally alienate one or all of them to begin with.  It would be just like the Paul to send an agent with a false idea of a buried traitor just to get us fighting among ourselves.  Each of the three played a vital role in the kingdom, jobs for which they had been handpicked.  They were replaceable, but it would be a waste of enormous talent and possibly send the wrong messages to those around the king and princess, those who were loyal and dedicated.

Secondly, exposing a traitor was a wasted opportunity, at least according to Jella.  My battlemaster trainer always looked to make an opportunity out of every problem.  Feeding false information back to the Paul would be a tremendous help in weakening his plans.  I mentally check marked this point to circle back to, as there was something there even without knowing who or if a spy was among us.

The third reason was more practical. I didn’t have an eslling in my direct employ who would be useful for an abduction and question session.  That point was one I intended to remedy immediately, and plans were already underway.

Tipton walked us into the Knife and Needle’s courtyard and Welton was there to take his reins.

“Where’s your brother today?” I asked.

He grinned a wicked grin.  “He’s hauling wood for Mama and then for Aunt Sissa.”

“Isn’t that your job?”

He shrugged.  “Normally, but I had to come here. He doesn’t have a job at the moment,” he said with another cheeky grin.

“Fetch him.  His lack of employment has just changed,” I said.

The boy’s shoulders slumped as he realized his relief from his family chores was over, but his eyes flashed with interest.  “What’s he going to be doing?”

“That’s for me to tell him, O shadow of Shadows,” I said.  He grinned at that.  Our cook, Brin, had called him that from the time he could first toddle about, always following his father, Paddy, everywhere he went.  Then sadness washed away his humor and he looked at the ground.

“It’s really hard, isn’t it?” I asked.  He just nodded, his throat bobbing a little, then something occurred to him.

“For you too?” he asked, maybe surprised.

“I’ve known your father longer than you have, Welton, as well as your Uncle Ash.  Your dad was very important to us and your uncle was my right hand.”

“They’re not coming back, are they?”

“I won’t lie to you… It doesn’t look good.”

His expression went briefly bleak, then turned fierce, a mini-mirror of his father’s war face.  “We’ll kill them all, sir, won’t we?  All the woldlings!”

“That’s pretty much what we do, lad.  Now, see to Tipton, then fetch Brent please.”

“Yes sir,” he said, straightening and looking me in the eye.  Paddy’s sons were two of the best boys I had ever met.  And now I was about to task one of them with a job he was too young for, one that might snip his life cord before it had barely started to unroll.

Hemppe looked up from the keg of beer he was rolling toward the bar as I entered my inn.  He nodded toward my office, then continued his task.  Hemppe is a man of few words; his gestures and expressions say far more than his mouth.

I entered my office and found a rolled-up parchment, sealed with wax that bore a unique mark.  Rather than a signet ring or family crest, the mark was that of a local brewery, the same mark as the one on Hemppe’s keg.  Yesterday’s parchment had the mark of the bakery we used most often.  Tomorrow’s seal would be that of whichever winery we were featuring this week.  Bread, beer, and wine was a phrase the soldiers of the Ranged Reconnaissance Squadron used among themselves.  It was the answer to why we fight for our kingdom.

“For bread, beer, and wine.” 

The phrase began hundreds of years ago, according to Squadron legend.  One of the first special soldiers to serve the kingdom had been asked by a pompous member of the king’s high council if he took great pleasure in serving the High Families.  His response had been flippant.  “No, I work for bread, beer, and wine,” was his answer, which completely ruffled the nobleman’s feathers and resulted in disciplinary action, all of which pretty much guaranteed his words would immediately spread throughout the Squadron.

The truth is that we work for the kingdom, nobility be damned.  I’d had that concept thrown in my face a great deal when I first entered the Squadron.  It was rare for any member of the High Families of Montshire to go anywhere near the RRS.  Sons of nobility go into cavalry or heavy infantry, not special warfare.  I might have joined the RRS with excellent skills and toughness, but that didn’t mean the rest of my education wasn’t long and sometimes painful.

Hemppe used the phrase to code each day’s intelligence report.  If the mark had been altered or had an out of order vendor for that day, then I would know it had been opened or swapped out.  It wasn’t a perfect measure by any means, but just one of many ways we all worked to prevent Shadow secrets from falling into anyone else’s hands.

When I unrolled it, the report looked like a summary of alcohol, food, and lodging sales.  Short sentences that told which beer sold best or which rooms had been rented.  It was all code.  I could care less what mix of products Hemppe pushed through the Knife and Needle.  That was his job, and he was good at it.  Bottom lines were mine.  But this simple summary actually gave me the high points of intelligence reports gathered from assets throughout the kingdom and outside of it, collated by my inn manager and agent dispatcher.

A line that mentioned that Coal Diggers stout beer from Pug’s Keep, north of Wenkroy, was currently selling well told me that our asset in that town had been observing an uptick in Sylvanian activity, as that wretched country is well known for the flammable black rock.  Pug’s Keep was in a kind of neutral zone, north of Wenkroy, south of Drodacia, almost directly in between Montshire and Sylvania.  The independent town had survived for centuries by being a crossroads for trade between all four nations while beholden to none of them.  This was the kind of thing we looked for to figure out the Paul’s intentions.

The sentence that indicated that we had a room rental to a Berkette merchant wasn’t real.  It was an indication that a trade delegate from the Republic of Berkette was in Haven, likely to hold discussions with the king and the minister of commerce.

There were other coded mentions of Sylvanian activity in Mandrigo, Berkette, and Wenkroy.  Agents and supposed businessmen from the dark kingdom nosing around.  But it was a line about southeastern Drodacia that caught my eye, and it wasn’t even in code, just an FYI comment under the heading Knife’s news.

A corn farmer near Allby had lost a pig to predation a week ago.  That kind of thing happened to farmers all the time, but this was a Drodacian farmer.  Every citizen of that country is a skilled hunter.  This farmer couldn’t identify what had killed his pig, but was pretty sure it wasn’t a bear, cat, canine, or even giant fisher.  There were some odd creatures that came out of the wilds, but a big, unknown predator that could kill and haul away a heavy pig sounded most like a woldling.  Except only one pig of three was killed and taken.  Woldlings tend to travel in groups and mostly they are kept under close rein by their Lashes.  And they leave lots of sign. The only woldling that I had come across that operated singly was the one I called Silver Girl, and she was a definite exception.

There was nothing else to catch my eye, so I locked the report in my files and turned to the correspondence which had come during my time at the castle. There was a single letter from a business I had a relationship with in Lachia, and most of the rest were invitations to parties and galas.  The public reestablishment of my social standing by Brona and her father a bit more than a month ago had punched the intricate, ever-changing society circles in the gut.  None of the influencers who had so publicly shunned me during my supposed fall from grace knew exactly how to treat me.  The fact that I was back in obvious excellent position with the Warcans had left many a social climber shaken and anxious, the result being an inordinate number of invitations to society events.  I generally turned down most of them, albeit with a neutral response.  This time, there were two that I couldn’t so easily ignore.  One was a fundraiser for a widows and orphans group that I supported, as did Brona.  I would have to go to that one.  The other envelope carried a wax seal that I had known almost from birth—the DelaCrotia family crest.

Chapter 5

I broke the wax, opened the expensive parchment, and read:  You are forthwith summoned to the naming day of Gracid DelaCrotia’s newborn son and heir, Ircian DelaCrotia, on the anniversary of his thirtieth day of life.

It was a family event for my oldest brother’s newborn son… my nephew.  It seemed a little soon, as most naming days came after the first month of life to ensure the baby was hale and healthy.  But holding it on the thirty-day mark wasn’t unheard of, especially among the more aggressive and powerful families.  For my father’s heir to now have an heir was a big deal. It moved my second brother, Tallen, farther down the lines of family succession.  Not that it mattered to me—I wasn’t even in the line of succession.

My father’s signature was at the bottom, Rucian DelaCrotia, Lord of High Family DelaCrotia.  It wasn’t an invitation, but a summary command.  I doubt I would have received it if I still appeared to be out of favor, but now my father saw my presence as beneficial to the family standing.  Therefore, he was ordering me, from his position as head of the family, to attend.  Like he had any power over me.  I was already out of any inheritance, had not received support since I was fourteen, had been estranged from the family during my time in the military, been shunned during Brona’s spy ploy, and now he thought to command me.  Not likely.

I set both aside for consideration and then went to check with Soshi about Rose.

Two hours later and I was back on Tipton, headed for the castle, a young messenger riding by my side.  I glanced at the girl, although she didn’t look at all girlish at the moment. 

Rose is small, not even Soshi’s height, and my medical people who have examined her feel that while she is now in excellent health, her lack of nutrition as a very young child may have stunted her adult height.  That’s not certain, as she is young yet and eating the best of food, a condition that wouldn’t change if she were placed near Brona.  For all her lack of height, though, she made up for it in attitude.  Soshi had named her Rose, yet some of the boys called her Fisher, after the fierce carnivore of the forests.  Since the Punishment, the fishers of Nengled have gradually grown in average size, now regularly reaching the size of a hound.  Already an incredibly aggressive creature, the giant fisher thinks nothing of fighting full-sized war dogs and winning.  Our little Miss Rose had much of that attitude and even through her baggy boy clothing and hair-hiding cap, it still shone through in the way she carried herself.  Today, though, anyone seeing her slim form in unflattering clothes would likely think her just a confident lad.  Close examination might cause them to wonder at the boy’s smooth skin and delicate features, but no one should get that close to her while she was with me.

“Nervous?” I asked.

She was quiet for a moment.  Any of the boys we trained would have likely denied it immediately.  “A bit.  What if she doesn’t like me?”

“You are not there for Her Highness to like or dislike.  Your job will be to help protect her.”

“I know that.  But it always matters if a woman likes another woman.  It’s very hard to have someone around you all the time if you don’t like them.”

“Just be honest with her. Mind your training, keep your eyes and ears open, and tell her anything you see, hear, or even feel.”

“Yes sir,” she said.  For a street waif, she’d taken to our command structure and discipline rather well—within certain boundaries.  Failure to find sufficient direction for her formidable energy and intellect would result in boredom, followed quickly by chaos.

We were halfway to the castle when a pair of constables appeared through the crowd ahead of us, riding side by side.  Rather than move out of the way they studied us (me, really) and then just slowed to a stop, blocking the street.

“Look, if it isn’t the hero,” the taller of the two said to his buddy.

“Everyone’s savior in the night,” his partner said, her expression one of disdain.

“Yup, a right handy one with the poison,” the other said.

Beside me, I sensed Rose shifting in her saddle, straightening as if she were about to say something.  I tapped my left hand against my leg lightly. She settled back in her seat.

“And he’s leading yet another young boy down a dark path,” the woman said.  “Such a pretty boy too.”

That was about enough of that.  Having them focus on Rose was not what I wanted.

“Constables, I sense you have issue with me.  Are you asking for satisfaction?” I asked them.

“Satisfaction?” the man asked, confused. “Isn’t that what the boy provides?”

“He’s asking if we want to duel him,” the woman said, eyes locked on me, as I intended. Constables weren’t often challenged to duels.

“I’m fine with both of you at once,” I said.  “Give me your names and I’ll get clearance from the crown, all nice and legal.  You’re throwing plenty of insults at me; you should back them up properly.  Hell, the lord marshal, himself, can oversee it if it pleases you.”

“You’re challenging us?” the man asked, considering it.

“Don’t be a moron, Jed,” his partner said.

“We’d get to pick the weapons,” he said to her, starting to get excited.

“As if that would matter,” she said, sitting upright and clicking to her horse to move.  She rode at a diagonal, slightly in front of her partner, eyes on me.  “You stay safe now,” she said in a warning tone. After a second of indecision, her partner rode after her, frowning.

When they were past us, I started Tipton forward, Rose following my lead immediately.

“Why?” she asked.

“Why were they being assholes?”

“Yes, and why didn’t you just threaten them with reporting their behavior; why the duel thing?” she asked.

“Your first and second questions have the same answer… the lord marshal.  Threatening them with the crown would be seen as cowardly and would only encourage other constables to do the same.  But a duel would be the last thing they’d want.”

“Why the lord marshal, and other than you beating them badly, why would a duel be the worst thing?”

“If I brought a complaint to the crown, requesting a duel for my honor, the reasons would have to be announced in His Majesty’s open court.  Insulting me for my service to the kingdom would likely piss off the king and embarrass Kiven Armstrong, who has been angry with me since my fall from grace and even more so since Ash, his nephew, went missing.”

She was silent as she absorbed all that.  “The constables are throwing you dung because the lord marshal has a bone to pick?”

“He leads the city’s constable force among his other duties.  His opinion of me wouldn’t be a secret. Dung flows downhill.”

“Does he not realize your disgrace was just a ploy by the princess and the king?”

“He’s a smart man; I’m sure he does.  But he loves his nephew and blames me for his death.  Anger often makes even smart people lose their better judgement, as does power.  And Kiven has always had something against me.”

“If Her Highness puts me to work, I’ll have to keep an ear and eye open for what he says and does,” she said.

“Yes, but you must do that with everyone else as well.”

We arrived at the castle’s front gateway and were let through without delay, my stock among the royal guards much higher than among Haven’s law enforcement officials. I led Rose through the hallways to the royal offices and into Brona’s antechamber.

Her secretary, Marda, looked up and frowned at me, as did a number of waiting hopefuls seated about the room.  “She’s busy.”

“I have important information, Marda.”

“You always do, Captain,” Brona’s formidable secretary said.  Marda is rather plain in appearance, which I think causes some to ignore her or discount her.  That’s a mistake.  She’s very sharp, a keen observer, and tough as nails.  Brona backs her completely.  If she really wanted to keep me at bay, I’d be facing master-level stonewalling.

“Let me check,” she said, her eyes flicking over Rose in her messenger gear before she pushed back from her desk.  She gave me a hard look as she entered the princess’s office.

Rose and I stood where we were and waited, ignoring the stares of the other folks in the waiting room.

A minute or two later, Marda opened the door.  “She’ll see you,” was all she said, slipping back out as we went in.

Brona wasn’t behind her desk, instead waiting by her fireplace, staring into the flames. She wore a light blue dress with her hair up in a businesslike bun.  She turned when I closed the door, her eyes immediately going to Rose, who curtsied as soon as the princess looked her way.

“Stop.  Stand up like you were,” Brona said, eyes narrowing in focus as she studied the girl.  Approaching, she moved in a circle around Rose, who stood stock still, looking straight ahead.

Studying the girl in boy’s clothes, the princess stopped by my side, almost in front of Rose.

“Take off your cap,” she ordered, although her voice was mild.  Rose did as directed. “And let down your hair.”

Rose unpinned her hair and shook it out to its full shoulder length.

“Hmm, you are pretty,” Brona mused, moving directly in front of the girl.

“Thank you, Your Highness,” Rose said, eyes straight ahead like she was a soldier.

“Just telling it like it is.  Take off your jacket, Rose,” Brona said.

Rose complied without hesitation, which I knew would win her points—or at least not detract any. Brona hates indecision.

Clad in a light linen shirt, her feminine curves were no longer hidden.  “You, my dear, are petite, yet perfectly proportioned.  Savid says you are capable with a blade.”

“I am trained with knife, short sword, stick, staff, and short spear.  Battlemaster Jella has also spent time training me in her unarmed techniques.  And Soshi allows that I am passable with a crossbow,” Rose said, still staring straight ahead.

“Words of praise from one of our deadliest snipers,” Brona said.  “Okay, let’s have a seat, shall we.  I wanted to get a look at you just as you are, but let’s all relax.  Savid, Marda left me a pot of caffe… Would you pour?”  She took a seat in one of the chairs near the fire, directing Rose to the one across from her with a wave.

“Of course, Your Highness,” I said.

“Enough with the formality.  He’s only being like that because he doesn’t want you to get bad habits already.”

“I wouldn’t, Your Highness,” Rose said, sitting stiffly.

“I don’t believe you would, Rose.  But let’s just talk.  Savid says you are good with math?”

“Yes, Highness.  When I was little, I hung around the money man for my den.  I learned numbers from him, and he put me to work adding up the daily take.  He said I have a gift for rapid addition and subtraction.”

From a side table by her chair, Brona picked up a piece of paper and handed it to Rose.  “Does this look accurate to you?”

“No, Highness, it’s off by one,” the girl said instantly.  I could see the paper as I brought three cups of caffe over, and on it was a column of about twenty numbers with a total.

“One too many or too little?”

“One short, Your Highness.”

Brona nodded and handed her another paper.  This one was a ledger, but with numerous written entries next to each number.  Standard reporting method for a farm or estate.  The comments explained each number to the reader.

“What do you think of this report?”

Rose read it, her brow beginning to furrow after a moment.  “It doesn’t make sense to me, Highness.  The words say the crop yields are up, slightly, month over month, but the numbers are in different units of measure.  The yield actually went down if this is right, once you convert the measures.”

“Excellent,” Brona said.  “Tell me, do you speak any other languages?”

“I know a little Lachian, Highness.  The money man was Lachian and he taught me so he could make comments that the crew chiefs wouldn’t understand.  Trell has been speaking it with me to bring it back and improve my vocabulary.”

“Better and better,” the princess said, leaning back, her eyes studying Rose but her mind far away.  After a moment, Rose finally glanced my way, then back to the princess.  Brona smiled.

“Rose, do you have a last name?”

“Not that I remember, but Soshi said I can use hers,” the girl said. “Leighton.”

“Do you understand what that means?” Brona asked.

“That she’s adopted me, Highness.  That my behavior and actions reflect upon her name,” Rose said, sitting up a tiny bit straighter as she did.

“True.  So, Rose Leighton, I find myself in need of a personal assistant, particularly with regards to business.  The candidate must be good with numbers, with strong reading and writing skills, and able to listen and observe carefully.  Most important, the candidate must share everything she learns with me, be absolutely loyal, and guard my privacy as well as my person.  Does that sound like a job you could handle?”

“Yes, Highness.  I will tell you everything.  But this candidate will also be ready should you need her blade,” Rose said.

“We will test your abilities with the blade, or I should say, my bodyguard Salis will.  Does that scare you?”

“I would love a chance to practice with a Wenkroy warrior, Highness.”

Brona turned to me.  “You were right.  She could be a definite asset,” she said.  Then she turned back to Rose.  “Forget you heard me tell him he was right.  It goes to his head and he becomes insufferable… more insufferable.”

“Your Highness, I have no idea what you mean?  I never heard you say anything about him being right,” Rose said.

“Ah, perfect.  You’ll do.  Rose, let’s have you get back into boy disguise so you can leave with Savid.  Go home and pack your things.  Return tomorrow morning at nine and present yourself to Marda out front.  Wear a dress. You’ll be living here in the castle, near my suite.  Clothing, meals, and expenses will be provided, as well as a living wage.  Oh, and bring that messenger outfit with you, but pack it away.  It may be useful while you can still pass for a lad, although I doubt that will be an option for too much longer.”

“What about Brent?” I asked.

“He presented himself to Cal this morning,” she replied, referring to her father’s seneschal.

“Do you know Brent, Rose?”

“Yes, Your Highness.  We train… trained and schooled together.”

“Very good, but I want you to pretend you don’t know each other.  He is known to be associated with Savid.  Kiven will definitely recognize his nephew’s nephew.  But I want you to be unknown.  Leighton is a relatively common surname.  You, my dear, are from a family in Rattle.  Your father is a factor at one of my apple orchards there.  You learned from helping him and showed promise.  I recently visited there, so I will say you caught my attention and I had you brought here.  Marda will go over the rest of your backstory tomorrow morning.  Bring writing supplies; you’ll be hitting the ground at a dead run.  Got it?”

“Yes, Highness,” Rose said. She had just put her cap back on and now she stood so straight, she could have passed for a soldier.

“Hmm, we need to relax that military demeanor that Savid always seems to drill into anyone he spends more than two hours with.  Also, bring only your personal knives and always keep them very well hidden.  A small belt knife for sharpening your pens can be visible, but your deadlier claws need to be well hidden.”

“Yes, Highness.  As hidden as they currently are?” Rose asked.  It was almost a challenge.  Brona glanced at me, her mouth twitching, then she deliberately took the bait, leaning close to study the smallish girl.

“Left forearm?” she guessed, frowning.

“No, Highness.”

“Okay, then I don’t see any.  Where?”

“Primary blades are in sheaths on both thighs.  My pants pockets have pass-throughs to my legs and are baggy enough to hide them.  I also have a throwing knife hanging down the back of my shirt, and a small, extremely sharp blade in a special pants pocket at the small of my back.”

“Formidable, but you’ll be wearing dresses?”

“I usually do.  I have a number of special sheaths and harnesses for dresses.”

“Your people are well equipped,” Brona said to me.

“Soshi and Jella designed most of them, Highness, and Mrs. Newberry sews them,” Rose said.  “All of the girls at the Knife and Needle have been trained and have at least two knives.”

“Taking such good care of your ladies, Savid,” Brona teased me.  Rose blushed slightly as she caught the innuendo.

“Okay, that’ll have to do.  I actually don’t have any more time,” the princess said.

“Right.  We’ll head out then,” I said, satisfied that she was satisfied.  As I closed the door behind us, she caught my eye, mouthing a silent thank you.  What do you get a princess who has everything?  Brona loved nothing more than a new spy.  Now it was time to see about acquiring one for myself.

Chapter 6

Trell seemed a little nervous as we approached the target, which had me wondering.  He had taken relatively well to the world of intelligence; bard training being heavily geared toward information gathering as it was.  But he still wasn’t all that good at physical confrontations despite the workouts we were putting him through.  But somehow, today’s nerves didn’t seem like they were a fear of violence but rather something else. 

The restaurant was quite nice, located on the other side of Haven from the Knife and Needle. In fact, it was almost as far away as you could physically be from my inn and still be inside the city borders. 

I couldn’t be certain our target was here, the material I had to Find from being almost nil.  Just a tea mug that the target had briefly touched.  Trell had taken it from the shop where it belonged, showing excellent instincts.  I would have thought the touch on a mug wouldn’t have worked, but it did.  Again, I wondered if Trell himself wasn’t part of that reason.

Cautiously, we entered the Velvet Egg, which was rumored to have the best egg-based cuisine in Haven, even for dinner entrees.  Trell went first, while I hung back. The dining room was bright and clean, polished oak flooring, white-washed tabletops, and lots of afternoon sunlight flooding in the windows.  Upscale and inviting.  The owner himself met Trell, but the musician explained he was meeting someone and could already see her sitting at a table by herself.

Moving quickly, Trell stepped over to a table with a very attractive young woman with jet black hair who looked up, shocked.  He sat in a smooth motion, using the grace he displayed while dancing, rather than the awkwardness that characterized his attempts at combat.

The girl froze, her whole body tense, then she slowly turned her head and spotted me by the entrance.  I nodded and waited.  She didn’t glance around as most operatives would, instead holding my eyes for a moment while Trell spoke rapidly.  After a moment, she nodded, eyes still locked on me.  Now I approached the table.  The owner started to intercept me, recognized me, but stopped when I waved him off. 

“Hi. Kassa, is it?” I said, pulling out a chair and sitting.

“Captain DelaCrotia,” she said, her tone extremely cautious.

“Please call me Savid.  We’re just hoping for a moment to chat.  Your friend Trell here spoke for you, but I wanted to meet you myself.”

She nodded but didn’t speak, her eyes flicking side to side.

“It’s just the two of us.  No one else,” I said, knowing she would Read the truth of my words.

She looked at Trell, then back at me.  A microfrown flashed across her pretty brow.  “You have a Finder?” she asked.

“You are adept at hiding,” I said, not fully answering her question. 

Sneaking up on a Reader is hard.  Trell had told me what she had said when my murder had rescued him from a questioning that she had been hired to help out with.  Our standard anti-eslling shielding techniques had worked fine, removing our minds from the bodies around us.  But they had also left a kind of blank hole in the thought patterns of people around the building where he was being kept. Kassa had actually detected those blanks.  Kind of extraordinary, really; I doubt even Oscar would have noticed that.  So we had used a slightly different approach today, bringing two of the girls from the Knife and Needle as cover, like we were on dates or something.  A bit of playacting to keep our minds focused on fun thoughts, even as I followed the traces Kassa had left on the mug and perhaps on Trell himself.

Terry and Corell were enjoying maple sugar treats at the confectioners across the street, neither of them ever knowing our mission, which left only two minds to alert Kassa.  Trell, at my suggestion, had concentrated on the words to a song he was composing while I ran a list of financial numbers through my head as we got closer to Kassa’s spot.

“Captain, may we offer you something?” the owner asked, having decided he couldn’t ignore the opportunity.  In a lot of ways, being out of favor socially had been a boon to my true trade as a Shadow.  Being a minor celebrity in Haven has numerous downfalls.

“Just caffe, if you have any fresh, good sir.  We will only be intruding on your lovely customer for a few moments,” I said.

He nodded and backed away, picking up on my desire for privacy.

“I would have been fine without your personal attention to this,” Kassa said, eyes locked on me like I was a death rattler.

“Ah, but I wouldn’t.  I have two purposes for meeting you, Kassa.  First, I wanted to make my own determination of your sincerity, despite Trell’s generally excellent judgement.”

“Generally?” she asked.

“He can be swayed by a pretty face,” I said with a shrug.

“I am sincerely sorry to find myself on the wrong side of the crown,” she said, putting much emotion into her words.

“I believe you are, which brings me to my second purpose.  A job offer,” I said.

She froze again.  “One that I can’t turn down?”

“Nope, not at all.  I would love to have you assist me in protecting the kingdom and the crown, but you are completely free to turn me down.  However, you will need to be absolutely certain you don’t fall in with the wrong crowd again.  The crown believes in second chances—but not thirds.”

“Was Trell offered the same option?” she asked.

“I’m guessing you already know the answer,” I said.  “But everyone’s circumstances are different.  He wasn’t as lucky as you.”

Trell shrugged.  “It is my honor to serve the crown.  Pays well, and the benefits are great.”

She looked at him, eyebrows raised.  “You really believe that?”

“We’re defending the kingdom and yes… Savid takes really good care of his people.  My profession and training make me snoopy.  I snooped too much, but I’ve always wanted to serve my country; that’s why I became a bard in the first place.  This not only makes that possible but at a level I would never have dreamed of. Plus, I’m at the center of so much history being made that my songs will be famous forever.”

She sat back, eyes moving from him to me and then down to her mug.  “I make a good living doing what I do,” she said.

Ah, negotiations—excellent.  “You’ll find that we pay well too and provide innumerable benefits.”

“And by that, he means both the actual and implied support of the crown, as well as actual monetary benefits,” Trell said.  “Expenses paid, allowances for equipment, in some cases room and board.  We have our own healers who can tend wounds and ailments, and over time, ownership in businesses run by our organization.”

“Equipment?  I don’t really need any of that, now do I?” she asked, her manner mildly dismissive.  I caught the fact that she didn’t mention the expenses, healers, or business opportunities in the same manner, nor did she ask for explanations of them.

“Your dress is very nice, by the way,” I said.  It was burgundy, tailored of fine wool, and set off her black hair and creamy white skin in excellent fashion.  Her lips were the exact same shade of red as the dress.

“Thank you?” she questioned.

“Not inexpensive.  Dressing well to fit into the places we would want to send you costs money, but is necessary, just as Trell must have the proper quality instruments to play where he plays.  We would reimburse you and you would, of course, keep the clothes.”

Her right eyebrow twitched ever so slightly. Kassa liked quality, as shown by her clothing, choice of restaurants, and even the manner she held herself.  She could easily mimic the customs and manners of the nobility, and probably enjoyed doing it.

“I don’t expect you to answer right away.  It’s a decision that has consequences.  If you join us, you would be expected to keep sensitive information from all others, even if you left our employ.”

“I can join but never leave?”

“I just said that you could leave… you just can’t tell, sell, or trade our secrets.  We can’t have that,” I said.

“And you found me easily this time, so I would expect you could find me again,” she said, making it a statement.

I nodded.  “Listen, I have places to be.  I’ll leave Trell to explain more as well as buy your meal,” I said, rising just as the owner approached with a tray of mugs.

“I can’t stay, good sir, but my associate will join the lady for dinner,” I said with a smile.  He simply nodded and put Trell’s caffe on the table.

Outside, I collected Terry and Correll from the candy shop, each brushing bits of maple sugar off their hands and dresses.  Correll had a small cloth sack in one hand.

“We picked up some for Brin and the others at the Knife,” she said.

“Good idea. Let’s head back.  Trell will stay behind.”

“Okay,” Correll said.  “And we decided that anytime you need us for this kind of undercover work, we’re ready to help out.”

“Oh, so you’ll help when the job calls for eating delicious food, but not when things are dirty and uncomfortable?” I asked.

“Well, yeah,” Terry said, with a glance at her coworker. “We prefer the food to dirt.  Wet and cold are out too.”

I was pretty sure they would help under almost any conditions, but they weren’t Shadows and it would be wrong to use them as operatives.  But this little outing had worked perfectly.

We were almost to the Knife and Needle when another female approached, this one wearing the skins and weapons of Drodacia. 

“Hi, Jella,” my companions greeted her, moving on ahead as I slowed down.  Meeting away from the Knife and Needle meant she wanted a really private word.

“Battlemaster,” I greeted her, which caused an eyebrow to raise.  I’m generally not all that formal with her these days.

“We have an issue,” she said.  “Yawl caught the scent of a woldling outside Haven’s walls.  We tracked it but it’s extremely cagey—and all by itself.”

“You’re sure there are no others?” I asked, regretting my words as soon as I said them.  Her look of disdain was the only answer I was likely to get.  “How did you lose it, then?”

“It actually covered its tracks: traveled on rocks and by waterways as well as high in the trees.”

“What?” I asked stupidly.  It was just that woldlings are many things: dangerously strong and fast, deadly fighters, and ferociously aggressive.  But they weren’t crafty and cunning.  At least not usually.  In fact, the only one I had come across like that was the one silver-furred female we had tangled with in Pit.

“It’s not her,” Jella said, reading my expression.

“Another eslling woldling?”

“There is no sign of Talent, Savid, just very good woodscraft and intelligence,” she said.

“What path did it take?”

She understood my question.  “It’s circled Haven at least twice, pausing to watch the city numerous times.  I think it’s trying to find a way in.”

Woldlings could sneak, they could ambush, and even evade when they were scared enough to run.  But undetected infiltration?  I had never seen it.  Woldlings could and would scale a wall and kill guards before attacking a town or city.  But they weren’t spies, or operatives like RRS.  Their ingrained aggression made that degree of patience impossible… or at least it had so far.

“I don’t like this… new smart woldlings or woldlings with eslling talents,” I said.

“The silver one was extremely unique, more valuable than that woman Lash,” Jella said, “which makes me think she is one of a kind.  This one is different.  It’s careful and smart. We found one deer carcass, hung up in a tree.  The sign showed it had returned to the carcass several times to feed, rather than try to kill another deer.”

Woldlings are not great hunters, at least of natural-born animals with excellent senses and hard-won wariness.  They have no ingrained hunting instincts, just what they learn from each other, and usually they die too young to learn and teach a great deal.  They also don’t plan. This was like an entirely different kind of woldling—seemingly capable of planning.  And for it to evade both Jella and Yawl for several days was incredible.

“There was a report of a pig taken from a Drodacian farm.  Just one pig, and the farmer couldn’t identify the predator,” I said.

Her single brow raised again as she thought about it.  “Where?”

“Almost directly between here and Sylvania,” I said.

“I left Yawl outside; she’s following it.  But I want to get back out there, so you need to ratchet up the Shadows and alert your princess.”

“The Shadows are already on the alert, just for different reasons,” I said, then explained Lady Rubella Dominick’s code phrase attempts.

She stared at me, her tricky mind deep in thought.  “You might need more candidates for the Lash to query,” she finally said.

“That’s what Brona said.  The sticky part is that her imprisonment is a secret.  Even the king’s council doesn’t know about it.  Believe me: There would be noise if the High Families found out.”

“Well, there’s your answer… leak the info and see who insists on seeing her,” Jella said as if it were obvious.  “If she’s wrung out for intel, use her for bait.”

“The dry goat gets tethered?” I asked, throwing out a favorite Drodacian saying.  Goats are a favored livestock in that rugged mountain country.

“Of course.  You’re going to eat the goat, anyway. Might as well lure in the little wolves before you start the roast.”

“Hmm, that idea has merit, although it’s not without risks,” I said.

She cuffed at my head but I leaned back, my eyes watching her torso to pick up on any other potential strikes.

“You must always take risks,” she admonished.  “Now, I must liberate supplies from your cook before I head back out.”

“Talk about taking risks,” I said.

“Truth.  Your Brin is fierce with her cleaver.”

Chapter 7

“Savid, dear. You came,” Mother said, finding me within moments of my arrival.

“Family duty, Mother, and all that,” I said.

“Bumppets!  Since when did that matter?” she asked.  My mother knew me too well.

“In truth, Brona insisted,” I said.  “She said that it was an important event and if she was representing the crown, then I could damned well back her up when she faced the DelaCrotia wolves.”

My mother laughed.  “That sounds like her, although I think she is easily capable of facing all of the DelaCrotia men at the same time,” she said.  Then she leaned close.  “Athough, rumor has it that the crown has imprisoned Lady Dominick.  She might face some venom without her father here to back her up.”

“She has plenty of antidote, Mother,” I said, refusing to bite on her bait.  “Ah, here comes the proud father of the hour.”

My brother, Gracid, was arrowing straight for us, a smug look on his puffy face.  Heads turned as other guests settled in to observe our meeting.

“I’d ask you not to encourage the servants, Mother, but I see this one is transporting fine jewelry beyond his worth,” my brother greeted us as he stepped close, his eyes locked on my chest where the Kingdom Cross hung on its blue and white sash over my formal attire.

“Isn’t this what you wear to a one-month-old’s birthday?” I asked.

“But whatever will you wear to the next one?” a new voice asked.  My other brother, Tallen, had joined the fray.

“Anything but that,” Gracid said, frowning.  “Really, Savid, must you upstage your own nephew’s naming day?”

“Ah, but I was commanded to appear for the honor of the clan,” I said.  “Bearing all trappings of family status.”

“Why are you all clumped up together… you should be treating with guests,” my father interrupted.  “Ah, Savid.  Good; you wore the damned thing for once.”

“We just all gravitate to Mother,” Tallen said offhandedly.

“Well, gravitate to the damned guests,” Rucian DelcaCrotia said.  “This gathering is costing a ton of good steel. The least we can do is work the crowd.  Gracid, come talk with Bishop Miller so we can get this show underway.”

He led Gracid toward the head of the Church of the Apostle of the Punished, who was honoring the family by blessing Ircian on his name day.

“Play nice, you two. I must greet Lady Olden, who is much distraught at the news of Lady Dominick,” Mother said, sweeping away in a cloud of perfume.

I turned to my second brother, finding him staring at me with a hard look in his eyes.  It disappeared almost as soon as I saw it, but I swear for a moment he was either angry with me or hated me, or both.

“I trust you enjoy your freedom from the reins of duty,” he said.

“You imagine me to be free of duty?” I asked, incredulous.

“Oh, don’t spout off about that duty to the crown nonsense… We all have that.  I’m talking about the bonds of family obligation that Father so neatly released you from,” he said, waving a hand as if to sweep away my life’s obligations as inconsequential.

“You only have a family to be obligated to because the Paul’s been kept from feeding this entire lot to his pets,” I said, keeping my voice low.

“Ouch. I think I fanned a coal,” he said with a languid smile.  “Enjoy the refreshments, Savid. I’ll make sure the servants keep your cup full.”  He moved off as if he were scraping me from his presence like horse dung from his shoes.  This was exactly why I hadn’t wanted to come to this damned thing.

People nearby were staring at me, but they looked away when I looked back at them.  Then a commotion near the ballroom door captured everyone’s attention.  Brona had arrived, fashionably late as always.  She had explained the lateness to me once, long ago.  She’d said that royalty needed to arrive last to allow everyone else time to get to the gathering, gala, or party, as arriving after the crown was a grave breach of decorum.

She came through the door in a whirl of activity, shining in a white dress with dark blue accents that drew the eye and almost made you miss the tough Wenkroy warrior by her side and the small form of Rose, who wore a dark blue dress with white accents.  My first thought was that I had tried to protect Brona and ended up getting her an accessory for her wardrobe.  But I shook that thought as I watched how closely Rose was watching the people who approached Her Royal Highness.

First in line were my father and eldest brother.  Rucian said something that I couldn’t hear that made Brona’s smile tighten, even though he wore a smile of his own.  Even money that he had greeted her, complimented her looks, and then slid in a comment about Lady Dominick.

Beside my father, Gracid stiffened slightly, then waved his wife, Camella, over with the baby, Ircian, in her arms.  Bishop Miller trailed along behind her, as he had no doubt been going over her lines for the ceremony.  Camella was pretty and petite, but not the sharpest pin in the pack.  Her family were important traders in foodstuffs and spices but had fallen on bad times.  Father, sensing weakness, had arranged the marriage and thus gained control of their valuable networks and resources.

Brona exclaimed exuberantly over little Ircian, who I had to admit was kind of cute.  Must take after his mother.

Kiven Armstrong wasn’t far behind Bishop Miller in greeting the princess, and I saw Rose tighten up ever so slightly.

“Somehow, I think this is easier for me than you,” a familiar voice said next to me.

“Lord Sampson,” I greeted him. “I’m told that family can be rewarding… I’m just trying to figure out who is offering the rewards and how much they want for them.”

“Now, now, Savid. Surely not all of them are so onerous?” Lord Sampson admonished.

“Oh, no. My mother and Jolanna are treasures, but I wouldn’t turn down a little treasure for some of the others,” I said.

He happened to be taking a sip of red wine and almost choked on it.  I patted his back as he sputtered a bit, waving a hand at the few faces that turned our way in either concern or annoyance.

“You have your grandfather’s sense of humor,” he said when he had recovered.  By that, I knew he was referring to Lord Reis Leica, my mother’s father and not Lord Arcan DelaCrotia, my father’s father, now deceased.  Although it was said that Grandfather Arcan had possessed much more humor than his son.

“You know, I believe he must be around here somewhere, but I have yet to run into him,” I said, glancing around for my grandfather. When I turned back, I saw my mother and sister had joined the greeters of Her Royal Highness, who was already moving about the crowd.

“Oh, he is,” Lord Sampson said.  “He’s back in the corner by the wine pouring station.”

“Ah, that makes sense,” I said.  “He would probably offer a reward, himself.”

Lord Sampson laughed out loud just as the swirl of people that surrounded Brona arrived at our position.  “Ha, Lord Sampson,” the crown princess of Montshire said, all attention still on her even as her attention was now on us.  “I keep saying that Savid has a wicked sense of humor, but no one believes me.  It’s gratifying that you have provided a measure of support to my argument,” she said.

“Oh, Your Highness, people have no idea!” Lord Sampson said, gallantly kissing her hand. It was shocking, stunning the entire crowd to silence.  Once upon a time, people touched hands to greet one another, regularly.  And there was a time, long before that, at least according to the church, when some men kissed the backs of women’s hands.  The illnesses of the Punishment put an end to that. “Probably something about his dangerous appearance, but suffice it to say that I always seek him out at events such as this.  His outlook always brightens my own.”

“You know, Victor, I find him much the same,” Brona said, smiling brilliantly at the small lord who had just given her the highest token of honor and trust that could be bestowed: to kiss the hand of a person who was not family, not a lover.

The room had gone completely still, breathless, as the crown princess turned my way, her elegant eyebrow raised as if to ask how will you top that?

It was easy—and simultaneously went against everything I’ve ever been taught. I kissed her hand too, the same hand, on the same spot that he had.  I trust you, Princess, so implicitly that I trust whoever you trust. 

Sampson’s dark face lit with an absolutely delighted smile, the very definition of ear to ear.

“See, Highness?  Never a dull moment,” Lord Sampson said, breaking the silence that gripped the room.

“That, my dear lord, is an understatement,” she said, her own smile stunning.  Then she turned back to my brother and his wife, my father, and the bishop, who were staring at us, shocked.  “I have, no doubt, kept everyone waiting long enough,” she said.

Bishop Miller recognized his cue, even if my family members stood stock still.  “Ahem, yes, Highness, while we would never agree that you have caused even a moment’s delay, it is, perhaps, time that we bestow this young one’s rightful name upon his brow.”

His words kicked the room into action, voices raising and bodies moving as Gracid belatedly stepped forward to direct everyone to the chapel alcove at the far end of the room.  Like those of most wealthy families, the DelaCrotia mansion in Haven had its own chapel tucked away behind pocket doors that normally stood closed, looking like just part of the wall.  But in times of danger, either man-made or simply bad weather from God, the family could safely uncover the chapel and hold service in complete safety. 

“Brothers and sisters under God, we gather here tonight,” Bishop Miller began almost as soon as he made it into the small chapel alcove and turned to face the guests, “to celebrate new life, a gift from our creator just as he has gifted us in the centuries since he Punished our forebears.  The arrogance of man knew no bounds as the Punished sought to create and remake life with their own flawed hands. They twisted God’s very codes of nature and sought to form new, never seen, and never-intended life as well as building corrupted imitations of God’s work from metal, crystal, and lightning. But God turned their abominations against them, wiping the world clean and remaking it as it is now, with clear ice to the north, the storm-swept freshwater sea to the west, and vast, unforgiving oceans south and east.  When the meek and the humble crawled from their caves and tunnels, they found a land laid bare—reset by God.  Then He touched them with mercy, allowing new, innocent life to be born.” The bishop took Ircian from his father’s arms and held the baby up in a symbolic offering to Heaven, then lowered him back down, smiling warmly at the tiny child.

“Who offers this child to God?” he asked suddenly, dark eyes now serious, scanning about the room.

“We do,” Gracid and Camella said in such perfect unison that I knew they had practiced rigorously.

“Who will see this child protected, taught, and grown to follow God’s way, knowing that God watches and judges each of us on our actions and oaths?” the bishop asked.

The entire room, Lord Sampson, Brona, and I, answered, “We will,” following the ancient ceremony.  Even the servants holding trays of food and drink answered in unison with the guests, as did Salis and Rose.

“Then know that this boy, named before God as Ircian Tetro DelaCrotia, is your charge under the eyes of Heaven,” Bishop Miller intoned.  Tetro?  That suck-ass Gracid had given him the same middle name as our father’s.  How could I still be surprised by my brother’s transparent pandering after all these years?

“Ah-man!” chorused through the vast space of the ballroom.

Bishop Miller, beaming with delight, kissed Ircian on his tiny forehead and handed the babe back to his mother.  Instantly, my mother, sister, and a dozen other ladies surrounded Camella, cooing over the baby.

“You never cease to surprise, Savid,” Brona said softly in my ear, then swept forward to part the sea of women and bestow her own royal blessings upon the baby.

“Maybe you two should have been the bards,” another voice said, causing Lord Sampson and me to turn.  Trell, lute in hand, was standing just behind us with a grin on his face.  “There is no way I would want follow that act,” he said.

“The bishop has years of experience,” Sampson said.

“I was speaking of you two,” Trell said.

“Bah, simply two men, one old, one young, fawning over a beautiful woman.  I believe it has happened a time or two before and will happen countless times again,” Sampson said.  “Now, I see poor Lady Olden looking lost and lonely.  Excuse me.” 

“You never even hesitated,” Trell said as the older man moved away.  “Utterly brilliant, Savid.”

Another man approached us, stifling my response.  “Lord Marshal,” I said.

“Sergeant DelaCrotia,” Kiven Armstrong responded, ignoring Trell altogether. I’d resigned from His Majesty’s service as a captain, but my final rank could be said to be that of sergeant, as my demotion by King Helat technically took place after I resigned.  Most people these days used my officer’s rank now that I was restored in the eyes of the crown.  Brona was having paperwork prepared for her father’s signature that would revoke the demotion.  But Kiven was pretty clear in his intent.

Trell, sensing extreme tension between two large men, slipped backward, giving us room.  He wasn’t abandoning me, just doing what we had been training him to do.  In fact, he actually stepped back and slightly sideways, putting him more to Kiven’s side.  That movement was not lost on the lord marshal, who gave him a hard sideways look.

“What do you want, Kiven?” I asked, snapping his attention back to me.

“I hear you’ve been threatening my constables,” he said, voice low to avoid anyone hearing it.

“I asked them if they sought satisfaction.  They didn’t.  They should learn to control their words.”

“They’re officers of the law. They don’t duel.”

“No, they just throw insults as if they are immune to the consequences.  You need to teach them manners.”

“Each is charged with keeping peace and order in the capital of this kingdom,” Kiven said.  “For that, they are spit upon and slighted, yet they maintain their integrity and high morals.”

I laughed.  “Do they?  Maybe a few, but there are those among them who take steel to look the other way, and some who actively participate in the very crimes they are sworn to prevent.”

“Now it is you who throws insults.  If you had a lick of evidence, you’d back up your claims.”

“I have plenty of evidence, but sharing it will endanger those who really protect this kingdom,” I said.

A set of shadows falling over us in the well-lit room announced the arrival of others.

“Gentlemen, I’m pleased to find you both in one spot,” the crown princess said, her voice firm enough to belie her words.

Kiven held my eyes for a moment, then drew in a breath and turned to Brona, and a second later, so did I.

“You are both vital to this kingdom, and I will not have you at each other’s throats,” Brona almost whispered, her mouth smiling, her green eyes hard as emeralds.

“This man sullies the honor of my people,” Kiven said. 

“Marshal, we have already spoken of this.  You know that Savid has the faith and confidence of the crown and always has.  What went before was theater, yet you continue as if it wasn’t.”  She spoke so quietly that I, who was only a span from her, could barely hear her.  “As to your nephew, Ash was a soldier of this kingdom and he went on his mission on my orders, approved by my father.”

“Everything okay here?” my father asked, approaching rapidly, clearly eager to stick his nose into it. A group of nobles crowded just behind him.

“Fine, Rucian. Everything is fine,” Brona said.

“Ah, wonderful. Then I feel much better asking my next question.  I… we have a question regarding Lady Rubella Dominick.  Is she by any chance in the castle dungeon?”

Brona appeared surprised, caught off guard.  She looked at each of the people around my father.  In addition to my brothers, Lady Olden was there, along with Lady Kardian, Lord Sampson, Lord Samuel, as well as Bascomb Porter, heir to the Porter family.

“This is the kind of question you’d ask at your grandson’s Name Day?” Brona asked.

Father shrugged.  “Better here than in your father’s court.”

“Actually, I will have to insist that you ask His Majesty your questions.  Kingdom justice is his to dispense,” the princess said, looking down as she tugged on her sleeves at each wrist.

“Hmm, I think we might better bring it to the king’s council,” Rucian said, watching her closely.

She looked up and met his eyes.  “As you think appropriate, my lord.  Now, it’s getting late.  Rose, what is next on my schedule?”

Rose, who looked very different from her boy persona, answered without looking at her notebook.  “Highness, you agreed to stop in at the Bonlee gala, sometime between eight and nine,” she said clearly.

Mentally I applauded Rose’s judgement.  Putting the Highness at the beginning rather than the end of her sentence was a nice reminder of Brona’s position to everyone listening.

“Then I’ll just pay my respects to your lady wife and be on my way,” she said with a sniff. She turned and glided across the floor to my mother and sister, who were still clustered around Camella and the baby.

I personally thought she was right on the verge of overacting, but the audience was eating it up.  Father and his group turned in on itself, speaking together just quietly enough to foil my hearing.  A tug on my arm turned me around.

“Welton?  What is it?” I asked.

“Pardon me, Captain, Lord Marshal sir,” the boy said, his face flushed from exertion, his breath fast. “She sent me to you.  Said to tell you that it was in the city and to come fast.”

“You can guide me?”

He nodded, still catching his breath. 

“You ran here?”  He nodded again.  “Okay, go get Tipton from the grooms.  Mount up and meet me out front.” He nodded once and turned, slipping among guests and servers with youthful agility.  I saw Rose take note of the boy, leaning in to whisper to the princess.

“What do you have my nephew’s wife’s relation involved in?” Kiven demanded.

“He’s just acting as a messenger,” I said.  “But you should know that a woldling has entered the city.  I’m going to collect it now.”

“What?” he demanded, voice loud enough to turn heads.  He noticed the interest and reined himself in.  “I’m going with you!” he hissed, much quieter.

“Fine. Get your horse and let’s get after this thing.” 

Across the room, Brona was watching me.  I twitched the fingers of my right hand.  Her head nodded, almost imperceptibly. 

I moved quickly out of the room, Kiven close behind.  A few people, my mother included, watched us leave but no one followed.

Chapter 8

Outside, I found Welton sitting on Tipton, holding the reins of another horse.  “I heard what you said, Lord Marshal, and had your horse brought out as well,” the boy said to Kiven.

The lord marshal was surprised, but he said nothing as we mounted, me with the boy behind me.

“He’s coming with us?” was Kiven’s first comment.

“He’ll be safer with us than running the streets with a woldling loose,” I said.

“Isn’t your pet Drodacian hunting it?  And are you sure there’s only one?”

“Jella’s been on its trail, but this particular woldling is a different sort of beast.  Cunning,” I said.

“Where was it, Welton?”

“Not far from the Knife and Needle.  Hemppe has called out a general alert. Our people are out in force and Jella is keeping close to it, but it never stops moving.”

I pushed Tipton faster, Kiven’s horse following suit, their shod hooves clattering on the blackstone in front of the castle.

We had to slow when we got to the newer parts of the city, the icy cobblestones too slippery to risk either horse’s footing.  The streets were well lit, oil lamps reflecting off the dusting of snow on most surfaces.  Foot traffic was minimal, most people already in their homes and tucked in against the cold of the night.  We made it to my neighborhood in a little less than ten minutes. 

I spotted the first Shadows in seconds, two cloaked figures standing with spears near the corner of a bar two blocks from the Knife.  One of the figures raised a hand, made a gesture, and then pointed south.  A sharp whistle from that direction told me the quarry was sighted.

We were close, additional whistles coming rapidly.  For an extraordinarily smart specimen, this woldling was in the absolute worse part of the city for it to survive.  My Shadows were out in pairs, armed with heavy spears, alert and communicating with each other.  If I knew Hemppe, then most of the pairs were battle-hardened vets, experienced woldling killers.  Snipers should be on the rooftops, also in pairs, one with a war crossbow, the other providing security, likely armed with a spear. 

More Shadows appeared, focused on the streets ahead, and whistles sang through the cold December air.  A trio of familiar figures just ahead caused me to slow Tipton’s pace.  Hemppe, armed with one of the inn’s crossbows, was standing with Cort, who held a spear.  The third individual was huge, heavily bearded, and carrying the giant axe that was his trademark weapon. Urso, the giant, was a retired RRS sergeant whose woldling killing prowess was legendary.  I pulled Tipton to a halt and swung down.

“You stay on this horse, Welton,” I ordered the boy, handing him the reins as he scooted forward.  “Give him his head if this thing gets close.”  Tipton hated woldlings and had killed two himself with his hooves during his lifetime.  In fact, his ears were turned forward and he was breathing great plumes of steam into the freezing air.  “But don’t let him follow me,” I added, pulling the two axes that are always part of my saddle gear.  I tapped the hilt of the sheathed short sword also attached to the tack, drawing Welton’s attention to it should he need it.

“Where?”  I asked.

“It’s just ahead, deep in that alley off Broderick Street,” Hemppe said.  “Odd; it keeps running from us but it keeps circling back to this neighborhood.”

“My aunt’s house is over there!” Welton said suddenly, fear in his voice.

“Yeah, and your Aunt Sissa is safe. Bolted in her house with Jella up on her roof with her bow,” Cort said.

“Damned thing is weird as hell,” Urso said, spitting a gob of tobacco juice onto the street.

“Jella’s been tracking it, and it behaves like no other woldling we’ve ever seen,” I said.  “Did any of you see it?”

“I did,” Urso said.  “Big one, but all fucked up.  Twisted.”

Long ago, the first Paul’s earliest woldling creations were malformed monsters with uneven limbs, misshapen jaws, lumpy skulls, and misgrown teeth and claws. But over the years, his priests had improved their skills, resulting in the current generation of symmetrical, almost sleek, predatory shock troops.  We knew it had something to do with using very young children as the base stock.  A mucked-up specimen was exceedingly rare and likely the result of using too old of a child.  We hadn’t seen one like that in years and years.

“Why haven’t you killed it?” the lord marshal suddenly demanded from atop his mount.

All four of us turned to him, Urso spitting another gob of brown juice on the ground just in front of him. Almost as one, my three people turned away from Kiven and refocused on their watch.

“A single woldling, more cunning than any we’ve seen,” I said. “Stalked the city for days, entered almost undetected, and now hanging around the one part of the city guaranteed to have lots of armed and hardened woldling killers lurking about.  That doesn’t make you even a little bit curious?”

“My responsibility is to the safety of this city.  And why aren’t any of my constables here?”

“Your stick men don’t patrol here,” Cort said, using soldier’s slang for peace officers who were usually armed with wooded batons.  “Haven’t seen hardly a one since the captain here left service.”

Kiven glared at him, but it was like water beading up on duck’s back for all the impact it had on Cort.  Then with a snarl, Kiven turned his horse and galloped back up the icy road, his voice rising as he called for the night watch.

“What’s the deal?” I asked as the lord marshal clattered away.

“Jella said to corral it but leave it till you got here,” Hemppe reported.  “She’s a might curious.”

“Alright, let’s move up. I want to see this beast,” I said.

We walked forward, armed and alert, Welton following five or six spans behind on Tipton.

The street had a bit of an arc to it, rounding to the right, and as we proceeded, more houses came into view.

The neighborhood around the Knife and Needle is heavily populated by my people, although there are plenty of regular merchants, tradesfolk, laborers, and their families living in it too.  Despite the lack of regular constabulary patrol, there is almost no crime in my area.  We don’t allow it.

On the far side of the arc was a single building that had three shops in it, one selling clothes, both new and old, a spice trader, and a bootmaker’s place.  Next to that was a multifamily dwelling and then another just like it, the space in between forming the gloomy alley that Hemppe had mentioned.  Across the street, on the inside arc, were four small cottages, all in a neat row.  The third cottage from where we were was the Newberry cottage.  Lapped plank siding, a real slate roof as opposed to cedar shingles or thatching, and window boxes that Ash had built himself. The windows had heavy oak shutters that were currently closed up tight, as was the reinforced oak door.  A slim shadow crouched on the roof near the chimney, short bow in hand, watching the dark alley.

“Wait here in case it comes this way,” I directed, moving forward on my own.  I stopped in front of Ash’s house, facing the alley.  “What’s up with this thing?” I asked, never taking my eyes off the shadows.  Before Jella could answer, a deep growl rumbled in the dark.  She was forced to speak over it.

“It did that when I first climbed up here.”  My teacher’s voice drifted down from above.  “It keeps circling this house, so I decided to just wait here.  Yawl is directly behind it, one building back.”

“She hasn’t killed it yet?”

“She tracks it, but she won’t close with it,” Jella said.

“Scared?” I asked, incredulous.  Yawl was a woldling killing machine.  I’d never seen her shy away from tackling one.

“No,” Jella said, a note of bewilderment in her voice. “It’s like she simply chooses to let this one alone.  It avoids her the same way.”

Weirder and weirder.  The growl had deepened while we were speaking. Now it rose in volume.

“It’s moving up to the alley entrance,” Jella reported.  For the twenty thousandth time, I wished I had Drodacian night vision.  But I was stuck with what I was born with, so I settled for taking her word.

Curious, I stepped forward, toward the threat.  The growl actually got softer.  I took a step back.  It got louder.  I took two forward and it dropped right down to just a dull rumble. 

“You don’t like me near the house?” I asked it.  “Why?”

Most people would think me daft for talking at a Crafted monster with the brains of a wild animal.  The common person thinks woldlings are just unthinking, vicious beasts, incapable of reason.  Granted, they are exceedingly aggressive and prone to battle rage, but they do learn the commands of their Lashes and they have a pack structure with alphas in charge.  And this one had shown more thought and cunning than almost any other I had come across.

At the sound of my voice, the growls stopped altogether, replaced by a soft shuffling sound that told me it was drawing even nearer.  I took two more steps, axes held lightly by my sides.  The distance from me to the mouth of the alley was at least ten spans, too great for a woldling to leap, plenty of room for me to maneuver. 

Fighting a woldling one-on-one is generally a bad idea for most soldiers.  The beasts are fast and strong, and armed with long, cruel claws and bone-crushing teeth.  Heavy infantry troops rely on the protection of their layered armor and shields, which work great when they fight as a unit.  But without a shield wall, they are too weighed down to fight a beast as agile as a woldling. The monster will just circle the soldier, looking for a chance to attack from behind.  Once it gets it, the infantryman will be lying face down with a beast on his back that weighs as much as two men.  Not good odds of survival.

A cavalry trooper has the speed and strength of his mount but if the horse isn’t well-trained or experienced, the results can be disastrous, again due to the agility and power of the woldling.  But RRS troopers are all trained to fight one-on-one, using a spear, sword, or like Urso, an axe.  It’s all about room to maneuver.  Close quarters, inside a building or in thick forest, favors the beast.  An open street like this one favors the well-trained, appropriately armed fighter.  And I’m proud to say that under my watch, that training had reached even higher levels.  All of my people could fight a woldling and win.  I had personally killed tens of them.

So, I was confident yet still wary.  Movement in the shadows focused my attention, a flash of fur in the streetlight.

“Well, come on then. Let’s have a look at you,” I said softly.

Amazingly, it listened, or seemed too, moving forward, becoming visible.  Urso had been kind.  It was a fucking mess.  One arm, the right, hung almost to its knee, the left coming to the middle of its thigh.  The eyes were uneven, like the bones of its skull had been malformed, and one orb looked larger than the other.  The lower jaw jutted forward, the top one pulled back, teeth protruding in all directions.  And it seemed wounded, one ear torn to shreds, not fully healed, and four raking claw marks on its left shoulder, like it had been in a fight.  The dark brown fur was patchy and uneven, its shoulders lumped with a hump over the right side.

I had never seen its like, not in any of the thousands of woldlings I have witnessed.  But I had seen sketches in old books.  This was a throwback, a woldling made not from any age of child, but from an adult human, something not seen in centuries.  Not only did children transform into better, more refined woldlings, but adults died more often than not during the change. The survival percentage for an adult male had been something like eleven percent.

A horse neighed, and I immediately recognized Tipton’s distinctive sound.  I didn’t look around, but the woldling did—and immediately it straightened, standing upright, its focus completely on my horse and his rider.  Actually, based on the angle of its gaze, just the rider. Those eyes… as deformed as they were, they held a clear intelligence that was as foreign to the woldlings I knew as its misshapenness was.

It stared at the boy on the horse and I swear I saw recognition in those red orbs whose glare softened visibly.  Above and behind me, I heard Jella take a soft breath, the only nonspeaking sound I’d heard from my deadly teacher the whole time she’d been there.  She saw it too.

Suddenly the clatter of multiple hooves came from back up the street, followed by Kiven’s deep voice giving orders.  The woldling crouched, snarling as men and horses thundered up behind my men, horse, and young charge.

“What are you doing?” Kiven demanded.  “Shoot the damned thing—it’s right there!”

“So is our captain, in case you missed that,” Cort said behind me.

“Give me a crossbow!” Kiven ordered and the woldling immediately backed away, arms coming up to protect its face.  The fur on its limbs was even patchier than on its body, with blotches of mottled skin showing through.  The oil streetlamp on the corner illuminated its right forearm briefly before shadow covered it.

Immediately I spun around, back to the beast, waving my arms as I stepped forward, putting myself between the creature and the crossbow that the lord marshal was aiming at it.  “NO!” I yelled but Kiven ignored me and pulled the trigger, the bolt flashing through the air, its sharpened steel head a making it a silver streak in the lamplight.

Another flash came from my left and above, smaller and white, and impossibly it clipped the bolt in midair before glancing off and sticking into the wall of the middle storefront across the street.

The sound of a heavy bolt hitting flesh and the roar of the woldling filled the night.  The beast leapt past me, moving much faster than its deformities would have suggested, angled toward the constables and away from my men.  It hit the line of lawmen and tore through them and bounded off into the darkness.

Jella swore and jumped off the roof, landing easily despite the four-span drop, then took off at a sprint after the woldling.

Chapter 9

“—then it tore through my men like paper, killing one outright and wounding two others, before it disappeared.  But we’ll find it, Your Majesty,” Kiven finished, standing like me, at attention.

Unlike me, he’d been given a full opportunity to report the night’s events as he saw them. King Helat nodded and turned his death stare on me.  He said nothing for a full ten seconds, my mind counting them automatically.  The others in the room, Colonel Erser, Neil Slinch, and Brona, stayed silent as we all waited.

“I have relied on your judgement for years, Savid, often against the counsel of my advisors.  Time and again, you have proven them wrong… until tonight.  By all accounts, you knew a woldling was scouting the city, allowed it to enter without sounding an alarm, failed to kill it when presented with a clear opportunity, and your… teacher actually interfered when someone with guts actually tried to put it down.  Unless I’m misinformed?”

I had seen others in this position before and even been in it a time or two myself.  Foolhardy was the recipient who immediately launched into excuses, denials, or counterallegations.

“Your information is correct, Your Majesty,” I said, staring straight ahead as I had since arriving in the king’s private audience chamber.

I had my eyes locked on one of the crossed war spears on the wall behind him, focused on the tip of a razor-sharp spearpoint. On the edges of my vision, I could tell he was now frowning.  He waited, giving me time to step off the ledge and hang myself, but I didn’t take the invitation.

Another ten seconds ticked by, then five more.  “Perhaps you’ve finally lost your edge?  Happens to everyone eventually.  Perhaps it’s time you sought an alternative to your current situation?”

“As you say, Sire,” I responded, only because his tone required some kind of answer.  I kept mine even and steady.  I could feel his eyes boring into me, actually feel it.  More seconds crept by and then he sighed.

“Alright, out with it,” he said.  “Why?”

“The woldling was different right from the start,” I said instantly, staying at attention.  “He actually showed some skill at eluding Jella.  He was careful about the city.  Then when he entered Haven, he went right to the heart of Shadow territory, right into the middle of the worst people he could face.  And just before the lord marshal shot his nephew through the shoulder, I saw his Ranged Recon tattoo on his forearm.”

Brona sucked in a breath and next to me Kiven shifted, his head whipping around to stare my way.  My frontal vision showed the king’s hand coming up to forestall any outbursts from the lord marshal.  Neil Slinch, whose eyes had been a bit excited by my predicament, frowned.

“How?” King Helat asked.

I held up my right arm and pulled my sleeve back to expose my forearm, or more importantly, the tattoo on it.  It was almost as clear and defined as the day I got it, or I should say night that I got it. The same night that we had graduated Despair.

The image is of a cloaked man, his face hidden by his cowl, kneeling, left hand on his folded knee, right hand outstretched, holding a Recon short sword, blade pointing down.  Under the figure are the Drodacian words “Schotang ewali, keanni ewali.”  Loosely translated, “If I speak of it to you, I must kill you.”

“Our graduation tattoos.  Of the twelve who received it, only me, Cort, Soshi, Drew, and Ash were left alive after the war.”

This time, both the king and the head of his intelligence service joined Kiven in stiffening in shock.

“You are certain?”

“We designed it as a group, Sire.  I added the words.  To my knowledge, no other class has Drodacian hunting language in their tattoos.”

“That would mean that he was changed by the Paul,” Neil Slinch said, “and survived it.”

“And retained an enormous amount of his intelligence and personality,” I said.  “He knew Welton on sight… I saw the recognition in his eyes.  And he wouldn’t leave the area around his house where his wife was bolted in, despite all the Shadows who were surrounding it.”

Kiven started to speak but stopped when the king’s head whipped his way.  “But it… he… attacked Haven constables?” King Helat asked.

“After he was shot.  Jella’s arrow moved the bolt enough that it hit his shoulder, not his heart.  But I’m guessing he has a woldling’s temper if not its intellect.”

“She actually shot a bolt in midair?” Erser asked.

“Clipped it, Colonel, but yes.”

“And now he’s out there somewhere, loose in the city,” King Helat said, frowning.

“Jella and Yawl are on him.  I said he showed skill at eluding her, not that he could actually do it.  I suspect someone is waiting nearby to tell me where he is.”

The king studied me for a moment, then nodded.  “Do it.  Step outside and see if you’re right. Then get back in here.”

I spun and stepped out of Helat’s private chamber, thinking I needed to head toward the castle’s main entrance.  Instead, just outside the door, I found the king’s newest page, Brent, who snapped upright as soon as he saw me. “They’ve tracked it to the wharves near the river bridge.  I was told to tell you that Jella says it’s inside one of the warehouses there, actually one of your family’s.”

I noted that he used the pronoun it.  Which meant that either none of my people had seen what I saw, or that they were keeping it quiet.  My money was on the latter.  Jella, at the very least, has much better eyesight than I do, and so does Soshi, for that matter.

“Excellent, Brent. Exactly what I needed to hear.”  I spun around and headed right back inside.

Slinch was talking as I entered, but he stopped as soon as I opened the door.  Erser looked thoughtful, the king was frowning, and Kiven was stony-faced. Brona shot me a tiny smile and a nod before smoothing her own expression clear.

“Well?” King Helat demanded.

“It’s holed up in a DelaCrotia warehouse on the wharf.  My people are all around it, waiting.”

“If your information is right, it has implications,” the king said.  “You’ve had longer to think about this than the rest of us… what do you think it means?”

I took a breath and marshalled my thoughts.  “I think, sire, that it’s a message from the Paul, although maybe not exactly what he intended.”

He glanced at Slinch and Erser, then looked back my way.  “Explain.”

“Take one of your enemy’s best soldiers and change him into one of yours.  Then send him back to wreak havoc and sow fear.”

“Saying to us, look what I can do,” Slinch said, nodding. 

“Exactly.  Only, he picked the wrong soldier.  Ash came home but didn’t tear into the city. Instead, he scouted it carefully, cautiously.  Then he sought out his family, checking up on them,” I said, glancing at the lord marshal before continuing.  “He only acted like a true woldling when he was injured.  Now he’s holed up, away from most of the citizens of Haven and out of sight.  I doubt that’s what the Paul had in mind.”

“You think the Paul chose him out of all the other Shadows because he was the leader?” Slinch said. 

“Leader, survivor, last man standing.  Or maybe he caught the entire murder and tried changing the whole lot of them and Ash was the only one to live through the… treatment.”

“I actually hope that’s the case,” Brona suddenly said.  “Because if he chose just Ash, then he’s got a Crafted taint with a very high survival rate, and that’s horrifying.”

“What?” Kiven asked her, suddenly focusing on the conversation.

“If he can pick one person, one adult person, and be sure they’ll live through the infection, then he has a weapon he can release on any nation that will turn the population into crazed killing machines,” Slinch said.

There was silence as that thought wove its way around the room.

“That’s if Savid is even right,” Kiven suddenly said.

“True, but Captain DelaCrotia has a very high credibility rate, don’t you think, Lord Marshal?” the king asked, pinning him with a stare.

Kiven stiffened for a second, then reluctantly nodded.

“But we need absolute confirmation, and we need Ash Newberry,” the king said.

“Alive, Your Majesty, if at all humanly possible,” Neil added.

“Yes, alive.  Well, Captain?” Helat asked, looking at me.

“On it, Sire,” I said, coming to attention and saluting.

“See to it,” he dismissed me. As I turned to leave, Brona gave me a wink, a little smile on her face.  Her message was clear, at least to me—well played.

Chapter 10

“Where is he?” I asked Jella.

She shrugged and waved at the warehouse. “Somewhere in there.”

“Helpful,” I said.

“Listen, he’s your friend and it’s your warehouse.”

“He’s what’s left of my friend and it’s my family’s warehouse, and might I remind you that he’s fought at your side for years. Also, I haven’t been in there in years,” I said, my words triggering memories.  I had played in the recesses of the building as a kid, but the last time I had been in here was several years ago, on leave from the Squadron, drunk and looking for a place to crash—with Ash.

The memory of that night was fuzzy, but I recalled entering through an unsecured roof vent, Ash stumbling through the opening and almost falling to the floor six spans below.

Walking the perimeter of the building, I nodded to my people who were spaced around the building, torches and lanterns lighting the dark corners of the waterfront.  On the east side of the building, I saw the long, mast-like crane support that we had climbed that night long ago.  This time, it was much easier than I remembered, no doubt more to do with sobriety than any skill I might have gained in the last years.

Jella followed me up, making the climb look easy even though she was my mother’s age. A splotch of black blood stained the roof tile directly off the crane support.  Across the roof was the square wooden frame of the vent, tipped over on its side, splinters of broken wood lying around its base.  Back in the day, I had just popped it loose and pulled it aside.  Wounded woldling Ash hadn’t been that patient.

I remembered that a catwalk was just off to one side of the vent opening.  Drunk and disorderly, we’d had to hang from the opening and then swing our feet over the rail.  I glanced inside, listening and smelling.  The stink of woldling fur wafted out and more black blood was smeared on the edge of the opening, but the dim outline of the catwalk looked clear.  I pulled back and let Jella take a look.  She could undoubtedly hear, see, and smell more details than I could, which is why she was always our best scout.  Back during my training with her, she would have made me lead the way and take any lumps if I didn’t find ways around my poorer senses.  But now days, we utilized every team member’s individual skills to the fullest.

She shook her head and I stood and stepped forward, dropping through the hole. My hands grabbed the edge and I swung my feet over the catwalk railing before letting go.  Crouching, I searched the darkness, moving slightly to make room for Jella, who landed lightly next to me.

Before, in our drunken stupor, we had moved to the northwest corner of the building and passed out in bundles of sheared sheep wool.  This time, the stench of woldling came from the exact opposite corner in the southeast.  Jella was already facing that way, the dim outline of her eyebrow arching in amusement at my slow orientation.  I ignored her.  A shadow overhead brought my attention up to the torn vent opening.  A feline head leaned over, huge green eyes watching us before withdrawing.  Yawl felt no need to enter with us, yet another confirmation of Ash, should I need one.

I moved the opposite way on the catwalk and climbed down the ladder built into the wall.  Once on the ground, I reached into my black leather jacket and pulled out a wooden cylinder the diameter of a common flute.  Pulling a cork from the end, I slid a glowing glass tube from inside, the green light startlingly bright to my night-adjusted eyes.  An experimental gift from Brona’s armorer, Marshall, to the princess, who in turn gifted it to me.  Filled with the rotting wood of an exotic tree from some island off the coast of Lachia, it emitted a soft luminescent light similar to the glow of the lightning flies we had in summer.

Jella snorted, but even her night vision couldn’t see in pitch dark, so I wasn’t fooled by her act—the spy light was damned cool.  We moved across the floor, slowly and softly but not trying to hide ourselves.  Ahead, I heard a rustling sound, causing me to stop.

“Hey Ash, it’s Savid,” I said.

Jella rolled her eyes at me and pointed at her nose.  Yeah, yeah, so he could smell me.  That still doesn’t help me with trying to talk to a woldling.

The sound of claws on plank wood flooring clicked through the dark.  I held up the spy light, the soft glow barely denting the darkness ahead.  I could just see a large form, slightly less dark than the space around it.  It seemed about ten spans ahead.  A deep growl vibrated through the warehouse.

“Easy, buddy.  We brought you some gifts,” I said, reaching into the slung message bag at my side.  I pulled a bundle of greased paper and threw it underhand across the space.  The lump of wrapped meat hit the floor and slid half a span, stopping almost at a huge, clawed foot. 

The green light showed a paw reaching down to snag the meat, pulling it up into the deeper darkness above.  The sounds of teeth ripping flesh replaced the growl.

“Moose steak from Burl’s—your favorite,” I said, moving forward another span.  Enough light now reached the dim shape to be reflected in reddish eyes and white teeth.  “That’s from me.  But this is from your wife,” I said, tossing a second bundle.  A half dozen fresh baked, buttered rolls, wrapped in Sissa’s scarf.  He always missed her baking when we were on missions.

The steak, or the remaining bits of it, fell on the wood floor as he pounced on the rolls.  He brought the whole bundle to his… snout and sniffed it.  He sniffed and inhaled and suddenly sat down, hard, the motion jarring his shoulder and the wooden shaft poking through it.  He growled once but remained focused on the bundle.  Then he tried to pry the loose knot open, but his misshapen hands were too awkward.  The scarf tore, bread rolls falling free around him.  His next growl was clearly frustration, but it shut off as he crammed a lump of bread into his maw.  Even as he gulped the food, his shorter arm held the torn scarf against his nose, breathing in the scent of his wife.

“How’s that wound, buddy?” I asked, bringing his attention back to me.  He growled, turned his head toward the wound as far as his misshapen neck would allow, and growled again, this time more in annoyance.  His free paw brushed the crossbow bolt shaft and knocked it out of the wound to clatter on the floor.

I glanced at Jella, and she just raised her eyebrows.  Woldling blood is corrosive, at least to metals.  No need to dig out arrow and spear heads when they just dissolved on their own.

“Sissa made a poultice too,” I said, tossing a third bundle.  He picked it up with two claw tips and looked at it, sniffing it and looking my way.  “Chew the bark off it—it’s willow.  Then put the herbs on the wound.  It’ll help.”

He bit the bundle and got fully half of it, bark and poultice, into his mouth. At least there were some of the medicinal herbs left to be crammed onto his wound, which he did.  Then he went back to eating rolls, the rest of the steak, and sniffing the scarf.

“Sorry it took me so long to figure out it was you,” I said.  “I didn’t see your tattoo until you held up your, ah, arm.”  I pulled back my sleeve and held my own tattoo under the light of the glow tube.

“Remember getting these?  We were pretty drunk, so it’s good that we designed our class tattoo before graduation.  And we didn’t even know when graduation was, did we?”

He watched me as he chewed and sniffed, his massive frame relaxing slightly. 

I turned to Jella to explain, although she was more than familiar with the story already.  But she didn’t protest, just raised a brow as if actually interested. I knew better.

“We were in Punishment week, but we didn’t even know what day it was.  They only let us sleep a few hours a day while we ran raids, infiltration exercises, and mock battles.  Suddenly, right in the middle of our biggest battle, instructors just popped up and started to pull us away, one at a time.  Finally, it was just you and me, right, Ash?  We kept fighting for another hour or so, getting our asses kicked, but suddenly the instructors called the battle and led us away.

“We thought we were getting kicked out, that we had screwed up by getting beat down by so many opposing force members.  They led us through the forest, to a part of Despair that we’d never been allowed into before.  It was a section of woods behind the instructors’ quarters, a grove of thick, old oak trees.  Right in the middle was a clearing, maybe ten or twelve spans across, with a huge fire circle of standing boulders, each half a ton.  Twelve boulders spread about four spans apart.  Huge bonfire in the middle, flames reaching five or six spans high.”

Ash was still chewing rolls, but his jaw was moving slower and drool was stringing down onto his furry chest.  His red eyes were fixed on me, slowly blinking every so often.

“Around the fire pit were twelve big chairs, each with an active duty RRS trooper or officer in them, set like the hours on a clock.  Our instructors led us into the clearing and that’s when I saw the other members of our class, each standing in a space between the chairs.  There were only twelve of us left, the survivors from a starting class of fifty-five men and women.  You and I were the last to arrive. Right, buddy?”

Ash was slumping now, and he shifted just slightly at the question.

“Then the person sitting in the twelve o’clock seat, a corporal I think, wasn’t it, Ash?”

He blinked a little but didn’t move.

“Anyway, even though there were officers there, whoever sat in the number twelve seat ran the show, and this gal started to explain that the hour was late and the time had come.  The time for us to take up the uniform of the Squadron.  And just like that, she graduated us and the active troopers to our left turned and pinned the crossed short sword emblems on our field dress.”

Ash was fully collapsed, head against his chest, which moved with each deep breath, his eyes closed tight.

I looked at Jella for confirmation.  “Out like he’s been poleaxed.  I don’t know if it was the horse drugs or the story.  I almost passed out myself at that snoozer,” she said.

I ignored her and stepped forward lightly.  Using two thick strands of silk rope, woven from the webs of Mandrigan trap spiders, I tied up his big wrists and ankles, binding him tight.

Jella had gone to the warehouse door while I secured him and let in a wagon and horse driven by Drew. Cort and Urso ran over to me and the three of us hauled the dead weight of our woldling comrade up and onto the wagon bed, where Drew wrapped him in a sheet of dark canvas. 

It was done quietly and efficiently, and then the three of them rode the loaded wagon out while Jella and I relocked the door and cleaned up the scene.

The leftover meat scraps and rolls went into a bag, as did the remains of the drugged poultice, although I handled that with thick gloves on.  Getting him out of the warehouse unconscious was the only way we could come up with that wouldn’t attract too much attention.  Using his wife’s scent to cover the drug was Soshi’s idea.  Woldlings have a good sense of smell, but not being born with it makes it easier to fool them then it would be with a big cat, wolf, or bear.

With the scene cleansed, we climbed back out through the roof, pushed the slightly broken vent cover back into place, and exfiltrated my family’s property, slipping silently into the foggy night.

Chapter 11

I was exhausted as I reported to the castle, but as I had learned back in Despair, exhaustion was just another obstacle to be put aside, like pain, fear, and discomfort.  Still, the sun wasn’t far from coming up when I was shown into the king’s council room, a different room than his personal audience chamber where Kiven and I had reported.

This one was much bigger, with a large meeting table, currently occupied by the king’s council, or at least most of it.

King Helat was at the head of the table, of course, with Brona at his right side.  The lord marshal sat on his left, with General Ewald, head of the Montshire military next to him.  Neil Slinch sat next to the general, with Lord Bottis Grantell next.  On Brona’s right was Colonel Erser, Bishop Miller, my father, and at the end of the table was Carson Mackmore, minister of commerce.

I had forgotten that dear old dad had taken up one of the High Family seats when Lord Dorian Hatch was suddenly removed following the Harvest Ball costume party.  The Families always hold two of the council seats, rotating the position among the heads of house.  Obviously, King Helat’s opinion of the selection held significant sway.

“Well?” King Helat greeted me.

“The situation is resolved,” I said.

“You can speak plainly, Captain,” the king said, waving a hand.  “The council is up to date on the matter.”

I took a breath as I considered my words.  Just because the council members were aware of Ash didn’t mean I could be free with information.

“We have him in safe custody, his wound treated.  He is definitely Ash Newberry.”

“Where?  Where do you have him?” my father demanded.

“He’s in a safe location, under careful guard,” I said. “He’s currently sedated, but as soon as he comes out of it, we’ll start debriefing him.”

“What?” Lord Grantell asked, aghast.  “He’s a woldling, man.  You can’t communicate with them!”

I ignored him, keeping my eyes on the king and Brona.  Helat shot an annoyed look at both lords but gave me a nod to continue.

“He understands us and remembers who he is.  He knows all of his family members.  I spent significant time communicating with him during the retrieval.”

“You’re just protecting your friend, Savid,” my father said.  “Admirable, but misplaced.  You can’t think that a woldling retains any humanity at all?”

I started to respond but Neil Slinch spoke first.  “Your Majesty, I find myself agreeing with Lord DelaCrotia.  The bonds of loyalty run deep in the military and especially among the members of the Ranged Reconnaissance Squadron.  I suggest that Captain DelaCrotia’s objectivity is compromised in this case.  May I suggest a transfer to the Ravens?”

“Humpf, I object,” General Ewald said. “This is a military incursion and the military, the active military, should have jurisdiction here.”

“This is a transgression against God,” Bishop Miller said, leaning forward to look at the king.  “The church must be involved.”

“Must?” King Helat asked, eyes drilling into the bishop, who was smart enough to look down as he responded.

“It seems a matter of religion, Sire.”

“Really?  When the Paul’s woldling hordes overran our borders, was it a religious matter?  Because I don’t recall the church holding the line back then,” King Helat shot back.  Then he turned back to me.  “Why should the Shadows hold him?”

“He knows us and will communicate with us.  Put him in anyone else’s hands and he’ll shut down just like he was trained to do.  We need information, Sire, and we need it fast.  He’s Ash, but he’s also very much a different… being. If the Paul’s priests have improved their techniques to the point where they can turn adults into functioning woldlings who retain their intelligence, we have a real problem.  We’ve already seen other woldling surprises recently, and this is arguably worse.”

“What surprises?” Lord Grantell asked.

The king waved a hand at him, keeping his eyes on me.  Then he turned to the one person he almost always listened to.  “Daughter?”

“Savid is correct that a Shadow will resist questioning, even by esllings.  And the Shadows are very close-knit, Father.  I can see greater cooperation with friends than enemies.”

“I object to being termed an enemy,” Neil said, keeping his tone mild but somehow hurt.

“You know exactly what I mean by that, Neil. Don’t obfuscate,” Brona said.

“Hmm, I agree with you, Brona… but with conditions,” the king said.  “One of Neil’s people should monitor the questioning.  The bonds of soldiers who’ve faced combat side by side are incredibly strong.  We wouldn’t want any conflicts, would we?”

Not what I wanted to hear.  Neil’s people and my people coordinated fairly well, but there was professional jealousy there too.  King Helat had been ecstatic when Brona had turned her formidable attention to helping her father manage and protect the kingdom.  He had willingly let her have her own intelligence arm, but Neil took it as a threat to his own job security.  He was constantly trying to divine our secrets, methods, and intelligence.  There had been moments, early on, when we had shared information, only to have him bring it to the king first, claiming credit. 

Having an operative placed among my people while we debriefed Ash was a major damper on our activities.  Which worked for him either way; either we produced information and he learned many of our secrets, or we didn’t and he got to claim that we were ineffective and thus Ash should be removed from our custody.

Brona locked her eyes on mine and flicked her focus from one of my eyes to the other, side to side.  No… don’t object.

“Your agent should present themselves to the Knife and Needle,” I said to Neil. 

He smiled.  “It would be more efficient for her to head to the facility you’re holding him at.”

“That’s incredibly poor tradecraft, Neil,” I said, mentally noting the pronoun he used.  “I’m surprised you would even suggest it.”

He had long ago mastered his facial expressions, and the only sign of his displeasure at my criticism was a very, very slight tightening of his features.  “Ah, you’re suggesting that my hand-chosen agent would have such poor skills as to be detected approaching your building?”

I let myself frown. “I’m not suggesting. I’m telling you that operational security on this will be watertight and under Shadow control.”

“As entertaining as this pissing contest is… sorry, Princess,” my father interjected, “but I’d like to bring up the matter of Lady Dominick and her detention.”

On the one hand, I was glad he had changed the topic; on the other, by apologizing to Brona for his indelicate language, he had slighted her.  From the frown on her face, I realized that she would handle his insult, and likely he would pay for it. And from the frown on her father’s face, I gauged that my father had stepped too far.

“My Lord DelaCrotia, did you somehow forget that this is my meeting and I control its agenda?” the king asked.  Father froze, which for him was the equivalent of squirming.

“No, Your Majesty.  It seemed like that topic was exhausted,” Rucian said.

“It’s not,” the king snapped.  “Savid, you have full control and the requisite responsibility for the security and containment of the prisoner.”  He looked at me carefully to see if I understood.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” I said.

“Now, you said you can communicate with Ash the woldling. How?”

“He understands what we say, Sire.  I distracted him during the retrieval with memories of our service together.  He appears highly motivated to see his family.  As soon as he is alert, we’ll start asking him questions.  I’m confident that his information will be valuable.  I highly doubt that the Paul anticipated how ineffective his terror weapon turned out to be.”

“Which may press the Paul to escalate his actions,” Neil said.  “No doubt his eyes and ears in Haven are waiting for a blowup, and the general population already knows that a woldling was shot by the lord marshal himself. That kind of news travels like lightning.”

“Making Savid’s task even more vital and time sensitive,” King Helat said.  “Captain, carry out your duties.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” I said, saluting and turning to leave.  As I got to the door, I heard the king behind me.

“Now, Rucian, what’s your beef with my handling of the traitorous Lady Dominick?”

“Well, Sire, it’s the manner of her arrest,” I heard my father say, just before I closed the door and cut off all sound.

Outside, I found Brent half asleep in a chair, waiting in case the king needed something.  He struggled awake.

“When are you off duty?” I asked him.

“Six o’clock,” he said.

“Get a few hours’ sleep, then come to the Knife around noon.  We’re going to need your help and it involves your family.”

“Yes sir.”

I left, trying to think of how I was going to tell a boy that his uncle was now the kind of monster he was training to fight.

Chapter 12

Hemppe met me at the door to the Knife and Needle.  “Is our friend safe and comfortable?” I asked.

He looked majorly disturbed, which on Hemppe is a steady frown and slightly tight shoulders.  “Yes,” he said with a nod, his eyes still holding mine. 

“Strange, huh?” I said.

“Doesn’t begin to cover it.  It’s really him.  I didn’t believe it… not really, but he knows us.  All of us.”  It was like a full-blown speech. 

“Yeah, it’s mashed up.  But he’s ours and we get to keep him—as long as we don’t lose him.  We’re also getting a babysitter from the birds.  Female. Probably high-level.  When she shows, sit on her.  I’m gonna grab a couple of hours, then get back at it.  But when we take her in, we gotta put on the whole show, every detail, every act.”

He nodded, a flash of relief crossing his face when I mentioned our custody of Ash.  “I’ll start the ball rolling.”

“Have you slept?”

“Just got up.  Two hours or so,” he said with a shrug.

“Okay, good.  I’m out,” I said, heading to the stairs.  We had been trained to forego sleep, but we were only human.  For every extra hour we were awake past our natural schedule, our performance would degrade.  Sometimes you had to go with that; sometimes you could squeeze in a few hours; and sometimes you could get a full set of winks.  This moment in time, right now, required me to catch what I could and hope I was sharp enough to meet my challenges.

Every RRS trooper and most regular soldiers learned to sleep at a moment’s notice.  I hit my bed and was out cold.

When I woke again, the sun was very high in the sky but not quite at its peak.  So maybe a bit more than two hours.  I washed my face, changed my shirt, and headed downstairs.

Terry was coming out of the dining room, carrying a tray of pottery mugs and plates. “Far corner.  Usual?” she asked.

“Yes, thanks.”

I stepped into the main room and headed to the bar, careful not to look at the table Terry had mentioned with anything but my peripheral vision.  Single occupant, slender, hair in a bun.  Most likely female.  I pulled a stool between Cort and an older Shadow, Kisen, who did an entirely too realistic a job pretending to be a drunk.  In the opposite corner of the room, Bard Trell was dining with an attractive lady friend, a sight that had become quite common since we adopted him.

The spot between my shoulder blades itched but I focused on the mug of dark stout that Hemppe set in front of me.  Thirsty, I pulled a long draft from it, about a third of it, and turned to Cort, one eyebrow up.

“It’s bad,” he mumbled around his own slug of ale. 

Slinch had indicated his chosen agent was female.  We knew his most experienced, reliable agents, and he wouldn’t dare use less than his best for this.  There were only two or three people that fit those criteria, and one of those was worse for us than the others.  Cort’s assessment told me it was her.  Fontina.

Terry came back in and set a plate of hot chicken, mashed chive potatoes, and green beans, all swimming in gravy, in front of me.  I dug in.

Behind me, I heard a chair get pushed back.  Then the soft click of small, leather-soled shoes approach me.

I ignored her, because it was best to begin as I intended to go.

“This delay is unacceptable,” a soft, well-modulated voice enunciated precisely.

“Then don’t accept it,” I said without turning around.

“You concede defeat so fast?”

“Sure.  Run on back to Slinch and make your complaint,” I said, working belt knife and fork at a steady pace.

Raven Fontina was silent, a dark pressure behind me which made every combat instinct I had flare white hot.  I kept eating.  Hemppe set a mug of caffe in front of me and removed the now empty tankard. 

“And leave you… unsupervised?” she said softly.  “I think not.”  She sighed.  “Must we?”

I swallowed my last bite, took a drink of the caffe, and then turned slowly around.

Fontina is a small, dark woman, barely one and half spans tall.  Her skin is the color of walnut, her eyes a rich mahogany.  When she smiles, which is very, very rare, her teeth are the white of sun-bleached bone.  She is neither attractive, nor ugly, but rather… nondescript.  When she desires it so, she fades into a crowd, and when she needs to be attended, her forceful personality has a certain quality that gathers the eye.

She’s been a Raven for over fifteen years and before that, she was a citizen of the Republic of Berkette.  We still didn’t know what role she had played in that life, but we knew she was scary smart, extremely perceptive, and as tenacious as a royal war hound.  She was exactly the agent I didn’t want to have looking over our shoulders. 

“Ash Newberry is a decorated hero of Montshire and continues to be loyal even now.  King Helot ordered an observer… so you will observe.  You will not address him, nor will you attempt to direct his treatment.  If you have questions, you may write them down and we will present them.  You will be blindfolded and hooded with earplugs when we take you to him.  You will carry no weapons or items of any kind, including jewelry.  Any attempt at smuggling a Finder’s stone and we will send you back to Slinch as unacceptable,” I said.

She studied me for a moment, a slight smile flickering across her face.  I ignored it.  Fontina was too skilled an agent for me to allow myself to attempt to read her expressions.  Anything I picked up was something she deliberately showed me.  I had no doubt she was a deadly killer, but her real danger was in the icy mind that lurked behind her rich brown eyes.

Other Ravens might attempt to bluster or intimidate me.  She knew better.  She simply nodded once.  Without taking my eyes off her, I nodded back at her—once.  Immediately, Jella and Soshi appeared on either side of her, one popping earplugs into each ear, the other winding a thick, tight-knit blindfold over her eyes.  Cort took the black hood that Hemppe handed him and pulled it over her head while the two women expertly searched her for weapons or artifacts. 

Only then, when she was blindfolded with ears plugged, did the rest of the patrons stand and look my way.  Game on. I looked first at Trell’s table.  His companion, Kassa, gave me a silent nod.  Kassa’s signal indicated that she couldn’t detect any interested parties within her personal range and that Fontina wasn’t herself an eslling.  My own people were keeping a strict watch across our section of the city for strangers as well.

I ran my gaze over the people in the room:  Hemppe, Cort, Jella, Soshi, Trell, Kassa, and a suddenly sober-looking Kisen.  I still didn’t speak, but my hand rose and spoke volumes to my people.  Shadow sign language for Perfect game, danger close with an index finger point to Fontina.  I got silent nods of understanding all around.

Okay. Game on.

Chapter 13

As I stood, Jella and Soshi grabbed Fontina and bodily lifted her off the ground.  Drodacians are far stronger than their lean frames look and Soshi would never have graduated Despair without serious muscle, which she still worked hard to keep and even improve.

They hustled the Raven out of the Knife and Needle and right into the open door of a shuttered carriage that Drew was driving.  I joined the three of them inside the vehicle and we took off at breakneck speed.  Immediately, Jella lit a stick of incense and positioned it near Fontina’s nose to block any and all scents that a highly trained operative might use to guess their location.  While she did, I used my own abilities to see if I could pick up on a Finder’s stone secreted about her person.  I got nothing but since those energized objects are usually extremely personalized by a single Finder, I couldn’t be sure she was absolutely clean.

The next forty minutes were spent driving all over the city with two actual vehicle and driver switches and one fake switch to throw off any observers.  We hit every portion of Haven at least once and most of them twice, including the grounds of the castle itself.  When our final driver, Urso, brought our last ride to a halt, we were inside the tiny courtyard of a private residence with the gate closed behind us.  Urso picked up the small Raven in his arms, spun in place three times, and carried her into the rear door of the home.  In the kitchen, he turned into the open root cellar door and proceeded down the stairs into the cold storage cellar, which was currently warm due to multiple torches lining the walls.  At the rear of the cellar was an opening in the wall and he took her through and into the tunnel beyond.  At every new room or entrance, he performed a new spin to throw off her internal sense of direction. 

We turned at multiple intersections in the labyrinth of tunnels before we arrived in a large, open room. 

I, myself, removed her hood and blindfold, allowing her to remove the earplugs.  Her composure was intact, but I was fairly certain her sense of direction was fooled.  We have practiced that routine before, using Jella as our victim, and even her superior senses were jumbled.

“Thorough,” she said, meeting my eyes.  Giving her nothing, I turned to face the reason we were here and the reason we went through all that effort.

“Hey, Ash,” I said.  He was standing on the other side of the room, a barrier of metal bars that cost a small fortune dividing his half from ours.  Massive, clawed, and gnarled hands gripped the bars as he looked at me and then Fontina.

“You remember Raven Fontina?” I asked.  “The king insisted we have a watcher from Neil’s people.”

“You believe he understands you?” Fontina said.

“That’s mark one,” I said whipping around. “Two marks and we send you packing, so by all means… do it again.”

Her hard, dark eyes met mine, neither of us flinching or looking away.  A rumbling hack came from Ash’s side of the room.  I allowed myself to look his way.  His red eyes were locked on Fontina and he was… laughing… at her.

“That seems like a clear answer,” Urso said.

“Alright, let’s get down to business,” I said.  “Ready to answer some questions?”

Now his scarlet gaze was locked on me.  He squeezed the bars and his black claws scratched the metal.

“Well, what exactly did you expect?” I asked.  “There’s always a debrief after a mission and evaluation is always a part of it.  You come back to us like this and the eval takes on a whole new level of importance, don’t you think?”

His eyes still bored into me, but he blinked once, slowly.  Standard signaling.  Once of anything meant yes, and twice meant no.

“After all, I can’t very well bring Sissa in here until I know exactly how you’re doing, can I?”

He froze up, muscles locking tight.  Behind me, I heard a slight foot shuffle and I hoped, prayed really, that Fontina would take the bait.  But the room stayed silent.

I grinned at Ash, but his eyes stayed locked on mine.  He blinked again, twice.

“Okay, buddy, let’s get down to it.  Saddle up because this is going to be a long one.  Let us know when you need anything, alright?”

He blinked once.  

“First, the hard one—did anyone else make it?”

Two slow blinks.

“Damn.  What about Paddy?”

Two blinks.

“But at least you did.”

Two more blinks.

“Oh? You didn’t make it out?”

Two more.

“Because that shit stain the Paul did this to you?”

A single blink.

“I speak for the entire Shadow team and Princess Brona when I say we all want you back anyway we can get you.”

He growled and turned away sharply.

“Welton already figured it out.  We had to about confine him to his house to keep him away.  You think Sissa Newberry will stop loving you because you’ve contracted a disease?  Have you met the lady?”

He had his thick back to me, the new twists in his spine painfully visible.  I let him alone for a few minutes, turning back to study my watcher.  Fontina was frowning lightly, which I took to mean absolutely nothing. 

“I’d offer you a chair, but I don’t want you here so… there isn’t one,” I told her, turning back to Ash.

He straightened and slowly turned to us.  Then he shuffled over to the wide oak bench and sat heavily.

“Alright, Shadow. Comfortable?”

He shrugged, one paw loosely swinging my way.  Ash-lish for let’s get on with it.

“Did you penetrate the Paul’s citadel?”

He growled and looked to the side.  Then he turned back and blinked once.  I started to speak, and he growled and blinked twice.

“Yes and no?”

One blink.

“You got caught?”

One blink.

I turned and looked behind me.  Soshi was near the back wall, where we had stored some items that we thought might be useful for this debrief.

“The map please, Soshi.”

She picked up a rigid map made from thin pine planks glued together with a large parchment fastened to it.

“This is our map with what we know to date,” I said, moving close to the bars and holding the map up for him to see.

He looked at it, eyes narrowing.  Suddenly his right hand shot out and grabbed the wood frame, yanking it from my hands.  A sharp pain in my hand told me the boards hadn’t been well sanded, but I didn’t let on to the splinter’s presence. 

Ash was holding the map, which looked much smaller in his enlarged hands, and he hunched over it in concentration.  After a moment, he looked up at me and his eyes narrowed again.

It wasn’t our best map, more like our second-best map, and I believe that he knew it.  He and his murder had studied the good one long and hard before heading out on their mission.  I pointed a finger at the center of my chest, using my own body to block Fontina’s view.  He focused on it and then focused past me—behind me.  It was my turn to blink once.  We don’t bring out our best dishes when the pain in the ass relatives force themselves on us.

He growled and looked back at the map, one big claw scratching idly at the thin parchment.

“So you partially penetrated the fortress, but got caught—where?  In the tunnels?”

He growled and blinked at me.  Yes.

“Did the Paul try this on the whole murder?” I said, waving at his whole body.

He snarled, loud, but his eyes blinked twice.

“Just you?”

He threw down the map and it skidded to the bars just in front of my feet.

“Did he know you would stay you?”

His growl changed, becoming something uncertain.  Then he turned and lurched over to the big bed we had installed in the corner.  He collapsed on his side, facing the far wall.

I reached though the bars and retrieved the map, my very quick glance showing the vellum was scratched up as I handed it off, unexamined, to Soshi, who whisked it away from Fontina’s sharp eyes.

My single look had seen a small set of marks at places on the map that our more up-to-date version showed as entrances to the labyrinth under the Paul’s citadel.  I had also seen some clawed lines moving inward, so I felt pretty sure that we needed to examine it closely and compare it to our updated version. Ash had just drawn a map on the map.

“Break time.  We’ll go at it again in a few minutes,” I told Ash.

As I turned, Fontina raised her brows in obvious question.  I escorted her to the next room over and Soshi followed us out, closing the door behind her.

“You honestly think that that thing understands you?” she asked, incredulous.

“I’d ask if you honestly thought he didn’t, but we both know how far honesty goes in this business.  If you believe that he wasn’t communicating, then say the word.  We’ll have you back to the Ravens in no time.”

She studied me, expression blank.  I waited.

“My job is to observe this fiasco, so that’s what I’ll do.”

“Please.  We both know you’re just fishing.  You saw what I saw, and you realize what a font of information he is.  Don’t patronize me,” I said, turning to Urso, who had followed Soshi out of the room.  “Let’s give him a treat, shall we?”

Urso nodded and left through another door.

“He is your avowed comrade in arms and you speak of tossing him food for good behavior,” Fontina said.

She was clearly frustrated, or she would never have made that assumption.  It was useful to know where she stood.

“We’re sending his youngest nephew in to visit him,” I said.

I’ll give her this: She was fast on her feet.  “That strikes me as incredibly risky.”

“For who?” I asked.  “You and the Ravens?”

To her credit, she didn’t continue to press any kind of case.  We both knew that she had no moral or emotional interest in the survival of a child she had never met.  Probably not even a child that she had met.  Fontina had a definitive reputation for ruthlessness.

Her dark eyes bored into me and I could just about hear her brain working overtime.  She started to open her mouth but the door opened and Drew stuck his head in.

“Ah, boss.  A word?”

I nodded and headed his way.  As soon as I was through, he closed the door behind me, almost in Fontina’s face, leaving her under Soshi’s careful watch.

“There’s been a problem at the castle,” he said, pitching his voice low.  “Someone took out Lady Dominick right in her cell.”

“The princess and the king?” I asked.

“Both safe and under guard.”

I thought fast, then yanked the door back open.  Fontina was right where I had left her, under Soshi’s narrowed gaze.

“Today’s session is cancelled.  Let’s get your earplugs back on and your blindfold.  We’re headed out.”

“Your debrief has barely begun.  Time is of an essence with regard to the woldling’s information.”

“Well, no one will be questioning him for the time being and I’m not leaving you here.”

“I must insist.”

“Which carries no weight whatsoever.  Plus, your boss is going to want you at the castle two hours ago.”

“What’s happened?”

“Lady Dominick has been assassinated.”

“Didn’t you, yourself, design the prison and castle defenses?” she asked, eyebrow arching.

“I played a role in both, but it was a committee that included your boss, and, as you know, the defenses were tested by both agencies.  If I recall, your signature was one also listed on the Raven’s report.”

She frowned, her lips thinning, before finally nodding.

Soshi moved up behind her, earplugs and blindfold in hand.

Fontina reached backward without looking, holding her hand palm up for the plugs.

She put them in herself, but Soshi checked their fit, then wound the blindfold back over her eyes.  As soon as she stepped back, Drew pulled the black bag over our Raven’s head and cinched it down to block light from below.

We spun her around, then led her through a different set of tunnels and up a different set of stairs.  The same carriage was waiting as we exited.  The building we left was twenty spans from the one we had entered, which was the Knife and Needle itself.  We had a warren of tunnels underneath, some of which led to neighboring buildings that we also owned.  We were keeping Ash close to hand in the center of our territory.

Chapter 14

We travelled around Haven for about thirty-five minutes and ended up at the castle, where we released Fontina.

“I will accompany you, as I will not have you returning to your questioning without me.  If this was all a ploy to remove me, the king will hear of it,” she said as the blindfold and earplugs came off.

A royal guardsman trotted up to us.  “Captain, please follow me.  Your presence is needed.”

We walked at a fast pace into the offices and then came upon a full squad of guards with naked steel at the main gate to the lower levels.  At swordpoint, we were tested with the vile green urmak fluid to verify that we weren’t shapers.  Then we descended into the basements and got a second round of tests at the gates to the jail cells, normal procedure to prevent a shaper from infiltrating.

An offshoot of the Paul’s experiments, shapers could literally mold their facial features into those of someone else.  Their skulls are malleable, and they can literally look into a mirror, pushing and pressing their faces around with their fingers until they take on another’s shape.

It requires great skill and experience to copy another person’s face; they are also trained in the actor’s makeup art to the highest level.  The compound urmak, derived from a rare plant, causes an instant and very painful skin reaction with shapers, a dead giveaway.

I thought about how the guards had just tested us at both checkpoints, the tactical part of my mind bothered with their methodology.

A large group of guards ahead, at the cells, alerted me to royal presences, as did King Helat’s deep voice.

Warily, the guards stepped a little aside to let us through to join the king and princess, along with Slinch, Colonel Erser, and Doctor Eltienne, the royal physicker.  I noticed Rose standing a little behind Brona’s left side, with Salis on my princess’s other flank.

Brent was close behind the king, and his eyes were on everyone around them instead of the gory scene inside the cell.

King Helat met my eyes, his stare hard and angry.  I nodded and then turned my attention to the area of the crime. 

Lady Dominick lay on her back, draped over her thin, hard cot.  Her throat was cut almost to the spine and blood spattered everywhere, pooling on the rock underneath her.

“How?” Helat asked me, his eyes flicking to include Fontina.  Slinch made to speak but stilled when the king raised his hand without looking away from us.

“She was killed by a single stroke of a very sharp blade across the throat,” Fontina said, moving forward.  “The killer stood about here,” she said, putting herself in the spot that had a discernable lack of spatter.

Helat waved her explanation away as inconsequential.  She might be a highly skilled operative at the top of her game, but I think she lacked experience dealing with the king himself.  The manner of the death stroke was obvious to anyone with any edged weapon skill.

“How many guards died?” I asked Erser.

“Three.  One back here and the two at the jail checkpoint.”

“How were they killed?” I asked Doctor Eltienne.

“A sharp, narrow blade, likely a stiletto.  Same weapon that killed her,” Eltienne said with a wave at the bloody cell.  “The two by the gate were taken from behind, kidney and throat.  The one killed here was a straight stab up through the throat into the brain.”

“What are you thinking?” King Helat asked, more curious then demanding.

“Our testing procedure has grown stale,” I said as my mind delivered its analysis of the testing issue. I pushed up both sleeves and turned my arms over to show my testing marks. “The guards all apply the urmak to the same spot on our inner forearms.”

Most of them looked at their own forearms—except Brona, who gave me a wicked bright smile.  She always appreciates it when I demonstrate I’m not just a sharp spear, waiting to be thrown at the enemy.

“I don’t think it would be hard to come up with some kind of prosthetic fake inner arm pad,” I added.

Erser grimaced and swore while Slinch wore a thoughtful expression.  I could tell Fontina was looking at me from my left side, but I couldn’t see her face in my peripheral vision. The doctor was nodding.

“Colonel,” King Helat said.

“I’ll update all the guards immediately and prepare my resignation letter, Your Majesty,” Erser said.

“You don’t have my permission to resign, Colonel,” the king said.  “Just get our procedures updated.”

The colonel saluted the king and left the cell.  King Helat turned his eyes back on me.  He didn’t have to say a word.

“Where are the guards’ bodies and why were they moved?” I asked.

Slinch answered.  “We moved them to the cell on the end of this row.  It was considered wise to test each one to be sure it wasn’t a shaper pretending death, you know, with the king and crown princess headed here,” he said, his tone carrying a little bite, like sharp cheddar cheese.

I turned while he was still speaking, walking to the aforementioned cell.  Three bodies laid next to one another, each bloody and smelling of death-loosened bowels.

“Savid, I want you to Find who did this,” the king ordered.  His meaning was clear to Slinch and Fontina, both of their eyes lighting up at the emphasis on Find. The doctor’s expression didn’t change, so he might not have understood.

“That will depend on what evidence has been left behind,” I said, wincing internally at the king’s release of my secret. “And so far, I haven’t seen anything useful.”

“I have only conducted a cursory examination, but I did spot a shine of metal in the mouth of the last guard killed,” the doctor offered, demonstrating that he’d clearly understood the king’s comment.  “The strike came up through the bottom of the jaw, glanced off several teeth, and then punched through the roof of the mouth.”  He moved up next to me and pried open the mouth in question.

Brona, herself, held a torch over top of the guard so that I could see the tiny glimmer on the poor man’s gumline amid the shards of broken teeth.  She looked fascinated as the doctor pulled clever metal tweezers from a pocket inside his white smock and, with a completely steady hand, extracted the sliver.  I held out my silk pocket cloth and he dropped the speck of metal on it.

“Is it enough?” my princess asked.

“I won’t know till I try.  Death leaves an impression on weapons that can cloud things, and if it was a new weapon to the killer, there might not be much to work with,” I said, trying to ignore my discomfort at this open conversation.

“I had heard rumors, from members of your own family, that you were uncommonly good at finding lost items, Savid,” Slinch said. “But this speaks of a much more… refined Talent.”

“Which you will keep to yourselves,” the king said, pinning first Slinch and then the doctor and Fontina with his stare.  As much as he might think his royal word inviolate, I knew better.

“If you’ll excuse me, Your Majesty, Your Highness, I will see what I can do with this,” I said.

“Oh, but I wanted to watch,” Slinch said, almost joyous.

“Not a spectator sport, Neil,” Brona said suddenly.  “Leave him to his trade.”

I moved to an empty cell, worried that there wasn’t going to be much of my trade.  I was right.  The metal yielded nothing of value.

“Why?” King Helat asked when I reported back.

“Likely it was a very new weapon for the killer.  Probably first-time use.  The violence of the killings easily overpowered any impressions of the killer themselves.”

“What do you propose?” he asked.

“Old-fashioned tradecraft.  We start with who has been in to see Lady Dominick.  Word of her jailing is pretty recent information,” I said.

“A group of seven High Family representatives were cleared by His Majesty to visit her early this morning,” Neil Slinch said, holding up the guards’ logbook.  “This afternoon’s visitor page was ripped out.”

“May I see that?” Brona asked.  Slinch dutifully handed it over.  Rose looked over her shoulder.

“This morning’s party consisted of Ladies Olden and Kardian, your father, and both of your brothers, Savid,” the princess said, “Lord Hatch, and Steven Grantell.”  She let the hand holding the book to fall to her side and Rose gently tugged on it.  With a surprised look, Brona released it to the young girl, who brushed her fingers over the page from the day before.

“What is it, Rose?”

The girl tore a piece of paper from her own notebook and laid it over the guards’ book.  “The guards seem to write with a lead hand.  There is an impression on this page of what was written on today’s page… Your Highness,” she added quickly.  She took a stick of drawing charcoal from her bag and rubbed it sideways on the paper.  Then she blew off the dust and held it up to the light for a second before handing it to Brona.

“It’s hard to read—jumbled with the letters already on the page, but it looks like a G, R, A, then a straight line that could be an I or an L,” Brona said, looking at the rubbing.

Rose peeked over her shoulder again and pointed at the page.  “Oh, good eye, Rose.  It has a little peak at the top, like a capital A or an N.”

“Grantell?” King Helat asked.

“Possibly,” Brona allowed.  “At least three of the Grantells were logged through the outer gate this afternoon. As well as Lord Grainge.”

The king turned to his chief Raven. “Question them all. Find out what alibis they have; what they were doing today in the lower level.”

“Yes, Sire.  I’ll put my best person on it,” he said with a nod toward Fontina.

“Do it now, Neil,” the king said.

“As you say, Sire.  Savid, too bad your Talent wasn’t able to sniff anything out, eh?” Slinch said to me with a mocking look.  “Perhaps the Paul should give you the nose of a woldling.”

Both Ravens left, Slinch grinning, Fontina’s expression blank.

“Keep digging, Savid,” the king said before also leaving with young Brent in his wake.

Chapter 15

“What would you even use?” Brona asked, her brow puzzled.

“What?” I asked.

“Sorry.  I was thinking of what Neil said.  If any of us could smell like a hound, what would we even smell to track the killer?  The scents in here have to be jumbled all to hell.”

Brona has a sharp intellect that loves to solve problems.  I looked at the cell again, trying to think like Jella would.

“What about the book itself?” Rose asked.  “The killer handled it when he or she ripped the page out.”

“But so have we, and a half dozen other people,” I said, studying the cell and the murder scene.

“The killer let themselves into the cell, which would be ballsy considering a Lash’s hand-to-hand combat skills,” I said.  “And it’s not like she was weakened by captivity.  Her food and water were more than adequate.”

“What if the killer was unafraid because Dominick knew him or her?” Brona mused.

“Or heard the correct response to her code phrase,” I said.  “Did she speak her phrase when her official visitors were here yesterday?” I asked.

Brona nodded, waving a hand at the end cell holding the slain jailers.  “The guard reported to me yesterday that she asked all seven of them the same phrase.  Young Grantell just laughed as if he was nervous.  Your brother Tallen joked that the best heroes never leave home, and your father just swore.  Lady Kardian asked her if it was true that she was a spy, but Dominick only smiled and wouldn’t say another word to anyone.  They first tried to talk to her, then talked about her, then left.  The whole thing took five or six minutes.”

“So perhaps our killer was one of the seven?” I surmised.

“Half of them were your family members, Savid,” Brona said.

“Yup.”

“If the guard wrote Gran or Grain, shouldn’t we look at Grantell and Grainge?” Rose asked.

“That’s an obvious path,” I said. “The main gate to the lower levels has a significant number of people going through it daily.  Soldiers headed to the armory, jailers and cleaning staff coming to these cells, government officials and High Family agents visiting the treasury at the other end of the cellars, and a few people with business on the levels below this one.  It’s not at all uncommon for either of those families to be down here.  Also, it might not refer to them at all.”

“A skilled spy leaves multiple twisted trails and back trails, much like a Drodacian Forester would.  Anything that seems obvious most likely is,” Brona said.

“Oh, like leaving evidence to frame some other gang when you steal from a High Family,” Rose said.

Brona looked around at her and Rose immediately flushed.  “Or so I’ve read in novels,” she said.

“Good recovery, country girl,” the princess said in a dry tone.

I was still trying to focus my thinking like a predator, one that hunted by scent.  An idea was tickling the back of my mind, triggered by Slinch’s parting words.  The cell door stood open, swung out fully.

“Was the cell discovered with the door open?” I asked, looking closer at the handle and lock.

“Yes, exactly as you see it.  Other than moving the guards’ bodies, nothing in here was touched,” Brona said, her brows going up in a silent question.

The heavy key was still in the lock, a corded leather lanyard hanging down from it.

“Oh, I know that look,” the princess said.  “It happens every time you are about to do something crazy.”

“Then I have to work on my game face because that’s exactly what I’m contemplating.”

“Do I want to know?”

“Nope,” I answered with a smile.  “Deniability is the word of the day.”

“Seems like it’s the word of the year for this kingdom,” she said, frowning, but she nodded her acceptance.

Chapter 16

My plan required nightfall, which dragged on my nerves.  A cold trail is much harder to pick up, especially when scents are involved.  But there were a lot of moving parts to put into place and the time flew by.  I even managed to grab another quick nap before night fell, coming early and fast as it does to Montshire in December.

The streets were mostly empty, an icy wind blowing down from the mountains, driving sane citizens into their homes early.  The wind was bothersome to my plan, but I was grateful for the lack of witnesses as my small group moved slowly through Haven in two carriages.

We met agent Fontina at the main gates of the castle.

“Where’s my blindfold?” she asked when we showed her into the first carriage.

“We’re not taking you to where Ash was,” I said.

She frowned and looked ready to argue, then stopped herself as my words penetrated deeper. 

“Was?”

“Just hold on.  Drew, let’s go. Time’s wasting.”

The carriage turned and moved away from the castle and onto Brighton Street, which most of the city call the Street of the Families.  Drew trotted the horses all the way to the end of the street, then stopped and turned around, the carriage behind us doing the same.  At this point, I climbed out, Fontina following.  We walked back to the second carriage and Jella opened the window as we approached.  I reached into my pocket and pulled out a silk-wrapped bundle. The window of the seat across from Jella’s opened and Welton peeked out, saw me, and frowned at Fontina.  Then a giant furry hand, a paw really, gently moved him out of the way and Ash’s woldling snout poked out of the opening.

“You’re out of your mind,” Fontina whispered, so clearly shocked that it might have been a real reaction.

“Quite possibly,” I said, unwrapping the bundle to reveal the iron jail key and its attached lanyard.  Ash gave me a hard look with his red eyes, but then leaned farther out and sniffed the bundle several times.  He sneezed and growled, pulling back into the darkness of the carriage.

I glanced at Jella, who was watching him, waiting until she looked my way and nodded before I motioned to the driver, Soshi, to start forward.

Slowly the carriage moved up the Street of the Families while Fontina and I kept pace beside it.  We were headed back up the hill toward the castle, the size and opulence of the houses we passed rising as did the social rank of the families who owned them.

There was no response from the shadows of the vehicle other than a soft huffing every so often and the quiet whispers of Welton as he told his father about the inconsequential things of family life that Shadows missed when on mission.

We passed the lesser families and then the middle-ranked families and finally came to the dwellings of those names that had been part of the kingdom for centuries.  Bonlee, Armstrong, Kardian, Sampson, Grantell, and DelaCrotia. 

It wasn’t until we were right between the Grantells’ in-town mansion and my own family’s Haven base of operations that Ash suddenly stuck his nose out the window and breathed deep.

“Something?” I asked him.

He ignored me, instead closing his eyes and sniffing hard.

“Leave him be,” Jella said.  “Stop the wagon and let him process.  Trailing by scent is a skill, even if you have the nose for it.  It’s extraordinarily difficult to parse mixed scents.”

Ash smelled and sniffed for a solid three minutes before finally grunting in frustration.

“It’s here, right?” I asked, getting a growl of acknowledgement.

“Can you tell which house?” I asked.  The wind was coming from behind the two High Family homes, the hard breeze swirling in our faces.

He snarled and sank back into the dark.

“This wind is really tough,” Jella said.  “A scent tracker doesn’t follow body odor so much as they follow the skin dust that sloughs off all people and animals.  All this swirling and blowing makes that impossible.  It would seem you’ve narrowed your search down to two places.  The killer could be a family member or a servant of either of these two families—one of them being yours.”

“I can work with that,” I said.  “Let’s call it a night.”  I had grown up knowing the Grantells, and they would do anything for power—as would my own family.

Chapter 17

We dropped Fontina off at the castle gates to find her way to her home.  Several of my people were waiting to watch her and make sure she didn’t attempt to follow us.  A few other Shadows kept watch on our backtrail for other Ravens or potential observers.  Additionally, I sent Drew to the castle with a complete report on our findings for Brona.

Our two-carriage travel train pulled into a warehouse, the kind with doors on the front and back to make unloading and loading easier.  They slowed down to navigate the space but moved right on through and out the other end, leaving Ash, Welton, and myself behind.  We waited and watched for twenty minutes in the shadows of the building before we slipped out a side door and moved quietly through the streets—a man, a boy, and a cloaked giant. It took twice as long as it should have to reach the safe house, but the two old spies knew how important tradecraft was and the boy needed the education.

“Can I stay with Uncle Ash?” Welton asked when we were back on neighborhood streets, nearing the safe house.  Ash growled at him, but the boy kept his eyes on me. 

“Your mother expects you home and if I’m not mistaken, she’s currently staying overnight with Sissa, who is already suspicious about what’s going on.  Until I can convince your stubborn uncle to reveal himself to her, it isn’t fair to let her worry about her youngest nephew.”

Ash snarled when I mentioned his reluctance regarding Sissa, showing he was still fearful of her response.  In my heart, I couldn’t blame him.  If our positions were reversed, I would be terrified to ever let Brona catch a glimpse of me.  Although, to be fair, I knew my beautiful princess had never been influenced by the attractiveness of others.  She saw past outer appearances and straight to the person beneath the skin.  Growing up in the court of the king had taught her that beauty was meaningless, except as a weapon to be wielded as well as defended against.

Still, to most people, outward appearances mattered.  I didn’t believe Sissa to be that petty, but her husband had been transformed into a fur-covered, red-eyed monster.  How she reacted was impossible to predict.  At least Welton hadn’t so much as flinched.  He was just ecstatic to have his uncle alive, in any form at all.  He held the massive, clawed paw like it was nothing out of the ordinary. Ash had always been close with Paddy’s boys and Welton had resigned himself to the loss of his father.  Ash was a gift.

“Tell you what: You can stay with him till we get him resettled, then I’ll walk you to your home.”

“I can get there myself,” he said, drawing upright.  His uncle snarled at him, the kind of thing I’d heard from woldlings about to fight. Welton just put his head down and sighed.  “Alright.  Deal.”

Ash turned to me and gave me a much harsher snarl.  “Of course.  With my life,” I said, as the message was clearly a warning to guard the boy.

We skulked through the streets, avoiding other pedestrians except to receive signals from our own watchers as we moved through Shadow territory.  When we came to the house under which Ash had been jailed, we doubled back to verify we had no tails.  Having a soldier who could scent intruders like a wolf made it extra easy.  Honestly, we didn’t believe that we were under surveillance in our own territory, but Welton needed the training and the reinforcement of caution.

Inside the house, Ash turned toward the cellar door, but I stopped him.  “Upstairs is more comfortable.  I had an extra big bed put in,” I said.

He growled, giving me a side-eye.  “First, no reason for you to be uncomfortable.  Second, if the Ravens ever figure out this location, I want you above ground and ready to escape.”

He grunted and it sounded curious.  “Not sure what that one means,” I said.

“I think he wonders if you’re disobeying orders,” Welton said.

Ash grunted an affirmative.  “How the hell did you figure that one out?” I asked the boy, who just shrugged.  “Remind me to keep you handy when we continue the debrief.  You seem to understand him best.”

The boy puffed up and smiled, first at me and then up at the fearsome visage of his monstrous relative.  “Come on, Uncle Ash. Let’s find your room,” he said, tugging him toward the stairs.

I let them go ahead while I pulled a ham from the cold food locker and added a loaf of bread.  After a second’s thought, I grabbed a second loaf and then took it all upstairs.

Ash was seated on the giant bedframe our guys had thrown together for him, cautiously testing if it could hold his bulk.  Welton was chatting away like a magpie.  Ash looked done in and I saw a couple of winces of pain when Welton wasn’t looking.

“Here’s some snacking food.  And a bundle of willow bark,” I said, holding up both hands when he lifted his head and pinned me with red eyes.  “Unaltered willow bark,” I said, taking a piece and shoving it in my mouth to chew.  The bitter taste ran down my throat, but I kept my expression clear.  He watched me closely, leaning forward to sniff my face, then leaned back and sniffed the bark.  Finally, he grunted and put the whole wad of bark in his toothy maw.  Not sure if he believed me or just thought getting drugged again might not be so bad.  Sorry to disappoint, old friend, but it was just bark.

“There’s water here,” Welton said, shaking the pitcher one of our people had left on the side table. 

Ash turned to me and fixed both eyes on me and I had a flash of understanding.  From a small cupboard, I pulled a stout little bottle.  “Whiskey.”

His paw shot out and clamped over the neck of the bottle.  “Yeah, willow tastes like shit. All right; I have to get this lad to Treena or she’ll likely take a knife to me.”

He was already tipping the bottle into his mouth, half the liquor pouring out and down his chest but by the way his neck was bobbing, at least some made it inside. He grunted, put the now empty bottle down, and made another fast motion, both paws circling Welton in a flash.  Then he went deliberately very slow and gentle as he pulled the boy into a hug. 

“Uncle Ash!” Welton protested.  “I’m gonna smell like whiskey,” he said, wiping off the side of his cheek.  “Momma will murder me.”

I pulled a kerchief and wiped the liquor off, then splashed some water from the pitcher on the cloth and scrubbed his boozy cheek.  “All better.  Just tell her you got splashed at the bar.  She’ll smell your breath and believe you.”

Both woldling and boy looked at me with surprise and curiously similar looks of admiration.  “Not my first tournament, gentlemen. Now, let’s get a move on.”

Welton hugged his uncle fiercely, which was an odd sight.  The towering woldling, clawed hands carefully patting the small boy who squeezed the woolly monster with all his might.  Finally, the lad’s muscles gave out and he released Ash.  “Okay, I’m going home to guard Momma and Auntie Sissa,” he said, swiping his sleeve across his face.  “You sleep good, alright?” 

Ash grunted, holding out one giant hand, palm up.  Welton put his own hand atop it, palm down.  They held like that for moment and then after about three seconds, Welton’s hand went up in as big an arc as he could make it and Ash’s went down.

The boy was quiet as we walked through the snow-dusted streets of Haven.  A few people were out and about but they were locals who I recognized immediately.

“You okay?” I asked.

“What’s going to happen?”

“With what?”

“Uncle Ash.”

“I don’t know.  All I know is a very short time ago, I was convinced he was dead.  He isn’t.  He’s alive and safe.  I have found, Welton, that in life and especially in this line of work, which you do not need to follow, by the way, that we can only answer a few of our questions and control only some of our environment.  The rest we have to handle as it comes.  Having your uncle home, whether missing a leg, an eye, half his mind, or in his current form, is better than not having him at all.  From here on, we’ll just have to handle what comes.”

He went quiet, thinking hard as we covered the short distance to his aunt’s home.  When we got there, he rapped on the door.  “Momma, it’s me.”

The door whisked open, revealing Treena Upton.  Dark-haired like her boys and rather short, but with very bright blue eyes.  Behind her, one hand holding her very pregnant belly, was Sissa Newberry. Taller than average, she was a good height for her husband.  Her black hair was short and straight, her skin almost a caffe color that spoke to ancestors from the south, and her eyes were a color of brown so light that they appeared to be copper. She’s a very striking woman by most standard, but her strength is not just in her arms but more in her heart.

Treena grabbed her son in a tight hug that showed where Welton had learned his own method of embracing.  She kissed his head and lifted her eyes to mine, the relief in them.  “We were starting to worry.”

“Busy night, Treena, but Welton was great.”

Sissa’s eyes were locked on me, her gaze metal hard.  Uh-oh.  Looked like I was in for it.

“Welton, get some sleep.  I need to talk to your aunt,” I said.  His mother pulled him deeper into the house, leaving me with Sissa.

She turned and watched them go and I suddenly felt eyes watching us.  I started to tense, but these eyes had a familiar feel.  The watcher was outside, high up, probably roof level—but not, or so it felt, hostile.  Ahh.

Sissa turned back and fixed me in her gaze like Soshi sighting a target.

“What the hell is going on?  Why would you ask me for a bunch of stuff, why was Jella on my roof, and why is my nephew out at all hours of the night?”

I sighed, shoving a hand through my hair.  Then inspiration struck.  I stepped backward two steps and waved her to follow me.  Her glare deepened but she took the same two steps I had.  We were now exposed to the night, me almost in the street and Sissa just outside her door, standing in the light spilling from inside.  Baiting my trap.

“I want to tell you,” I said, raising my voice deliberately. “But I am held to another’s confidence.  This other is… stupidly stubborn.  Gravel-headed is the term that you would use, I believe.”

Her face changed, shock flooding her features.  “You can’t mean…”

“I can’t say.  He’s… this other is worried about appearances,” I said, tilting my head to the right to listen.  A soft scraping sound from above, as of hard claw on stone.  Many buildings in Haven are roofed with slate shingles, the stone being one of the kingdom’s principal exports.

Sissa heard it too and noted my head angle.  She snapped around and stared up at the roof of the house next door—and gasped.

I looked quickly, catching just a glimpse of a furry form slipping away.  When I turned back to her, she was alarmed but watching me.

“That was a woldling!”

“That wasn’t exactly what it appeared to be.  That was a gravel-headed thing which won’t let me speak to you about it,” I said.  I couldn’t count how many times I had heard her call her husband gravel head.

Her hand rose to her mouth as understanding hit.  “How?”

“We don’t know.  Something new… Something meant to terrify us.  But something that didn’t go exactly as the Paul planned. Not at all.”

“He’s still him?”

“Inside?  Yes.  For how long?  No idea.  He was supposed to stay hidden, at his own insistence, while I brought Welton home, but curiosity killed that cat.”

Her strong face crumpled, and her eyes glimmered with tears.  I rushed in to fill the gap.  “He is terrified of what you’ll think—that you’ll reject him.”

The crumpling stopped and the wet eyes went a little hard.  “Oh really?  And Welton knows?”

“Both boys know. Both have had a chance to see and talk to him, but Welton the most.  Sissa, your brother didn’t make it—only Ash.”

“So this is why I donated my second-best scarf and two of my healing poultices.”

“Yup.  We drugged the poultices so we could get a hold of him. Your scent overwhelmed all of his professional caution. He has shown he still has his RRS abilities by leading Jella on a merry chase around the city, then when we tracked him here, his damned uncle almost killed him and he escaped.  But we found him again and used the drugs to catch him.  He woke up and became somewhat reasonable.  He helped us with a case today, with Welton at his side.  But he’s terrified of how you’ll respond.  I pushed and pushed, but he’s an idiot.  Then he gave himself away just now and there you have it.”

She studied me, her mind clearly going like a runaway horse.  The unshed tears were wiped away and she seemed of two emotions—a joyous relief mixed with a hurt anger.

“He’s always been a little worried you were out of his league.”

“We’re all out of all of your leagues,” she said, putting a hand on her hip.  “But that’s what we have to work with.  I’m mad at you.  Unbelievably grateful that you caught him and kept him alive, but I’m still mad.”

“Valid,” I said.

“Can Welton find where he is tomorrow?”

“Ash duty is Welton’s only job right now.”

“Okay then.  Good night, Savid.”

“Goodnight, Sissa Newberry,” I said.  She smiled at her last name, nodded, and closed the door.  I listened for the sound of the bolt dropping into its brackets before I headed home to the Knife and Needle.  Maybe tonight I could get four or five whole hours of sleep.

Chapter 18

I actually got a full seven hours of sleep, with nothing waking me and not a single dream that I could recall.  Dressed and armed, I headed downstairs, finding my inn already busy.

“Well, there he is,” Brin said, coming out of the kitchen.  “A message came by courier for you a half hour ago.  From the castle.  It’s in your office.  Tina, bring Savid some food and caffe, would you now?” she asked as one of our other servers came out of the dining room with a tray.

“Of course,” Tina said with a quick smile and without slowing down on her way to the kitchen.

Tina was relatively new to us—just a year or so, but she was Drew’s younger sister.  She had witnessed our formal graduation from Despair, just a little girl standing alongside her parents and grandmother as the Squadron commander had welcomed us to the RRS and issued our placement orders.

I headed into my office and found a packet secured with wax and stamped with the castle’s seal.  It was dated for today.

Captain Savid DelaCrotia,

You are henceforth summoned to attend his Royal Majesty, King Helat Warcan at the end of this morning’s court session.

Calpin Torqness,

Seneschal of Havensheart Castle

That was it.  Odd.  I had never been summoned by Cal before.  Requests for my presence had always been either overt or covert messages from Brona, or on several occasions, direct visits by royal guardsmen on behalf of the king.  This was extremely unusual and made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up a little.

The king’s first court session of the day began at the tenth hour and ended by noon. I had a notion of waking to nine bells rung across the city, several hours past my normal time.

The only truly accurate clock in Haven was the church’s mechanical clock in the bell tower of the cathedral. Only the church could be trusted with a device that was clearly proscribed technology, and only because monks from the Brotherhood of the Apostle kept close watch over it.  The order, which consisted of perhaps seventy to eighty individuals, only existed to operate, regulate, and continually bless the six clocks that were distributed around Montshire.

The rest of us made do with sundials and sand clocks, constantly recalibrating them to the chimes of the church.

Tina pushed open my door, a plate of food in one hand and a cup of steaming caffe in the other.

“Has the tenth bell rung yet?” I asked.

“Not yet, but soon,” she said, glancing at my desktop where the message laid open.  “You likely have a quarter hour yet.”

“Thank you, Tina.  Would you ask whichever lad is on duty to saddle Tipton?”

“I will at that,” she agreed with a nod.

Breakfast consisted of oatmeal sweetened with maple syrup and a pat of melting butter, paired with an autumn apple that had not yet begun to wrinkle.  I shoveled in the thick porridge, gulped down the caffe, and took the apple with me. 

Stopping by my rooms, I pulled out a better-quality cloak of dark gray trimmed with black fisher fur and changed my brown wool shirt for a deep blue tunic of a more formal nature.  My boots were muddy and scuffed so I took several minutes to brush them into a semblance of cleanliness.  The pants I had selected for the day were of good quality and clean, so they would have to do.  My time was short; the missive said end of session, but a king as mercurial as Helat might end it early.

The church bell rang ten times as Tipton clopped up the hill toward Havensheart and I arrived in the back of the crowded throne room about five minutes after the first petitioners had begun pleading their cases.  Standing near the back wall, my height allowed me to see over most of the heads in front of me.

King Helat listened intently as the first of two merchants described how he’d been cheated on an order of cloth by the other merchant.  At the king’s right hand, Princess Brona listened just as attentively.  That was also unusual these days, as Brona did not often attend morning court, being fully occupied with her duties running the kingdom’s charities, overseeing the directorate of agriculture, trade, and natural resources, running her own businesses, and, of course, directing the Shadows.  Something odd was up.

The next two hours dragged by as the king heard and passed judgement on disputes, welcomed foreign officials, heard from trade delegations (which he usually handed off to Brona), and listened and responded to complaints or concerns from citizens of Montshire.  The seneschal kept track of time by the simple expedient of looking out a strategic window in the throne room that gave a clear view of the church steeple.  I have a pretty good sense of time, but the long lines of supplicants had long ago confused my internal clock like a skilled street con running a shell game.  Suddenly I saw the seneschal turn from the window and raise his right hand to shoulder height. The king’s sharp eyes caught the motion before returning to the man in front of him who was going on about an uneven trade of cheese for beef.  The king raised his own hand, stopping the man in midsentence, and ruled that the terms of the deal had been clear to all parties before the transaction occurred and that he must abide by the results.

“And that will end our formal hearings for this morn,” Helat said.

“But Your Majesty, the clock…” The next person in line snapped his mouth shut at the ice-cold glare the king gave him and immediately dropped into a deep bow of acceptance.

“Now then, Savid DelaCrotia… Where are you?” King Helat asked the chamber. 

“Here, Your Majesty,” I called, moving forward from my spot at the back of the room.   The lines of petitioners melted out of my path as I walked the full length of the room, all eyes on me.

“Step up here with us,” the king invited, a rare honor. 

I climbed up on the dais as he stood up, Princess Brona at his side. Once in front of him, I dropped to one knee as protocol demanded.

“There has been some confusion across our great kingdom over the past few months concerning our regard for Montshire’s only living holder of the Kingdom Cross,” the king said in his deep voice.  “We regret the necessity of that confusion, but it served our kingdom well.  However, as Crown Princess Brona has reminded us, the time is past due to clear this matter up.  Captain Savid DelaCrotia has been and continues to be a patriot of our nation. Let it be known, now and forever, that his retired rank is hereby to be recorded in the kingdom’s archives as Captain, Retired, Ranged Reconnaissance Squadron.”

Then the king reached down and pinned a set of captain’s bars to the collar of my tunic.  “Rise, Captain,” he said.

I stood up and he gave me another honor—he gripped my forearm and I gripped his, causing the crowd to ooh.  Much as Lord Sampson’s kiss on Brona’s hand, the touch of arms and hands between men is only done with one’s most trusted allies, another holdover from the days of rampant disease and illness.  He was showing me the greatest respect—but I wasn’t fooled.  He bid me follow him as he and his daughter took their leave of court, a procession of aides and administrators following behind.

I’ve known the king almost my entire life.  As the only child who could consistently interact with Brona and survive, I’d had his attention from an early age.  King Helat Warcan was every inch a modern king: intelligent, decisive, extremely well educated, a skilled swordsman, a brilliant negotiator, as well as being arrogant, condescending, egotistical, and never willing to admit a mistake. 

I recognized his actions for what they were: a down payment on my loyalty, as well as a very public repositioning of my role in the kingdom.

Any human, given absolute power, will come to feel entitled to that power.  That’s my opinion, but it’s based on very close observation of some very powerful people.  King Helat felt that by showering me with so many public displays of his supposed respect for me, it would cement me to him.  I’ve seen him do it with a steady stream of officers and officials throughout my lifetime.  And if I had somehow, on my own, missed what he was doing, Brona had taken the time to enlighten me.  After all, he shared many of his philosophies of leadership with his heir.  She just didn’t take them all to heart. 

In many cases, it worked.  Lauding praise on subordinates sure seemed to give them a boost and create admirers, but the other side of the coin was never far away.  Those same individuals could fall from grace with one simple mistake and never regain it.  They would be quickly shuffled out of the castle, their fortunes ruined in an instant.  It left some very bitter people in the trail of the king’s path.

He had mostly avoided such displays with me, I think because on some level he recognized that I had already given my loyalty to the crown princess.  In the early years, he’d had no problem with that.  But when the RRS successfully disrupted the Sylvanian hordes using guerilla tactics under my command, things changed.  Brona was nothing if not truthful with me, and she’d told me at the time that he’d been extremely reluctant to award me the Kingdom Cross.  I had gained too much attention.  But pressure from the public, both noble and common man alike, had forced his hand.  From that point forward, King Helat has viewed me differently.  I had even wondered aloud to Brona if he was looking at me as a replacement for his rook, the shadowy assassin who was rumored to have fixed many of the king’s problems over the years.  He, too, was supposedly of ex-RRS stock.

So now Helat was attempting to win me with the payment of his public praise.  And doing so in his daily court was actually more effective than at a High Family gala.  The morning court was rarely attended by nobility; rather, it was more merchants, both domestic and foreign, tradesmen, common folk, and lower kingdom officials.  Such an audience would spread word far and wide with a speed that a prized racehorse would envy. This, I suspected, was also part of his plan.  I was being positioned deliberately for some reason I hadn’t yet sussed out.

The royal party entered the administrative section of the castle where normally the king, Brona, the seneschal, and many other functionaries would head to their respective offices, desks, or other duties.  This time, the king turned and motioned me to follow him and Brona into his own office.  Everyone else was left outside.  But someone was already waiting inside the inner sanctum—Neil Slinch.

Chapter 19

“You had a successful night,” the king said as soon as he was seated behind his massive desk.

“It would seem so, Sire,” I replied.  “More investigation will be needed to both verify the lead and then identify which of the families has the traitor.”

“Yes, of course,” he agreed, nodding sagely.  His gaze sharpened and he leaned forward.  “Especially as one of those families is yours.”

I shrugged but didn’t take my eyes off him.  “DelaCrotia or Grantell; it could easily be either one.”

“I know your personal situation has been strained, Savid, but you are awfully glib about the prospects of a traitor in your own House.”

“I don’t think it has been my house for a very long time, Sire,” I said, trying to read his intent.  “We both know that my family is at least as ambitious as any of the High Families.”

“Does not the chance that it could be your dear mother or sister worry you?” he asked, eyebrows arching.

“No, I discount that completely.  My mother abhors the Paul and everything he stands for, as does my sister who, by the way, does not live in that house anymore but with her husband’s family.”

He studied me critically, then glanced at his daughter and his head of spies.

“I have another mission for you,” he said.

“Sire, I haven’t completed either of my current ones,” I protested.

“Despite your words, the possibility of conflict of interest is very real.  Neil will take over the hunt for the traitor,” King Helat said, his hawklike gaze watching me carefully.

Only Brona’s frown kept me from speaking out. She never gave me such a harsh look when she was in crown princess mode in the company of the king, rather just maintaining a cool look of indifference—at least when others could see.  Now she was giving me a very serious warning. At least, that’s how I took it.  King Helat did not suffer threats to his rule.  A rebellious war hero turned spy could be easily construed as a very real threat. Maybe a target for the rook, rather than a replacement?

“And Ash’s interrogation?” I asked, keeping my tone level and calm.

“Your own people can continue that without you,” the king said, his own tone just as level.

“As you say, Sire,” I agreed.  “What do we need to handle, Your Majesty?”

“A Raven in Porye has reported a situation that could be a real problem for us,” the king began.  “I don’t have to tell you that our tiny coastline is our only link to the ocean.  Neil’s asset indicates rapidly rising tensions between factions in Berkette and Mandrigo, with Porye caught right in the middle.”

“What factions, Sire?”

The king turned to Slinch, who cleared his throat.  “That’s just it.  The term factions is one we can apply only loosely.  The reality is the conflicts are popping up between disparate groups of individuals with no known previous involvement.  It seems to be ideological in nature and split between individuals who feel the republic’s form of government is superior to Mandrigo’s, or the kingdom’s is superior to the republic.  These individuals are coming into conflict, more and more, in our territory.”

“The two countries have existed peacefully for decades,” I said. “And left our coastline alone.”

“That’s just it,” the head Raven said.  “This came out of nowhere without any warnings.  Literally, it has blown up overnight.  Three days ago, it was a bar fight.  Two days ago, a mass brawl in the streets of Porye. Merchants, fishermen, tavern, and inn owners, even farmers from outside the town, all fighting each other over differences that have been in place for more than a hundred years.”

“You will take a team and investigate this unrest,” King Helat said, “and when you find its cause, you will take whatever steps are necessary to alleviate the situation.  Clear?”

“Clear, Sire.”

“My daughter will give you the rest of your briefing.  You leave as soon as your team is selected and assembled.”

“Yes, Majesty.”

Clearly dismissed, I followed Brona out of the king’s office and into hers, nodding to Marda as we passed her desk.

My princess led me to the sitting area and took a seat closest to the fireplace.  I mentally smiled to myself.  Brona hates the cold.  She doesn’t allow that hatred to slow her down, as witnessed by her work in the freezing cold garden, but she still gravitates to warmth whenever possible.

“What are you smirking about?  Father is very… concerned about you.  Slinch is whispering in his ear and any sign of insubordination will turn ugly fast,” she said.

“I took your warning,” I said, the smile I thought I had concealed sliding off my face. “Why is he so sensitive all of a sudden?  I follow orders and have been at least modestly successful.”

“You did, you do, and you are… much more than modestly.  Slinch is using that efficiency against you.  Instead of being a good thing, he makes it out to be a threat.”

“Your father is very intelligent; how can he fall for that?”

“Intelligent, but egotistical and emotional.  He is jealous.  You are my operative.  The Shadows are my agency.”

“Hence him giving me multiple direct orders lately,” I said.

“Exactly.  You and the Shadows have become too good of a weapon to leave in my hands.”

“Are you in danger from your father?” I asked, aghast at the thought but knowing it wasn’t completely out of order.

“No.  Unless I begin to defy him and feed into the paranoia that Slinch has been spooning him,” she said in a cold tone. 

“Slinch has made an enemy of you.  Why would he take that risk?  Is he our traitor?”

She smiled.  “So many questions, Savid.  Yes, Neil Slinch’s days are numbered, but I don’t know why—at least not yet.  But today was the last straw.  Sending you away from me is an unforgivable offense.  Steps have been taken.  But, Savid, my dear, the mission you have been given is no less important.  And it will take time, between travel, investigation, and travel back.  That, too, is intentional.  Send away my most dangerous ally, isolate me, leave me vulnerable,” she said, her eyes going wide in mock fear.  I might actually be one of her top weapons, but Brona collected living weapons like nobles collected swords.  She grew up watching Slinch plot, listening to her father plan and maneuver.  I didn’t like leaving her, but I had no doubts she had numerous assets and weapons the head Raven knew nothing about.

“So, to your mission, which you must handle well and quickly.  The Raven in Porye is named Freyla Slost.  She owns a tavern, the Lost Lobster, down near the waterfront.  She will house your team and brief you on the particulars, which will surely have changed by the time you get there.  It’ll take what?  Four days?”

“Roughly, depending on weather and road conditions.”

“Slinch received a falcon this morning from Freyla.  There are rumors that the regent of Stoneport in Berkette and the magistrate of Kittwell in Mandrigo are becoming involved in this mess.  You need to get there and stop this before they become the actual factions in this dispute.  You must prevent a war that will take out our only seaport.”

Chapter 20

We left almost immediately, less than two hours after my meetings at the castle.  Jella, Soshi, Drew, Cort, Trell—and Kassa.  Hemppe was in charge in my absence and I had given him some very detailed instructions regarding Ash and Brona.

Darkness came fast but we pushed on, the King’s Highway making for easy travel with a crescent moon shining on the thin layer of snow.  We didn’t make it to Lil, just halfway.  Jella chose a sheltered spot just off the road, against a sheer rock wall that faced south.  As such, it was free of snow and slightly warmed by the day’s sun.  We built a big fire and reheated an excellent moose stew that Brin had packed for us.  I kept my eyes on both Trell and Kassa, as they were not Shadows and not accustomed to our pace.  Of the two, Trell seemed the worse for wear.  Kassa seemed tired but cheerful, as if horseback travel was nothing new to her.  Trell, who had traveled a great deal as a bard, looked pretty done in.  My estimation of our eslling ally rose a great deal in that moment.

The night passed quickly and Jella had us up early, our camp broken, packed, and the lot of us back on horseback before the sun had fully risen.  The day was cold but clear and we were able to spend our second night at a modest but warm inn in Hamptonia, a small village on the King’s Highway.  Shadows are used to moving fast and roughing it, but the inn gave us solid rest and more importantly, solid rest and food for our mounts in cold winter conditions.  It was worth the slight delay of standard accommodations over field expediency to be sure our horses were fresh for the rest of the trip.

We camped on the third night and made Porye well after dark of the fourth day.  Everyone was exhausted as our horses trudged through the streets of the ancient port town.  History said that Porye was built on the ruins of a Punished city, one that had been old when the Punishment happened.  The streets were a patchwork of brick, gravel, and blackstone—the last being the roadbuilding material of choice of the Punished.  It wasn’t anything magical or even too technical, but it also hadn’t ever been duplicated on the scale that the Punished had employed it. 

The smell of saltwater filled the air and the temperature was quite a few degrees warmer than Haven had been.  The streets were well lit with torches but curiously quiet.  We hardly saw a handful of people.  That was unusual, as despite the late hour, a port town really never sleeps.  This didn’t feel like sleeping, though. It felt more like waiting… like watching.

We found the Lost Lobster easily enough, as Trell had played there once.  It was one of the bigger inns we’d seen in Porye and even though the night was actually closer to morning, there were still grooms to take and stable our horses.  I noticed one who ran inside the inn as well.

We entered, coming into a barroom that was well occupied but not overly noisy. A pair of big, heavily muscled men were seated on stools on either side of the entry. The lady behind the bar took one look at us and called one of her serving girls to take her place, her eyes never leaving us.

“That was pretty quick,” she said as she approached.  Tall, just a hand’s length shorter than me, she had dark hair streaked with gray, brown eyes, and sharp, severe features.  She had a few spare pounds on her frame, but she still looked tough enough to toss a drunk out of her bar.  Although the two bouncers who were now standing and staring holes in us probably made that a pretty uncommon occurrence, there was still something in her eyes that made me think she’d done much worse in her time.  “Follow me,” she said without even a word of introduction.

Without yet saying a word, we trailed her to a private dining room, the hired muscle in our wake.

Inside the room, she turned and her eyes went to her security guys, now standing in the doorway.

“I’m good. Go keep an eye on Molly.  Make sure nobody thinks they can scare her into freebies.  And have Cara bring these folks some ale and food.”

“Are you sure, ma’am?” one of the two hulks asked in a voice like rocks grinding.

“Absolutely,” she said.  The men nodded respectfully and left, closing the door behind them.  “Like they would make a difference, right?” she asked us.

“Freyla Slost?” I said.

“Of course, Captain DelaCrotia. Who did you expect?” she said back.

I ran a quick glance over my people, catching Kassa’s nod as my eyes passed over her.

“You asked for help, Raven.  Help is here,” I said.

She was silent for a moment, pulling back to study me and then giving the rest of my team a look over.  Whatever she saw, she kept it to herself.

“There is a serious problem here, Captain.  During the time of your travels, the situation has devolved much further.”

“Tell us about it,” I said, pulling out a chair at the big dining table and sitting down.  Instantly, Trell and Kassa did as well.  Jella chose to jump nimbly on a sideboard set against the wall.  Cort and Drew moved to either side of the door, leaning back against the wall, all relaxed looking.  I knew they could move very quickly should a surprise come through the door.  Soshi pulled a chair at the other end of the table, spun it around, and sat backward on it, arms folded over the top of the back, her hands very close to the sleeves that I knew each held a bolter.

Freyla took all of us in, and her eyes were sharp.  I don’t think she was missing much.

“My father was a member of the Squadron,” she said softly.  “I have some idea of what you do, as I suspect you have an idea of what I do.”

I just nodded and waited.

“Some time ago, maybe two weeks, maybe almost a whole month, a number of altercations began to take place,” she began.  “Porye is a very old town; the port was founded long before the Punishment took place.  Our kingdom’s boundaries with Mandrigo and Berkette are almost unchanged since that time. The Montshire coast is only thirty t-spans long, so our northern and southern neighbors are real close. Relationships in this town have been stable for decades, if not even longer.  Of course, we have seen the Sylvanian bullshit that the Paul attempts from time to time but between our allies, things have been, as I say, solid. Till now.”

“What did these altercations look like?” Jella asked.

Freyla turned and looked at my Drodacian teacher.  “At first, arguments and disagreements over business transactions.  That happens everywhere, of course, and is a natural element of commerce.  But this was different.  The frequency and intensity were much more than anything I’ve seen in my fifteen years here.  Suddenly normal negotiations broke down and became crazy schisms that split partnerships that had been in place for generations.”

“What form did the disagreements take?” Jella asked.  “Trade terms?”

“No, those kinds of disagreements are normal parts of business negotiations.  These were philosophical differences, primarily in terms of how each country treats things like citizen’s rights, governmental leadership, taxation, property ownership, and the enforcement of laws.”

“If these transactions happen in Montshire territory, aren’t they subject to Montshire laws?” Soshi asked.

“Yes, exactly.  That’s part of what has kept things sane for so long.  Our kingdom falls pretty closely between Berkette’s republic and Mandrigo’s monarchy.  Ours is also a monarchy, but with rotating leadership from the High Families, much as the republic circulates leadership among its wealthy class.  Our economic policies are fair and favor ease of commerce.  Taxation is reasonable and the government generally delivers the services the citizens need. Yet these conflicts were mainly about the differences between Berkette and Mandrigo.”

“Mainly?” I said.

“Sometimes Montshire’s form of government is the issue and when that happens, both sides take great pains to point out whatever differs most from their own culture and ignore the commonalities.”

“Hasn’t this always gone on?” Jella asked.

Freyla turned back to our Drodacian.  “Of course, on a very minor and very polite scale—at least compared to this.  Pub table debates have always occurred.  But in the past week, my guys have broken up seventeen fights.  In the previous three months, I’ve only had one scuffle, and it involved two old men wrestling over a bottle of rum.”

“So it’s a real threat. Any idea of the cause?” I asked.

She turned back to me, looked me in the eye for a moment, and then nodded.  Standing, she moved to the same sideboard that Jella was sitting on.  Ignoring the dangerous warrior who was swinging her feet, Freyla pulled a small key from a pocket and unlocked the little door in the center of the cabinet.  She pulled out a black bundle of cloth and came back to the table, then she set it down in front of me. 

“That’s the cause,” she said with a nod at the object. “Or at least an example of the cause.”

I reached over and carefully unfolded the material, which seemed to be a silk handkerchief.  My team moved closer to see as the contents were revealed.  In the center of the black silk laid a circular piece of copper with an eyelet at the top like it might have been strung on a necklace. Centered on the copper disk was a rectangular white object with three rounded corners, the fourth having been cut off.  Inlaid in the rectangle and taking up most of it was another rectangle, this one of gold with tiny black lines running through it that were so precise, no craftsmen I knew of could have copied them.

“That looks like something of the Punished,” Cort said.

“It is,” Freyla said.  “Retrieved from Punished technology.”

“You said this was an example?” I asked.

“Yes.  These necklaces have been appearing all over town.  The churches of all three countries have pronounced them to be salvaged metal and not proscribed technology.  The gold you see is real, just negligible.  It would take thousands of these things to amount to any real value, and no one has ever found that many. But six months ago, a jeweler out of Strong started to use them in his designs with a small amount of success.  But then a month ago, these other ones appeared, and they’re different.”

“You have it wrapped in silk?” I asked.

“Yeah, exactly.  If you touch it, you’ll immediately want to pick it up.  When you do, you’ll become fascinated.  If you wear it next to your skin, you’ll start to change.”

“Change?” Kassa asked.  She’d been absolutely quiet, but the object seemed to have her complete attention.

“Your personality will begin to… morph.  You’ll get very focused on your own beliefs, very quick to defend them.  Next you’ll find yourself gravitating to people with similar beliefs and arguing with people who don’t agree.  Violence will quickly follow.”

“You sound like you know this from personal experience,” Jella observed.

“Just a little bit, combined with hours of observation,” Freyla said.  “Every altercation and act of violence recently has involved wearers of these objects.  This one got ripped off a brawler’s neck two days ago.  One of my girls picked it up.  When I asked to see it, she got in my face. This girl is one of my rescues, abused and beat down.  It’s taken me two years to get her to hold a conversation.  She doesn’t say boo to anyone.  I was so surprised, I smacked it from her hand and picked it up before she could.  She tried to get it, realized what she was doing, and ran from the room.  In the meantime, I found myself feeling like I would kill her if she spoke back to me again.”

“What made you put it down?” I asked.

She looked at me long and hard.  “Let’s just say that I’m not a stranger to things that can be addictive.  I recognized it for what it was.”

“Which was what?” Cort asked.

“A drug,” Kassa answered for her, eyes still on the object.  “Just one you don’t smoke, snort, drink, or otherwise put in your body.”

“Exactly,” Freyla said, looking at the pretty, soft-looking girl with surprise.

“You think it’s been tainted?” I asked Kassa.

“Of a sort,” she answered, giving me a meaningful look.

“Any idea where these are coming from?” I asked Freyla.  She looked back and forth between Kassa and me, then she shook her head.

“They just started to appear.  I’ve asked ten or twelve wearers where they got them, and they all told me that they found them just lying on the street or floor somewhere.”

“Smart,” Soshi said.  “Just leave the shiny drug laying around and let the soon-to-be addicts pick them up.  No way to trace them back.”

There was a knock at the door and Freyla leaned forward and covered the necklace even as she spoke.  “Come in.”

One of the bouncers opened the door, then moved out of the way to let a waitress in with a tray of covered dishes.

“There are plates in that cabinet you’re sitting on, along with spoons and forks,” Freyla said to Jella as she waved the serving girl to the table and began to transfer the contents from the tray. 

“There is fresh bread, cheese, butter, beer, wine, and fish stew,” the waitress said. “The kitchen shut down an hour ago, but the soup was still hot.”

“That soup is quite good,” Freyla said, her tone a little defensive.

“It smells excellent,” I said.  “We are lucky you have it at all, arriving this time of night.”

Freyla nodded once, eyes on me as my murder descended upon the food and drink.

Chapter 21

Conversation ended temporarily while my people ate. The waitress retreated from the room, casting us a few curious glances as she went.

“How fast will word get out of our arrival?” I asked, watching the girl leave.

“From her?  Never.  My people don’t talk.  But I can’t say the same for anyone who saw you enter tonight.  Certainly by this time tomorrow, Captain.  You are, after all, well known in Montshire, as are a few of your companions, such as the famous Trell here,” Freyla said, although her eyes flicked Jella’s way briefly.

“Hmm. Okay—assignments,” I said.  “Cort, Drew, and Soshi, you’re on pub patrol. Hey, wipe those smiles off your faces and keep your wits about you.  Observe.  Trell, you do what you do so well.  Jella—” She had had her bowl up to her mouth, swigging the last of her soup, and now she set it down and fixed her steely gaze on me. 

“I’m out,” she said, to which I merely nodded.  What she meant was she would ghost about the town, likely check on Yawl, who would be just outside the community limits, and possibly even sleep in the woods.  And somehow learn all kinds of interesting details.

“Kassa, you and I will stay here,” I said with a nod toward the wrapped object.  “The less I’m out and about, the better.”

“Still hours left before the pubs close, so I’m off,” Trell said, picking up his wrapped lute and pausing to look at his other instruments.

“They’ll be safe,” I said to him.  “We’ll put them in our rooms, along with the rest of the gear.”

“We have time to canvas a couple of likely information sources as well,” Drew said, which earned him a snort from Soshi and a wicked grin from Cort.

“Speaking of rooms, I have set one aside for the women and two for the men.  They’re on the end of the hall upstairs, two on one side, one across the hall.  Facilities are halfway down the hall.”

“Do the two on the same side connect?” I asked.  It was a feature that some of the better inns included in at least a few rooms.

“Yes,” Freyla said with a look like I had insulted her child.

“We’ll put all the men there,” I said. “Trell, head on out.  You three, grab some gear and haul it upstairs.  Jella, have a good night.”

“Aye, Captain,” Drew said.  Soshi nodded and Cort snapped off a salute.  Funny thing is that when he does that, he actually means it. There’s no flippancy or sarcasm in his actions.

Jella nodded at the group and slipped out the door, taking her small pack and weapons.  Her saddlebags were left behind.  Trell left just behind her, while the other three loaded up like pack mules and hauled the baggage upstairs, leaving just Kassa and myself—along with Freyla.

I turned my gaze on her and she returned it with calm curiosity.  After a moment, she blinked.  “I’ll trust you to take care with that,” she said.  “I don’t need any Recon warriors running amok in my business.”

My right eyebrow lifted all on its own as I processed her words.  She blinked again and stood up quickly.  She paused, as if deliberately slowing her motions, and then left the room at a sedate pace.

Once the door clicked shut, I turned back to find Kassa watching me with a slightly wary expression.  “I hardly ever run amok these days,” I said with a little smile.

Her eyes widened a tiny bit, like my attempt at breaking the ice surprised her.  “Sounds like a thing to be avoided,” she said carefully.

“Well, as they say, with age comes wisdom,” I said, shrugging.  “Now, what do you make of all this?”

“This situation?  Or this artifact?”

“Yes.”

She frowned and thought about it.  “Personality alteration can be done with drugs and certain toxins,” she said.  “For instance, the scorpion sand striker, which is found in these waters, produces a toxin that in small doses can completely transform a normal well-adjusted individual into a crazed maniac.”

“I’m familiar with it,” I said. 

“Oh, right.  It’s sometimes hard to remember who and what you people are.  Other times, like when you were staring down our hostess, it’s terrifyingly clear.”

“I understand. I felt the same way when I first met Jella.  Trell mentioned a similar feeling several times as he’s gotten used to us,” I said, although I doubted that Kassa had actually forgotten anything about us for even an instant.

“I should probably defer any conversations about toxic substances to you,” she said, watching me with that alert, careful gaze.

“Never hesitate to include any piece of information that you think might be germane.  We happen to be well versed in toxins, and particularly well with scorpion striker venom—it’s what we used to poison the woldling hordes,” I said. “But we don’t know everything.”

“Oh,” she said, eyes widening again.  “That makes a certain sense.  Make them crazy… crazier, and then set them against each other.”

“Exactly.  Woldlings have a high tolerance for drugs and poisons in general, but not that one, and they’re pretty close to manic at the best of times.  Plus, the venom is extremely potent and concentrated, which made transporting sufficient doses easier.”

“The defense ministry said the RRS poisoned thousands of woldlings. Where did you get so much?”

“It took months to obtain.  We offered expensive bounties to all of the kingdom’s commercial fishermen and women to buy scorpion sand strikers.  They sometimes to show up in nets and traps, ripped out of their tunnels when they hit a fish that’s being dragged in a trawler net. The money was so good that a few people gave up regular fishing and became serious experts in catching strikers,” I said.  “Now, do you think it’s been dusted with venom?” I asked with a wave at the golden object.

“No.” She shook her head.  “I get a feeling from it. I think it’s been touched by an eslling.”

I couldn’t help my frown. “I’m aware of natural talismans and certain crystals that can aid and influence eslling talents, and Finders use Finder’s stones, but an object created to change people? Mass produced?”

She visibly pulled back a bit, maybe to gather herself. After a few seconds, she leaned forward.

“You are a Finder. A pretty powerful one, from what I can tell,” she said.

I snorted because Finding isn’t all that powerful a Talent. 

“You dismiss your own ability, yet that ability is part of a branch of Talent that includes Knowing, the ability to touch an object and know about it or who last used it or what happened near it,” she said. “It is as closely related as my ability as a Reader is to the abilities of the albino who shadows your princess.”

“She is your princess too,” I said.

She raised one brow.  “Please don’t insult me, Captain.  Your relationship with the crown princess is much, much different than anyone else’s.”  She held up both hands at my expression. “And completely your business.  My intent was to point out that her Reader’s talent is related to my own, and yours is related to Knowing. And I am aware of a few Knowers who could not only read an object but do the opposite—they could impress an object with their power.”

I’m pretty well versed on eslling Talents, between my own and Brona’s collection of special rescues, and I knew how to create my own Finder’s stones, but I’d never caught wind of something like this.

“See, that’s why you must speak up,” I said.  “This is all news to me.”

“It is extraordinarily uncommon,” she said.  “My mother’s family was mostly Talented and had been for more than a few generations. We had a body of knowledge, passed down by word of mouth, parent to child.”

“Had?” I asked gently.

“They were killed in the last war with Sylvania,” she said, holding my gaze, her eyes shimmering ever so slightly with just a trace of what might well be pent-up tears.

“The Paul’s forces or our own?” I asked in a moment of intuition.

She pulled back, eyebrows up in surprise.  “Ours,” she answered slowly, her expression transitioning from vulnerable to curious.

“Regular military or my people?”

“Cavalry,” she said.  “We were evacuating our village.  A mounted force came upon us on the road, suddenly and violently, charging through without regard.  Scared our horses.  The road was deep in the mountains and it was a sheer drop-off on one side.  My family wagon went off that side. I was riding in another wagon.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

She nodded. “That’s what the RRS squad leader said.  She came upon us that night as we tried to bandage our injured and fix the few remaining wagons.  She had her people round up as many of our horses as they could and her medic treated the wounded, then they disappeared like ghosts.”

“Kassa, I’m pleased to hear that my fellow Squadron mates showed such compassion, but I can’t tell you that we didn’t make any mistakes of our own,” I said.

“She said almost exactly as much.  She also said that her commander would skin any RRS operators who didn’t render aid as long as it didn’t jeopardize their mission.  She didn’t think much of the regular military.  She did, however, seem to think a great deal of you, as did the rest of her squad.”

“Yet I get the feeling you view me about like you might a death rattler?”

“I am wary of your Forester’s pet cat too,” she said.  “Watching normal people interact with you, it is clear that some part of them, either consciously or unconsciously, recognizes the need for caution. But to one such as I, you quite simply radiate danger—like the heat of a fire.”

“All my people are dangerous, and Jella is a battlemaster,” I said.

She nodded.  “Yes, but you out radiate them, even the Drodacian. There’s also the matter of the crown princess. I’ve seen her from a fairly close distance.  She was in a carriage and I was on the street, but it was close enough.  She is… different,” she said, eyes watching me cautiously.

“You think so?” I asked, keeping my tone mild.

“She is extremely… focused.  Deadly focused.  It’s no secret that she’s fully committed to her kingdom.”

“True,” I said.

“In a different way than her father.  Her commitment is… singular,” she said, clearly choosing her words with care.

“I think the word you are looking for is ruthless,” I said.

“Among several,” she agreed.  “And you are, by an enormous margin, her favorite weapon.”

“I am,” I acknowledged.  “I’m not sure why that scares you though, especially when you chose to join our team.”

“The leader of the cavalry troop who ran us off the road was ruthless too, but he was also both careless and uncaring.  Your princess is more than that.  Her intelligence is like a beacon to my Talent.  She smiles and waves to the people, looking the part of the beautiful princess. And she hands out food to the hungry, runs orphanages and shelters for the destitute.  But under those perfect looks is a mind that sees everything, plots constantly, calculates all the odds.  Behind that smile is a master Rik player, always ten steps ahead of everyone else.”

“She scares you; I scare you… yet here you are?”

“She would never run a family off the road unless it was absolutely imperative.  She’s not careless, reckless, or unthinking.  She feeds her people, provides clothes and clinics for care.  It may be a carefully thought-out strategy, but it’s still the right one.  I want to work for people who would avoid the kinds of actions that killed my family while protecting the country and still taking care of the people, even if their ultimate motivation is cold and calculated.”

It was my turn to be surprised.  Few are the people who see Brona clearly.  I nodded at her words.  “She’s more complicated than that, but you are not wrong in your observations.”

“And somehow, as much as you are her weapon, I think you somehow act as her balance.”

“Perhaps, although no one stops Brona if she deems an action to be vital.  Now, back to this trinket.  You think it was impressed as you say, with something that changes people?  Can you read all that?”

“No. I sense just a little of it.  But I think you could read it.”

Chapter 22

I must have stared for a moment too long as she suddenly shifted in her seat.  “Kassa, I think you are seriously overestimating what my particular Talent is about.  I can locate objects and people. That’s it.”

She tapped the side of her head.  “I am gifted with a memory for things I hear that is almost perfect… better, in fact, than Trell’s trained bardic memory.  I can literally hear my grandfather’s voice talking about Finders.  He was much impressed with that particular ability.”

“And what exactly was he impressed about?”

“Kassa, my darling, one of the most interesting Talents is the ability to Find,” she intoned in an eerie impression of a man’s voice. “As you have no doubt memorized by now, it is an offshoot of Knowing, but it is a very particular one.  You see, dear girl, a Finder must establish a connection from what they are Finding to either a person or a related object.  A Knower reads the vibrations of an object, but a Finder both reads the vibrations and tracks them across distance and even, get this, across time.”

“What?  What did he mean by time?”

She reached up and touched one of her gold earrings.  “If I misplace this, you could locate it, without ever having seen it before, simply because I have worn it and it is therefore imprinted with vibrational energy that is particular to me.  Or if I lost it and, say, Trell brought you the surviving twin, you could track it based upon the similarity between them.”

“Yes, that’s pretty accurate, but it doesn’t answer my question of what your father meant.”

“I’m getting there,” she said with a smile, clearly enjoying her role as teacher.  I could see why Trell was smitten.  She was not only very attractive, but she was very sharp, highly observant, and clearly brave.  “Tell me, Captain: Did your sister or mother ever ask you to find some valued trinket that had been lost for a considerable amount of time?  Say, a childhood toy or keepsake that had been misplaced and forgotten years ago?”

“Yes,” I said, remembering doing just that for both Jolanna and Brona. 

“I’ll tell you something you might not know, in the interest of our agreement for me to pipe up.  People’s vibrational energy changes as they age.  Your sister’s energy as a child was different from what it is now as a grown woman.  Sometimes it varies just a little, sometimes a great deal, yet I would hazard that it wouldn’t matter to your gift.  You could still track the traces of childhood Jolanna DelaCrotia despite her now being adult Lady Jolanna Jens.  That is what Father meant.”

“Isn’t that just because the energies are still so similar?” I asked.  “Not really across time at all, is it?”

“From my father’s perspective, what you do is quite different from what I do or your… the crown princess’s Reader does.  We read the mental energy of the individual and translate that in our heads to understand thoughts or intentions.  You, on the other hand, somehow sample, as my father called it, the entire vibrational energy of an individual or object, then reach out into the environment around you and find a similar pattern, even if it has become different because of time. Quite remarkable, really.”

I took a second to process all that.  “And you think I can do, what?  Read the vibrations from this trinket and track the eslling that modified it?”

She nodded slowly.  “I do.  It will be tricky, though, as you can’t touch it or you risk that whole running amok thing we discussed earlier,” she said with a sardonic smile.

“I don’t even know how to begin,” I said.

“Then it is a very good thing that you have me on your team,” she said.

“I came to that realization when Fontina first came to the Knife and Needle. The entire team is well aware of your value,” I said.

“Hmm, maybe not the entire team, but it’s early yet.  And I’m just checking how you feel.  I have a considerable regard for my own abilities, and I want anyone I work with to have the same opinion,” she said.  I simply nodded, amused at her forthright nature.  This young lady would be very good for Trell, setting his considerable ego in place on a regular basis.

“Now,” she said, “to begin with, just hold a hand over the object. Not too close!” she added when my right hand was the width of my palm over the artifact.

“Now just relax, close your eyes if that helps, and just try to let your mind run free,” she said, watching me closely.  “No eyes closed?  Don’t trust me?”

“Kassa, if you watch any of us over time, you’ll realize that we only close our eyes when we’re sleeping.  A Shadow with any of their senses shut down is usually a dead Shadow.”

She held my gaze for a moment, then nodded.

“I feel something,” I said as I suddenly realized it.

“What?” she asked.

I couldn’t answer right away, as I hadn’t figured it out yet myself.

“It’s like an itch.”

“A rash, then?” she smirked. 

“Not how I’d describe it,” I said with a light frown.

“Then describe it better,” she said, a challenge in her eyes.

I gave her a glare back, but she wasn’t fooled.  So instead, I took up the challenge and concentrated on the feeling in my hand, or rather the palm of my hand.  It took a few seconds to decipher, but what I had called an itch was really more of a pulse—a very, very fast pulse, almost more like a buzzing, or… vibration.

“It’s vibrating,” I said.

She smiled and nodded, waving a hand for more.  I moved my hand upward, farther away, and the buzz diminished in power but not speed.  I pushed closer and the vibration picked up intensity.  A little closer and I suddenly felt anger, not my own but someone else’s.  I pulled back and let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

“It’s generating emotion—anger, maybe even rage,” I said, raising my eyebrows at her.

“If you say so,” she said.  “I can only tell that it’s not normal, but I don’t pick up anything else. Not my wheelhouse—more yours, I’d say.”

“Thank you, oh mystic teacher,” I growled out, but she only laughed. 

“It might take you some time to suss it out,” she said, “being as this is all new, but with some time and experimentation, it might well be possible.”

A knock came at the door and I covered the artifact with its silk wrapping before speaking.  “Come in.”

The door opened and Cort’s face popped in.  “You both need to see this,” he said, moving his head to indicate something outside the room.

Chapter 23

We followed him out of the private room and out of the inn, then across the street, around a corner, and down a short alley. It was cold, and a light mist had slicked the road and buildings with moisture. At the brick wall at the end of the alley, Cort started to climb a roof drainage pipe, not bothering to look back at us.

Kassa looked a bit intimidated but she still stepped forward and put her hands on the lowest brackets that held the pipe.  I pointed out a foothold and she gamely started to climb.  Luckily, she still wore the trousers that Soshi had insisted she travel in rather than a dress.  When she was half again my height above the ground, I started to follow, watching to be sure she didn’t fall.  I pointed out one handhold and two footholds, but that was the only help she needed. Up on the roof, Cort waited long enough to see us standing steadily on the wet tiles before turning and moving up to the peak.  We followed his lead, both ducking down when he did so as to cautiously poke our heads over the top.

Below us, a crowd had formed on the street that ran parallel to our building. Actually, it was two separate crowds, one on either side, facing off.

“The side directly below is Berkette; the ones across the street are from Mandrigo,” Cort whispered.  “Soshi’s on the roof of the building across from us. Drew is down below to the left.”

I looked across and found my team sniper behind a chimney on the street side of the roof, curled in a sort of stuffed kneeling position that I couldn’t have copied, a special long-barreled bolter in her right hand. The chimney both hid her small frame and kept her from sliding off the roof. She was watching to see when I would notice her and waved as soon as she saw me looking.  I nodded, knowing her sharp eyes would pick up the small motion.  She used her free hand to signal clear for action.  Most snipers wouldn’t signal that without a tuned crossbow and a stable hide, but Soshi was a different sort altogether.  I had no doubt she could hit most of the targets below her with just a handheld bolter, particularly that one.

When we had been in the alley, we hadn’t heard anything, but now, peering over the roofline, the noise of the crowds was obvious. Most of the sound was cheering or booing, along with a healthy amount of curse words.  But it was only the two spokespeople whose voices were clear. A man from Mandrigo was squared off against a woman from the Berkette side, each yelling at the other.  It was an orderly sort of argument, with one waiting for the other to finish before replying.  The boos and cheers were the crowds’ responses.

“You’re nothing but slaves to a handful of families!” the woman yelled out.  “Property of the queen and her nobles!”

“Our royal family has proven itself over and over while your oligarchy is simply corrupt and spineless!” the man yelled back.

“You overfish the ocean and overcharge your customers, all to pay a greedy queen.”

“We fish our ancestral waters with respect while you live off the fruits of our labors, paying just nails on the rustie for every lobster, crab, oyster, and fish we risk our lives to catch.”

“They’ve been at this for at least twenty minutes,” Cort whispered.  He probably could have spoken at full volume and no one would have heard him, but Shadows are cautious for a reason.

Both of the spokespeople were pacing back and forth on their respective side of the street, and I saw a glimmer of gold when the man turned. I glanced around at the other people on the street and started to pick up little flickers of gold and silver about chest height as more of the artifacts caught the yellow light of Porye’s street torches.

“Have any of them come to blows?” I whispered back.

“That’s the odd thing—no. It’s been going on like this almost since it started, yet nobody’s thrown so much as a punch, despite all the shit talk.  Er, excuse my language,” Cort hastily apologized to Kassa.  She waved his embarrassment away as inconsequential, her attention focused on the scene below.

“It might take an amplifier of some kind,” she whispered.

I caught her meaning right away, but Cort looked confused.  “The necklaces have been tampered with by an eslling,” I explained.

His mouth formed an O but he didn’t say anything as he processed that.  “It’s all artificial, then?” he asked.

“We think so.  But the fact that that they haven’t fought is interesting.  Freyla made it sound like anyone who touched those artifacts would go berserk,” I answered.

“Actually, she merely thought it a possibility, and I believe she was specifically worried about you,” Kassa said to me.

Cort’s face turned very serious.  “I’ve seen that before…” He broke off at my glare.

Kassa glanced at us and caught the exchange.  She raised one eyebrow, then turned back to the action below.  “Something’s happening,” she said, pointing.

Cort and I both leaned over the peak and looked where her finger indicated, the right end of the street.

A group of five newcomers, all wearing white robes with black trim, were headed down the street. Six big men, armed with cudgels, followed them, eyes watching the crowds.

“The Holy Assembly of Reformed Wickedness,” Kassa said, so surprised, she forgot to whisper.

I had recognized the robes on sight, as well as two of their wearers.

“Is that your girlfriend from Pit?” Cort asked, also speaking normally.  I turned, a finger on my lips.

“Girlfriend?” Kassa asked, eyebrows up.

I waved a hand to dismiss it.  “We’ve met one of the parsons in that group before.  Cort was smitten.”

She turned and studied the clergy for a second, then turned back.  “Gotta be the blonde behind the old guy, right?”

“Yup, that’s her,” Cort said, his own eyes locked on the girl below.

“Gwen Vancour, parson and assistant to Deacon Kittleby, the old guy in front,” I said.  “What the hell is the Holy Assembly doing on Montshire soil?”

“Hear me, residents and visitors of Porye alike,” the deacon called out as they approached the tense standoff. “Put aside your vitriol, your anger, and your distrust, and recall the long history you share.  A history of beneficial cooperation and tolerance.”

Kassa stiffened, her shoulders hunching at the same time that a wave of some sort of emotion rose from below. She whipped around to Cort and me, her expression alarmed.  “Someone is projecting,” she said in a normal voice, but I still almost didn’t hear her over the almost instant roar of anger from the crowds.

Below us, the church group had slowed to a stop, alarm beginning to show on the deacon’s face, his security people moving forward.  A rock flew from the Mandrigo side and hit the deacon in the middle of his chest.  It didn’t seem to hurt him much, but the effect on the Berkette faction was instant.  With a roar, they rushed across the street to attack the Mandrigans and battle was joined.

“The church party will be killed,” Kassa said but I ignored her, instead signaling Soshi. Prepare for action, alert team member, evade and regroup.

She signaled affirmative and tucked her bolter away as she turned and started to climb back up the roof.

“Corporal, prepare two flash grenades.  Kassa, start back down to the ground; we’ll be behind you in a moment,” I said.  The young essling woman stared at me for a moment, then hurriedly began to pick her way down the roof.  “Go slow and careful.  Falling from this height would be bad.”

She stopped without turning around and visibly took a breath, then breathed it out slowly before restarting her descent a bit more cautiously.  I turned back to find Cort pulling one proscribed piece of equipment after another from within his common workman’s jacket.  Two round pottery objects the size of plums, followed by a small brass cylinder with a length of rope hanging out of it.  He untangled fuses from the tops of the clay balls and twisted the top off the cylinder.  Then he looked at me and nodded.

Across the way, Soshi was gone.  Behind us, Kassa had made it onto the climbing pipe, her head level with the edge of the roof.  Her eyes met mine and then she climbed down out of sight.

From inside my own jacket, I pulled two coiled lengths of very thin, very strong climbing cord and looped each around a nearby chimney, tossing both ends of each cord back down into the alley where Kassa would hopefully be waiting.

Turning back, I held a pair of ropes in each hand. Below us was mayhem.  “Now, Corporal.”

Cort pushed a tiny lever on the side of the brass cylinder, which immediately sparked, and a small ember appeared on the charred rope poking out of the cylinder’s exposed top. He waved the device around, making the ember glow brighter, then with smooth, sure motions, he touched the smoking cord to each fuse to ignite them. Holding the sparking bomblets without seeming regard for imminent danger, he unhurriedly put away the rope lighter and coolly watched the fuses burn down.  When he judged them right, he casually tossed them underhanded out into the air above the street.

I handed him a pair of lines as we looked down over the roof. Cort put both hands over his ears and nodded at me.  I did the same.  Twin thunderclaps boomed and two bright flashes lit the sky, dust and debris peppering us. Below us, the crowds cowered, then screamed, and then broke apart. We each stepped between our two respective ropes, looped them around our waists, stepped over the new loops, and then pulled those loops up our legs, tightening them into our crotches.  Holding both lines in one hand, my right and Cort’s left, we backed down the roof and at the edge, I counted us down.  “Three, two, one.”

Simultaneously, we leaned out over the edge and then started to walk down the wall in an improvised rappel.  Because our ropes weren’t securely fastened, it was imperative that we took it slow and careful.  But it wasn’t our first time using such a roughshod setup.

Kassa was just stepping off the pipe as we reached the ground.  We each let go of our ropes and pulled one end down, coiling it as it came.  After both ropes were down, I stowed them in the pocket at the back of my coat while Cort led our inexperienced team member back toward the inn.

We had just started to enter the Lost Lobster when yelling, running people came around the far corner in a clear panic.

Inside, Freyla met us in the entryway.  “What’s happening out there?”

“I believe a riot just broke up,” I said.

“Broke up or out?” she questioned.

“Up.”

“We heard thunder,” she said, sniffing the air. An odor much like swamp gas was wafting from Cort’s clothes.

“So did we,” I said, waving a hand in front of my face.  “Really Cort, where are your manners?” I asked.

“So sorry,” the stocky sapper said with a shit-eating grin. “Too much cabbage.”

I doubted the Raven was fooled, as her eyes had narrowed, but I wasn’t going to admit anything in public.

Chapter 24

Soshi and Drew arrived at the inn before the hour was out. We were upstairs in the rooms, Cort fussing over his munitions while I worked on my notes.  I would need to send a raptor in the morning, and the short set of observations I was recording would form the framework of my report.  The pair entered together, with Kassa appearing in the doorway behind them, toweling her hair.

“Report,” I said.

“We found that altercation brewing before we could make it to a single pub,” Drew said.

“Which is incredibly sad,” Cort added.

“They formed up sides like it was an informal lacrosse game rather than the beginnings of a riot,” Soshi said.  “Very odd behavior.”

“We have a solid theory on that, but continue,” I said.

“I saw it start from nothing,” Soshi said.  “These two were ahead of me, almost sprinting for the first bar.  Those two speakers just started arguing, right in the middle of the street.  Each had a few friends with them.  Within minutes, the others all just showed up, like they were all waiting around for trouble to brew.”

“I stayed on the ground when Soshi and Cort went high,” Drew said.  “Oddly, I was almost ignored.  People seemed to know exactly who went with who.  It wasn’t like they actually knew each other, not most of them, but somehow they recognized enemies from allies.”

I looked at Kassa, who had stopped drying her hair to listen.  She shrugged.  “It could be something as simple as two different sets of necklaces, each with a different message.”

“Those necklaces have a message?” Cort asked.

“We think they were modified by an eslling with the ability to sort of record a strong set of impressions onto those little rectangles of gold.”

“That’s a thing?” Drew asked.

“It is,” Kassa answered.  “An incredibly rare talent but still a real one.”

“What did you see when the Holy Assembly showed up?” I asked Drew. “Did you notice anyone doing anything different from the rest of the crowd?”

RRS troopers are trained to create riots in enemy territory, to disrupt economies, manufacturing, and governmental functions, so I knew my people would be looking at the street fight with educated eyes.

“There were a few observers like me, people who didn’t seem inclined to pick a side.  Some were obviously Montshire citizens, but there were a few shady types—thieves and pickpockets, but one individual caught my eye.  About Soshi’s height, completely cloaked and cowled.  Couldn’t see their face.  Could have been a man or a woman.  I did glimpse a bit of gray hair. Whoever it was took off just after the Mandrigo crowd turned on the Holy Assembly.  Fast, smooth exfil of the scene, like they had picked out an escape route much earlier.”

“How bad was the riot?”

“Fists, feet, and rocks mostly.  A few clubs and blades.  Lots of people will be bruised and bloody after that.  It broke up immediately when Cort’s little gifts went off,” Drew said.

“And the Holy Assembly?”

“Stayed to help the wounded.  At least two broken limbs, a couple of possible concussions, and a really bad abdominal knife wound. The rest took off if they could move their feet at all.  I don’t think any of the clergy were hurt, but one of the concussed was a member of their guard team.  Saw your favorite parson in the mix, by the way,” Drew said.

I felt Kassa’s eyes looking my way, which for some reason bothered me.  And that made me a little angry.  I met Parson Gwen Vancour very briefly, two times, in the Berkette town of Pit, more than a month ago.  She was very attractive and seemed to possess a wonderful personality, as you might expect from a member of the clergy.  So what.  My team, most of whom were interested in the good parson themselves, had picked on me ever since.  But my relationship with Brona was solid and exclusive, facts that they well knew. And why Kassa’s judgement had any bearing or effect on me was baffling.

“Which is interesting,” I observed.  Soshi raised her eyebrows and I gave her a hard, level look.  “Because, as we all know, she works with the deacon who destroys Tainted artifacts of the Punished.”

Drew nodded, his face serious as opposed to Cort’s grin, Soshi’s frown, and Kassa’s silent regard.  “You think these trinkets that have been modified have caught the Holy Assembly’s attention to such a degree that they are willing to step onto the church’s territory?”

The religions of Berkette, Mandrigo, Wenkroy, and Montshire are all different, yet remarkably similar.  All four preach against the rise and use of any advancement of technology beyond the current level of modern society. And their edicts in regard to technology can carry the full weight of law—right up to a sentence of death.  The ruins of the Punished had left enormous amounts of information about machines and tools far beyond our own—devices and techniques that would doubtlessly save lives and improve the survival rates of ordinary citizens and nobility alike. Some information was okay, like agricultural and medical information that wasn’t reliant on machines—crop rotation and anatomical knowledge, for instance.

But anything mechanically more sophisticated than a water wheel or a pulley was forbidden. In fact, the four religions were so alike that it was a wonder they hadn’t merged into one.  The current, and very quietly bandied, theory was that each church’s leadership was loath to relinquish its power to any of the others.  The result was an unspoken but extremely steadfast agreement to keep out of each other’s territory.

“I do. We all heard her tell us of the Assembly’s actions regarding Tainted artifacts.  Now we find Deacon Kittleby here on Montshire soil, attempting to stop his flock from fighting with their Mandrigan neighbors who were, until recently, allies.”

A patterned knock came at the door, the four beat cadence telling us it was Trell.

Cort, who was closest to the door, opened it to admit the cheerful yet weary-looking bard.

“There you all are.  Did you hear of the riot?” he asked, glancing around at our faces.  Then his excitement fell.  “Of course you did. You were probably in the thick of it.”

“We observed it,” I said.

“And intervened,” Freyla said from the door Trell had left open.  She slipped through and closed it behind her.  “Forgot to mention that little tidbit, didn’t you?” she asked me.

“I told you the riot broke up,” I said, keeping a civil tone.

“But you didn’t explain that it was you and your people who broke it up,” she said.  Her face was hard to read.  She was neither smiling nor frowning, instead wearing an expressionless mask.  But her eyes glinted with interest.

Still trying to get a handle on her, I just raised my brows. 

“You’ve been here just a few hours and already demonstrated proscribed devices to the Holy Assembly,” she said.  “Hardly the careful work of the renowned Shadows, now is it?”

“Last time I checked, Raven Freyla, Porye was still Montshire territory, not the jurisdiction of the Holy Assembly of Reformed Wickedness.  And as it is part of the kingdom, stopping foreign forces from fighting on our land is damned well part and parcel of our charter.”

“The way I heard it, the visiting deacon was mere moments from being overrun by an angry mob of Mandrigans,” Trell said.  “That would seem to fall under the category of international incident.”

“Fair noted, wise bard,” Freyla said.  “It may be that I’m more used to the Shadows causing international incidents than stopping them.  However, flaunting illegal technology in front of any church’s high officials seems… reckless.”

“What is it you want, Raven?” I asked.

She made a show of glancing around at us.  “I’ve been here for over fifteen years, working my way into the very fabric of this town, gaining the trust of the most important players here.  In that decade, I’ve pulled in more intelligence that your entire team combined, and during all that time, the closest I’ve come to having my true affiliations known is this evening—by your actions.”

“I understand,” I said, nodding.  “Putting everything into maintaining a cover is hard, a full-time job.  It can consume you and eventually, it can make you forget why you’re actually doing it in the first place.  I’m glad we could remind you of what’s really important: protecting Montshire.  Intelligence is only good if it is acted upon.  Having your ear to the wall is only useful if it doesn’t burn down while you’re pressed up against it.”

That got a reaction.  Her carefully guarded expression flickered with anger before resettling into its frozen mask.  “From now on, at least grant me the professional courtesy of warning me before you blow up foreign dignitaries.”

“If there’s time.  There are moments, Raven, when you must act instantly.”

“You and your team are here because of what I observed and reported.  But I can’t do my job to get you intel if you don’t return the favor,” she said.

“Then by all means, pull up a seat,” I said.

She looked a little pissy, her arms crossed, and she chose to lean against the window frame rather than find an actual seat. 

I turned back to Trell.  “What have you found out?”

He glanced at Freyla, then back at me. I nodded for him to go ahead.  Sharing intelligence with our sister service was a complicated issue, fraught with pitfalls, yet still required. Like walking the edge of a very sharp blade.

“I visited three establishments: the Twisted Line, the Sailor’s Rest, and the Ale’s Well,” Trell said. “The first seemed heavily trafficked by Mandrigan fishermen.  Oddly, most of them weren’t complaining about Berkette; in fact, many of them seemed worried by what’s happening.”

“Did you see any necklaces?” I asked, holding up the silk-wrapped artifact.

“Only when I was out on the street.  Not a one in the pub.  Ale’s Well was like that too, but it was thick with businessmen from Berkette.  A lot of seafood buyers and purveyors of other merchandise.  Quieter lot than the fisherfolk but displaying a bit of anxiety.   But the Sailor’s Rest was different.  It was mostly locals, citizens of Montshire, and some transplants who live here full-time.  I got an earful there.”

I glanced at Freyla and she nodded.  “He’s got the right of it.  The Twisted Line is down on the docks and has always been big with fisherfolk and sailors, both local and those just in port to sell their catches.  Not that long ago, the fish buyers would hang there too and many a deal was made.  Lately, not so much.  And I’ve heard that the other two had become pretty territorial as well.”

“What did the kind folk of Porye have to say?” I asked Trell.

“They knew me right away, of course, and that’s why I think I was told as much.  See, I didn’t even have to eavesdrop; they came right to me.  Seem to think I have the king’s ear,” Trell said.

“They know this tension is unnatural and like our good hostess here, they’ve seen those gold and silver necklaces around the necks of the troublemakers.  They begged me to ask the king for help.”

“And did they have any suggestions as to what this help might look like?” I asked.

“Most of them had no idea of what to do, but two of them stepped up when I was getting a beer at the bar.  They had a name, although they were mighty worried about saying it out loud.”

“Do you really have to drag this out?” Soshi asked.

He frowned at her.  “I’m a bard.  It’s what we do,” he said.  “Anyway, they say there is a newcomer in town.  Goes by Andru.  Just one name.  They thought the king should know about him.”

I looked at Freyla.  She was still frowning, but now it was more puzzled then annoyed.  “I know the name but he’s just a merchant.  Sells clothes, nothing fancy, just tough, simple stuff like dock workers and fisherfolk need. I’ve never heard even a whisper of suspicion about the man.”

“How long has he been in town?” I asked.

“A couple of years, maybe a bit less,” she said.

“Sylvanian?” Cort guessed.

“No,” Freyla said.  “You don’t think I watch every Sylvanian who enters this town?” she challenged him.

“Where’s he from?” I asked.

“Up north is all I know.”

“Mandrigo, then?” I pushed.

She frowned again.  “I can’t say for certain.  All I know is he refers to a home up north.  Could be Mandrigo, could be Monstshire; hell, it could be Drodacia for all I know.”

“You can’t tell if he’s Drodacian?” I asked.

“I’ve seen him twice.  He’s a short little troll of a man.  Ugly as sin.  But he minds his business, sells good quality work clothes to common people, and doesn’t seem to venture out.  Lives above his shop.”

I thought about her words.  Freyla was a Raven and despite that meaning she was a pain in my ass by definition, she was experienced and ran an important spy station.  The fact that she couldn’t identify his origin was worrisome.  I glanced at my crew.

“Drew, you’ve got a hole in your pants, right there at the knee.  Looks like we gotta shop for some new work clothes tomorrow.”

He looked down at the little worn spot on his work pants.  The tip of his little finger would just barely fit in the hole.  He suddenly pushed hard, and the sound of fabric ripping came as his finger pushed through the tear.  “Yup, right you are.  Time for some shopping.”

Chapter 25

The central marketplace for Porye was six blocks from the Lobster, a quick walk in the midmorning sunshine that was trying its best to dry at least some of the moisture from last night’s rain and mist.  Trying was the appropriate word because Porye’s ancient blackstone streets were almost uniformly covered in a finger’s-thick layer of filth that seemed equal parts mud, manure, and unidentifiable trash.

“Cap, you think you could drop a word with the princess?” Drew asked, his eyes on the filth squelching around his boots.  “This reflects badly on the kingdom.”

“It does seem as if the mayor is letting public sanitation slide, doesn’t it?” I said, noting an oil-fired streetlamp whose pole was leaning precipitously over the roadway it was supposed to illuminate.  The last time we had passed through Porye, maybe five months ago, it had been much cleaner and better kept than this. “Freyla mentioned that the mayor has become something of an up-for-bid kind of official.”

“Squaar-sh, turnips, and cabbage!” a barrow boy yelled out up ahead where the street widened to almost double, his hand-pushed load of vegetables just passing another boy whose own wheelbarrow was full of baskets of mussels, clams, and seaweed-packed lobsters.  Pop-up booths lined both sides of the central market, their vendors selling everything from fresh bread to roasted chestnuts to handcrafted goods of all sorts. White and gray gulls called out to each other as they wheeled and soared above the market, keen eyes looking for any scrap of food, unguarded booth or wagon, or even a pastry-munching pedestrian caught off guard.

“There,” Drew said, keeping his voice low.  I turned my eyes in the direction he was looking and spotted a wooden sign carved with the words Wearable Wovens.  It was tucked between a candlemaker’s shop and a tiny sliver of space barely twice the width of a man’s shoulders that contained a knife and tool sharpener’s business.

The clothing store had one wide window of good clean glass, as opposed to the candlemaker’s window, which was half boarded up.  Taking up most of the window display was a wool fisherman’s shirt hanging over a pair of canvas pants, both suspended with string from the ceiling of the shop.

I pushed open the door, triggering a crabshell rattle attached to its upper corner. A voice immediately called from the back of the shop, “I’ll be right with you.”

Without a word, we split apart, each moving down a separate row of stacked clothing, heads up and scanning for trouble.  Halfway through the shop, we passed the proprietor’s counter, which was abandoned, then one short display of simple yet warm cloaks before finding that the rear of the shop opened up into a sewing workshop. 

The man standing behind a worktable, amidst numerous spans of thick cloth, shelves holding spools of thread, and racks of scissors, was stooped and elderly, with a thinning head of white hair, long white mutton chops, and a bushy grey mustache that wouldn’t have looked out of place at the end of a broom handle.  He had light grey eyes that looked up at us through a pair of actual spectacles, with real metal wire holding in the thick lenses.  He wore a workman’s apron and had a cloth measuring tape hanging around his neck.

“Oh, there you are. Right there,” he said in a surprised voice.

“Good day, good sir,” I said, studying the old man who looked nothing like Freyla’s description.

“Well, good day to you fine gentlemen,” he said, looking from me to Drew and back again.  I could see him trying to place our position in society, the same exercise that virtually all merchants go through with new customers. 

We were both dressed in the worn work clothes and the heavy boots that we favor for travel and for blending in, with Drew’s longer hair pulled back and tied and a scuff of whiskers on both of our faces. We should look to be maybe tradesmen or laborers.  Exactly the type of customers he would be used to, so why the flicker of a frown racing over his features?

“You have a fine shop, Mr…” I said, raising my brows.

“Oh it’s not my shop—I just work here,” he said, bushy brows raising in surprise, a slightly nervous surprise.

“Well, it seems a fine place for us to buy some replacement clothes,” I said with a nod toward Drew, who waved a hand at the now completely torn-out knee of his trousers. Under his left arm, he had a new pair he must have grabbed on the way through the aisles.

“Well, that we can certainly handle, although might I also suggest a repair.  I’ve fixed much worse, and clothing is too expensive to waste,” he said, eyes focused on Drew’s leg.

“Really? You can fix these?” Drew asked, glancing down.

“Absolutely. Tough material like that stiches up tight and strong,” he said with a smile.

“Do I just wait for them, then, Mr…” Drew asked.

“Kazilionum, and I’m afraid I can’t do them today. I’ve got several orders ahead of you.  I won’t be able to get to them until tonight.”

“So maybe I should buy a pair to wear home and leave these with you, then?” Drew said.

“Absolutely,” Kazilionum said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Well, I grabbed this pair out front and they look like they’ll fit, so can I change somewhere?”

The tailor pointed to a cloth-covered opening just to Drew’s right.  The Shadow nodded and pushed the hanging material aside to reveal a tiny booth just barely big enough for one person to switch clothes.

“So, who is the proprietor if not you, Mr. Kasilionum?” I asked, pretending to examine a work jacket.

“Ah, that would be Mr. Andru,” he said, his hands busy pinning one piece of fabric to another.  He glanced at me over his spectacles, then back down at his work.

“Well, this is a much nicer shop than we’re used to,” I said.

“Oh?  Just where do you hail from?”  he asked, eyes flicking to the booth Drew was now noisily changing in.

“All over, but Lil most recently.”

Drew stepped out, buttoning the front of his new pants, the torn pair slung over his shoulder.

“I’ll take those then,” the tailor said, starting to come out from behind his worktable.  Just then, the crabshells on the front door rattled loudly and a deep voice yelled out, “I’m back!”

The tailor froze in place, his expression startled, maybe even slightly panicked before shifting to something like relief.  “That would be Mr. Andru just now.  Back here, boss, with a pair of customers.”

His whole demeanor set me on edge, and I could see Drew turning so that his back was to the side wall, a move that I was already copying.

Heavy boots thudded on the floor as the unseen proprietor headed our way.  The clothing shelves and racks weren’t as high as my head, but I still couldn’t see the individual moving noisily through the aisles. And then he suddenly appeared between two shelves of clothes.

Heavy was the word that came to mind. He was shorter than Soshi, maybe as tall as Rose, but his meaty shoulders brushed the clothing on each side of the aisle and his head was covered in thick, dark hair tied in a long ponytail, and his face was hidden under a truly impressive beard that hung down to his broad chest.  Dark eyes zeroed in on me for a second before shifting to Drew.  The smallest furrow appeared between his eyes. He looked like someone had taken a big man of two span in height and shoved him down into a span and a half.

Motion from the tailor caught my eye as the old man literally threw himself forward to grab the pants hanging from Drew’s shoulders.  His hand had no sooner touched them when his whole body locked up.  “Agents!” he yelled, his free hand moving toward the Shadow.  Drew lifted his own arm to block the perceived strike, only to jerk backward as soon as he connected, his body shaking and his eyes rolling up as he fell.

The stocky Andru turned with startling speed and thundered toward the front of the store.

I spun and fired the single shot bolter I yanked from under my shirt behind me.  The dart hit the old tailor and dropped him like a bag of rocks.  Then I was running for the front of the store.  The door was hanging from one hinge, the other ripped free from the wood by the violence of its opening.  Outside, I found Cort picking himself up off the ground.

“Sorry, boss. He ran me over like a crazed mule,” the sturdy sapper said. 

“Damn it!” I said, looking at the thick crowd in the market for any sign of my quarry. A few startled people looked our way, but Andru was long gone.

“Will this help?” Cort asked, his expression trying for innocence while his eyes were gleeful.  His right hand held out a small piece of red cloth with some long black hairs twisted about it.  “I grabbed for his hair and this came off in my hand.”

“Outstanding,” I said, giving him a grin, then a frown.  “You okay?”

“A little dizzy, boss.  That guy hit like a battering ram.”

“Yes he does, Cort. Like all his people,” I said.

Chapter 26

“He’s a what?” Cort asked when we were back at the Lost Lobster.

“Nuk.  Or at least of Nuk descent,” I said.  “He’s too tall to be pure blood.”

“Nuk?  I thought that was a fairy tale that mothers and bards told,” Cort said, shooting Trell a confused look.

The bard raised both hands to shoulder height, palms out.  “I didn’t know they were real, either.”

The rest of my team turned my way: Drew and Kassa, who were securing Mr. Kazilionum inside a wool blanket, the old man still unconscious from my drugged bolter dart; Cort, who was sitting on his bed rubbing his chest where Andru had stiff-armed him; Soshi, who was next to him; and Trell, sitting in the chair at the small table opposite me.

“The Nuk are decidedly real.  The Drodacians have traded with them for a hundred years.  They mostly stay far, far north of where the ice fields begin.  All of their dwellings and communities are deep under the ice and usually underground as well,” I said.

“And you’ve met some?” Trell asked, eyes gleaming.

I nodded. “My first year with Jella.”

“When you were an absolute nightmare,” Jella said from the window.  Kassa jumped and I saw Trell’s eyes twitch, but the rest of us didn’t so much as blink.  We were either used to her stealth or, in my case—and possibly Soshi’s—had heard the slightest sound on the roof to forewarn us.  “You are certain?” Jella asked me.

“That he is of Nuk stock?  Absolutely.”

She stared at me for more than a few seconds, her head tilted in thought.  “You saw him too?” she then asked Drew.

“Yeah, as did Cort when he got run over,” Drew said with a smirk.

Jella turned her hard gaze on our sapper.  Cort is a bit shorter than I am but weighs just as much.  He’s stocky and strong.

“He hit me like a runaway freight wagon,” he admitted, shaking his head.  “Short but wider than I am and really, really strong.  That’s all I had time to see.  Dark hair and a long beard.”

“That is… troubling,” Jella said. “Who’s that?” She nodded at the unconscious tailor.

“We have pretty strong reason to believe he’s the eslling who created the artifacts that are at the heart of this growing problem.”

“Eslling created?” Jella asked, eyebrows going up. 

I explained our findings and how the mysterious Mr. Kazilionum had taken down Drew with a touch, which brought a smirk to Cort’s face.

“I still can’t believe the Nuk are real,” Soshi commented.

“Very.  Seldom seen and very reclusive.  They hate most other races, but they will trade with my people,” Jella said.  “Like Drodacians, they have been greatly changed by the diseases of the Punishment.  Very short, extremely dense bones, excellent hearing, not great eyesight, but a better sense of smell than you all.  And strong—wicked strong.”

“I didn’t think anything could live up on the ice fields,” Kassa said.

“There is always life—creatures that have adapted to the cold and bleakness.  But the Nuk have found ways to grow food where it should be impossible.  They farm an amazing variety of fungus in underground chambers, as well as raise blind fish and freshwater crabs.”

“Why would a Nuk be down here, deliberately creating dangerous conflict?” Trell asked.

“I have absolutely no idea,” Jella admitted.  “Too bad you all lost our only lead.”

“Oh, he’s not lost,” Kassa said.  “Just temporarily misplaced,” she added with a nod my way.  I held up the hair tie, hanging from a thin cord. 

Jella blinked; I know because I was watching her closely.  We’d surprised her, and that happened so infrequently that I cherish each and every time.  Throwing my mentor off stride was always awesome.

“What the hells have you been doing all this time?” she asked, frowning as she stepped off the windowsill.  Good cover, Jella.

“Waiting on you… Where you been?” I shot back.

She gave me a level look, one I had seen many times before.  The kind that promised a beat down.  I ignored it and just raised a brow.

“I’ve been doing my own recon,” she said archly.  “On the road south of Porye is a contingent from Berkette; an escort for Gawron Tarpinian, the regent of Stoneport.  To the north is another, led by Turgeon Collind, chief magistrate of Kittwell in Mandrigo.”

“Shit!” I said.

“Yeah, so what happens, Shadows, if those two come into conflict?”

“War,” Soshi said.

“That’s just the beginning.  What happens to Porye?”

“Damaged or destroyed, with the victor likely laying claim to it,” I said.  “We can’t let that happen.”

Of the two connected guys’ rooms, the one we were in had a round table just big enough for maybe three people to sit at.  I had already cleared it of everything except for a piece of slate and a stick of chalk.  Now I moved to it and started sketching a rough map of Porye, drawing the main roads into the town, then adding a number of buildings, including our own and Andru’s shop.  The result lacked detail but it was a beginning.

I looked up and found the entire team observing me.  I glanced at our captive, who appeared to be still out cold, then gave Drew a nod toward the other room.  Immediately, he grabbed the top of the blanket and pulled the man into the other room, shutting the door between us when he came back in.

“He’s secure?” I asked, which was perhaps a bit insulting, but both Soshi and Drew nodded. 

“Stripped naked, bound hand and foot, then bound inside the blanket and gagged,” Drew said.

“Which is what I did when we stripped him,” Soshi added. “Old men ain’t my thing.”

“All right, let’s see what we can see,” I said, holding the hair tie over the crudely drawn map.

At first it just hung there, twisting a bit from the natural motion of my unsteady human arm.  I shut my eyes and thought about the brief look I had gotten of Andru.  Carefully, I built the image in my mind, pulling up everything I could remember, no matter how fuzzy.  The color of his shirt (brown), the shape of his beard-covered face, the heavy leather boots on his feet. Exact detail wasn’t as important as the overall impression. 

Someone, Trell maybe, sucked in a breath and I opened my eyes.  The piece of cloth that had held Andru’s hair was pulling on its string like a dog on a leash, pointing at the northwest section of Porye.

I put down my pendulum and flipped the slate over.  On the other side, I started to draw another rough map, with details of the northwest section.  My team all leaned in and offered landmarks and corrections.  After a minute, I tuned most of them out and listened to my sniper’s comments.  Soshi’s eye for range and direction is excellent, as you would expect.  My drawing skills are so-so.  I stopped when the map felt complete enough.  This time, the swinging tie pulled immediately to a blank spot on my map between a pub that Trell knew well and a seafood seller that Drew recommended.

“What’s in between?” I asked.

Both of them paused, Trell closing his eyes in some kind of visualization thing and Drew tapping his chin as he thought about it.

“Just doors, I think.” Drew answered first.  “Apartments, I would guess.”

Trell’s eyes popped open when Drew said apartments and he suddenly tensed up.  “Yeah, that sounds right,” the tall bard said, his eyes locked onto me.  Like afraid-to-look-anywhere-else locked on to me.

“Have either of you been in them?” I asked.  “Information about the layout would be vital.”  I watched Trell, as I knew Drew would have spoken up.

“Um, it’s possible, like a long time ago,” Trell admitted.  “I was likely pretty drunk, so I don’t really remember too much.”

Kassa frowned and looked at him closely.

“You sure about that?  Drunk even the next morning, stud?” Soshi asked with smirk.

“Well, now that you mention it, I have a vague memory of walking downstairs and then a long hall before leaving out a front door,” Trell said, shifting his feet and rubbing the side of his head.  “Maybe one or two buildings down from the pub.”

“How many doors in that hallway?” Jella asked.

“Not super clear on that.  Maybe two on each side. Possibly three?”

“I can’t tell exactly where he is in this space, so we’re gonna have to do it the hard way,” I said.

Chapter 27

It turned out to be easier than we anticipated, by virtue of the fact that Andru was coming out the front door of the middle building as we approached.  Unfortunately, he saw us just as we saw him.

There were three buildings jammed together between the fish shop and the bar, with no spaces or alleys to run into.  He took his only option, which was to run back into the building and slam the door. 

Jella and I were right behind him, blasting the door open in time to spot him at the far end of a dark hallway.  Two people were lying or sitting on the floor, either passed out, dead, or stoned into a coma.  They were both on Jella’s side, but she easily hurdled each of them as we raced after the stubby bastard. He was shockingly fast for such a short man, yet not fast enough, as we were gaining on him.  He ran right through the grease-paper window at the far end, tearing the paper and smashing the rickety wooden frame right out of the wall.  Two seconds later, we arrived at the newly formed opening just in time to see Andru run right into a wooden beam that Cort swung into his face.

The sound was like a door slamming and the short bundle of muscle was laid out flat—for a second.  Then he sat up, shaking his shaggy head just as Drew stepped up and hit him from behind with a weighted cudgel.  He still didn’t drop, instead starting to growl like a wounded animal. 

That’s when a pair of bolter darts appeared in his back and neck, one right after the other.  Coated with enough of our special knockout agent to stun a woldling, it had an immediate effect.  Andru stiffened up and fell back, his body locking up tight.

I looked around and spotted Soshi up on the roof of the seafood place, a barely visible trail of gas rising from the long-barreled bolter she was already reloading.

The back door of the pub opened and a seedy-looking man with a mop and bucket started to come out, only to see us and change his mind.  Quick as a wink, he was back inside, the door almost slamming, the thunk of a wooden beam sounding as he no doubt barred it.

“Damn, it was like I hit a rock,” Drew said, shaking out his arm.

“No shit, this guy is tough!” Cort said.  “I think he was starting to get mad.”

“You should thank your leader’s foresight in having Soshi on overwatch,” Jella said.  “When a Nuk goes into a battle rage, you pretty much have to take out his or her brain or spine to stop them.  Even a heart shot will leave them as much as ten seconds to wreak unbelievable damage.  Foresters tend to just put an arrow in their eye socket.”

“Tricky shot,” Soshi noted as she climbed nimbly down from her perch.

“Eye socket, nose, or open mouth are all good, as is a center neck shot,” Jella instructed, using a long hunting knife to point at each anatomical target as she said it.  “Their skulls are so thick that only bodkin points are assured of getting through all that bone.”

“Let’s get him bound and out of here,” I said, looking around.

“Use the steel manacles I told you to bring,” Jella said.

Cort pulled a set of super expensive chains and cuffs from a pack.  “I thought you were crazy when you told us he would just break most rope but now…”

“Yeah, I don’t want to try wrestling this squatty dude,” Drew agreed.

“He would literally pull your arms from your sockets,” Jella said.  “Hand-to-hand, you either choke them immediately or bleed them out with multiple artery cuts.”

“What if you don’t have a blade?” Soshi asked.

“Run,” Jella said without a hint of a smile.  “They are surprisingly quick, but only for short bursts.  All that mass takes too much oxygen to keep it moving.”

“Shit, he weighs as much as Cort and me together,” Drew said as they rolled our captive over to remove the darts and bind his arms.

He was a block of muscle and bone, his hands and feet huge for his height, shoulders as wide as an axe handle, and no neck to speak of.  He wore a leather vest and a pair of thick cotton trousers, but no shirt.  We were all wearing jackets and multiple layers of wool, as the sea wind was damned chilly.

“We have to move him fast,” Jella said.  “He’ll overheat in that rug and could die.”

“You have to be spoofing us,” Cort said.  “We beat his head with clubs and only made him mad and you’re saying he’ll die of heat exhaustion?”

“Yup,” she said. “They live their lives in extreme cold—this weather is likely miserably hot for him.”

“Enough chatter,” I said.  “Let’s go.”

With a grunt, the guys heaved the rolled-up rug to their shoulders and walked around the rear of the buildings to a cart we had borrowed from Freyla and parked in position an hour earlier. 

“Gods, I’m glad we don’t have to haul this lump very far,” Cort said.

“Except the stairs at the Lobster,” Drew muttered. “That climb is gonna suck.”

“No, he’s headed for the basement.  Freyla has a special room down there,” I said.

Despite the fact that they wouldn’t have to fight gravity with their burden, neither looked joyful at the news.  Special rooms were usually torture zones and no Shadow who works for me enjoys torture. 

I smiled to myself.  This would be a chance for the whole team to see the benefits of having an eslling truthteller along.  There had been some mild bitching about adding someone more lady than operative.  So far, Kassa had endured a tough, fast-paced trip to the mission site without complaint and contributed valuable intelligence about the artifact. I was hoping this interrogation would put paid to any more nonsense from my team.

In short order, we had both subjects safely secured in separate rooms.  The old eslling was bound by ropes wrapped in silk to prevent him using his abilities to either read anything or project.

The dangerous Nuk was manacled with steel on his hands and feet.  Both had been thoroughly searched and each was gagged.

“Let’s get started,” I said, opening the door to Kazilionum’s room.  The rest of my team followed me in, including Freyla, who insisted, as resident agent, in observing.

The old man’s eyes took us all in, and despite the fact that he literally shook with fear, his gaze was direct and steady.

Every one of my people wore silk gloves in case they needed to touch him, and at my nod, Drew reached out and pulled the gag from the tailor’s mouth.

“Mr. Kazilionum, we have some questions for you,” I began.  “But first let me introduce myself.  I am Captain Savid DelaCrotia, formerly of the kingdom’s Ranged Reconnaissance Squadron, but now engaged in less visible service to the crown.  I’m going to ask you a series of questions.  Lying to me will be futile,” I said, nodding to Kassa, who sat to my right.  “As an eslling yourself, a Knower with the ability to Impress, I’m sure you understand.”

He glared at me but his nervous eye flick toward Kassa revealed his fear.  “Do you understand?” I asked. 

At first, he didn’t change expression or make a sound.  But after moment, he finally nodded.

“He doesn’t fully believe that I am what you indicated.  He intends to hold out,” Kassa said.

“Funny how even well-informed people still fool themselves sometimes, isn’t it, Kaz?  Oh, do you mind if I call you Kaz?  Your name is just so long, and I have so many questions to get through,” I said.  “Anyway, let’s get going.”

I nodded to Soshi and she unwrapped the necklace artifact from its silk cover and let it dangle in front of our subject. 

“Do you recognize this?” I asked.

He didn’t answer.  “Yes, he does,” Kassa said, earning herself a glare from the old man.

“Did you make it?”

“He didn’t make the gold and silver part, but he did Impress it,” Kassa said.  His glare was looking a bit like dismay now.

“Did you make this on your own or at the request of Mr. Andru?”

“No and yes,” Kassa said. “He is paid by his employer, Andru, to make them, but he handles all the Impression details at his own discretion.”

Kaz was looking mildly ill, but my people were clearly fascinated, as, unfortunately, so was Freyla.  I hate giving up Shadow secrets.

“Does anyone else make them too?” I asked.

“No, not that he knows.”

“Where do the little rectangles of gold and silver come from?”

A bead of sweat trickled down Kazilionum’s forehead but he still wouldn’t talk.  I glanced at Kassa, who was silent, and found her frowning.  “He’s thinking of needles and thread.”

“Ah,” I said, nodding.  I had watched Brona work with Oscar for years.  There were plenty of tricks an unwilling subject could use to slow or obstruct the eslling reader.  And there were just as many that the interrogators could employ to defeat the subject’s defenses.

“Needles and thread.  The tools of the tailor.  We found a surprising number of hidden needles, and more than a few sharp blades, tucked away in your clothing.  Well done, by the way; we took notes.  And some of those needles appeared to be coated with interesting substances.  We’re pretty certain most of those substances are toxins forbidden by order of the king. Between that and your active subversion, we pretty much legally own you.  In fact, the king, himself, gave me direct orders to put down this foreign plot by any means necessary.  Which means that I am your judge, jury, and if necessary, executioner.  If you know anything about me at all, you will understand that I have no qualms about executing you… if necessary,” I said, pausing to let that sink in.

“What we’ve uncovered so far is a foreign plot to incite war or insurrection on kingdom soil.  At the moment, it appears to be you and a foreign national from the northern icefields—the Nuks—who are behind it.  We will question your employer next, but suffice it to say you are in a truly deadly amount of trouble.  And it would appear the kingdom may be in a de facto state of war with the Nuks.  We’re very well versed in eradicating woldlings, but our shy neighbors to the north will be a new endeavor.  How exciting,” I said.

Two more rivulets of sweat had joined the first trickle, all three running for his bushy white eyebrows.

“Where do the Nuks get the artifacts?” I asked suddenly.

“He’s not completely sure but apparently they’ve dug up all kinds of Punished ruins,” Kassa said.

“Which confirms that the Nuks supplied them,” I said.

“No!” he suddenly shouted, before regaining control of himself.  I just raised both brows and waited.  “Yes, the chips, as Andru calls them, come from the north,” he said.  “But I don’t know that all of his father’s people are behind this.”

“Why would you care?” I asked.

“They are a wonderful people,” he said.  “Craftspeople without peer.  Artistic beyond anything we could ever hope to be.  Shy, yet fiercely loyal.  And they are terrible foes,” he warned.

“He’s lived among them,” Kassa said.

The old man shot her a glare of annoyance, then shook his head in what might have been admiration.  “She’s correct.  As a young man, newly ranked as a journeyman tailor, I had ideas of grandeur, of creating the next, best winter apparel. I grew up in Mandrigo, far north, where winters are harsh.  Up there, crossing onto the northern ice fields isn’t that uncommon.  When the Great River freezes, Mandrigans go hunting. Sometimes whales get too far upriver from the open ocean and the ice traps them.  It’s about the only way that men can kill those monsters anymore, although there are records of men hunting whales before the Punishment.”

“Those earlier whales were much different from the ones today,” Jella said. “Gentle giants instead of the angry armored behemoths of today.”

“True, good Forester, true,” Mr. Kazilionum said, nodding so vigorously that sweat flew off his head.  “It’s still hard for teams of men to accomplish, but sometimes it happens.  I traveled with a few whale hunters, testing my designs and refining them.  Right up until a wicked storm hit our party unawares.  I was the only survivor, but I was hundreds of spans from safety.  A party of Nuk ice fishermen found me and took me to one of their communities.  That’s where I met Andru.”

I glanced at Kassa and she nodded.

“This right here makes you dangerous,” the old man said, nodding his chin from me to Kassa.  “Mandrigo is terrified of esllings.  I was forced to hide my Talents my whole life, at least until I met the Nuk.  From what I understand, Berkette is also disparaging of people with Talent.  Yet you have weaponized us.”

“Actually, I believe it is you, yourself, who weaponized your own talents and created objects of division and disruption,” I said.

“Too-chay, as the Nuks say.  Point to you, Captain.”

“How do we stop the things you made?”

“You can’t.  I mean, eventually the Impressions that I made will lessen and their effect will dissipate, but there really is no way to just shut them down.  And people won’t give them up willingly.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because part of what I did was make them desirable.  That’s why people pick them up and don’t put them back down.”

“So, unless something more desirable comes along, they won’t let go of them?” Cort said, shaking his head and frowning. 

“Something wrong, Cap?” Soshi asked, watching me with concern.  I was staring at Cort, my eyes wide.

“Say, Kaz… How many of those chips do you have in your stockpile?” I asked the old man, an idea forming.

“Oh, I know that look,” Drew said, smiling.

“I do too,” Jella agreed.  “For several years, I thought it was just gas.”

“It does look a little painful,” Cort said.

I gave them all a single-finger salute.

Chapter 28

“Mr. Andru, nice to meet you.  I’m Savid DelaCrotia,” I said, smiling into the squat man’s glare.

“He probably can’t get many words out, Cap. Not with that smelly old gag in his chompers,” Cort said. Besides the sapper, Jella and Kassa were the only ones in the room with us.  Soshi, Trell, Drew, and Freyla were occupied with other matters.

“Hmm, I believe you’re right, Corporal.  Would you help him out?” I asked.

“Sure, but if he bites me, I’m gonna slug him one with a hammer,” he warned as he moved to untie the piece of cloth.

“There ya go. Much better, right?” I asked.

“Foul piece of cloth tastes like an outhouse,” the hairy man growled, his voice much deeper than you’d expect.

“Yeah, I think the boys were short-handed and made do with what they could scrounge.  What was that, Cort?”

“A pair of Drew’s old underwear,” Cort said, looking at the gag with distaste.

“I guess the torture has already begun,” I said with a grin to Andru.

He grimaced and spat on the ground.  “Do your worst,” he challenged.

“Actually, we’ll be striving for our very best,” I said.  “Now then, we’ve had a long chat with your tailor friend and learned a great deal.  We’re hoping you can clear up a few of the finer points.  For instance, our new friend Kaz feels that the Nuks as a people aren’t necessarily behind your actions.  He doesn’t want us to think badly of them.”

“And, you know, go to war with them,” Cort said.

“That would be a grievous mistake on your part, manling.  My people are warriors without equal,” he said, spitting again.

“Oh, I’m sure they are,” I said.  “But hey, we’re used to fighting stronger, tougher opponents, Mr. Andru.  Woldlings being what they are and all.”

“And look how that worked out,” Cort said in a reasonable tone.

“You would never find our communities,” Andru snarled.  “And if you did, there is nothing you could do to dig us out.”

“You should listen and think, Nuk, before committing your people to a fight with these folks,” Jella said from her spot against the closed door.

“And why are you with them, Forester?” Andru asked her.  “Your people have always seemed honorable.”

“As have yours, which is why I counsel you caution,” Jella said.  “I am a battlemaster and this one here was, for a time, my apprentice.  But he is long past that.  Now days, I hang around to see what mayhem he dreams up next.  He has something of a gift for it.”

“He knows that,” Kassa said suddenly.  “In fact, he knew the captain on sight because he was expecting him here, sooner or later.”

The stout block of muscle and bone turned his head on a nonexistent neck and looked at our pretty young eslling with a grimace of shocked horror.

“Yes, that’s exactly what I am,” she said to his unasked question.  “He hoped you would show up later, after things here had devolved more.”

“Why?” I asked.

“The conflict that’s created… it’s intended to motivate you somehow,” Kassa said, frowning and tilting her head as she stared at Andru.  He, on the other hand, was staring at the ground, his lips moving silently.

“Did you want Montshire to take a hand against Berkette—or perhaps Mandrigo?” I asked.

His eyes twitched but he refused to look at me and I started to hear his voice as his muttering got a little louder.

“The second one,” Kassa said.  “Mandrigo.”

“Why?” Cort asked, baffled.

“Well, let’s see,” I started to muse out loud. “Mandrigo is bigger than any other country, at least in territory.  Like Drodacia and Montshire, it borders the ice fields.”

“But unlike them, it has access to the ocean coast,” Jella said.

“Ah, resources—seafood, perhaps?” I said.

“That scored a hit,” Kassa said.

“So the Nuks want land with access to unfrozen ocean?” I asked her.

“Food. It keeps coming back to food,” she said.

Andru suddenly lifted his shaggy head and glared at her.  “Of course it does, you overfed cow!  Do you have any idea of how hard it is to feed children on the ice?”

“Your elders have always been very careful about the birth rate to avoid that kind of problem,” Jella commented.

He whipped around to stare at her.  “Control the birth rate?  Do you even know what that means?  Do you understand that some babies get to live while others are left on the ice for the white bears to take?”

“He was such a child, but his father hid him.  Sent his mother, who was Mandrigan, back with him instead of sacrificing him to the ice.”

“Get. Out. Of. My. Head—you witch!” he bellowed loud enough to bring some dust down from the beams overhead.

“Easily accomplished,” I said to him.  “Just tell us the damned story already.”

He was breathing like a blacksmith’s bellows, his chunky chest rising and falling as he stared at me with his jet-black eyes. We waited.  Finally, his breathing calmed and the obstinance left his eyes.

“She’s already told you the gist of it. I grew up in Mandrigo, but never belonged.  People knew I wasn’t born there and knew I was of mixed blood.  They made fun of me, ostracized me, locked me out of their society.  When I was a teenager, I headed north, crossing the Great River.  Found my way back to my father’s caves, to the ice lairs of my birth.  I wasn’t truly welcomed there either, at least not at first.  Except by my father.  But over time, he had me tell some of the others in that lair of the sheer amount of food I had grown up amongst.  Even as outsiders in Mandrigo, my mother and I always had plenty to eat.  No one starves in Mandrigo—no one.”

He took a breath.  “All of those my father introduced me to had given children to the ice.  All of them were angry about it.  They talked and talked but could only dream of having that much fish, shellfish, crab, and lobster.  Of growing actual vegetables in dirt under the rays of the sun instead of farming mushrooms and fungi in the dark.  Then one day, a group who had been sent to attempt fishing through the river ice that can be three spans thick found the tailor.  And it was I who discovered what he really was, what he could do.”

“And the chips?” I asked.

He studied me for a moment.  “There is a place, a city of the Punished that had extensive tunnels already in place when the Punishment happened.  The city was buried under ice, smothered completely, the Punished in that city dying of cold within a short period of time.  We found people sitting at their tables, frozen solid in the act of eating.  A few managed to live for a time in the tunnels until their food ran out.  The tunnels were a marketplace, mostly of textiles and amazing items of a technology we couldn’t understand.  We found several merchants’ stores packed with small devices.  Inside each of these handheld machines was a single tiny chip.  We destroyed the machines, but the chips were gold.  We thought to trade them to Drodacia for food.  But as soon as we returned to the lairs, we discovered they had barely any precious metal on them at all.  Then the tailor handled one and Impressed it to calm a starving child.”

“The Nuk have always managed before. What changed?” Jella asked.

“The weather.  Every year, the ice gets colder, thicker, deadlier.  The few animals that can live there either migrated away or died off.  Even the white bears are few, at least near my father’s lair.”

“It did that during the Punishment too,” Jella said to him.  That caught my attention.  The Drodacians had better records of the Punishment than any of the other nations.  But she had always refused to talk to me about it. 

“True.  But it was short termed, according to our Memories. They speak of just a few short years of sudden unrelenting cold.  And that was well into the time of Punishment.”

“Time of Punishment?” Cort asked before I could.

“The Punishment didn’t happen overnight,” Andru said with a dark frown as if we were idiots.  “It took more than a decade for the collapse to accelerate and finally end in all-out war. The war that sundered the land and left Nengled apart from the rest.  During that time, the Nuk prepared, learned, adapted.  It was enough to survive, and eventually, for us to thrive.”

“The rest?” I asked.  “Surely you don’t speak of the Western Lands.  That’s just myth.”

“Every myth contains at least a kernel of truth,” Andru said.  “This one has a whole boulder.”

I glanced at Kassa.  She pulled her eyes from the Nuk and gave me a nod.  “He believes it.”

Then I glanced at Jella and found her watching me, her face blank.  Drodacians rarely do blank, and Jella is as emotional as the rest of her people.  Maybe even more so.  I raised one brow in question.  A frown flickered across her face.  “You asked the question,” I said.  “However, we have moved away from our goal.  So let me cut to the quick—do all the Nuk support your cause, or just some?”

He frowned, his shaggy brows coming almost together, but it was more of a thoughtful frown than an angry one.  “Perhaps as many as a quarter of my people favor seizing land in the northernmost portion of Mandrigo.  But most are too proud of our history to seek what they consider an easy and dishonorable answer to our problems.  They want to fight for survival using the old ways.  They also worry about war with men. But they miss the bigger picture.”

“And what’s the bigger picture?” I asked.

“We’re dying off.  Once, not that terribly long ago, we were numerous.  Maybe not like you breeders, but we were thriving,” he said.

“Until the wars,” Jella said.

He looked at her, his face a mask of anger, but it didn’t seem directed at her. Finally, he nodded. 

“What wars?” Cort asked.

“I think they’re talking about the War of Founding,” Trell said, bringing up a piece of history that more than a few in Montshire thought to be only fiction.

“That was just one of several,” Jella agreed.  “In the first century after the Punishment, when the countries of Nengled were sorting themselves out, there were numerous upheavals, conflicts, and attempts at empire building.  My people stayed in our mountains, watching the carnage from afar, knowing that nobody had the sheer numbers required to dig us out.  During that period, there were several times that the Nuk chose to attack what was to become Montshire and Mandrigo, usually when they appeared to be weak.  Instead of inflicting a knockout blow against wounded foes, they only enraged the two kingdoms, which forged them into an alliance.  The resulting battles made the Great River run red.  Thousands from the kingdoms were killed, fewer of the Nuk.  But the Nuk were always fewer to begin with.”

“Had we done it just once, it would have been all right,” Andru said.  “But we tried it three times, killing almost a third of our people before our most hotheaded and ambitious leaders were all dead and we could retreat to our lairs. But the ice is an unforgiving mistress.  We never recovered those numbers.  And the loss of so many young men and women left us with too many elders and young.  So much so that many elders took the Ice Walk to spare their lairs more mouths to feed.  Unfortunately, they took their wisdom, knowledge, and skills with them.”

“Why not trade in metals and then just buy your food?” Cort asked.  “From what you say, the Nuk must have a tremendous amount of steel to salvage.”

Andru grimaced. “Some of us have suggested as much.  There is a cultural bias against purchasing our own food.  Much of our identity is tied to self-sufficiency. It is a grave insult among my people to suggest that one must trade, borrow, or beg food from another.”

“So your people will just die out rather than find a way to live?” Kassa asked.

He didn’t answer, instead just offering a shrug.

“Enough,” I said.  “We aren’t here to solve another country’s problems… just our own.”

“You won’t be able to stop what I’ve started,” Andru said.

“You might be wrong about that,” I replied.

Chapter 29

Two days later, I stood in the shadows of a doorway that opened out onto the market square.  The vendors I had seen before were all there, as were the barrow boys, musical buskers, goodwives, commercial buyers, city guards, street children, and the rest of the normal citizenry of Porye.  But I was watching a new booth, one placed almost in the center of the market, possibly the most desirable of all retail locations in the square.  It hadn’t been easy to get, either, requiring me to meet with the city’s mayor and requiring way too much excitement for a simple market booth.

Gibson Macklin had been mayor of Porye for almost as long as I’d been alive.  As a result, he had a pretty high confidence in the security of his position and hadn’t been all that interested in meeting with me at the drop of a hat.  His personal secretary kept me sitting in the waiting room for over an hour, which the oily little man spent either ignoring me or giving me the side-eye. That changed when I asked for paper, pen, and ink as well as the schedule for the royal raptor delivery to Haven. After writing out a note and sealing it in a secure delivery vial that bore the royal emblem, I had dropped it in the outgoing courier bin and left.

I made it down the second-floor hall of the municipal building and halfway down the stairs before the surprisingly fast little secretary caught up to me.  “Captain DelaCrotia!  The mayor will meet with you now,” he yelled as he came rushing down the stairs.

I’d stopped and frowned at him, then scratched my head absently.  “I’m just about out of time,” I said.

“Please, Captain. Mayor Macklin was unavoidably detained, but he certainly has time for the holder of the Kingdom Cross,” the unctuous little man replied, eyes darting around nervously.

“Alright, let’s go,” I had said, following him back up the stairs.

Mayor Macklin was a large man, half a hand taller than me, with a powerful build that was now running to fat, as evidenced by his protruding gut.  Despite his secretary’s sudden deferential treatment, the mayor stayed behind his desk in front of a row of windows when I entered the office, his body language and facial expression dismissive.  Two large men stood on either side of the room, both with the look of ass kickers. The one on my left was huge, bigger and heavier than the mayor and most of it pure muscle.  The one on my right was tall, slim, and wiry with the whipcord musculature of a bladesman.

“Captain,” he said.  “You demanded to see me?”

“Yes, Mayor. I need to procure a specific site in the market square, and the city’s economic director indicated that he was unwilling to help me without your order.”

“A prime selling site in the market?  Why? What do you plan to sell?” he asked, his tone patronizing.

“Nothing.  We’re setting up an exchange.”

“We?”

“My team,” I replied.

“Exchanging what, exactly?” he asked, head tilted in mild disbelief.  “And what team?”

I sat back and studied him for a moment, crossing my legs at the knee.  “You have a problem in Porye, Mayor Macklin, and I’m here to solve it.”

“A problem?  Listen up, Captain DelaCrotia, this is my city and I’ll decide if there’s a problem or not, not some retired veteran with delusions of grandeur. And what is the meaning of this?” he asked, holding up my sealed Royal vial.

I frowned.  “First, Porye is His Majesty’s city—not yours.  Second, that is a sealed, secured royal message for transport by fast raptor immediately.  The fact that you’ve pulled it from the royal courier service bin is technically a crime against the crown.”

The big man to my left shifted slightly while the thinner one to my right just kept a death stare locked on me.

“Captain, I’ve been mayor here since you were suckling at your mother’s teat.  If you think I’m intimidated by you, you’re sadly mistaken.  I decide what’s important here and I decide what’s a crime.”

I felt my head tilt slightly, almost on its own as my senses expanded and my body came alive at the prospect of imminent action. I uncrossed my legs and leaned forward as if to make a point.  The real reason I moved was to shift my weight over my feet, which were now closer to the legs of my chair.

“King Warcan decides what is important everywhere in this kingdom,” I said, reaching into my jacket pocket, which immediately made both bodyguards tense.  I slowly pulled out a folded and sealed writ and tossed it on the mayor’s desk. “The king sent me to settle the civil unrest here by any means I deem necessary.  You will render me all aid or you will be arrested for obstruction of royal order.”

His face went red and his eyes locked on mine in a contest of wills.  I waited, my attention really on the men to either side of me. 

Mayor Macklin held his death gaze on me for a handful of seconds, then reached for the writ, his eyes never leaving mine until the packet was in his hands.  He studied the wax seal before taking a knife-bladed letter opener from a drawer and slicing through red paraffin.  His eyes roved over the contents and then he dropped it on his desk.

“What did you put in this?” he asked, picking up the royal courier vial.

“That’s between me and the king.”

He held the bottom of the vial in one hand and his other reached for the top.

“Open that and I will execute you for treason on the spot,” I said evenly, smiling just a little.

He paused, parsing my words and tone.  I hadn’t told him not to open it, just indicated the consequences of his actions.  Nothing in my demeanor indicated that I would be unhappy with that result.

He paused and looked to each of his men then back at me, his eyes flicking down to my elbows resting on my knees, my hands folded right over left.  I saw the moment he made his decision.  My right hand slid into my left sleeve as his fingers tightened and began to twist. A royal courier vial is sealed with a glue that is impervious to solvents.  Opening one of these secure containers takes real effort and destroys the vial in the process.  Mayor Macklin’s big shoulders bunched as he started to exert force.

The single-shot bolter in my wrist sheath came free as I turned and triggered a steel bolt into the knife fighter’s forehead, rising from the chair even as I was shooting.  He dropped like an empty sack as I stepped one pace in his direction before turning and facing the big man.  For someone his size, he moved way too fast in my opinion, but I was still a smidge quicker.

My left foot kicked the chair I had occupied into the guard’s path, which threw him off-balance. My right hand shoved the empty bolter into his bare throat while my left blocked his cudgel swing at my head.  He pulled his head and shoulders back, raising his left hand to block my strike, which only partially landed.  I stepped forward and kicked his left thigh, which combined with his own reflexive jerk and sent him stumbling backward. I followed, pressuring him even more.

My left arm was pressed against his right forearm, and now I slipped it up, over, and then around, locking the cudgel in my armpit, then lifting my arm to lock and hyperextend his elbow.

He was reasonably well trained because he crossed his other fist over and smashed it against the inside of his right elbow in an attempt to break my lock. But not that well trained, because his move was to my benefit.  Instead of fighting that move, I simply stepped my left foot back, twisting at the hips, while my right hand, still holding the steel, brass, and wooden bolter, smashed into the elbow of his now crossed left arm and pressed with force.  His shoulders were uneven by his own action, the left higher than the right, and when I turned and twisted, my shifting center of gravity overcame his raised and off-center mass, tilting him and pulling him further off balance till he fell forward, onto the floor.  I continued stepping back and twisting, shifting my left hand as the club slipped back through my armpit.  The result of all that torque was simple physics—his hand was unable to hold the haft of the baton and the cudgel came free, the weighted head still tucked in my pit.  I threw the bolter into his face, pulled the club free with my right hand, and immediately hit him in the temple, forearm, throat, and side of head seven times as fast as I could.

Turning back to the mayor, I found him pointing a small crossbow at me with one hand while holding up the still-sealed vial with the other, a victorious smile on his face.

“I hereby arrest you for the murder—” he started to say, but my thrown club hit him in the face.

His little crossbow went off and I felt a line of fire on my left biceps.  I ignored it as I vaulted onto the desk, one foot kicking out to hit the mayor in the chest.  He toppled backward, dropping both the vial and the crossbow in an attempt to catch himself.  It didn’t work, as his ass hit the window behind him, the sound of shattering glass mixing with his terrified yell as he fell back and out. He caught himself by the window frame, halfway out.  I kicked him again and he flew backward, his terrified eyes locked on mine.

I stepped right up to the broken window and glanced down.  The mayor was lying on his back, eyes wide open and unseeing, arms and legs akimbo.  A quick glance across the street found Drew, Soshi, and Cort watching for my signal.  All three ran for the door of the municipal building.  I dropped down to the floor, found the vial, and twisted it fully open, dropping both halves onto the desktop just as the office door opened.  The secretary rushed in, two more men behind him, his expression changing from a glare to shock as he took in the bodies.  The new guards stopped and evaluated the situation, eyes locking on their dead fellows.  They glanced at each other and pulled short swords from sheaths.  I took the time to pull a matched set of fighting knives from my own sheaths and waited calmly.  Before they could work up the courage to take me on, my Shadows came rushing up the stairway, their own blades bared and ready.

It took another two hours to assert our authority, have the bodies picked up, and install the economic director as temporary mayor.  His first act was to hastily give me a writ for the prime spot in the market.  Altogether it was way too much drama, but the mayor’s actions and attitude told me he had been knee-deep in something rotten.  I left Soshi and Cort to question the new mayor and most of the municipal staff while I took the rest of my team to the market.

In all, it cost me well over four and a half hours and the lives of three men to get a stinking market booth in a good spot.  Luckily, I have good people, as Trell and Kassa had succeeded in supervising Mr. Kazilionum as he modified the entire stock of raw chips left over in Andru’s shop.

So now I leaned against a doorframe and watched Trell as he yelled and shouted like a barker for a travelling faire troop.  Drew and Kassa were as busy as thieves in an abandoned jewelry store, taking in little golden chip necklaces and handing out new and improved versions.  It had been a simple matter to have Kazilionum Impress the remaining raw chips with something like a geas that made the holder feel that little golden-hued trinket was the best, most valuable thing ever.  And that was all it did.  No dark emotions triggered, no inflation of mind-clouding anger, envy, or fear.

All it had taken was one or two people to handle one of the new trinkets, decide they were superior to their existing ones, and make the trade. Then when they started to brag to the others, the floodgates were raised.  Now it was just a matter of time.

“So there you are,” a voice said from off to my right side.

The blonde woman approaching wore the robes of the Holy Assembly, but I’m pretty sure none of her fellow clerics wore them quite so well as she did.

“Hello, Gwen,” I said.

“Savid DelaCrotia,” she said, stopping about two spans away.  “Holder of the Kingdom Cross and agent of the crown.  I had a feeling you might show up.”

“Well, this is Montshire, after all.  The real question is why would the Holy Assembly cross the border and tread upon the clear territory of the Church of the Apostle of the Punished?”

“Find the answer to why the Apostle hasn’t shown up and you’ll have your answer as to why we did,” she said, dark eyes flashing with indignation.

In all the rush to find the source of all this conflict, I hadn’t thought a second about the Church of the Apostle or its lack of involvement.

“I’m a little preoccupied with ending this mess. Perhaps you could save me the trouble and just, maybe, you know… tell me?”

She studied me, head tilted, and I waited to see which way she would go.  Her blonde hair was what I would call sunny rather than the color of corn, and she had very dark brown eyes, which isn’t a combination I’ve seen very often.  Plain robes, unbound hair, and not a trace of powder on her cheeks or lip rouge and yet she outshone every woman in the plaza, more than a few of whom were casting her hard glances.  Trell and Drew had both noticed her, as they were looking our way more than they were looking at their customers.  Kassa was headed our way, and she raised one eyebrow in curiosity when she caught my eye.

“Well, seeing as how I’m pretty certain it was your people who used proscribed technology the other night to break up that riot, which incidentally kept us alive, perhaps I will,” she said, ignoring everything and everyone around us.

“Riot?  Forbidden devices?  Whatever are you talking about?”

“Hmm, I suppose you can’t be honest about that with a church official, even if it’s a different church,” she said with a frown.  “Which is just as well, because the local pastor who heads up the Apostle’s presence in Porye has decided to serve himself over God.”  She turned as she finished speaking, seeing Kassa, who was now just about four spans away.

“Not to interrupt,” Kassa said, her curious glance lingering on Gwen, “but we’re almost done.”

“Gwen, this is Kassa,” I said.  “Kassa, Gwen is a pastor with the Holy Assembly with a disturbing accusation about our own religious leaders.”

“So I happened to hear,” Kassa said. 

Gwen gave her a nod, then turned to me with her hands on her hips. “It’s fact, not accusation.”  I kept my eyes on hers, but my peripheral vision showed me Kassa’s hand tapping her leg in the sign we’d agreed meant truth.

“Let’s see, Father Crandall is the top clergy for the Church of the Apostle here in Porye,” I said.  “Who has he decided to serve?”

“Our sources indicate he’s making three times the income of his church stipend from Turgeon Collind’s coffers,” she said, glancing at Kassa and then back to me.  Kassa tapped her leg again.

“So Mandrigo has subverted an official of Montshire?” I asked Gwen.  She blinked at my tone and started to take a step back before stopping herself.  Her face had gone a bit pale.

“That’s what we understand,” she said, eyeing me like I might bite her.  “But I’m sure you’ll want to do your own due diligence before taking any irreversible steps.”

“But I value your word, Gwen,” I said with a grim smile.

She frowned at me.  “My brother, who if you recall is a Berkette Marine, told me that you are mostly responsible for winning the war against Sylvania.  He said you are incredibly dangerous and wanted me to promise I would run in the opposite direction if I ever saw you again.”

“You don’t seem to be keeping your promise,” I said.

“I never agreed to his request.  A big part of my job is reading people.  I haven’t been wrong yet.”

“And you read me as innocuous?” I asked, incredulous.

“Of course not,” she said with another glance at Kassa, who looked mildly amused by our conversation.  “I know you are dangerous.  It’s pretty much your job to be dangerous, same as my brother.  He reported your presence in Pit to his superiors.  He likened it to kicking over a beehive.  Did you know that Berkette High Command has an entire group of officers who make it their business to study you?”

“I was fairly certain they were aware of me,” I said.  “Not sure that I warrant an entire study group.”

“He was called to Strong for a debriefing.  And I even got a visit, from two officers, although Deacon Kittleby insisted on sitting in on my interview.”

“Are you really surprised?” Kassa asked me, surprising me that she was interjecting.

“Seems excessive,” I admitted.

“The republic operates differently than the Kingdom of Montshire,” Kassa said.  “Many more layers than you’re used to. You are a potential military threat—it only makes sense.”

“Yes, I know, just like we keep track of Berkette’s military leaders.  We just don’t waste officers to track one person.”

I looked at Gwen. It had been her turn to watch and listen with curiosity.

“Are you in trouble?” I asked.

“Why would I be in trouble?” she asked.  I shrugged.  “No, they just made me tell them everything that happened, every word you said, and everything I saw.  It was a bit long but kind of interesting.”

“And now that you’ve approached me, here, on kingdom soil, you’ll have to go through it all over again,” I said.

“Perhaps,” she said, turning to look at Kassa, then at the two men still at our booth who were watching us with unabashed interest.  “You think giving one necklace for another will actually help?”

“The new one doesn’t make people nuts,” I said.  “We didn’t have enough for all the originals, but those that remain at large should weaken and fade within days.  The new ones will be inert by this time next week.”  I glanced at Kassa and she nodded. “The idea is to knock down the number of crazy individuals to the point where the remainder aren’t a real threat, or at least a lesser threat.”

“And let time do the rest?” Gwen asked.

“Exactly.”

“So… mission accomplished?” she asked.

“Not fully. Gotta look deeper into the corruption here as well as across the border.”

She blanched. “And surgically remove it?”

“We’ll see.  Would it surprise you?”

“From what I was told after our last meeting, it would seem more surprising if you didn’t.”

“You think I’m that predictable?”

“Me? No.  But our military has identified you as ruthless.  They think there is predictability in that.”

“They would be surprised,” Kassa said.

“Thank you,” I said to her. 

“It wasn’t necessarily a compliment,” Kassa replied, frowning.

“And it wasn’t necessarily not a compliment,” I said.

Both women frowned at me, then exchanged a baffled look.  “Not sure that even makes sense,” Kassa said.  “All I’ll say is that you are full of surprises.  We’re packing up.”  She nodded to Gwen and then headed back to the booth.

“Your people don’t act like I was led to believe they would,” Gwen said, staring after her.

“Right?  It’s like there’s no chain of command at all,” I said.

“That’s not what I meant.  Anyway, I thought you should know why we are here, in order to avoid any diplomatic problems.  I’ll take my leave.”

“I appreciate the transparency,” I said.

“Which I’m certain you will independently verify.  Good day, Savid DelaCrotia.”

“Good day, Gwen Vancour,” I said, getting a raised eyebrow that I knew her last name.  Then she turned and walked away.  I turned away myself and headed for my team.

Chapter 30

“She’s right,” Soshi said after I relayed Gwen’s information.  “Father Crandall and Mayor Macklin both decided to take employment with Mandrigo.  That little secretary fella was a deep well of information.”

“Was?” I asked.

“Still is.  He’s on ice in the city’s jail,” Soshi said.  “I used the wrong tense.”

“And we think he’ll survive unattended because…” I asked.

“Because there’s a crazy-eyed Drodacian Forester camped out in the same building.  When we left, she was throwing knives at the legs of the jailer’s desk,” Cort said.

“At the legs?” Kassa asked, brows up in disbelief.

“No other challenging targets,” Soshi said with a shrug.  “Not that desk legs are that challenging at three spans.”

“What do you know about the mayor’s betrayal of the kingdom?” I asked.

“Does it matter?  He’s already paid the price,” Soshi said.

“Which Freyla knows, which means that Slinch knows, or will know shortly.  I sent a peregrine to Brona about my meeting with Mayor Macklin so that she won’t be surprised, but I need to back that up with facts.”

“The king gave you free license,” Drew said, frowning.

“But that requires reporting and actionable intelligence.”

Drew, Soshi, and Cort wore almost identical expressions of confusion.  Kassa just watched with a blank face and her arms crossed.  Trell was looking back and forth between us in a manner that I had learned to recognize.

“You best not be writing a song about this little chat,” I said to him before turning to the other three.  “You know Slinch has been aiming for the Shadows, hence all that posturing about Ash.  I can’t afford to give him any more leverage to use against us.  Now, what do we know?”

“Macklin was meeting with Turgeon Collind every other week.  Sometimes he took a ride to Kittwell, sometimes Collind came here.  During the recent altercations, Macklin either had his constables look the other way when the Mandrigo side was winning, or he had them intervene and lock up the Berkette side when it went the other way. For his help, and for passing information to Mandrigo, a monthly payment of one hundred glimmers was dropped off by Mandrigan merchants.  And Father Crandall’s sermons have recently lacked any form of tolerance for our southern neighbors at all.  In fact, Kultin, that little weasel of a secretary, said he was preaching punishment for republic interference in kingdom business.”

“Any solid proof?” I asked.

Soshi reached down by her chair and pulled up a sack that clunked metallically when she dropped it on the table.  “It was dropped off while we were having our little chat with Kultin.”

“Good. Wrap it in silk; we’ll bring it with us.”

I could see Soshi perk up a little at that command.  Wrapping in silk meant that I wanted it readable by eslling talent, which meant Brona’s people.  I could almost see the gears working in her head.

“Cap, if it’s as serious as all that, you should have told us,” Cort said.

“Call it a feeling, Cort.”

“Those feelings have saved my hide more times than I can count,” he said.

“Which is anything over ten,” Soshi said to him.

“Eleven,” he said back with a smirk.  She just snorted.

“Wasn’t it Freyla who warned you about the mayor?” Kassa asked suddenly.

“It was, and she did, vigorously,” I said with a frown.

“You think you were set up to kill the mayor?” she asked.

“I think the mayor’s actions and clumsiness resulted in his death, but also that Freyla knew how he would likely react to the appearance of kingdom agents.”

The meeting room door opened to reveal Jella. “And also, how you would respond to the mayor’s actions,” she said.  Her hearing is ridiculous.

“Last I heard, you were guarding our star witness?” I asked.

She reached out of view and dragged the ex-mayor’s secretary into view.  “I think he should go with us.  We’re already burdened with the other two.  One more can’t hurt.”

“He’s that unpopular?” I asked.

“He was collecting a lot of concerned stares and whispered conversations.”

“Some of which you overheard,” I said.

She nodded.

My decision came fast.  “Alright, we’re out of here today.  Drew, get a wagon and horses.  Cort, supplies for the road to include three guests.  Jella and Soshi, security.  Trell and Kassa, circulate in the Lobster’s common room and watch, listen, and look for any imminent trouble.  Everyone have their gear packed?”

I got nods all around.  “I’ll keep an eye on our three guests while I write up another report to Brona and the king.”

We were on the road an hour later.  I sent two separate reports to Haven, one by royal courier bird and one via a Shadow raptor.  Freyla offered one of hers, but I had several deep cover Shadow agents in Porye that she knew nothing about, and Jella had delivered the message to one before we left.

We moved at a decent pace, but having a wagon with a driver and three prisoners in the party, along with supplies for four or five days of potential travel, kept us well below our normal speed.  We rode in combat formation, spread out and spaced irregularly.  Jella scouted ahead for trouble, her feline partner Yawl travelling somewhere behind us as rear security.

Drew drove the wagon with Soshi sitting beside him, a trio of loaded crossbows concealed close at hand.  With Jella off in the woods around us, I rode point, Kassa and Trell behind me, then the wagon, and then Cort as rear guard.  We never saw the mountain cat, but I could feel her back there. The years I’ve spent with Jella have also been spent with Yawl.  I can usually sense her presence after all that time.

Close to Porye, the roads were busy with the normal traffic of an important port city.  Late afternoon found us many spans down the road.  The Winter Solstice was less than a week away and the sun was already speeding toward the horizon, but we had several hours to go to get to our stop for the night—a Shadow-owned inn in Conk, the first real town on our journey.

It was a predictable stop for us, and a huge part of me hated allowing ourselves to be predictable, but we were travelling with prisoners, plus two new members of the team, and having a roof over our heads that we absolutely knew to be safe was priceless.  An hour after sunset, we rode into Conk, all of us cloaked and hooded in the cold winter darkness.

“State your business,” the smaller of the two guards on duty at the town gates demanded.

I knew him, so I pulled back my hood, letting him see my face.

His eyes widened as he recognized me.  Many of the municipal guards throughout Montshire are ex-military, especially, it seems, in the smaller towns.  Young people who entered the military often left it with only the skills of a soldier to earn a living, and the crown actively encouraged its appointed administrators to hire them for law enforcement.  My people actively recruit these people as informants and allies, supplying support, connections, and resources, oftentimes including supplemental income.  The result was that we have friends scattered throughout the kingdom, many of whom occupy leadership roles.  Which means that sometimes we get lucky, as we did this night. Ironic that we get better reception outside of Haven then in, or Porye for that matter.

“Mark nine travelling merchants seeking shelter,” the first guard said to his companion who I didn’t know but who nodded in agreement as he reached for the gate book.  “Correction. Make that six,” he said as he counted the fingers I held up.  Jella should already have entered Cork’s walls and be on overwatch somewhere likely high off the ground.

“Thank you, gentlemen.  May the rest of your shifts be safe,” I said.

“Interesting group of fellows came in about an hour ago.  Claimed to be seeking employment as road guards with a Cork merchant, but I know the merchant in question, and I haven’t heard a single word that he’s hiring.”

“How many?” I asked.

“Thirteen.”

“Thanks for the heads-up,” I said, walking Tipton through the town’s gates. Drew flicked his reins and the wagon rolled smoothly behind me, while Soshi pushed our three bound passengers down flat and covered them with an oilcloth.

Chapter 31

The trip through Cork’s snowy streets was uneventful, the only movement a few citizens hurrying to the warmth of their homes.  I could just about feel Jella somewhere nearby, but I never got so much as a glimpse of her or Yawl, although some of our horses reacted once when the wind briefly shifted.  Tipton only flicked his ears, so I figured the big cat was ghosting about the town along with her Forester partner.

The Stone House appeared after ten minutes of riding, a solid, low-key inn just on the edge of the business district. 

The old stablehand who met us recognized me along with my regular team members.  “Thought I might see you soon, Captain,” he said, his voice rough and gravelly.  The scent of tobacco gave good reason for the vocal issue. 

I struggled with his name for a moment till it popped into my head. “Why’s that, Alan?” I asked.

“Word has it that someone rearranged the office of the mayor in Porye over the last few days,” he said as he took Tipton’s reins.  Before I could answer, he turned and whistled.  Two sleepy-looking lads stumbled out of the stables and started to collect our horses’ leads.  “Seems like whoever did that sent all the rats running.”

“Any of the rats looking to bite?” I asked.

“Not that I’ve heard, but you gotta watch rats close, Captain,” he said.

“We’ve brought a few back with us for observation,” I said.  “Please keep an eye out if anyone shows interest in them.”

“Yessir,” he said with a nod.  I turned toward the inn and found the proprietor standing in the open doorway, watching us.

“Tubbs, you have any rooms for wayward travelers?” I asked the rotund man who had grown to fit the name his mother had given him.

“Wayward?  No.  Owners of the inn?  You bet,” he said, pausing to spit a stream of brown tobacco juice into pristine white snow.  “Got some grub still warm too.”

“I’ll need accommodations for three special guests,” I said as Soshi pulled the tarp off our prisoners.

“Basement is dry and not too cold, and it’s got a really solid lock on the door.”

“Perfect.”

He turned like a wide rowboat and went back inside, leaving the door open for us.

“Is the grub safe to eat?” Kassa asked me, her eyes on the slimy brown stain in the snow.

“His food is top-notch.  He was the personal cook for General Mitmere ten years ago.  He just didn’t know much about running a business.  We bought him out, rehired him at twice what he made on his own, and brought him into our little group.”

“You seem to do that a lot,” she said with a sideways glance at me.  “Giving ex-soldiers a hand up and buying their loyalty.”

“We don’t buy it.  We give them a solid chance to get ahead.  It’s all that most of them really want. That’s what wins us their loyalty.”

“Touchy,” she said with a smirk.  “Perhaps I used a poor choice of words.”

“Perhaps,” I agreed.

Inside, we found a warm and busy taproom with a couple of small tables to accommodate us.  Tubbs himself served us all big clay mugs of good brown ale, while his serving girls brought out crab-stuffed chicken, garlic smashed potatoes, and buttered squash with maple sugar on top.

Kassa, who opted for wine over ale, gave me a surprised nod after sampling her dinner.  The rest of the team was eating like it was a tournament sport, except Trell, who was studying the crowd with a gleam in his eye.

“Feel free to play if you’ve a mind for it,” I suggested. 

“Shouldn’t I check with Tubbs first?”

“If you like, although my informed prediction is that he won’t care if you do or don’t… at least until he sees how much drinking a good musician can inspire,” I said. “He gets a bonus if the place meets and exceeds its goals.”

“Please—he’s never seen anything like me,” Trell said, setting down his spoon and pulling his lute from its place on his back.  He was strumming before he even stood up, and the other patrons all took note.

Soshi speared his remaining chicken with her belt knife before Drew or Cort could get there, so the boys were left divvying up his potatoes and squash.  Two lines into his song and his plate was already cleared down to the porcelain.

I finished my own dinner out of basic self-preservation, then approached Tubbs for another plate as well as a raw chunk of fatty pork.  Stepping back into the cold night, I let my Talent guide me around back of the inn and into a dark alley.  It was empty, but after standing in place for a few moments, I heard the softest rustle as Jella landed on the ground two paces away.  As I was handing her dinner to her, another even quieter sound came from behind me.  Turning slowly, I found a pair of big green eyes set in a wide head filled with sharp teeth just a span away.  Yawl met my gaze for a moment, then switched her focus to the big block of pig in my left hand.  I held it out and she took it almost gently.  Then she leapt upward, landing on the roof of the one-story building on the right side of the alley, rumbling as she started to bite and chew.

“Anything?”

“Some shady folks watching the western and northern gates.  It’s going to be damned cold tonight,” Jella said, looking up at the clear sky as she sat cross-legged on the ground.

“I’ll leave the window unlatched if either of you decide you want a warm room,” I said.  Jella would never ask for that and would never admit that sleeping outside was any discomfort at all, but I knew my teacher too well.

“Perhaps,” she allowed, picking the chicken up and eating it off the bone with her fingers.

“Alright then.  Goodnight.”

“Savid,” she said as I turned away.

“Yeah?”

“They’ll come for us tomorrow. By then, I imagine all four gates will have watchers.”

“I should hope so.  It’ll spread them out a bit.”

Chapter 32

They hit us as we approached the western gate early the next morning.  It was the most likely exit for us to leave the town and it opened right onto the King’s Highway, which we would take north, and I didn’t want to disappoint.

Cort rode beside me, puffing a fat cigar with a smile on his face.  If you ever meet a Recon trooper and they smell like cigar, they’re probably a sapper.  Just saying.  Trell and Kassa rode in the wagon, the young eslling actually driving it.  Turns out she had plenty of experience with wagons as a child and teenager.  Three cloaked and hooded forms sat upright in the back of the wagon, along with our other bags and gear.  Drew followed behind on his black gelding.

Six men were clustered around the gate, not a one of them wearing a guard’s uniform.  At least three others were loitering to our sides, two on the left, one on the right.  We were eight or nine spans from the gate when the sounds of heavy crossbow bolts hitting cloth and leather came from the wagon bed.

We didn’t look back, instead kicking our horses forward, attacking into the ambush.  The snipers above us would be left in the hands of others.  Cort threw a round, smoking ball at the six by the gate while I lifted my cocked crossbow and triggered my own bolt into the same group.  Behind me, I heard the twang of Drew’s crossbow as well as one from the wagon, but I was mostly focused on charging the remaining men in front of me, releasing the crossbow to drop on its saddle lanyard. My axes slipped free from the saddle mounts as Tipton snorted and lowered his head.

Cort’s smoker started to gush a thick stream of black smoke all around the feet of my targets, causing more than a little panic.  Then I was right in the middle of them, my horse knocking one off his feet, my left axe chopping into the sword arm of another.  A third attempted to spear my horse but Tipton was wearing his chest armor, a thick plate of leather studded with metal rivets, and the point skidded off.  Wearing his armor always puts Tipton into battle mode and this time was no different. He rode over the spearman, deliberately stamping his feet as he went.  I turned the big horse back to the battle in time to see Drew ride up and jab his own spear into the back of the last man standing, who was trading sword strikes with Cort amidst the thick clouds of smelly smoke.  The rest of our would-be attackers were down, either wounded or dead. 

The wagon approached, Trell and Kassa looking a bit wide-eyed but unharmed.  The cloaked forms behind them still remained upright despite several heavy bolts jutting from each of them.  Back on the street, people were starting to poke heads out of windows and doors, but the sight of several arrow-shot bodies on the street and at least one that hung over the arm of a shop sign kept them inside.  Soshi and Jella stood upright atop two different buildings, Jella’s position just above the sign decorator.

“Let’s egress out of here before any backup arrives,” I said.  Drew headed through the gate, the wagon rumbling after him while Cort and I waited with the reins of two horses.  Moments later, Jella and Soshi trotted up, mounted their horses, and passed through the gates.

About five t-spans out of town, we stopped the wagon and pulled away the heavy canvas covering the bed.  Our three prisoners lay bound and gagged, looking at us with crazy eyes.  Then they spotted the three arrow-ridden lumps that had stood in for them.  The secretary, Kultin, started to shake uncontrollably while Andru glowered and Kazilionum just shuddered and closed his eyes.

We pulled the cloaks off the three water barrels and let the prisoners up, but that was all the time we spared as I ordered the team to move out.

We camped that night, stayed in a pretty nice inn the next, camped out again the third, and finally took shelter during a snowstorm in a seedy little place in Frank’s Pass.  It was grungy, rundown, and smelled like a pigsty, but it was warm, and the stable was decent.  As the main inn was mostly full of travelers due the sudden storm, we opted to stay in the stable with the horses, the smell of manure an actual improvement over the odors of the main barroom.  It beat a rough bivouac in sleet and snow, but the innkeeper still gouged us full room costs.  We were on the road early the next day, and it was slow going in the third of a span of snow that had fallen.  The roads were much clearer when we descended out the mountain pass and we made good time, arriving in Haven just after dark. 

We headed straight to Havensheart to secure our prisoners in the king’s cells and for me to report.

We were held up at the castle gates until two squads of guardsmen arrived in full battle gear.

“Captain DelaCrotia, I’ve been ordered to escort you to the king,” the lieutenant in charge said.  I recognized him. 

“Shouldn’t you escort my prisoners, Lieutenant Berill?” I asked.

“Sergeant Hirsch will handle them, sir, and your people will need to disperse back to their homes,” he said, somehow apologetic and steel firm at the same time.

“The prisoners require special handling, Lieutenant.  Two of them are very dangerous,” I warned.

“Yes, sir.  If you would delegate one person to accompany Sergeant Hirsch, they can advise him.”

“Drew,” I said, getting an immediate nod. 

The three prisoners were transferred to a two-wheeled cart pulled by a single horse, surrounded by one of the two squads, and trotted off in a fast, efficient manner with Drew riding alongside.  Jella, Trell, Kassa, Soshi, and Cort all caught my eyes and, at my nod, turned for the Knife and Needle.

“This way, sir,” the lieutenant said, his men forming up around me in what was definitely not an honor guard.

“What’s happened while I was away, Lieutenant?”

“Not for me to say, sir,” he said with something like honest regret.  “His Majesty was very clear about that.”

With that verbal club weighing on us, we stayed silent as they marched me into a side door in the castle and down some of the back hallways near the royal offices.  We came to a large waiting room that I recognized as one designated for petitioners of the court and waited for fifteen minutes until Colonel Erser, himself, opened the doors to the king’s court.

The long space was almost completely empty and while the big wall-mounted oil sconces tried heroically to light the space, shadows lined the walls and filled the corners with gloom.

King Warcan waited on his throne, Brona at his right hand, Neil Slinch at his left.  The better part of another squad of guards stood on either side of the space in front of him, clearly a barrier to my approach as I was marched up in front of the dais.

I dropped to one knee as appropriate and bowed my head.

“You have apparently cleared one of your missions in record time, Savid,” the king said, his voice almost relaxed.  I wasn’t fooled.

“It unfolded with uncharacteristic speed, Your Majesty,” I said, raising my head.

“A plot involving Nuks, eslling-tainted artifacts, and a traitorous mayor.  It sounds like a bard’s tale,” he said, his tone changing to mild disbelief.  He looked odd, almost manic. At his side, Neil’s face was blank, yet he had a gleam in his eye that set the hair on my neck upright.  Brona’s face was a careful mask as well, but her body betrayed a tension that she seldom, if ever, exhibited when by her father’s side.

“The fantastic nature of the situation was not lost on me, Sire.  So I brought the Nuk, the creator of the artifacts, and the mayor’s secretary back for you to question, Your Majesty,” I said.

He raised both eyebrows at that, glancing aside at Slinch with an unreadable expression that might have been annoyance.  “That was… thorough of you,” he said, looking from me to Lieutenant Berill. 

“The prisoners have been escorted to the castle’s jail, Your Majesty.  Captain DelaCrotia advised that two of them require special handling, so one of his people is advising to their security,” the young officer reported from a position of ramrod attention.

“I see.  Good work, Lieutenant.  We will see to their questioning tomorrow,” King Helat said, his eyes returning to me.  “Tonight, we have other topics to discuss.”  His tone had gone slightly ominous.

I waited, eyes on the king while he studied me.

“It has been an interesting time since you left, Savid,” he finally said.  “At my command, Colonel Erser secured both the Grantells and your own family within their manors.  The Ravens handled the testing of every member of both households.  Your extremely risky technique for finding the traitor worked.  A shaper was revealed during the urmak tests,” he said, pausing for effect. “It was your brother… Tallen.”

I was honestly surprised.  I had been pretty sure it was one of the Grantells.  To hear that Tallen had somehow become an agent for the Paul, one with shaper talent at that, was frankly the last thing I expected.

The king was watching me closely and his eyebrows went up in silent question.  I had to answer in some way.

“That’s… unexpected, Sire,” I finally said, trying to wrap my head around the news.  My brother Tallen had always been a bit of a twit, annoying and condescending.  He had received training with weapons as we all had but had no natural talent for it nor the will to work hard at it.  Sarcastic and smarmy, he was nonetheless always the least threatening of my two brothers.  In order for him to be a shaper agent, he would have had to be infected by the Paul’s priests. 

“What has he said, Sire?  Has he explained why and how?” I asked.

King Helat was staring through me, clearly looking for some reaction on my part.  Instead of answering my questions, he turned and looked off to my left side.  A man stepped forward, out of the gloom.  I recognized him after a moment.  Carter Toothaker, the king’s rook.  He was never seen in public, and very seldom visible even in the castle.  Toothaker was King Helat’s attack dog, his personal weapon in the night.  Remover of dissidents, investigator, fixer, assassin, and rumored potential eslling.  In all my years with the royal family, I’ve seen Toothaker exactly twice, both times in the halls of the castle, both times coming from the king’s chambers.  Even Brona had only met the man a handful of times.  He was perhaps even more shadowy than my Shadows.

Tall and whipcord thin, he had straw-colored hair, cut very short, and eyes so light blue that they appeared to be almost like glacial ice. He looked to be of the same age as my father, yet he was clearly a much more dangerous man than dear old chubby dad. Both times I had seen him, he had been expressionless, his cold eyes empty of humanity, like the gaze of a death rattler.  Now, as then, he wore a completely blank mask as he looked from me to King Helat.  I almost missed his pronouncement, almost turned my head to look back at the king.  Something made me stop my glance away and, in that moment, I saw the smallest shake of his head, so minute a movement that I was still trying to decide if it was real when the king spoke.

“You were blasé about your family before you left.  You appear surprised now,” the king commented.

“Tallen has never, to my knowledge, shown the slightest ambition, the sightest dissatis…” I trailed off, remembering his words at Ircian’s Naming.

“Turns out that he was not, in fact, content with his lot in life,” King Helat said, ignoring my pause.  “It would seem that playing third to your father and oldest brother is, according to him, a form of unrelenting torture.”

“But, Sire, to join the Paul?” I asked.  “I could possibly see him assassinate Gracid and maybe even my father, but betray the kingdom?”

“You may be shocked to hear this, Savid, but most citizens do not share your degree of patriotism,” the king said.

I looked at the two squads of guards surrounding me, then glanced at where Toothaker stood in the shadows.  “You thought I might be in on it?  Your Majesty,” I added hastily.

“You were not the only person surprised by this revelation, Savid.  It has been suggested that if Tallen was a traitor, why not his younger brother?”

“But there is almost no one in the kingdom the Paul hates more than myself, Sire,” I said.

“With the exception of myself and Brona, that would seem to be true.  But what a cover it would make, right?”

He never looked at Slinch, but by his stiffness, I knew Neil was the one planting those thoughts in the king’s ear.

“I cost the Paul thousands of woldlings,” I said.

“He cares nothing about cost, either in coin or lives, Savid,” Helat said.  “You know this.”

“May I see him?” I asked.

“I think not,” the king said.  “Not so much out of a concern for your behavior, Savid, but it seems your brother harbors almost as much ill will for you as he does Rucian and Gracid.  Had you enjoyed an unremarkable military career and retired into an obscure life running an inn, it might have been different.  Instead, you outshone the rest of your family and live an exciting life outside the constraints of your father.  He is, to say the least, extremely jealous of you.  He was injured during his capture and Doctor Eltienne wants him kept quiet in between the rigors of his questioning.”

I nodded at his words, then took another glance around me.  None of the soldiers had relaxed even a little.

“There is, perhaps, more, Sire?” I asked.

He smiled a cold smile and glanced at Slinch as if to say, See, he’s not stupid.

“Yes.  You’ve been careless with the property of the crown, Savid.  I can’t abide that,” the king said.

“I have, Your Majesty?”

“The woldling prisoner has escaped.  You failed to properly secure him.”

“Ash?” I asked stupidly.

“In your absence, upon the recommendation of Neil’s observer, I commanded that the woldling be turned over to the Ravens for debriefing.  Yet he was missing when agent Fontina arrived at your facility to secure him.”

Fontina must have had some way of backtracking to our cells, a Finder’s stone or similar object she was able to leave behind.  Ash would have sensed them coming for him, upstairs in the safehouse above the holding cells.

“And this happened recently, Sire?”

“The day after you left.  I’m told there was no sign that the creature had ever been returned to his cell.  I am extremely disappointed in you, Savid.  Carelessness with my property is unforgivable.”

I had to throttle down all of my reactions.  To claim a damaged soldier as his personal property was in my mind even more unforgiveable, yet he was waiting for a reaction, an outburst, clearly prepared with an overwhelming number of soldiers as well as his pet assassin waiting in the wings.

“Did you want me to attempt to retrieve Ash, Your Majesty, or am I bound for the executioner’s block?”

He frowned, his face going a little red.  Beside him, Brona had gone as white as a sheet, her eyes imploring me to shut my mouth.

“You are bound for a cell, Savid,” he said with a tiny nod.  The sound of a bolter hissing hit my ears as something stung my neck.  Instantly my vision began to go dark, but I still heard his final words: “Perhaps you’ll see your brother after all,” before it all faded to black.

Chapter 33

Drip. Drip. Drip.

I awoke in darkness, my stomach an instant knot of cramps.  Indigo eel venom.  The symptoms were obvious even though this was my first time observing them from a direct, personal exposure.  Our favorite knockout agent for bolter darts.  Apparently the Ravens’ favorite too.

Cold hard rock laid under my left side but compared to the cramps, it was barely a bother.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Let’s see… darkness, dripping water, cold stone floor, leftover knockout symptoms.  I was in the dungeons, deep under the castle, a place I had often visited but never as a guest.

Another bout of cramps hit, my breath whistling from my lungs as I tried to pant my way through them.  I recalled that women drugged with Indigo venom hardly ever complained about the side effects, but men tended to go on and on about the pain.  Weaker sex indeed.

The pain passed and my stomach muscles unclenched gradually, slowly.  Sometime later, maybe five minutes, maybe ten, I felt good enough to push myself upright, discovering as I turned that the darkness wasn’t as complete as I thought.  Flickering orange light shone through the small barred aperture set in the massive cell door.  Hmm, not just any cells but maximum security, I noted.  Tightly set stone blocks, each somewhere between one and two tons, made up the walls, the gaps so small, a doctor’s surgical blade wouldn’t fit between them.

The floor was hewn rock and there was no window other than the square opening in the door, half a hand wide and the same tall.  The door itself was iron-bound oak, thicker than my forearm, and I knew there was a metal plate that swung over the viewport, yet it must have been left open for me to see torchlight.

There was no cot, just a solid bench of hewn stone, a little shorter than I was tall and a little narrower than the width of my chest.  No blanket, no containers for water or waste, just a narrow trough cut into the stone of the floor leading to a small square opening in the wall that I would have trouble putting two fingers into. The whole room stunk of urine, feces, and vomit.

After a few moments sitting upright, I tried standing, discovering that my legs were still holding onto the effects of the toxin, refusing to answer to my brain and almost dumping me onto the floor again.

“Aye, yer awake then,” a gravelly voice said at the door grate, the outline of a head blocking most of the torchlight.  “He’ll want to know, he will.”

The head disappeared and the sound of booted feet moved off, the cell brightening a bit.

Somewhere far away, something metal screeched and clanged, followed by silence.

First things first.  I checked myself over.  The stiffness in my limbs was fading, if slowly.  My boots were gone, as were my socks.  I wore only my undershirt and my pants, minus the belt.

So they got ninety-nine percent of my weapons and stuff just by removing most of my clothes.  Now to see what they missed.  I shuffled over to the stone bed, making my traitorous legs obey me.  Sitting, I pulled my left leg up and checked the hemmed cuff of my pants.  On the front edge, I felt a tiny metallic shape, barely over two one-hundredths of a span in length—a small needle. On the back edge where it fell against the bottom of my calf, a slight rectangle of hardness was still inside the spot where the seam was sewn—a tiny blade.  I switched sides and tested the other hem.  The wire woven into that leg was still there, along with another ceramic cutting edge and a small straight rod of good steel. 

The waistband of my pants still contained almost two full spans of thin cord woven from Mondrigian trap spider webbing.  The back of my pants waist, where suspender tabs were attached, had two pieces of flexible steel, a tension wrench, and a small pick.  Locks had not changed in Nengled in centuries and every RRS trooper was well trained in lock picking.

I hadn’t been kidding when I told Mr. Kazilionum that we had learned from his tailoring of needles and tools into our clothing.  Lessons that we hadn’t had time to impart to the royal guard yet.

I had enough stuff to possibly break out, and the needle in my left cuff was coated in the same toxin that had just knocked me out.  By why was I here in the first place? Alarm bells were ringing in my head and I was suddenly very worried about Brona.

The man, who I suspected might be the king’s jailer, commonly known as Egg, had left the metal plate open.  I stood and walked stiffly to the door to peek out.

Across from me was a cell with open bars, in fact, the very cell Lady Dominick had occupied up until recently.  Another open grated cell was next to it and I could see a pair of booted feet on the exposed end of a cot.

“Who’s over there?” I called out.

The boots lifted off the thin bed swiftly, disappearing for a second before being replaced by a face I knew well.

“Brent?” I asked.

“Yes, Captain. Are you alright?” He looked tired and disheveled, but I couldn’t see any injuries.

“Eel venom sucks, but yes.  Why are you down here?”

“Two days ago, I was called to attend the king in his office but as soon as I got to the anteroom, royal guards grabbed me and dragged me here.  The jailer won’t answer my questions.  Then they dragged you in here.”

“How long ago did they drag me in?”

“Maybe an hour, maybe more.  Time is hard to figure down here.”

“Is there anyone else in these cells?”

“Not that I know of.  I heard a bunch of steps earlier, but they went to a different section of the dungeons.”

A sharp metallic screech caused me to hold up my hand, fist clenched for silence.  He nodded and hurried to lie back down as the sounds of several pairs of boots came in the darkness.

I moved to my own bed and sat.  The footsteps walked up to my door, then came the sounds of a latch being thrown, and suddenly an overhead metal grate rumbled down over the oak door, like a miniature portcullis.  The big ironbound door creaked open to reveal Egg, the jailer, holding a torch high so the light shone over the shoulder of the king. Standing back in the shadows was another man, whose face I couldn’t see.

“Ah, Savid.  Awake much faster than even I had guessed,” the king said, his voice almost jovial.  “Comfortable?”  He looked a little off, as he had in his throne room.

“I have a sharp pain in my neck, Your Majesty, from all of the sudden turns.  Hero to outcast to favored son to prisoner.”

“Too fast for you?” he asked, his tone condescending.  “My daughter has always espoused your intelligence, but I’ve had my own doubts for years.”  It was hard to get a real good look at him, but his eyes seemed a little wild, and his skin seemed slack.  Those bells in my head were going crazy now.  “So let me explain.  You are, have always been, and will always be—just a tool.  Like Toothacker here.”  He waved behind him at the man shrouded in darkness, whose shape I now realized matched the rook’s.  “And, to your credit, you are a most excellent tool at that.  But the issue is that you are my daughter’s tool—ha!  A joke in there somewhere!”

King Helat was an egomaniac but even still, this behavior was far out of his norm. 

“Neil has been in your ear, Your Majesty?” I asked, taking a risk I normally wouldn’t.

He laughed.  “Neil has been with me since our days together in the Academy, when my father was still king—in the days when your father only had the guts to stare at your mother from afar.”

“That’s right. You were roommates at the Academy,” I said.  “But he left after graduating, right?  Lived in Berkette for a number of years.”

“Berkette, Mandrigo, Lachia, and Wenkroy,” the king replied, nodding.  “Neil traveled and experienced most of the cultures of our little world.  It made him the spymaster he is today.”

“And he returned only after you ascended the throne, am I right?” I asked.

He stared at me of a moment, then turned to Egg.  The squat jailer knew his cue and immediately stepped forward, tossing a bucket of cold water through the grate.  There was no room to dodge and I didn’t even try, having only enough time to close my eyes. I waited for the icy water to run free from my eyes so I could open them.

The king continued as if nothing had happened.  “Yes, that’s right.  He stepped up to faithfully serve me when my time had finally arrived.  He has forgone a wife and family to give himself to this kingdom.”

“And stood by your side the night your own wife died so mysteriously.”

The king didn’t even have to move for Egg to know to throw another bucket of water on me.  He must have taken them from outside to have the water so icy cold.

“I’ve indulged you enough, Savid.  You are a sharp weapon, one currently locked away from my daughter’s grasp.  Perhaps solitary reflection will be a benefit to you,” Helat said, backing from the door and waving at Egg, who threw one more bucket on me before shutting the oak door. Even the little porthole was shut tight.

The king and his own weapon, Toothacker, moved away down the hall while the sounds of Egg moving about told me he remained nearby.  I was left freezing cold and soaking wet in near complete darkness.

Chapter 34

I peeled off my undershirt and wrung its retained water into my mouth.  After laying it over the stone bed, I did the same with my wool pants, steeling myself to ignore the awful taste of wool in the precious water.  Whether I would receive food and water, I didn’t know, and my training dictated staying as combat ready as possible.  Naked but for my underwear, I pushed my stiff body through sets of pushups and other exercises to raise my temperature and stave off hypothermia.  When I was done, I put the pants back on, as the wool would help retain warmth, even damp.  The undershirt was cotton and wouldn’t help me at all.  I left it on the stone bed and then sat upon it, hoping the body heat of my posterior would help it to dry.  Legs crossed in a sitting position, I started a breathing exercise that was one of my first lessons from Jella.

Slow, steady, measured breaths.  In through the nose, down into my lungs, then back out through my mouth, relaxing more of my muscles and tendons with every breath.  It might have helped that the three buckets of water had washed some of the filth out of the cell, taking down the awful odors by quite a lot.

I put everything out of my mind for a bit, concentrating on relaxing each body part, starting with my feet, all the way up to the crown of my head. When I was as relaxed as I could be, floating in the chill dark, pushing away the chill of my cooling skin, I pictured a well of black ink in my mind.  Every stray thought that tried to force its way in was pushed aside and sunk into the ink spot that I kept centered.  The calisthenics and relaxation technique, along with the cloth-tainted water, all helped flush away the lingering effects of the toxin, so I was feeling better, if chilled, when I heard the locked gate at the dungeon entrance screech open again.  The new footsteps were much lighter and softer, only one of the three sounding like boots, the others soft like ladies’ slippers.

Egg moved about outside as, apparently, he too heard the approaching steps.

“Open it,” a very familiar voice said.

“Your Highness, I was told he was not to have visitors,” Egg said in a whining tone.

“If I have to have Salis put you on the ground and open it myself, you won’t like the outcome,” Brona said, her own tone icy.  “And I just passed my father on the stairs.  He only laughed as I walked past.”

The next thing I heard was the lock disengaging and then the big door creaked open, the steel grating still in place from mere minutes ago.

Brona’s no-nonsense bodyguard moved Egg away with a sharp blade against his groin, pressing him right up against the wall with her other arm against his throat, while my princess moved right up to the grating, her eyes locked on mine.  Behind her, Rose stood watching, her own eyes a little wide, perhaps at seeing me locked up.

“Why are you wet?” Brona asked, not waiting for an answer before turning to Egg. “Why is he soaking wet?”

Egg stammered and coughed, his eyes not meeting hers.  Brona glanced down and saw the empty buckets against the wall, two more full ones next to them.  When she looked back up at the jailer, he froze at whatever he saw in her eyes, his whole body going still.

Without releasing him from her gaze, she reached up and untied her cloak, swinging it off and stuffing it through the grate.  “Take this, Savid,” she said, turning back to me.  Her face was a clear mask of anger—deadly anger.  I pulled the still-warm wool to me, my nose instantly filled with the scent of her perfume.

“I still don’t know what’s happened while I was gone,” I said, putting the small, light blue princess cloak around my shoulders. Instantly I felt warmer.

“Slinch convinced Father to give him Ash.  Ash didn’t hang around and they lost three people trying to stop him.”

“Your father said he wasn’t even there?”

“My father seems to believe whatever lies Slinch tells him,” she said, still extraordinarily angry. “As you know, your brother turned out to be the shaper.  Father told you he was injured during capture.  The truth is that he was almost killed.  He was slashed in the throat by one of Slinch’s agents.  He’s in a coma from blood loss, but even if he wakes up, his vocal cords are likely too damaged to talk.”

I let that flow through me.  “Seems like the whole government has had its feathers ruffled,” I suggested, mindful of Egg’s open ears.

“Exactly right.  Some require plucking,” she said softly enough that I’m not sure the jailer could even hear her.  She looked around, saw something out of my view, and stepped to one side of the door.  When she stepped back, she held a water dipper, which she proceeded to fill from the closest full bucket.  Then she put her arm through the grating and handed it to me. I drank it down, the icy cold making my teeth hurt, but the water too good to not swallow.

“The king did not seem himself,” I said.  “Has he been ill?”

“You noticed?  Doctor Eltienne has approached him but he denies feeling unwell.”

“During my time on the coast, it was pointed out how many delicious types of seafood there are: lobster, scallops, oysters, clams, mussels, tuna, cod, hellfish, devil’s squid, hard scale haddock.  Hell, did you know some people even eat scorpion sand strikers?  Despite the really, really toxic nature of their venom.”

Her left brow shot up and her head tilted to one side.  “Really?  I had no idea.  I’ve always heard how venomous they were,” she said.

“Yes, but if you are very careful, you can make things much, much safer.  Still some risk, but just a tiny bit. Miniscule, really,” I said. “Considered to be such a delicacy that you could lose your mind over it.”

“That’s an interesting observation, one I will have to think about before I approach the chef.  Speaking of food, Rose has some bread and cheese for you.”

Taking her cue, Rose moved right up and passed me a loaf of bread and a block of cheese through the grate.

“Your Highness…” Egg started to protest but shut right up when Brona snapped around to look at him.

“You will still feed him, Jailer.  That food is for whenever he thinks he needs it.  Should you mistreat him, I will have Salis gut you and let you die trying to hold your own intestines in.  Are we clear?”

He could only nod, his mouth clenched tight with fear.

My loaf of fresh bread was still warm, but it seemed a touch too heavy.  The cheese was a good local cheddar.

“I must go now.  Things are afoot,” Brona said, frowning at me.  She reached her slim hand through the steel and I held it with my own.  “Eat that wisely.  You may not need it at all,” she said, nodding at the loaf of bread I held in my other hand. “You’ll know if you do.”

“I will?”

“Earth-shaking hunger should be a strong clue for all my Shadows,” she said with a smirk.

“Thank you, Princess,” I said.  Her reminder that the Shadows were hers was not lost on me.  I might have built, recruited, trained, and run them, but the Shadows ultimately reported to the crown princess, and she never forgot that.

“Hmm, my blue looks good on you,” she said, eyeing my naked chest, one brow twitching up when the others couldn’t see her face.

She turned and moved away, glancing back at me once, as did Rose.  Salis waited for three seconds before stepping back from Egg and then following her princess.  The squat jailer stood where he was, hyperventilating for a few moments before he got himself under control.  He grimaced at me and slammed my oak door shut, or at least tried to.  The big door was so heavy, it never really worked up enough speed to actually thunk shut.  Instead, it made a soft thud as it connected with the timber jamb. The spring-loaded lock automatically engaged.

Back in the dark, I sat back on my bed and set the cheese on my still-damp shirt.  The warm loaf tore in half to reveal a slim blade of good Wenkroy steel and a long brass key.  One of Salis’s personal knives, probably her smallest, with a cutting edge only as long as my index finger.  Still, it was razor sharp and the flat, thin profile let me hide it in my pants pocket. The key was likely to the cell locks, all of which were made to open to the same key. I ate the bread and used the blade to hack off slivers of cheddar. 

Some time later, I heard Egg moving about, muttering to himself.  Then I heard his footsteps head down the line of cells and the end gate creaked open and shut. I waited a bit, then moved to the doorway.  The portcullis grate prevented me from doing more than just brushing the oak door with my fingers.  Experimentally, I pulled up on the lattice grating.  It was heavy as a horse, but it shifted, if only a bit, the bottom spikes just barely pulling free of the little floor openings they fit into. When I let go, it instantly dropped back down.

Just above my head, the darkness hid the opening the grate slid up into, and I could reach my fingers into the slash in the stone ceiling. Using the bottom of the grate itself as a foothold, I was able to lift myself so that my head brushed the stone ceiling and my fingers reached farther into the opening.  At first, I felt nothing but smooth, cold rock.  But near the left side, I found a little stub of something that felt metallic.  A bolt or rod.  Most likely the latch that normally held the gate up.  It was thumb-thick and almost touched the grate.  I couldn’t move it even a little.  I stepped back down and did some thinking.

Then I took off my pants.  The sharp knife cut the threads holding the spider cord around the waist.  Pulling my pants back on against the cold, I looped one end of the cord over the latch, tying it tightly in place.  The remainder hung down almost two spans and I pulled the bottom end through one of the grate openings just about a third of the way down the heavy barrier.

Back up over the round latch and down again, now hanging only a third of its former length.  I knotted that hanging end several times to prevent my hand from slipping off. Once more, I grasped the grating and heaved upward with all my might.  The gate resisted for a moment, then lifted free of the floor, just a little, maybe a tenth of a span.  I shoved my weight against it and held tight with my left while grasping the cord with my right and pulling out the slack.  Then I slowly, carefully released my hold on the metal but kept a death’s clutch on the cord.  The rope held, keeping the grate where I had lifted it.  Carefully, I switched hands on the slick cord, the little lump of knots pressing hard against my skin as it sought to slip free.  With my strong right hand, I grasped the metal grate and used my legs to press upward.  It lifted a little more, and again, I took up the slack.  I did this three more times until most of the rope hung down and the grate was halfway back to the ceiling.  With no more cord to tighten, I tied it off to the metal of the gate itself. 

The heavy gate stayed in position, the bottom high enough that I could easily get under it. With enough room to get under the gate, my only barrier was the locked door.  I reached through the metal and used the tip of Salis’s knife to poke the metal porthole cover.  Egg hadn’t latched it and the little door swung open.

“Brent, are you there?” I called softly.  I could just barely see a small portion of his cell through my lookout.  Moments later, his face appeared, his eyes flicking about as he tried to see into my dark cell. 

“I’m here.”

“Is Egg gone?”

“Yes.  I heard you shifting things about in there,” he said.

“I can get past the security gate, but the door remains locked and the lock is unreachable from this side.  I have a key and can throw it out this opening, but I don’t have any way of aiming it well.”

“I have some wire hidden that they didn’t find. If you get it out and in front of my cell, I’m sure I can get it,” Brent said.

I took Brona’s key and studied the little portal.  I can throw an axe five or six spans and hit an apple every time.  A knife like the blade Salis had lent me in the bread, I could accurately throw eight spans and pin a playing card with most attempts.  Here I was faced with a one-span throw through a hand-sized opening and it was as if I was in the Kingdom Dart Tournament finals.  After several deep and calming breaths, I held the key like it was a dart, pictured myself playing Soshi for a jug of my own ale, and then made one smooth, careful throw.

The key disappeared out the portal, but I didn’t hear it hit the stone floor.

“Landed right in my hands,” Brent said, the sounds of a lock clicking as he spoke. A cell door screeched, then I heard him fumbling with the lock on my door.  I turned and pulled on my still-damp undershirt, put Brona’s cloak over my shoulders and waited as he tugged the massive door open. 

I rolled under the grate before the oak door was half open, standing up almost in Brent’s face.

“Let’s go,” I said, not willing to wait for Brona’s mysterious signal.

Suddenly a muted roar shook the entire dungeon, bits of dust falling from the ceiling.  Okay, maybe not so mysterious at all, just standard Cort-type stuff.

Chapter 35

His few days of care at the hands of Egg and his assistants didn’t seem to have harmed Brent. In fact, I would say it may have added a bit of fire to his spirit.

At the end of our row of cells, which were all empty, the gate was shut and locked.  I had taken just enough time to remove Brona’s key from my cell door and when I tried it on the old lock, it turned it over easily. We relocked it behind us, then paused to take our bearings.  The row of high security cells was at the very end of a long corridor with rows of cells running off it.  I knew that most of the other cells were of the group sort, holding anywhere from three to ten inmates at a time.  Another blast above us rocked the corridor and the prisoners cried out as we hustled to the next gateway.  I was worried about this one because it was always manned with royal guards—except now, it wasn’t.  There wasn’t a single soldier in sight, and it looked like the men on duty had left in a hurry, a chair had been knocked over and the visitor logbook (a new one) had fallen to the stone floor. 

Once again, the master key unlocked the barrier in front of us and the stairwell ahead looked clear.  We started up, and I found my legs were still stiff and uncoordinated from the knockout dart venom.  Brent started to pull ahead of me, but that wasn’t going to happen.  I bore down and forced my reluctant limbs to move faster, working on sheer willpower at first.  Then my gait smoothed out and I took the steps two and three at a time, catching up to my young Shadow-in-training.

We started to hear yelling from above as we climbed higher, then the sounds of steel on steel.  The main door to the ground floor was open and we burst out into a scene of mayhem.  A body lay on the floor just outside the stairwell, a guardsman, and I stopped to grab his sword, tossing my knife to Brent.  People were rushing about by the administrative offices; secretaries, couriers, petitioners all in a panic.

I headed to Brona’s office first but found just Marda, who was locking doors and cabinets.

“Where is she?  What’s happened?” I demanded.

“She’s okay.  Out in the castle, directing the action. She took some… steps, and it forced Slinch into hasty action,” she said.  “He sent a pair of Ravens.  Salis killed one and your little Rose took the second from behind, fast and slick as anything.”  She shook her head.  “Looked terrified and timid one second, then furious the next.  Fooled even me; she was just suddenly all over him like a damned fisher.”

“That’s what the lads and I call her.  Fisher. Rose is too sweet a name for that hellcat,” Brent said.

I turned to leave but Marda called out some final words.  “The king was attacked too.  He’s been sorely wounded.”

I turned and met her eyes for a second before heading out the door.  When we reached the castle’s main entryway, I found a mix of royal guardsmen and Shadows manning the doorways.

“Kisen, report,” I ordered the first Shadow I came across.

“Her Highness sent a messenger to Hemppe and he activated all of our people, Captain. Happened about when you was arrested by the king.  We got into the castle, but the birds had already struck.  Little Rosie and the princess’s bodyguard did for a couple of black birds.  We secured the office wing and, on her orders, took after the other Ravens.  Slinch was with the king and I think it was him that stuck His Majesty a good one before taking off.  We’re searching the castle, and Herself has taken command.  She’s in the king’s quarters with Doc.”

“We heard Cort at work. What was that about?”

“Some Ravens barricaded themselves in the throne room.  Herself ordered the doors breached,” the old Shadow said with a grin.  “He’s always wanted to blow up something in the castle.”

That was true.  Cort had a thing about heavy doors, like they were all direct challenges to his skills.

“The guards?” I asked.  The one with Kisen frowned but my Shadow paid him no attention. 

“She’s cleared all of these.  Seems to know damned well which ones went bad.”

“Carry on. Brent, you’re still with me,” I said, heading up the main staircase to the second floor.  There were signs of fighting but not a lot, just some blood spatters and a few dropped weapons as we approached the king’s quarters.  A brace of royal guards shifted nervously as we approached but Urso was standing with them, his heavy axe resting casually on one big shoulder.  “Ease up, lads. That’s the captain,” he rumbled, patting a guard sergeant on the back and almost knocking him down.

I moved past them with a nod to Urso and headed straight into King Helat’s bedchamber.

Dr. Eltienne and several of his people were working on His Majesty, while my princess stood back watching their actions closely.  Salis, her left arm bandaged and her Wenkroy sword in her right, moved our way as we entered, but the sword tip dropped toward the ground as her eyes met mine.  Rose stood on Brona’s other side, her pretty yellow dress stained scarlet in so many places that I at first thought some of it might be hers. Seneschal Torqness stood nearby, as did Colonel Erser.

Brona turned immediately my way.  “Slinch himself did this,” she said.  She was clenching her jaw and her blue eyes had gone icy.  “He and that woman observer of his, Fontina, are still on the loose, but Shadows are hunting him—your team in particular.”

“What is the state of the kingdom?” I asked.

She turned to the blood-covered doctor, who had also heard my question.  He lifted his head and looked at first me and then Brona.  “Your Highness, the king is gravely injured.  He is not fit for rule.”  Based upon the slashes and punctures that I could glimpse around the medical people’s moving bodies, King Helat has been stabbed and slashed multiple times by someone who knew his way around a blade.

Everyone except the doctor’s people froze at his words.  I was the first to move, dropping to one knee.  “Your Majesty,” I said to Brona, bowing my head.  Beside me, Brent instantly followed suit, as did Erser, Torqness, Rose, and Salis.

Royal doctrine called for the heir to take over if ever the ruling king or queen of Montshire was incapable.  At this moment, the full power of the throne became vested in the crown princess, until and if her father regained competence.

“Your Majesty,” the others intoned in unison—except for the medical folks, who never stopped working on the king.

The princess took a deep breath before issuing her orders. “Colonel, secure the castle.  Captain DelaCrotia, Find Slinch—dead or alive.”

“Brent, you are with Her Majesty,” I told my young Shadow, handing him my sword.  Then I turned and headed out to find my team.

Chapter 36

Finding people is what I do, and tracking my own team was almost effortless.  Living, fighting, training, and working with the same people over and over makes my connection to them as strong as a Finder’s stone, perhaps stronger.  I would have found Brona the same way if I hadn’t gotten answers from Marda and Kisen.  It just took me a few moments to be still, to breathe deep, and to calm myself. 

Once my heart rate had settled down, I felt a pull in a southwest direction, and possibly outside the castle walls.  I headed to the first floor and confirmed with Kesin that he had seen Cort and Soshi head out of the castle, and paused long enough to gather a sword and long knife from a pile of recovered weapons, then left Havensheart. 

I took the reins of a messenger’s saddled horse right out of the hands of a royal stableman, who started to protest, recognized me, and went silent.  The horse, a big white mare, trotted out into the city’s streets as I followed the pull of my Talent.  Very quickly, I realized I almost didn’t need my ability to Find at all.  Almost.  Signs of a rapid, hectic chase were all around me as I rode through the streets.  Shopkeepers standing in their doorways, looking down the street.  A barrow boy righting his cart, an old woman helping him pick up his spilled potatoes and onions.  But at a couple of intersections where no one was obviously affected by the passage of swift, violent people, I took a moment to close my eyes and follow the unseen pull in my chest and head. 

My Talent told me my team was headed toward the river, which, as I thought about it, made a certain sense.  With his plan to kill both king and heir unsuccessful (partially) and being pursued by Shadows, Slinch and his people would be in full flight mode.  It wouldn’t matter which road you took out of the capital; Montshire military would be easily able to track and run you down.  But if you hopped a boat on the river, the fast-running waters would move you swiftly out of the valley, leaving no tracks or scent.  There were multiple roads that crossed the Ott river, and a fugitive from the king’s justice could jump off on any of them.  A clever planner like Neil likely had resources and allies already emplaced along that route.

I flicked my reins at the borrowed horse, moving our pace faster.  The mare was young and well trained, handling the icy roads with agility that my stalwart Tipton would be hard pressed to copy.  Within minutes, glimpses of the river became visible between buildings, as did the bulky shapes of waterfront warehouses like my father’s.

The street took a sharp turn, almost a switchback, on a particularly sharp downhill section, and I chose to slow the mare for fear of her losing even her nimble balance.  With the slower pace came a reduction in the clatter of her hoofs, enough that I could suddenly hear other hooves clattering on cobblestone as well as the yells of angry people.  Some of those voices were familiar.

The dangerous turn behind us, I urged the horse to speed up, desperate to close with my team. We broke around the edge of a fish market and suddenly the wharf, warehouses, and riverfront opened up in front of us.  Immediately I saw bodies on the ground and people running. 

The tall, skinny guy way out in front was clearly Neil Slinch, with quite a bit of distance between him and an unknown man and a woman who looked like Fontina trying to catch up.

Jella was standing in the middle of River Square, bow at full draw, and I no sooner saw her than she released.

The man running on Fontina’s heels pitched forward, a white-fletched arrow appearing in the center of his back.  Fontina spun around, a bolter held two-handed.  Jella dropped low as the brass-tubed weapon puffed out a cloud of quava pod gas.  I couldn’t tell if she’d been hit or not, but I pushed my horse into an all-out gallop.

Soshi popped around a corner and took her own bolter shot at the fleeing Ravens.  Slinch was well out of bolter range but Fontina stumbled, then fell to one knee.  She spun around, her bolter raising toward Soshi.  I was still too far away.

Suddenly, a massive, furred shape lunged out from the corner of a warehouse, clawed hands grabbing the black-haired Raven, who screamed as long claws ripped into her skin.  Ash slammed his tooth-filled jaws around the junction of the small woman’s neck and shoulder, cutting off her scream as he bit through most of her neck.

I barely glanced her way as my horse thundered past the Raven’s bloody demise, my focus completely on Slinch, who was almost to the riverfront.  Out in front of him, I saw a small, swift-looking cargo canoe that was clearly launching into the Ott River, the crew using poles to push it away from the bank.  Slinch was sprinting all-out, head tucked down, arms pumping, and he was just steps away from the departing craft and I still had more than ten spans to cover, my horse slowing despite my all my encouragement as the dark, icy river got closer and closer. 

The sounds of the mare’s hooves caused Slinch to twist and look back.  I saw a flicker of fear before he turned forward and leapt off the dock.  His arms and hands caught the gunwale and one of the crew grabbed the back of his collar.

The mare locked up her front legs, sliding on the ice-covered stone of the wharf, forcing me to hold on tight with my left hand.  Knowing I wouldn’t catch him, I did the only thing that came to mind: I threw the short sword I’d clutched in my fist the whole ride from the castle.

It spun end over end, flashing through the air before sticking point first into the wood of the boat, missing most of Slinch but cutting into his left arm.  He yelled and let go with his wounded arm, but the boatman gave a mighty heave, falling back into the boat with the lead Raven on top of him. 

The other two crewmen poled like maniacs, their panicked eyes locked on me as they forced the boat out into the swift current.  With a startled yell, both dropped down into the craft as a white arrow shot through the air vacated by the lead sailor.

The river was flowing hard and the boat doubled its distance from the dock by the time Jella’s next arrow sank into the gunwale.  Then it was around the bend in the river and both out of range and out of view.

I turned to Jella, but she was looking back at the square.  Soshi was cradling one of the bodies and Cort stood behind her, his face collapsed in grief.  It was then I realized that I hadn’t seen Drew among my team members.

Chapter 37

He was gone when I got to him.  The bolter hole in his chest, right over his heart, told me he was likely gone before my horse had entered the River Square.  The other bodies were all Ravens, brought down by Jella and Soshi, with the exception of Fontina’s mangled corpse.  There was no sign of Ash, but I had no time to look for him and no time to even properly acknowledge my fallen Shadow.

“Cover him and take him to the inn,” I said to Cort. “Yourself.”

He couldn’t even speak. He simply nodded.  Hoofbeats filled the cold air just before a four-man squad of constables arrived.  They rode straight to us and dismounted, the sergeant’s eyes on me while her people looked around at the bodies.  I raised one eyebrow.  “How can we help, Captain?” she asked.  Any other day and I would have fallen over in a faint, but after being drugged, imprisoned, half frozen, and then losing Drew, I had little capacity for surprise. 

“We need to secure these traitors’ bodies,” I said.  “We’ll be taking this one home,” I said, waiting, almost hoping, for any kind of pushback.

“Yes sir,” she said. “Tompkins—Barry, secure this area.  Knoles, make a run to the precinct house and get reinforcements.” 

“Let my people check each body over first,” I said, turning to Soshi.  She nodded.  The Raven’s bolters needed to be secured and hidden before anyone else saw them.  I squatted down and took Drew’s from his cooling fingers.  He habitually kept quava pod reloads along with a variety of projectiles in a pouch under his coat.  I slipped off his belt, as I still didn’t have one.

“One got away, Sergeant,” I said.  “We”—I pointed to Jella, who stood nearby, holding my borrowed horse’s reins—“will be heading after them.  I’ll need you to take direction from my people.  Will that be a problem?”

“No sir.  The lord marshal has issued a directive for all city constables to assist you and your ah, team, in any way you deem necessary.”

“When?  When did he do that?”

“Ah, just today. Like an hour ago, really.”

All this time and Kiven finally sees I’m on the same side as him?  I just nodded at her, too raw for words.

“You have a horse?” I asked Jella.

“Yeah, this one.  You’re the one missing a mount,” she said, smirking at me as she held the mare’s reins.

“You’re also missing boots, Cap,” Cort said.

I looked down and realized my feet were bare.  I’d never even noticed; in the time since Brent and I had raced out of the dungeon, it had all happened too fast.

When I looked back up, Cort was already yanking his own boots off.  “Here. Our feet are about the same size,” he said, tossing the first to me.

“You can take my horse,” the constable sergeant said, immediately letting out the stirrup straps on her gelding’s saddle.

I didn’t argue, already pulling on Cort’s left boot, then, when he tossed it, the right one.  Soshi stepped up and used her body to hide the act of handing me one of her own bolters and after I had tucked it into my waistband, Jella handed me one of her personal axes. 

I had two two-shot bolters, one from Drew and one from Soshi, plus the long belt knife from the castle, which was almost a third of a span of very good steel.  I also had Jella’s Forester’s axe, a weapon I had countless hours of practice with, and on my feet, I now had Cort’s boots.

“Ah, Cap, do you maybe want a different cloak?” Cort asked, frowning at Brona’s blue wool garment that I still wore.

“No.  This one’s more precious than gold,” I said.  “Sergeant, what’s your name?” I asked as I mounted the gelding.

“Quint.  Sergeant Quint, sir,” she replied.

“My thanks,” I said. “Let’s go.”  When I looked, Jella had already set the white mare into motion.  I wasn’t even fully seated on my second borrowed horse, but that was pretty much her style.  My constabulary horse didn’t need any encouragement to race after her, almost leaving me behind until I got my feet in the stirrups and leaned forward.

Of course, she was right: Time was precious in this chase.  The river took several bends back and forth before it headed straight southeast.  There was a bridge downstream we could make and a shallow water ford that in low rain periods required most boats to portage around it farther down the road.  This time of year, the type of cargo canoe that had rescued Slinch would likely be able to get through the ford, but they would have slow going and maybe even have to pole their way through it.

After that, the river narrowed, picked up speed, and had dozens of crossings and bridges where Slinch could have allies waiting.

We were galloping all out but Jella glanced back at me, one brow raised.  She doesn’t love riding, but like anything athletic, she excels at it.  Her expression was easy to read.  Which of the two to try for: the bridge or the ford.

I tried to reach out with my Talent, but I got nothing.  Not unexpected.  My heart was racing and I was almost seeing red with the rage of Slinch’s betrayals.  That and the fact that he was on a boat on a river.  Moving water is very disruptive to many Talents, mine included.  I have no idea why but had always had problems Finding on or around creeks, streams, and rivers.

It would all come down to just a guess.  An educated guess.  Ahead of us, a fork appeared in the road leading out of Haven.  Left for the bridge, right to the river ford.  The horses ate up the distance to the split in the road, my mind racing to move as fast as their feet.  Jella looked back, her expression now clearly one of impatience.  I made my decision.  I pointed out my choice.

She didn’t question or pause, just turned back and twitched her horse toward the right fork.  The bridge was closest and perhaps we could catch them there, but our track to the ford was fairly straight, while the canoe would be following the river’s twists and turns.  Plus, the river current slowed right down at the ford, giving us even more time. 

However, it was, in my opinion, the best place to have waiting allies because the road on the other side travelled for only a dozen t-spans before it ran right into the intersection of three well-used roads, opening up multiple possibilities for escape.  Tactically, it would be much better for Jella and me to take Neil and three boatmen by themselves than to face an unknown number of additional fighters. But I couldn’t be certain of catching Neil at the bridge and my gut said to go with the ford.

Jella took the right lane and leaned into the mare’s excellent gait.  I fell back a bit as my city-owned horse was clearly unused to all-out racing. But the gelding didn’t like being left behind either and I felt him push harder.  The spans raced by as we sped past a few travelers on the road, most of who stepped or jumped out of our way.

Ten of the longest minutes of my life had ticked by before the road turned back toward the river, meaning that the ford was approaching rapidly.

The sounds of running water grew louder and louder and then we came around a final bend and it was right in front of us.  A wide, slow-moving section of river with a road on the other side.  Four horses and two men holding their reins waited on the other side, and they reacted as soon as they saw us.  One was short and dark-haired, the other tall and lean, with pale blond hair and icy blue eyes that I recognized immediately—Carter Toothaker, the king’s rook.

Chapter 38

In the same moment that I recognized the king’s assassin, I heard a yell from upstream.  A glance that way revealed the big canoe was only fifty spans away.  Turning back toward Toothaker, I instantly twisted my torso, leaning back as his bolt shot past me.  He raised his bolter again, but it was his turn to dodge as a white arrow shot through the space his head had just occupied, slamming into the arm of the man behind him.

I triggered my own bolter twice rapidly as I kept my horse moving down and into the shallow river.

Without hesitation, Toothaker dropped his bolter and grabbed the wounded man next to him, throwing the poor bastard forward into the path of my bolts.  The hapless lackey took one in his thigh, the other disappearing into the snow on the river’s edge.  The four waiting horses whinnied and screamed in fear, rearing up before turning and bolting for the road behind them.  Toothaker came right at me, charging into the river, his arm cocked back with a throwing knife held by its point, feet splashing water in every direction.  I threw my empty bolter backward behind me and went for my second one even as he made his throw.  The knife glittered as it spun end over end and despite my best efforts to shift and hide myself, I felt a sudden, searing pain in my right thigh.

An arrow from upriver clattered off the river rocks by my horse’s feet.  I glanced upstream in time to see the canoe archer take an arrow from Jella’s bow through his neck.  He fell overboard as Slinch and his allies tried to duck down below the gunwales.

My second bolter came free from its spot at the small of my back and I took careful aim at the king’s assassin.  My first shot missed as he ducked suddenly, but my immediate second shot caught him in his right biceps, the force of the impact twisting him around.

My gelding wasn’t having any more of the dark river and slick stones and he stopped suddenly, almost throwing me.  Rather than take time to wrestle him for control, I slipped off his left side, landing on my good left leg.  Shooting pain made me glance down as I put weight on my right leg. There was no knife sticking out, but a gushing slash in the meat of the thigh and sharp, biting pain told me I had a real injury to deal with. 

I forced myself to set aside the pain as the horse spun and headed back to shore, removing himself as a barrier between me and Toothaker.

Hand-to-hand is as much mental as it is physical.  The will to win, along with exploiting your opponent’s weaknesses, are vital.  I knew Toothaker was older than myself, but not a lot was known about the man, even by Brona.  Ironic that his name was Toothaker, as he had been an irritation to the princess for years.  An unsolvable puzzle, one her father refused to speak about.  Right now, all I knew was that his right arm was wounded, as it hung limp at his side, and that we were both standing in the middle of a slippery, freezing river, me with a bleeding leg.

He splashed forward, a knife the size of a short sword in his left hand.  I had my own knife in my left and Jella’s axe in my right, but my right leg was blazing with pain and refused to move smoothly.  Both of us were hindered by the force of the river, the freezing water, and the slick stones that rolled and twisted underfoot.

Toothaker closed with me, snapping out his blade in a lightning-fast cut.  Fighting with blades, short or long, is about attrition.  Bleeding your opponent with multiple slashes, stabs, and gashes until they weaken enough for you to strike a killing blow.  His flickering, snapping cuts were designed to cut me at distance and slice me to ribbons.  But he only had one blade and the terrible footing of the riverbed hindered his two-legged agility.

I had two weapons, and I used my axe to block his left-handed cuts while flicking the tip of my own knife blade back at him in counterattack, all while awkwardly rotating around my unstable right leg.  We traded strike and counterstrike, each trying not to slip and fall into the rushing river.  He crouched low to slash my right leg; I blocked with the axe and then pushed the head of Jella’s weapon fast and hard against his thigh.  The Forester axe has a pronounced toe, or top of the blade, by design and the razor-sharp tip stabbed into his leg.

He jerked away and slashed at my right arm, but I was already pulling back and he simply scored the handle of the axe.

His face was schooled to hardness, not showing any sign of pain, his will strong.  He circled to my right, forcing me to pivot and block another flickering series of snapping cuts.  The tip of his knife drew a line of fire across my right arm, but my own knife swept toward his belly, forcing him to step back suddenly.  His left foot rolled on a stone and he dropped hard on his knee.

I leaned forward on my good left leg, hooked his left arm with the heel of my axe blade, dragging it close to stab with my knife.  He twisted to his left, moving his fighting arm out of range.  I slashed his limp right arm as I pulled my blade back, cutting hard into his wrist.

Blood immediately ran down his hanging hand, dripping in a steady stream into the water.  He stepped back, carefully, creating enough distance to glance upstream.  Unable to move fast enough to press my attack, I too snapped a glance at the canoe.  It had capsized and filled with water, held against a big rock by the force of the river.  Two bodies floated in the eddy created by the sunken canoe, pincushioned with white arrows. Slinch kneeled in the freezing water, hands over his head, the third boatman copying his posture exactly.

I turned back to Toothaker, watching the flood of expressions that crossed his face.  Clearly here to help Slinch, who was now being held at bowpoint by Jella, fresh out of additional allies, he was knee-deep in freezing water, bleeding badly from several wounds.  It was me and Jella, one of us with a bow, against just him.  His decision came fast, his feet immediately backing him away, his body shifting back and forth in a manner that made me realize he was keeping me between him and Jella’s deadly arrows.

He made the far shore and backed rapidly up the road till the forest covered him from our view.

“If you’re done splashing about, perhaps you could give me a hand,” Jella said. “Especially since you’re already wet.”

She ordered both men out of the river at arrowpoint and had them lie on their stomachs. After I had used my belt to make a tourniquet around my thigh, I used their own belts to lash their wrists.  Jella searched them, removed a half dozen blades from Neil’s clothes, then tied both their feet up to their lashed hands.  With the prisoners secured, she pulled supplies from her waist pack, handing me a needle and thread while she used a birtch bark and pine resin tinder bundle to strike a fast fire.

By the time two squads of royal guardsmen rode up, I was tying off a bandage over my stitches and Jella had a hot bonfire burning to keep myself, Slinch, and the unnamed boatman from freezing to death. I had recovered Drew and Soshi’s bolters from the sandy shore where they had landed. Jella had ridden the white mare across the river and checked on Toothaker’s accomplice, but the man had bled to death.

The sergeant in command snapped off a brisk salute to me, his eyes flicking to the prisoners, the canoe, and the bodies. I ordered him to send one of the squads after Toothaker and kill him on sight. 

My constable’s horse might not like fast runs or freezing rivers, but he had no qualms about me carrying Slinch slung over his broad back, as well as my own wounded self.

Not willing to underestimate Slinch, I slipped one of Jella’s snare wires over his head and anchored the other end to the saddle horn.  One slip, one twitch too many and he’d strangle himself, and if he fell completely off the horse, he’d likely garrote his own neck straight to the spine.  He couldn’t even talk, which likely saved his life.  Had I heard one word from the man who attacked my princess and killed my teammate, I’d have pulled the wire tight and let him kick out right there.

Chapter 39

We rode straight to the castle and our escort carried both men right into the main entry, straight to the throne room.  The massive doors, blackened and charred, hung on bent and broken hinges, testimony to Cort’s skill with the Powder of the Punished.

Inside the throne room, a pair of castle staff were mopping up a pool of blood.  Back by the throne, I could see the princess, Rose, Brent, and Salis, along with Colonel Erser, the seneschal, and a full dozen other people, including Oscar and young Sydney. Then heads moved and I could see Lords Grantell, Sampson, and Samuel, Lady Kardian, Kiven Armstrong, Bishop Miller, and… my father.

Everyone stopped what they were doing, the moppers leaning on their handles and the throne party all looking up as the guardsmen dragged Slinch and friend straight to Her Highness while Jella paced alongside my limping self.

Brona, sitting upon the throne itself, looked from Slinch to me.  “Captain, report.”

I had never seen her on the actual throne and the implications were immediately clear.

“Your Majesty,” I said to her for the second time in my life, a strange joy racing through my body.  “My team tracked Raven Slinch to the riverfront.  During the chase, his fellow conspirators were killed, as was my teammate, Drew.”

Her hard expression flickered over me, noting my leg and posture, then settled into glacial ice.  She nodded for me to continue.

“Slinch escaped the scene by canoe along with this man and two others.  Forester Jella and I, using borrowed horses, were able to intercept the canoe down at the Maple Ridge ford.

The king’s rook, Carter Toothaker, was waiting for them with horses and another accomplice.

Toothaker escaped, wounded and on foot, but a squad of guardsmen are on his trail. No one else survived.”

She took that all in, glanced again at my bloody leg, at Jella, the boatman, and finally settled her gaze on Slinch.  Then her head tilted to one side.  “Captain, could you perhaps loosen that wire around his neck?  He’s turning purple and while I don’t object to the idea of his death, I do wish to delay it bit.”

I limped over and stuck a finger between the snare wire and Slinch’s neck.  With a short tug, I loosened the loop a bit.

“Neil Slinch, Director of the Royal Ravens, I charge you with attempted regicide, treason, subversion of kingdom resources, embezzlement, and offering aid to Montshire’s enemies,” she said. “How say you?”

He looked at her, his body reeling as blood flowed back into his head.  Behind Brona, little Sydney suddenly looked at me and mouthed, “Watch his neck.”

Instantly I stepped forward and pulled the anchor end of the snare wire from the guard corporal holding it.  No sooner had I freed it than Slinch threw his whole body forward as hard as he could, his face bouncing off the hard stone.

“Tsk, tsk, Neil,” Queen Brona said.  “You wouldn’t deprive me of a long chat with an old family friend, now would you?”

The guards regained control of him and stripped the wire noose from his neck. Held up by the guards, his head lolling to one side, face bruised from his faceplant, he still tried to grin.  Jella reclaimed her wire from the guard, rolling it neatly and putting it into her belt pouch.

“We have much to talk about, Neil,” Brona said.  “But no worries. We won’t torture you, and there will be plenty of witnesses, right, Victor?  Right, Bottis?” she asked the two lords, who both nodded.

“You don’t fool anyone,” Slinch said.  “You’ll use your abominations on me, which is only fitting as you yourself are the biggest abomination of them all.”

Before anyone could respond, the guard holding him backhanded the side of his face with a metal reinforced glove.  “You will address Her Majesty with respect,” the corporal said, guaranteeing that I would be buying him many rounds of drink.

Slinch spit blood on the floor and tried to make a bloody, drooling smile of superiority at Brona. His expression faltered into a brief frown when Oscar leaned over and whispered into Her Majesty’s ear.

“Berkette?  You’ve gone over to the Republic, Neil?” Brona asked, clearly surprised.

Slinch smoothed his expression to blankness, his jaw clenching. 

Brona gave him a little smile, then turned to Colonel Erser and nodded.  He, in turn, waved to a guard at the doorway, who stepped outside.  Moments later, a big, bald-headed man with a leather blacksmith’s apron entered with three young men behind him.  The men carried a small farrier’s anvil, an assortment of tools, several chains with attached manacles, and a small brazer which, based on its carrier’s thick leather gloves, appeared to be filled with coals.

“Mastersmith Tir, please bolt wrists, ankles, and his neck,” Brona said.  Despite the polite wording, it wasn’t a request, but clearly an order.

Moving with an economy of motion that bespoke tremendous skill, Smith Tir riveted manacles around all four of Neil’s limbs as well as a collar around his neck, all five rings connected by expensive steel chain that could be adjusted as the guards saw fit.

Near the end of the process, Dr. Eltienne entered the throne room, carefully skirted the imprisoning process, and approached the acting queen.

“Doctor, what word on my father’s condition?” she asked.

He glanced at all the people, but she waved him to speak.

“Ah, His Maj…” He faltered as he took in her seat upon the throne.  “Ah, your father, the king, is momentarily stable.  His left kidney was punctured by a knife stab and his superior vena cava was nicked as well.  He was tremendously lucky that his attacker”—the doctor looked at Slinch—“botched the heart strike.  It was also fortunate that I was still nearby after my earlier exam, Your Majesty. He has lost the kidney, but his bleeding has been controlled.  He is unconscious, but we must be very wary of infection.”

“Would you repeat for the benefit of the others here why you had examined and treated him earlier?” Brona asked.

“At Her Majesty’s request, I examined King Helat for signs of long-term poisoning by scorpion sand striker venom.  The king allowed the examination, and I did, in fact, find signs that he’d been exposed to very diluted venom for some period of time.”

“Why, Doctor?” Kiven Armstrong asked.  “Why would anyone use that particular toxin?”

The doctor glanced my way, then turned back to the group.  “Sand striker venom, if highly diluted, will bring on bouts of intense psychosis.  I believe it was used in the last war to destabilize the woldling hordes.”

“And you absolutely know the king was suffering from such poison?” my father asked.

“Yes. The venom causes a green tinge to the sclera of the eye, the, ah, white part.  It also damages the nerves in the bottom of its victim’s feet.  The king showed both of these symptoms.  Moreover, he instantly responded to the antidote I administered.”

“Your High… er… Majesty,” my father began, his tone somehow implying impropriety in the honorific of the acting queen. “How, pray tell, did you know to look for such poisoning?”

“Why, Lord DelaCrotia, it was your son,” Brona said instantly.  “Not your traitorous one, but your patriotic one, who saw the signs in my father even as the king was ordering him jailed while in the depths of Neil’s induced psychosis.”

“I see,” Father said, looking my way, making it seem suspicious.

“Do you, Lord DelaCrotia?  Really?” she asked, brows raised.  “Because it seems like you don’t.  In fact, I get the distinct impression that you somehow are misinterpreting this entire series of events.  Let me set you straight.”

“Now, Brona,” my father said, instantly causing everyone around him to take a step away and earning himself the undivided attention of Erser, Kiven, and every guard.  “I mean, Your Majesty,” he started to correct, but Brona held up one hand, palm out.

“Let’s see, Rucian. Your second son has turned traitor and become a Tainted agent of the Paul.  That dishonor might by itself be enough for me, as acting queen, to name your title and lands forfeit. In fact, there might even be an edict already signed by my father to that effect but held in abeyance somewhere around here at my request,” Brona said.  “However, the actions of your third son continue to far outweigh the damage done by Tallen. I could enumerate them all, but some are so secret that if I told you, I might have to have you killed.  Therefore, in the interests of your family, perhaps you might avoid adding any weight to the side of dishonor?” she asked him.

My father was furious and embarrassed. I knew the visual signs well.  A major part of his personal approach to manipulation focused upon turning the perceptions of his audience against the object of his ire.  Brona had deftly cut his legs out from under him before he could do so. All he could do was nod and keep his mouth shut.

“For those of you who were not in the castle tonight, upon the good doctor’s treatment, Neil Slinch reacted by personally stabbing the king and sending Raven assassins to kill me.  It seems I was better guarded than my father, no doubt because I was not suffering from toxin-induced psychosis and had had the good sense to send for my Shadows.  The assassins died, some Ravens barricaded themselves here in the throne room and were driven out by my forces, while Slinch and allies attempted escape, and the rest you know,” she said with a wave at me and Jella.

“But why, Your Majesty?” Lord Grantell asked.

“Because he was already owned by another country before he ever came back to Montshire,” Lady Kardian said in her gruff voice.

Brona smiled and leaned back on the throne, waving for Lady Kardian to continue.  She looked every inch the queen.

“King Helat and Slinch roomed together in the Royal Academy when we were all much younger,” Lady Kardian began. “After graduation, Slinch went on something of a journey of self-discovery.  Traveled about Nengled but ended up in Berkette.  Neil is from a merchant family, one with solid success, enough to buy his way into the Academy.  King Helat’s father, old King Sarn, wanted his son to know the common people, hence his selection as a roommate.  I was part of your father’s class, Your Majesty, and we had known each other our whole lives, so I was often around when Neil and Helat held their famous group discourses.  They covered almost every topic imaginable, but I distinctly remember Neil ranting about the inherent societal injustice of the kingdom’s system.  He was much enamored of Berkette’s Republic, weren’t you, Neil?” she asked, looking at the drooling, kneeling Slinch.  “Thought Montshire should be remade into Berkette’s mirror image, where a successful man could buy his way into power.  When King Sarn passed on and Helat ascended the throne, Neil appeared for the coronation and wormed his way into a top job.”

Brona did not appear surprised to my eyes, which meant she’d likely already spoken with Lady Kardian about just this topic. 

“And Berkette would have seen an opportunity to seed the new king’s council with their own spy, one who might ultimately act on the idea of another republic,” Lord Sampson suggested.

“Thus reinforcing one of the first lessons my father taught me,” Brona said.  “The countries allied with Montshire do so out of their self-interest, not ours. But all of this is conjecture at this point.  We will need to question our new castle guest here, as well as find and remove any remaining double agents.  Captain DelaCrotia.” She turned to me.

“Yes, Your Majesty?”

“You will see Dr. Eltienne about your wound and if he pronounces you okay, you will clean up, eat something, and then return to my side.  The Shadows will lead the efforts to clear our house and as usual, you will lead them.  Clear?”

“Crystal, Your Majesty,” I said, bowing to my queen.  When I stood upright and turned to leave, I caught Rose’s eye and while she kept her expression blank, she did give me a little nod.

Chapter 40

We buried Drew’s ashes in Haven’s military cemetery, giving him full honors.  In recent years, funerals of Shadows killed on duty had been lightly attended, mostly just Shadows and some Ranged Recon folks, family, and the staff of the Knife and Needle.  Brona always attended, every single time, just as she did now. 

But before she had been Princess Brona. Now she was attending as Queen Brona, and that meant that the entire royal council was there, as was the full RRS contingent and many of the higher-ranking infantry and cavalry officers.  My mother, my sister, her husband Jonathon, Sissa Newberry, Welton, and Brent were all seated among the Shadows as we took our turns speaking, remembering, and grieving. Drew’s mother and sister, Tina, were his only family and were seated next to the queen.

Soshi and Cort both told funny stories that showed Drew in his best light.  Hemppe, who rarely spoke at all, read through Drew’s list of military accomplishments and decorations during his active duty with the RRS. Trell sang a song he had written just for Drew, somehow combining respect and sorrow with flashes of humor.  At these things, I always speak last, following Brona’s final words, again as usual.  Her speech this time was anything but usual.

“I’ve known Drew Holden for a very long time,” she started.  “For those of you perhaps unaware, my interest in the Ranged Reconnaissance Squadron began when a childhood friend of mine expressed his interest in serving the kingdom with these special operators.”  She waved at the Squadron before she glanced my way with an arch expression, earning a laugh from many of those present.

“Drew graduated Despair with my friend and served on his team all throughout the Seventy Day War. His service to the crown and kingdom has been without reservation, without blemish, and without complaint… at least to me.  His teammates might have differing opinions,” she said, getting another chuckle.

“To me, he always exemplified a modern kingdom warrior.  Diligent, highly skilled in every aspect of his chosen career, ruthless in defense of his country, yet compassionate and honorable in his conduct toward those he protected.  He once reported to me on the results of a classified mission.  His team split apart for solo egress from the area of operations and during his own exfiltration, he chanced upon a mud-stuck wagon, loaded with root vegetables, headed for market, driven by a woman and her very young daughter.  He stopped and helped them free their cart before proceeding upon his way.  They weren’t even citizens of this country.  I asked him what on earth he was thinking, to risk himself, a valuable asset of Montshire, to risk his capture, on two people he didn’t know and would likely never see again.

“He said, Your Highness, my oath specifically says to protect and serve to the best of my ability.  Those ladies were trying to get their final harvest to market, to earn the money they would need to see them through the winter.  I had the ability to serve them, thereby protecting their survival. My oath leaves it up to me for deciding the best way to honor it.  My mission was complete and I was just a few t-spans from the border. I only endangered myself.  I pressed him further.  Drew, I said, you didn’t even know them.

“Princess, they were somebody’s mother and maybe somebody’s sister. Just because I am a soldier of a foreign land doesn’t mean I shouldn’t extend aid to innocent civilians. I have been extensively trained, conditioned, and empowered to make decisions and take risks in the execution of my oaths.  Until such time as I am relieved from my position of responsibility, I will do so as best I know how.” She looked directly at Drew’s mother and sister and held their tear-filled gazes for a moment.  “And then he stood before me and before his commanding officer, ready for criticism, ready to accept whatever the consequence of his actions, his honor complete and reconciled within himself. That was Drew Holden, the very personification of what a Montshire soldier should aspire to.  Many of you are also soldiers; some of you seek to follow his path.  Pay attention to his example because his is the example that I pay attention to.”

Every soldier and most of the men and women in the audience were sitting up straighter when she finished, almost at attention.

She carefully lifted the hem of her black dress and gracefully reclaimed her seat, reaching out to hold Drew’s mother’s hand. Now it was my turn.

“I have to ask myself why I ever thought it was a good idea to follow Her Majesty’s speech,” I said ruefully, crumpling up my notes and stuffing them in a pocket.  The whole crowd laughed, breaking the excellent tension Brona had built.  “What our queen didn’t include in her story was that I, as his commanding officer, was the one standing beside her when she asked him to explain himself.  And what she also somehow forgot to mention was that immediately upon his final comment, she turned to me and said, Well, Captain, I certainly hope you take all of that into account before you assign punishment, and then she left.”

More laughter.  “And to forestall any more questions on the matter, I did immediately give him a punishment detail—I sent him home to wait on his mother and sister for a full week.”

Mrs. Holden was able to give me a little smile at that, although Drew’s sister Tina was sobbing too hard to look up.

“Drew Holden was a member of my graduating class from Despair, as are Soshi and Cort over there,” I said, waving a hand at where they sat with Rose, Brin, Corell, Terry, Trell, Kassa, and Jella.  “Despair is aptly named, as it is a forge of will and fortitude.  It is a place of misery where you are forced to reach deep inside yourself, to dig up the willpower to slog onward, and even more, the ability to put your trust into the hands of your fellow aspirants.  Without that trust, without that blind reliance, even the hardiest soldier fails. Despair taught me that I could put my own trust into the hands of my fellow graduates, as well as my fellow Squadron members.  Drew Holden was one of the men and women who taught me that lesson.  He never broke trust—not with me, not with his teammates, not with his kingdom, and not with his queen.  I had intended to tell story after story, but that’s been well done already, by people better at it than me. Instead I will just say this: Drew died defending his kingdom from the most egregious breach of trust I can think of.  He died taking action to make a difference, and his actions saved multiple lives.  He died not because of a lack of preparation or skill, but simply because the fates of war picked him.  And because of his actions, the people responsible for these acts of treason, for this breach of trust, have been brought to justice and held accountable.  He died at the top of his game, in the thick of the action, standing against those who would harm what he held most dear, and facing death head on.  We should all be so lucky when our time comes.”

Chapter 41

I lay on my back, hands behind my head, studying the view overhead.  I had never seen it before, and it was completely fascinating.  A canopy of dark blue velvet, speckled with bits of silver thread, each placed in a tiny cross.  The total effect was a recreation of the Nengled night sky, complete with constellations like that of the Huntress, the Mother Bear and her Cub, the Ladle, and the Golden Bow.  I was pretty sure that the silver thread was real silver, extruded into wire so fine, it could be sewn into fabric.

“You are awfully quiet,” my companion said.

“I’ve never slept in a queen’s bed before,” I replied.

“Not true.  Remember when we were little and we snuck into my mother’s room in the summer palace?  We fell asleep on her big bed.”

“I have only vague memories of that, and it’s completely not the same.  Perhaps I should have said, I have never before slept with a queen upon her bed.”

“Ah, and now that you have, how does it rate?” she asked.  I rolled on my side and studied her face.  She was leaning on one elbow, the sheets falling away from her naked skin in a way that required all my willpower to hold her gaze.  One delicate brow was slightly raised, telling me that my answer was important.

“Other than the interesting overhead, it was exactly the same as sleeping with a crown princess.  If you set aside the fact that royal guards are stationed outside the door and we don’t have to sneak through secret tunnels and passageways.”

“A crown princess?”

“Well, maybe I should say the crown princess.”

“Perhaps you should at that,” she warned with a smile. 

Despite my levity, her question had held enormous importance to her.  Brona is always on guard for changes in herself, with me as her principal tripwire. Since the first moment we met, I knew she was different from anyone else, and I was either too honest or too stupid to not tell her about it.  Brona does not carry the same internal compass of right and wrong as most others do.  Her father has the same trait, as do many other people of power and importance—an almost complete lack of empathy or regard for everyone around them.  She just takes it to greater extremes. 

All those many years ago, I had told her about it in great detail, using the brutal honesty of children.  And she listened.  I think perhaps her mother had tried to talk to her about it, but there are always barriers to communication between parents and children.  But another child, one who was unafraid of her, caught her curiosity.  She had demanded to know more, for me to point out examples, for me to explain how I could tell how others were feeling by observation and by the mental exercise of placing myself in their position. And so we have continued on over the years.  Does she and can she care for others, truly?  I think so, but only a very, very few.  I firmly believe that she misses her mother.  I also firmly believe that she holds me in a regard that may actually be truly love, just as I believe that her father really only loves just her.  But most people, she is not attached to, not truly.  She meant every word about Drew at the funeral, but I doubt she will miss him for a second.  But she tries very hard to understand how most of us feel and she doesn’t want to become or be seen as bad or evil.  Thus, I am ever her stormglass.

“Do you already miss him?” she asked, as if reading my thoughts, the way Oscar might.

“It’s too new.  I haven’t truly processed that he won’t be at the Knife and Needle tomorrow.  It’ll be when his absence is obvious that I will likely feel the pain,” I said.  “When do you miss your mother?”

She rolled to her back and looked up at the canopy.  “At odd times.  Like when I am uncertain of my appearance or when I’m working in her gardens.  Is that… right?”

“Yes, very much so. Are you worried about your father?”

“No,” she said, puzzled.

“If he doesn’t recover, if he… passes, will you miss him?”

“No.  I will hear his voice in my head, as I already do, when I am working through a problem.  But I have not been able to approach him for help for several years, so that will not change.  I just won’t see him anymore,” she said with a shrug.  “And he won’t recover.”

“What?  How do you know?”

She rolled back to me, a tiny furrow between her bright eyes.  “Because he has become what Warcans must guard against.”

I took a second to process that.  “He’s become too self-centered?”

“Yes.  He has made an increasing number of very bad mistakes lately, all of which were directly connected to his own desires rather than what was good for the kingdom.”

I thought about that some more, a tiny tickle of doubt forming at the back of my mind.  “He was under the influence of sand striker venom and Slinch’s whispers.”

“Just recently.  Dr. Eltienne believes it was only within the last month or so.  He was already making very poor choices before that.  Trusting his Ravens, getting jealous of my Shadows, ignoring the threat of the Paul, trusting Mandrigo and Berkette too much.  And Savid, he thoroughly mistreated you,” she said.

“But Slinch’s attack came before you could do anything, right?”

“Not exactly,” she said, very matter-of-fact.  “Which reminds me, thank you for all of the new prisoners you brought me.”

“Ah, you are welcome, but how does that remind you?”

“Because of Mr. Kazilionum.  I asked him to Impress a quill pen of mine with a feeling of complete, intense panic.  Then I left it on the corner of my desk.  Neil has always stolen my quills.  Thinks I don’t realize that it was him.  Some sort of Raven game.  He stole it, about the time I had the doctor examine Father.  So Slinch’s panic and his attacks were partially tripped by the quill.  I knew he was up to something, and when he convinced Father to imprison you, that was the last draw.  Or perhaps I should say, the last feather,” she said with a little laugh.  “Anyway, I sent Welton to Hemppe and called my Shadows to the castle.  Oh, and don’t think you’re getting Rose back, either.  She’s a delight.  Smart, quiet, observes everything, memory like a hunter’s trap, and deadly fierce with those blades.”

“So… you deliberately triggered Slinch?”

“Absolutely.  I wasn’t sure of what he would do, but I wasn’t completely surprised when he attacked us.”

“But your father was vulnerable?”

“Yes.  By his own hand and word. He imprisoned Brent, reduced his guards, turned his back to Slinch.  Poor decisions, every one of them.”

“And he won’t recover?”

“Of course not.  We have a major security breach by Berkette, our single seaport was in serious jeopardy till you fixed it and also removed the corruption that Father overlooked—another error on his part.  We have both a threat and opportunity with the Nuks up north and he would definitely botch that, and there is still the matter of Sylvania and the Paul looming over our heads.  Savid, think if the Paul infects more of our citizens with the same strain of Taint he used on Ash.”

“But how do you know… for sure… that your father wouldn’t make good decisions?” I asked, watching her carefully.

“You are worried?” she asked, recognizing my body language.

“You’ve taken rather drastic steps and you are contemplating additional, extremely drastic ones.”

“Ah.  Well good.  Thank you for being honest, Savid,” she said with a smile.  She meant it.

“Am I missing anything?”

“You’ve been away.  On missions.  Father has lost every game of Rik that we’ve played in the last two months.  He stopped playing me because he got so mad. He claimed I was cheating.”

I thought about that before choosing my response.  Their father-daughter games were legendary, at least among the castle staff and closest council members.  Their skill levels were very close.  These last few years, Brona maybe won a few more games than her father, but not by a large number.  And it is very, very hard to cheat at Rik if both players pay attention.

“Every game?”

“He started to make mistakes, then accused me of cheating.  I gave him back his own line that if you’re not cheating, you’re not trying to win.  He didn’t like it.  Then he started to suggest that I should go easy on him.”

Her father had never, ever shied away from beating Brona at any endeavor, but he had also never before been such a bad loser to his daughter. Others—yes. Brona—no.

“So therefore, he cannot recover?”

“Correct.  Not if Montshire is to survive.  Believe me, I wondered if I was just falling prey to my own nature, but after a very careful, very thorough analysis, I concluded I wasn’t.  And you weren’t here to double-check me.  Which, by the way, is changing immediately.  I need you by my side.  There are threats to my rule; I’m considered too young, too progressive, too whatever.  I can’t have my best defense and best offense out in the field.”

“My field work is over?” I asked, shocked at how suddenly threatened I felt.

“Not all field work, my Savid.  Just any that takes you out of Haven or away from me.  Now that I am queen, I cannot trust anyone but you, not fully.  And I must hold you up to the kingdom and to our enemies.  That was another mistake Father made.  He kept Toothaker tucked away, hidden from sight.  Then he’d send him to murder someone or wreck something.  He used fear as a weapon, but he did so awkwardly, like a poor swordsman waving his blade.  I want the world to know you are by my side.  I want you in overall command of the Shadows and the RRS.  In time of war, you will have overall command of all military forces.”

“Ah, are you sure?  I don’t have anywhere near the experience of General Ewald, particularly with heavy infantry and cavalry.”

“But you listen.  Most of them don’t.  I’m confident that you would recognize Ewald’s good council and take it.”

“But how will he feel about it?”

“Feel?”

“Many of the same threats you mentioned regarding your position as queen are similar for me if I took overall command.”

“Ah.  Yes.  I see.  Which is why you would only be given full command if we go to war.  Ewald didn’t win the last war… you did.”

“I followed his command to disrupt the enemy.”

“You disrupted the enemy so thoroughly that the enemy had to sue for peace.  Anyone can give a command; hell, Father commanded Ewald to win the war and he, in turn, commanded you to disrupt the enemy.  And you did.  Completely and utterly.”

“You’ve thought this through?”

“For a very long time.  I was neither happy nor sad to take the steps I took.  They were necessary. So is this.”

“My father will be a problem,” I said.

She smiled.  “Rucian is nowhere near as smart as he thinks he is. Your brother Tallen is alive and well.  Rucian will find it hard to lie and twist his way out of that truth.”

“I would like to see him.”

“Your father?  No, your brother,” she said.  “Of course.”

“And I need to find Ash.”

“Another giant blunder by Father.  Is he still around?”

“Yes.  I don’t think he’ll go far from Sissa.  But he bit Fontina’s head off.  I don’t know what that will do to him.”

“Ash Newberry is a Shadow, now and forever.  You handle the Shadows, Savid.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course.  Which reminds me.  Toothaker was never found.  The squad you sent after him lost his trail completely.  Can you Find him?”

“I don’t have anything of his.  The river washed all his blood off my weapons.  If we could locate where he lived or stayed when he was in Haven, then yes.”

“Hmm, we’ll have to look into that.  Now, your queen has grown bored of this talk and you’ve rested,” she said, raising one brow.  Her hand disappeared under the covers, only to make its presence known almost immediately. 

“Yes, Your Majesty,” I said as I rolled up and over her.

But after, while she slept, I lay awake, working my way through her actions.  She set up Slinch to panic, to trigger emergency plans, and then she foiled them—mostly.  Her own father was collateral damage from her actions, and she was okay with that.  Her reasoning was consistent with the Brona I have always known: Montshire first, foremost, and always.  And Helat had been slipping, perhaps even before the striker venom. 

Technically, she was acting queen, as per the kingdom’s laws of succession.  But if Helat failed to improve within six months, she would become queen fully and permanently.  And from her own lips, she had told me that he would not recover. He might even just pass away from his wounds, the odds of that half natural and half… arranged.

I had always known that the day would come when Brona would ascend to the throne, and I had imagined many, many scenarios whereby this would come to be.  Her father dying in combat, of old age, from illness, assassination, by accident.  Those were the ones I thought most likely, and in every one, I pictured myself by her side, protecting her from all threats.  But deep in the recesses of my mind, there had always been another potential chain of events. This one, I shied away from, choosing to let it hide in the darkness.  See, I knew my princess very, very well, and once I made my decision to mold myself into a tool, a weapon for her eventual use, she had made her own decision.  To mold herself into Montshire’s ultimate protector, one who would let nothing and no one threaten her kingdom and her people.  Not her father, not her councilors, and likely, not even myself.  But she also made me swear a childhood oath, one that still bound me, one she still reminded me I had taken.  Should she ever become a threat to Montshire, to her kingdom and her people, then it was my job, my duty, to take whatever steps were necessary to remove that threat.

Epilogue

It took some time for his rage to subside, for his combat fury to cool.  It didn’t help that he could still taste the blood of his prey in his mouth, could still feel the crunch of her bones, the tearing of her flesh when he visited his revenge upon her.  His anger flared as he thought of her killing his packmate, her bolt striking the man down.  His response had been instant, overwhelming rage, his leap carrying him to the ground far below his rooftop perch, his feet propelling him to her, jaws delivering his immediate judgement of her actions.

But that was the past, maybe not too distant a past, but still it was in his yesterdays.  Today he followed the woman, the one he must always follow, always protect, always hunt for—the mate.  The boy and the boy’s mother were with her, all of them pack.  They walked in the sunshine while he watched from the shadows, their boots noisy on the stone roadway while his paws stayed silent on the slate rooftop. 

They moved at a steady pace, the women holding several thick blankets, the boy lugging a basket that hovered on the very edge of his ability to carry it.  Down each street, around each corner, they moved with purpose, yet without hurry.  At the edge of the city, they continued on and he was forced to wait for a clear moment to dart from rooftop to forest before catching up to them.  The boy’s chatter carried clearly in the cold winter air and thus he was able to track them even when he couldn’t see them, calming his anxiety. 

They moved out into a vast field, one that stirred memories deep inside him.  He had been here before—many, many times before.  It covered many spans in each direction, numbers he couldn’t fully process anymore.  Several sets of wooden stands had been constructed on the edges of the field, their wood scarred from age and weather, yet still showing plenty of signs of ongoing care and maintenance. The boy and the women headed for one of these structures, one currently basking in a rare winter sun that was warm enough to have melted frost and snow from the seating, leaving just damp wood.

His woman spread her blankets out on the plank seating while the other one helped the boy set down his heavy burden, which he excitedly opened, proudly unlatching its clever lid.  Something about the very nature of that handmade basket tickled at his memories, tugging at foggy remembrances from before.

The boy brought out a small porcelain pot and gleefully opened the top, holding it up for a deep sniff.  Even spans away, he could smell bacon, beans, onion, and a spicy sauce that captured his complete attention. 

“Put that down, Welton,” his mother scolded although her voice held amusement rather than any tone of anger.  “Lay it all out first and remember, we have to wait for your brother.”

“It just smells so good, Momma,” the young one said, reluctantly setting the pot down and returning the top.  The woman pulled a cloth-wrapped bundle from the basket. It smelled of still-warm bread, followed by a big block of cheese, a wax cloth bag of dried and jerked venison, a crock of fresh-churned butter that smelled of chives, a small sack of apples, and two jugs, one of wine, the other water. His woman just sat and held her heavy stomach, looking tired.

His senses tracked everything around him, so he heard the tramp of footsteps a long time before the women and boy did.  Two men, downwind and unscentable, as of yet.  Presently they came into view, one man younger yet almost as big as the other, and his features were much the same as the boy by the woman’s side.  The other man was older but not old, instead clearly in his prime, and he was instantly recognizable as alpha.

“There they are,” the boy alerted the women.

“Yes, Welton, right on time, and we haven’t even sliced the bread and meat yet,” his woman said.

“Never you mind, Sissa. We have it under control,” the other woman said.

The boy turned and focused on using his belt knife to prepare the food, all while the two men approached at an unhurried pace.

“Thank you for delivering him to us, Savid,” the woman said, her voice warm and friendly.

“A very small price to pay for a sample of your famous cooking, Treena, and yours too, Sissa,” the alpha said.  Sissa—that name again, a word that fired his nerves and made him shuffle his heavy feet.

“You honestly think this will work?” the Sissa asked.

“It already has,” the alpha responded.

“He’s here?” she asked, her body tensing, her head turning to look at the forest that surrounded much of the field.

“Of course.  Did you think he would leave you? Ever?” the alpha asked.

They were speaking of him, he knew that, yet neither had looked his way and even if they did, he was instinctively confident of his cover among the pine boughs.

“How could I know?” she asked, frustrated.

“Doubts are normal and expected,” the alpha said. “This is uncharted terrain.  But you know him, as do I.”

“But are you certain?  Can you Feel him?” the Sissa asked.

“Yup.  He’s watching. Actually, I would say that he’s probably on overwatch.  Had Brent and I been two other men, approaching you, Treena, and Welton out here where no one is around, you’d likely have seen him already—as would they.”

“What if that had happened? What if some innocent person came along?” she asked.

“No one is coming.  We’ve seen to that.  No one will come near these fields till we’re done here,” the alpha said. “Don’t worry. He’s drawn to you, Sissa. He’ll always be drawn to you.  Now I suggest that we just settle back and relax and see if we can get him to approach.”

The older boy snorted.  “You just want to dig into Mom’s famous beans.”

The alpha chuckled, the young boy laughed, and the Sissa smiled even as her eyes looked around the forest, passing right over his hiding place. The other woman smiled too as she spooned out beans into wooden bowls.

The two boys sat on either side of the Sissa and the other woman. The alpha sat to the side of the oldest lad while the women both slathered butter on bread. His eyes had locked onto the food, his stomach growling, when he felt eyes on him.  A glance at the alpha found him locking gazes, triggering more memories, remembrances from this very place, this very field.

“Welton, why don’t you move between Brent and your mom,” the alpha said, moving farther down the wooden seating to make room.  The boy obeyed, as he should, reshuffling to be next to his brother.  The Sissa was watching the alpha, her body tense. The movement had left her side open.

“It’s fine.  Just set out a bowl and some bread for Ash too, right next to you, Sissa,” the alpha said.  She did as he suggested, without hesitation and without smelling of fear—anxiety, but not fear.

“What do you think, Ash?” the alpha asked, looking right at his hiding spot, speaking directly to him.  “You know you’ve been missing Sissa’s bread, and I’ve heard you reminisce about your sister-in-law’s delicious beans too many times to count.  Come on out and have some.”

He didn’t move, his brain flooding with memories, recent ones.  Savid—the alpha was called Savid.  He was called Ash.  The young pup was Welton, the older one Brent.  He stood and looked back toward the city.  No one moved on the near streets, even though the sounds of an active community came from farther inside its borders.  The alpha had seen to that.  Turning back to the stands, he found the others all staring at him.  The youngest was smiling, his hand raised in greeting.  The oldest sat calmly, alternating bites of buttered bread with spoons of bacon and beans.  Treena and Sissa watched him, Sissa’s face seemingly blank.  Yet he knew that face, knew the subtle signs of body language, understood she was anxious.  He was too.  Anxious at her response to the sight of him.  Yet she hadn’t moved, hadn’t screamed, hadn’t even flinched.

“Ash?” she called, her voice uncertain, yet hopeful.  “Ash, would you like some bread?” she asked, holding up a thick slice.

His feet were moving before he was even aware of them, his steps slow, uncertain as he stepped fully into the open.  But she just sat there, calmly holding the bread, her face now relaxed and maybe even hopeful.

His feet made the decision for him, moving him across the frozen ground, slowly at first, yet getting a little faster as his pack sat, watching, waiting, and even eating.

Suddenly he was there, right in front of her, inhaling her scent, searing her image into his head, hearing the fast beat of her heart.  He crouched, making himself smaller, bringing his head down lower, almost as low as her own.  She smiled, moving the hand that held bread toward him.  “Take it, Uncle Ash,” the young one said.  “If you don’t, I will.”

He immediately gave the boy a little growl and carefully took the bread from her palm, using forefinger and thumb claws to delicately pluck it away. Then he stuffed it in his big mouth, slipping it past his gnarled teeth.

“Hah, I knew it,” Welton said.  “Mom’s chive butter is the best.  And wait till you taste the beans.”

Sissa—his mate—reached for him slowly, her movement freezing him midchew. He didn’t move a muscle as her hand lightly brushed the fur on his arm, her eyes studying it with sadness but also something like wonder, before flicking up to meet his own.  “Soft.  Much softer than I expected,” she said with a small smile.  He could feel the heat of her hand, smell the scent of her hair.  Both boys were still eating steadily but watching, and when he looked at the alpha—at Savid—he found him smiling.

“Told you,” Savid said.

“Welcome home, gravel head,” Sissa told him.

Author’s Thoughts, Notes and other Drivel:

As usual I must thank Susan Helene Gottfried for her editorial work and Gareth Otton for his art skills.  A Flight of Ravens will be followed by A Mischief of Rats, hopefully in Fall, 2021.  I have at least one Demon Accords to finish (Blood Drawn) before I can get to that one.

2020 was a difficult year for the whole planet.  I was asked many times if Covid-19 would be a topic I would put in my stories.  My answer was always the same – I already did – Web of Extinction dipped into that when it came out in the fall of 2019, just a few months before the real deal.  The pandemic taught us all a lot of lessons: be prepared to take care of yourself and your family and if you’re able, help some others too (toilet paper anyone?), be resilient, be patient, be careful, and be kind (especially to your loved ones), are the ones that stand out for me. It’s interesting to write about times of chaos, stress and pandemonium, but it’s another thing to live it.  The vaccines are rolling out as I write this (haven’t had mine yet) and there is light ahead.  But we would all do well to remember what 2020 taught us. 

John Conroe

P.S.  Keep scrolling to find the list of characters and terms and stuff.

Cast of Characters and Other Stuff

Savid Thomas DelaCrotia – Our protagonist.  Ex-captain Ranged Reconnaissance Squadron,

Holder of the Kingdom Cross, Lead Shadow, 3rd son of High Family                        

DelaCrotia.

Princess Brona Olivia Tersi Warcan – Crown princess of Montshire, heir to the kingdom, head                                                                of the Shadows.

King Helat Morrison Warcan – Ruler of Montshire.

Queen Ilana Warcan – Deceased, Brona’s mother.

Lord Rucian DelaCrotia – Head of High Family DelaCrotia, Savid’s father.

Lady Jean DelaCrotia – Savid’s mother, wife of Rucian.

Salis – Brona’s Wenkroy bodyguard.

Marda – Brona’s secretary.

Gracid DelaCrotia – Savid’s oldest brother, heir to High Family DelaCrotia.

Tallen DelaCrotia – Savid’s second oldest brother, spare heir.

Jolanna DelaCrotia – Savid’s sister.

Trell – a.k.a. Trell the Magnificent, self-appointed minstrel of Montshire, graduate of the Royal Academy of Montshire.

Shadows: (a squad of Shadows is a murder)

Jellaquin (Jella) – Drodacian Forester, battlemaster, Lady Jean’s childhood friend, Savid’s instructor, hater of all things Sylvanian.

Ash Newberry – Savid’s Shadow second-in-command, leads his own murder.

Cortney Gamas (Cort) – Shadow sapper in Savid’s murder.

Soshi Leighton – Shadow sniper in Savid’s murder.

Drew Holden – Shadow generalist in Savid’s murder.

Hemppe – Shadow, runs The Knife and Needle, Shadow dispatcher.

Yawl – Mountain cat partner of Jellaquin (think big female mountain lion or cougar).

Tipton – Savid’s horse.

Stewart – Shadow who runs the Dodgy Dog in Rattle.

Corell – Waitress at the Knife and Needle.

Terry – Waitress at the Knife and Needle.

Brin – Cook at K & N.

Steadings – New inductee to the Shadows.

Esllings (think psychics):

Oscar – Truth Reader (full telepath), Brona’s edge in interrogations.

Sydney – See-er (clairvoyant), three-minute range, child.

Kassa – Truthseeker (empath/some telepathy), freelance.

Other Nobles:

Kiven Armstrong – Lord Marshal of Haven.

Lord Victor Shipley Sampson – Friend of Lord Leica and Lady Jean’s entire birth family.

Lady Agatha Kardian – Doesn’t give two damns.

Lady Olden – Lady Kardian’s partner in not giving damns.

Lady Rubella Dominick – A cougar of a different sort.

Lord Dorian Hatch – Asshat.

Steven Grantell – Heir to High Family Grantell, asshat wannabe.

Kyle Bonlee – Spare Heir to High Family Bonlee, noble waste of space.

Lord Reis Leica – Head of High Family Leica, mining family, Lady Jean’s father, Savid’s maternal grandfather.

Lord Samuel – Head of minor family, asshat.

Myers Jacquis – Heir to Jacquis family.

Sylvanians:

The Paul – Timon Fontroy – Ruler of Sylvania and Head of the Church of Lud, massive asshat extraordinaire.

The Paul Elect – Jameson Fontroy – Heir of Sylvania, son of Timon, asshat in study.

Restin – Sylvanian Lash

Silver Girl – Female woldling with eslling powers (multi-second range see-er), birth name was Loral.

Woldlings:  Sylvanian biologically engineered shock troops.  Generally, about twenty percent larger than most humans, and much stronger and faster than human normal.  Armed with clawed hands and excessive dental weaponry.  Crafted from human stock by Lud Priests.

Others:

Ambassador Toman Elwin – Mandrigan ambassador to Montshire.

Queen Millis – Ruler of the Kingdom of Mandrigo.

Bishop Miller – Head of the Church of the Apostle of the Punished, official church of Montshire.

Doctor Eltienne – Royal physicker.

Marshall – The royal armorer.

Ann Shedly – Jolanna’s friend.

Neil Slinch – Head of the Kingdom Overwatch Directorate: the Ravens.

Masters Blythe, Tark, and Mortimer – Local managers of the Haven office of Pottle & Strevis, procurers of antiquities.

Calliope – Ex-Montshirian army medic.

Colonel Erser – Head of the Royal Guards of Montshire

Major Quint Morang – Montshire army infantry

Captain Bascomb Porter – Cavalry officer.

Captain Jonathon Jens – Cavalry officer and Jolanna’s husband.  High Family Jens’ spare heir.

Larst – Docent working for the Holy Assembly of Reformed Wickedness in Pit.

Gwen – A parson of the Holy Assembly of Reformed Wickedness (Berkette’s official religion), in Pit.

Siril Ossiman – A criminal dealer in secrets.

Dorn – Siril’s muscle-headed minion.

Carl Mewcomb – Scholar from the Royal Academy.

Montshire Capitalization Concern (MCC) – A diversified business owned by the Shadows whether they know it or not.

Rik – A strategy game that combines elements of warfare with territory accumulation.

Cherttah – A ball game involving strategy, violence, and… a ball.

Bolter – A projectile weapon of the Shadows.  Stacked steel tubes, usually with dual triggers mounted to what we would call a pistol grip.  Uses the natural compressed gas of quava kelp pods to propel various metal bolts or drugged darts. Highly proscribed technology.

Quava Kelp Pods – See above. Grows in the waters off Lachia.

Death Rattler – Deadly viper indigenous to Nengled.  Uses both neurotoxic and hemotoxic venom.

Caffe – A new hot beverage grown on islands off the southern Lachian coast.  The stuff of life… I’m likely drinking some as you read this.

Currency

The currency of all Nengled is based upon small steel ingots. The base unit is a rustie, high carbon steel that… rusts.  An ingot is standardized at roughly enough steel to make a small useful item, more often combined with others to make stuff.  Four to seven rusties could make a small knife.  A rustless is an ingot of stainless steel, equivalent in value to five rusties.  A wootie is an ingot of Wootz or Damascus pattern steel, equivalent to ten rusties.  A shiner is a small ingot of silver and is valued at fifty rusties.  A glimmer is gold and valued at two hundred rusties. Nails are used as small denomination coin, with roughly twenty nails to the rustie.

Steel types vary and not all steels carry the same value.  Most of the steel in Nengled is reclaimed from the ruins of the Punished, so banks almost always partner with a blacksmith shop so the smith can appraise the steel and assign a true value.   

Measurement:

Span – Same as a meter.

T-span – 1,000 spans.  Equal to a kilometer.

T-rams – 1,000 rams.  We might call it a kilogram.

New Characters and more Stuff

Lieutenant Ty Berill – Royal guard officer

Veese – Queen Ilana’s elderly gardener.

Brent Upton – Eldest son of Paddy Upton, Shadow killed in Sylvania.

Welton Upton – Youngest son of Paddy.

Treena Upton – Paddy’s wife, Sissa’s sister-in-law

Sissa Newberry – Ash’s wife, Paddy’s sister.

Rose Leighton – Soshi’s adopted daughter, Shadow-in-training, formerly a pickpocket.

Calpin Torqness – Castle seneschal

Tupper – Lord Rucian DelaCrotia’s steward

Lord Arcwin DelaCrotia – Rucian’s father, Savid’s paternal grandfather, deceased.

Urso – Ex-RRS soldier, Shadow renowned for woldling killing prowess with an axe.

General Ewald – Head of Montshire Military

Carson Mackmore – Montshire Minister of Commerce

Kisen – An older Shadow.

Fontina – A top Raven agent.

Urmak – Green solution that unmasks Shapers.

Shaper – An individual Tainted by the Paul who can mold their facial features to look like others. Experts in makeup and hair as well as copying body language and voices.

Tina – New server at the Knife and Needle. Drew Holden’s sister.

Porye – Coastal city and only significant Montshire port. 

Freyla Slost – Raven agent in Porye

Gawron Tarpinian – Regent of Stoneport in Berkette, which is just to the south of Porye.

Turgeon Collind – Magistrate of Kittwell in Mandrigo, just north of Porye.

Scorpion sand striker – A multijointed armored sea worm that lies buried in the ocean bottom and strikes prey with a single venom-tipped claw, then drags them below the sand with heavy jaws.  A possible mutation of the bobbit worm.

Seventy Day War – Montshire’s most recent war with Sylvania.  The Paul was forced to the peace table when the RRS, under Savid’s command, completely disrupted his woldling hordes.

Deacon Kittleby – Holy Assembly official charged with destruction of Tainted artifacts.

Twist Line, Sailor’s Rest, Ale’s Well – Pubs located in Porye.

Andru – A half-Mandrigan, half-Nuk agent, proprietor of Wearable Wovens.

Nuk – Race of Tainted survivors similar to Drodacians who live under the ice fields of the far north.  Shorter than regular men, but broader and more powerful.

Kazilionum – Essling tailor.  A Knower and Impresser.

Gibson Macklin – Mayor of Porye.

Indigo eel – A freshwater eel with a paralytic toxin.

Father Crandall – Porye’s leading clergy member of the Church of the Apostle of the Punished.

Kultin – Mayor Macklin’s secretary.

Carter Toothaker – The king’s rook – King Helat’s personal assassin and fixer.

Egg – The Royal jailer of Montshire.

Sergeant Quint – Haven constable.

Master Smith Tir – Royal blacksmith

King Sarn Warcan – Helat’s father, Brona’s paternal grandfather, deceased.

Wogando – Drodacian martial art – combines elements similar to aikido, jiu jitsu, Muay Thai, and escrima.