Steel And Flame (Book 1) (17 page)

For today though, he intended to relax and enjoy
another night spent around the fire and being in company.

*        *        *        *        *

Different guards manned the gate today Marik
gratefully noticed when he approached.  The young clerk from the registration
tables who accompanied him must have informed the guards of his errand
beforehand.  One opened a regular sized door to the side without exchanging a
word.  Inside, Marik found a short, ten foot corridor through the wall.  He
could see the logs forming the outer layer of the wall and a twin set forming
the back side in the same style.  Wooden panels covered the layered dirt and
rock filling the space between.

When he stepped through into the sun, Marik gained his
first view of Kingshome.  It was unlike any other town he had passed through.

Before him lay an open area of hard packed earth, much
too large to be a road.  At minimum it stretched two hundred feet wide and
three times that in length.  His guide led him to the east side of this empty
space, walking toward the large building at the far end.  The smaller buildings
that edged the miniature field were either shops selling general merchandise or
taverns, with matching establishments lining the western side as well.

The wide building they headed for was the largest
Marik had seen outside Spirratta, appearing to fill the earthen field’s entire
northern end.  He could see three floors of windows on this side, which must be
the building’s front because a short flight of steps led to the doors.  Detail
work and design had been put into the door, and as they drew closer he could
see other ornamental bits added to the building.  Other buildings rose beyond
the taverns to the east, none so large as this one.  Most likely this building
housed the mercenary band’s most important functions.

His guide turned east after passing the last shop,
mere yards from the building, so their destination lay elsewhere.  Once beyond
the fancy structure’s corner, Marik spotted a smaller version nestled behind
it, only half as large yet with the same design work.  There were also many
windows across its two floors, giving it a ‘lived in’ feel.

Still further north were two smaller plain buildings
which together totaled the size of the first.  Their destination appeared to be
the closer one on the right.

“This is the records office,” the young man told him
when they entered.

Inside, a countertop desk split the front room in
half.  Behind it stood several shelves divided into a honeycomb of smaller
squares containing variously sized scrolls.  On the eastern wall hung a massive
map displaying the kingdom.  Two men sat behind the desk, their apparent
purpose to intercept anybody who entered their domain.

Lifting a hinged corner of the counter, the young
clerk said, “I’ll tell Head Clerk Janus you’re waiting.”

The young man, whose name Marik did not know, had been
waiting when he arrived at the registration tables at noon.  After taking a
seat under the map on one of the three wooden chairs, Marik wondered if he’d
really been waiting for him or if Janus had simply told his staff to bring him
to the offices once he showed up.  A few minutes later the clerk reemerged from
the building’s depths and left without a word.

With no information to the contrary, Marik assumed he
should wait until Janus called for him.  He had been informed of Marik’s
arrival after all, so it should not take too long.

*        *        *        *        *

The chair he sat in had grown amazingly uncomfortable
during the last candlemark but Marik would be damned before he’d draw the
attention of the irritable clerk behind the desk again.  Enduring his baleful
gaze once was more than enough for Marik; the man’s strange ability to make him
feel guilty without ever uttering a word was astonishing.

How long would that old stick keep him cooling his
heels anyway?  He had left word to expect Marik at the registration tables! 
Now he blatantly ignored Marik as he sat outside on a hard wooden chair and
suffered the staff’s stony disinterest.

Finally, the door opened.  A clerk called him through
the counter, then led him down a hallway lined with doors packed nearly atop
each other.  On the second floor they came to a doorway standing far enough
away from the others to suggest it might lead to a room large enough to bend
over in.  The clerk knocked.  From within, a crotchety voice ordered them to
enter.

Marik had expected this would be the head clerk’s
office, but wherever Janus maintained his private domain, it was elsewhere. 
Twin desks bisected the narrow room, behind which loomed a mountain of
label-bearing metal boxes.

Old Janus stood beside one desk, on which sat a box
with the top flipped open, revealing scrolls and flat parchment sheets.

“Sit down.  You can thank Corrin for digging this out
from under the other record boxes in the pile.”

Marik turned, then opted to keep his mouth shut, given
Corrin’s sour expression.  Past him, the smooth metal wall had been disrupted
where the clerk had shifted dozens of boxes to reach his target.  Moving the
ten boxes on top and several to the side must have required great effort
indeed.  On a second glance, Marik noticed Corrin displayed harder muscles than
the other clerks.

With a gesture at the open box, Janus revealed, “It’s
a file batch from the Twelfth Squad for five years ago.  I needed to check the
personnel files for the time to find his squad and unit records, then Corrin
had to break a sweat getting them.  Basically, all you’ll learn is that he
chose not to renew his place at the end of the summer fighting and left town
with two others.  One has never returned, but the other is still around.  I
asked him about it this morning and he said Rail left them in Spirratta one
morning, heading north.  No reason given.”

He should have been heading west to come home.
  “Who is this man?”

“No boy, I’m not telling you who he is.  He already
told me what he knows and now I’ve told you.  You aren’t going to harass any of
the band members.”  He looked serious.

“I only wanted to ask him if he knew why my father
left.  I need to know where he was going to.”

“I told you.  He left one morning.  All he said was
‘so long’.  Which is what I now intend to hear from you!  I’ve wasted enough
time on this and I’ve got too much work waiting.  Off with you.”

This was almost as bad as learning nothing!  All
during the long walk he had been buoyed, knowing that in Kingshome he would
find his answers. 
North?
  He had never expected such a useless
response.

Janus held the door open, watching him, apparently
unwilling to spend longer than a bare minute talking.  With no other course
open to him, he bitterly got to his feet and let the old man lead him from the
town.

*        *        *        *        *

“So now what?  North?  I can’t imagine anything being
less helpful and still be new information!”

Maddock nodded once.  He gave an impression of being
deep in thought rather than agreement.

Marik prowled around the fire ring, stabbing his palm
with one finger for emphasis.  “When I began I had a destination!  Kingshome. 
That’s not so hard!  I knew where I was headed!  So what should I do next? 
Start walking north and ask every farmer I pass if they happen to remember a
man passing by five years ago who sort of looks like me?”

“I would not advise it.”

Marik scowled.  “Then what
would
you advise?” 
He ranted further without waiting for an answer.  “The only thing that makes
any
sense is that father got a contract offer he couldn’t pass up!  Maybe I should
ask around and find out if any of the northern lords were involved in winter
fighting that year.  They might know what happened.”

“You could try that, but I would not advise it
either.”

“And why not?  It’s the best chance I have as far as I
can see!”

“Because lords hire mercenaries, not people.  If you
ask a lord whether he ever hired a man named Rail to fight for him, none will
ever be able to tell you.  If you ask them whether they ever hired a mercenary
who fits this particular description, they might remember to the degree of
giving a possible answer, but never a definite one unless the mercenary in
question is possessed of strikingly unique features, such as prominent scars or
missing body parts.  Even then, the contractor will only remember if he was in
personal contact with the mercenary, which hardly ever happens I must point
out, and if the mercenary performed exceptionally at the task for which he was
hired.”

“You’re telling me I’ve lost!  If, by chance, I
happened to find the right person to ask, they wouldn’t remember?  I’d end up
searching forever!”

“Only if you took that particular approach.”

“What other way is there?  Ask the clouds if they
passed overhead and noticed him?”  Marik’s mood had soured considerably.  He
knew he should not be snapping at Maddock but his anger flared hotly from his
disappointment.

“There is never a situation in life devoid of
options,” Maddock continued calmly.  “The trick is in finding and recognizing
them.  An alternative option, and I must state that I do not recommend this course
of action either, is to find a magic user capable of scrying and location
magics.  They could possibly determine his whereabouts.”

Marik froze when he realized Maddock was right.  He
had overlooked that possibility.  How could he be so thickheaded?  Yet even as
he thought it, he felt himself shying away from the idea.  Still, he asked,
“Why not?  It sounds like a better approach than wandering around forever!”

“For one, you would have to find a magic user both
capable of the feat and reliable enough to trust.  That could easily take as
long, if not longer.  Also, the fee for the service would most likely be higher
than you could garner even if you obtained all the best contracts and hires for
years on end.”

That part of him which disliked the idea of mixing
with magic users agreed with the statement.  Marik chose to trust his
instincts.  “Any other options?”

“It is a longer path, but you could join the Kings.”

“What?  He’s not here and nobody in the band knows
anything useful!  How is that going to help?”

“You have evidence that your father might in fact be
alive, which I have to admit is not what I thought you would discover.  Whether
he is still alive at this moment is yet undetermined, but the possibility
exists.  Wandering forever won’t help you find the man, and yet the man himself
is a mercenary.  Usually when mercenaries are required, they are required by
both sides of the conflict, assuming of course there are only two sides
involved, which is not always the case.”

“You think I might meet up with him?”

“The Crimson Kings are usually only hired by lords and
high ranking nobles.  The other sides tend to end up hiring whoever they can. 
As a member of the Kings, you would travel to face other mercenaries again and
again.  If you are with the band long enough, you might face off against nearly
every other band in the kingdom, along with most of the independent
contractors.  Wandering the roads in your search means you might cross the
paths of other mercenaries from time to time, but being a member of the Kings
means you’ll find more of them, and quicker than on your own.  Also, it is
guaranteed employment, which is far from assured if you try to work as an
independent.  And finally, your father chose to work for the band once before. 
He could well decide to return one day and take up the position again.”

“That’s on the assumption he’s still working as a
merc.”

“If he is still alive, do you think he’d be doing
anything else?”

Which renewed the question of just what his father
had
been doing for the past five years.  If he was working contracts as usual, why
had he not returned home?  If he was not working contracts, then what in the
hells was he doing?  Now that Maddock asked, Marik was unable to see his father
settling down to any job other than being a mercenary.

“What if he’s left Galemar?”

“Then you will probably never find him no matter which
method you choose.  But I’ll point out that the border conflicts would bring
you into contact with many of the mercenary bands from other kingdoms as well.”

Should he make the effort and try to join the band
with the others?  On the other hand, the thought of walking aimlessly forever,
talking to farmers and peasants and townsfolk every day for years nearly turned
his stomach.  He had not bothered asking questions along the Southern Road
because he’d assumed the answers awaited him here.  No option open to him
offered any certainty of finding the information he wanted.  Either he could
wander alone, or wander with the band, hoping to stumble across his father by
pure chance.  His search had hit and underwater stump and sunk.  It made him
want to scream and shout and cry all at the same time.

That would never help him in the long run.  He
collected his emotions.