Steel And Flame (Book 1) (34 page)

“I made the sorcerers tag all the equipment before we
attacked.  They released the bonds before we left to ensure no evidence of our
identities remained.  Anything left behind was destroyed.  We withdrew to the
ship and returned.”

“To return in failure.  Have you failed me completely,
or were you able to carry out your secondary orders?”  His displeasure had not
abated in the least.

“We fulfilled our duty,” she assured him.  “The king’s
emissaries and their guards were all killed but for two.  The two sorcerers and
I altered their memories and stole a boat from a small village.  I made sure
they found their way to a hostel closing for the night and that they spoke to
the owner.  They told their story while I listened from outside.  When they
served their purpose, I broke their life energies so they died at his feet.  He
believes their death was from their wounds and is racing to the capitol at this
moment to pass their information to the king.”

“Return to the court then.  Wait for the story to
break.  I will give you a cover memory in case you are ever questioned in
connection with this.”

Secunda doubted she would be alive to answer questions
if Cardinal Xenos ever caught wind of impending inquiries.  She forced those
thoughts away.  “I’m ready, your eminence.”

“Good.”  Xenos raised a hand and suddenly the power
was there, as easily as summoning a servant.  Experiencing his god-power never
failed to fill her with equal parts religious awe and excited fear.

Incorporeal fingers flipped through her mind,
collecting every memory related to the incursion into the Rovasii Forest.  Once
gathered like a scribe’s notes, they were sunk deep below farthest reaches of
her consciousness.  A new set of notes were laid in their place.  In moments,
the process reached completion.

Though she could still remember what had happened, it
would never pass her lips without permission from Xenos.  Her questioners could
interrogate her under the harshest truth spells or drugs or torture about her
time during the last several months.  All she could reveal would be the new
fiction growing in her recollection.

A retreat to far away estates due to sudden illness. 
An altercation between the local tax officials and Brovian cattle merchants
while she lived there.  A series of storms blockading her and the estate
servants in the manor for eightdays on end.  The petty thief captured and hung
from the nearby town walls.

And far more as well.  The incredible level of
detailed information within her new memories made Secunda’s legs wobble.  It
had been done with such casual ease!  Her own workings in the minds of the
emissary guards had been much less sophisticated and based on the actual events
of their torture.  Only the identity of their tormentors and a few other
memories dealing with conversations, locations and times had needed to be
altered.  Implanting those simple changes within their minds had required
assistance from two others.

If for any reason she ever doubted Xenos’ power, she
need only recall this event.

“Go.”

“Yes, your eminence.”  Secunda needed no urging to
leave.  Failing the cardinal usually resulted in severe punishments, at times
ending with the priest or acolyte on the temple’s altar during the next
service.  When she reached the door a perverse urge made her turn back to ask a
question, despite the risk involved in annoying Cardinal Xenos when he was
already so perturbed.

“Who was that man in red?”  Her mind screamed at her
to open the door and leave his presence.

Xenos glanced up from his chair, face calm as ever
though his eyes had not yet settled.  He considered her before replying.  “A
pest.  He has been hounding me, and will not escape next time.  Now leave me.”

The last came in a low whisper.  She fled into the
organic stone catacombs before its quiet menace.

After the first day’s marching, Marik’s body fell back
into the rhythm of the road.  He carried heavier equipment than the last time
he had journeyed and often wondered how long he would have lasted had the
winter’s exertions not increased his endurance and muscle.

The entire Ninth Squad strung across the road in no
true organization.  Line and file were unimportant within the band.  Anyone
suggesting they form up would likely have been stoned.

“My, the weather is warming up at last,” Dietrik said
cheerily from beside him.  “We finally won’t have to chip our mail apart in the
mornings.  I’m sure the man who invented it never considered having to wear it
in the winter.  You could freeze to death!”

“Now we can boil in our own sweat while the links
blister our skin.  Is that any better?”

“You have an excessively negative outlook on life. 
The heat is still months off yet.”

“Depends on what part of the kingdom you happen to be
standing in.”

“That would only be a problem for consideration if we
happened to be traveling
north
west rather than south.”

“Walking in mail’s no picnic wherever you’re going. 
And where
we’re
going is straight to the one part of the kingdom
suffering from drought and heat!”  He adjusted his new helm.  It covered the
back and sides of his head while leaving the crown and face open.  The chin
strap was not adjusted quite right yet and he needed to fix it as soon as they
stopped.

They were off to their first contract as members of
the Crimson Kings.  If they had expected an admission ceremony they would have
been disappointed.  Sergeant Fraser simply walked into their bunk area one
afternoon and announced, “At least no one in here is getting bounced!”

He sent them with the Ninth’s other former D Classes
to the records office for upgrading to C Class fighters.  A clerk had made them
fingerprint about a thousand documents, handed them each one of the small metal
tags embossed with a red crown that all the full band members carried, and that
had been it.

Shortly thereafter, Fraser announced the Ninth had
received its marching orders and the contract’s location.  “Two days until we
set out!  Be ready and packed with everything you need!  Orientation is before
we walk.”

Marik had decided against spending coin to purchase
any equipment for himself from Sennet.  Instead, he returned to the armory for
a helm and a good pair of leather gloves that would provide a firm grip on the
hilt without interfering with the others uses of his hands.

Dietrik chose a similar helm from the same chest, but
declined further equipment.  Instead, he spent the next day trying to convince
Sennet to sell him the rapier set.

The weapons master’s feelings were stubborn on the
issue.  Loaning it to a band member was one thing.  Selling it, and at the
ridiculous price Dietrik proposed, was quite another.  Marik enjoyed listening
to the verbal battle between the two since neither budged an inch, both
believing only they could fully appreciate the lethal work of art.

The rapier had never been intended for the caravan to
Thoenar in the first place and keeping it in the band sat high on Sennet’s
priority list.  Dietrik’s assertions on the pointlessness of having a blade sit
in the armory for years on end with no users fell on deaf ears.

It finally ended with Sennet’s decision to keep an eye
on Dietrik to see how he fared with it.  Offers for a demonstration right there
and then were short lived due to Sennet’s belief that anyone could look pretty
with a sword outside a fight.  He would watch to see if Dietrik used it the way
it should be used, and cared for it the way it should be cared for.

When the sun broke on the morning they were to depart,
Fraser and the other three sergeants called the men together on the Marching
Grounds.  Lieutenant Earnell stepped forth in his travel leathers to shout a
brief description of their contract.

“It’s very simple,” he stated once the last man fixed
his attention on the squad leader.  His voice sounded aged, though lacked any
nuance of weakness.  “A small river flows through the lands of Barons Fielo and
Dornory.  Both water most of their fields from this river and both have
suffered droughts for the last several years.  Fielo’s to the north, and
decided to dam the river and create a reservoir in a shallow network of
canyons.  Dornory, to the south, is our client.  He needs the dam destroyed so
the water reaches his fields.  Fielo has his forces guarding it, numbering
around four hundred men.  We’ll join with Dornory’s three hundred, break the
dam, and that will be that.  Once it’s down, the contract’s over.”

The entire squad had been committed to the contract
due to Dornory’s strong desire that the water flow again as soon as possible. 
This also accounted for their early departure, with an eightday and a half
remaining before spring’s official first day.  The Ninth deployed first of all
the squads from Kingshome this year.

Their baronies were about twelve days away on foot to
the southwest if they could maintain a steady pace on the roads.  The journey
might require a full two eightdays if they needed to skirt around Fielo’s lands
to reach Dornory’s.

  Dietrik spoke.  “You’re in a surly mood today!  I
would have thought you’d be cheerful owing to our acceptance as band members.”

“I am happy about that, but what direction are we
walking?”

“Southwest, of course.”

“So we might never head north this season at all!” 
Frustration laced his words.  “Remember what I told you?  I like being in the
Kings, but I joined in the first place hoping I could find father.  I have no
information, and being paid to wander around is better than going it alone and
starving on the roads.  I’m counting on running into him by pure chance while I
work on a hire, but I don’t think that’s likely here in the south when my
father left on a contract to the north!”

“I thought you didn’t know for certain why he left. 
Have you heard anything new?”

“No, but I’ve been thinking.  The only reason that
makes sense is that he got an offer he couldn’t turn down.  I’m sure those gold
nuggets he sent back to mother were part of an advance payment.”

“I suppose that might be the case,” Dietrik mused.  He
sounded doubtful.  “But what sort of contract would offer that level of payment
to a lone mercenary?  The way you described them, those nuggets were unusually
large, even if they came from an oversized vein.”

“I haven’t figured that part out yet,” Marik
admitted.  “But I can’t think of anything else that fits.”

“Still, that was several years ago.  Your father could
have traveled to any part of the kingdom since then, or out of it for that
matter.  You’re as likely to find him here in the south as the north.”  Dietrik
offered in a consoling tone, “Few plans ever unfold as you meant them to. 
Until new information pops up, you need to earn a livelihood.  Try not to let
it get you twisted out of shape in the meantime.”

“I’d still feel better if we were heading north,”
Marik grumbled while he peered ahead along the road.

Kerwin and Landon walked together further on.  The two
debated with each other, which seemed to be their normal conversation style no
matter the topic.  Marik trotted faster to reach them, making his pack bounce
against his back and his sword slap his side.

The two were reviewing terrain around their
destination and speculating which routes the four sergeants and the lieutenant
would or would not choose once they neared Fielo’s territory.  Unlike the rest
of Galemar, of which approximately forty percent of the land constituted
scattered wood lots or larger forests, these two baronies were historically the
driest in the kingdom due to their geographical peculiarities.  Most of the
barons’ land stretched open with few forested patches.  Kerwin, it so happened,
hailed from a southern town not far from there.  He set his personal knowledge
regarding the region against the information Landon had gleaned from studying
maps in the records office after learning their contract’s destination prior to
Earnell’s speech.

Marik realized he had never thought to do that, and
wondered why.  Certainly he would be fighting for his life if a real battle
erupted.  Any knowledge of the terrain would be useful.  He had been so focused
on improving his swordsmanship he’d forgotten that a fighter’s needs went
beyond mere weapons skills.  Maddock had spent a great deal of time on the road
making sure Marik understood that.

Well, he had needed to improve as much as possible,
and had managed that much, but the carriage did not stop there.  They still had
time before nearing the caution zone of Fielo’s lands.  He would spend it
talking to everyone around him, learning what he could about their new
opposition.

It seemed to Marik he spent most of his time on the
road asking questions yet that could not be helped.  Becoming the best he could
possibly become was more than his own desire; it would increase the chances of
finding his father.  Or learning about him.  Besides, no matter what Pate might
claim, Marik was not one to sit around once he willingly took on a job.

*        *        *        *        *

The temperature definitely grew warmer as spring edged
winter further into retirement.  Marik worried about how hot the chainmail
would become against his skin in the summer sun despite his undershirt.  He
already walked under a constant sheen of perspiration from its weight in the
springtime temperatures.

His squad chose to stop for this evening in a wooded
glade.  Men gathered their own kindling since everyone built private campfires
or shared them with friends.  After the sky darkened, the forest seemed to host
a giant firefly swarm, the camps spread across the woodland floor and scattered
though the trees.  Men picked good spots wherever they found them.  They were
not required to pitch camp in any specific fashion.

Dietrik and Marik were joined by Kerwin, Landon and
Hayden.  They laid out their bedrolls on the ground after kicking the forest
debris away and building their fire.  Marik had learned to find wood quickly in
these situations since the other men would also be searching for kindling. 
Forty odd campfires could pick an entire area clean of loose wood, forcing the
forager to wander further afield in the dark.

“You see over there?” Landon commented.  “The officers
are putting their heads together.  It must be time for a decision.”

Dietrik followed Landon’s sight line to see the four
sergeants gathered around Lieutenant Earnell’s fire, talking low.  “I think
you’re right.  Do you figure we’re in for a spot of trouble?”

Kerwin chimed in.  “Doubt it.  We’re still two days
out from Fielo’s lands.  I bet you they’re deciding the best route from here.”

“You’ll bet on anything,” Marik accused.

“That’s not true, but I would bet on this.”  He held
up his fingers to count off the options.  “From here, we could go into Fielo’s
lands and follow Vineyard Road south to Dornory.  We could go deeper in and
follow the river down, except we’d probably have to contend with Fielo’s men if
we did that.  Or we could stay on this side of their borders and travel south
cross-country, but then we’d have to deal with the lords on this side who might
not like us traipsing across their fields.  Last, we cut back east and take a
ferry down the Spine, then hoof it to Dornory when we get south enough.”

“I’ll lay five on the road,” Hayden offered.

“I think I’ll lay a few down myself as well.”

“All right, Dietrik,” Kerwin replied.  “On what?”

“Hmm.  The road would be the obvious choice, but if we
wish to remain unnoticed by Fielo and his men, I’d say better not to enter his
lands in the first place.  I’ll go with this side of the border.”

“I’ll go with the baronies’ river.  It’s the most
direct course and it’s our destination anyway,” countered Landon.  “Fielo can’t
accost travelers simply for passing through his territory.  He may know our
intentions, but attacking us when we have taken no action against him risks
being called into account by the highwayguards.”

“Marik?  You going to chip in?”

Marik thought a moment.  “No, I think I’ll save my
coin.  You have a nasty habit of stacking your odds.”

The others laughed at Kerwin’s scowl.  Landon spoke
thoughtfully, “If we continue on our current route, we should pass near the
Plain of Vallan’zul tomorrow.  I’d like to see it.”

Kerwin scoffed.  “What’s to look at?  It’s no
different from any other stretch of grass from here to the borderlands, except
maybe it’s a little more brown.  Even the cairns are long gone.”

“You have no sense of history.  If it cannot be eaten
or wagered upon, it is of no interest to you.”

“I live realistically, friend.  Tales of yesterday
might distract you from your belly for awhile, but they can’t make it full.”

Dietrik asked, “What do you speak of?  It sounds an
interesting fireside tale at the very least.”

A snort from Hayden greeted the inquiry.  “I thought
it was the band’s history you were short on.”