Book 6: Chapter 4 |
“HOW ARE PREPARATIONS going?” I asked as I watched the hustle and bustle unfolding on the docks in front of me.
“Everything’s going according to our plan, Your Lordship,” replied Captain Druton with perfect confidence. He was a short, stocky man with a wild beard that made him look like a fairy-tale gnome.
Although I should also point out that since the day I had originally hired him, the captain’s appearance had changed considerably, and for the better. He was wearing more expensive clothing and shoes. True, the smell that filled the air around him suggested he was still smoking bottom-shelf tobacco. But that was most likely a matter of habit.
“Did you manage to fill the open positions in your crew?” I asked. “I hope you haven’t run into any problems?”
Three weeks previously, I had given Druton an assignment: finding me two more trading vessels in decent condition. The red-bearded captain had taken care of the request pretty quickly. But instead of a second trading vessel, he suggested that we acquire a snekkja that was basically the younger sister of its more familiar, larger cousin, the northern longship. I gave my assent to Druton’s idea, and thus my little flotilla was joined by another knorr, which we named the “Golden Bass,” and a snekkja with the more threatening name of “Sea Snake.”
“Oh!” The captain replied with a big smile. “People were practically knocking down my door once word got out!”
“You haven’t been telling them where we’re going, have you?”
“No, Your Lordship, I’ve been as quiet as a mouse on that subject.”
“And nobody seemed to be especially curious?”
“There won’t be,” I assured him. “I’ll give you my word as a nobleman that every point in your contracts is going to be fulfilled to the letter. Besides that, feel free to mention that upon our return, everyone should expect a decent bonus. And of course you yourself will be in for a special bonus in the event of a successful voyage.”
“Thank you, Your Lordship.” The captain’s eyes flashed excitedly. “As always, you’re most generous.”
“I take care of people who are loyal to me, captain. Actually, on that subject. As I’ve already mentioned, you should expect a visit from a group of about twenty warriors within the next few days. They’ll be guarding the cargo and protecting you all during the journey.”
“Understood, Your Lordship,” said the captain with a bow of his head.
After bidding Druton farewell, I headed back toward my carriage. Before checking in on the construction in the old merchants’ district, I wanted to pay a visit to the western side of the Old Capital. I hadn’t heard a peep from the Elder of the Order of Potters in quite a while. So I had to wonder — was he still observing our little agreement?
* * *
Aelira was right: the home of the Elder of the Order of Potters (and head of the spellsword clan) Basile Bleroux looked something like a small castle. A small castle that hadn’t opened its gates in a very long time. Actually, the entire length of Potters’ Alley looked pretty abandoned and overgrown. Neither I nor Aelira (who was accompanying me everywhere while Sigurd was absent) felt a single living soul in the entire place. Even though the neighboring alleyways were positively teeming with life. What could have happened here? And where did the Old Badger and the other spellswords disappear to?
We both noticed almost immediately when a well-fed old cat appeared. It was sitting on a fence, watching our every movement intently.
“Go back to the carriage,” I told my bodyguard quietly. “I need to talk to somebody for a moment.”
Aelira shot a quick glance at the strange cat, then nodded understandingly. Several weeks previously, I had let not only her and Sigurd, but also Jacques and Lucas, in on the secret of my pact with the first-born.
The look on their faces as I introduced them to the nisse and the three fairies was priceless. Especially Jacques, when he found out that the nisse would be there to help him in the event of an attack on the Fox Den.
Aelira and Sigurd were less surprised than the other two. I figured that Aelira had already sensed the presence of something ancient living in harmony with me in the castle. And she had probably told her husband all about it. They must have looked into it, realized that I knew all about it, and then treated it as essentially none of their business. Mind you, that was how they usually treated things. That was part of what I loved about them.
Lucas also reacted with surprising calm. He said that there were a lot of strange things happening in the construction sites in the merchants’ district. A lot of workers had quit, citing little demons from the abyss that seemed to be infesting the place. But everything made sense once he met my new associates.
I had to explain that this was a great way for us to get rid of any theft-prone workers or other troublemakers who might have snuck past the initial hiring process. I promised Lucas that I would introduce him to the elders of the first-born soon enough, so that he could work directly with them if it became necessary. And the nisse would be on hand to oversee the whole process as well. Although of course I didn’t say that part out loud.
After waiting for Aelira to disappear around the corner, the big cat stood up onto all four paws, crouched, and sprang up into a long leap through the air. It transformed quickly in midair, and before I knew it, it was standing on two feet just a few steps away from me. This was obviously a matagot.
He was younger and taller than Kervan. And his general appearance suggested that this matagot was living quite a bit more comfortably than his fellow matagot had been when he lived on Weavers’ Street under the yoke of the werewolves.
This local matagot was dressed like a tradesman, even wearing a wide, clay-smeared leather apron to complete the image.
“I sensed some guests coming, but I couldn’t believe it was the auring himself at first,” smiled the matagot with a flash in his feline eyes.
“Greetings, Mr...”
“Gervin,” said the matagot.
“Max,” I said, pressing my palm to my chest in salutation. “I’ve come in peace.” With a nod at the closed gates, I added: “I was hoping to visit the master of this house, but it seems like he’s been absent for some time now. Even though we had planned to meet today.”
“Basile and the other spellswords left their den about two weeks ago,” said the matagot; scratching the top of his head, he clarified: “To me, it looked like they were fleeing something. Although that doesn’t really sound like the Old Badger to me.”
“Is that so?” I was surprised. “I don’t suppose you have any idea what they were fleeing?”
“No,” the matagot shook his head. “But some strange things have been happening lately.”
“Such as?” I leaned in a little closer as I asked this question.
“It all started when one of the young spellswords, Ulf, disappeared without a trace. Did you know him?”
Gervin’s eyes narrowed as he glanced at me.
“I’ve never met him,” came my calm reply. “But Basile promised that Ulf would take care of some work for me.”
“What kind of work?” The matagot’s expression suggested he was suspicious.
I understood that I wasn’t obligated to answer; to put it bluntly, my business in this district was well above his pay grade. I could simply bid him farewell and be on my way. But on the other hand... First of all, I didn’t really have any secrets I needed to keep here, since Ulf had probably done similar work pretty frequently; second, it seemed that Gervin, like me, was in need of information. So why not help each other out?
“I wanted to order some amulets,” I replied.
The matagot’s expression softened.
“In exchange for?” He asked.
“The Old Badger wanted me to summon a guard for him,” I replied, once again telling the full truth.
Once you entered into a conversation with these creatures, you had to be prepared for them to sense any sort of falsehood that might creep in your words. Honestly, it would have been smart to bring the nisse or one of the fairies with me. But who could have predicted such strange turns of events in this district?
My words seemed to put the matagot at ease. I wondered, though — what did he suspect me of doing?
“I’ve heard about the guard you summoned for your own home,” he said with a nod of admiration; then, with a little chuckle, he added: “And I also heard you got our people pretty riled up recently.”
Here, I knew, he was referring to the hubbub that arose when word got out that the fayret, the efirel, and the lunari had entered my service. The elders actually came to me with an official complaint. Something about luring away their young people. Basically, I had to promise that it wouldn’t happen again, at least not without their consent. Later, of course, I gave the nisse a piece of my mind about the fact that she had totally set me up for that conflict with the Elders. In the end, though, everything quieted down. And besides the original three fairies, nobody else came knocking with a request to enter my service. Although Itta told me that there were plenty who would have loved to do so. Especially after they saw how my new “assistants” had transformed.
They were spending pretty much all their time with the nisse, except for my meditation sessions with the lunari.
Itta said she was preparing them for the upcoming campaign. Helping them to master their new powers.
Of course, this didn’t happen without the occasional slip-up. From time to time, it would suddenly get unbearably hot in the house, or a strong blast of wind would blow all the windows open, or sometimes all my servants would wake up complaining of strange dreams. Basically, the first-born were training hard. That said, things seemed a little quieter now than they used to be. Judging by the satisfied look on the nisse’s face, they were probably making progress in controlling their powers.
“Yes, it’s true — I do have a new guard,” I chuckled. “Anyway, though — what happened to Ulf?”
“Dunno,” the matagot shrugged. “Nobody does. He knew Old Brima pretty well... Which wasn’t surprising, since he was a wolf by nature. Anyway, when those priests cleaned out the werewolves’ den, Ulf vanished.”
This was food for thought. After all, Ulf wasn’t there with the shapeshifters when the raid went down. I knew that first-hand. And Kervan would’ve warned us. Hm... Very strange...
“Maybe the Badger sent him on a mission outside the capital or something?”
“No,” the matagot shook his head. “I would’ve heard about that right away. Basile and I weren’t enemies. We helped each other out all the time. I could tell that he didn’t know where Ulf went either. He was looking for him... But he didn’t have time for that after the whole business with the witches kicked off.”
I tensed up immediately.
“What happened to them?”
“I don’t know very much about it,” replied the matagot. “I heard that one of the sisters in Madleyn’s coven disappeared. That witch from the herb shop... They basically turned the place upside down looking for her... She was gone for a long time. And she did come back, but she wasn’t the same anymore. I heard rumors that she was possessed by a dark spirit. And all she could talk about was “those horrible spellswords.” And then the shade, or whatever it was, just left her body, and took her life when it went.”
I was having a hard time remaining calm. The nisse had once told me that something dark was approaching the castle, but that it apparently sensed my guard and decided not to attack. At the time, we thought it was just a shade, and that was the only time such a thing had ever happened. Plus, there were lots of other dark spirits in addition to shades, and it basically could have been anything.
Now, however, I knew that the soulcatcher that Itta warned me about had made his way down south. And I had no doubt that this servant of Hoar the Wicked was behind what happened to that witch from the coven.
“Madleyn was angry, and she came with some of her sisters to see Basile,” the matagot shook his head. “The coven mother accused him and his spellswords of kidnapping one of her sisters. They had a pretty big shouting match, but it didn’t come to a fight. Eventually, they settled down and started talking more civilly to each other. What about? I have no idea. But it was right after that conversation that the Old Badger and the rest of the spellswords left the capital in a hurry.”
We chatted for a little while longer, but I didn’t find out anything else that was useful. It was time to move on.
“Well, many thanks for the information,” I said. “You must have heard about the merchants’ district? If you ever want to move there, you’re welcome to do so.”
“No,” Gervin shook his head. “I’m doing fine on my own land for now. But thanks for the invitation. I’ll remember it, auring.”
An instant later, he turned back into a cat and flitted like a gray shadow through the bars of the fence next door.
With one more quick glance at the spellsword clan’s base, I turned around and headed out of the alley. I had to warn the nisse.
* * *
Bergonia
The environs of the city of Contern. Chateau de Werthemart
Temporary headquarters of the commander-in-chief of the Atalian armies
When Tony Nappo, the personal secretary of Duke Ricardo di Lorenzo (more commonly known as the Golden Lion) walked into the dining hall, he found His Grace calmly eating his breakfast.
His neat beard, wavy golden hair, trim, athletic figure, well-manicured hands, and elegant clothing all bore witness to the fact that despite his fifty years, the duke fully deserved his reputation as one of the most dashing noblemen in the court of His Majesty Alfonso V.
Many people assumed that the much-lauded field commander had earned his nickname simply because of his characteristic golden hair. But his comrades-in-arms and those close to him knew very well that the Golden Lion had earned his nickname more for his bravery and his qualities as a leader than for his physical appearance.
This was a man with a sharp mind, decisive and able to see opportunities where others could see nothing but insurmountable obstacles. He also had a talent for surrounding himself with loyal people, who were willing to go to their deaths for him in an instant should he give the order. Without exaggeration, it could be said that Tony Nappo was his most dedicated follower.
“Ah, it’s you,” said the duke, casting a glance at his secretary. Then he nodded at the stuffed folder in the man’s hands and asked: “What news?”
“Good morning, Your Grace,” said Tony Nappo with a bow, before getting straight down to business. “His Highness Prince Adrian is expected in Contern within the next few days.”
The Duke di Lorenzo let out a heavy sigh. A baleful fire flashed into his dark gray eyes.
“His Honor is sending me a son to take all the credit for my victories,” the Marshal of Atalia muttered through gritted teeth. “Who’s coming with the prince? Actually, no need to tell me. Who else could it be but those northern upstarts Luigi di Belmonte and Hugo di Spinola? And that old spider Angelo Doria. I’d stake anything on it: he was the one who convinced Alfonso to saddle me with his dunce of an heir.”
“Perceptive as always, Your Grace,” Tony Nappo replied diplomatically.
“Isn’t there some piece of news this morning that won’t spoil my appetite?” The duke grumbled as he angrily picked up his steaknife.
Like an experienced cardshark with an ace up his sleeve, the secretary deftly drew a small envelope out of the folder. As he handed it to the duke, the pleasant smell of a woman’s perfume wafted through the air.
The duke set his silverware aside, wiped his mouth with a lace napkin, and picked up the envelope. The corners of his lips curled into a faint smile as he unfolded the letter inside.
The duke chuckled quietly a few times and twisted the tips of his mustache up as he read the letter.
Once he finished reading, the marshal glanced up at Tony, winked, and said:
“The Countess de Laroc, with whom I had such a lovely chat at the Marquis de Prelle’s reception, inquires whether I might give her an audience. Please inform her that I’ll see her this evening.”
“Understood, Your Grace,” said the secretary with a knowing nod as he made a note for himself on his pile of papers.
His “ace” had done its work marvelously, and the duke was in a good mood once again.
“Continue,” he gestured to Tony Nappo with one hand as the secretary took out the next sheet of paper in his stack.
“There have been several complaints from the magistrate about our legionaries engaging in debauchery in the taverns.”
“I’m not interested in such trifles,” said the duke dismissively. “He should be thankful that the city’s still in one piece and relatively intact. What’s the situation with provisions? Has our request been complied with?”
“According to the most recent reports, we’ve received fifty barrels of corned beef, thirty of dried fish, twenty sacks of dried bread, thirty chests of hard cheese, thirty five bags of dried beans and peas, twenty five barrels of wine, and three dozen large barrels of ale.”
“That’s only half of what I requested,” the duke frowned. “Hunger in the ranks — just what we need!”
“With the reserves currently on hand, it’ll be enough to get us to Vestonia,” said the secretary. “And once there...”
“True, true...”
Lost in thought, the duke ran a hand through his beard, and soon his face lit up once more. After his legions crossed the Vestonian border, the looting could start. The Duke di Lorenzo’s eyes began to glimmer excitedly. Carl was on death’s door. His dukes were ready to tear out each other’s throats as soon as he died. The richest country in Mainland would soon be in his hands. Could it really be that that spineless worm Alfonso, who had only become King in the first place through some incomprehensible misunderstanding, actually believed that the Golden Lion would decline to take the reins once he was in the driver’s seat? The King’s hopes were squarely on the shoulders of those fanatics in their scarlet cloaks. Hehe... The idiot!
These pleasant thoughts kept the duke occupied for a moment, but soon he was distracted from them by Tony’s voice.
“Scouts report that the Vestonian forces in Bresmont have nearly completed their muster,” said the secretary. “Some Mertonian archers have joined them. Along with a hundred spears of various noble cavalry and a unit of the Stone Knights. The information’s been corroborated — they’re under the command of the Duke de Clairmont.”
“That doesn’t matter,” snickered the Duke di Lorenzo. “They’re doomed. I think Édouard de Clairmont understands that himself.”
“He’s said to be the best commander in Carl III’s army,” said Tony.
“I’ll say again, it doesn’t matter,” the duke shook his head. “Our forces’ invasion of Vestonia is just a matter of time. Édouard de Clairmont doesn’t have any aces up his sleeve. I know what he’s going to do before he does it. And we’re ready for him. You’ll see — he’s going to bring his legions to join the forces Prince Heinrich left in the northwest, and together those forces will try to maneuver us into a pitched battle.”
“But then he — “ The secretary didn’t have a chance to finish.
“Exactly,” the duke interrupted him as he ran his hand through his beard once again. “I tell you — he hasn’t got a ghost of a chance. Édouard de Clairmont will bring his army right here, where I’ll be waiting for him. And we won’t even have to chase him all over these damned hills and mountains. The Vestonian Army’s fate is already sealed. Only a miracle, or something absolutely unexpected and unexpectable, can possibly avert total defeat for them. And as you know, I’ve never believed in any such foolishness.”