Forest For The Trees (Book 3) (34 page)

“How often did you work with other bands?”

Maddock considered.  “Not very often.  Bands usually
offer enough men to solve a problem.  Contractors had little need to seek
additional manpower once they had acquired a band.”

“To what purpose are your questions leading?” Torrance
asked.

“We need warriors we can rely on to do it right the
first time,” Marik stated.  “That means we have to round up as many available
mercenaries in western Galemar as we can in short order.”

The commander made no change in expression.  “Other
mercenary bands do not maintain the capability of ours.  And on what pretext
will you recruit them to our banner?  None are bound to the crown’s mustering
call as the Crimson Kings.”

“If we have to, we can invoke the crown’s power and
conscript the men we need,” Marik announced.

But Harlan shook his head.  “That would be pointless. 
A mercenary works for profits.  You can tell them to follow you or you will
have them arrested, if you choose.  They would refuse.  Will you then jail
hundreds of men scattered to the four winds?  Who would drag them to the
cells?”

Chatham fingered his chin in imitation wisdom.  “I
believe the right term o’ it goes, ‘the law is on record, but there’s not a jot
o’ resources available to force the people to obey it’.  From a quick gander
around the place,” he added, spinning his head in all directions, “we are a tad
lacking in the strength needed to force others to our patriotic whim.”

“Then promise what we have to,” Marik returned.  “I
don’t care!  The seneschal can settle the fees later.  But we need as many
swords as we can gather, starting with the three of you.  Maddock, I trust you
can negotiate with the bands you know about.  I want you riding hard today. 
Commander Torrance must know each of the bands operating within reach of
southwest Galemar.  We’ll find other men to send to them.  By the time we reach
the lands bordering the Stoneseams, I want every mercenary who’s ever come
within spitting distance to be there!”

*        *        *        *        *

“One by one…by one…”

Beld’s musing voice trailed into silence.  Veji and
Albin studied each other.  Neither would interrupt Beld with their thoughts,
which never seemed to contain the breadth of consideration Beld put into his
own.  He was always quick to point out their blunders.  In the face of his
wisdom, they never failed to accept his decisions.

Darkness had fallen with the complete viscosity of
river mud.  The stars overhead shone weakly, struggling to pierce the midnight
blanket.  Beld had told them to take notice of the meeting place when the army
slowed to make camp.  A good thing he had, else they would have stumbled
blindly until morning in their attempts to locate the copse with the misshapen
tree-stumps edging it.  They still would have missed it if Albin had not struck
his knee on one, pitching over it in an uncontrolled fall while expelling a
hurricane of curses.

Veji would not have broken the current silence even if
Beld weren’t deep in his thinking.  There were strong ties between the three,
and also with Dellen despite him having to stay away from their close little
knot for so long.  Thoughts of the bastard mage angered him…but only to a
point.  The white hot anger within him had gradually cooled over time although
it continued to persist as a forge’s glow in the others’ hearts.  He debated
the wisdom of still attempting to extract retribution at this point.

But Beld said it was not the end, that the mage was
still meddling in their affairs.  That certainly seemed true.  Dellen remained
in exile while the mage gained greater influence by the day.

Magic unnerved him.  Thoughts of what the mage might
do to them if they made a mistake, if they didn’t finish him completely in a
surprise attack…  Veji refused to allow the shudder in his spine to be seen by
Albin or Beld.  He was no coward.  No coward in the least, and he would
continue to keep his qualms locked inside his mind and his unease hidden, even
from his friends.

Especially from his friends.

A growing noise approached through the trees from the
north.  Veji at first took it for scout riders returning with news important
enough to risk their mounts in such treacherous darkness.  Unmuffled cries of,
“Shit on it for a dirty mother-lover!” soon put an end to that idea.  The words
alone, aside from the familiar voice, could have only come from one person.

“Shut your copping mouth!” Albin shouted into the
night.  “Don’tcha know you’re suppose to be quiet?  You trying to bring half
the sentries down on us or what have you?”

“Where in the bleeding hells are ya?” Dellen shouted
back, louder than before.  “I’m about stuck through and bleeding from having to
drag this fella through a briar field!”

“Both of you
stop…yelling
!” Beld growled
through tight teeth.

Veji could see brief slashes of light cutting the
darkness when a figure, it had to be the back-street knifer Tallior, opened the
shutter on a storm lantern to get his bearings.  For a city heavy, he never
could do anything without two or three tools to help.

Dellen eventually stumbled his way across the stones
and roots and dead branches.  The trio’s eyes had adjusted to the night enough
that they could see the tears in Dellen’s clothing without a cussed lamp giving
their position away.  If Tallior had drug
him
into a briar patch, Veji
mused, the man would show worse than a few scratches the next morning.

At the stump, Beld spoke to the city man, avoiding any
mention of Tallior’s choice of meeting places.  Just as well not to point out
the idiocy in choosing meeting places none of them had ever seen before.  ‘The
nearest northern copse of trees to your evening camp’ left plenty of pitfalls
to walk into.  And Tallior always found ways of twisting the blame back on them
if possible in any way.

“Did you find any of those men you wanted?” Beld challenged,
putting Tallior on the spot.  “You were so hot for a new archer squad decked in
your Nolier magic trinkets.”

“You never stopped at Mason’s Head!  I found three men
who looked worth the trouble before you pounded the road flatter on the run.”

“I told you it was pointless to take the ferry
downriver ahead of us.  What were you planning to do with them?”  Blackness
shrouded his face, yet they could hear the sneer in his words.  “The mage is in
the damned heart of the column, with ‘officers’ latched to him like flies on a
road apple.  Think you can shoot him in the back and run off quiet like?”

“I, and my employer, are
not
pleased with
this!”

“You talking like that’s our fault!” Albin snarled.

“Stow it!  If you fairday gleemen have better ideas,
then talk about them.  Having Railson move through the court, rubbing shoulders
with certain people, talking to who knows who…it must stop.  And soon!”

Veji, annoyed at this city scum who kept thinking they
were worthless trash, stepped forward in a move matched by Albin.  Usually it
was Albin who allowed his temper to rise fastest of the four.

Beld’s calm voice halted them both.  “Finally killing
that meddler will be simpler now he’s out of town, getting ready to fight.”

“You think so, do you?”  Tallior spit into the night. 
“In the, as you put it,
heart
of the damned column?”

“Not there, fool.  Once the fighting starts. 
Everything’s moving sideways and upside down.  No one’s looking behind them
when the enemy’s in front.  Easiest time of all to stick a knife in an officer
and make it look like natural causes.”

“Leaders don’t fight in the middle of their men.  And
this man is a mage, you bloody idiot, not a brawler!”

“A brawl is in the cards, put your metal on it,” Beld
countered.  “Everyone in the column’s saying so.  And I tell you it’s true,
too.  You’ve got no experience at fighting, so stop arguing.  This is our
golden chance to finally pay him back for the trouble he’s stirred up.  But
don’t you forget you owe us serious ‘gratitude’.”

“If you somehow find an opening to strike when he
least expects, and he dies on your battlefield, then I will be pleased. 
Pleased enough to give you a sack too heavy to lift from all the gold in it.”

“Then start counting, rich man.  I’ll be keeping a
tight watch on every move he makes.  When the right moment comes, I’ll be
there.”

Tallior’s voice, far from convinced, asked, “You plan
to dog his steps?  You hope to find providence around an unexpected turn?”

Beld’s voice regained its harsh overtones.  “I’m not
so stupid as to be seen like that!  Officers always make a row wherever they
go.  Knowing where he is and going won’t be any secret.”

“Then I had best accompany you,
again
.”

“Ain’t nothing gets noticed like a stranger in the
camp,” Veji shot toward the voices.  “You’ll kick up a mess all over!”

“You keep thinking like highwaymen!” Tallior exclaimed
in rising volume.  “If you have an idea where he will be or what he plans to
do, then you have the opportunity to approach in stealth!  For that, you’ll
need my rings to keep you hidden from his magic!”

“I haven’t seen ‘em do anything so special yet to make
them worth the bother,” Albin argued.  “If you’re so damned set on ‘em, then
hand ‘em over.”

“They’re worth more than your sorry hides!” Tallior
refused.  “I will only
lend
them to you immediately before a strike, and
take them back immediately after!”

“If they’re that important, then fine,” Beld agreed in
a move surprising all three of his fellows.  “I’ve been watching this…this
bug
use his magic to get everything he wants his way.  Even got the bloody king to
give him half the bloody army.  What’s he want next then?  A damned palace?  If
your Nolier rings wash out the pathway ahead of him, all the better I say.  You
follow on behind us until we hit a main camp along the front.  Then I’ll tell
you how to keep close enough for me to summon you.”

Tallior huffed, but in the end accepted that Beld knew
best.  Veji thought it about time the man stopped trying to force the rest of
life to obey his city ways.

Dellen left with the cutthroat after several minutes,
grumbling about the return trip until his foul mood vanished with him.  Beld,
walking behind Albin, kept muttering under his breath, “Right when he never
thinks to check his back.  Yeah…right then.  When he never thinks to check his
back…”

A figure wrapped tightly in a concealing cloak
followed a second man through a grimy alleyway.  The leader was thin, sinewy,
the sort who could catch others off guard with his speed or unheralded
strength.  His dress and appearance revealed nothing of his true nature.

Professional.

Like recognizes like.

They came to the back door of a port office on the
Starshine River’s shore.  The guide pulled a key from his inner vest.  He
simply opened the door, dispensing with the overdone system of secret knocks
amateurs were always in love with.  Few lamps were lit within.  No light would
betray them by spilling into the night.

“As it has been agreed, Rubian,” an older voice said
in Traders Tongue from the shadows.  Once the door shut, the aging man lit an
oil lamp from a stove beside the wall.  “You will have the opportunity you
desire to perform your work.  It will take place three quarter-marks after the
midnight bell.”

The shrouded figure unwrapped his cloak.  A leathered
face was revealed under a crop of short bristles.  An eye-patch covered one
socket.  “Then take these with my thanks.”  A hand emerged holding a small
leather pouch.

Jide’s guide took it and passed it directly to the
elder.  Wrinkled, yet dexterous, his fingers shook four stones free.  Three
glistened as bloody ice in the firelight.  The last captured the single
lamp-flame, making the orange curl appear encased in the multi-faceted jewel’s
glassy depths.

No further word was said except when Jide prepared to
re-enter the night.  “Rubian.”  A hesitant smile glinted in the gloom.  “If
Rubian you are.  The promise of the Dark Father is to repay betrayal.  If our
men are captured by waiting cityguard, it will go badly for you.”

A scythe of teeth split the shadows within Jide’s hood. 
“Tell your Dark Father that I plan to be miles off by sunrise. 
My
promise is that my fees had better buy what was promised, else
I
will
not be the one for whom things go badly.”

The streets of this foreign city were dark and eerily
empty during the post-dusk hours, Jide felt.  Walking through them, following
the shadow that led rather than followed, he kept his hand close to his sword
hilt all the same.  Avenlight made this Galemaran city resemble a wilderness
settlement.  But rats were rats wherever they scampered, be it here or back
home in the capitol of Arronath.  Knife blades through the back were as deadly
no matter which city’s shivs did the sticking.

Several streets, including the roads along the
riverfronts, boasted high lamps set on poles.  By the water the poles were made
from oak.  The only iron poles were in the streets closest to Thoenar’s heart. 
Paving stones had been avoided along the water following whatever alien
rational these people followed.

His guide departed after five cross-streets.  He had
only traveled with Jide to ensure the man did indeed leave, that he would not
double back to spy on or attempt to follow the Dark Guild’s senior
representative.  There remained approximately two hours, or
candlemarks
as these people reckoned, until the local thieves would do the job he had paid
them for.  Until then he could gather further resources that might be useful.

Four days had given him enough experience to have the
darker half of Thoenar memorized.  It might baffle the local guards who fought
battles against the criminal classes but Jide had ruled as an underworld king
in a city that made this one look like a mere district.

The locals had been clever in a handful of their
business establishments.  Certainly the guards would be thunderstruck to learn
that one of their own port inspection posts was serving as a Dark Guild fence. 
Stolen goods would be miles downriver before the dawn sun crested to greet
recently robbed homeowners.

This city’s streets were easy to navigate after
nightfall.  Jide strode quickly down Porta Street and reached Bello Road in
short order.  Unlike other streets throughout Thoenar, no matter the district,
Bello remained open at all hours.  Not a single shop locked its doors at the
end of a business day because, by tradition, business never ended here.  It was
the only place in the city that felt familiar to him.  Activity never ceased
completely.

Bello Road was unique, and a valuable discovery of
Jide’s the day before.  No brothels or taverns, traditional nighttime commerce
establishments, existed on Bello.  Rather it consisted of shops that sold every
manner of goods imaginable.

Yet no merchant counters for local crafters, bakers or
alchemists were these.  Nothing was new, shiny or in pristine condition. 
Anything could be found among its diminutive shops.  Items men had sold,
acquired in places one could only guess at, goods and treasures in the oddest
variety drowning in a rickrack sea sprawling from storefront to storefront. 
Whatever men had chosen to sell but failed to find a buyer for among the
average shopkeepers.

People said the riches of past ages could be found
along Bello Road.  If one dug through the junk heap long enough.

A thicker swell of bodies could be seen loitering
along the street when Jide entered Bello.  Pairs, at times trios, sat on
slat-board walkways along the building fronts or on rickety chairs behind crate
piles.  None looked friendly.  None wore airs of hostility, either.  Men, each
over forty years, watched the world go past without taking significant interest
in it any longer.

There were tarnished brass lamps scattered along the
road, bolted to walls beside the doorways.  Their illumination seemed
halfhearted since most of the light on Bello spilled over the hard earth from
filthy glass window panes.  Figures within the shops cast their shadows across
the road as they moved in front of the windows.  It added to the ambiance of
the back road, where movement never stopped even in the darkest hours of the
night.

Jide had picked his way through the first six shops
the previous day.  Several items had looked interesting to him from a
professional point of view.  Interesting, except each as foreign as the next. 
Nothing had been built, crafted or cobbled together in exactly the way an
Arronath would do it.

Also, there were items that would have been useful
were he going about his customary business of stalking corrupt army personnel
in Avenlight.  None were valuable enough to warrant hauling the deadweight
across two kingdoms and an entire ocean, though.

He was pushing aside dusty paintings, unframed loose
canvases, in his fourth shop when he struck gold, finding what he had vaguely
hoped for.  Merchants providing goods for travelers had offered him maps for
the past three days.  Their proffered charts of Galemar had displayed only the
main roads, each town plotted under a ‘best guess’ approach.  Asking the Dark
Guilds for an accurate map in addition to his other requests would only have
reveled how much of an outsider he truly was.  They already suspected his cover
as a Rubian.

Buried behind moldering depictions of dead geese
hanging limply from the jaws of hunting dogs lay a genuine map.  At two feet in
height, he would need to take care.  It would have to travel strapped to his
pack.  A cautious eye must constantly be on the lookout for rain.

Jide lifted it to examine it carefully.  In detail it
displayed the terrain wherever he cast his gaze.  Numerous villages were
minutely scribed in black against the multi-colored ink.  From the feel, from
its appearance, it must be far older than he.  Perhaps a hundred years. 
Perhaps twice that.

The towns could easily be gone, or new ones sprouted
in unmarked places, but that made no difference.  Terrain only changed over the
course of centuries.  This map would see him back through to his army without
needing to rely so stringently on farmwives and woodcutters for directions. 
His trip to Thoenar had been riddled with such risky encounters.

And it would be a valuable tool for the strategists
once Adrian returned to resume his rightful command.  Xenos could go hang
himself.  Let anyone dare gainsay Adrian after detailed information about this
foreign land made Galemar’s conquest a far easier task than Tullainia’s had
been.

He pulled the map from the stack.  The paintings fell
back into place, a nude woman imploring the gods for justice on the top.  From
the cast of the lead deity’s expression,
must be these people’s idea of
Sheirleon, if they twisted the truth as much as they flaming went and twisted
the Trader’s language
, the nude woman wove a convincing story of woe.

A bored man with far less meat on his frame than could
possibly be healthy manned a desk beside the door.  It could only be seen due
to an ongoing effort to leave a small window within the clutter towering on
either end.  Jide took him the map and made little effort at haggling despite
the pangs that sparked in him.  This kingdom used a monetary system with a
different value basis than Arronath.  He still struggled to understand exactly
how much he paid for any given merchandise.

His acceptance to pay five silver coins for the map
must have struck the only other patron as odd.  A deeply tanned woman in a
flowing black dress, full sleeves and sheer scarf around her shoulders adjusted
her gaze enough to look over at him.  Only a moment passed before she returned
to her own excavations, picking through a flat box filled with raw stones in
every hue.  She lifted a fist-sized chunk of pink quartz aside to run one
gloved finger over whatever stone lay beneath.

The rolled map in hand, Jide meandered the streets,
choosing to arrive at his destination at the appointed time.  Not a heartbeat
sooner than necessary.  Being forced to wait in an area where mischief was
planned often drew unwanted attention.

Jide shed his cloak in the privacy of deep night. 
Without it, his Galemaran soldier’s uniform, bought from the Dark Guilds, would
be clearly visible should he happen to enter any well-lit areas.  Dark green
and brown, it blended well with the pitch void surrounding him.  He encountered
no one when he departed the trees and approached the fenced detention area of
the prisoner camp.

If any soldier did see him, he would assume a fellow
brother had chosen to stroll through the night for fresh air, or had wanted
privacy in order to smoke the type of tobacco that produced interesting effects
within the inhaler’s mind.  His purposeful, unhurried, gait would lend to that
perception.

What sparse night security existed came alive when the
fire erupted in the western trees.  Within moments, a dozen trees blazed in a
roaring conflagration, a wild beast with a voice louder than a wolf pack
celebrating a successful hunt.  Jide counted nine men running in a panic of
thoughtless action.  None carried water buckets.  Even if they had, there was
little they could have achieved with them.

Two men remained by the barred gate leading into the
prisoner area.  They paid his approach scant attention, their eyes locked on
the sudden fire.  Jide killed the first by thrusting his knife into the man’s
throat from the side.  Before he felt the tip exit the far side, he whipped his
sword up to slash at the second.  Both bodies hit the ground within a second of
the other.

The keys, he soon discovered, were on a loop around
the second man’s neck.  He ignored the hot blood, refusing to allow his fingers
to slip on the metal surfaces.  Only three keys made the task of testing them
each quick work.

Behind the gate he found two additional soldiers,
their backs to him.  They stood at the wire fence to peer through at the
commotion without.  Jide struck fast and hard.

The detention area was divided into four crude housing
barracks with a yard the prisoners could wander during the day.  He yanked at
the first door, tried each of the keys, then returned to the two inner guards,
cursing the whole while.  A second set of keys emerged from their corpses. 
These opened the stout doors on the first barracks.

“General Adrian!” he shouted in Arronathian, rushing
into the dark interior.  “Where is the general?”

“You think you have the right to demand anything of
us?” came a voice back to him.

“Front and center, soldier!  Give me your name at
once!”

Before the mysterious voice could comply, a second
came from the left.  Figures moved through the faint illumination streaming
through the open door.  “Major Jide?  Or do my ears deceive?”

“General!”  Jide snapped a quick salute, his
silhouette clear in the lighted frame.  “Time to move, sir!  We’ve got about
two minutes before the window collapses.  Then we’ll be hip-deep in the manure
pile!  You there, smart mouth!”

Men swarmed from the shadows.  Jide threw the keys to
a man who stiffened at his command.  “Unlock the other barracks and let the
rest of the men out.  Tell them to scatter and head west as they can.”

Jide spearheaded the fast move through the exit.  At
the gate he paused long enough for a lightning-quick reconnaissance. 
Apparently no one had yet noticed the two dead bodies at their guard stations.

“Move!” Jide barked softly.  “And spread out.”

He watched the faces darting past until he located
Adrian’s.  The man had aged noticeably, his eyes sunken within dark circles
that might never completely leave him.  Accompanying him were nine solid men
Jide recognized as part of the general’s personal guard force.