The Great Bear: The Adarna chronicles - Book 3 (2 page)

As she approached the door to her father’s study, he appeared in the doorway. A tall, thin man with curly brown hair accompanied him. The man wore a long green cloak. The two exchanged a handshake and then the cloaked man moved away. A second man, hugely muscled with a bald head and heavily tattooed arms, materialised from the shadows to follow a pace behind the cloaked man like an obedient but dangerous dog.

Her father turned to face her, his face was serious. He looked drawn and tired.

“Who was that, Father?” she asked, her eyes drawn to the swaying green cloak as the man turned towards the courtyard.

Martius’s eyes flitted to his departing guest. “He is an old... acquaintance of mine from the academy, Ashferon… a very astute man. I have asked a favour of him.” He looked over her shoulder towards Andiss. “You have just come from practice? You are pushing yourself too hard, Lissa.”

She shrugged. A twinge of pain ran down her right arm. “It’s nothing, Father. I’m young, I can deal with it.”

He searched her face, perhaps looking for some unknown sign, then pursed his lips. “Nevertheless, you will need your strength. I have decided on a course of action.”

THERE WAS AN UNCHARACTERISTIC chill in the air. It sent a shiver down Villius’s spine. It reminded him too much of his time on the desert border with Farisia, where the midday sun could fry an egg but the nights were cold enough to kill the unwary.

This was not the borderland though. There was no need to fear the marauding sandmen who constantly tested the boundaries and strengths of the Empire’s outposts.

This was Adarna, the capital of the Empire, the capital of the civilised world.

Despite himself, Villius grew impatient. “Do you think they’re coming, sir?” They had been waiting at the entrance to the small alley for over an hour – so long that the rats, as if there was no human for miles around, had lost their timidity and begun to search through the detritus in the shadows. Some of the creatures were huge. Villius did not like rats at the best of times.
Better than snakes and scorpions though,
he reminded himself. A scorpion had stung him on the foot in the desert – luckily it was one of the big ones, they were less dangerous. He still had the scar to remember it by though.

General Martius turned to face him. His eyes reflected the shimmering light of the oil lamp above; they looked like the pits of the underworld at the best of times. The flickering lamplight just served to intensify the illusion.
 

“Ashferon will come.” There was something about the way that Martius said the man’s name. It was not disgust, but there was something there – discomfort perhaps.

Villius wondered what kind of man could raise such a reaction from the great general, and yet Martius clearly respected Ashferon.

“Sir?” Villius knew no other way to address the man. Military etiquette must be followed, after all.

“Yes, Villius.” Martius’s eyes roved the night beyond the alley, a small frown on his brow.
 

“Do you mind me asking how you know Ashferon?”
Do you mind me asking what it is about the man that puts you on edge?

Martius huffed. His breath clouded slightly in the chill air. “We were at the academy together. He was in my class.” He paused and scanned the night again, then shrugged, a rueful smile playing across his lips. “Or perhaps I was in his.”

“You are friends?” But why would a friend cause such a reaction?

“We were...” Martius seemed to take some time to form a response, “colleagues.”

“Martius
.” The word was whispered but, somehow, louder for it in the silence of the night. It came from behind.
 

Startled, Villius reached for his sword, but Martius clamped a hand around his forearm.

“It is alright, Villius.” Martius smiled reassuringly, but it did not reach his eyes. “Our meeting has begun.”

Martius released Villius’s arm and slowly turned towards the alley. “Ashferon my old... friend. You have not lost your love of surprises, I see.”

Villius glanced around. No more than five paces away stood a man in a green cloak. His hood was thrown back. Curls of hair fell from his head. It was not cropped short in the manner of the legions nor long as worn by the Farisians, but sat atop his head in a heavy mop. Grey hairs glistened silver in the lamplight. At the man’s right shoulder stood another, a man so big that one might be forgiven for thinking him a giant. He looked to be closer to seven feet than six and his arms and shoulders were heavy with bulging muscle. He was bigger even than the barbarian, Wulf. Tattoos adorned every inch of his arms and shoulders, but Villius could not see any legion marks. This man was not, nor had he ever been a soldier, at least in the Empire. He must have oiled his bald head and perhaps the rest of his body too, as the light played across it in shimmering waves of half-perceived colour.

The man in the cloak nonchalantly tossed his head back, then spoke. “I like to keep you on your toes, Martius.”

Martius sighed. “It was ever the way was it not, Ashferon?” He held out his hand.

Ashferon grasped Martius’s hand in his own. The handshake seemed more of a touch than a true greeting, as if each participant wanted to keep it as short as possible.

“It truly has been a long time, Martius.” Ashferon’s tone was matter of fact. There was a quality to his voice that Villius could not place, less an accent than an off-key intonation; each word was clipped and precise. “You’ve aged. Forgive me, I should have mentioned it when we met the other day.”
 

Martius pursed his lips; his eyes glimmered in the lamplight. He fixed Ashferon with a long gaze. “There is no denying it. I see grey in your hair too, I fear.”

“Mortality is an inevitability ’tis true.” Ashferon shrugged. “There is no getting away from it. What was it that old Altus used to teach us?”

“You’re born, you live, you die.” Martius altered the tone of his voice, making it sound cracked and old. “These things are a certainty. It is what you do whilst
living
that matters.”

Ashferon nodded. “He was a good teacher.”

A long silence followed. Villius found himself staring at Ashferon and his silent companion. They looked quite the oddest couple that he had ever encountered. Ashferon was lean and thin. At first impression he had seemed the same height as Martius, but he was actually a good two inches taller. There was something about the man that put Villius on edge. There was a sense to him that he knew everything, or thought he did, an air of superiority. As if to confirm Villius’s suspicions, Ashferon glanced at him.

In the alley behind, the rats began to scurry around again, busy about their business. Villius rested his hand on the pommel of his sword. The tattooed giant turned towards him in response. The giant’s gaze seemed fixed in a permanent frown. Villius wondered, should the need arise, if he could take the man down.
Best not find out.

Finally, Martius broke the silence. “You got my message?”

“Why else would I be here?” Ashferon raised his chin slightly.

If any slight was intended, Martius seemed to ignore it. “Good point.”

The silence blossomed anew. Villius could not stop himself looking from one man to the other. Martius, in his stance and his bearing was like steel, as ever. What was missing was his apparent cheerfulness in the face of stress.
 

Who is Ashferon to put you so on edge?
But Villius was not sure that it was the strange-cloaked man. The truth was that General Martius had been grim since the night of the attack. The lady Ellasand still had not woken, despite the ministrations of Doctore Nessius. Who would not be grim in such circumstances?

It was Ashferon that broke the silence. “He wasn’t easy to find. Somewhat of a willow the wisp, this Jhan Guttel.”

“But you
did
find him?” Martius’s tone was sharp, impatient.

Ashferon rubbed his chin. “Well, less me and more Tituss here.” He gestured absently at the tattooed behemoth beside him.
 

Tituss nodded his great head, the muscles in his neck stretched like so many cables. Villius imagined he heard them groaning with the strain of it.

Martius turned his attention to Tituss and a true smile touched his lips. “My thanks to you, goodman Tituss.”

Tituss nodded again. He did not smile but his fixed glower seemed to lessen for a moment.

“I gave him the areas to search of course.” Ashferon waved a hand as if thanks to his giant companion were unnecessary. “Tituss is very good at getting people to speak though.”

Tituss nodded his great head in agreement.

I am sure he is,
Villius wanted to say, wondering if the giant was mute or whether, perhaps, he chose not to speak in order to appear even more imposing.
 

“Where is he?” Martius fixed his gaze upon Ashferon. “We do not have time to wait. We must move now.”

In reply to Martius’s gaze, Ashferon sniffed indifferently and gestured to Tituss. “We will lead you there. He almost slipped my grasp. Quite the intelligent scum, our Master Guttel. I had thought to find him near the docks where the others of his type hang around. But it would appear that he has higher aspirations.
 

Martius’s eyes glinted dangerously. “Where is he, Ashferon?”

Ashferon smiled a thin-lipped smile, span around and marched back down the alley. “We are headed to the merchants’ quarter.” He called over his shoulder. “It all makes perfect sense really. His father was a merchant, after all.”

It was a long walk to the merchants’ quarter through some of the less salubrious parts of the great city of Adarna.
 

Why did he arrange to meet us in the Stink when he knew where Guttel is?
Villius had rarely visited the Stink – the local name for the docklands – it was not the kind of area that a young nobleman would frequent. As they passed out of the Stink, they entered the so-called ‘buyers’’ district. As they did so, they began to hear revelry from the bars and bordellos that littered the area. Villius had never really used the buyers’ district himself, but he had known many men at the academy who regularly visited their favourite houses during their years of training. For Villius it was an unnecessary distraction from his training; besides, his family would find a good match for him when the time came.
 

It will not be long now.
The thought struck him like a blow but there was truth in it. At twenty-six years, he was of marriageable age, if not a little old.

The ground sloped up from the docks, and as they gained height, the quality of the housing and accommodation improved. Some of the houses looked relatively fine; Villius knew that this was where the more expensive purchases of the buyers’ district resided. If the rumours were to be believed, some of the women here were as rich as princesses and twice as beautiful.

They crossed Bakers’ Street with ease – as a main artery for the city it was wide enough for four carriages to travel abreast of each other. Where in the day it was a bustling danger zone of horses, carts and people, at this ungodly hour it was relatively deserted.

The other side of the road marked the edge of the merchants’ district. The houses were, on the whole, large and imposing. Some even had small plots of land or gardens. Oil lamp poles – which had been scarce up until now, even in the buyers’ district – stood every fifty yards or so along the roadside. Villius spotted a pair of militiamen patrolling down a side street. The merchants paid the city well to ensure their security, and it struck Villius as cunning indeed that Guttel might hide out in the very area that he might seek to rob.
If he is a thief
. As far as Villius could tell, no one was completely sure what Guttel’s business was, although all seemed to be agreed that it was bad – as testified to by his men being paid to spy on General Martius.

Eventually, Ashferon raised a hand and brought them to a halt. “That’s it.” He pointed to the corner of a road where a house stood, isolated and in relative darkness, within a small plot of land.

“What do we do now?” Martius asked.

The words made Villius uneasy, at first he did not know why, but then he realised that he had never known the general not to lead. Martius clearly did not revel in Ashferon’s company, but he did seem to trust his judgement.
 

“Tituss.” Ashferon gestured to his silent companion.

Tituss moved across the road with a speed and stealth that denied his bulk. His feet did not seem to make a sound as they touched the ground. Within moments, he reached the plain brick wall that surrounded the property and, without so much as a whisper, clambered over it.
 

He moves like a cat.
Villius admired the man’s prowess. “What happens now, sir?” he asked Martius, unable to maintain his silence as the tension grew.

Martius raised an eyebrow. “I am afraid it is not my plan, Proctor Villius.” He nodded his head towards Ashferon.

“We wait for Tituss to do his work.” Ashferon clarified. “He shouldn’t take long.”

The problem with waiting for something, Villius had always observed, was that the very act of waiting made something last longer. The seconds dragged as he imagined what might be happening beyond the wall.
 

What are you doing here?
he had often wondered since being selected from the academy – by Martius himself – to be the great general’s aid. The desert border with Farisia seemed a distant nightmare now. His posting to the hinterlands had shocked him and his family; it was considered a dead end – possibly literally – for the individuals sent to the west. Villius had not complained though. Duty and discipline were the keystones of military life and he could not, would not, sully the Danus family name by complaining. Being accepted for leadership training and thus returning to the capital had been an enormous stroke of luck, but it had not passed his attention that the risk to his own life seemed to have, if anything, increased since he took on one of the most treasured posts in the army as the primus general’s assistant.