The Agent (7 page)

CHAPTER 7

“I can’t believe you threw me to a bear!” Adam seethed.

“I can’t believe you’re still complaining about it,” Garran retorted as he checked the bandages wrapped around both of the Prince’s arms and head. “At least now you have a nice blanket to keep you warm.”

“It’s the only thing that smells worse than you around here. Now I know what life must be like as one of your crotch lice.”

“Not quite. I haven’t tried to crush you against the inside of a prostitute’s thighs. Maybe when we stop at a town we can work something out.”

Adam made a choking sound in his throat. “I would rather have my head trapped in a bear’s mouth again.”

“Yeah, that was pretty funny. It sounded like the bear was screaming like a girl. I really need to teach you how to fight.”

“I cannot fight a bear, you moron.”

“Maybe you can’t.”

“You’re transcended.”

“And you’re a priest.”

“That is not going to help me when a bear is eating my face!”

“Why not? If God won’t answer your prayers when your life depends on it, then there seems to be an imbalance in the relationship.”

“The only imbalance is you’re your mental state.”

“Warned you that I get worse when I’m sober. You should not have thrown out my booze.”

“I think of our two sins, yours is by far more egregious.”

“Your wounds are largely superficial and already clotting up, so stop being such a pussy before you get a yeast infection.”

Adam’s jaw dropped. “How am I being a…You pushed me down in front of a ravenous bear! I think I am allowed a certain amount of consternation!”

Garran shrugged. “I panicked. Sorry, but I did come back for you, killed the bear, and got a great blanket to keep us from freezing to death.”

“About that, could not crowd so close when we camp? I am uncomfortable with you spooning me in the middle of the night.”

“It’s perfectly natural. Our body heat keeps us from freezing.”

“It isn’t that cold.”

“It will be when we cross the Highland Range, so you had best get used to it.”

“There are things in this life to which no man can become truly accustomed, and this is one of them.”

Garran stood. “Bah, you’re being a big baby. Pack up so we can get a move on.”

Adam sighed and stood up. He was as exhausted from his mauling and traveling as he was from his constant verbal sparring with Garran. It seemed that no matter the topic of conversation, Garran felt an incessant need to argue until everyone conceded that they were somehow at fault. He was sure the agent would argue a reprieve at his own execution just to be contrary.

“Why do I have to carry the bearskin?” Adam asked.

“Because it’s heavy and you’re weak. We need to build up your strength and teach you how to fight.”

“I am a monk. I have taken vows against violence.”

“There you go with this vows nonsense again,” Garran griped. “You need to forget that crap if you want to rescue your sister and take back the throne.”

“My vows are who I am. To renounce them is to renounce God and my very identity.”

“Not renouncing them and doing whatever you have to do to win is to renounce your survival and your sister’s virginity. Okay, we’re probably too late for that last one, but we can make good on the first one if you do what I say.”

“You are such an ass.”

“True, but I’m an ass who has never lost a fight.”

“You have never lost a fight?”

“Technically, no. A fight isn’t over until you’re dead or you quit. I’m still alive, and I never quit no matter how many times I have to retreat and regroup.”

Adam did not respond. Despite Garran’s crude and abrasive personality, he could not help but find a measure of respect for him in that last statement. If they were going to have any hope of saving Evelyn, his was that kind of determination they would need.

***

Monastic life was rather sedentary with only the occasional chores to break up the long periods of study. Adam struggled to keep up with Garran’s grueling pace, but his feet were sore and his legs ached and began to cramp. Only his pride and desire to keep the agent from mocking him more than he already did urged him onward without complaint. The constant exertion also prevented the bitterly chill air from setting into his flesh.

Garran whittled a piece of wood to pass the time as they walked. Adam marched behind him, casting occasional glances his way. The Agent’s carving had him curious, but he refused to ask him what he was doing since any discussion inexorably devolved into something revolting. As they plodded onward, Adam’s curiosity finally won out over his reservations.

“What are you making?”

“A canoe. I feel bad about the bear and thought it might cheer you up.” Garran made a final score in the wood and tossed it to Adam. “Enjoy. Try not to get a sliver.”

Adam caught the carving and turned it over a few times as he examined it before hurling it into the trees with a curse. “That was not a canoe!”

“Sure it was; it just wasn’t a boat. I’m surprised you even recognized it, although I’m not shocked to see you are also frightened of those too.”

“I am not afraid of anything; I’m just a grown man who does not appreciate crude and childish behavior.”

“You also don’t seem to appreciate it when someone gives you a gift. Doesn’t seem like a very priestly thing to do to toss it away.”

“It was not a gift; it was an insult to decency.”

Garran gazed up the road. “You were a prince, a priest, and now an art critic. You are very indecisive.” He stopped abruptly, held up a hand, and cocked his head. “Horses.”

Garran looked up and down the stretch of road, but it offered no escape. The ground dropped away in a sheer escarpment to their left, and the land to the right soared up at least fifty feet in a barren, rocky slope that continued for half a mile behind them and an unknown distance in the direction of the approaching riders.

Garran checked his reaping blades hanging from the leather loops on his belt. “This could get ugly. If they recognize either of us, press yourself against the rock and stay out of the way.”

Adam swiveled his head around in hopes of finding a path of escape. “Can you really fight them all?”

Garran cocked his head and made a rough count. “I don’t know. It sounds like at least a score of men. With everyone’s attention focused on me, even I might not be able to avoid everything they throw at me.”

Adam looked around once more, chewing on his lip as he sought a resolution to his internal struggle. “Follow my lead and don’t do anything stupid.”

“Look, kid, I appreciate you wanting to help, but you are not going to be much use in a fight. In fact, you will probably just be in the way and get us both killed.”

“If you don’t do anything stupid, there won’t be a fight. You have asked me put a lot of faith in you. Now you need to trust me a little.”

Garran cast his eyes up the road. He could hear the riders just around the bend, and they would be upon them within seconds. “All right, kid, but if it all goes to hell, get down and stay out of the way.”

Adam and Garran moved to the side of the road and pressed up against the rock wall. Adam closed his eyes and began mumbling under his breath. Garran felt something in the air, something energetic like the prelude to a lightning storm. The riders rounded the bend and reined in their mounts when they spotted the two travelers. One of the riders, a sergeant given the insignia on his cloak clasp, guided his horse forward.

“Who are you folks, and where are you going?” the sergeant asked.

“My name is Derik Carver, sir,” Adam replied. “My mother and I are traveling to…uh…”

“Moorwind,” Garran supplied.

“That’s right, Moorwind. We are hoping to find work there.”

The sergeant leaned down lightly and narrowed his eyes. “You seem to be traveling light for such a long trip.”

“No, we have all the supplies we need.”

Garran detected a slight change in the resonance of Adam’s voice and a noticeable increase in the static in the air around them.

The sergeant nodded. “Right. Have you seen anyone else on the road, particularly a young man with blonde hair and a slightly older man with brown hair looking like a disheveled drunk and opium fiend?”

“Hey—”

Adam jabbed an elbow into Garran’s ribs. “You are the first people we have seen on the road these past two days.”

The sergeant nodded. “If you see anyone fitting that description, report it to the next constable or soldiers you find. There is a sizeable reward for them; enough for you to retire in Moorwind.”

Adam smiled and bobbed his head. “That would be a great thing. We’ll certainly keep our eyes open, sir.”

Garran and Adam did not move until the squad of riders trotted past and disappeared around the next bend. Adam turned and looked into Garran’s grinning face.

“What?”

“You’re god-touched. Why didn’t you tell me? It makes so much more sense for you being removed from succession than just being a fancy boy.”

Adam scowled. “I am not a fancy boy, and I did not tell you because I and the few people who know about my condition are sworn to secrecy.”

“We cannot have secrets between us, kid.”

“Like you don’t have things you keep to yourself.”

“Not things that can sink our ship, and I’m more than willing to share everything about me.”

“No thanks; I have a hard enough time looking past your more disgusting attributes that openly share.”

“What’s disgusting is possessing a skill that could make the difference in the success of our mission and keeping it to yourself.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think of it like that.”

“At the very least, it could have helped in that fight with the bear, so at least half of the blame belongs to you.”

“In what world could my ability have changed the outcome of that?”

Garran shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe you could have told the bear to go to sleep, then it wouldn’t have mauled you before I whacked it.”

“It doesn’t work like that, you idiot!”

“Then how does it work?”

Adam sighed and stared at the ground. He did not want to get into a discussion with Garran about his abilities or any other topic where the man would likely just find a way to mock him. It had been difficult enough for him to come to terms with his curse, and he did not need Garran to make him feel any more insecure about it.

“I don’t know. It’s like the wind. No one knows how that works either, it just does.”

“Warm air meets a cold air. The difference in air pressure creates wind.”

Adam frowned. “I didn’t think you would know that.”

“I spent four years at the university, kid. I’m highly educated, yet you call me an idiot.”

“I’m sorry; you make it hard for people to remember that fact. And stop calling me kid. I am nineteen years old. What are you, thirty-five?”

Garran pursed his lips and scowled. “I’m twenty-six.”

“Good God, man!” Adam exclaimed. “I was trying to be kind! I thought you were closer to forty, and not a good forty. What have you done to yourself?”

“Hard living,” Garran replied with a shrug.

“More like hard alcohol and drugs. You look like you have one leg in the grave already.”

“Hey, be nice.”

“I’m serious. I have cared for late stage lepers who looked to have a better life expectancy than you do. You need help.”

Garran lowered his head, trudged down the road, and muttered, “What I need is a drink and a smoke, and if I don’t get at least one of those soon, my life expectancy is going to look positively immortal compared to yours.”

CHAPTER 8

Garran and Adam peered through the trees at the road ahead where a hundred yard-wide stretch of road lay buried beneath thousands of tons of rock, soil, and uprooted trees. Dozens of men clamored atop the slide like maggots on a carcass wielding axes, saws, picks, and shovels. The road crew was much smaller than the one Garran had been a part of and only numbered a handful of guards.

“Should we go up and around them?” Adam asked.

Garran shook his head. “No, we need supplies, and this is a great opportunity to get them.”

“What about the soldiers?”

“There aren’t too many, and they are focused more on keeping men from running off than anyone sneaking in. We’ll wait until it’s dark, then I’ll sneak in and grab what we need to help us make it over the Highland Range.”

“What do I do?”

“You’ll stay where I tell you so you don’t screw anything up.”

“I can help!” Adam insisted.

“No, you can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because you are as useless as tits on a pickle.”

“I am not useless. You saw some of what I can do.”

“Can you work up any magic that will allow is to sneak into their camp and steal some gear?” Garran asked.

Adam looked askance. “My vows will not allow me to use my magic to commit a crime or sin.”

“And thus our pickle grows tits.”

“I could—”

“No, you can’t.”

“You didn’t even hear what I was going to say!”

“I didn’t need to. Come on. We can sneak around their camp, get on the other side of the blockage, and wait for dark.”

Adam fumed at Garran’s dismissal of his usefulness, but he silently followed the agent deeper into the forest as they made a wide pass around the road crew’s camp. The sun was just dipping below the tallest hills by the time they reached the far side of the camp. While they could not see through the numerous trees standing between them and the camp, they were able hear the occasional shout or loud noises that always accompanied large numbers of men.

The wait was interminable and tested the limits of Adam’s patience. Garran took advantage of the Prince’s restlessness and fell asleep next to a downed tree. His forced sobriety made for a difficult and uncomfortable sleep, but he managed it. His subconscious noted the drop in ambient noise several hours later and roused from his slumber. Garran cocked an ear toward the camp and listened.

“We’ll give them another half hour to get to sleep before I move.”

“I could follow you in.”

“You need to stay here and not move. I know that is asking a lot from your limited abilities, but I have faith that you can handle it—unless you’ve changed your mind about using your magic.”

Adam set his jaw and did not respond.

“I thought not.”

Garran waited nearly an hour before moving, giving Adam one final warning to stay put. He noted that the guard force was minimal compared to his days in the camps eight or nine years ago. He was not terribly surprised given the recent change in politics, but instead of making him feel more at ease, it further increased his ire. He had spent the past few years digging into The Guild’s activities when he could do so without raising suspicion, but he failed to predict the seemingly swift and dire results. The Guild had obviously played their cards very close to their chest.

He refocused his thoughts on the current mission and made for the equipment wagons. The work crews must not be expecting a prolonged assignment since they had not erected any solid buildings. Tents comprised the sleeping quarters and dining hall, and all of the tools and equipment was stored in covered wagons. The wagon containing the axes and other dangerous tools was a hard body design and secured with a stout padlock, but that was not his target. Garran slipped from shadow to shadow, waiting for the occasional guard or wandering worker to walk past and disappear into the darkness before skulking closer.

He was only a score of footsteps from the equipment wagon when he noted the command tent just a short ways away. His mouth went dry and his hands trembled. If there was any booze in this camp, that was where it would be. It was a simple matter of gaining entrance and pilfering a bottle or three. It would hardly even add much time to his mission.

Garran veered toward the large tent, hunkered down near the back, and listened for any sound of an occupant. After a minute’s torturous eavesdropping, he made a small slit in the canvas with his knife. A lamp turned down to its most fuel economical setting cast a paltry orange light. Garran was just able to make out the unoccupied cot against one wall.

The camp commander must be out making his final rounds before turning in for the night. This made Garran’s job much easier. He lengthened the cut to create a hole large enough for him to slip through and entered the tent. He made straight for the cot, pulled out the footlocker beneath it, and used his reaping blade to pry the clasp away from the wood. The sound of the rivets pulling through the boards was like a wagon crash to Garran’s silence-attuned ears. He paused and listened for any sign of discovery before flipping open the lid and beaming down at the glint of orange light reflecting off the bottles within.

Garran snatched up one of the bottles, pulled the cork out with his teeth, and spit it across the room before upending it and pouring the contents down his throat.

“Put down that bottle, you thieving little prick!” an angry voice demanded from the tent’s entrance.

Garran raised his free arm, held aloft his index finger, and continued to chug. He slapped at the hand trying to snatch the bottle from his grasp and dodged away. He lost his duel and the bottle in moments, but not until he had drained it of half its contents.

Garran turned to face the newcomers and glared at Adam, firmly held in the grips of two soldiers. “Way to go, Pickle Tits! How the hell did you manage to get caught?”

Adam arched his eyebrows and wore an abashed frown. “I wanted to get closer.”

“And?”

“I got too close.”

Garran turned his eyes to the camp commander who gave half-empty bottle a disgusted look. “Hello, Cyril.”

Cyril turned to the two soldiers restraining Adam. “Let him go and sweep the camp for anyone else skulking around. I’ll deal with these two.”

“Are you sure, sir?” one asked.

Cyril nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine.” He looked to Garran. “Right?”

“Actually, you’re looking a bit old and decrepit, but you won’t get any trouble from me.”

Cyril dismissed his two men with a wave of his hand. “Some men from the capital rode through here the other day. There’s quite a reward for you and your friend. Enough for me to retire in comfort. I got the distinct impression that they were more interested in him than you. Who is he, and what kind of trouble have you gotten yourself into now?”

Garran made to answer but Adam cut him off. “Sir, I am Prince Adam Altena, and I demand that you and your men provide me with aide and protection.”

“Shut the hell up, Pickle Tits!” Garran snapped through clenched teeth.

“My name is not Pickle Tits! I am the prince of Anatolia, and you will respect me as such!”

“You are the prince of Jack and shit!”

Adam put his face within inches of Garran’s. “I truly look forward to meeting Jack, because I am quite familiar with the other and am less than impressed.”

Garran responded by belching loudly and blowing it in his face. Adam reeled away, fanning away the fumes with his hand and gagging.

“Are you impressed with that?” Garran asked. “Without me, you would be dead right now.”

“How long are you going to milk that? I’m starting to think it was more dumb luck than any design drafted by you. I thank you for your service, but my sister is all alone, and you are taking me farther away instead of going to help her. It is time I enlist some loyal men to help me rescue her.”

“Tell me this brilliant plan of yours,” Garran demanded.

Adam set his jaw. “I will find men loyal to my cause to take me to Anatolia. From there, I will find more people who support my father and are of like mind in regards to The Guild’s overreaching power. We will secret Evelyn from the palace and gather more followers until we are strong enough to strike back at them.”

“There is nothing in that statement that isn’t the stupidest pile of horse crap I have ever heard.”

“Explain to me why doing exactly that is so stupid.”

“Firstly, you are assuming that Cyril and anyone in the camp is even remotely loyal to you or your father.”

Cyril nodded. “That’s true. I can’t think of a single man here who wouldn’t sell you or even their own mother for half of the reward being offered for your capture. Hell, I’m still undecided, but I’ve always been a bit slow.”

“Secondly, for every man you might find still loyal to you or Remiel, you will find ten who will sell you out in a heartbeat. Then let us assume you can get in the palace my much less get your sister out. Then what? Every soldier, King’s agent, and Guild agent will be looking for both of you. But let’s pretend you do find a place to hide. The Guild can buy a mercenary force nearly the size of Anatolia’s army, and now they have Anatolia’s army as well. Even my meager math skills lets me appreciate the size and scope of one plus one.”

“Then what do you suggest?”

“I suggest you let me do what I do best.”

“What, drink yourself into oblivion?”

Garran grabbed another bottle from Cyril’s footlocker. “Yes, then I can get to doing the thing I do second best, and that is being a colossal, dream-shattering pain in the ass.”

Cyril nodded. “Yep, that’s about the order of things.”

“Once again, you make grand claims without saying a word about how you plan to achieve them,” Adam said heatedly. “Maybe I could trust you more if you told me what you plan on doing.”

Garran locked eyes with the deposed prince. “You want to know how to keep a secret? Don’t. Tell. Anyone.”

“But I am part of it! I have more reason to hate The Guild than anyone.”

“What about Cyril? You only just met him, but you want me to spell out everything in exact detail right in front of him.”

Cyril nodded. “I’m too old to tolerate much in the way of torture. I’ll do my best to create a plausible lie if questioned, but the less I know the better.”

“What about the men who brought you here?” Garran continued doggedly. “Did any of the workers see you when the guards paraded you through camp? Do you think a bunch of convicted criminals give a damn about you or your sister?”

Adam nervously licked his lips and glanced away. “I suppose you’re right, but you could tell me when we are alone.”

“What if you get caught and tortured? Have you ever been tortured? This goes beyond just you and your problems. Do you think I would risk my life just for the sake of a kid I don’t know who is the son of a man who enslaved me and is responsible for the deaths of some of the few friends I ever had? You are a means to an end and nothing more. The fact that we both desire the same thing just makes it easier.”

Adam nodded and turned away. Garran’s words stung like the lash of a whip. He had thought that the agent’s help was based on a sense of duty and loyalty, but perhaps this was better. He had seen the limits of loyalty. If Garran’s grudge was as powerful as his own was, then perhaps that made them stronger, even if it meant he had no authority or power over him.

The camp commander broke the palpable tension. “I see you are as adept as ever at making friends. I assume you came here for more than just my booze.”

“I need some supplies; primarily a shelter, blanket, and rations. We have about fifty pounds of venison and bear meat, but that won’t keep.”

“Bear meat?”

“Yeah, the skin too. A pretty big one. Maybe we can work a trade. It’s a bit heavy to be lugging around and is in dire need of tanning.”

“How did you come by that?”

Garran rested his hands atop the reaping blades hanging from his belt and arched up on his toes. “It tried to challenge me for the deer I brought down.”

Adam looked up. “I would like to note for the record that the bear was distracted by having my head lodged in its throat.”

“All part of my mystical prowess,” Garran insisted.

“You pushed me down into a pile of guts and ran away!”

“That is called tactical repositioning. You would know that if you studied more military doctrine and less scripture.”

Cyril chortled and wagged his head. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

“Sure I have. Have you ever heard of cocaine?”

***

Cyril gathered the supplies Garran requested and escorted them both out of the camp as secretly as he could. Garran and Adam kept walking hours after Cyril had turned back. The riders they had encountered could return at any time, so they needed to put as much distance between themselves and the camp as they could. Once they gained the upper reaches of the Highland Pass, they could relax. No one went through the pass except by way of the heavily guarded trade road, and Garran and Adam were certain to avoid that.

To his credit, Adam remained stoically silent despite the overwhelming fatigue he felt as they plodded on throughout the night and next day with little more than a few short breaks to rest their weary muscles. Garran chose to numb his pain with his pilfered hooch while Adam tried to catch up on some much needed sleep. It was never enough as Garran woke him seemingly the moment he fell asleep to resume their march.